A Stroll Up The Mountain Road – Blog Part 1

Upon leaving the tavern and the group of children, he couldn’t help but sigh. That was a tale he’d first told long ago. The Tale-Teller, being who he was had searched feverishly for one as good as it, but to no avail. For the tale of Spyro Goldenfyre, contrary to popular belief, was a real one. He knew this for he had been a part of it, however small. It was the pinnacle of all tales.

 So to try find one greater, he’d gone to a pinnacle forged long ago by natures ebb and flow, by the fires of the earth that solidified to make it whole. It was to the top of Mount Orillia that he climbed.

 And as the Tale-Teller strode up the mountainside, one foot following the other, in a rhythm as old as time; His trusty walking stick, a simple branch of supple yew, making the slightest of taps to fill the gaps between his footfall… The Tale-Teller turned in such a way, as to allow his leather coat, cracked in more places than it was smooth, to billow out behind him; It’s fluctuating shadow swaying in time with the patches of grass stalks that grew on the thin ledges and rocky outcrops where small patches of dirt clung on desperately. For what kind of a Tale-Teller would he be, if he didn’t strive to be dramatic.

 Half way up one particularly steep slope, the Tale-Teller came across another figure. The setting sun at his back, the figure appeared as nothing more than a silhouette. It was a man, he could tell, as the shoulders were too broad to be a woman’s, and the hips not wide enough to be feminine. The figure seemed to have a similar stature to the Tale-Teller himself; In the sense that this man was also clearly a traveller, not some resident of a settlement unknown. The Tale-Teller knew such things, as he’d told enough stories to know how an adventurer carried himself, always tense yet flowing; Wariness of all things that moved etched into them deep down, probably due to being betrayed from time to time, by creatures who at first seemed docile that then decided to strike.

 After the briefest of greetings, the pair sat down, setting up camp in an alcove in the cliffside. The man, features now visible, was a rugged youth, with a smile not used to use. He seemed kind and calculating. Trustworthy perhaps. 

 He’d gotten a fire going, that was a start at least.

 “So, young man,” the Tale-Teller’s cliffside companion looked up, “What brings you here?” the Tale-Teller said almost as a reflex whilst at the same time noting the name he’d give the Tale now transpiring if it turned out to be worthwhile; ‘The Tale of A Cliffside Companion, hmm, I like it. Perhaps a bit bland, some flare to be aded still; but we’ll see what he’s all about soon enough and that will be bound to help.‘

 “I’m here on a scouting mission,” the man said without a moments hesitation. 

‘Too quick, a practiced response. He’s got something to hide, interesting. Then again we all do I suppose.‘ “What are you here to scout?”

 “To see if anything unwanted is encroaching.”

 “The forces of Trinidad this close? Don’t be foolish child.” The man seemed to take the bait. ‘Best of all I don’t think he realises he’s being baited. Ah youths, such a ways away from being wise.‘

 “Haven’t you heard the tales of the Clawfooted Crawlers old man?”

He had as it happened, and he was here with the intention to investigate if such tales were true.

 “Yes young one, I have heard of many tales, and that is one of them. I don’t believe it to be entirely true however, hence why I’m here.”

 “What reason do you have to not believe it?”

 “I haven’t seen any, and I’ve been walking for quite a while.”

 “Well it is true I tell you, I’ve seen one.”

The Tale-Teller chuckled, “Oh, I don’t doubt you have. If you’d of listened more closely to what I said, you may of noticed I said that I didn’t believe it to be ‘entirely’ true, not that it wasn’t true at all. For you see if I had said such a thing it would almost certainly have been incorrect.”

 “What are you on about?”

 “All tales have their golden nuggets of truth. Hidden gems of wisdom.”

The man ceased his work instantly, his bag falling on it’s side forgotten as he looked at the Tale-Teller closely, as if he were seeing him for the first time. The Tale-Teller smiled, one side of his mouth curling upwards slightly; His eyes glittering in the newly forged firelight.

 “How did you know?”

 “I’m no fool young one. Now show me why you really came. What is there here, from which you can obtain monetary gain?”

 The man pulled a massive diamond out of a hidden pocket in his cloak. It was the size of his fist, and that was but one of the crystals the man would come to show him through the night. The man had stolen what had been so lovingly made by the forces of wind and rock and fire and time. He’d stolen a gem the mountain had so dearly made. And so the Tale-Teller told the tale of a rogue he once knew well…