Chronicler and Teller of Tales

Fantastical Realm of Fantasme Chronicler and Teller of Tales *SharonleeGoodhand Imageweaver

Chronicler and Teller of Tales * The Fantastical Realm of Fantasme lies far beyond the edges of the Human World; beyond the echoes of the everyday, through the mists of time itself.

It is a wondrous land of ancient myths and living creatures that most believe exist only within the realm of imagination….

But as Chronicler and Teller of Tales, both fantastical and true I’m here to tell you that no imagination compares to the sights I have seen; Sibylline curtains of diaphanous mist shroud valleys lost to mankind… although once… long long ago in a time not imagined, there did exist a portal between the two world; Sadly, I was the last to pass through the portal before it was sealed forever by the Great Wizard Mentorian sealed by protection spells and all manner of Guardian Gates.

I have walked this land for many long years and my longevity is itself a spell placed on me by the beautiful Inspiron, Queen of the Fantasme Fay for I was entrusted with the role of Storyteller and the only hope that the two words may exist side by side once again lies in my success in convincing All that Fantasme is real…

… and while mankind dwells in darkness and continues to doubt Fantasme’s existence the majikal realm will remain hidden and lost to all. * Let me begin by retelling how I first came to find The Fantastical Realm of Fantasme some may think it was quite by accident… if one believes in such things as accidents… but I learnt that all things happen for a reason… and are mere stepping stones to ones destined destination; And mine was Fantasme, oh yes indeed it was.

I spent idyllic childhood years living in a tumbledown cottage at the end of Little Lane; my grans cottage it was, nestled snug in the foothills of Titania Mountain… ahhh… those heavenly ethereal slopes I know so well… vaporous mist drifted in delicate streamers, clinging to the gentle swells of Titania Mountain; changing seasons saw me scampering and climbing and investigating that much loved mound… but in all those years I never made it to the top.

I grew up and moved away, as children do and my visits home never gave me time to do more than hold grans aging hand and talk of old times; Many were the times I tried to convince my gran to move to the city and live with me but she would not budge from the mist shrouded foothills of Titania Mountain… … and I could never blame her, for in truth, it was where I longed to be as well.

My last visit to the cottage was to lay my dear gran in the family plot alongside both my grandpa and my ma.

That night as I sat alone with only the owls and echoes of the past for company I looked up at the mountain I knew so well, when I was gripped by a strange fierce compulsion to climb to the very top of Titania Mountain … a feat, I had been told, never before achieved but something deep within me urged me to pack a rucksack and go up the mountain… a journey to the mysterious cloud- cloaked pinnacle would surely take several days … *

How idyllic it was to retrace childhood steps… to linger along well-known paths and quench my thirst by crystal cascades I could never forget; but by the fourth day I entered unfamiliar territory that looked and felt like none I had ever seen before… the narrow path I followed became rough; overgrown with unusual plants and overshadowed by age-old trees with secret names.

Dense luminescent moss hugged rotten log and scattered rock dangling vines as thick as my arm hung like hangman's rope from trees I did not recognize.

Timid scurrying and scampering whispered in the dense vegetation but I never laid eyes on a single creature, ‘cept for an old grey owl who seemed intent on following my upward progress; The fourth day found me footsore and fatigued, resting by a high waterfall …

I fell fast asleep in the dappled shade, dreaming of flowers that turned into faerie folk and a gnarled old tree that sang in my gran’s voice…

Listen… listen to the wisdom of Forest… you must head their words… listen… listen

… listen to the wise ones… the trees… you must listennn….

I woke with a start, shivering and cold, though beads of sweat glistened on my brow; the shadows seemed thicker now… little sunlight shone through and…. were the trees gathered closer ‘round me, then when I fell asleep?

My bewilderment deepened further when I noticed, or thought I noticed one tree leaning in close to me… a tree that appeared to have eyes!

So….. You are the new Chronicler and Teller of Tales…. the tree appeared to ponder the thought, while scrutinizing me closely Not what I was expecting, never had willow-wisp-woman as storyteller before … but Her Majesty is never wrong… to have even made it this far is proof enough; You speak, I whispered, as if fearful my human voice would break this spell or truly arouse me from this dream… for surely I still slept surely I still dreamed?

This is no dream little storyteller, the tree chuckled, his leaves quivering and rattling this is your destiny… you have a role to fill.

Her Majesty awaits you.

Her Majesty? I queried, I don’t understand.

You will little storyteller, you will. Welcome to Fantasme. * Ah… I weary now, yawned the aging storyteller, I am not as young now I was then!

The moon wanes into the first blush of dawn… I must rest, but mayhap I will continue my tale another night.