The fantastical realm of fantasme chronicler and teller of tales

The Fantastical Realm of Fantasme

SharonLee Goodhand 2015

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 worlds; Sadly, I was the last to pass through the portal before it was sealed forever by the Great Wizard Montaria 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.

Only at such times when the veil is thin can I return to the human side.

When moon and sun and day and night align I can slip through - when the spirits of both worlds are in benevolent moods they allow me free passage… with one purpose only- to tell my tales of Fantasme.

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 gran’s cottage it was nestled snug in the foothills of Tatiana Mountain… ahhh… those heavenly ethereal slopes I know so well… vaporous mist drifted in delicate streamers, clinging to the gentle swells of Tatiana 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 gran’s aging hand and talk of old times; Many were the times I tried to convince granny to move to the city and live with me but she would not budge from the mist shrouded foothills of Tatiana 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 grandpop and my mum.

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 Tatiana 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 over-shadowed by age-old trees with secret names.

Dense luminescent moss hugged rotten logs 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, except 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 the Forest… you must heed 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 around 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 a 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.

Without warning the tree-spirit seemed to vanish…the tree’s good-natured chuckle seemed little more than rustling leaves… and weary as I was I sank back into a dreamless sleep

New Storyteller of Fantasme So here I am, the new Storyteller of Fantasme and I know, although my eyes have now dimmed and do not see as clearly as they once did, I know you doubt my words already Be that as it may, I speak the truth because that is all I am permitted to speak and words of falsehood may not pass these lips I know that you have been taught that Fantasme is but a myth, a fabrication of fables, but this is not so for I am the one who climbed the mystic mountain higher than it had every been climbed‌ It is true that tales are told by word of mouth among the common folk, and retold with embellishments and told again, Travelers give their interpretation at inns and taverns, bards recite in great halls and grand-sires spin tales in the comforting warmth of the family hearth, Some are legends so old that little truth remains, others are chronicles of events from yesteryear, some of happenings experienced in more recent times The stories I tell you now are all in truth for I have witnessed these first hand and live to be the storyteller, for many who were both friend and foe have not been so favored; That I live to recount these legends when others were not so lucky is not of my doing and due to no lack of courage on my part, but rather it is my curse to outlive all those I loved and cherished and respected‌ but that is a tale in itself and mayhap I will tell that tale too before I am done.

I am the one who found the secret passage That leads to Fantasme; If you do not have a head for figures or for the reckoning of years let me tell you that makes me all of four hundred years and I am weary to my soul… so weary that I must recount all I know for I feel, not fear, that my curse is about to be broken and finally may I know the oblivion of the long sleep.

But before I pass into that blessed void there is much I need to tell for whether you believe it or not many of you are descendants of the Ancient Ones whose majik is pure and strong and you should know the truth of your Fantasme lineage; I have been known by many names and titles in my long lifetime, I have been called Innocent, Healer and Seer, Witch, Enchantress and Manslayer; I have been called Warrior and Savior, but you may know me as The Storyteller and if you listen well and fill my mug from time to time I will tell you tales of truth beyond your wildest dreams; So gather ‘round good people sit yourselves by the glowing hearth fill my mug, keep the fire lit and I shall tell of Fantasme - land of our birth…

Nay none of that! I will not hear it, on deaf ears your nay-saying falls keep your doubts until stories close, a foolish man speaks before time….

In silence sit until the end… and then my friends, and then you can have your say with me, for now, silence as you fill my wine… indulge a woman as old as I, whose story must be told I promise to entertain you, on a night this dark and cold…

SIRIDEÁN SÚILEABHÁN - Dark Eyed Searcher

Far to the southeast of central Fantasme there lie the luscious flatlands Of the Daris River the villagers of Dáiríne Dell toil passionately along the banks of the river… growing plump fruit & ancient grains but it happened one year that the Daris dried up… crops failed… hunger took control; Word went out that she with the crystal ball will come with all the answers… she, sorceress of southern climes the Dark Eyed Searcher and so the seers plot by season & stars the time of her arrival… the people wait and tend their roles and whisper prayers… soon… please come soon Sirideán Súileabhán sorceress of our salvation…

It is said, that Sirideán reads signs like no other that her travels in realms unreachable have harvested much wisdom…

Sirideán is the sorceress all sibyls go to for guidance the sultry Dark Eyed Searcher that all wizards & magi secretly lust after on moonlit nights … the one mortal woman all gods yearn to own…

But it is also said the dark-eyed Sirideán walks heaven and earth & cosmos alone… a solitary candle in the darkest of nights; her obsidian eyes can turn a man to liquid, be it smiling glance or death-stare and it is told, ‘round tavern tables and family hearths how she is Child with no Birth… but fashioned by Mother Nature’s hand

as Champion to both creature and land and all who live with honest heart….

The villagers of Dáiríne Dell toiled dawn to dusk so their hamlet could live up to its fertile name … but rains were poor and for the first time in known history the Daris River had dried to a trickle of a tear… the villagers feared future days… but if truth be told they feared the coming of the Dark Eyed Searcher more… … a runner had arrived, breathless and dusty and almost too weary for words she comes… he panted… collapsing at the elders feet; she comes… she comes… she comes the whisper raced ‘round Dáiríne Dell faster than an Autumn wind she comes… people gathered in the village to speculate and share their prophecies for doom & gloom or fruitful resolutions … those weary souls still toiling in soil that blew with the breeze into clouds of fine dust paused in their labors to look up, wipe dirty brows and breathe a sigh… … she comes… she with the crystal ball and all the answers… …alas 3 full moons passing did it take before the revered and often feared Sirideán Súileabhán to arrive… silent and without fanfare… she simply appeared at the High Elders elbow… the wizened old mage fair jumped out of his skin which spread a grin to every initiate in the hall…

You called… her crystal whisper carried to every ear in the grange what seems to be the problem, you called my name…

It’s a matter of water, the old mage explained 14 full moons and still no rain… the crops have died our livestock too… children weep, the old can’t sleep- even the forest creatures grow weak…

Your mountain-fed river was designed to never run dry

have you dammed it? Damaged it?

Tell me why the endless river has run dry?

Sirideán was not impressed the freedom of this river must be addressed!

All looked to the eldest elder, all paled beneath Sirideán’s stare nothing have we done, but toil in the sun an honest day’s work for any good man day in and out and into the night… we toil for naught water is our blight… infants cry all through the night aged souls pass before morning light… help us revered Lady…. help our plight!

Sirideán’s cold stare made everyone aware just how little for mankind she cared – - the Earth’s well-being was her domain and she knew this mountain river Sempiternal by name should flow freely despite no rain; she swept the congregation with keen penetrating eyes… sharp as diamond, clear as dew leave the matter with me, she scolded, I shall be back when the moon is new!

The village of Dáiríne Dell to pondering silence fell but thoughts turned dark that day and souls turned grey as man accused man and sister charged sister with deeds that caused their downfall… fingers pointed and words scathed … enemies were made that day; The Dark Eyed Searcher returned when the moon was new a sliver of silver in the darkest night… the villagers gathered in number by lantern and candle light…. would there be an answer to their plight or would this be the longest night any would see…

Sirideán’s dark eye flashed like onyx… her pupils as sharp as shards that bore into each man’s soul, and chilled each woman’s heart…

The river is blocked and dammed, Sirideán roared… Mother Earth’s Law you have ignored!

You deny precious water to the village yonder… why is this I wonder?

b .. but … but, Revered One , the elder sputtered … we did not dam the River the River is our sustenance…. our very life giver!

Nooo…not by You, Sirideán cried… by those in the village you have denied! … they now divert and channel the water to their dam…. they said you would not share the earth- treasure of water given at birth … and so took what they needed…

The villagers looked to each other… excuse fell from their lips legend has it the Sempiternal River is ours!

No river is yours! Sirideán exploded… this river belongs to Mother Earth bequeathed to you to use from birth… did your mother’s not teach you to have a care did they not teach you how to share!! … heads hung low in the village that night… and hearts tolled a heavy bell sleep did not sooth a single soul in the village of Dáiríne Dell…

Revered One, the elder finally whispered as dawn broke through the trees we understand our error… help us please! Our children grow weak… the aged no longer speak silence is our only song… please help us to make amends and right what we have wronged!

Sirideán gazed intently, into every face and mind… she saw remorse and fear in hearts clear and a hunger in each child’s eye… Sirideán sighed…

Very well, she said at long last… put the past in the past and make amends this very day… go all, to your neighboring village… with them you will toil until the dam is gone and from this day forward, forever and on, the river is of free spirit… and share it you must never taking more than you need in Mother Earth put your trust this mountain-fed river was designed to never wither

but nourish all who come in need for our Mother Earth, in all her wisdom, just can’t comprehend human greed. *

Twilight Illusions & Phantasy Delusions….

Come seat yourselves, earth children, by the fires warmth and I will tell a tale of how, deep in the Fantasme Forest spirits haunt the willow-ways and woodland trails when the sun has set … beware for my story holds a warning that you should not forget…

Now many many year ago when I was just a lass (and here there was a snicker, but as an old crone, I let the laughter pass) …. one day as the sun was setting, I chanced to look up and see a most unusual creature beckoning to me… what wondrous eyes of cerulean blue… what regal poise of its head such luscious shine on nut-brown fur… and with these words he said – - come dance in Twilight Illusions… come sing with the forest Fay they are so very lonely…and this is their favorite time of day none should be alone in sadness on a day as this come dance with twilight shadows… I really must insist… … so taken was I by beautiful illusions… sweet images danced in my heart I really didn’t hear the words he spoke at the very last… for had I heard those words I know I would’ve done my best to resist - if only I’d heard those last four words ‘I really must insist…’

I hurried into my finest dress, I was once quite lovely, I must confess slipped eager feet in to soft-soled shoes, ones that made no noise when I moved…

I flew out into the garden, gathering a posy of flowers for the forest Fay come quickly, I heard a faint voice at the edge of the forest say…

I found the blue-eyed centaur near the cabbage patch flowers, he said with a raised eye, oh what a lovely touch… come, he commanded, leading into the woodland green it all looked so very vibrant… more than I recalled or had ever seen…

The centaur raced like a will-o'-the-wisp beneath oak & bayberry trees wild cinnamon grew in places that I have never been… a magical force hummed in the forest… so potent I began to feel unsure - b my lovely dress was already crumpled and my feel soiled & sore…

The centaur paused at an old grandmother tree… the air was thick & still come, come, he urged me on… I fear we will be late… so on & on we journeyed until he stopped at a wooden gate… come, come, pretty one…almost there… time to meet your fate…

The centaur with cerulean eyes grabbed my arm, I was so surprised upon hearing those last few words of he had spoken- as if from a trance I had awoken and then I saw protective symbols and scripts that shimmered in moonrise he hauled me through the hidden portal… and much to my dismay there were circles within circles all guarding the homeward way…

Do not disturb my circles, I heard an omnipotent voice yell from where it was coming, I really couldn’t tell… but I knew then without a doubt… I had to run… to find my way out but so frozen with fear was I… I had no voice to scream or shout…

Wrenching free my aching arm, I turned to flee in haste night would soon be ending…there was no time waste Oh! I had never run so fast… I did not pause or slow until I reached that place where oak & bayberry grow… and found the woodland path that I knew would take me home

And there I planned to stay…no more for me to roam I walked a hurried pace until I came to my plot of golden corn safely home at last….in the blushing-fingers of dawn…

Of course, the storyteller chuckled, I grew older Shrugging off my fear I became adventurous and bolder And many were the journeys as the following years unwound But now my feet are weary… and I am homeward bound. *

Tale of Tumblefoot Oakman Tumblefoot Oakman lives in the everglades Of north Fantasme… a jolly chap he is and I had the good fortune Of spending a few seasons with him…

Tumblefoot was not known for hard work And he was somewhat forgetful and often muddled - but I must say, the storyteller chuckled… he was a lot of fun… **

I’ve lost it…I’ve lost it muttered a soft voice through the forest …oh my, the birds chirped, he’s lost it again… what has he lost, chittered the squirrels…

IT! the birds all sang in chorus… it!

Tumblefoot Oakman wandered through the forest in a state of confusion… it’s not that he was lost, exactly for had lived in this forest for nigh on 100 years he knew every trail and every tree he knew where to cross the river safely and could do it without getting his soft shoes wet… it don’t pay to get yer shoes wet he was known to mutter wet shoes mean wet feet taint no good having wet feet.

but this day Tumblefoot had no need to go to the river he was far too busy for tickling fishing or splashing with dragonflies he had to find It before nightfall… and look… the sun was on its downward slide! oh my, he mumbled softly… how could I have lost it! and where did I lose it!

Tumblefoot mumbled and muttered as he aimlessly looked for IT in random places…

Tumblefoot… rumbled a voice nearby I haven’t seen you in a while… oh Great Father Owl, I’ve lost IT, Tumblefoot moaned well you didn’t lose it here you need to retrace your steps, lad and with that Great Father Owl ruffled his feathers and settled back to a gentle snoring…

retrace my steps, chuckled Tumblefoot, retrace my steps well…. this morning it was such a clear bright day that I went to pick winterberries…

I was thinking of making a cake… now why would I make a cake? hmmm… but I didn’t pick berries, I was distracted by the crystals in the Eastface Caves… oh this is no good, grumbled Tumblefoot, I’m getting confused…

retrace your steps, lad mumbled Great Father Owl with aloud snore… retrace my steps said Tumblefoot and he turned around and did just that… before this I was wondering aimlessly through the forest

I stopped to help the wood nymphs tie up a maypole for the Winterdance… they were awfully entangled when I came upon them and were ever so grateful they gave me a wreath of vines to wear upon my head… and before that I was running panic-stricken through the mossy woods…

Mother Bear was on her way to the river but had lost both her cubs… we hunted high and low for those mischievous little fellas and finally found them sleeping on a warm patch of sunny heather, Mother Bear was so relieved she told me where to find the sweetest honey… now… before Mother Bear and the mossy wood I was… hmmm… oh yes!

I was gathering pinecones in the pine meadow for tonights fire; I had just stacked them by the big beech when Mama Squirrel let out an awful screech her winter stockpile had collapsd and nuts were tumbling back out her storage-hole …

I helped her gather them back up and wedged a stick across the hole in case the nuts fell out again; there was a small pile of nuts we couldn’t fit back in… oh that Mama Squirrel is such a hoarder… and she gave me the left over nuts as a thank you…

Tumblefoot thought for a few moments as he traced his way back he was not at all sure he could recall exactly why he was there

or what he was doing… so on he trudged until a familiar waterfall came into view the waterfall chuckled and giggled and sang a sweet melody before tumbling into a rocky pool; oh course! Tumblefoot laughed, I’d been hunting through the polished pebbles for one the perfect shade of blue!

He reached into his overstuffed pocket and pulled out a small polished pebble the same color as… as… Lucynda’s eyes!

Oh Lucynda!

Tumblefoot smiled, his eyes going soft and dreamy for a moment … and before the waterfall I was in the Eastface Caves looking for crystal for… for… Lucynda’s birthday!

Tumblefoot hitched up the sack of pinecones and shifted the bag of nuts to the other hand returned the polished blue pebble back to the pocket beside the lump of crystal and checked that the honey hadn’t leaked… then he resettled the wreath of vines firmly on his head and made his way home…

I found it, he thought happily, I found Lycnda’s birthday presents… oh my…and now I need to bake a cake! **

Athene-Belle-Adina and Iridesa

The storyteller eyed the shadowed room An odorous cloud of stale hops and mead and last week’s stew Mingled with woodsmoke and unwashed bodies…

But who was she to complain, storytelling paid her well enough Ale flowed, the cheese and bread were plentiful At least for her… as long as she kept the stories unfolding… * Where was I, she muttered, ahh Fantasme…

Have I told the story of when Athene-Belle-Adina tamed the dragon of the highlands?

She was once a Riverflow Priestess you know But sadly Athene’s great beauty and power were her downfall She turned to sorcery in a vain attempt to find happiness and love…

Sadder still… that she ended her life as a solitary swan Fated to never die… but drift alone staring at her reflection in a lake …

But this tale takes place before all that… when Athene was a sorceress Of unimagined beauty…

The sorceress had been on the run, fleeing & hiding from the wizard Zailund… and so crazed was he to have her, own her that he would not give up the pursuit; Athene had wittingly cast a spell, temporarily trapping Zailund On a path that looped in an insane diorama Where the shifting shadows of scenery changed with every circuit trudged…

A full week passed before the wizard realized… a week in which Athene made her escape…

Zailund was not one to give up and though the trail was cold, he set after again; *

Athene, wily as she was, cris-crossed the Highlands of Fantasme Weaving a tortuous path that led nowhere She scratched a decoy map into the dirt adding cryptic symbols showing three peculiar characters Lending her aid- but the sorceress had enlisted the help of no one Indeed, there were few who lived this far into the Highlands; Finally Athene found a place to rest… a stone henge.

Within the protective circle she was rendered invisible to all.

She slept; waking at night to visions splendid… falling stars streamed from the dark haven of the night sky bats swooped and owls in flight deposited at her feet tasty morsels for her to eat.

Athene regained her strength, wishing she could simply stay here Invisible to all and sort by none; But even the bats & owls had need of her services, in payment for the food they dropped They bid her rid them of a dragon which feasted on their nestling babes.

And Athene, knowing there was a debt to be paid, set off in search of the dragon. * The sorceress found the creature guarding a portal to a mystic world beyond the veil of Fantasme; Was it bravery that propelled her to within the dragons reach?

Or apathy… Athene did not really know but suspected the latter…

What is your name dragon? Athene asked boldly Admiring the dragon’s iridescent shimmer… the way shifting hues of Jade and violet rippled across the beasts supple wings.

My name? How fearless you are little sorceress… and for that I will tell youmy name is Iridesa.

Athene inclined her head, respectfully… and I am Athene I have been entrusted to bring you a message, Iridesa,

the birds & bats of the wildflower meadow Have asked me to beseech you not to eat their young; Numbers dwindle… and soon there will be none.

But what am I to eat? I am not permitted to travel beyond sight of this portal.

And why, do tell, Athene asked… Why is that so?

I must stay here until I find a purpose to my life, Iridesa admitted mournfully And the wait has been long and most tedious.

Well, if I may sit, suggested Athene, mayhap I can resolve your dilemma; The sorceress sat, as did Iridesa, and a peculiar silence descended As if even the birds hushed to ponder; Finally Athene stood up- do you know of me Iridesa? I am Athene-Belle-Adina Once a Riverflow Priestess… now a sorceress Hunted and chased by an evil wizard who wishes to own me.

Crystal tears ran down Athene’s cheeks and for the first time Iridesa noticed How weary the woman was…

Impressive, Iridesa said, but how does that help me?

I am in need of a guide and guardian … a constant companion, willing to walk the four winds with me; would you be willing to embark on such a mission?

An interesting proposal, sorceress… Iridesa nodded but there is one minor detail I forgot to tell you… I cannot traverse the lands this side of the portal…

Then I will come with you, Athene replied ardently… pray tell, what lies beyond the portal?

More beauty then even you can imagine… Iridesa replied and it would be my honor

To accompany you.

Without looking back both Athene & Iridesa set forth… to a land so magic Not even Zailund the wizard could follow; * And that, the storysteller said… is how Athene-Belle-Adina And a dragon named Iridesa became not only compainions But friends for life.

Now, fill my mug, and fetch me food… I’ll not be in the mood to tell another Until I am drunker than I am now and full of food. **

Aurora of the Elemental Fae

Early one morn before day’s glimmer Aurora of the Elemental Fae sat sipping dew from buttercups lamenting softly to herself … … her spirit wept… her soul, it ached for her love the stars did take and while she felt his spirit still her grief had taken hold of will…

Fenrir stood, silenced by Aurora’s grief the great wolf her sworn paladin his heartfelt wish was that the dainty Fae should smile again…

Aurora renounced all ties to the magickal earth with aimless steps she walked for days days stretched with seasons passing… years swallowed by such hollowness pain transformed the vibrant lass into a vessel of loneliness…

But on this morn, where shadows crept with chimerical deliberation there flew the alabaster bird of mystic realms, the giant caladrius … plummeting from the lazuline sky… wings sweeping gusts of cloud-like dust panic wild within her eyes… great wolf and bird heatedly conversed… the caladrius won the day swooping on the grief-struck aurora…. Carried her away…

Beyond the lowest clouds they flew… Fenrir keeping pace below on and on the threesome raced, to where, aurora did not know…

before the sun had full-rose to make the shadows small Caladrius glided back to earth and with a gentle touch placed the Elemental Fae safely on the cushioned heath…

The land around cried in pain… the creatures wept the same upon a mossy bed Aurora saw a waifling pale and weak the faerie child, much smaller then Fae, wore the death-mask face but Aurora knew, instinctively, that this wee one should live… … so broken was that tiny body… the heart beat slow to speak The Fae worked all day and into night, with herbs she the bones to right She drizzled healing potions past lips so deathly white… … then commanded she be told… what creature was it, so vile and bold that shattered the faerie’s body so… Who Did This Deed, she demanded to know and so the tale unfolded… one Aurora had heard before… this brute she well knew for it had murdered her love Agnu…

Sleipnir… Sleipnir the name clung like fog to Aurora’s tongue… Sleipnir the one and only one…

In the distance a wild wind howled in Valkyrie call trees twisted, Baba Yaga pose as if in full-scream in winter froze statues in the snow…

Ancient whispers hissed in the Fae’s weary ear mind…

Hear you not the Invocations on the wind?

See you not the messages written in the sky?

Thunderbird soars the hidden dome Shoot lightening with erudite eye…

Aurora knew the signs…. ungodly deeds walk this tempestuous night

betwixt the woods and frozen lake the darkest evening of the year mercurial mist in windswept grip obscures the frowning moon…

Jaundiced spirits stalk the shadow-ways slink… slide, but even they hide when the Sleipnir thunders by eight legged equine, black as night his nostrils flare… his eyes alight - sparks fly from pounding hooves bruise the earth in spheric grooves…

None dare tame this beast of beasts none brave enough to face those eyes… … no one with the courage yet – - at least no one alive…

Aurora took from her pouch some leaves, crumbled to dust making a potent pungent brew… drink it all she must… … and then the Fae lay down upon the shadowed moss… she smiled once, and breathed her last… her fight with grief lost…

Fenrir and Caladrius watched in horror as the spirit-force left Aurora’s agile frame rising into the bitter night… she smiled at them again None dare tame the beast of beasts none brave enough to face those eyes… … no one with the courage yet – - at least no one alive… until this very night, where the wild wind howled in Valkyrie call trees twisted, Baba Yaga pose statues in full-scream, winter froze in the distance the Sleipnir tossed his midnight mane

hearing on the wicked wind‌ someone call his name. **

Athene-Belle-Adina, A Fallen Priestess…

As said, 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 island of ancient myths and living creatures that most believe exist only within the realm of imagination…. … but if one truly believes in such majik things You can almost see the land of Fantasme floating in the distance… * Where moonbeams gathered to greet the coming day in soft and tender iridescent shades there lies a fountain of mystic import and in the crystal lake which encompasses the fountain, a solitary swan swims with such calm, one would doubt her sad and forlorn beginnings…

Unlike most wild swans, this one once had a name- a name so renowned in all the lands it trembled on the tongue Of king and peasant alike … a name so potent it conjured both love and fear, longing and loathing For this lone swan, now guardian of the fountain was none other than the priestess turned sorceress Athene-Belle-Adina; Hunted by those who yearned to taste her flesh sort after by those who schemed to steal her power Athene-Belle-Adina had spent 100 years forever on the run hiding, fleeing, living in secret… denying herself love and soul-connection concealing herself in the shadows

for Shadows have no memory, you see… * This life wearied Athene-Belle-Adina, it tore at her soul tears left indelible bruises on her once fair cheeks and turned her luscious hair snow white… … one day, exhausted and sick of heart The sorceress came upon a peacock dancing in a meadow of wildflowers bone-weary & weeping Athene-Belle-Adina collapsed on a bed of primrose and wept uncontrollably she wept for her lost life and love unfound she wept for the weariness in her soul… oh, she cried, to find a place of solace & safety a place to Shelter my aches, I need the sun I need the rain… I need to float free from this wretched body…

Fair maid, the peacock sat by her side… fair maid, if you truly desire To float free from your human form I know the only way to do so…

Athene-Belle-Adina turned her tear face to look the peacock Directly in the eyes… … if you know, please, she begged, tell meLook there, a rainbowed unicorn, said the peacock with a snowy fan of tail feathers Wipe your tears on this silk scarf and present it to the unicorn…

Athene hastened to her feet, soaking the soft silk scarf with her tears… … and approached the rainbowed unicorn with far more boldness Then she had felt in many a long year; The unicorn looked at Athene-Belle-Adina with soft sad eyes His rainbow colors shimmered and rippled with iridescent beauty… … Athene offered the tear-damp scarf, begging with such heart-breaking pain That the unicorn could not refuse… … and so the haunted & hunted Athene was turned into a swan

And to this day, in a lake on the isle of Fantasme A snow white swan glides in solitary tranquility. *

A Riverflow Pristess It was a once in a lifetime opportunity This she knew But was she up to the task?

The future safely Fantasme rested on this quest!

These thoughts tumbled through Winnies mind as she crossed the pillared desertscape of the Western Wayalready she had to deal with variables she had not expected, that iridescent fish at the Gemina River had caused a days delay with his riddle talk… confused and confounded her, he did and another day, and night lost, compelled to dance in a clearing festooned like an outdoor ballroom, bedecked with glittering stars and flowers that played intoxicating music… … Kroc the Roc soared far over his companion Commanding the sky with powerful sweeps of his massive wings But he knew her thoughts no less now then when they first met As fledgling wanderers of the verdant glades of Riverflow…

Little miss… shall I land and lift you into the sky… his whispered thoughts Tickled her mind…

No, Winnie muttered, her thoughts interrupted The Priestess said I would come across an old wizard In the pillar maze of Western Way… The Priestess said “look for he who looks like stone, for he will guide your steps…”

Can you see a stone wizard from up there?

No, I see a hundred stones that look like wizards, little miss…

Just as I thought, the priestess-in-training chuckled But I see a hundred standing stones and none with a wizard’s visage…

… come down here and walk with me awhile…

Kroc sighed, he was not fond of walking But for his little miss, he would dive into the mouth of a volcano … and had, but that was another tale altogether…

Whipping up a sand storm with his powerful wings, Kroc landed nearby balancing expertly on a huge standing stone… … you have a sweet treat for your sweet roc, he purred, not unlike a cat Winnie threw back her flame-colored hair, chuckling as her hand dipped into the soft fabric bag slung over her shoulder a honey-drop for you Kroc dear, she said affectionately…

Ohhh…. Ohhh my oh my… a voiced seemed to murmur from the very earth itself Ohhh my oh my … honey drops! Did someone say honey drops?

Winnie spun in a quick circle at the sound of the strange voice, staff held at the ready… … and there, not far from Kroc, a grainy shadow detached itself from a standing stone- lo and behold, a dusty old wizard materialized where before there was none…

Greetings sir, Winnie did her best to hide her surprise It would not be a good first impression to appear like a common initiate I was hoping we’d meet….

Were you now, little priestess, the wizard laughed… lucky for you I have a weakness for honey drops Or you would have stumbled right passed me!

Hard to find honey drops out here you know… no trees; Begging your pardon sir, why do you live here then? She decided not to tell the wizard she had been instructed to carry a bag of honey drops with her on this expedition; Ahhh that is a sad tale… and one I’ll gladly share with a Riverflow Pristess…

Firstly, forgive my tardy manners… we need somewhere shady to sit

And with that and a wave of his hand the wizard conjured a diaphanous cloud Which threw soft shadows across the parched desert land…

Sit, sit… he gestured, and tell me what brings you this far west…

Winnie sat, her back pressed firm against a standing stone And handed the wizard her bag of honey drops… … My mistress, the Priestess Minerva, has sent me on a quest…

I must reach the Mountain of Poudrin before the next eclipse I need find an ancient sword, one used to forge archaic spells And forge a Saving Spell, for if I do not, Riverflow, The Western Way, all of Fantasme Will fall prey to a reversal of time that sees all we know vanish…

And Minerva sent only you? The wizard asked with a raised eye…

You and a roc?

Kroc snorted, little does he know, the roc mind-locked with Winnie with such indignation The young priestess felt a moments dizziness… is he even the right wizard?

Of course I am the right wizard! I am the only wizard here you impertinent bird…

I am Merrythought… and I have been waiting for a Riverflow Pristess for nigh on 3 decades!

Oh, Winnie gasped… Minerva did not tell me that!

Of course not, Merrythought spluttered… for that would mean admitting That she banished me here herself… poor show if you ask me… much too harsh a punishment for my crime… more bad judgment on my part, really I am no rouge wizard…

See! Kroc exploded… I smell foul deeds afoot here…

Foul deeds, roared Merrythought jumping to his feet…

Silence! Winnie commanded, both of you, silent!

An uneasy silence fell heavy around the shadowed standing stones…

… roc and wizard glared at each other, their ragged breathing the only sound.

Winnie held up her slender hand… no one speaks unless I ask a question, she compelled them both Merrythought opened his mouth to speak, but spoke no words…

Now, Merrythought, she demanded, for what were you banished?

Humpff, snorted the wizard, clamping his lips tight…

You will tell me, Winnie ordered firmly…

I conjured a cat that flies… the wizard admitted, how was I to know the damn feline would be so unruly?

And when you could not control the product of your own magic, you were exiled here?

Winnie prompted.

Yes and I have been here ever since! Merrythought shot her a sorrowful look.

And what of the flying cat?

The wizard shrugged… to the best of my knowledge the feline was banished too To the Mountain of Poudrin, never to fly further than those verdant slopes.

Winnie paced between the standing stones, thoughts awhirl… … may I speak now, Kroc’s whisper wormed into the priestess’s thoughts, but Winnie held up a warning finger and silence followed.

Merrythought, you do know it is forbidden to tamper with the natural law of nature, don’t you?

Winnie sighed.

Yes little priestess I do, the wizard hung his head in shame… but in my defense, love does make us do foolish things. And I was deeply smitten by a little priestess, not much older then you.

Minerva? Asked Winnie.

Merrythought nodded sadly… his eyes lost in memory.

And Minerva sent me here, to find a wizard, who had had a fondness for honey drops and knew of a flying cat, who could lead Kroc & I up the Mountain of Poudrin to a cave where lies hidden a sword capable of forging spells of untold power….

Quests are like that priestess… never straightforward, Merrythought nodded sagely.

Very well, Winnie waved her hand, releasing the two from the silencing spell… we have wasted enough time… lead on wizard… and with care, for I will be watching you…

As you wish, Merrythought bowed…. An apple once bitten opens many a door …

What? Demanded Winnie, tired of riddles and half truths.

Nothing little priestess… an old saying, is all, an old old saying. Simply put, never ever bite off more then you can chew… and never ever swallow a seed.

And with that Merrythought led the way.

Kroc took the sky, his way of announcing he found the wizard an objectionable Travel companion.

The trio traveled in silence for some time… afternoon grayed into twilight before Merrythought stopped and with a whoop of excitement hopped, skipped and jumped before tumbling out of sight down the far side of a sandy hill…

Winnie hurried after the wizard only to find him at the base of the hill…

Rolling on sweet twi-light grass in paroxysm of delight… he snatched at meadow flowers Sticking them into his flowing beard, laughing with delight…

Thank you little priestess…. Thank you… I am forever in your debt… 3 decades… 3 long hot dusty decades since I smelt a flower or felt the softness of grass… A tear rolled down Merrythought’s face.

A sad tale wizard… but you are young yet and still have time live a full life… wiser now, I hope, in magic’s proper use. Winnie raised an eye at the incorrigible wizard, softening the reprimand with a smile.

Now, where are we Merrythought?

This be Providences Crossroads, milady… and not one to be negotiated at night… spectre’s unfriendly frequent this place… Merrythought informed her… We should rest.

Kroc can fly us over to the other side…

I WILL NOT, roared Kroc… that crooked wizard will never sit upon my back!

So be it, Winnie retorted, I have no time for rest or your injured pride… we go on, either you two come with me, or you stay… I care not.

The young priestess marched onwards, not looking back to see if her companions followed, not breaking her stride until she stood at the edge of the crossroads… unsure of which path to take.

As she stood there, bathed in moonlight and starglow, she saw what appeared to be restless wraiths Pacing the road… back and forward… back and forward…

One detached itself from the throng of shifting shuffling spectre’s, drifting to within 2 paces of Winnie… little princess I can guide you across…. Trust me… trust me…

I am not a spoiled princess who needs her hand held… Winnie retorted, I am a Riverflow Priestess and I am getting damn sick of these interferences and obstacles!

The wraith looked at Winnie in alarm, hissing with fear… a Riverflow Priestess! Begone, stay away we can not help you!

Ahh… but can you hinder me? Winnie asked

Again the wraith hissed… nooo… we cannot touch you, a Riverflow Priestess.

As I suspected… now you begone! I have a destination. Winnie waved her hand with a dismissive gesture… begone!

The wraith floated back to its companions, resuming his eternal crossing, but never leaving.

Come Merrythought, we continue on, Winnie beckoned to the wizard who appeared to be in deep reflection of his feet. Come, it is safe.

For you mayhap, Priestess of Riverflow… but are sure it is safe for me?

The priestess let out an exasperated sigh…

Kroc, she called… please, life-long are we bonded… you must carry Merrythought over the crossroads and wait for me on the other side…

And Kroc, knowing he could not deny nor refuse his Winnie, grabbed the startled wizard with his razor talons and took to the sky… he will not sit upon my back, echoed into the darkness.

By whatever means, Winnie thought and proceeded to weave her way across the intersecting roads; she had barely traversed half the distance when another wraith appeared before her… barring her way.

I am Priestess of Riverflow… you cannot touch me, begone!

Heh Heh Heh… the spirit chuckled maliciously… I am no common crossing spectre … I am your worst nightmare… I am all your fears rolled into one… I am the phantom that haunts your conscience…

You talk too much, Winnie cried, what is it you want? I fear you not… haunt my dreams all you wish, just get out of my way!

Feisty little one aren’t you? chortled the phantom.

Oh you haven’t seen feisty yet! Winnie hissed. Do you let me pass… or what?

You cannot pass… unless I let you, for I am the crossing keeper… where goest you?

The Mountain of Poudrin, if you must know; Then you will need to take the east fork… and because you have been so amusing I will let you pass… but remember… I am your worst nightmare… I am all your fears rolled into one… I am the phantom that haunts your conscience!

Good luck with that, Winnie taunted, making her way to the east fork… but once there all she saw an endless ocean … with no beach, no boat, no land; the priestess spun round only to find the mocking phantom sneering at her.

Unfazed she marched back to the center of the crossing… eye to eye with the annoying phantom.

YOU LIED, she accused him …

Fear not little priestess, I was merely confused… south fork… I’m sure of it.

Winnie set off again, striding across the intersecting roads, brushing wraiths aside as if they were bugs… but at the south road all she found was a yawning drop which fell into blackness darker than any night.

Perhaps it is the west fork… chuckled the phantom…

Aha! Winnie smiled… I came from the west… I crossed the Pillared Maze of the Western Way… so… and here she turned, pointing, so, this is the way I should go.

Once across, Winnie found Merrythought & Kroc waiting for her in looming shadow of Poudrin Mountain.

What took you so long, Merrythought demanded… I thought he was going to eat me!

I have no appetite for the likes of you little man! Kroc snorted.

Oh silence, the both of you!

I was dealing with a trickster if you must know… now find yourselves a nest for the night… tomorrow we end this quest! * Morning dawned… the crossroads almost obscured beneath a shiftless mist.

Winnie roused her companions… the mountain was a few hours walk yet and the young priestess was keen to close that distance.

A honey drop or 2 for morning repast, both roc and wizard asked at the same time… Winnie silently obliged, her eyes on the towering mountain.

They made good time and arrived when the sun was at its zenith. The base of Poudrin Mountain was lush with vegetation; passionflower strung between trees like garlands and honey drops grew in shiny profusion… Winnie let her companions gorge themselves on honey drops and passion fruit. She sat under an ancient aldertree , reciting the chant which would waken the sword, which would in turn release the Saving Spell onto the breeze… where it would travel river desert and sea until Fantasme was empowered enough to resist the reversal of time curse.

Suddenly Winnie, Priestess of Riverflow, felt very weary… very weary indeed.

Little miss, you must eat Kroc implored, dropping bunches of honey drops into her lap.

He is right, Merrythought agreed… starving oneself before the grand finale is never wise.

The old wizard pressed a plump passion fruit into her hand.

Well look at you two, finally agreeing on something, Winnie smiled weakly.

You rest priestess… I’ll go find that pesky cat. Merrythought suggested.

No need you old rapscallion you! A voice roared through the trees; This is all you fault, why I should drop you from the mountains summit!

All eyes turned towards a thunderous crashing through the trees…. A ruckus far too wild for a flying cat. Out burst not a cat, as Winnie had expected… but rather a hugs cat-like beast with wings that rivaled Krocs.

So. Roared the catbeast… is the banishment over?

Winnie rose to her feet… it will be over, if you but do one thing for me…

And what be that milady, the catbeast asked… for I have been alone far too long to refuse a chance at freedom now.

Hmmm I think that you misjudge the terms of your liberation, Winnie informed the beast, You will be freed, but indentured to me until you can prove you will behave.

I can live with that, names Gryphon by the way… and is a pleasure to have company.

Just before dusk the foursome made their way to the cave… Winnie, Priestess of Riverflow whispered powerful chants and awoke the sword of spells… which in turn cast majik energy to the four winds of Fantasme.

Winnie, Priestess of Riverflow, sighed deeply, turned without a word and headed home. She was followed by a loyal roc, a wizard, and Gryphon a cat with wings. *

The Night Was Upon Its Eve The storyteller looked around, eyes sad and slightly moist… and now I tell an unnamed tale, the storyteller said with trembling voice a tale about an unnamed maid who walked her path true and brave…

The unknown maid knew that where the shadows play, there is wilderness- and yet she sought those shadows out one fateful day, no fear in her heart… … under the entangled canopy of ancient trees she wandered on and on, cutting a path that closed behind her she walked with purpose, not hurried, but with steadfast resolve confident in the protection of forest dwellers…

There was no pause in her steps, until she reached the pool crystal clear, barely it ripple’d… stopping to drink water from the mossy banks… … to some the forest represented a vast emptiness inhabited only by tress entwined like lovers… but she knew so much more and if she failed but if the maid failed in her self-appointed mission, the forest would be no more; She lingered by the pools’ mirror-like tranquility, branches reflected like arms embraced… how sweet to just stay here forever she thought… If I hang my dreams here perhaps the moon will empower them… … but no… it is not for me to sidestep destiny for if I do… if I do… the forest will become a desert of sad echoes…

So sure was she of humanity’s fate… and so, determined to protect this, the first and oldest of all forest-lands… consulting the moon, stars & runes cross-referencing with planets & the Wheel of the Year

she knew the beginning of the end would commence when Mars & Jupiter both changed course… … and that night was upon its eve… time was of the very essence; With arms raised and fingers splayed, she began her mantra Mother… Goddess… you know what sorrow dwells in my soul you art more generous & patient then this pestilence of man deserves I beseech you, take of my essence what you need, take my life-energy my love, my heart… I know what must be done merge my spirit with that of the ancient forest so I may guard it from human greed, so I may protect it from mankind’s stupidity…

I don't care for the norm, I am a free spirit- take me!

Golden orbs formed in the silvery shimmer of moonbeam magic light descended, encompassing the small glade and the woman faced her destiny unafraid…

She was last of her kind… Mythica, born with the Seer's Gift.

Silvia Treehealer The Fantastical Realm of Fantasme lies far beyond the edges of the Human World; It is a wondrous land of ancient myths and living creatures that most believe exist only within the realm of imagination…. … but exist it does… even if only in the minds of a few; It came to pass one winter-ending, when snow had melted but bitter-still the air a young hedgewitch, Silvia Birchcarer from the forested valley of Gylnmore came across a trembling willow tree growing by a gushing stream Why do you tremble so when winter’s worst is over? she asked the Willow Ahh my little Earthmaid, the willow sighed heavily its long thin branches shivered and swept the ground it is not the cold nor the weather which pains my spirit it is the poison flowing in my stream which slowly kills me; Silvia wrapped her orange scarf more snugly around neck Dear Willow, what can I do to help you?

It saddens my spirit to see you ailing.

Willow-tree lifted up one slender branch, caressing the young hedgewitch’s cheek; Child, it’s not just me who fairs poorly all the tree along the stream do… the creatures do… and soon it will be you and your people look around you! Willow-tree implored Silvia looked… eyes widening in shock as if she saw her world for the first time the forest ways looked wilted and grey there were no spring buds or bursting shades the birds barely bubbled a feeble mutter… the sudden silence chilled Silvia to the bone..

What is this vile poison, she whispered We know not… we only know it comes from higher up.

I swear I will find out and put a stop to it! Silvia cried,what need I do?

You need travel to the very top, past the great plateau where the winged horses dwell past the rent in the mountainside that roars like a furnace you must go between the two rocks that resemble ancient digging sticks and keep going until you find the source of this murdering substance…

Can you do this?

Silvia shook her head, sun glinting on curls of red and gold I do not know if I can… but I will, she promised… or die trying... … we do not want you to die, you are child of this Earth, but there may be no other way listen… I will tell you a secret, that only the trees know- If you succeed, none shall know you were missing-but should you fail, none shall know you ever existed…. … the choice is yours, try and save humanity or walk away and face certain doom with them.

Make hast with your promise, humanity needs us!

Is there nothing I need take for with me for such a journey?

Silvia Birchcarer asked, somewhat nervously Some piece of wisdom that will see me through?

Take this, the Willows leafy limbs produced a pouch… powerful herbs, of healing strength and clarity age old herbs, including Turmeric and angelicas and Solanaceae wear it at all times, for your life may depend on it… … advice little hedgewitch?

An ocean of sadness is felt through this world you can bring back the light. ** Silvia had no idea how long she’d been walking…

days… years… minutes?

Time distorted, overlapping and merging… … she walked without stopping until she reached the highplain where the winged horses dwelt…resting there for time unmeasured… one nudged her semi-sleeping form, snorting hotly in her face you must hurry, you must hurry the winged horse said… … but you won’t get far… I’m afraid you won’t…

And why is that, asked Silvia… I must get to the top!

The furnace is next… a heat so intense none can pass… … unless they have wings…

You then? The hedgewitch almost pleaded Yes I… for I am King of the Winged Ones and I know your task you must not fail.

And with that the King of the Winged Ones knelt before her lifting her up into a sky shimmering with borealis hue…

The King set her down at the gateway formed by 2 rocks resembling giants digging sticks, carelessly forgotten one leaned in precariously… Silvia feared it would fall on her It will not fall, called the King of Horses if you are pure of heart…

Am I pure of heart? Silvia wondered desperately Am I worthy of this task?

She walked on, legs trembling, holding her breath until she came out the other side;

And there, at the peak of the mountain stood a grandmother tree the Grandmother of All Tree’s Silvia gazed in wonder at the grandmother tree majesty

the godly size… the fading beauty the hedgewitch could see birch limbs and oak branches willow-lace and palm fronds… there were apple branches and orange branches and tree’s Silvia couldn’t even name…

Great Grandmother of All Trees, the young witch called why are you so sad when you are the tree of all trees?

Ahh sighed Grandmother Tree… I weary… I am lonely… no one cares about me anymore the old tree sounded bittersweetly- melancholic I’m too tired of this life to go on…

So you are just letting yourself die?

Don’t you realize you are killing all the trees… your trees, birch and willow and oak?

Don’t you hear them cry for you and offer to you their healing energy?

Apples fall unripened from their tree and oranges sour on the branch…

What is your name revered grandmother?

I was once known as Dazzle, Queen Mother of Trees… … now I am a tired fool…

Dazzle, my Queen, your emerald eyes need to see life again You are Mother of Millions… you’ve given sustenance to the world now allow me to give sustenance to you… … Silvia took the herb pouch from her neck, sprinkling some around the Great Grandmothers roots the rest she tied to a low Willow branch then Silvia emptied her flask of water over grandmother’s roots… … she cut a golden curl from her head and used her orange scarf to fasten the lock to the tree trunk.

Child! Grandmother scolded, what you have done!

That was your only water… your protective herbs… … the scarf that keeps you warm!

Without them you shall die.

So be it, Silvia said simply I do so willingly, in an effort to help you- if death is my reward I accept it with grace…

Dear child of the earth… do you know what you have done?

Through your selflessness you have given me new life… a blessing to this world you are.

Silvia watched as grandmother tree stood straighter, prouder her many leaves shimmered with new color apples and acorns blossomed… … willow branches shivered and swayed, something sparkled in the lace-like leaves for you, the Grandmother of All Trees said…. a gift- a crystal ball rolled onto the ground at Silvia’s feet… … take this with you… and I will always be able to see how my trees are fairing… and from this moment until eternity you will no longer be Silvia Birchcarer you are Silvia Treehealer…

Respected grandmother… thank you, Silvia was close to tears No time for tears or thanks, grandmother said you must head back now, before it’s too late.

It was with sadness Silvia Treehealer turned to go… … but she stopped mid-step the young witch rushed back to grandmother tree, throwing her arms around the massive trunk You will always have a place in my heart, she whispered and I will bring my children to you for naming…

You do me great honor child said grandmother tree

showering Silvia with peach and cherry blossoms.

Silvia returned the way she had come‌ the King of Horses waiting for her by the tall standing stones everywhere Silvia looked trees were stronger, layered in lush green animals scampered and butterflies danced.

And down in the valley, Willow-tree breathed a sigh of relief. *

The Storyteller sighed deeply so by now surely you must believe that the Fantastical Realm of Fantasme really exists beyond the edges of the Human World; beyond the echoes of the everyday, through the mists of time itself?

One small part of this fantastical land is Greenbrier the wondrous realm of Fae, which lies to the very south of Fantasme; I will tell you now of Greenbrier

Fantasme Fae & Old One Eye

Now Fantasme Fae are not as small as those in the human world would believe… most are wait high to the average human, give or take a little variation…. they are as strong as they are graceful, agile, a powerful little race to be sure.

They have great majiks and are masters at growing trees, plants and herbs.

Greenbrier Fae live in tree-cabins, crystal caves and overgrown bowers dripping with blueberries and sweet honeysuckle… they hang their children in pouches from branches looking much like butterfly cocoons or flower buds.

Perfectly safe are the Fae infants, for all manner birds guard them mice entertain them and squirrels bring them tasty snacks.

Fae mothers know their precious children are watched over, which allows them time to nurture and heal the land… guide the weather and praise the seasons. ** Now it happened one Spring morn, the Birchtree Fae of Greenbrier were busy with chores, and did not notice a stranger lingering in the treetops… not so strange one would think, at first glance, nothing more than a scruffy old one-eyed owl down on his luck; but the trees sensed something… a warning vibration rattled their leaves they told the birds and the birds told the squirrels and the squirrels told the mice until the whole of Birchtree Glen was abuzz

with noise and activity, chitterlings and scratchings, rustling and rumblings… … baby Fae hung snug in their cocoons, greatly amused by all the hubbub as their parents worked on… Spring is a busy season for obvious reasons.

The old owl grunted his disapproval; his presence had been detected… he made a rash decision to claim his prize, swooping into the dappled clearing with surprising agility. He lunged for a sleeping infant but missed when a bunch of nuts rained down on him. The owl made a sweeping return, landing back in on a branch.

The tree the old owl sat in began to rattle its leaves and shake its branches even though there was no breeze present… chittering squirrels shook their little fists at him; birds swooped in close, trying to ruffle the owls feathers.

The old owl blinked his one eye, scowling in irritation and flew off in the direction of the everglades to the north Fantasme; Tumblefoot Oakman lives there, whispered the breeze, someone should warn him.

Two squirrels raced to the top of the tallest birch, watching until the old owl was naught but a speck… heading towards a dark looming tower on the distant horizon. the sorcerer Portmanithay’s dark tower.

But that is another tale for another time, perhaps. *

Baston and the Witch of the Willows

As Chronicler of the Fantastical Realm of Fantasme I’m here to enlighten you, do not doubt my words for no imagination compares to the sights I have seen; this is a realm of Mysticism - the birth place of the Tree of Life though few know this most important truth… … you may think Fantasme is a mystical land only I know of but I assure you it is real… very real and very majikal; Let me tell you now of how the warrior Baston met the Witch of the Willows and how both saved the fragile veil between worlds from solidifying forever…

Warriors are seldom without their scars- none moreso than the mysterious Baston who was said to have been born in the Labyrinth of Time walking out as warrior-child at 10 winters old; A strapping lad, he was, hefting a broadsword over his shoulder and carrying an ancient tablet of script that no learned scholar could decipher… * This tale begins late one summer as a thunder storm of epic might beetled in the sky afternoon turned to night, animals took fright, hiding

in dens and burrows, sensing this storm was majikal in its making…. an eerie pre-storm hush fell over the land, nothing moved except for a breeze that reeked of vitriol and brimstone… … silence, except for a wee bird, who trembled on the forest floor, too scared to move or fly in the face of the imminent tempest; And this is where the Witch of the Willows comes into the tale- hurrying home to her little cottage, she almost didn’t see the terrified bird… … but see it she did, and sworn to protect all living things, she knelt to scoop the bird up into the warmth of her shawl – Sit still, dear bird, I mean no harm, Willow Witch cooed softly you had better ride out this storm with me; And with that the witch hurried on her way.

Willow Witch had just stirred the cinders in her grate to life when a roaring roll of thunder clapped a deafening crescendo that rattled the walls of her sturdy cottage… … the wee bird huddled deeper into the warmth of the witches shawl, trembling in fear Hush now, the witch murmured, you are safe here but, tis the night of the Snow Moon, and it is tradition to perform the ritual dance by a bonfire of the nine sacred woods … … and with that blue lightning snapped, illuminating the cottage with a ghostly glow…

So be it, Willow scoffed at the storm, I shall use my hearth instead and burn the wood there… and dance I shall!

Willow was trance-like as she danced… she held a crystal in each hand and at every elegant turn firelight illumed the crystals… … from the warm scarf nest the bird watched this beautiful human dance before the fire… and so swept up in the moment both bird and woman were that they no longer heard the violent storm… paid no heed to flinty lightning the thunder, wind nor crashing rain… … and so you can imagine their surprise when the door flew open

letting in wind and rain and chaos and … a great bear of a man…

A warrior! exclaimed Willow…. shut the door man!

The intruder slammed hard the door, the cottage groaned the storm raged on singing a song of thunder and sulphur who are you, Willow asked, and so far from home? the warrior looked around, taken back by all he found Fear me not, shelter is all I seek hours battling this malevolent storm has left me weary and weak – - I am Baston, defender of Fantasme, the man explained, dripping rain.

Fear? I do not fear you, Willow Witch declared, in my home you are welcome but let it be known- no harm can you do to me here, for any injury you might inflict will miss me and be returned to you, lickety-split!

I mean you know harm, Baston sighed with evident fatigue…

I fear I could not even protect you in my present state.

Lucky for us both I need no protection, now sit by the fire man and dry yourself dry… tis a long time since a traveler dropped by… Willow gestured to the fireplace, flames leapt suddenly high, shadows danced across the walls Sit man! Before you fall.

Madam, you are a moonbeam on a stormy night, Baston sighed sinking wearily into a chair by the fire side. * Willow studied the warrior, head to toe, stout broadsword lay on the floor an arrow with a message attached, poked from his pack he bore an intense expression, as if the fate of the world rested on his brow this man, Bastion, was meant to find her, this the witch knew now.

Soup, thick and hearty with herbs and wild greens seemed to add a flush to the warriors face the warmth of both fire and cottage leant him a shadowed grace

Tell me, then, Baston, what mission is it you are on… and how can I aid you this storm wont linger long… … I know the wizard responsible for this majikal tempest… he is weak and will tire soon.

Baston gazed at the witch, eyes slightly glazed, dazed by all he now saw… for Willow had lifted the glamour spell she had thrown up when he burst through her door…

It’s the Tree of Life, enchantress, this storm is a mere subterfuge sent to hinder my progress, leave me weak and confused but I cannot fail in my appointed task… the Tree of Life I must reach for this wizard of whom you speak has placed a dome about the great tree and she, the heart of Fantasme, is slowly dying …

What!

Willow was aghast… how could she not of known?

How can I aid you in this task?

You’ll need my help getting through the Maze of Maliedorn…

I have just what you need…

The witch hurried off to a shadowed corner, rifled through baskets and crowded shelves…

Aha! See this…. If I take this stone and blow on it three times, it will change color - blue is cool and faraway… red is hot and go ye not… and green is earth, showing you which way to turn…

Willow placed the stone in his strong callused hand…

Take heed of the colors… they will serve you well; Baston curled his fingers around the stone, staring at Willow Witch with new-found respect…

Thank you, revered priestess, witch of woods & willow I will remember your words.

You best remember I am no priestess, just a mere forest maid who adheres to the old ways…

Willow admonished the warrior gently When the storm blows itself out, take this branch for it shall become a bridge when you need it then when you reach your destination use the branch to light a magic pyre close to the Tree of Life the heat and smoke and fire majik will dissolve the wizards dome… … when the fire has burned to ash sprinkle the ashes about the Trees roots it will help nourish and protect.

Willow suddenly noticed how tired Bastion looked; Sleep she commanded, snapping her finger to a pallet in the corner.

Baston rose, crossing the room with a heavy tread… within seconds the warrior was snoring sonorously much to the amusement of Willow Witch. * Morning dawned, dripping with mist, trees heavy with rain and as far as one could see the ground was covered in puddles big and small… … the warrior found Willow outside releasing the bird, who seemed somewhat reluctant to leave; and already dressed & kitted up to leave was Bastion too… … Willow looked him up and down, inclining her head in silent farewell.

The willow witch watched until the bulk of the man could no longer be seen… … retuning then to her usual chores & activities.

She never saw Baston the Warrior again. * As for the warrior, his part in this tale has not quite finished… … although he did pause in the cover of trees, to gaze one more time

at the witch of woods & willow; Baston trekked through the forest for two nights two dark nights where the new moon did not shine; He made it through the maze with the guidance of Willow’s stone using the branch 3 times to create a bridge… … finally the warrior reached the base of a mountain whose peak was wreathed in cloud; He could not see it, but Baston knew the Tree of Life nestled in the cool opaque cloud-mass.

The warrior began to scale the mountain- in parts it was heavily treed… in others strewn with bolder closer to the peak, sheets of hard shiny lava created slippery walls; Baston did not falter, even though his load grew heavier as he collected tree-fall for the majik pyre.

He pressed on and on, regardless of time or weather or hunger or fatigue not stopping until he stood, awestruck, at the base of the Tree of Life.

And there he rested briefly before building a fire close to the Mother Tree.

The warrior did not know what to expect, as the flames leapt higher he waited and watched as the smoke thickened, eddying around the tree as if it had nowhere to go… then suddenly the air seemed to become lighter fresher… a great weight was lifted from the clearing.

Baston watched until the ashes turned grey and powdery then sprinkled them has he had been instructed.

Finally the warrior allowed himself to collapse upon the ground beneath the Tree of Life.

Baston slept for several days and as he slept the Tree of Life fed the warriors dreamsYour warrior days are over Bastion; time for you to seek guidance from the forest ways and begin your new path

Your warrior days are over‌ *

Entwined Destinies Tousled ragweed and Borage grow standing guard by the hidden grove and through thinning Veil she walks alone a hedgewitch with no name…

Her spirit is born of the earth kin she is, to creatures all To stone & crystal and rain that falls from Mist she comes, through mist she calls Her footsteps leave no print in soil so softly does she tread…

Beads of engraved amber glass she wears nine circles an image holds 3 for past, for present 3 and 3 for days untold… * Sunset late one Autumn day, spangled light agleam she sat with still and silent nerve, guided by her dreams Trouble brews on the horizon the hawthorn bushes whispered in her ear the hedgewitch nodded in accord Trouble always brews on the horizon she told the hawthorn…

In her hand she held one seed – - a magic Dragon Fruit seed and as she wove an ancient spell over the precious seed, the hawthorn spoke again Look over there, who is that shadow approaching tsk, muttered the hedgwitch, not easily distracted from her task – - but still she looked up… smiled…

so she comes, she comes at last… returning to the whispered litany she wove into the dragon fruit seed…

As the last soft rays of sunset faded into cinnamon shadows a young woman with hair of spun gold finally entered the grove… … the diaphanous Veil parted, recognizing a soul of purity – - Her footsteps left no print in verdant soil and as the woman knelt before the hedgewitch the forest around them leant in to listen…

Revered mother, Golden Hair whispered the gods have beckoned me forth in my dreams a goddess bade me find the earthmother on mountain high she will be your mentor, your confidant and guide… and so I came, I’m not sure why…

My child, the hedgewitch with no name took young hand in her old the Goddess sent you tome… but first, a question I must ask- on your journey here did you once regret where your feet took you?

No mother, I did not; a great and powerful revelation came to me I knew where I was going was where I meant to be…

Hedgewitch opened the woman’s hand, placing on her palm the single dragon fruit seed… with this seed you hold the knowledge of all time and with this book, book of old, I can see the path ahead which will take you far from the one that led you to my grove… … are you ready to fulfill your destiny?

Do I go alone, mother?

Not yet child, for now our destinies are entwined. *

Lyramine Have I told the tale of Lyramine?

It would be very remiss of me to leave out a mysterious beauty such as she.

Five pillar-like stones sit atop Grenlii Knoll. The hillock was roughly round and the size of one of the lesser King’s castle grounds. A wood ran ring ‘round the perimeter of the hill, much like one of the semi-balding-pates of the Grenlii Druids who live below on the lower slope.

The woods hid the five standing stones from the view of everyone except the birds and the nightflyers and the creatures of the wood.

And while everyone knew the stones were there, few dared venture closer then the cover of the trees.

Only the elder druids visited upon the stones. Five druids and one other. Lyramine.

Lyramine lived within the woods embrace; ageless and perpetually winsome, Lyramine was said to be the spirit of the woods in living form.

As quiet as the gentle spring breeze that breathes in the whispering leaves Lyramine Lyramine is seldom seen as sure-footed as the sun as it climbs a summer sky is she and as enchanting as the spirit-lights that dance ‘round the stones at night Majik sparks from her fingertips and empathy glows in her eyes; some say it is because of Lyramine the woods are alive. And many are those who, in ailing health, woke to find healing herbs and crystal water left in a hand-woven basket at their door.

Lyramine, lithesome, wise and pure dancing in moonlights’ silken allure lyric voice glides silvered breeze at her feather-soft touch the wood’s breathe Within the circle formed by the standing stones stood a hip-high rocky cairn from which the purest crystal rich water bubbled. The water flowed into a tiny rivulet that gradually wended its way through the woods and down the hillside via small waterfalls and streams. Only at its source did the water burst with healing properties.

Once a month, in the night of the fullest moon the five Druid Elders made the journey up the hill to collect small flasks of water. They first meditated, one druid sitting at each standing stone. Then they sang a chant of gratitude before each entered from the 5 points formed by the stones. The druids met at the cairn where they filled 2 flasks each and in silence, left.

The earth is our body, water our spirit the blood of the Ancients runs through our veins Born of water, we thank you for your healing essence May the blessing of the Goddess rest upon you and may Lyramine forever protect In the hamlet that nestled the foothills the people whispered the name, Lyramine; they left gifts of seeds for her, which the forest maid sprinkled in valley and dell. They prayed for her safety and for the health of their community.

And as one, they flourished. *

Where Fantasme Dragons Sleep Lace-like and layered in dripping green a hidden glen no soul has seen vine-clad, adorned with flowers enter here, where slows the hours lost portal to a mystic realm unnamed mountains tumble to an unknown ocean time plays out in whimsical tune grace of sun & moon in motion; * Over the hidden mountain, no gold awaits but there is treasure for the soul so know those that dwell these realms of majik; There is no mysterious door- no way across the orphic veil only they, who dwell within, prevail

Sapphire seas whisper salty wisdom upon unfettered shores wind intermittently chuckles & snores rattling at the window of a druid-maid bent in prayer, burning ash & sage; behind her hut a graveyard guarded those whose time reigned in the past they urged the druid on her task call another… call another or you will be the last… * Creeping shadows dance with morning sun forest-sighs… a lone bird cries in echoes haunting… the druid-mage scanned a bronzed horizon

nothing moved, save those expected to move deer-child frolics with butterfly swooping sky-hawk circles alone the druid-mage shook red-curled head Nothing, and I mean nothing, is set in stone * Day fades in a blaze of falling shades the welkin shimmers in a aureole display and again the druid bends in prayer burning Benzoin ash & sage.. … predecessors rise from weed-strewn graves in chanting voice they rise and wave spirit-forms search the orbit of moon & sun ‘she comes’ they say as one…

Seasons pass in synchronicity with earthy days russet shades overlaid in new-green blush tactile the passing of the wheel Imbolic shivers into Beltane… … and on a day that sang with rain… she came initiate for forest-realm …

Slip of a lass she was… travel-sore & life weary young-old and already wise she showed no fear as she crested the rise gathering herbs as she journeyed, for herblore she knew already; The druid-mage met the initiate where two aged oaks guarded the forest way a flicker of fear sparked across green-flecked eyes "Have no fear, dear child of the sun, you are entering a positive time." the girl felt her fears ease… and fell into step beside Druideal, the revered one-

- they walked in silence… though the mage knew well the girls churning emotions… nervousness, excitement… a tinge of apprehension…

In a sun-splashed clearing they stopped… birds trilled as soft light trickled in harlequin patterns on a carpet of leaves…

"What did your teacher of the old ways tell you about the world out there?"

The girl gazed steadfast and long, then sighed… that I don’t belong to it… that the Carrion of such a place will suck me dry and gnaw my bones Hmpf, chuckled Druideal, graphic was your past teacher; are you ready to learn? Ready to understand your role?

Yes honored mother, I am.

Then sit in silence with me for a while… focus your thoughts and energy within this clearing… when you are ready tell me what you feel;

Silence drifted to the tree-tops birds hushed their songs to watch the wind shushed its rustling bees sat still among the flowers a long-eared rabbit dared not twitch its nose… … but something deeper resonated inaudibly vibrated as a palpable pulsing … a beat like that of a heart or many hearts…

Mother Druid…?

I feel the beating of hearts…

And that you do, young druid-maid… … come – Druideal led the girl deeper into the forest a ways

crossing a log bridge which spanned a deep and endless chasm on the far side an ancient rock-fall formed a small cave; with a wave of her hand the old druid asked fireflies to light the cavern ushering the girl in‌ "You see these eggs? They are a dragon's eggs! They will not hatch until the time is right‌ and in 364 years that time has not yet come.

Are you willing to give your life to their care?

Yes Druideal, until my last breath.

What is your name child? I warn you, if its undignified, like Sassy or Flo I WILL change it!

My name is Fafnir honored mage Mother of Dragons Druideal smiled, a bright softening of aged face welcome home, mother of dragons. *

Akesha the Shadow-Walker

It was a red moon night that shone in Fantasme full and round and red as blood… wintermist mingled with woodsmoke heavily overlaid with refuge that spilled from alleyways…

Regardless of the moon’s ominous shade Akesha stepped with confidant tread crossing the castle grounds as silent as a Shadowolf just as she had traversed the village streets of Eldritch Valley only moments before… … only on Bella Street did she have need to pause when a tavernmaster thrust an unwelcome patron out a door – - no one heard or saw her Akesha was a phantom in the night…

Blackridge Castle was aptly named; carved into the rocky slopes of Mount Blackridge which bore its name… …rivers of blood had flowed here and no amount of rain could or would remove the stain rivers of blood, shed in the Black Kings name…

Akesha paused briefly, surveying shadowy turrets and darkened window apertures a faint glow spilled feebly from two points…

… but the window which held her attention lay in complete darkness- Raston, King of Blackridge, seldom saw the midnight moon overfed and loaded on spiced mead the tyrant would be deep in drunken slumber…

Blackridge was known as Mount Impenetrable- no foe had breached the castle walls nor held the village for long ; pike’d skulls, dried by the harsh sunlight, decorated the ramparts a grim testimony to Raston’s cruel judgments….

Akesha made her way to the eastern wall of the castle this was where the High Priestess, Zixia, told her to go for there Akesha would find an ancient vine snaking its way up the castle wall a vine that could not, would not die and would easily bear the weight of Akesha the Shadow-Walker…

Barefoot and carrying only a dagger Akesha scaled the walls without pause; sliping into the Black Kings chambers like a whisper of midnight breeze… … the darkened room lay thick in smoke dimly lit coals threw no light but the Shadow-Walker needed no light to see that the tyrant king sat by the cooling fireplace mumbling incoherently… … without warning King Raston leapt to his feet lurching forward in drunken sleep what have I done to deserve this

he roared, before falling back into restless nighmares… … Akesha smiled with grim amusement if you know not what your crimes be, she hissed faintly then you never will….

A flash of blade in moonlight… clean-cut across the throat the tyrant king’s foul blood flowed as a river and silent slumped Raston on his ornate couch… and just as silent, Akesha the Shadow-Walker melted into the night…. a red moon night full and round and red as blood… *

Forgotten Oracles There are forgotten oracles, even in Fantasme… wisdom turned to legend Majik now only whispered of or kept alive by scant few…

But I have not forgotten these seers and prophets The storyteller muttered…

I have not forgotten their prophecies; An orphic mist swirls in the mountains to the east, where few dare live … arcane rustlings of brumous whispers ripple in echoes of neglected wisdom … ahhh, too few hear as the aeons age… too few listen to the spiritual sapience of graying sage… too few heed the profundities of the blind prophet, who sees…. …for too many the Goddess is merely a whisper on the breeze - for too few see…

Deep in the mist… waist deep in fog a dew-kissed nymph prayed to goddess & god she prayed on bent and muddied knees to Healers and Seers and elemental deities…

Please, her whispers were devoured by the mist please… hear my plea… I am but a humble wood-maid but there are others just like me… we yearn for an awakening for the blindfold to be lifted from humanity for too long have they journeyed sightless please let the people see!

Healer to the gods, can you not heal the ignorantunsuspecting, malleable, lost in their bubble of lies… can you not lift the blindness from their eyes

and bid their ears hear… only truth….?

Is it not past time for the gathering the uniting of all souls one hearth fire burning as the multitude becomes whole?

Please, I beg you hear me… in the heavens and beyond every day my spirit kneels here, I offer up soul & song to see the blindness lifted from the eyes of humankind a new awareness blossom in all hearts and minds. * An orphic mist eddied- arcane whispers of ancient truth undulated in echoes of unknown oracles… … too few hear… as the aeons age… too few listen to the spiritual guidance of grizzled sage… too few heed the insights of the blind prophet, who sees…. …for too many the Goddess is merely a whisper on the breeze - for too few see…

And the nymph prayed to goddess & god she prayed on bent and muddied knees to Healers and Seers and elemental deities… help the people see. *

The Storyteller looked around at the listeners gathered ‘round the fire…

I weary, she muttered, and must catch the veil before it closes but I shall return… and in the meantime I hope you have a deeper understanding of the Fantastical Realm of Fantasme for in truth it 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…. and the good souls who dwell there wish only for the doorway between worlds to be opened … but that is up to you… do you believe in heart & soul in the Fantastical Realm of Fantasme? **