On the Trail...

Prologue

Hearken these words, and ken them well.

I plan on telling you a tale that may seem as some you've heard before, at first gander, that is; however, mayhaps you'll be surprised if you allow the words to grasp hold of your imagination.

Now, the world that holds as the story's setting is one lost and forgotten to time, by most, but there are few of us who remember - the old ways are lost to all but memory, but it is the memory of old fools like me that keeps the history singing it's soft tune, see. Some would say the purging of this tale from the annals of history was a good thing; indeed, they'd claim the burning of the ancient texts, the denying of the old traditions, and the banishment of magic were all necessary. But there remains a tradition, as old as any can remember, that cannot be erased, that cannot be smothered by anything but silence. I am speaking of my art, my form of expression, and that, my friend, is storytelling. Through the years, bygone as they may be, I speak the old tales beside low fires and beneath twinkling stars. I whisper histories of the old world as often as this life allows, and I'll continue to do so for as long as one curious soul - just the one! - seeks to listen, and learn.

This story is the one that dominates the majority of my consciousness, and sings within my beating heart.

As such, grab your pipe, your drink, your meal; please, gather your imagination as I try to gather your attention.

This tale is old, full of magic and monsters and perils. Full, too, of heroes and friendship and virtues both small and large. Try and see what I know, if you'd like, and mayhaps we will walk the lands, mind-to-eyes-to-heart, together. As a teller of tales, I would ask for nothing more.

I call this old story "On the Trail..."

Listen, and perhaps you'll learn "of what".

Do you ken?