sennachie
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The king and his court stood in almost reverent silence as the thin man entered the room. The man was dressed in simple clothes, covered in an unadorned cloak and had a large leather pack slung over his shoulder. He looked for all the world like a normal man off the street. And yet, not a single person complained when he made no move to bow to the king. The man barely even acknowledged the other finely dressed nobles in the throne room. And yet, from the way some of them were looking at him, it seemed more like they were honored to be in his presence.
“Your majesty.” The man said, with a small bow of his head. “I am summoned, and so I come.”
“Indeed, Storyteller. Indeed you are.” The king said. “And I am glad that you managed to make it. I am sure it was no easy task, given your no doubt full schedule.” There was no malice or ire in the king’s voice. Merely acknowledgement of a fact.
“I take the jobs that I feel are worth my time.” The Storyteller said. “Now then, sire, what story shall I tell to you and this fine court?”
“My lineage.” The king said. “I would have the full story, from the first of my family line to my grandfather.”
The Storyteller closed his eyes and nodded. “A fine story, I am sure. But a long one. Are you sure you wish the full story? Such a thing might take days, or even weeks depending on your line and their deeds.”
“Hm, I see. That will be difficult. Perhaps only spend time on those of significance, and merely mention those of less renown.”
“Very well. I will need a piece of you. A drop of blood would be best, but a hair or some saliva will do as well.”
Even as he spoke, the Storyteller was unslinging his pack and taking out various tools of his trade. A large stone bowl. Various bottles of technicolor liquids. Parchment and quill. And dozens of tools those gathered had no knowledge of. The king offered an outstretched finger to the man, who took a small knife. The finger was pricked just enough to spill a single drop of blood, which was taken to the bowl. The Storyteller worked for several minutes, mixing the liquids and stirring, using various tools to do his magic. And then, when he was done, he drank the mixture. He stood for several minutes with closed eyes. And then he stood.
He held out his hands, which glowed with magical light, and an image of a man appeared. He looked like the king in a way, although the eyes were far different.
“This is the first of your line. The first true ancestor of your family.” The Storyteller intoned. “A simple man was he, with no great blessings. Content with his life, he tended sheep and pigs, selling when he could and buying when he needed. A good man, but a humble one. But he had friends. Friend he could count on and rely upon. It was these friends that saw him to become a leader of his small village.”
As he spoke, the images shifted to show his words, animals and people came and went. The Storyteller spoke of the ancestors few accomplishments before moving on. His words rang through the throne room, and although on the surface they held no great weight, those who listened to them could feel them resonating through their entire being. The Storyteller went on to the man’s son, who helped grow the village into a small trading town. Others were skipped, having no real achievements, merely living good lives.
He spoke of how there was a great war, and although his line were not renowned warriors, they still fought anyway. How they grew in honor and power. Until one day a poor king took the throne, and nearly ran the country into the ground. And how the king’s ancestor challenged the poor old king to a duel of honor for the throne, and won. And the Storyteller kept telling of the deeds of the new dynasty that had formed, both good bad and neither. He only stopped when he came to the current king’s grandfather.
“And so we come to your grandfather, where our story ends.” The Storyteller said. There was a moment of silence in the room, as all those in attendance thought about what they had heard. The story, the history. None of it embellished of false.
“A fine tale. A fine one indeed.” The king said, breaking the silence.
“Thank you, sire.” The Storyteller said. He was already packing up his tools and supplies. “Although it did last longer than I thought.”
None of them had noticed the time. It was now well past sunset, although the tale had started in the mid-morning.
“Ah, so it has. Then, we shall dine. Storyteller, you are more than welcome to eat with us and stay the night here before you move on in the morning.”
“Of course, sire.”
The gathering changed into a small party as food and drink were brought in. And the conversation all revolved around one man. For it was not every day that even nobles and royalty were able to speak with a true Storyteller.
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Not much to say about this one today. Hope you're all enjoying the nice weather. Hopefully it'll last awhile.
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