One never expects the fanciful and fantastic to occur anywhere outside of stories. Only in legends and half forgotten memories do Gods ride upon the elements and heroes roam the world. So many places hold a relic, or even a spirit from ages past, it would be hard to believe any claims of authenticity, even if the fruits of those words stared one straight in the face.
Many times I had gone by those fields where fortune flowers. My wealth was noticed on the path and where those paths did lead. Continue reading “Flowering fields of fortune [archive].”
I caught a glimpse upon the distance, what the horizon allowed to be seen. A sky as blue as any other, but darker than had ever been. Continue reading “Blue clouds.”
I wander through the lonely lands, surrounded by the deceived. All of them alone, filling their time with company. Continue reading “Distant clouds.”
Perhaps we Sages are not immune to the chitter chatter and spreading of stories we do not know. As the washer women and the drunks go on of sights they have never seen and voices they have never heard. Perhaps it is built into our race, our blood, our very being to spread the stories of folk in every place far flung about the world that we enjoy for a moment to tell each other stories. Stories unseen in any tome or history recorded by the hands of our kind. Continue reading “A Sage’s journal entry [archive].”