Grimm Tales - Chapter One, Once apon a time....
 

Ancient eyes, clouded by the sight of many years examine the children huddled expectantly at her feet. The Madame sighs, shifting her coarse smock around her and managing, barely, to lower her bent frame into the chair,
"A story then children?"
She smiles softly at the chorus of affirmatives from the enthused youngsters,
"Well then" she says, casting an eye over the dark blot of the new moon, and the windswept fields transformed by the dark night into unknown terrain;
"tonight I shall tell you of how the world was sundered and how the moon was felled, it begins, dear children as all our stories do" she settles, eyes closing dreamilly as she recants the old story,
"Once upon a time, in our beloved Ilfale there was a forest, in this forest there was a tower with no door without nor within, in this tower, at the very top a golden cage was kept and in this gilded cage Rapunzel, poor dear Rapunzel waited - Many men, and indeed women" she adds, casting an eye over the small cluster of girls, "sought her - not for her beauty, though she was indeed a beauty, but for her lineage. It was said whoever could bring back Rapunzel's hand in marriage would hold the greatest kingdom in all of Ilfale" she pauses a moment for the awe-struck gasps of her audience, "However, no one knew where Rapunzel was caged infact, the only clue to her whereabouts was a rhyme, the same rhyme you sometimes sing when playing Rings and Roses, left in the court of the Great-Kings" she pauses before reciting the familiar rhyme, rolling of her tongue delicately,
"Ringed in magic, nine times nine
Wreathed in Roses, line by line
Brick by brick the tower birthed
Old magic weaved into its hearth
To chance the tower is death to risk
Save under shadows of the nightly disk
This rhyme alone to guide your way
To warn you, beware, the daughter of Fae""

...and so our tale begins

The Prince set out off in the bright morning, sunlight turning his bright armanent into a shining figure of gold mounted upon a steed caparisioned in pure white. The castle had turned out to see him off and waved as he proudly rode off. He was one of the many people who had flocked to King Cole's banner with the threat of the impending war. Many questers would be going off in search of secrets and magic to aid in the coming confrontation and the race to find fair Rapunzel. It was a great chance for glory and the Prince was determined to get his share.

Kaeril hated him of course. This prince was another in the long line of 'heroes' who had come across the pipe. Most of them had been similiar - ambitious, arrogant and not particularly pleasant, sparking in Kaeril his dull, leaden hatred for them. Servitude to any who possessed the pipe that bound him was his fate until such time as he was eventually freed. Long, weary years had passed but Kaeril could not give up that one distant hope.

This prince though, was just wise enough to avoid bringing about his downfall with greedy wishing but still had the weaselly heart of an adventurer. Kaeril had almost made a hobby of allowing incautious wishes to bring about the wisher's downfall over the years. Still, in such a quest like this, Kaeril was certain there a good chance of him being able to wash his hands of this prince. Not truely there until summoned by lighting the pipe, Kaeril settled back and watched the landscape unfold.

There was a summer fair down in one of the more popular towns of Thrusbeard. Colourful flags gaily fluttered in a gentle breeze, and the sun beat down upon brightly-hued tents.

A bird flew overhead, and circled the town. It didn't like the noise and the hubbub of humans below it, but where there was noise, there was food, and the bird, not wishing to miss such a fancy party, descended in lazy spirals.

It passed a tournament near the Market Square, where a kick-boxing ring was surrounding by eager spectators. It watched, bored, as one of the competitors took down its opponent with graceful ease amidst the erupting cheers of the crowd.

It took a look at the crowded market itself, with its sellers and buyers and general chaos. No, that was not where it could find food easily. There were too many "big things" that would get in its way before it could make off with some food in its crop. Certainly there was food, but the stray dogs and cats would get there before it did.

The bird skimmed near the edges of the market square now. It landed now and then, pecked at some food, before moving on. Then...

Something was not quite right. It felt as if it was being tugged somewhere that promised paradise. Following its wild instincts, it probed forward, stuffing itself less and less as it moved on towards the source of alluring fantasy. Then...

There! Below the bird, a musician was busking in the streets. His siren melody laughed like a gentle breeze from a silk-voiced flute, skilled fingers dancing across the holes in quick succession to produce the most lightest of sounds - like the sweetest memory brushing briefly across the consciousness. The tune was both sorrowful and joyful. The bird had never heard of such sounds in its life, and drew alarmingly close.

Under a pied had, the musician looked upwards. He smelled of sweet flowers, and the bird distinguished that this musician was not male, but female. Those twinkling, merry eyes caught its own beady black ones, and it was immediately drawn towards the musician.

The siren song stopped. The bird, startled that it had come too close to a "big thing" gave an awkward squawk and fluttered away up higher. It didn't hear the musician utter a few melodic words.

"Sorry, little bird. This song was not for you."

The musician swept off his - her - cap then, and flourished it upon the ground. A few passerbys looked at the oddly-dressed 'man' and he gave them a white-toothed smile, before setting the flute to his lips again.

The tune that came out was sweet and haunting, and plucked at peoples' hearts. Despite their own hectic schedules, many paused a moment to savour the honeyed melody that attuned to their own very nature. The musician's skilled fingers danced to their own rhythm.

A man was standing there for quite some time, and felt a disappointed tug in his soul when the musician stopped.

"Good sir," the young male voice called out to him. He looked up, a little startled, to see the musician addressing him.

"...yes?"

"What would you like to hear, sir? I travel abroad and know many tunes, what would you like me to play or sing?"

"Um... I don't know."

"Shall I sing one for you? It is free of charge," the musician smiled charmingly. The man felt himself warm to the young player's attitude.

"Yes, that would be nice of you, thank you."

With another twinkle in the young musician's eyes, he - she - opened his mouth again.

The festival was vibrant, with children laughing, merchants taking advantage of the situation and selling many of their goods, and many colors seeming to fly through the air in an instant. Though on a solitare bench sat a man who looked worn out. He seemed tired, yet he made no sign of trying to sleep. The man was in an outfit not normally seen on him. Simple plain clothes, definitly a difference between his heavy armor or his vivid royal clothing. The man sat there, with eyes half open and starring into the deep space that was nothing.

He heard a tune. Whatever the tune was, in snapped him back in reality. His eyes suddenly seemed to regain their color as that man looked towards the source of this music he heard. The music had a strange lure on it, one he couldn't seem to snap away from. He stood up, showing the one thing that gave away he was no peasant. A simple, long object, wrapped in cloth was beside him. He picked up the familiar object in a swift motion, and made his way towards this sound that had hooked him.

Gruff walked through the wilderness instead as compared to the roads. It's what he was used to, and he didn't want to be mistaken for someone's stray "dumb" goat...no that your average "dumb" goat as big as Gruff is.

The goat travelled at his own pace, stopping to graze when the foilage was good, or to drink at a stream. His trip had been easy thus far, his only worry was that his part of the Plains was unprotected while he was gone.

They'll have to do without for the time being. Gruff thought to himself. He really didn't know why, but he had felt the need to leave the Plains. Maybe he was curious of the outside world...or maybe he needed a vacation. Either way, he had left the Plains to wander for awhile.

As he reached the top of small hill, traces of music rose from a town below. Gruff had only a few times heard human music in his travels, but this tune was different. It seemed to draw one in, even a goat.

Gruff had no intention of entering a human village, but he felt the need to get closer to the music. He carefully worked his way down the hill, towards the village.

The little girl clutched the wicker picnic basket to her chest.

“I’m lost!” she said, her voice wavering slightly. She sniffed once and blinked her large blue eyes, innocently. “I was trying to get to town, but it’s so far away and I lost the road!”

Jack smiled down at the little girl and patted her curly blonde hair reassuringly. The cow he was leading shifted its weight, bored by the whole ordeal.

“Don’t worry,” he said brightly. “You’re not that lost; the road is right across this field. You can come with me, if you like. I’m headed to market to sell my cow.” He jabbed a thumb back at the sorry-looking animal. It stared blankly ahead, chewing mechanically.

He scratched his head and looked around. It was otherwise devoid of human life, although various livestock munched on crops.

“Actually,” he began, “you should’ve run into the boy who herds these sheep by now. He would have been able to help you, too. Little Boy Blue is usually here by this hour. But now look: The sheep are in the meadow; the cows are in the corn!”

The little girl remained silent, staring at him. She looked very lost, he decided. All things considering, he thought she was keeping her head relatively well.

“All right; come on then,” he said. “It’s not far!”

The walk was relatively uneventful, until Jack ran into a strange little fellow who wanted to buy his cow. The little girl watched as the man coerced Jack into selling the wretched animal for a handful of “Magic Beans.”

Amateur con-man, she thought with a sniff. Jack prattled on about these wonderful beans for the rest of the journey, telling her all about how special they were.

Finally, they arrived in town. It was a busy day and the streets were full of people. The little girl curtseyed and thanked Jack, and he patted her on the head.

“Are you sure you’ll find your way?” he asked her. She nodded and smiled before skipping off into the crowd.

Jack was thinking, What a nice little girl! Good thing I found her, or she might have been lost for hours!

Goldilocks was thinking, Sucker.

Inside the picnic basket she clutched lay a gold-plated horn inscribed “BOY BLUE” and a handful of magic beans. Later, she’d sell them on Ye Olde Black Market. But right now, she was off to buy herself a cookie. With icing and sprinkles!

Bar looked over the wares presented to him. His army salary jingled in his wallet-pouch while the bear's head dangled behind his neck. He thanked the merchant after purchasing a meat skewer, and began devouring it, smiling at the girls he passed by, enjoying his time off.

Without realizing his actions he found himself near a girl, letting her melodies wash over him. He settled down and enjoyed the show, fishing among his belongings to produce a few pieces of change to support the arts.

The Chesire Cat was nowhere to be found in the castle, though no one worried much, this was a usual occurence. King Cole had no control over the creature and he didn't worry much about him either, that Cat could talk his way into eating Rumplestilstkin's baby while the poor man would believe he tricked him into doing it. At the moment, he was galavanging around Avaintes, enjoying the multitude of poor saps brought in by the festival. Some might think of the Cat's frequent visiting of Thrush-Beard's land as treason, but this was impossible since he pays allegiance to neither nation. It just so happend that the good King Cole had grown fond of him. Besides, no one notices the Cat who he doesn't intend to.

He meandered through the festival grounds, entertaining himself by confusing small children into thinking their parents were Satan, then watching the hilarity that ensued. Of course, he never actually said anything about their parents, but children have a way of filling in the blanks for you. Just as soon as he had grown tired of this he begun to hear a deceptive noise tugging at him. This was strange since very few things decieved The Chesire Cat. Intrigued, he followed the noise to find that it was music. A haunting sort that stayed with you long after you heard it. The Cat didn't like this, he was supposed to have that effect.

He sat and observed, what was so compeling about this man-... er, woman. He smiled, and as he did he began to disappear, everything but his eyes and his giant smile. He sustained existance in just these parts while letting the rest of him sway. And he watched. And he stayed. Convincing himself that he was doing so not out of admiration, but simply to study. As we all now, The Chesire Cat can convince anyone of anything.

The world surges around Yawke, the horizon sails away beneath him at once nowhere and everywhere - he flies through mountains only to torn apart by flitting shadows, unyielding as mortar. Pain stabs through him and the world lurches and he tumbles to a stop, the exotic leather of the seven-league boots peeling dangerously, he had been pushing them too far, the stitching woven with threads from the heart of the Traveller's Palm already fraying dangerously.
With a crash he thumps to the ground infront of the motley gathering of men and beasts, crowded around a minstrel of some kind or other - gasping for breath, he struggles with screaming muscles to force a battered parchment at the nearest of the gathering, his voice tight and weak,
"..f..or...the..k..k..ii...ng....pleease"
And then he falls, a slender barb of ice transfixing his heart. The delicate flowers of hoarfrost blooming over his lifeless skin as his last quivering breath turns to chilly mist....

And so a new tale begins as Yawke's ends

The Prince had plunged boldly into the woods with the bright sun shining down on him. This neck of it was known for being haunted by all manner of witches and strange beasts, but the Prince was virtually fearless - Kaeril would say he was too stupid to be afraid - and would make much better time than going by the longer, safer route.

Under the light of the cool, dappled green of the forest canopy the day passed uneventfully. This near to the edges, anything dangerous was much more likely to slink close at night rather than stride around boldly.

Night began to fall and the Prince set up a camp. Upon the Prince's lighting of the pipe, Kaeril appeared in a puff of blue-gray smoke. He bowed and said, "What is your command master?" I hate you and wish you would die.

The Prince looked at him dismissively, "You will be standing watch. Guard me while I sleep."

"Yes master, I hear and obey." May biting insects infest your bedroll. Kaeril watched the Prince make his bed and then jumped up on a stump and crouched there. It would be a long night.