The sound of voices buzzing with excitement echoed from within the small village. All of the talk was about the stranger that had strode in without so much as an introduction. He was currently at the tavern wolfing down whatever food the owner had laid in front of him.
Inside of the tavern, young girls giggled as they took in his strange but handsome appearance, each creating their own fantasies with him at the center. At the same time, the boys pulled their girls closer to their sides, not wanting to lose their attention to this new rival.
The stranger himself ignored them all and continued with his ample meal. When he had finished he stood up, grabbed his bag, and adjusted his cap.
He stood a fairly normal height, about five foot six inches tall, and was dressed in a ragged off white shirt and a green vest that tied in the front. An old leather belt studded with acorn caps and unusual stones held up his patchy brown pants.
He had piercing blue eyes and disheveled fair hair that was covered with a forest green, pointed cap with different colored feathers jutting out here and there. Turning to the bartender, he spoke in a melodious, cultured voice that could have put the birds to shame. "Good sir, I give you my thanks. Now if I may ask, is there a town square here?"
One of the old grizzled men from across the room looked up from his game of chess and answered him. "T'ere's an ole well in the middle of the village," he said. "If'n t'at's close enough."
The young man nodded and turned to leave. "Yes. Thank you."
The elderly man called out to him again before he could walk out. "What're ye plannin' on doin'?"
Their strange visitor turned back around and smiled. "Tell a story, of course." The curiosity stirred in every person inside the tavern as he headed out the door. He had caught their attention.
Everyone in the tavern hurried after him, telling anyone they ran into along the way to head to the well.
In the middle of the town, the villagers found the stranger waiting patiently for his audience. "Are we all here?" he eventually asked.
"Hurry, Grandmother! We're gonna be late!" said a little voice behind the crowd.
"Move outta my way," snapped a gruffer and older voice to the people nearby.
The storyteller searched the crowd until he found the owners of the voices. It was a little girl with short brown hair leading an old woman through the crowd to the front.
The woman had long, flowing white locks that reached her waist and bright blue eyes that still sparkled with liveliness. The many wrinkles on her face could not hide the fact that she had once been very beautiful. When she saw the young man sitting on the well, her eyes widened in shock, but the look quickly dissipated before the crowd could notice.
After the little girl had sat the old woman, her grandmother, down onto a seat, the storyteller began.
"Everything has a tale to tell. Each feather in my cap has a story. Most of us may not know it, or even care, but then again, that is the storyteller's job. I come now-"
The old woman interrupted him. "So when are you going to get on with it young man? I'm getting tired just sitting here."
In response, the blonde man grinned widely. "Whenever you see fit, Milady."
"Before you do," she said, "I have one request." The storyteller raised an eyebrow, urging her to continue. "Will you tell the story about Wynne of the Fairies? I do love it, but it's been years since I last heard that tale."
The man smiled kindly at her. "As my lady requests, my lady shall receive." And with that, the storyteller turned to the rest of his audience and began his tale.