The storytelling traveler entered the village atop his weary mare, dust swirling around their hooves. Eyes followed him curiously as he passed, his cloak patched from countless journeys. The scent of baking bread and fresh earth lingered as he made his way to the heart of Emo, seeking the warmth and welcome of its famed tavern.
The tavern owner, a burly man with a twinkle in his eye, greeted the traveler. "Good morn, my visiting friend, what can I get thee?"
"A pewter tanker of your local ale," the traveler replied, settling onto a creaky stool. As the owner poured the drink, villagers gathered, eager for tales from afar.
"So, fair traveler, what parts are you from?"
"I have been forth village to thy village with my staggered mare outside. Telling stories near and far. From village peats to village fens, I have told stories everywhere, I have told stories of times gone by to future tales of true crime, told story books to little crooks and grandiose tales to queens and maidens and to her listening palace."
One by one, the tavern’s patrons drooped and slumped, drifting into gentle, unexpected slumber, leaving the storytelling traveler to sip his ale in peaceful solitude.
A market stall owner, hands stained with berry juice, beckoned the traveler. "Where ye from, lonely traveler?"
"I am be from where miles meet ye sun, rivers kiss oceans, and mountains rub clouds," he replied, his voice weaving a hypnotic melody. As he spun his tale, the marketeers and shoppers gradually slumped over their stalls, succumbing to sleep’s gentle pull. The traveler wandered among them, filling his satchel with the best fare the market had to offer, undisturbed.
The inn lady, kind-eyed and brisk, greeted the traveler as he led his weary mare to the trough.
"Good noon, wary traveler, been on the steed for long?"
"My mare and I have traveled through the night, stopping at every village. Her feet are weak and she needs to eat; I ask, can she have a bag of grain? The people of my last village say ye be nicer than they!"
The inn lady prepared a feast of barley grains and wheat for the horse, then turned back, curiosity shining. "Have you met many a fine lady on your travels? Ye face is young and your manner pleasant."
"Ladies, I could tell of the latest garments, perfumes, and fashions," he began, drawing the chambermaids and guests into his tale. One by one, they slumped into sleep on beds, chairs, and floors, leaving the traveler to finally rest—yet outside, the children’s boisterous shouts from the parish roused him anew.
The village pastor, robed and gentle, greeted the traveler at the gate. "Ye traveled far?"
"I have cometh from Babylon, Jerusalem, meeting other pastors, their closest earthly men to God," he answered, as a crowd of curious children and parishioners gathered around him.
"Tell me, son, what thy other pastors told ye?"
"They tell tales of peace and love and all the people and what thy become," he intoned. As the words flowed, the parishioners—adults and children alike—succumbed to sleep, all except for a deaf and mute child, who observed quietly, unaffected by the spoken spell.
the deaf and mute child[/@ch_6] remains awake, watching from the shadows.]
The child creeps from home to home, shaking shoulders and pinching cheeks, trying desperately to rouse the villagers. One by one, sleep’s grip weakens, and angry, bewildered faces emerge into the moonlight.
The child gestures frantically, pointing toward the distant hill where the traveler has gone, but his words are lost to the villagers, who cannot understand his silent language.
the deaf and mute child[/@ch_6], follow the path to the next village. The air is heavy with dread as they crest the rise, arriving in a village eerily silent, its people unmoving.]
Every villager lies in deep, unmoving slumber—save the storytelling traveler, who sits among sheep and livestock, reciting stories that lull even the animals to sleep. Horror and fury twist the faces of the waking villagers as they corner him among the snoring beasts.
His stories die with him, and peace returns to the land—at least for a time. The villagers disperse, the legend of the sleep-bringing storyteller whispered only in fearful hush.
He tells the story of the traveler who put a village to sleep, his voice mesmerizing. And, as if the curse had only shifted, those who listen to his tales drift, one by one, into dreams, leaving the new storyteller alone—and his legend to live on, sending the world into deep, deep, deep sleep.
