There are many outlandish stories told by mountain folk. To much time with thin air is my guess. Rots their brain. These three tales should suffice to prove my point.

This tale is passed down from parent to child among the nomadic tribes of Regale. Specifically the tribes north and east of the Pervolo Peninsula.

This first story is told to be quite old. It speaks of a former hero of the tribes. One Core the Forewarned.

Core the forewarned, was told of his fate.

Core the bold, laughed at the premonition of hate.

Core the strong, protected us all.

And Core the forgotten, into shadow did fall.

Core the forewarned, had fufilled his fate.

Core the broken, had been twisted by hate.

Core the mad, found power in death.

And Core of evil, hunts us with his dying breath.

END

It would seem this short story has survived largely intact through the years. Probably due to its brief nature and rhyming words. What exactly it means is anyones guess. The superstitous nomads claim it is the reason for their ancestors leaving their lands and why they still roam to this day. In fear that should they stop Core will find and destroy them.

I think its more likely just an excuse they feed their young to prevent them from settling down and farming like civilized people.

Still, there are persistent stories of an undead plague that used to haunt this area. Normally those get stomped out by various holy and knightly orders before they can grow. There are very few exceptions. The records of the local orders do mention altercations with a lich. The expeditionary force was lost in its entirety. But when they followed up with reinforcents they found the corrupted lands had already been cleared.

No one ever took credit for taking down the lich, so they assumed it simply left the area. They have been searching for it ever since. 

*****

This next story is told by a different subset of tribes. Further north and much more warlike than their southern brethen. I heard the brigands who robbed and ransomed me tell it around their fires at night. To ignite the fires of greed and wrath in the younger savages.

The lost city of gold.

Long ago, when your great grandparents were your age there was a great calamity. The People were still free-roamers in those days, but they had a place of rest. Much as we do now. A winter retreat, where they bitter howling winds and deep drifts couldn't reach them. But while we have the bitter smoke and stinking fumes of Deeprest.

They had the golden city of Splitting!

The streets were paved with gold. The buildings were made of it, and the food was served on it. Short knurvisni slaves waited on us hand and foot. They offered us sweet fruits and fragrant wines on plates and in cups of solid gold. They polished and cleaned our golden halls while we were away tending the herds. Then one day, the wretched and ungrateful knurvisni raised their hands against us!

We had been gracious enough to overlook their ugly natures and taken them into our homes. We had given them clothes, food, and purpose! And they repaid our kindness with blood and treachery! They struck down the Keeper of Splitting and took our great city for themselves!

Our warriors rode bravely into battle, to retake the golden city from the wretched slaves! But they had taken our walls and weapons in their cowardly attack. Our warriors crashed against our sturdy walls again and again. Preferring to smash them into rubble before handing them over to such repugnant curs.

Alas, we had built them too well, and our strongest died beneath the walls they had raised. But the land itself knew who was the rightful ruler of it. A black cloud swept out of a clear sky, and black rain poured down upon the golden city for  seven days. The sun fled from the sky, and an early winter assaulted the People. When the sky cleared and the sun reappeared the People could find no trace of their city.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

All that remained was a charred and smoking crack in the earth. All the buildings and slaves had vanished.

Later they reappeared. To the south the knurvisni had taken OUR gold, and built a fortress to block us from it. So it is that to this day we raid any wagons from the thieves fortress. We spend our winters in a smoking stinking hole, while those lousy slaves live in luxury, willfully spending OUR gold!

So take this lesson to heart little brothers and sisters. Kill any knurvisni you come across, for they are all thieving scum without honor! All the gold in the world rightfully belongs to us. Take it back kindred, and we will rebuild the glory of the golden city of Splitting!

END

Judging from the savagness of these barbarians I can't help but to believe this is all just a fanciful depiction to provide a just cause for their banditry. Knurvisni is an old word for dwarves. Rarely used nowadays. Dwarves can be greedy and sly sure, especially over gold. And there is a bastion of Goldoi nearby. So I cannot completely deny that possibly some of that story is true.

But dwarves are infamous for their stubborness. A dwarf slave? Thats like having a pet rock. Entirely useless unless you plan on throwing it at someone. And blacks clouds with black rain that blocked out the sun? Thats just too farfetched to believe.

*****

This last story is very recent. I have heard it multiple times from different peoples and though the storys change the core does stay the same. If I had to guess then the subject of these tales is an actual current person. I will attempt to find them to prove or disprove these outlandish stories.

This particular one I heard from a great bearded bear of a man. One of the mountain rangers I am told. Responsible for keeping the roads clear and safe. He was regaling a crowd at a crowded bar in a small mountain town that smelled heavily of goat.

The sage of fire

These mountains have always been dangerous. Rockslides or wild beasts have put many a strong man in an early grave.

But they have also always been places of wonder and beauty. There is no sight quite like watching a storm fly down the mountains, or the sunset in a valley. Sometimes your hear tell of even more beautiful and stranger sights than most though.

This is a story about one of those.

I was walking to one of the ranger outposts, the one by the rock that looks like two bears trying to wear the same dress, ya know? Anyway, I had been too long fishing in the Icecut river for flathead trout, and the sun was going to set long before I made it there.

Just as I was cursing my laziness and the deliciousness of fresh flathead, I saw something odd. This was early spring, and yet the trees leaves had already started to turn red. This was just the beginning of the oddness. It started getting hotter and I could have sworn I saw a black bear explode.

It was getting dark though so what do I know? 

Just as I was getting really creeped out I saw that bastion of sanity in the wilds. A fire, flickering off of the unseasonally red leaves around me.

Blessing my lucky stars and hoping they weren't bandits I hailed the fire. There was just one person sitting before it. Now, this was odd. Because that was one big ass fire, let me tell you! Must've been a good ten feet high! So for one fella to be making such a great blaze, well, that'd take all day wouldn't it?

That was probably when I noticed something off about both the person and the fire. The person was wearing robes, nothing wrong with that, all kinds wear robes. But these robes didn't shift with the wind. And neither did the fire. Now, thats freaky enough right?

But wait, there's more. There wasn't no pile of wood in the blaze, nah. Just a single thin sapling. Dead center of the fire. Now you lot already think I am crazy right? So may as well go for broke. That sapling? It waved.

It waved at me.

Swear on me mothers grave I do!

Well, I had been around long enough to know. When you are in the mountains and things get weird. Just go with it. So I sat across from the cloaked person around the fire.

Then they spoke to me. Asked if I had any problems, and questions, any worries? So I told 'em. Never you lot mind what I told 'em! That's private it is. And that freaky cloaked person gave me advice. Good advice, true advice. It healed my wounds. It told me of the Way.

I went back later. Looking to pay my respects and offer thanks for the truths I had been shown. I went the same way, followed the same path, but I never found those red woods again. I've heard tell, of others who have had the good fortune to stumble upon the sage of fire. Never in the same place twice. 

So I am here to tell you all. The sage of fire is up on that mountain somewhere. If you have questions. If you have pains. And if you have worries. Go to them. Because the sage of fire. Knows the Way.

Best move quick though. No telling how long the sage will be staying on this mountain. If they even still are for that matter.

END

No matter how many rounds I bought the man he refused to tell me more about this Way he seemed so fervent about.

I am going to head up the mountain tomorrow. To find this so-called sage of fire and find the truth of these bizzare stories. I rarely get the opportunity to meet the origins of these stories I hear. So I am excited indeed for this opportunity to debunk one at long last!

I will not rest until I have proven this sage to be a charlatan!

*****

Last entries from the traveling cynic Askor Wildens private journal.

The journal was found on a rock on the mountain he climbed looking for the sage of fire.

Askor and all the rest of his belongings were never found.