The Story Master

 “Mayhaps, weakling.” Were the words that touched his mind in response. The dark one’s mind felt like a dismal void and it chilled Tyros. But dispite the darkness there was mingled with it a strange sense of compassion, it felt like a frigid velvet. “They offer great power to the wielder. I am not sure your frail body could handle it… But I can hear the desperation in your voice. And I am a gentle, kind god.” This made Tyros uneasy. He had run into a number of haughty beings fancying themselves to be gods but they usually met themselves at an unfortunate end. But The Story Master would play along if it meant learning what secrets the amulet holds. 

 “I will teach you, in return for two favors; One, you must tell me who you are, where you are from, and why you have these stones. The second favor, I will tell you in good time. So, good man, there is no time like the present. Who are you?”

Tyros would do most things to achieve this goal. So he said,

“Of course! Anything! Thank you Flame-haired.” The Story Master responded unable to quell his initial excitement. “You see, I am but a gentle man of humble beginnings. I am bold yet lowly and as you said weak. I have loved many and lost much. I am prone to wonder. I am nothing great, though many have called me so. I am the one who tells tales. I am the one who fights for what is good and righteous. I am he who would defend the weak. I am the hopeful romantic. I am the one that the children all call The Story Master. I am Tyros Artrems, the swordsmen bard.” He was filled with emotion at the notion of ending his long quest. “That is all that I am dark one. Lowly as I surely am in comparison to you, may I ask who you might be?”