There is a mountain in this world that looks much like any other. It is not the tallest mountain, nor is it the proudest. No battles were ever fought on this rugged ledge; no secret veins of gold and silver were buried in its rough depths. Indeed, nothing but an old tale of strange dreams experienced upon the mountain top ever separated it from its kin and even that old story had been long forgotten by most.

But not by the man who waited upon its peak. To say he waited patiently would be an outright lie, the man paced back and forth; he repeated a small piece of rhyme with each patrol, a small pause and show of frustration at the end of it, which only grew as he repeated it.

"There once was a man
With a simple plan
To make his life work well…"

The TaleSmith kicked a rock off the edge of the cliff as the next words of the poem failed to spring to his mind. Why was it so hard to remember? It was such a simple piece, one he'd quoted a thousand times over. If he couldn't even remember that, what else had he forgotten? Would he even know?

A shiver crawled down his spine before he managed to push the thought away. What he may or may not have forgotten didn't matter (blasphemy a stubborn part of his mind still whispered) what mattered was what he had remembered and what he had planned.

"There once was a man
With a simple plan
To make his life work well…"

Those sobering thoughts of pragmatism did little to drive the piece of doggerel out of his head, though.

He kept glancing at the horizon. He had planned it right, hadn't he? So much thought and so much effort had led him to this point. He was here at the right time on the right day in the right year. He was sure that this was the exact mountaintop of this particular world. He knew the Tale of the Turtle so well that he even hovered in the perfect state needed to witness the spectacle; that thin boundary between wakefulness and sleep.

His possessions were few. He had his matches, his gloves, a piece of cloth and a knife. Hopefully more than he would need.

Surely there was nothing he could possibly have gotten, no detail he could have overlooked? He tried to think but all that came to his mind was:

"There once was a man
With a simple plan
To make his life work well…"

How had the damn thing ended? Something about how he fell? No, that didn't quite fit. When nothing else came to mind, the Talesmith vented his frustration on more rocks, until he realized he was on the verge of looking foolish.

It was then that he heard it; a massive rhythmic booming that sounded from the distance, coming slowly and steadily closer. His eyes followed the sound to its source and a weight that had been steadily mounting on his shoulders melted away. Torthos the Titan Tortoise was following the same path he had every Spring Equinox since the beginning of time.

On the giant creature's back sprouted a living forest, filled with thin paths and cutting shadows. Behind the dark silhouettes of the trees one could spot a shimmering lake and at its center was a Castle that great Kings had spent fortunes and failed to imitate. It was there, in that castle where the Talesmith's ultimate goal lay.

When the low edge of the beast's shell was level with the mountaintop, the Talesmith stepped over. He spent the next half hour making his way upwards towards the forest edge. His earlier relief was starting to wear off. Everything should work exactly as he had planned, so why was he worried?

When he reached the beginning of the woods, he stopped for a moment and allowed himself to sit down. The forest was an amazing piece of work, a living labyrinth. A man might enter it never noticing how the entrance closed up behind him. Or how the trees whispered back and forth as they drew ever closer with their briars and thorns. The first barrier was a wondrous relic and the Talesmith tried in vain to think of some way to save it.

"There once was a man
With a simple plan
To make his life work well…"

The Talesmith grunted and brought out his matchbox. He pulled out a trio of matches and made them dance around his fingers and roll across his knuckles. He spun them around his hands for a few moments until he finally decided enough was enough. He wasn't sure why, but any decent storyteller could tell you the biggest fires are always started by a boy playing with matches.

He struck the matches alight and spoke a few words to each before tossing it amongst the branches and roots of the trees. The first one he told the story of Crazed King Riley's purge. How even the rivers ran with flame and the Crazed King ate his enemies' ashes off his golden blade. The second match flame learned the secrets of dragonfire and how the smallest spark could lead to an inferno capable of melting the steel armor protecting a man. He inspired the last match by painting a picture of words describing the awe of a bolt of lightning, its speed, grace and amazing power.

In less time than it takes to recite, an Inferno roared to life in front of the Talesmith and devoured the forest in a furious blast of heat and light. He sighed as he walked through the ashes and gritted his teeth against what necessity forced him to do. Beyond the field of ash he could see the mirror-like glimmer of the lake in the distance.

He kept his distance from the lake until he could spot where the sole bridge was. He did not care for the perfect gleam on that lake, nor for how the uncertain ripples beneath failed to disturb it. Stories abounded about the malicious purposes reflections could be used for and while the Talesmith could not recall any connection with them and the castle, he saw no need for unnecessary risks.

Especially when getting past the second barrier was going to be risky enough as it was. The Talesmith's feet led him down the center of the stone path stretching across the water to the castle's gates. The way was empty with one exception. The GateKeeper.

The castle was filled with secrets and wonders beyond naming and needed a guardian that would be up to the task. Perched on top the castle wall was a large and proud bird, the last of its' kind. The Phoenix. In the prime of health, the bird's flames ran from golden to orange, the heat it gave off would dry the sweat from your brow.

The Phoenix however was not in the prime of health. It's head drooped a little, it's fiery plumage was a short and faltering blue. The heat from the old bird was barely noticeable. However, when it saw the Talesmith, it lifted its' head and spread it wings, speaking with a golden voice, "Speak now and speak true, traveler, do you think yourself worthy to enter the Paradise City? Can you walk the path and avoid temptation?"

The Talesmith bowed his head humbly. "I am far too low for such an honor, your Eminence," he hid his smile as the Phoenix preened at the title, "But I have heard tales of a sight of such beauty and grace that I beg your permission for a small honor."

The Phoenix hopped from foot to foot, the flames began to glow with a yellow hue. "I will be glad to hear your request, traveler, but it must not interfere with my oath."

"Stories of the wondrous sight of your rebirth still stalk the worlds of man. I merely ask that you allow my presence to this hallowed event, so that I may see with my own eyes what I'm sure a thousand myths have failed to describe."

The old bird was genuinely pleased and flattered with all the attention. The Talesmith had always known the birds to be vain but was it possible they got lonely as well? "This is quite acceptable. You may wish to keep a distance though, I do not know what the flames of rebirth could do to a normal man."

"I am unworthy of your concern, noblest of birds. Worry not though, I am no ordinary man." The Talesmith hated that the entire statement was true.

The Phoenix nodded it's head and then closed its eyes. A great white light began to grow within its breast and as the bird curled in on itself, the flame plumage underwent a dramatic cycle of colors and shapes, bits of the phoenix being turned to ash until nothing was left but a glowing egg.

The Talesmith ran forward as he pulled on his gloves. The thick leather was perfect for scooping the egg up off the ground and throwing it full force into the lake, which swallowed it with hardly a ripple. He waited for a moment, knowing if the Phoenix was able to burst alight underwater then he was soon in for an unpleasant time.

"There once was a man
With a simple plan
To make his life work well…"

When nothing more than a few bubbles arose from the water's depths, the Talesmith figured he was safe for the time being. He pulled the gloves off his hands and dropped them on the stone bridge. Instead he pulled out the piece of cloth and ripped off two small pieces stuffing them into his ears as he walked up to the gate. He made sure he would be able to enter easily and then wrapped the remaining cloth like a blindfold covering his eyes.

He took a deep breath, opened the gate, walked through it in blindness and closed it behind him.

Once he was on the other side, the Talesmith dropped to all fours and began feeling his way about by touch. The third barrier, the City of Paradise. The last and most subtle of the castle's defenses, all the more so because so many people wanted to fall prey to its traps. Your deepest desire was presented to you, whether it's sex, knowledge, power, wealth, fame or something else entirely. The city supplied it for you and all it asked in return was that you ignore the castle,

The Talesmith was not sure what the city would produce for someone like him, but he knew his deepest desires well enough to wish to avoid it as much as possible. The Guardian had asked him if he could 'walk the path' so that was what the Talesmith did. He reached from one cobblestone to the next, mind focused soley on reaching the next step toward his goal.

Whether it was a few minutes or the better part of a day, the Talesmith would never know. He would just know that at one point one cobblestone had led to another and then that one had led to a step, which led to another, which led to a final stair, which had led to a door.

He straightened himself, standing upright before knocking on the door. He loosed only one strip of cloth from his ears and had It ready to jam back in if anything did not go according to plan.

A man opened the door, dressed impeccably in a suit. His manners were impeccable but the Talesmith could detect an uncertain waver in his voice. "What business brings you here, sir?"

"I come for the Wizard's Library at the top of this castle." The Talesmith did not point out that he wasn't sure if this was the castle or not and the butler was far too well trained to point out his guest was wearing a blindfold and looked slightly mad.

When the butler said, "I'm afraid I have no idea what you are talking about, sir. Kindly leave." The Talesmith felt his heart leap in his chest. He threw his foot in the doorframe, blocking the butler from closing it. This was the place. He just knew it.

"You would've had better luck telling me that the wizard was waiting for me with answer in hand," the Talesmith told him. "I would've been convinced the path had led me astray and gone on my way. But now that we've ascertained that I have the right place, kindly LET ME IN and we can go about our business."

The butler provided no more fuss and held the door open, only closing it once the Talesmith was tucked safely away inside the castle. The inside of the castle was surprisingly sparse, bare stone lined the floor and walls and not even a mote of dust was allowed as decoration.

Before the butler could be allowed to recover, the Talesmith turned on him once again. "TAKE ME TO THE LIBRARY. I have no patience for any more games."

He followed the dazed man along a series of hallways and staircases. There was little to no variation to their layout and setting and the Talesmith would suspect he was being played for a fool if he did not know the power of his own voice.

After what seemed like an eternity, the man brought him to the top of the staircase, opened the door then quietly made his egress with a bow. As the Talesmith climbed the last remaining steps, the scent of old books wafted towards him with such force it nearly brought a tear to his eye. He stepped into a well-lit room with large magnificent windows and rows of books that passed far beyond the limit of his vision.

The Talesmith's heart hammered in his chest as he stood where he'd planned for so long. Everything was working perfectly as he had planned. Only a little further and then he could put everything into motion. Just one last obstacle between him and the knowledge that he needed.

"There once was a man
With a simple plan
To make his life work well…"

Oh how he wished he could get that little piece of rhyme out of his head. He shook his head as if to clear it and when he looked up again, he noticed a lanky black cat perched atop the nearest bookshelf, staring at him with emerald green eyes.

The Talesmith bowed low, "Hail wizard, it is an honor to meet you."

The cat gave a snort and leapt off the bookshelf, somewhere along the way of its descent it transformed, so that when it hit the ground, it was a feline no longer. A small middle-aged woman clicked her tongue against her teeth as she looked the Talesmith up and down in disapproval.

"An honor is it? You burn my forest, imprison my guardian and bully my servants and still think I would welcome you with open arms? You may have their look, spirit, but you are no true Skald."

"What could you possibly know about the Skalds!?" The Talesmith said.

The wizard's eyes trailed over the library, but the Talesmith knew she saw only the past. "Your kind used to be frequent visitors to this place. The Skalds, a race of spirits entwined with stories and tales, legends and myths. Your words have power but they can also trap you. You can speak in stories but you cannot tell an outright lie. You will never give up your true name. I thought you had all died out years ago."

The Talesmith could not keep the grimace from his face. "Two of us remain."

The wizard glared at him once more and then upon coming to some inner conclusion, shrugged her shoulders with a huff of exhalation. "For the love I once bore your people, I will help you. Just swear that no more harm will come to me or those in my service and once you have found the knowledge you seek, be on your way."

"I swear I will cause no harm either directly or indirectly to you or yours, whether you are of aid to me in my search or not."

The wizard nodded. "Good. Nice and simple. No misinterpreting that.

"I seek the location of something particular and the means needed to reach that destination."

The wizard closed her eyes, tilted her head for a moment and then clapped her hands. The sound that emanated was closer to a thunderclap than anything else and when the TaleSmith had finished blinking he noticed that only a quarter of the bookcases remained in the room.

"It deals with Maevok the Creator and Kalanis the Dreamer, the Elder Gods."

A slight frown began to crease the wizard's face, but nonetheless she repeated the same ritual as before and when the sound had faded from the Talesmith's ears, he found himself looking at a single bookcase, stuffed full of manuscripts and scrolls.

"My focus is at the dawn of time, before the Creator had perfected his craft."

Another thunderclap, but the wizard's frown only grew as three parched and tattered scrolls remained. "What could you possibly seek in such an era?" Her tone told the Talesmith that he hadn't much time.

"I seek how to access Maevok's Rip."

The wizard's face paled of color, her hands grasped at the shawl around her shaking shoulders. "You seek the Gates to Oblivion?" Her eyes glanced to the shelf and back again. But not fast enough to escape the Talesmith's notice. The knowledge I seek is in the scroll to the right.

The wizard did not notice the cold gleam growing in the Talesmith's eyes. "What makes you think I would trust anyone with the keys to the Void?" She said as she turned her back on him. "Leave now, little Skald. I would rather destroy such information than have it in your hands."

The Talesmith sighed and quietly stepped forward. "I think there is something you should know before you make such a hasty decision."

His knife leapt to his hand.

"Skalds can lie," he said, as his knife's edge bit deep into the wizard's throat, slicing through with one ragged slash, "we simply prefer not to."

As the wizard bled out beneath his feet and he grabbed the small parchment, an unbidden smile came to the Talesmith's face. He'd finally remembered the ending to that small piece of doggerel going through his head all day.

"There once was a man,
With a simple plan
To make his life work well.
But the thing about this plan,
was it required the man,
to walk straight down the path to hell."