The Irish Storyteller

Wraithlord backing up the guardians, fire dragons and howling banshees.

In the famous Irish tradition, I was enthralled by the storyteller. I was easily led down the path and become engulfed in the story. I would become my own character in the story. So there I sat, till awoke by the silence of the end and the smoke of the dwindling fire. While nobody else could keep their eyes open, they all lie sleeping on the open ground. It would be the storyteller looking at me.

They created their own setting. Maybe the first hour is spent enticing your mind to be where the story will take place. When i was a child I would go to a summer camp for two weeks on the shores of Lake Huron. Young Seminarians worked as camp counselors. We always ended up with a few days of rain, so Irish lad would give us a story. It always revolved around an Irish tinker, a known Banshee, and the Devil. I remember the setting was near the peat bog, cut up for heating. The Tinker would always be making deals with Devil.

Plots would interweave and only those who had been there a few years could follow the stories. We become interpreters of a sort. How I loved to be lost in the tellers tale, to be part of my own mystery. I now know where I get the passion.

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