2.  Evadel's tale.​

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  The rest of the usual crowd gathered slowly.  Gerald showed up, and Imelwain groaned.  Why Gerald bothered coming to these was a mystery.  He never seemed very interested in the stories.  There was something, however, and he seemed fascinated with Evadel.  It wasn't romantic, Gerald had expressed his disdain for that enough times to the guys... and his eyes didn't wander in that manner.  She must have something that he wanted, and Gerald wanted magic.  Imelwain couldn't remember Evadel ever using magic, however.

  Cynthia also showed up.  She was a regular here.  If anything, she came to hear the tales of brave warriors and sneer at the 'sniveling teardrops' they rescued.  She wore a dress at Evadel's prior insistence, but Cynthia was a tomboy beyond redemption.  She was cute enough, but her attitude was shaped by her own experiences.  Being the only girl, and having had her mother die while she was still young, she had grown up acting like one of the boys.  At sixteen she still lived the same way.  Her father had tried to get her to be more womanly before, but she had taken that as a challenge.  Instead of giving in she had trained harder, and surpassed all her brothers in everything manly... except the growth of things like facial hair.

  There were a few misfits today, those who were not part of the usual crowd.  However, mostly it was the same group that came every time.  Imelwain waved toward his closest friends Dubrick and Peter.  They smiled and waved back before moving to sit next to him.

  Evadel smiled.  'Today I will tell you a tale of things that happened nigh four hundred years ago.  Back when the hill above our village still had three oak trees growing upon it, and when a man named Oliver Higglemin was alive.'

  The children settled down, all traces of conversation dying before Evadel's sweet voice.  They were caught now, held in a fiercely captivating charisma that was far more than it seemed.  Gerald alone knew what was happening, but he could no more resist the magic than a moth could resist a candle.  He tried every time, and every time he failed.

  Evadel paid no mind to his struggles.  She was caught up too, although for her it was a matter of focus.  Once the story had begun she must finish it.  It was one of her flaws, and it had cost her a leg.  Still, she loved to tell a story, to sing and to entertain... so much so that her own awareness of her surroundings melted away.

  The words, the magic, flowed out of her.  As she worked the story came alive, images and scents filling the air.  Oliver was distraught.  His family was dead, his city destroyed, and all he had treasured lost.  Thus Evadel began her tale.

  Oliver cried, and moaned, and mourned.  Lost and alone he wandered.  He did not bathe, and barely remembered to eat.  Evadel's audience gagged at the odor.  People in the story were also repulsed by him.  Thus two years passed.  Two years that were misery; two years that every person present could remember all too well.

  Something pierced through the murk.  A cry that shook Oliver out of his self pity.  Sitting in the street a girl cried.  She was very young, maybe five or six years old.  She too was ignored, avoided, and scorned.  Oliver tried to smile, but it was a feeble attempt.  'What is wrong, child?'

  She slowly lifted her head, her eyes filled with tears.  'My parents left me here.  They said I was bad, and that they never want to see me again.'

  Oliver shook.  It stung all the more since his own sorrow was focused around the loss of his family.  His daughter had been young too.  Granted, she had been nearly ten, but his memory played tricks with him.  They seemed so similar.

  'Why would they do that?'  He asked.

  'I don't know!'  The girl sobbed.  'I was just showing them that I could do this.'  She produced a small flame, which sat in her palm.

  Oliver sighed.  Magic.  'Superstitions.  A bane of ignorance.'  He considered the girl for a little bit.  Eventually, his mind was made.  'What is your name?'

  'Miranda.'  She replied softly.

  'Come then.'  Oliver extended his hand to her.  'I will take care of you.'

  Something in his voice, or maybe in his eyes, soothed her fears.  She took his hand, and they slowly made the best of life.  Miranda grew, 'But the story of Queen Miranda is one for another time.'  Evadel sighed.  'Although if any of you do not know about Queen Miranda you deserve a good smack on the noggin.'

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