Lars, your storyteller, is about to begin. Take a seat and listen, won’t you?

Why was I compelled to become a teller of tales, you ask?
The question is fair, I’ll admit. Some will say it was to make my livelihood telling lies to people who enjoy believing them, but actual truth is often more fantastic than anything made up by myself.
I will begin with an introduction. I was named Lars by my Shak’rahn mother, who was never told who my father was nor is such a thing unusual. Raised in a society traveling on the desert, each member of the tribe was my family. I knew a thousand mothers and fathers just as I knew them as my brothers and sisters. We praise freedom more than laws, and thus we choose not to confine ourselves within the oppressive borders of a city for longer than we must.
Away from the tribe is another matter. If one desires material items or must find comforts other than what they can depend on their tribe for, a trade is often required to pay for such things. There are, however, other barters one may make, such as a quest in compensation for sparing one’s life.
Not so long ago, this very thing happened to me as I walked through the desert at night, accidentally interrupting a sacred ritual performed by a demon. They call themselves Myriad, and rightfully so since each of their kind are individually distinct and unusual save for their one defining trait: their beast-like horns from their heads. This particular demon was possibly the most unusual I had ever heard mention of, with skin like new leaves, horns of bright red, and hair from the top of his to the bottom of his back. Details more exact than that, however, still defy me; it was the anger of the beast I was focused upon, that and my very life.
“You have desecrated our Ritual of the Moon,” said the beast in a voice like thunder in a cavern. “Your life is forfeit to me unless you take upon a task and complete it before the rising sun.”
I could not make my voice speak the words my mouth tried to say in protest, and it so irritated the creature that he drew back a clawed hand as if about to tear out my throat. I tried to close my eyes so I could not see the hand fall, but some mystical force kept me staring fixed upon him as the beast spoke yet again.
“Listen, mortal, as you have few precious moments left in which to do so. You must find for me the most beautiful, the most intelligent, and most desirable bride of the nearest settlement. You will return to me with word of your find that I may go and claim her, and if I am not satisfied, I will plunge my hand into you and devour your spirit.”
Not really knowing whether or not it could do such a thing, I hastily accepted. With a wave of its clawed hand, I found myself in a sleepy village with only hours to find a bride. The beast said I would know her by a mark found on her abdomen, just below her right breast. This, of course, would mean that not only would I be stealthily moving from home to home in the night and evading watchers, but I would also have to steal a look upon the flesh of every unmarried female as she slept in her chambers.
It was hours before I found an enchantress worthy of my imposing master. Inside I went, thanking the One Spirit that I had gone unseen thus far, then crept into the bedchamber. Gracefully draped over fine pillows and wearing a gown of white so shear that crimson moonlight could touch her flesh through it, she certainly met my master’s first condition. Through the gown I could see the mark he so described, and so I assumed that she met his other conditions as well, for who else could my master had meant if not her?
As quietly and invisibly as I had entered, I did attempt to remove myself from her chamber, but in the excitement that my life might actually be spared, I failed to notice a carved wooden comb had found its way under my foot. As it snapped under my weight, I looked to see if I had been caught only to find her perfect eyes looking into mine.
I was certain she would call for her father, but instead she began hurling pillows at me, as if she thought me so little a threat that she could eject me from her presence with bedding for a weapon! I staved off the attack with my arms protecting my face, and when I was finally able to bid her to stop, the room indeed looked as though the wind itself had been captured inside and sought to escape. Perhaps the enchantress found my expression amusing, because it was only then I saw a smile upon her beautiful face.
Of course, all of this is exactly what I told her father as he unfortunately caught me departing her rooms. He could see that his daughter was barely dressed, but he still believed every word I uttered. After all, what kind of father would admit his offspring is less than I described, especially in her very presence? I then informed him I would tell my master of his daughter and, if my master so chose, a proposal would follow at the rising sun that morning. However, if I were detained and unable to return, my master would come looking for me and would certainly be angered with whoever caused the delay of his happiness.
It was then this tale took its most bizarre turn; the daughter’s father paid me handsomely to tell the Myriad not to claim his daughter! What else could I do but leave with his money the pleasant memory of his offspring?
I didn’t find the Myriad at sunrise, and I often think that perhaps I was never meant to complete my quest but instead be caught and punished doing it. Still, to this very day, this is why some lovers call secretly meeting late into the night the “Ritual of the Moon.”
Thank you for listening, and if you find that you are too laden with stones and can spare the weight, a few sils in my bowl will indeed be thanks enough.