In those troubling days all forested roads were scarcely travelled by decent folk, what with bandits robbing travellers at every bridge and intersection, and fearsome packs of roving wolves in the shadows of the trees. But the old peddler seemed quite cheerful as he walked toward me, wholly unperturbed by such dangers.

I know a story that I doubt you’ve heard before. It takes place in a town called Glittenrock, which exists on the edge of map and memory.

Much was different in the old days, children. They say that monsters lived among us, abundant in the wild like wolves and rabbits in the woods. They say there were ghosts too, and fairies in the treetops and dragons in the clouds. Magic was in the air.