The Walking Wizard

"What is time?" The voice of the cloaked figure sounded like the rumbling of thunder, deep and wizened. "Time is the silent ruler of our lives, pushing and pulling us in and against a current, we can do nothing about." The eyes of fellow travelers looked on in wonder, mystified by the newest arrival to their fire. "It is strange to live in a world where time is so important and impartial in how it affects our lives. So, imagine the cruel irony in living as a creature where time truly holds no sway." Three claws rose to draw back the traveler's hood in a slow and steady motion. The youngest in the party seemed to lean in close, waiting for their imagination's wildest tales to come true. 

Beneath the hood came a face that perhaps no one was expecting. For such a serious tone and rumbling voice, maybe the young ones had expected a gruesome brigand or perhaps some former soldier. What greeted them, however, was a broad smile resting above a rather wild, untamed beard. Deep and soulful amber eyes looked out, amused by all the stunned faces as a laugh made his whole body shake, eventually pulling everyone around him to join in on the merrymaking. "See what I mean? I’m hardly an immortal, simply a creature that moves at its own pace no matter how much time tries to urge me on faster." The years carved time's ravages upon the creature's face. Moss and bits of foliage seemed right at home as they stayed tangled up in the creature's fur. "It's a peaceful life once you realize time's only claim on me will be my life. No matter how hard it tries, I will never quicken my journey. In a way, it's like I've made a friend for the rest of my life."

The campfire glow highlighted the lovely shades of brown in the creature's fur. Like many three-toed sloths, his legs are long and gangly. His clothing was simple, a leather tunic that appeared well worn. A simple belt decorated the man's waist, though it certainly wasn't needed as his hair body offered plenty of natural modesty. A deep forest green bag was sitting on the ground behind him, overflowing with scrolls and claw-painted maps. An astute eye would likely notice that one claw on the right hand appeared to be stained from black to a faded gray. Without actual fingers, the sloth used his claws to write. It was never the tidiest of scripts, but if someone took their time, the notes were easy enough to read. Finally, the sloth's most cherished possessions rested right in his lap. A large, wide-brimmed hat was decorated with a bit of green ribbon. The hat is hand-stitched and seems to be as well worn as the tunic. The other item was the sloth's walking stick. A gnarled and twisted bit of driftwood with a softly glowing purple stone grasped by the wood naturally. 

"You've done more than earn your supper, friend. I dare say you've granted more entertainment than any bard we've met on this journey. You've my thanks for giving my children a reason to smile. There haven't been many reasons for cheer on the road." The sloth's host spoke with such apparent gratitude in his voice. He was also a man well on his way through his journey with time. Lines decorated the human's face, but warm gray eyes spoke that no amount of hardship would ever turn the man to cruelty. Traveling with this man was his wife and their three daughters. The girls were all the same age. If the sloth had to guess, they were likely no more than ten summers old. "You're welcome to stay the night and share our fire." 

Once again, a broad smile decorated the sloth's face as he bowed his head in thanks before finally noticing that one of the more precocious of the children had her hand raised as she seemed to be squirming in her seat. The sloth assumed that she'd likely explode if he didn't address her. Pointing that stained claw, the Sloth let out that rumbling laugh from before. "What is it, small one? Let out that question before you fall victim to combustion." Suddenly struck with a wave of stage fright, the little girl looked to her father for permission before speaking. She was the perfect blend of her parents. Wide and attentive eyes, a small turned-up nose, a face painted with a spattering of freckles, and dark chestnut curls that seemed to fight the ribbon holding it back out of her face. When the girl's father finally nodded, the question leaps from the girl's lips like lightning. "What's the scariest adventure you've ever been on?"

"Are you sure you want such a terrifying story before bed?" It seemed like a foolish question as all three girls seemed to nod their heads in unison. Perhaps it was the trio that had come up with the question? With such overwhelming agreement, the sloth lets that warm smile fade into a devious smirk as he reaches down with one claw and scoops a small pinch of bright green powder. The powder was sent into the flames with a flick of his claw, casting up a shower of sparks in brilliant colors. "Very well, children, I'll tell you the tale of how I met a wicked hag and lived to tell the tale!" Everyone gathered around the campfire gasped and leaned in closer, passing around a bag of sweets as the sloth reached back for his pack of maps and drawings. 

From the bag came a rolled-up piece of vellum. When unfurled, it held an illustration of a picturesque valley nestled between two tall mountain ranges. Towering and jagged peaks stood like titans on either side of the valley. The forests at the base of the titan's feet appear so thick and tangled that trespassing would lead to certain death. The land between the mountains was lush, a veritable verdant ocean. One spire seemed to rise out of the canopy and stand like a tempting beacon to all who found the valley. "That spire is a place of pilgrimage for those who study magic. It's a great arcane focus, and many who travel there hope to leave with but a fraction of its power in their possession." Rolling the vellum back up and placing it into the bag, the sloth then took up its walking stick, tapping the glowing stone captured at its crown. 

"This stone is my prize from the pilgrimage." Despite seeming successful in his quest, the sloth had a sorrowful countenance that was rather hard to miss. "But I promised you a story about a fearsome hag, didn't I?" The sloth seemed to brighten his tone as those deep amber eyes looked back into the campfire's flames. "From my home, it took nearly a full turning of the seasons for me to make the trek. I left in the summer and arrived in the middle of spring. My doodles don't capture the true beauty of the place. Birds sing all day, and when a storm rolls through, the thunder bounces between the mountains overhead, making for quite an interesting sound." With a wave of his walking stick, there was an audible rumble above the camp, like giant boulders rolling and crashing into each other. A harmless bit of magic, it was gone as soon as it had arrived. 

"I had to wait for three whole days for a storm to work its way out of the valley before I could descend from my camp and approach the spire." Laying his walking stick across his lap, the sloth closed his eyes and brought himself back to that very day. The smell of petrichor and sun-warmed grass. In the storm's wake, a gentle wind made the grassy fields roll and sway like waves. Travelers are few and far between, so no clear path leads to the pale monolith. There were no windows, no door, just a sizeable plain spire that resembled a chess piece. The Sloth narrated his memories to those gathered nearby and couldn't stop a smile from teasing his features when the occasional 'ooh' and 'ah' sounded from the children. 

"To complete my pilgrimage, all I had to do was lay claw upon the tower. It seemed simple enough, and in such a picturesque valley, I had no reason to suspect danger, but that is when it often rears its ugly head, isn't it?" A sudden pop from a log splitting in the campfire made the girls scream, prompting their mother to swoop in quickly, offering an apologetic smile. "Perhaps this is a story for another time. We're all traveling to the same town tomorrow, and you can finish the story when the sun is high and these three are rested." The sloth was not going to argue with the woman, knowing no fiercer fight than that of a parent protecting its young. The girls argued and fussed, but one shrewd look from their mother had them falling in line like ducklings, following after her towards their simple tent. 

With the children gone, the men were left to share tired smiles, the owner of the campfire could not help himself as he let that tired smile turn into a grin. "So, was there a hag?" The sloth raised one claw, wagging it at the man and erupting in laughter. "When you've traveled as long and far as I have, I learned never to cross a mother once the law has been laid down as the fine woman said, tomorrow. Now, I'd recommend that you get some rest." With good nights wished, the sloth was left on his own, watching the slowly dying flames from the campfire as he took up his walking stick again, looking at the glowing gem. "Was there a hag?" He asked to the gem, which seemed to flicker like an agitated candle. "Tomorrow."