Custom Common Jollin
Mole
(Invalid img) Once upon a time, from a land that was far, far away, there was a man. The Man had no great strength, or wealth, or magic, but he was nimble-quick and clever, and he sought to gain with cunning that which he had not been bestowed at birth.
The Man had many travels, and in those travels he met a gypsy-woman. Being clever and knowing the magic such women had, the Man resolved to make his fortunes. 'Ho there, wise woman,' said he, and gave his name as a token of good faith.
So clever was his tongue, and so charming his words, that it was not long before the Man had persuaded the Gypsy to set him some task to prove his worth, and she swore an oath that were he to accomplish this in his favour she would grant him the magical power he so desired.
The nature of this task is lost to the mists of time, and all that is known is that it was completed, and that upon its completion the Man won further audience with the Gypsy. The Gypsy, however, wished for something with which the Man was not willing to part, for she claimed as her price the silver ring upon the Man's left ring finger, and all that its loss would free him to.
But the Man was nimble-quick and cunning, and instead he said to the Gypsy, 'let us play a game, you and I. I, with my wedding ring and the vows that accompany it as my bet; you, with your knowledge and magic as the prize.'
The Gypsy watched with greedy eyes as the Man cast his ring to the table, and the glint of it blinded her to the twinkle in his eye. The Man, after all, had no intention of losing, and he had no desire to leave such a thing to chance when quick fingers and guile could ensure his victory.
The Gypsy was enraged at his trickery, but an oath is an oath, and even a gypsy-witch could not take back the words that had been spoken.
'And so the name of the creature informs its nature,' she lamented. 'I cannot break my word, and you shall have your desire, but never again will you be able to conceal your nature, Hector Foxworthy.'
Thus did the gypsy-witch keep her promise--bestowing upon the Man a wondrous magical fox tail to be the source of his power, but in her spite she bound her own soul into the making of it, and laid upon him an unbreakable curse:
He would father no children, and never grow old; his own past would be a mystery to him, and all would recognise him for the trickster he was.
And the wind whispers that before he left the Gypsy's wagon, he spied a fine, silver ring upon the table. He examined it with curiosity, and then, with a graceful shrug born of ignorance, and a spring in his step, he tossed the Man's ring aside, and a Fox that had already forgotten the Man stepped out into the cold night air.
