Monogatari

The tale of the Monogatari is passed on through oral tradition, and goes like so.

Originally, the first Monogatari was a band of travelers who would pass through town to town. On each visit, they would tell stories and tales, enrapturing the passerby in order to make a living for themselves. Living a humble and nomadic lifestyle, they would use their winnings to prepare for their next trip, taking themselves across the globe through the power of their story.

Eventually, they came across a strange town in a minor country. Upon arrival and preparing to tell their tales, they were surprised to be soon directed to an old man in ragged robes, sitting on a stump in the center of town. Puzzled and confused by this odd sight, they almost left in a perplexed manner. And then he spoke.

The old man wove together tales like a spider, strands of mystery and adventure, of sorrows and happiness. It was a tale that, however short, left the traveling band in tears. Falling at the feet of the old man, they begged him to teach them to craft stories the way he did.

While the old man refused to teach them, he instead directed them to an abandoned monastery on a nearby mountain. There, he said, they would find a way to understand 'the true nature of this world's stories'. Spending the last of their money on supplies, the traveling band forsook their nature as travelers and become monks.

Spending years in the monastery was a struggle for the previously lively and free group. To sit in relative silence and ponder the nature of the world was an almost impossible task for such a vivacious people, and some members of the band would vanish into the night without a trace. Regardless, they perservered for years without progress.

Eventually, it was the actions of a child that brought them enlightenment. While speaking and noise was heavily prohibited within the monastery, one morning the members of the convent woke to a strange and melodic sound. It was heartbreaking and yet uplifting, a siren song that guided them all to the temple garden. There, surrounded by flowers, was a young girl singing in the rising sun. Away from the rules the world had placed upon her, from the prying eyes of her family, she sung to the world. And then they saw.

Swirling around her, like the tendrils of an unseen fog, was her story. The awful blackness of repression, the uneasy sense of feeling alone in the world. The joy of music, unbridled and free at last. Just as suddenly as it had began, it stopped. Turning around in surprise, the girl cradled a bamboo flute shimmering with a strange energy in her arms.

It was from then on that the convent would take on the name of 'Monogatari', the people of the tales, scattering to all corners of the globe to understand the true meaning of story.