The Hermitâs Three Visitors
(Editorâs Note: This is the story submitted to our writing contest selected as the 3rd place winner)
Once long ago, in a time more forgotten, there lived a wise hermit who made his home amongst the mist dappled mountaintops. Few were those brave and solid enough to attain such heights so for much of his life the hermit lived in solitude and meditation.
Yet one day there came a great noise from the hermitâs lonely mountain heights, for three brave young pandaren lads has ascended the heights in search of the great hermitâs wisdom.
They reached his home at the very peak, puffing for breath and tired from their long journey. All three knelt before the hermit and lowering their heads in supplication.
âWhat wisdom would three boys seek, that would drive them to such heights?â The hermit asked in wonderment.
The bravest of the lads spoke up first, steeling his still raspy breath with what strength he could muster.
âI am strong of arm and back, like the Ox. I seek only knowledge of how to become stronger than I am.â
The second then spoke, and there was great serenity and ease in his voice despite the exertions he took to arrive.
âI am whole and one, at peace with all things around me. Yet your wisdom and peace are known far and wide. I seek to know more of your ways, so I might attain true enlightenment.â
The third of the group was scrawnier than the other two, neither large and burly like the first nor serene as the second. Instead his fur was dark and coarse, his features narrow and shadowed. He raised his head as he spoke, gazing at the wise old master.
âI seek nothing except a path of my own. I rose these heights to find my way.â
The wise old hermit stared at the three youth for many hours, as he contemplated their requests.
The strong lad rose from his kneeling and while the hermit considered he trained his body. He fought shadow enemies upon those heights and lifted great boulders to enhance his skill and strength.
While the hermit thought the second lad sat down next to the hermit and tried to imitate his serene stance and visage. It was pale imitation, but the serene lad seemed at peace and one with his surroundings.
The third lad remained as he was, knelt before the hermit staring at him. His eyes never wavered, his stance never shifted, for all his focus was on the hermitâs response.
Finally as the sun began to set behind the great peaks the hermitâs eyes opened and he turned his gaze to the first lad.
âYou are already strong of arm and back. You wish more power and yet you know how to attain it. You need no wisdom to be powerful.â
He turned to the youth who sat beside him and bowed his head.
âYou are wise and at peace, yet you seek further oneness. One cannot seek these things outside of themselves, nor emulate the acts of another to attain unity. You have everything you require to find your own serenity.â
And then he turned to the third youth, of coarse fur and grim eyes. Here he paused once more to consider. Finally he spoke.
âAnd you seek a path to call your own, you seek that which will give you direction and purpose. Here atop the cliffs you will find a flower, its leaves are crisp and its petals fragrant. Boil them and sup of the water, and you will know your path.â
The three left the hermit then. The first returned down the mountain to find more feats of strength to attain. In time he would gather followers and adherents, becoming a great teacher of strength and power.
The second wandered far from the mountain and settled himself in secluded groves. There he sought serenity and unity with the universe. He too gathered followers and adherents who sought what he did.
The third gathered the flowers suggested and supped of their boiled essence. Emboldened by the delicious concoctionsâ essence, he left the mountain to seek more plants and flowers with which to sup.
In this the first tea was found and made. And in the years to come the secrets of tea would be given to all pandaren. But only the dark furred, the grim, the focused, could truly be called masters of tea.
Or at least that is how I was told. Perhaps it is just a tall tale told by my father. Legends are this way. Though it should give a reader pause to sample a tea made by the dark furred pandaren. If legends be true, it is the best.
(Submission for The Royal Courier Writing Contest by Zolchin)