A hooded figure sauntered toward the newly built campfire as dusk began to take hold of the area, small bits of ash floating down from the sky. The usually active volcanic surroundings were especially calm today, including the winds that swept in during the intense times. None of these things seemed to bother, hinder, or surprise the cloaked traveler, and the ones camping here were intrigued. "May I join you?" voiced the hoarse and elder voice from the shrouded man as he stood a good distance from the camp allowing the band to decide. They all nodded with approval and shortly a small child approached the old robed man, leading him into the fold that was resting here.

"Are you not afraid to travel alone out here, elder?" the mother of the child asked as she poured him some soup. The old man took the bowl of vegetable stew graciously, and in turn looked the woman over. She wore clothes made of patches and rough material, not those of people who lived inside the Shell. "I do not fear the fiery mountain and its rage," he said plainly as he took a seat on the ground. "I know why it is angry and I sympathize with it. It is merely angry that something was stolen from it and it knows no other way to express its rage." The other plainsfolk were now taking seats around the camp fire as well. They ate, rested, and listened. Listening was sometimes the best way to learn, instead of seeking or shouting. They sat tentatively around the dancing flame as darkness crept in, the aged one easing their minds from their journey.

The elder gazed out past the camp and stared at the volcanic ruins barely visible to the others, his gray blue eyes shimmering with light from the fire. "Many summers ago, not far from this very camp site, there dwelled a group of mortals like yourselves. However, they were also very different from you, older and more savage, highly superstitious, and for good reason. These people lived at the foot of the mountain, they worshipped its liquid fire and feared it all at the same time. For, deep within the red chasm, a demon was ensnared, trapped during the Immortal Wars. The ones who lived here would ritually offer sacrifices to appease the mountain so that it would keep the demon entombed. At the peak of the mountain, where the fires meet the skies, an ancient and gigantic chain dangled above the lava plumes swelling inside of the volcano. At the bottom of the chain was an orb which housed the traitorous demon, the sphere almost the size of a family dome. The worshippers knew that if they did not give to the mountain then it would take from them."

The hooded man turned his focus back on his audience, looking them over one by one until he spotted the small child that had brought him into their fold. "In a horrible twist of fate, a sacrifice was the very reason the demon was able to escape. During the most brutal and barren summer they had ever experienced, the denizens of the ash village decided to offer the chiefs only child, Cartijin. With the area fast becoming a haven for fire golems, the whole village traveled to the distant crag, each bringing their most precious of items to persuade the magma mouth. The mountain was most angry as they approached, shaking in rage and spewing with red hot hate. They hurled their gifts into the red tomb but nothing seemed to quell the mountains anger. Even though the child begged and screamed, his father lifted him high above and hurled him into the pyro pit. Yet, as the boy plummeted and pawed frantically at anything to grab onto, he fell upon the large orb at the bottom of the chain. The boy showed no fear as he clung to the demon infested ball, focusing only on saving his own life, at any cost. The creature dwelling inside the sphere knew of this boy and of his current plight, admiring his courage and defiance of tradition. The fire demon knew these people were foolish, unaware of what real purpose his existence was. And so, he took gathered his courage and defied his purpose so as to free himself of this prison of fire and fate. Of course, the demon knew he was bound to the round prison but that a host could allow him to travel until his curse could be broken."

The old man coughed and cleared his throat, quickly finishing his soup afterward. The little girl appeared quickly at his side with some water, offering it to him with a smile. "And, what happened next?" the small child asked excitedly. The pilgrim smiled then nodded in approval. "The demon could only escape if carried by another, so he chose the boy. As the boy gripped and cursed his own, a barrier swallowed him warmly, shielding him from the violent blast consuming the air and land. Cartijins people were incinerated in moments as was the village below. This whole area drowned in fire as the demon broken free from its bonds, trading shackles for shackles. The boy awoke at the bottom of the mountain where his home one stood. Confused and crying, he attempted to search for the ones he called kin but was unable to go far. His right arm was bound with a chain, a chain attached to an orb the size of his very home. Before his eyes, the sphere shrank and shrank becoming no bigger than a small jewel thus allowing the boy to roam. And that is exactly what he has done for the past twenty summers the boy named Cartijin has roamed the lands, carrying his demonic burden wherever he goes. Each of them bound and dependent to one another. Together they seek to free themselves from this curse, their chained existence a constant reminder of the price of freedom and survival."

Many of the travelers were now asleep, the fire burning much calmer than when the story began. The robed man rose and exited the campgrounds, waving farewell to the bewildered child. The man continued on his pilgrimage, looking forward to the next group of travelers he may enlighten and entertain along the way.