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Silvertongue
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I read a story years back that was about a storyteller that would tell stories by having one of the audience pull a stone out of a bag. I like this idea,very simple concept but my problem is I only have one ( definatly ) or 2 stories, the one I have is from mystery school and involves a story of compassion and love, rosequartz stone to heart. Then the other story maybe involves a bleeding stone. I was wondering if anyone could point me to an effect or maybe some literature that uses stone's for the effect.
I would like for the stones to change or do something magical and the bag they are in will be a changebag so this will be able to be used in the effects.
I think 3 stories will do but the bag will be full of stones and the story stones will be forced. I have had some success with forcing the rose quartz stone out of 5 stones I keep with me always. It seems the ladies always will reach for this stone, I use the effect with a dlite lighting it up at the end...
Any direction will be greatly apprieciated.
For as long as space exists,
And living beings remain in cyclic existence,
For that long, may I too remain,
to dispel the sufferings of the world.
-Shantideva

Engaging in the Conduct of a Bodhisattva
Leslie Melville
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Here is a story that I found on a storytelling website (www.story_lovers.com). It is by an American storyteller by the name of Leslie Slape. I was immediately struck by the magical possibilities suggested in the story and I contacted her for permission to give it a magical interpretation. She graciously agreed and here it is:

THE STORY STONES. (An original tale by Leslie Slape)

Long, long ago, in the time of lords and ladies, castles and kings, monsters, dragons and magical rings. There was one who told, to young and old, tales of all these things…….

He was – The Tale-teller.

The tale-teller travelled from village to village with his leather satchel over his shoulder, telling tales in exchange for a hot meal and a place to sleep ... and perhaps a new tale or two to take with him when he left, for tales are to be shared. If they're not told, they crumble into dust.

On the night my story takes place, the townspeople were rejoicing with the news that the tale-teller was coming. The lord of the manor had opened the Great Hall and declared a feast day, and all the people from miles around came to eat and drink - and listen! Among the listeners was a young maiden, a peasant girl, who was collecting food in her apron for her sister lying sick in bed at home. They lived alone, their parents having died.

When the tale-teller entered the hall, the people cheered. "Tell us a story! Tell us a story!" The old man smiled and set his leather satchel down on a table. He opened it, and those who were nearest could see it was filled to the brim with polished stones.

"I've prepared a new one for you," he said, and picked up a stone from the top. Grasping it in his right hand, he pressed it against his heart, closed his eyes and took a long, slow breath. He opened his eyes. "Once upon a time there dwelt a father and three sons ..." he began.

His hand never left his heart. The listeners leaned forward, hardly breathing, not wanting to miss a word. It was a story of a thrilling adventure, and when the tale-teller finished, the listeners cheered. The tale-teller took the stone away from his heart and replaced it in the satchel.

"Another! Another!" the people shouted. "A funny one!"

"Here's one you'll like," said the tale-teller, choosing a small red stone from the satchel. He placed it over his heart as before. "One day in the forest a fox met a bear… ..."

Soon the listeners were weak with laughter. When the tale-teller finished, they shouted, "Another! Another!"

"Do you have a love story?" asked a shy young couple nearby. The tale-teller smiled and said, "Of course." He reached into the satchel and pulled out a silver stone shaped like a teardrop. "A long time ago there lived three sisters .….."

As he told this tale, tears formed in the eyes of his listeners, for the lovers had to undergo many trials to test their love. But there was one listener whose eyes were not wet. This man was a thief, and he had come to the feast for the free food, not the stories. But when he saw the silver stone, his interest in this tale-teller grew.

Easily, like a snake, he slithered through the crowd until he stood beside the table where the satchel lay. His practiced eyes scanned the stones within. These were no ordinary stones! He would have to have a jeweller appraise them, of course, but he'd be willing to wager that he was looking at carnelians, opals, jade, amber, lapis lazuli and other semi-precious stones.

He hadn't even noticed that the tale-teller had finished his tale. The old man set the teardrop-shaped stone in the satchel right before the thief's eyes. It was solid silver! A stone like that would bring a good price, thought the thief, and waited for his chance. Suddenly it came.

"My friends, I must go refresh my thirst ... but I will return shortly," said the tale-teller. He left his satchel, still open, on the table. The thief snatched the silver stone and slipped it into the leather bag that hung from his belt. He glanced around, grabbed a handful of other stones and slithered into the night.
The tale-teller, returning with a frosty tankard, saw him go. He stroked his beard and sighed.

Soon the thief arrived at the home of a jeweller. "What would you give me for this?" he asked, reaching into his pouch. Feeling the largest stone, he pulled it out. "Nothing," said the jeweller. "Common stones such as this can be found alongside any road."

"What?!" said the thief. He peered at the stone in the candlelight. He could have sworn it was silver, but now it looked like an ordinary rock. He turned the pouch over and dumped out all the stones. Every one of them was a common pebble. "I don't understand," said the thief. "In the tale-teller's hands, these stones were different!"

"Ah, so that's what happened," said the jeweller. "These are story stones. They can't be sold. Did you listen to the stories?" The thief shook his head. "Without the stories, they're completely worthless," said the jeweller. "Go on your way. I'm going to bed."

Back at the hall, the tale-teller had returned, and the listeners were again begging for a tale. What to tell? His eyes scanned the room, and met the eyes of a young maiden with an apron full of food. I know what she needs to hear, he thought. Ah, here's the perfect stone ... a heart-healing tale.

"In a certain time, in a certain place, there lived a peasant girl .….."

His eyes never left those of the maiden. She needs this story, he realized. She needs this story even more than I do. When the tale was done, the girl moved through the crowd until she stood before him. "Would you come to my house and tell my sister that story?" she begged. He looked at her a moment, then picked up the stone again and placed it in her hand. "I think you need to be the one to tell it," he said.

The girl hurried home, with her apron full of food and the stone clutched tightly in her hand. Her sister was lying in bed, feverish and weak. "I've brought you something wonderful," said the girl, opening her hand.

Oh no! This was a plain, ordinary rock! Quickly she closed her hand to hide it. She would have to pretend. She placed her hand over her heart and took a deep breath. Suddenly her mind was flooded with images, feelings ... everything that had been in the story! "In a certain time, in a certain place, there lived a peasant girl …..."

She stumbled over some of the words, but the images remained, and she found new words. Her eyes never left her sister. When she finished, her sister's face was radiant. "Oh, what a beautiful story. Could you tell it again?"

"Of course." The girl put the stone over her heart again, and again the images washed over her. The words came easier this time. "This is better nourishment than food," said her sister. "Again ... please?" Through the night, the story was told again and again, each time more smoothly.

When the morning sun came through their window, it shone on two sleeping girls. And in the hand of one of them was a stone of bright, shining gold..........

End of story.

Here’s the magic bit.
I bought a mixed dozen or so polished gemstones and put them in a velvet drawstring bag. This was going to be ‘The Storyteller’s satchel.

I then collected half a dozen rough pebbles and placed them into the main side of a ‘Flap-Doodle’ change bag.

The story is told and at the appropriate moment, the gemstones are tipped onto a table or into an outstretched palm. At the point where the thief steals the stones, I grab a few and put them into the secret side of the change bag.

As the story continues, and the thief visits the jeweller, I reach into the bag and take out one rough stone. Proceeding as in the story, the change bag is ripped open to reveal the rest of the ordinary pebbles.

Back with the storyteller – the stone for the servant girl is picked up and switched, first for a dull stone and then again for the gold stone. (a la Bobo!).
With compliments,

Leslie Melville.
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Trekdad
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Wow! Thanks for sharing this. A truly engaging story with many magic applications.

It strikes me that Ickle Pickle's new velvet drawstring change bag would be a perfect accompaniment for this story. I've been using it for a prediction effect with small stones.

I have to say, also, that I'm a huge fan of your MagicTales. Thanks for making these ideas available.
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Jaz
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Wonderful story.
Haven't seen much in this section and this was a breath of fresh air.

Thanks.
Leslie Melville
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Thanks Gentlemen, for your kind words.

With regard to Silvertongue's original post about having stones selected by spectators. In my children's storytelling presentations, I have a 'Bag of Bags' i.e. a large cloth drawstring bag, about 18" x 18", inside of which are smaller, different shaped bags, each one containing an object.

Children are invited to dip into the large bag and remove one of the smaller bags. They can feel and try to identify what's inside.

I then take each bag in turn and remove the item inside (a feather, a Roman coin, a plumb stone etc..), and tell a story related to the object. Sometimes it might be a magic 'prop' with which I do a trick.

it is very good for retaining the attention of smaller children (pre-schoolers, for instance) as they anxiously await the telling of 'their' story.

Leslie
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Silvertongue
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Thankyou Mr Melville,its an honour to have your input, I hope we hear more from you, I love your work... This is in fact the story I read that gave me the inspiration for a routine with a simple bag of stones. I recently got another 2 storys to add to the bag, one from 'Garden of the strange' caleb strange and the other from Kotah's 'by darkness influenced'...
I just like the idea of always having a routine and stories with you wherever you go, and that can be added to over the years... here is another story you guys may like...
More Precious than a Precious Stone

A wise woman was traveling in the mountains when she found a precious stone in a stream. The next day she met another traveler who was hungry, and the wise woman opened her bag to share her food. The hungry traveler saw the precious stone and asked the woman to give it to him. She did so without hesitation.

The traveler left rejoicing in his good fortune. He knew the stone was worth enough to give him security for a lifetime. But, a few days later, he came back to return the stone to the wise woman.

"I've been thinking," he said. "I know how valuable this stone is, but I give it back in hopes that you can give me something even more precious. Please give me what you have within you that enabled you to give me this stone."

Sometimes it's not the wealth you have but what's inside you that others need.
For as long as space exists,
And living beings remain in cyclic existence,
For that long, may I too remain,
to dispel the sufferings of the world.
-Shantideva

Engaging in the Conduct of a Bodhisattva
Silvertongue
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Hows about as in the story you paint a devils tear, silver and as the theif asks how much it is worth it could shatter betwix his fingertips, then he reaches in the bag etc...
For as long as space exists,
And living beings remain in cyclic existence,
For that long, may I too remain,
to dispel the sufferings of the world.
-Shantideva

Engaging in the Conduct of a Bodhisattva
Leslie Melville
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Your wise lady tale reminds me of another (not so wise lady!) story that might lend itself to a magical interpretation:

THE MOST PRECIOUS THING IN THE WORLD.

On the western tip of the Dutch province of Friesland, sits Stavoren. Now a popular holiday yacht haven and marina, visited by holidaymakers from many lands.

In the 14th and 15th. Century however, Stavoren was one of the great trading ports of Europe. A member of the Hanseatic League, its ships travelled the world and brought great prosperity to the merchants who lived there. But for the pride and arrogance of a very rich lady, who’s statue to this day gazes out over the harbour, Stavoren might still be welcoming the world’s great merchant ships and ocean going liners.

The lady in question was the young widow of a successful merchant who had died, leaving her his fleet of trading vessels. In the years following her husband’s death she managed to increase the wealth of the business until she had become by far the richest in the city.

She enjoyed her status and her wealth. She was forever giving parties and banquets, inviting her rivals to view the many treasures that she had amassed. Human nature being as it is, they tried to copy her and match her possessions with treasures of their own. Sometimes they succeeded and this caused her some irritation.

One day she sent for her most experienced captain. “I have a special commission for you”, she said. “I want you to prepare your ship as quickly as you can. Set sail and bring me back, ‘The most precious thing in the world!’ “Yes Madam”, replied the captain, “and what would that be?”

“If I knew that”, she said icily, “I would already have bought it! You are my most experienced captain, you must have many contacts throughout the world. I don’t care how much it costs, just find it and bring it to me. You will be well rewarded for your search” The captain left somewhat confused. However his employer was not one with whom he wished to argue.

The following day he began to prepare his ship for the long voyage ahead. News of the mission quickly spread in the way that gossip does and by the time the ship was ready, a large crowd had gathered at the quayside to watch it set sail. Much was the speculation as to what the captain would bring back.

“A religious icon!” suggested one. “A pearl as big as an egg!” suggested another. “Perhaps a golden statue from Egypt!” thought someone else. None of them course had any idea.

The rich widow was delighted at the interest being displayed. She was sure that when her captain returned with ‘The most precious thing in the world’, it would surely establish her superiority in the town.

Time passed. The days turned into weeks, the weeks became months and there was no sign of the captain’s return. A year went by and people had begun to forget about the quest. And then, fifteen months after the ship had sailed away, a cry went out that it had been sighted entering the harbour!

Once again a huge crowd gathered to welcome the ship’s return. The rich lady swept down to the quayside to meet her captain when the ship docked.

“Madam, I have done as you requested. I visited many lands, met and spoke with numerous influential people. Many were the suggestions and much advice did I receive. But none of it convinced me and there were several times when I was on the point of giving up the search. Then suddenly I realised what was ‘the most precious thing in the world!’ “Yes, yes!” said the lady with some impatience. “And have you brought it?” “I have Madam, indeed I have!” “Well, and what is it?”

“Wheat”, said the captain. “I have brought a cargo of wheat.”

“Wheat? You have brought me a cargo of wheat?” She nearly choked with rage. “Yes Ma-am, what could be more precious than wheat? Without bread, half the world would starve!” The lady heard one or two sniggers of laughter from the people in the crowd. “And is this wheat all mine, to do with what I will?” she said quietly.

“Of course Ma’am, I have brought it for you”.

“Then pour it into the sea!” she said.

“Pour it into the sea?” The captain couldn’t believe his ears. “But there is enough grain here to feed all the poor in the province. Why not give it to them – after all, you may be poor yourself one day!”

“I poor? How dare you!” She pulled a large diamond ring from her finger. “This ring will return to my hand before I am ever poor!” She turned and threw the ring far out into the harbour. “Now do as I ask” she continued, “Pour your wheat into the sea and then take yourself out of my sight!”

The captain himself was now angry, “Cast off!” he shouted to his crew and the crowd watched as the ship slowly moved away from the dock. The vessel sailed to the mouth of the harbour where the captain gave instructions to drop anchor and ordered his crew to shovel the grain overboard into the sea. Once done, the anchor was raised and the ship sailed away, never to return.

Two days later, the rich widow, keen to show that she was not at all put out by the set-back, sent out invitations to all her wealthy rivals to attend a banquet at her palatial residence. The day of the banquet arrived and all were seated. A silver salver was placed before the rich lady and the cover removed to reveal a roasted sea bass. She picked up a knife to cut into the fish and as she sliced through the meat, the knife struck something solid. She cut the fish open, gasped and turned pale. There, laid in the flesh of the fish was her diamond ring. The one that she had hurled into the sea four days earlier!

Worse was to follow. After a few weeks, the wheat that had been tossed from the captain’s ship took root and began to grow on the sea-bed, where it had fallen. Soon the sand, which had freely flowed back and forth with the water, began to clog and pile up among the growing stems of wheat.

Within a year a sandbank had formed across the harbour mouth to such proportions that large ships were no longer able to enter. And so a once prosperous merchant shipping town went steadily into decline.

The wealthy merchants, now unable to trade went out of business, including of course, the rich lady who’s greed, pride and arrogance had caused the town’s ruin.

The sandbank that still lies across the harbour entrance, is known appropriately as, “Lady’s Sand”

And the statue of ‘The Lady of Stavoren’ remains to remind people to be grateful for what they have and to remember how easy it is to lose everything.
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KOTAH
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Leslie, thank you for sharing these marvelous gifts.
They are pure magic!
fishwasher
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I loved that story leslie, thank you.


Aidan Smile
Sayn lay narn, marli?

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Leslie Melville
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You're welcome, Gents.

Periodically, I have looked at this story and considered an effect where a ring is borrowed, vanished and made to re-appear as the tale unfolds.

Given the right audience, one that is prepared to listen to a longish tale, it could have mileage!
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Silvertongue
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I handed the box to my Grandmother and she placed it on her lap with both her hands on the lid. It appeared she was saying some prayers or blessings for the contents of the box. We all knew to be silent when an elder was praying so I sat and did nothing until she was done. Finally, she took her hands off the top and opened the lid. From the box she brought out a small leather pouch. It was not all pretty like the ones we made. This one was old and dark. The leather had been many things and survived many years. The thongs that held it all together were all hard and twisted, making it almost impossible to open the top of the bag. Finally, she had opened the bag and spilled out the contents onto her lap. The small items lay on her white apron looking so lost in all of the folds.

For such a small bag it seemed to hold many things; the pile on my Grandmother's lap contained all sorts of items. I noticed that there were stones, feathers, bones, and claws of many animals. Small bits and pieces of plants, tiny bundles of sacred herbs lay tied in ball like shapes. Crystals, moon stones, and other treasures that she had gathered through her years were now asked to, again, be brought out to share their story.

I also saw some seeds like none that I had seen before. I asked Grandmother about these seeds and she told me that they were star seeds. I envisioned that they would, if planted, grow stars or some such nonsense. I asked her what they would grow and if we could plant some in our garden. She laughed and said no, they were for the future so that the people, when they came back to the sacred fires, would not be hungry. She explained that they were very sacred seeds that were needed for these spirit people when they returned. I asked her when they would be coming and she said that in my life time I would know these people. After that she took the pouch and placed all of the items back into it and then put it in the cedar box.

Many years later when I was living my adult life and taking care of my family a box arrived.

This is an exert of an american indian lady telling a tale of her storytelling grandma the full story can be read here...
http://www.susunweed.com/herbal_ezine/Ma......pers.htm
This idea grows more and more appealing to me as the discussion evolves.
I could envision putting an assortment of objects in the bag. I like the idea of each child having a magical gift with the story which they can take away with them to remember the story and to help them share it with others, family etc.
I like the idea of telling a story of love and having the listener hold the stone to her heart where at the end of the story the stone has transformed into a heart shaped stone, which she takes with her as a reminder.
anyone else have any story related effect's that may also be found in the bag???
For as long as space exists,
And living beings remain in cyclic existence,
For that long, may I too remain,
to dispel the sufferings of the world.
-Shantideva

Engaging in the Conduct of a Bodhisattva
Leslie Melville
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With further reference to my 'Bag of Bags' post. One of my small bags contains a lead toy Roman soldier, complete with sword and shield.

The tale I tell when this turns up is one written by American Storyteller, Dan Keding. He performs at storytelling festivals both in the U.S. and in the U.K. He often closes his performance with this story:

THE TWO WARRIORS (Dan Keding)

Once there was a war and two armies came together in battle. They fought from the time the sun came up in the east till it set in the west. When the day was at a close, only two warriors remained, surrounded by their dead comrades, covered in the blood and gore of war.

They stood facing each other, so exhausted from death that they could barely move. Finally one said, “We cannot do ourselves justice in this condition, let us rest until dawn and then finish this fight and only one will go home.” The other warrior agreed.

And so they took off their dented helmets and un-strapped their shields and sheathed their swords. They lay down among their fallen comrades only a few feet apart from each other. But they were so weary that they could not sleep. It was the weariness that comes with too much killing. Finally one turned to the other and spoke.

“I have a son at home in my village and he plays with a wooden sword. Someday he wants to grow up and be like me.”

The other man listened and finally replied, “I have a daughter at home and when I look into her eyes I see the youth of my wife.”

The two men started to tell each other stories. Stories of their families, their villages, their neighbours, the old stories that they learned at their grandparents’ knees when they were young. All night long they told stories till the sun started to creep to life in the east.

Slowly they stood and put on their helmets. They buckled on their shields and drew their swords. They looked deep into each others’ eyes and slowly sheathed their swords, and walked away, each to his own home.

Grandmother always said you cannot hate someone when you know their story.
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Silvertongue
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Wonderful Mr Melville thankyou... don't want to sound too cheeky but you seem to be a treasure trove of stories, got anymore ???
For as long as space exists,
And living beings remain in cyclic existence,
For that long, may I too remain,
to dispel the sufferings of the world.
-Shantideva

Engaging in the Conduct of a Bodhisattva
Leslie Melville
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Loads! - You appear to be looking for tales that carry a moral or message. May I suggest that you check out the Inspiring Stories page on my website:

http://www.thestorytelling-resource-cent......ies.html

You will find stories on other pages also. Some of which might easily lend themselves to a magical interpretation, they come from many sources. - help yourself. I am glad you are interested.
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Silvertongue
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I want heroes !!! thankyou soooo much, I can't believe I didn't search your site fully... This is exactly what I'm looking for, again thankyou...
For as long as space exists,
And living beings remain in cyclic existence,
For that long, may I too remain,
to dispel the sufferings of the world.
-Shantideva

Engaging in the Conduct of a Bodhisattva
Doug Higley
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Cool stuff! Excellent thread.

Thought you folks might want to see a set of stones I made up a year or so ago...only made two sets and then pulled it because I just didn't have the time to make them. I still like it though and may make them again some day.
http://grindshow.com/GrindShow/Stones.html

:)

Doug
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Leslie Melville
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Hi Doug, thanks for joining in. I am very interested in your stones - I might even have a story angle. If you are seriously thinking of producing them again, let me know.

I am looking forward to receiving my 'Hand of Glory'.
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Doug Higley
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Your 'Hand' is on the bench getting it's finishing 'touches' (no pun intended or maybe it was.).

As to the 'stones' I can always make a set for an individual...just no time to make a bunch of sets at this point.
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Silvertongue
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They are very cool Mr Higley thanks for the heads up...
For as long as space exists,
And living beings remain in cyclic existence,
For that long, may I too remain,
to dispel the sufferings of the world.
-Shantideva

Engaging in the Conduct of a Bodhisattva
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