Still Mountain keeps its distance from the larger range of mountains forming a ridge from east to west.  It is not stand-offish, this mountain, but rather preserves its solitude and its silence for a very special purpose.  It can tolerate no interference from the younger mountain ranges with their deep rumbles and grumbles as they still react to whatever ancient upheaval disturbed their own flat quietude.

Still Mountain is not high, less than five-thousand feet above sea level, but it has stood unmoving for millions of years while the wind and rain soothed all of its sharp edges to soft curves and valleys.  Many ancient races have occupied the place behind Still Mountain; animals and plants, the people and, of course, the first occupants which are the mountain itself—The Stone Family. 

 It makes sense that all legends have declared Still Mountain as the birthplace of story.  It also makes sense that the human Elders, in their effort to preserve the storytelling tradition, would locate their main encampment and training school there.  Their village is on the north side of the mountain hidden entirely from the eyes of all the other villages that dot the valley between Still Mountain and the Southern Range.  

The Elders track their history back only a few hundred years, infant time in the longer history of the Stone People.  Even so, these human Elders who call themselves simply “The Storytellers” have held the stories from all time and understand that all stories arise from Still Mountain as naturally as rain flows down its slopes.   Their early prophets saw a time when stories themselves would be threatened by a too-rapidly changing world.   

Their mission was to preserve not only the Story Board game, but the generative nature of stories themselves. They saw this generative quality as the primary force of the creative universe.  Without it, all of earth would wither and die. 

None of the current Elders, except perhaps Simon, knew the exact origins of the Story Board.  An earlier version of the board was preserved under glass and is thought to be a thousand years old.  Its images, drawn on a tanned hide, were so beautiful that sometimes Simon did his morning prayers before the glass case trying to feel in his own fingers the energy of the one who had drawn such images.  The tanned hide traced a trail of spaces around and around in an ever-tightening spiral toward the center where Still Mountain was drawn.  The green of the forests was a fresh, spring green, the white of The Great Desert of Lost Ideas as white as bone, and the dusty brown of Still Mountain itself looked as if the hand that had painted it had just put his brush down that morning.  

Simon was the Master Storyteller and the grandfather of Still Mountain Camp.  Simon knew that when the maker came for him (should that time ever arrive, he was unsure) his only regret would be that he must leave this game board behind for yet larger game boards as yet unknown.  

Still Mountain Village itself was unremarkable.  A dozen small cabins scattered among the scruffy pines, a larger cabin built of logs which served as classroom, game room, dining room, and story room.  The kitchen, thanks to a donation from an unknown source, was up to date and served the population of Still Mountain Camp very well.  The population of Still Mountain Village was just under 100 people, seventy of them the children the Elders had chosen to live there.  In modern times, many would say that the teacher/student ratio was insufficient to serve the young people, but these were not ordinary young people.

The parents of these children must give up a great deal of control over their little ones in order to offer them up to the creative, to the Creator himself.  To set aside the need to tuck a child beneath blankets, behind safe doors at home in order that their imaginations might be allowed to unfurl like flags in a mighty wind was a brave act.  And the children, too, had to give up a great deal of what is considered normal for children but, as they soon discovered, it was not a real price to pay.  But not all children are so fortunate as to be taken to Still Mountain.  Some must forge their own path.