Nuh uh, DMs don't have stories?

[addicted2rpg]

From young age I had always wanted to be a bard. I grew up in a rich home and had a classical education in writing and theatre. When it came time for me to get a job, I told my parents I would rather run away and live homeless, sleeping in the streets, feeding with the pigs, and seeing the world -- totally free of the shackles that binds men's lives.

Naturally father wasn't too impressed with this. Mother wasn't either. They thought some "Good Olde Fashion Discipline" would do the trick, so they began talking with the Captain of the guard to enroll me as a soldier. They thought the barracks training might break me. A wife was even in selection for me, one who would snuff out my wild ideas about adventuring and keep me living a proper life. So naturally, I ran like the nine hells.

In another village that I had ran to, I thought that maybe some singing could earn me a few coppers for a meal. So I sang and sang the most beautiful song, but I found myself dragged outside the city and asked not to come back. Apparently, I didn't have much of a singing voice. But I wanted to be a bard, and it seemed like all bards sung, or so I thought so at the time. A bard who couldn't sing? Well, maybe that is why they mistook me for a beggar instead. Never fear, I told myself, I will make it one day.

I tried hunting deer the next morning, but I angered a bear instead. That didn't turn out well. I heard bards were good archers, but I couldn't aim to save my life. But I sure could run!

After living like a pauper awhile from village to village, I decided that I really did my best at storytelling. I told a story about the wife of a local lord, which got me beaten up and sent on a ship that apparently would take me far away from Toril and Faerun. In fact, it was headed to Kara-Tur!

How wonderful! I could now see the awesome and exotic world of Kara-Tur! Did they really have long, scroll-work thin blades that were stronger than pillars and sharper than shattered glass?

A storm hit. The waves were huge. The ship took water on the decks. So what did I do? Naturally I screamed my head off, and spoke of the "Doom, Death, and darnation" poetry I was writing. Apparently the crew didn't think it was so beautiful, so they tossed me off the boat into the storm because I was a bad omen.

Lucky me, I washed ashore on some weird island. It didn't seem that stable, like it spilled out from a wacky system of portals, or maybe I spilled in. Whatever the case, some old hermit picked me off the beach and offered me food. I hung out with the hermit a few days, and he actually started to like me until I began singing. He told me my welcome was worn out and that I should travel to a place called "Styne." He showed me the way, and gave me a parting gift. Maybe he felt guilty, liked me despite the singing, or perhaps thought it was a total piece of garbage that would be better off in my hands. It was a quill.

I asked him why? He said that in my discussions I mentioned I was an educated, writing man. The hermit didn't know anything about reading or writing. He thought I would make better use of it. I shrugged and figured that it was a poor replacement for the old one I had lost in the storm with my pack. But on the way out, he said "Use this carefully, Nathaniel, for what you write with this quill will be burned into the lives of men. You possess the very power to warp reality, young storywriter, so what you write, write it well!" I did not believe the man at all.

One day in the Styne Inn, I wrote a little tale called "Crazy Wayne," involving a complex plot about the King, some undead, and a strange demon. Apparently I learned then that the things I left out of the story can be just as dangerous as the things I put in! Nature, or the power of logic, filled in gaps to make it all possible, creating several unwanted factors and scary events! I burned the parchment that is was written on, but I realized I had done too much. Maybe some day some adventurer will replace Wayne and correct me for my folly. I had thought of fixing it with the quill, but I realized warping reality further could have terrifying consequences. Throwing more magic on a magic canvas could cause it to explode. So I only was contented to write about things yet undone.

I was at a loss. I didn't know what to do. So I began to write, "And Nathaniel found a guide who understood these issues....", and suddenly, a gray haired man in black appeared next to me. I turned to him. He smiled.

"Hi, my name is Merrick Wend........."

[Vugor]

haHA! Dat be great story Nate! Me tink yous got bestest sing voice me'd heared too. Dems guys all crazy.

[addicted2rpg]

Nathaniel Hald, eyes sunken and skin wrinkled, looked at his warped reflection through the bending-metal of his candle-stick holder. Aaaachooo!! Some feathers rocked on the air about the room. "Fake Indeed", Nathaniel sneered as he sneezed.

Sitting down at his desk, he stopped and turned toward the wood pile in the back of his chamber, and then back at the fireplace. "How forgetful I am getting in my years," Nathaniel muttered. The winged-man began to stand his desk, then stopped as he remembered himself, and sat back down. He drew forth a quill from his pocket, dipped it in ink, and wrote something on some parchment. An orange glow filled the room. Nathaniel looked back, smiling at the warmth of his newly created fire. Crumpling up the parchment, he tossed it in with a laugh.

"So! That is what Merrick has taught you, fool?!" said a voice from behind him. Nathaniel froze. He knew that voice. Reman. Turning back towards it, Nathaniel saw nothing. "My mind must be playing games with me. That old hermit must surely be dead by this time." chuckled Nathaniel, quite nervously.

Opening a drawer, Nathaniel withdrew a stack of parchments and began to go through them. The first one read, "The scullions now demand an additional copper per week to prepare King Wend's dinner." He wrote on the paper the words, "Granted. It took too long to find these ones whose cooking he can tolerate." He moved the paper off the stack into another drawer. He examined another report, "News of Clevian." Nathaniel looked very worried reading that report, and tossed the paper into a different drawer labeled "Undecided."

After a few hours, he got up from his desk and approached the door. When he touched the doorknob, the fire went out. Opening the door and letting in new light from the window in the hallway, Nathaniel went out. Turning sharply like a soldier marching, he turned southward and walked down it for a distance. Opening another door, Nathaniel began walking up some stairs. At the top, he opened another door and walked out onto the tower's balcony. Looking down at the courtyard, Nathaniel wondered what would happen if he didn't flap his wings this time. What life would of been like if he had not written himself into the planes the first time. If he had not ran away from home. How old his parents may be now. What would they think if they saw him like this?

He jumped, flapping his wings, and soaring into the sky. He directed himself toward Styne, where he landed on top of the mine there. Reports of unrest were always coming out of Styne. "Let's see if the guards are doing their job, just in case." Nathaniel muttered, looking down.

"You cannot escape your fate in this! I made you what you are!" said a voice. Nathaniel turned, expecting Reman again, and no one was there. Nathaniel chuckled to himself nervously, "Yes, but I closed the last way of leaving. Here you are, and here you stay."

Looking down by the campfire, he saw a group of adventurers mumbling about Damien Swift. They began to pick up their packs and leave the campfire, no doubt heading on an expedition. Nathaniel noticed the adventurers were missing something very important, and smiled. Fingering his pocket once more for re-assurance, he glided down off the top of the mine. No one would be leaving Fredian, just as the King wants, Nathaniel thought. He walked to the temple of Tyr and headed to the portal. "Castille" he said.

As the beams of light surrounded him, a little man from behind him said "Excuse me sir." As Nathaniel began to disappear he interjected, "No, I'm not the cleric."

The little man was left there scratching his head in mystery, looking at the now-gone, prescient winged-man.

[addicted2rpg]

A few months later...

Nathaniel rubbed his chin in thought. "Surely the way out is at the planar crossing," he mused. With a small contingent of guards, he traveled to the Mysterious Castle and passed through the force door within.

Long was the bridge that lead to that thinness in space. At the portal, he could feel a knotted place in space, preventing passage. Pulling forth the quill, Nathaniel wrote something down on a parchment and began to concentrate. His mind probed acrossed the knot. Up. Down. Through.

On he probed until he could feel one of its ends attached to the current plane, the Island of Fredian. He followed it along its edge and it was bound to something else; a figure near by. A figure he had long known since his half-sister had gone into hiding. He could feel its shadow near, but he did not look up. He felt it the second end of the knot tied to the room itself, perhaps the reason why the knot's tension made the planes thin enough here for the portal.

"The knot made the portal, and the portal is the knot" Nathaniel mused, rubbing his chin. Pulling forth his quill again, he wrote something down.

Suddenly lightning arced acrossed the chamber and Nathaniel found himself in what felt like a dream. He soared through countless dimensions. Faces, buildings, landscapes, skies, and elements flashed acrossed his sight in a blitz of ever changing scenery. He felt lighter, lighter, lighter.... Fredian seemed so far.

"I'm out! I'm out!" Nathaniel exclaimed as he soared. Suddenly all went black, and a fist sent him sailing. He stood up in the darkness and shouted "Where am I?!"

A hoarse voice replied, "Why, you are here, Nathaniel. " Confused, he used a cantrip that caused him to glow. In the darkness he saw the figure of Damien. "Yes, you were out. Now we are changing places. I will be free and you may rot in that fiery chamber!" Nathaniel began to panic and fumble for his quill. Damien began to chant. Nathaniel began to scrawl.

Suddenly the air seemed to tingle and the world began to blur. Nathaniel made few more strokes....... and.... darkness.

Waking up in his bed in Castille, Nathaniel felt very dirty, as though he were tainted by Damien's half-finished incantation. Looking into the mirror, he gasped.

"My wings!"