elcome, weary traveller.
You have stumbled upon The Limping Millipede, An inn located no-where on any known atlas. You appear to have none of the local currency my friend, and so, by tradition, you are requested to assist our aging storyteller with his charge: To tell stories. You must continue from whence the previous storyteller left off, adding only a paragraph each time. Our story begins below:

It was a dark and stormy night, and a man was walking down a path by the cliffs, From the tall hat on his head and the embroidered clock billowing out behind him, you could tell he was a wizard, or magic user of some sort...

(That's all folks, anybody who wants to continue the story can do so by e-mailing me (aquarion@bigfoot.com) please supply your e-mail address. Stories will be updated weekly with the best entry I recive)