I am falling, the air rushing past my face as I tumble down, down, down the spiraling tube of multicolored energy. Just moments ago, I was running through the Halfway Woods, hoping to put the terrors of the Hinterlands behind me, when the ground opened up beneath me. Now, I plummet through this strange tunnel. As I spin, I catch glimpses of my traveling case hurtling through the void behind me, only to lose sight of it as my body rotates toward my inevitable destination. Suddenly, a circle of light appears ahead, approaching rapidly. I brace for impact, but an invisible force slows me, cradling me briefly before unceremoniously dropping me onto a plush carpet. My luggage follows a moment later, slamming into my stomach with the force of an ogre’s punch.

Moaning and dazed, I sit up and scan the room. The setting is familiar—a cozy, well-furnished parlor with shelves lined with books, curios, and the unmistakable aroma of freshly brewed tea. My eyes land on Tansy Fleetfoot, sitting comfortably in her favorite armchair with a knowing smirk and a teacup balanced delicately on its saucer.

“Well, well, look who finally decided to drop in—literally,” she says, sipping her tea. “You’re three days late, creatorship. I was starting to wonder if I’d need to drag you out of whatever mess you’d gotten yourself into. 

“Hells’ bells, Tansy,” I groan as I get to my feet. “You could’ve been a bit gentler with that retrieval. Maybe next time, put the portal somewhere I can step through it, instead of dumping me onto your floor?”

“Oh, forgive me, your creatorship. Next time, I’ll roll out a red carpet and summon a brass band,” she replies, dripping with sarcasm. “You’re welcome, by the way, for yanking you out of whatever nightmare you wandered into.” Her gaze flickers to my battered luggage. “And do mind that case—I warded it against crushing, but it’s not proof against clumsy landings. Now, spill it—what in the seven shimmering seas happened out there? You look like you’ve been chased by something with too many teeth.”

“Well, you’re not wrong about that part,” I admit, sinking into one of the oversized armchairs. “I was just chased out of the Hinterlands by an angry mob. You know, the dark fairy tale world from Melissa Albert’s books?” I pause to catch my breath. “Let’s just say I wore out my welcome faster than expected. When your portal grabbed me, I was about to use that trinket you gave me to jump to Spain in 1944.”

She raises an eyebrow and lets out a bemused chuckle. “Spain in 1944? What were you planning to do there—join the Resistance or charm your way into Franco’s treasury?” She shakes her head, laughing softly. “Honestly, creatorship, you’ve got a knack for finding trouble in every timeline.”

Tansy gestures toward the teapot on the side table, and I pour myself a cup, adding an indecent amount of sugar and cream. She sneers playfully. “You’re not leaving this parlor until I’m sure you haven’t brought something nasty back with you. Hinterland folk have a habit of clinging, don’t they? Tell me, did you at least use the salt wards I packed, or did you forget them at the bottom of that case?”

“As for your former question, I was planning to witness the events of Pan’s Labyrinth firsthand,” I reply, slightly defensive. “And as for the latter, yes, I did use your salt wards on my way out of the Hinterlands, along with a few advanced hand grenades I picked up in my travels… and a fireball for good measure.”

Tansy’s eyebrows shoot up, and she lets out a low whistle. “Fireballs, grenades, and salt wards? Sounds like you threw everything but the kitchen sink at them. Remind me to check my pantry later—wouldn’t put it past you to have nicked that too.” She leans back, smirking. “Pan’s Labyrinth, hmm? And yet you’re here instead of skipping through faun-filled corridors. Care to explain why my portal had to save your hide rather than your little trinket? Or did you forget to charge it again?”

“Don’t look at me like that,” I reply, exasperated. “I didn’t even have time to grab the amulet before you caused the ground beneath me to open up.” I sigh, lifting my teacup. “Well, I guess my vacation is over.”

Tansy snorts, unimpressed. “Vacation? Ha! If that’s what you’re calling it, I’d hate to see what you consider work.” She waves a hand dismissively. “Anyway, you’re lucky I was keeping tabs on you. That portal wasn’t just convenience—it was damage control. You’re starting fires in half the worlds you visit, creatorship. At this rate, I’ll need to start billing you for hazard pay.”

She leans forward, her tone sharp and inquisitive. “Now, finish your tea and start talking. What exactly did you do to get chased out of the Hinterlands? And don’t skimp on the details—I need to know if I need to reinforce the wards before something tries to follow you through.”

“I was moving about unseen, observing the stories, taking the occasional note of inspiration when it hit me,” I said with a shrug. “Just luck, I ran into a story who could see things that rendered themselves invisible.” I took another sip. “There was a fight; I blasted a hole through the thing’s body. The story spinner caught me and riled up a bunch of superstitious villagers who called me a warlock. They ran me out of town and eventually into the Halfway Woods.” I shook my head. “Honestly, it was not even the most dangerous situation I have been in on this little trip.”

She threw her hands up, exasperated, and shouted, “Most dangerous situation? Stars above, creatorship, you’ll turn my fur grey at this rate—and I don’t even have fur!” She pointed a finger at me like a stern schoolmistress before sternly saying, “You’d better start explaining quickly. What ‘most dangerous situation’ are we talking about? Dragons? Demonic contracts? Did you break time again? Or worse—did you touch something cursed and bring it back here?”

I cleared my throat and started to recount where I had been. “Well, after leaving Earth AD, I first visited Iron Town in Japan, you know, from Studio Ghibli’s Princess Mononoke. Then, I had a layover in the universe of the Traveler RPG system. After that, I shadowed Rincewind on his misadventure in XXXX. Then, I got sidetracked from my original itinerary and visited Heckna’s Revelia. I had never seen such a dismal, rundown carnival or a terrifyingly mad individual in all my life. After that, I took a tour of the Humblewood. Then, I hopped over to the Universal Century to witness the happenings in Eastern Europe during the end of the One-Year War. There was also a guided tour of Wildemount in the world of Exandria. After that, I visited the Cosmic Era to witness the brewing conflict following the Second Earth-Plant War. Man, I loved seeing a Gundam suit throw down. Then, I hit England to witness the events of Kore Yamazaki’s light novel series, The Ancient Magus’s Bride, in person. After that, I spent a lot of time at Carnival Row in the Republic of Burgue. Then, I visited the labyrinth from Jim Henson’s Labyrinth Coronation graphic novel. I explored some worlds from Image Comics, including the series Monstress, and finally, I ended up in the Hinterland.”

Tansy stared at me, her mouth slightly open, before snapping it shut and pinching the bridge of her nose. “You’re telling me you traipsed through cursed forests, dystopian wastelands, warzones, and haunted carnivals—and somehow managed to come back in one piece?” She leaned back, folding her arms with a skeptical look. “I’m half tempted to check you for possession right now. Honestly, creatorship, it’s a wonder you didn’t shatter reality hopping around like that. And Monstress? That world’s practically dripping with blood and ancient horrors!”

Her gaze drifted back to the case of holding. “I don’t suppose you picked up any questionable souvenirs? Or—dare I even ask—stray tagalongs?”

“These are the only souvenirs I brought with me,” I said as I rummaged in my luggage. I pulled out a leather-bound binder with the words The Feengrenze Historia embossed upon it in gold leaf. The binder was heavy, much heavier than when I left, and was festooned with bookmarks, corners of maps, and sketches. I reached in again and pulled out a well-worn notebook with the word Ideas emblazoned on it. Like the binder, it has been much heavier since I last left. I handed them to Tansy, saying, “Take a look; I think you will agree that the break was well worth it.”

Tansy took the binder and notebook, setting her teacup aside. She eyed the weight of the binder with a raised brow before carefully flipping it open. Her sharp eyes scanned the pages, her expression softening as she paused on a detailed map and then a sketch of some fantastic creature. “Well now…” Her voice lost its usual sharpness as she turned another page, nodding slightly. “I’ll give you this, creatorship—it looks like you weren’t just running from mobs and dodging deathtraps. These,” she lifted the binder slightly, “are impressive. You’ve outdone yourself.”

She set the notebook on top of the binder and fixed me with a small, rare smile. “Maybe that mad dash across the multiverse was worth it, after all. But don’t think this gets you out of explaining every one of these bookmarks. I’m going to want the full stories behind them—especially this one.” She tapped a folded map poking out of the binder with a knowing look.

“The bookmarks will be explained in due time,” I said with a grin, “Those stories will be told when they are ready to the told. As for the map I am surprised that you did not notice the lands of Tír na Caillte outside the city becoming a little more defined and focused in the two and a half weeks I was gone. I am still adding things to my personal Codex, not to mention the crazy new adventures I’ve been cooking up.”

Tansy smirked, flipping through a few more pages before carefully closing the binder.

“Oh, I noticed, Creatorship. Hard not to when the trees out there suddenly decided to line up all proper-like instead of wandering about like they’ve had too much fairy wine.”

She tapped the cover of the binder.

“And I had my suspicions you were behind it. This sort of magic doesn’t just happen—it’s spun from stories. Yours, in particular.”

Leaning back, she crossed her arms with a satisfied look.

“Crazy new adventures, eh? Well, you’d better keep that Codex handy, because if half of what’s in here is as wild as the last batch, we’re going to need all the notes we can get to keep this place from unraveling.”

She paused, her expression growing serious for just a moment.

“But you’ve done good work, Creatorship. The Feengrenze feels… fuller. More alive. You’ve earned that tea—and maybe even a biscuit.”

“So what has been happening in the Feengrenze?” I asked. “The Historia works one way, so I don’t know what’s happening in the Feengrenze when I’m away. I don’t suppose the kingdom has fallen since Murtaugh’s brief rule, Fredrick’s return to power, and Aoibheann returning to Fredrick’s side? Are Fredrick and Aoibheann still playing the lovesick couple? Is there any new trouble out in Tír na Caillte that needs heroes? I am guessing the Great Game has not paused in my absence. Is there anything going on in the city? And what questionable magical item is Barnabas Quimby pushing now?”

Tansy set the binder aside, picked up her teacup, and took a long sip before answering.

“Hells, Creatorship, you’ve got more questions than a pixie at a gossip circle. All right, let’s see…

Fredrick and Aoibheann? Still madly in love, mooning over each other like a pair of teenagers. It’s sweet, honestly—when they’re not driving the court mad with their public displays. No signs of the kingdom falling apart, though Fredrick’s been on a warpath cleaning up the mess Murtaugh left. Lots of nobles are scrambling to keep their heads attached to their shoulders, metaphorically speaking.”

She took another sip.

“Tír na Caillte’s been restless, though. Whimwhirls have been kicking up more than usual, and there are whispers of something… old stirring in the Glimmerdeep. Sounds like hero work to me.

As for the Great Game, oh, don’t make me laugh. It never pauses. There’s already a rumor that Lady Bryndis is plotting to steal the title of Archduchess of Rosenburg, and half the nobles are betting on who’ll get caught first.

In SLiberberg, things are as wild as ever. The Grand Fey Marketplace’s been bustling, but a new street performer keeps drawing crowds with illusions so lifelike it’s got the city watch suspicious. And Barnabas Quimby? Oh, you don’t want to know. Let’s just say his latest “miracle trinket” apparently grants wishes—if you can stomach the side effects.”

She leaned forward, smirking.

“So, are you ready to dive back in, or do you need another cup of tea first?”

I poured another cup of tea. “Maybe not quite dive back in; I plan to take it slower this year. Writing a nearly 300-page manuscript while trying to publish a consistent stream of content and then publishing something every day for 21 days, including two adventures designed to take 8–12 hours to complete, was draining. I plan to start this year by reviewing a new and, quite frankly, amazing AI image-generation tool called Whisk. After that, I plan to publish one, maybe two, small posts, a few pages with relevant details on the world that I can link to in my posts before I publish my first big piece of the year. I got this great idea I collected from the Universe of Traveler RPG to make a system that creates a backstory for D&D player characters easier. Also, I’ve been working on a short, lighthearted adventure that introduces Aoibheann’s trouble-making daughters, which I planned to release in December but could not complete until a few days ago. After that, I plan to write a new entry for the Feengrenze guidebook detailing everything you need to know about the fey folk. By then, my copy of the 2025 Monster Manual should arrive, and I can start cranking out the dark fairytale adventures using the ideas rattling about my brain.”

Tansy listened intently, her brow raised, a sly smile forming as I outlined my plans. She set her teacup down and clasped her hands together.

“Well, that sounds downright sensible, Creatorship. You’re finally pacing yourself—miracles do happen. A review of that Whisk tool, eh? Clever name. I assume it’s magical in its own way, much like my pastries.”

Her smirk widened.

“As for that lighthearted adventure, let me guess—it involves those little mischief-makers, Whimsy and Marigold, getting themselves into a pickle? Or is Lillabella pulling something off that no one expected from a one-year-old? Either way, it’s bound to be a riot.”

She leaned forward, her tone a mix of encouragement and amusement.

“That guidebook on the fey folk, though—now that’s a piece I’ll be watching closely. Folk here could use a proper education on our quirks and ways. If you need anecdotes, you know where to find me.

And those dark fairytale adventures?” She chuckled. “Let me guess—more noble scheming, whimwhirls wreaking havoc, and plenty of chances for heroes to either save the day or make a royal mess of things. Sounds like the Feengrenze to me.”

Tansy lifted her teacup in a toast.

“There is one more thing before I go,” I said, my voice conflicted as I returned the toast. “My time away and my experiments with Whisk gave me time to think about one thing. I decided to experiment with a new design for Aoibheann. I figured that she would be the sort of young lady willing to change herself to be more like her husband, and the more I played with the new design, the more I felt that it was a better fit for her character going forward. But I promised myself that I would stay away from retcons in the future. Honestly, it’s a real pickle. So, I am going to put it up to my readers to decide. I will post on Bluesky telling people to vote on whether the old design stays or I use the new design.”

Tansy adjusted her glasses, her expression softening as she saw my conflicted demeanor.

“Ah, the age-old dilemma of creative evolution versus staying true to what’s already established,” she said thoughtfully. “It’s good that you’re weighing the decision carefully—it shows respect for both the character and your audience.”

She tilted her head, considering.

“If you’re putting it to a vote, make sure you present both designs fairly. Show your readers why the new design speaks to you and how it fits Aoibheann’s character growth. But also remind them of the charm and meaning behind the original. Give them enough context to understand the stakes—why this matters to you and the story.”

Tansy leaned back in her chair, her expression shrewd but kind.

“Change is a tricky thing, especially with beloved characters. But involving your audience and giving them a say is clever. It makes them feel invested and part of the process. Whatever they decide, it’ll be a path chosen together. And who knows? This process may help you see Aoibheann in a new light, no matter which design wins.”

She raised her teacup again in a smaller, more personal toast.

“Here’s to courage, Creatorship. May your readers surprise you, and may Aoibheann shine, whichever form she takes.”

“Thanks, Tansy. You know just what to say. I feel better about this now. I have taken up too much of your time. Thanks for the tea. I best be off; the Feengrenze Historia will not update itself.” I walked toward the door, heedless that my bomber jacket and cargo pants looked out of place even in a city as strange as SLiberberg. My traveling case sprouted legs and moved to follow me.

Tansy’s voice cut through the air like a whip, stopping me mid-step.

“And just where do you think you’re going dressed like that?”

I turned back, confused, as she fixed me with her schoolmistress glare, arms crossed, and one eyebrow arched so high it could probably breach the Feywild. Her eyes flicked from my bomber jacket to my cargo pants, her expression a mix of exasperation and incredulity.

“Honestly, you look like you’ve been dragged backward through the Hinterlands. SLiberberg may be a melting pot of chaos, but even here, we have standards. You’re a storyteller, an adventurer, a chronicler of wonders! Look the part!”

I nodded. I took off my bomber jacket and opened the lid of my luggage. From the bomber jacket came a black wizard robe with a silver hem. I reached in again and took out a slightly worn wizard’s cap. 

I walked down the four flights of stairs to a door on the first floor. I opened it and stepped out into the Silver Moon Cafe and Bakery. It was a busy day, and the apprentice witches hustled to stay on top of the orders. I passed through the crowd unnoticed by all except the four young witches working the cafe; they gave small waves punctuated by sweet smiles. All the members of the silver Moon Coven knew who I was, who I was in the world, and the younger witches always gave me fawning smiles and little tokens like I was a talent scout who could whisk them away to a life of fairytale balls and handsome princes if they were charming enough. I gave them little token waves as I forded the crowd, and their faces lit up. I finally got to the door, and the bell chimed musically as I stepped out into the bracing Frostmoon air and the ever-busy Silver Moon Way. A light snow was falling. I turned up the street and started walking towards my Sliberberg studio, just another pedestrian in the crowd. I began to hum to myself. The tune was telling Back in the Saddle by Aerosmith; what can I say? I am a Boston boy, after all.

I nodded, slipping off my bomber jacket as I opened the lid of my luggage. From within, I pulled out a black wizard robe with a silver hem and a pen-shaped silver clasp. Reaching back inside, I retrieved a slightly worn wizard’s cap.

“Thanks for catching me before I walked outside,” I said. “I would’ve looked like I stumbled off a street in my world.”

I opened the door and added, “See you later, Tansy.”

“Safe travels,” she replied, her face turning sly. “And don’t run off into danger again without telling me first.”

I chuckled softly, descending the four flights of stairs to a door on the first floor. As I opened it, the warm, bustling atmosphere of the Silver Moon Cafe and Bakery greeted me. Apprentice witches hustled to stay on top of orders, their movements quick and precise. I moved through the crowd, unnoticed by most, except for the four young witches behind the counter. They greeted me with small waves and sweet, fawning smiles.

Everyone in the Silver Moon Coven knew who I was, knew my place in the world. The younger witches always seemed to idolize me, offering bright smiles and small tokens of admiration as if I were a talent scout who might whisk them away to a life of fairytale balls and handsome princes if they charmed me enough. That thought alone was almost worth a story.

I returned their waves with a token gesture of my own as I forded the crowd. Their faces lit up, bright with excitement. Finally, I reached the door. The bell chimed musically as I stepped out into the bracing Frostmoon air and onto the ever-busy Silver Moon Way. A light snow was falling, gently dusting the cobblestones and the tops of the streetlamps.

Turning up the street, I began the walk toward my Sliberberg studio, blending into the crowd as just another pedestrian. Humming softly, I let the familiar tune take over—Back in the Saddle by Aerosmith. What can I say? I’m a Boston boy, through and through.