The Inked  Quill; A Scribbler'sHaven

When did One become Three?

And how did they come to be?

 

That is a very good question. First there's me, Nick, the real person. Before the sun rises over the eastern horizon I tumble from the warmth of my comfortable bed, prepare for work, and do what most of us do, earn a living. Just another average dreamer with bills that need paid, and a table in need of food. When all is done for the day I like to relax, check my e-mail, connect with an old friend once in a blue moon, then surf the net in search of a story that I might critique at one of the many communities filled with wild tales of courage and valor. It's at those times my alter ego, the Cherokee Knight, emerges. But it's said that late at night when all is quiet another ventures forth. One known only as Scribbler. While others sleep this phantom has been know to prowl about until the wee hours of the morn spinning yarns, and rhymes. No one knows where he comes from, but he lurks about, ready to strike, to seize control, to slither into the darkest of nights, refusing to relinquish his reign until bleary of eye and limp of limb there is no alternative but to repose in sweet slumber awaiting another dark night when all grows quiet, the Scribbler ventures forth, and the words flow.