This section shall be used for the documentation and collections of William's past, that he has been writing in a means to vent. It, although being in Dragon Tales, may be used as common knowledge, for everything he writes is also going to be placed in the RDI Playables. (he's leaving these notes around town.) This is more for the people who haven't read the notes before, and for his mun which is going to be collecting these into a short story eventually. Please note, the basis of his character was meant to focus on the time period, and not his tragic background. Comments and critiques of the writing appreciated.

Due to my lack of proper speech, I've decided to vent my feelings into this paper, pencil my medium in so many ways. I shall, within these pages (and future pages) attempt to record the meaning behind my existence here, at this strange place I've arrived... Before I begin telling my own personal story, I feel it is necessary for me to provide some insight on the time period I lived in. Growing up an orphan in the 1920's New York streets, I had but little choice to rely on anyone, and anything I could find. Various mafia organizations and gangs conquered small sections of the city, the smaller only streets to be snuffed out by the larger, richer competitors. My family was a victim of one of these larger organizations, "The Judge" who paraded around the south of the city, assassinating and executing any who stood up to them. By a rare, once in a life time chance, I had been spared"The leader of the one 'squad" of members, Bill Heart, took me in as his to raise. I was five at the time, and so I do not, to this day, remember anything about my future life. All I know is that my family had been smuggling stolen goods (which The Judge had owned in the first place!) out of New York, and for this reason their assassination was ordered. I learned to accept the fact, and wanted no revenge for their deaths. I had been spared. I had survived. I had no reason to bite the hand that fed me, taught me, raised me. This was just the way things were, and there was nothing that could be done. The Judge itself was very secretive about their motives, but all could tell that they were out for power. Assassinations and executions were kept strictly to business, or the interruption of it. Everything was a gain for The Judge. They did not fear, did not want, did not starve"All we had to do was kill. That was our job. We followed orders, and we were taken care of. The main reason I've decided to record my history on paper, is because of the brutality I've witnessed on the streets. My own death was the result of rebellion'something The Judge did not, and would not permit. I refused to give up the location of a nine year old boy and his family, who had been targeted innocently for execution. The Judge had planned to return a favor to an old friend, letting his business take to the location of their old home. When the family did not comply, they were targeted, but had gone into hiding. I, solely, knew where the family had gone. I had helped them hide. As I was walking out of a bank with money superiors had requested, I was grabbed into the alley, and tortured. After half an hour of questions without answers, they took my eyes out with a nearby piece of glass. I still refused to talk, and fell unconscious. The last thing I remember feeling, before I saw myself laying on that cold alley ground, was the needle and stitches being pushed through the flesh of my lips. The mark of a traitor, a sign that showed those who might find me that The Judge had executed me for not speaking when I should have. They took away my right to speak with my mouth, but I know truthfully, that I will always speak on. My story will be told. At my young age the Judge rarely gave me any assignments, but when I was instructed, I located their targets, found out information of them....Weaknesses, strengths, motives....Everything The Judge would need to kill a man whilst remaining unsuspected. In a way, I was in fact, the coordinator of the executions.....I, to this day, blame myself for the tragedies I witnessed. Entire families shot to death, exploded, poisoned, tortured...The blood lust of The Judge never ceased, and my will to survive never did either. I don't believe it was until that day, when I met the nine year old boy in the market (a target member of the family The Judge planned to execute) did I really understand what monsters we were. The name itself, 'The Judge' made me question my own mortality. I knew very well I could die, but what bothered me was the fact that I had grown up beliveing that humans had every right to decide who should....would.....die, and when. 'It is from dust whence you came, and to dust you shall return.' Bill used to say...It was a quote from the Bible, something so hypocritical to his persona. 'Carpe Diem' was another one of his most often used phrases...I found myself...entranced by both of them. These quotes became the fixation of my thought, and my every action...And it's these quotes, that gave me the courage to stand up to The Judge, and to help the nine year old and his family. He did not deserve to die, an innocent, so young. Those quotes, really are the reason for my execution. I had to join The Judge, to leave it.

"William Wolfeboro

Before I continue William's story, I would like to ask those who voted or do vote to reply here explaining why. This thread is open, as I've said before, for comments and critiques. I'm prepared for any thrashing I may receive...So bring it on.

It was the winter of 1930 that I realized my place in The Judge. Up until then, they instructed me to go introduce myself to some children, Bill, casually talking with their parents. I had never known exactly why they had me meet so many children, from so many families, until that winter...That winter...when I became afraid of Bill.I was on a play date with Chuckie, a boy I had met in the market with Bill. Bill had been talking to his father...I couldn't hear much of it, but I knew it wasn't good. Chuckie and I were having fun playing together, and so I asked Chuckie's father if I could see him again, not knowing this was exactly what Bill wanted. We were invited over to his house. When we arrived, Bill made me stand behind him as we walked up to the front door. He told me to ring it and stand off to the side so I could surprise Chuckie if he answered it. How foolish I was to trust Bill. I could not see what I was doing...as Chuckie's father opened the door, Bill punched him, shattering his jaw. I screamed and tried to pull Bill off him, but I was tossed like a stuffed animal into the grass. As I fell, all I heard was the sound of a .22 ringing out, killing Chuckie's father...I remember trying to stand up, and feeling as if my legs weren't working...I was terrified, and wobbly...and then...Bill handed me the revolver, and instructed me...He instructed me to go and kill Chuckie. "This is what we do, Will, whether you knew it or not. Why do you think we make you wait outside the house before we leave? We're cleaning our guns. I didn't want you to have to see anything like this until you were older....but now...It's your time. Go. Hide it in your coat, and shoot him. Twice in the head, leave no chance." I remember quite clearly how loud I sobbed, as I stalked up those stairs. I feared Bill more than I did the police at this point, and as I opened the door, seeing Chuckie hiding under his bed, I froze. There was a minute or two of silence.....Until Bill put his hand on my shoulder...Raised my arm, and helped me pull the trigger. Twice. No chance of survival.