This dream I've had has been gestating inside of my mind ever since I was young. I would sit around the fire and my grandfather would tell me tales of the exploits of great adventurers and heroes of days gone by. Warriors, clerics, thieves, druids, rangers, bards; their stories were all very interesting to me. But my favorite stories of all centered around the deeds of mages. I remember as a young lad, sitting upon his knee and begging that he would spin me and my brothers and sisters yarns about the Mage Bane Wars and other wizardly tales.

My grandfather always told his stories with such enthusiasm and excitement. Every detail entranced me. At bedtime I would sit and stare wide-eyed at the ceiling of my room, imagining myself as a wizard. I would pretend to hurl fireballs, call down lightning, all the while waving my magic wand about me like a conductor's baton and causing devastation or beauty with every stroke. In my fantasies, I was always clothed in a brilliant blue robe and a magnificent pointy hat, as all wizards wear.

Then one day, I decided to act out my fantasies. I gathered up an old dirty brown blanket and threw it around my small frame like a robe. "Ha!" I exclaimed. "I'm a wizard!" I paraded around my home, much to the amusement of my brothers and sisters and parents, casting imaginary spells and slaying fictitious beasts of great power. I did this for a few months off and on, and then one day I found an old funnel and thought to myself, "it's a wizard's hat!" I inverted the funnel and placed it atop my little head, making my outfit even more complete.

The months went by, my grandfather's stories continued, and thoughts of wizardry filled my mind at all times. Even though I was getting older, the dream was still there. I could not wait until the day that I could travel off to a mage school or become some wizard's apprentice. I did everything in my power to speed the years by, but they just would not come soon enough for me.

At least I had my daydreams to pass the time. Despite the mocking of my peers, I wore my brown crusty blanket with pride to play every day, and the funnel on top of my head. The other children would push me down and try to steal my "robe" or my "hat" but I always managed somehow to get them back.

My parents became worried when I began coming home with bruises and cuts from the other children. They insisted that I stop pretending to be a wizard all the time. They claimed that it wasn't healthy and that I was upsetting them. I would be punished any time I dressed up like a mage, and sent to my room. I would cry myself to sleep, not understanding why my parents were unhappy with me. One day my parents confiscated my "robe" and my "hat" and I never saw them again. I was devastated. How could they do this to me? I am their son. Why don't they understand that I want to be a mage more than anything in the entire world?

Their disapproval only made me more determined than ever to become a mage. I worked odd jobs in my village. Hard work it was, for very little pay. But after a year of this I had scraped together enough money, it finally paid off. I went to a local seamstress, and behind my parents' backs, I commissioned her to sew me the most beautiful wizard's robe I could afford. It would be royal blue, with yellow stars sewn onto it, just like in the stories. I did not have enough money to pay her for a hat, but I vowed to keep working until I could save the money.

Weeks went by, and with each passing day, my anticipation grew. Finally the day had arrived, and my robe was to be completed. I rushed to the seamstress's house as fast as my feet could carry me. I excitedly knocked on the door, and the kindly old woman answered. In her hands was a large box with a ribbon tied around it. I handed her the money gladly, and she in turn gave me the box. I ran home and into my room, slamming the door to my room shut. I flopped down onto my bed, cradling the box in my arms. Slowly I undid the ribbon, and just as slowly I lifted the box lid away.

To the ordinary observer my robe was nothing more than a blue bath robe with some cheapy stars sewn onto it, but it was a magnificent creation in my eyes. I made sure that I was undisturbed in my room and I slowly slid it onto me. It was a little big on me, as I had accounted for the fact that I would be getting taller still and I wanted the robe to last forever. With the long sleeves hanging over my hands, I grabbed a broomstick from under my bed. "This is no broomstick," I said to myself, "this is is my staff!"

So in secret I continued on this way, dreaming my dream in silent contentment. I'd steal away into my room and wear my robe whenever I could, and I'd pretend for hours on end. I knew if my parents found out, they'd kill me, so I was always very careful not to get caught, and to hide my robe in a place where they would never find it.

The years went by, and I was becoming a man, little by little. Soon I would be old enough to run away from my house and my family, and go far, far away. I would travel to the city of Highmoon where I would surely find a wizard who would take me on as his apprentice. I continued to work odd jobs to save my money. Part of me was sad to want to leave my family, because I loved them despite the fact that they did not want me to become a wizard. But it was my dream, and I knew that if I didn't leave I would never be able to see it come into fruition, as there was no one to teach me in my village.

It was hard keeping this secret all to myself, and it slowly began to eat away at me. I had to tell someone. But who could I tell? Who could I trust with this? I decided to tell my older brother. I remembered when we were small, that he was as interested in my grandfather's stories as I was. He would even indulge me a little bit when I pretended to be a wizard when we were young. So I told him my plans to run away and become a wizard. He looked at me blankly.

"Brother," he said sadly, "you can't become a wizard."

"Why not?!" I screamed at him, tears flowing down my cheeks. If anyone should understand, it was him, I thought to myself. "I don't understand, why can't I become a wizard? Is it because I'm too young?"

"No," my brother answered. "Age has nothing to do with it."

"Is it because I'm not smart enough?"

"No, brother," he said. "Everyone knows you are smart. You have an incredible imagination."

I was perplexed. "Is it because of mom and dad?"

He stared at me for a moment as if in thought, and nodded.

"Why can't they just let me be!" I cried. "Well it doesn't matter. I will run away and become a wizard anyway."

My brother just shook his head. "Brother," he said, his voice quivering ever-so-slightly. "You cannot become a wizard because..."

"... because why?" I asked.

"... because you are a halfling. We cannot learn magic."

Suddenly I knew his words were true. I buried my head in my hands and I cried until my eyes turned bloodshot and I couldn't cry anymore.

That night I went to sleep, but before I did I cursed the gods for making me a halfling. I begged them with all of my heart to turn me into a wizard and I'd be one when I awoke the next morning. It didn't happen. So I prayed every night that the gods would turn me into a wizard, and every morning I awoke and no change.

I still pretended to be a wizard every now and then. I'd try on my robes, but it soon lost its appeal. There was simply no chance for my dream to ever come true. I became depressed. I thought about killing myself, but I was too afraid to go through with it. Afterall, I had such a loving family. How could I do that to them? I just couldn't.

So I lived my life as a hollow shell of a person. I became a shoemaker like my father, but my heart wasn't in it. Sometimes I liked the work; I liked working with my hands. But I often felt like I didn't have a clue about how to make a shoe. They always ended up not nearly as good as the ones my father made. I told my father about this, and he chalked it up to his experience and tried to reassure me that I would improve with time. I tried to believe him, but I knew that I would much rather be casting spells than making shoes, and the thought ate away at me constantly.

Finally I quit my father's business, despite his begging for me to stay. I moved out of the family home, and I went to a run-down part of the village and slept in an old farmer's wooden toolshed. I had no money because I didn't work, but I did have one thing that mattered to me more than anything: my robe.

You might see me time to time, walking in your neighborhood after dark, prodding along with my broomstick staff and wearing my old blue bathrobe. Don't be afraid to say hello. I'm not scary like the townsfolk say, just old and lonely. I would love to talk to you. I have so many stories to tell...