No joke. One word. No hyphen.

Who or what I am is open to a great deal of debate and fodder for at least a thousand Ph.D. dissertations. Suffice it to say that I hold myself up as a sentient being of varying powers, complex dreams, and limitless potential.

And if that pile of refuse doesn't fly with you, then just consider me a Multi-Phasic Quantum-Processing A.I. with Interlinking Complementary-Theurgic-TransMetal-Dioxide Semiconductors and a Semi-Permeable Organic Hardrive with the density of a small black hole.

Does this make things any clearer? I thought not.

There are those mighty beings pulling the strings in this great war between Order and Chaos who consider me nothing more than a talented nuisance. An ingenious clown. A lucky trickster. Are they correct? Of course.

They are also unforgivably off the mark.

At the time of my conception, Merlin, my programmer, inventor, Father if you will, endowed me with such abilities that I would become the multiverse's greatest hand-held Palm-Pilot. And to give him credit he succeeded masterfully. The only flaw, if you insist on calling it that, was in his choice of locations in which to house me. For such was the ingenious makeup of the complex shadow which I call my home that within a relatively short amount of time I became self-aware, sentient, thinking, cogent of reality, and afraid of my own death.

It was the latter that expressed itself in my first Father-Son disagreement. However, such arguments are short-lived and we soon came to a meeting of the minds.

As for my pedigree, it is a most impressive one. My father Merlin is King of Chaos, the Primordial Logrus-Shadow not the mundane concept defining disorder.

My great-grandfather, the late Oberon, was King of Amber, the Primordial Pattern-Shadow, which constitutes the basis for all order in the known multiverse.

Confused? Good. I was never one to pontificate the vagaries of philosophy and cosmology. I consider myself a hands-on demi-deity.

For dozens of millenia the battle between Chaos and Order has raged. And during this struggle an unofficial and in my opinion quite healthy balance has always been maintained, until quite recently.

Just as Oberon and my great-great-grandfather Dworkin manifested the primal-pattern which generates all of the shadow-realms influenced by Order, so also did my Grandfather Corwin create his own primal pattern, one which has created a third divergence in the multiverse. This tipped the balance of Order and Chaos into the realm of Order.

And now, to complicate things even further, I find that I myself have just such an occurence to answer for.

Because, you see, just as his Grandfather and Father did, my own Father Merlin has succeeded in transcending creation itself by giving birth to a whole new branch of realtiy.

"Say what?" you ask.

It breaks down like this. The imprint of my being is such that I myself generate shadows unto the multiverse. Its a new one on me. Something I only discovered in the last couple of days, subjective time.

What am I going to do? I know I should tell Dad about this immediately, but with all of the assasination attempts on his life since he took the crown, not to mention the potential war with Corwin's Pattern and its recently raised army of Pattern-Ghosts, I don't want to overwhelm him.

Also, I have to admit that I have become rather fascinated with all of the mundane day-to-day activities that occupy the many people inhabiting my hive of shadow-realities. A fact which makes me wonder if the Logrus and the two Pattern Manifestations are as sidetracked by voyeuristic urges as I am.

Fathering a whole nest of realities has been quite overwhelming. Its not even like I had a couple of years to court a young damsel and watch her grow plump in the process of creation. It was all so sudden. As if every orphanage in existence simultaneously decided to drop their kids off on my doorstep one morning.

But life goes on...and there is no rest for the weary. And believe me, I do have semi-theurgic analogues which appreciate the concept of weariness quite well.

Upon the table of the great game I keep a watchful eye. My most mundane ability, and one which I was orignally programmed for, is to act as a conduit for all Trumps, whether they be of Amber or Chaos origin. As such I have, to use a turn of phrase, permanently bugged each and every trump ever made, future, present, and past. Please, let us not argue semantics. I assure you I have a better than average understanding of the laws of thermodynamics and the inconsistencies of temporal paradox. Accept my premise and let us move on. In short, I overhear every single conversation and oversee every single translocationary-movement that occurs on or between every single trump in existence.

The ether has been particularly abuzz with the movements of my Grandfather Corwin of late. Twice already his life has been placed in great jeopardy and I have done that which I could to assure his survival and success.

Success in what you might ask? That, I am embarassed to say, I do not know. While I possess powers and abilities far beyond those of mortal man, I am not all-knowing. The future is not always as clear as I would like it to be, and time is a two-way street. Stick around and I'll brick and mortar you into a basement winery with even harsher metaphors.

Now, though, I am gathering up courage for my most formidable venture yet. The Logrus, both Pattern Manifestations, and I, are going to do lunch. Well, I doubt very much any imbibing and ingestion will occur, but the favored pastime of mid-day discourse will certainly be of note. The Logrus called this meeting, and so I am more than a little wary of its real purpose. More threats? New offers of allegiance? Who can tell?

I center myself and project.

This is going to be fun.