David Eckelberry was born the youngest son of a large family of humans that resided somewhere in the realm called Pennsylvania. His father¡¯s labor as a tradesman and metalworker dictated that his youth be spent on the move along what is known as the East Coast, with long stops in the realms of unpronounceable Connecticut, named for a tidal river, and a city in Georgia, named for a Greek runner who claimed to be a goddess. David largely ignored his surroundings, except for the growth of an incredible group of Braves who could throw balls particularly well. Instead, he focused on reading fiction better suited for landfill, rolling small Platonic solids on his garage floor with a circle of friends, and playing computer games on now-extinct consoles. He also wasted time writing imaginary scenarios set in fantasy worlds, during which players of a certain game would once again roll many of those Platonic solids.

After his parents bequeathed him an overpriced education ad ripas Potomaci, David languished in the nation¡¯s capital for some time. As an editor on poorly written texts, his labors seemed to him not unlike cleaning the Aegean stables. Eventually, his interest in writing those make-believe adventures led him to secure employment with a guild of similar storytellers in the berg named for its small freshwater source, Lake Geneva. With this guild, that went by the name TSR, he spent a pair of years creating tales of both medieval lore and science fiction imagining. Soon, though, a rival guild of gamemakers seized control of TSR. Fortunately, these sorcerers turned out to be not half so evil as his former corporate masters led him to believe. So David went to work for those Wizards of the Coast in the rainy land of newer city, this one named for an aboriginal leader of the previous century. For the next five years he composed adventures of dungeons and dragons, told of the hidden ways of heroic empowerment, and on the side designed a game of cards or two.