"What crimes, you ask?" The man looked quizzically at the villain. "Had you stayed in Inkwell longer, you might have learned the rules. So your first crime was to rush into creating your world and racing into it."
"But you said I was allowed to write whatever I could imagine, and that if I so wished, I could enter and see how the world was formed," retorted the villain.
"A half truth, which is another crime. I told you that what you write is formed, yes, but not that you should write whatever you want. We Pens have seen too many worlds formed this way, and they threaten the very existence of Inkwell. While your world has not started with the inherent threat to return through the door and destroy Inkwell, your constant habit of returning and changing your world does breed the threat. Time after time, your followers become more and more vile, their powers more vast, and your greed more apparent. If has become only a matter of time before you wish to dominate not only your world, but also the world which create yours. You will return here with great and deadly forces, and destroy that which we are here to protect. For these reason, I was sent to stop you."
During this small speech, the man had walked over to another unmarked door. With his fingernail, he scratched a few small figures and symbols into the wood. Turning again to the villain, he concluded:
"You are hereby banished, to Tartarus."
With this, he opened the door. Out of its wooden frame billowed a black smoke with arms of raging flames flailing wildly out, grasping for everything in its reach. One such arm reached beyond the rest, spanning the room until it came to the villain. Binding the villain, it drug him, screaming in pain and rage, across the threshold. The door swung shut, leaving the frame uncharred.
The man the turned to you, and with a great smile said:
"Welcome to Inkwell. So sorry it had to be under these circumstances. But I am sure we can make the most of it."
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