The Great Library of Palanthas
An Aesthetic shows you to a small reading room.
Stories of Ansalon from the view of Walken.
A little gully dwarf runs by and says 'Wordwrap Off 65 80.'
The gully continues 'Eyes hurt? Turn Color OFF!! (regular story dates)
Astinus says 'Enter the main library here to view only the author list.'
Astinus gently places a concise treatise on the table in front of you.
You note the spine bears the word 'Walken' scribed in earth-colored yellow ink.
Author: Walken Date: Tue Oct 3 14:57:50 2006 Subject Lost Tales of the Solamnic Knighthood Rose Knight Wosnaik rubbed the two painful spots next to his eyes. It was the beginning of a long day, and the wine skin under his desk was calling to him seductively. Unfortunately, there were two Sword Knights in front of him, and he had business to deal with. "Stabler, Kierkegaard, thank you both for coming in on short notice. We've had our hands full with suicide cults in Holy Grove, but something's come up that I need you to take care of. There was a homicide two nights ago in New Thalos. I need you to go out there and start leaning on people before they start thinking the law's forgotten about them. I don't want another Nabil incident on my hands. Phin's got contacts in the area, and he'll take you in a carriage. *** As he sat in the rattling back seat of the carriage, Kierkegaard found himself trapped in a brown study. New Thalos was the most lawless of the Palanthas burroughs, and the knighthood had never been able to keep a firm grip on it. In his time, Istar River had seen more drugs go through it than an apothecary. New Thalos had really gone to hell in his first year working with Stabler, when they'd gone after Nabil for abducting young women and doing... things to them in the back room of his pet shop. An old woman had seen Stabler use excessive force in taking down Nabil--Nabil had walked, and Stabler got stuck walking a Shadow Grove beat for three years. From the way his partner was seething in his position at the window, Kierkegaard felt more than knew that they had arrived in New Thalos. Crown Knight Phin introduced them to the sultan's guards on duty at the crime scene. "Chandrasekkar, Zulamin, these are Sword Knights Stabler and Kierkegaard. They're the knights in charge of the case." Stabler shook hands woodenly with each of the guards. Kierkegaard shook their hands a little more warmly and asked, "So what exactly happened here?" Chandrasekkar's mouth worked like he was chewing something bitter as he detailed the incident for them. "Happened two nights ago, right her outside the butcher shop. The victim was walking home with her groceries when she was struck from behind. You can see from the way the groceries are strewn that she was probably struck on the right side. As she turned, her attacker slashed her across the stomach. She bled to death some time after." Kierkegaard knelt down to examine the wound in the body. "That's a nasty cut. Shallow, but very long and wide. She must've lain here in shock for a good five minutes before she started to go." Zulamin spat in disgust, angrily, "She was pregnant. The dog!" "That's awful," Kierkegaard replied. "No, you don't understand," Chandrasekkar said, "He cut her open and he took the baby." To be continued... Author: Walken Date: Thu Oct 5 21:24:49 2006 Subject Lost Tales of the Solamnic Knighthood, Part II Kierkegaard had thought he'd blacked out for just a moment. Really, he could never tell for sure if one moment followed the next. Took the baby? How could that be? Stabler was talking off to one side with Zulamin. Kierkegaard couldnt make out what they were saying, but Stabler was making incisive directional movements with the flat of his hand, and Zulamin was nodding. They abruptly broke off their conversation as Stabler rejoined Kierkegaard. It looks like our boys here have been smart enough not to sit on their hands during the first 48 hours. Zulamin followed the blood trail until he lost it and came upon a possible witness. They're going to take us there right now. Phin, youd better with us. Sultans Walk was churning with a listless sea of people getting hotter and more impatient as the midday sun began to blister down on them. A knot of people outside the Dancing Daemon had tried to quench their thirst for liquid as well as for merriment, and Chandrasekkar had to part them with the flat of his scimitar. He led his party up the stairs to a small room overlooking the casbah. A small man who was wearing his belted sark like a dress grinned boyishly as they entered the room. Kierkegaard gritted his teeth silently. The witness was a wandering prophet. He tried probing, hesitantly, Hello, there. Im Sword Knight Kierkegaard. This is my partner, Stabler. Did you see something outside the butchery two nights ago? A little film of saliva had formed on the prophets lips during the brief introduction, and it served to pepper his words as he spoke. "I am the thorn in the foot, I am the blur in the sight; I am the worm at the root, I am the thief in the night. I am the rat in the wall, the leper that leers at the gate; I am the ghost in the hall, herald of horror and hate. I am the rust on the corn, I am the smut on the wheat, Laughing man's labor to scorn, weaving a web for his feet. I am canker and mildew and blight, danger and death and decay; The rot of the rain by night, the blast of the sun by day. I warp and wither with drought, I work in the swamp's foul yeast; I bring the black plague from the south and the leprosy in from the east. I rend from the hemlock boughs wine steeped in the petals of dooms; Where the fat black serpents drowse I gather the Upas blooms. I have plumbed the northern ice for a spell like Frozen lead; In lost grey fields of rice, I have learned from Mongol dead. Where a bleak black mountain stands I have looted grisly caves; I have digged in the desert sands to plunder terrible graves. Never the sun goes forth, never the moon glows red, But out of the south or the north, I come with the slavering dead. I come with hideous spells, black chants and ghastly tunes; I have looted the hidden hells amd plundered the lost black moons. Stabler interrupted him before he could go on, You want to play games with us? You think your religious freedom protects you from me? The prophet stared at him glassily, until Stabler darted forward at something he saw, pushing the copious sleeves up the prophets wrinkled arm. Thats an interesting tattoo youve got there. Ergothian pirate, isnt it? I bet if I go through mug portraits in the Clerist Tower, well find a face that looks like yours eventually. Who killed the woman in that alley? Who took her baby? Beyond the street, in skulking dark, In search of hope I came to see The crimson ghost who bore in arm The fruit of fearful butchery: A screaming babe from love forlorn, From suckling womb to alley bare. A moments carnage left Mum torn And sets a feast for my despair. The prophet stopped singing because he was gazing in surprise at a quarrel that had sprouted from his breast like the stem of a flower. Around it, a red circle was slowly blossoming. Author: Walken Date: Fri Oct 6 21:28:13 2006 Subject Lost Tales of the Solamnic Knighthood, Part III "The window! Phin screamed, "I can't see the shooter!" Chandrasekkar and Zulamin had scrambled downstairs, one of them calling for a cleric. In the midst of the confusion the prophet lay still, making short gasps. "Who did you see?" Kierkegaard asked. The prophet's eyes were swirling around like two hot pennies in a glass jar someone had shaken. "Who?" One eye focused on Kierkegaard for a long second. "...butcher." Then he made a long cough and lay still. *** "I don't like this," Kierkegaard said as they made their way through Market Square. "That prophet was clearly nuts, and we don't even have him as a witness anymore. We don't have enough to make an arrest. Not if we're going to go by our code." "Your'e still the same young optimist I met coming out of the academy, aren't you, Kiki?" Stabler said. Well try this truth on for size: Sometimes mysteries are so big that there is no place to begin, and there's probably no place to end. In those cases, leaning is the only thing we can do. If you don't agree with me, you can always stay here. But I think you know by now that existence preceeds essence. The code only has meaning we give to it, but our partnership is bound more tightly to our physical selves. It, too must be served." "On the first point I don't quite agree, but on the second I do," Kierkegaard said, holding out his hand, "Perhaps one day you will see that partnership is a code as well." Switching from philosophy to action with an ease that comes only from experience, they drew their broadswords and kicked open the door to the butchery. "Solamnic Knights! Freeze!" Butch the meatcutter was behind the counter with his grisly wares. In his right hand, a cleaver was raised to chop an indistinct hunk of meat. Kierkegaard couldn't help thinking for a second of how the dwarf looked like a crimson ghost in his bloody apron. "Drop the weapon and put your hands on your head! Now!" Butchs eyes strayed nervously to the back door, but Kierkegaard knocked the cleaver out of his hand, and Stabler sent him sprawling with a powerful bash before he could flee. *** Back in the carriage, Kierkegaard sat in the front seat with Phin, while Stabler watched over the prisoner in the back. Butch had been protesting his innocence, but Stabler had had enough. He pressed his aquiline nose up against the dwarf's. "Enough, babykiller. We've got a witness who puts you at the scene, and once we go through the meat in your shop I'm sure we'll find the kid. You're going in the Clerist Tower for a long time. We're going to find a big Bozak draconian who loves to touch babykillers for you. You're going to see how his bones explode, thats for sure." When they arrived in Wosniak's office with the prisoner in tow, a page hurriedly brushed past them. The captain was frowning at a piece of paper in his hand. Stabler cleared his throat, "Sir, we've apprehended the murderer." Wosniak just gazed at them blankly. "What? That can't be. There's been another murder." Author: Walken Date: Wed Oct 11 20:04:09 2006 Subject Lost Tales of the Solamnic Knights, Part IV Wosniak's frown deepened as he took in the news, so that his face was riddled with fault lines as he began shouting, "You made a false arrest while a killer was on the loose? Amothos is going to have a field day with me! Get back to New Thalos now, and take him back, and find my killer! What are you waiting for? Now!" They left the Clerist Tower stoicly and returned to their seats in the carriage. Stabler didn't offer Butch an apology, and Butch didn't ask for one. They both knew way better than that. Contrary to the volatile emotions that had filled the carriage on the last trip to and from New Thalos, Kierkegaard couldn't feel anything. Stabler's anger had perhaps been occluded by resignation, and the smell of Butch's fear had dried and dissipated in the afternoon air. Kierkegaard himself felt calm. His anxiety had been replaced by numbness, by a cold expectation of nothing. They spent the entire trip in silence, until Phin pulled up to a dilapidated house on the Casbah, where Chandrasekkar was standing grimly. "Got another one for you!" Chandrasekkar called out as soon as they'd existed the vehicle. "Looks like were getting 'em wholesale." His smirk looked desperate. That was not a good sign. 'OK," Kierkegaard said, slowly and evenly, "What happened?" "Same M.O., but this time he got her outside the house. After a brief struggle, he cut her up, took baby just the same." As Chandrasekkar sighed and looked up at the heavens, the whites of his eyes flashed like a plea. "Husband got home right as the bastard had finished. He got a good look at him scaling the fence." "Where's the husband?" "Right over here. Zulamin's got him off to the side." Chandrasekkar led them to a red-eyed construction foreman still in his workclothes, whose shoulders were hunched over in baffled grief. "Mr. Morley, these are Sword Knights Stabler and Kierkegaard. They're going to need you to describe the man you saw." Mr. Morley looked up, and his face eroded into a chasm of rage at Butch, who had been standing inobtrusively between the two knights. "You! Morley cried, It was you!" and he fumbled for the hammer at his belt before Zulamin closed his arms around him in a bearhug. "Get him out of here," Stabler said, dragging Butch over to Phin, "Put him under guard. And keep your eyes open, we've still got a sniper on the loose in this city." "This makes no sense," Kierkegaard murmured as Zulamin and Chandrasekkar subdued Mr. Morley behind them. "Butch was with us the whole time this murder was being committed. It couldn't have been him." "Well, we have one thing about this case that makes sense. The victims were both pregnant. Not just pregnant, but close enough to delivery that the killer could be sure of getting those babies." "Oh?" "I have an idea. Come on, Kiki, lets go find some pregnant women." *** The midwives' guild was about to close as the afternoon closed on the city's denizens, but the sight of two determined Sword Knights in a city that had recently seen little Solamnic activity kept the doors open. Kierkegaard rifled deftly through papers in a cabinet as the two remaining apprentices stood awkwardly to the side. Stabler was arguing with the headmistress over jurisdiction. An angry skin of sweat had begun to cover her cheeks, but Stabler knew what he was doing. Finally, Kierkegaard brushed past the headmistress and grunted to Stabler, "We're done here." In the alley outside, Kierkegaard pulled a slip of paper out of his vambraces. "Got it. Three deliveries expected this week. The first six days from now, the second four, and third woman is expecting in three days." Stabler compared the names with some scribbles from his ledger. "Kiri-Jolith! The first woman is our first victim. The second is the Morley woman. The address of that third woman... that's all the way across town! We've got to get over there!" To be continued... Author: Walken Date: Fri Oct 13 16:58:15 2006 Subject Lost Tales of the Solamnic Knighthood, Part V The sun was setting as the two Knights made their way across the Medina, painting their mail the color of beets while they lumbered for speed. Each of Kierkegaard's ragged breaths echoed the woman's street number. 131. Ishtar. 131. 131. As they approached the house, they heard a muffled shriek that told them everything had come to that moment. They staggered like drunkards. Time was everything. Time was the gatekeeper of life, and Distance was its scourge. Stabler barked huskily, "I'm going around the back!" and Kierkegaard could only nod, voiceless under the tails of the scourge. Kierkegaard took the front porch in long steps, pausing only long enough to unhook the crossbow from his belt, and kicked the lock right out of the door frame. The lights were out, and he could just make out the blocky shapes of furniture at first. As he made his way deeper into the house he took in broken ceramics, an overturned table, at a glance, took in the swath of blood and the hand print in red. The point of entry was a side-door in the kitchen slammed wide, where the slashed up carnage of the tenant was face-down across the floor. Stabler had already made his way through the dining room door, but at the entrance to the kitchen he was on his knees and defenseless. Butch the meatcutter was standing over him with a curved blade raised. "Freeze!" Kierkegaard cried, but Butch leapt to the door in a kind of mad pirouette, barely avoiding the bolt as Kierkegaard discharged his weapon. Kierkegaard ran over to Stabler. He could tell the woman was past saving. Stabler's face was puckered in agony. "Are you okay?" "Got me in the groin," Stabler snarled. "Get him, I'll be fine." Kierkegaard switched to his broadsword and strode out the door with purpose, feeling the cold coppery scraping in his lungs as he started running again. He could see Butch running for the docks ahead of him, towards the obfuscation of the riverfront and the dusk. As Kierkegaard reached the unloading station along the river, he realized he had lost sight of Butch. At some point, the bobbing back he had been following had been replaced by the far-off shadow of a merchant liner. The river was rushing susurrously to the left, and a honeycomb of crates and lumber piles obscured the right and front areas. Kierkegaard walked slowly and cautiously, probing the air with his sword and trying to use all of his senses. There was a loud crumbling sound to his right. He got his sword up in time to parry a stack of crates, but the heavy pressure on his foible tore the blade from his grasp. Butch was grinning viciously, and he leapt over the mess of crates to hack at the unarmed man with his frog sticker. Kierkegaard deflected the cuts with his steel vambrace, distracting the dwarf enough with a riposte to connect on a solid right cross to jaw. Kierkegaard was surprised to find Butch's face absorbing the blow like coiled steel, and his hand exploded in pain. Butch lashed out wildly and gouged him deep in the shoulder. As the blade ripped back out, Kierkegaard felt pain wrap him in robes of frost, detatching him from Butch's murderously raised arm. "Knights of Solamnia! Get your hands up!" Stabler was behind them with his crossbow leveled at Butch. He was in range of a shot and walking steadily closer. Kierkegaard got a grip on himself. They had him. Stabler had him cold. As Butch turned with his arms in the air, Kierkegaard could see his fingers shift slightly on the knife. "Shoot him now!" Kierkegaard cried, but the blade had already sprung towards Stabler's face in a killing arc. Stabler barely got the crossbow up to protect his face and then shot erringly at Butch as he dived into the river. The black torrent swallowed the dwarf without a trace. "What the hell was that?" Stabler rasped, still poised for violence. Kierkegaard picked a sharp silver scale out of the skin on his right hand, "That was a Sivak." Author: Walken Date: Fri Oct 13 17:00:38 2006 Subject Lost Tales of the Solamnic Knighthood, Part Vb "Of course! It all makes sense now. Now that we know what we're looking for, we can get Phin and the boys down here. They can drag this river in the morning." Kierkegaard shook his head, "They won't find anything." He was holding the bloody meat of his left shoulder, "But we will." To be Continued. By. Walken. Author: Walken Date: Sat Nov 4 13:36:24 2006 Subject Lost Tales of the Solamnic Knighthood, Part VI Kierkegaard and Stabler explained the situation in the palace kitchen over coffee and cranberry tarts. Kierkegaard's shoulder had gone stiff under its poultice, but he kept catching himself concentrating on the pain the way someone mightprobe a cut in his mouth with his tongue. Instead, he tried to focus on the black, earthy taste of his coffee and the rough crystals of sugar in the tarts. "It was a Sivak all along," Stabler said to Zulamin and Chandrasekkar. "An ingenious disguise," Chandrasekkar said, "seemingly crafted to take advantage of our professional bias. Not only was the first murder near Butch's shop, but we tend to associate a butcher with the cutting of flesh." "Well," Zulamin said, sipping his coffee and completely ignoring his tart, "What do we do now? How can we catch what we can't identify?" Stabler pulled a long, curved knife out of his belt and laid it on the table. "I've seen this type of knife before. It's Grey Order issue. Skull Knights use it in their blood rituals. We stopped him from getting the third baby last night, but if the Grey Order is involved, you're not going to be able to stop them yourself. Go to the Sultan and get his writ, and call in the Elite Royal Guard to lock down the city." Stabler and Kierkegaard finished their coffee at about the same time and stood to leave. "As for our activities, I have a snitch in Neraka we can pay a visit to." Zulamin smirked as they reached the door, "So that's it? Knights versus Knights, huh?" Kierkegaard scowled. "They're not Knights. Don't ever call them that." *** Stabler pounded on the door of the seedy Snake Road apartment, "I know you're in there, Octavian! Open up, or by Jolith I'll break this door down." a bald, peering man in a mottled robe poked his head and shoulders out the door, and Stabler and Kierkegaard muscled past him into the room. "What's this?" Stabler asked. "Eating a tasty big pot pie, Octavian? Did you pick this up from Xavjeth?" "B-Baker's Dozen. I ordered out." "Baker's Dozen? That's the new joint in Palanthas. I've never had one of their pies before. May I have a bite of yours?" "...Sure." "mmm-mm! This is one juicy big pot pie. You want some, Kiki?" Kierkegaard shook his head. "May I wash this down with your spite's flask?" "Go ahead." Stabler drank from the sprite's flask in an exaggerated motion, then slammed it on the table and stabbed the Sivak's knife through it. Kierkegaarf saw surprise, relief, and fear cross Octavian's features in less than a heartbeat. "This knife has a lot of notches on the hilt," Stabler said, leaning in close. "I think we both know what that means. I want to know whose knife this is." Octavian remained silent, so Stabler leaned back and began unbuckling his vambraces. "Oh, you're going to tell me. You know how I know? When I ask my partner, he's going to step outside the room and close the door. So you can tell me fast, or you can tell me slow. Please, tell me slow." Octavian spat, "I don't know much of him. He joined the Skull when I was on my way out. But I do hear rumors. The knife belongs to a Sivak named Zimrilim. He's Ryven's pet maniac, but they say he's ambitious, too. And one other thing... he seems to have a thing for babies. Ever since bloodstones were discovered in Hell, the Skull's been using blood for warpstones. Last summer, Zimrilim killed most of the toddlers in Shire for their blood." "We never heard of that." "You guys don't come out here that much, do you?" Octavian sneered. Kierkegaard cracked him across the mouth with a straight elbow. "Where would he be if he were performing a blood ritual like that?" Octavian was bleeding as he got back up. For a long moment he started at Kierkegaard with impotent hatred. "The Temple of Takhisis." Author: Walken Date: Sat Nov 18 12:07:54 2006 Subject Lost Tales of the Solamnic Knighthood: Conclusion Stabler's mouth had a sour turn to it as they reentered the carriage with Phin at the reins. "You'd better go first on this one," he said to Kierkegaard. "I'll follow your lead." "What are you talking about? Stabler, you're one of the best warriors in the squad" Stabler shrugged. "I'm just a bruiser--mostly it's just hitting harder than other people are willing to hit. But he got the jump on me good last time. You were always the quick one." "Okay. I'll bring us in, but this time no bows. We're going to need shields instead. Going up against a high-ranking Skull in his own temple, crossbow shots aren't going to be enough. The only way we'll take him down is after a long fight." Stabler nodded, and there was a pause. "Stabler, what do you usually think about before a fight like this?" "I think about my daughter." The sun was setting once again, about 24 hours since their first encounter with the murderer, whjen they pulled up to the Temple of Takhisis. There was a dancing red glow, possibly from torchlight, in the windows, but the temple was unguarded, perhaps indicating that Zimrilim's actions were independent rather than sanctioned by the Grey Order. Stabler and Kierkegaard approached on foot with sword and shield in hand. The mantle of duty upheld the sourness in their bones at the sight of the temple and led them to waste no time in entering. "By Paladine," Stabler groaned in disgust, forcing himself not to look away. The inside of the temple was cobwebbed in shadow, except for the light source above the altar. Two babies and a toddler lay upon the altar with incisions in their throats, but the blood flowed upward in a spiral, coalescing into a circular portal that pulsed with a lurid red light. Zimrilim had his back to them, his silver fingers idly playing in the bloodflow. "That's enough," Kierkegaard gritted. "You're finished." "Ah, my friends from New Thalos," Zimrilim said in response to the voices but not the words. "Do you know what I like about babies? Their blood is so pure. Untainted by the articulation of rational thought. Or, perhaps, the fleeting, primal moments of infancy are not a freedom from reason, but the purest form of it! Unadulterated response to stimuli...yes? Hmm, no matter. With their pure blood, my nexus harnessing the power of the Abyss is just completed." "You think they're innocent, is that it? Those women you cut up, the ones who brought these children into the world, they're not innocent?" "As if they knew what the hell they were doing! Do you not see that every rational creature is guilty? We have no way of knowing if our actions are good or evil, and yet we act anyway. That is the only sure crime in this world of accidents." In moments, Zimrilim had gone from beatific to snarling into the portal. "Now," he said, turning and closing his fist around the blood in his palm, "Step forward, that I may cleanse you." Zimrilim gestured roughly with his fist, and two streams of blood shot out of the portal. Kierkegaard took the first stream in his shield, where it transformed into a thick web, flowing around his shield and dragging him down. Stabler had scouted the first attack on Kierkegaard and threw his shield aside as it got hit, charging Zimrilim with his naked sword. Zimrilim gestured quickly, and a wide splash of blood struck Stabler's armor and ignited, clinging to him like sticky flames. Stabler stuck his head down and kept charging, swinging wildly like a scarecrow eing torn apart. Zimrilim ducked the crazy swinging of Stabler's sword, but Stabler barreled into him with his shoulder, sending both men through the blood portal. As soon as they were through it, it degraded back into blood, falling onto the altar with a sick splash. Kierkegaard clawed at his shield and armor. The webbing was now a thick, congealing layer of blood on his face and armor, its enchantment lost without Zimrilim's power to sustain it. He climbed to his feet in shock. They were nowhere in sight. Stabler was gone. Kierkegaard knew he should leave. The show of power that had taken place was bound to draw attention, and Neraka was not their jurisdiction. Stabler's willingness to make sacrifices seemed to justify the harsh, judgemental attitude he had towards others. One needed strength to make those kinds of judgements, and it seemed Stabler had it. The roar of a dragon split the sky, not far away. He had to get out. The story had to survive, so that Stabler's exxample--the essence preceded by his existence--could live. Author: Walken Date: Sat Dec 23 13:37:55 2006 Subject Loster Tales of the Solamnic Knighthood, Part I Crown Knight Kierkegaard liked the novel, steamlined feel of his armor and the extra weight that felt not like a burden, but like becoming two people at the same time. He liked polishing it until he could see himself in it. As he fastened the last clasp, he leaned his head back in the shaft of morning light. The clean, lingering smell of the soap on his freshly shaved cheeks infused the experience for him with an ineffable sense of wholesomeness. When he arrived at the Clerist Tower to check in before his beat, Kierkegaard found the morning pace to have increased, the reverence of his morning ritual replaced by a bustle that equally fed the same idol of order. A page with his eyes on a slip of paper bumped Kierkegaard's elbow and started walking past him without a word before turning with a slack look of recognition on his face, "Kierkegaard, right?" "At your service," Kierkegaard said with a wry smile. In the distant past he might not have responded courteously to such a gruff address, but during late nights in the unspoken deprivations of the Academy, he had decided courtesy would be his sole selfish reward. "If you'll come with me, I'm to fetch you for the captain." Kierkegaard's shrug went unseen, the page's back already turned, but his steady stride kept easy pace with the page's shorter steps. The page led the way to a lacquered wooden door with a stern-faced brass eagle fixed atop the frame and knocked briskly. The door opened immediately, as if by incantation, and First Lieutenant Wosniak poked his balding head out, "Do you have them, Reggie?" "Here's Kierkegaard," Reggie said. "Kierkegaard and Stabler. And Stabler, damn it!" Just as quickly as it had opened, the door closed. Reggie stumbled off confused, presumably to fetch Stabler, but Kierkegaard noted with annoyance that the boy had apparently forgotten his existence. Kierkegaard shifted from one mail-weighted foot to the other, unsure if he should wait at the door or leave the page to get chewed out again. With a shrug, as if feigning ambivalence to himself, Kierkegaard adopted the familiar, selfish courtesy and leaned against the wall in wait. Apparently a heated debate had been going on behind the lacquered door during Kierkegaard's indecision, as even though he was not in the habit of eavesdropping, the sound of his name in the argument piqued his proud interest. "They show promise, yes, I admit," Wosniak's voice resonated, "but two Crown Knights for this? Surely we're not so understaffed! Take Rof off the daycare case; assign him to me and we'll head over to New Thalos today." "This has nothing to do with Rof, and you know it-- and I need you here where your experience is most useful," the second voice, belonging to Captain Jobs, was brassy and higher than Wosniak's. Despite its ability to convey a wider range of emotions, it sounded frayed and nervous. "Useful experience? It seems to me like you have all you need in our friend in red over here." "So that's what your disagreement is about. The same old bias against magic-users. You see how this world is changing, getting bigger. Horseback, the occasional dragon... that's not enough to track down suspects, many of whom are using magic themselves to hide. We need those gates, and we need those scryes to get the job done." "That doesn't make any sense, stopping the criminals by acting like them, breaking our code." "We share the same goals as Conclave White and Red. We look for the same ends. This tip they gave us of pairing Stabler with Kierkegaard? That's not flinger science. Stabler's forcefulness in bringing down Ganz and Billy Bull was the most precocious activity I've ever seen out of a Crown Knight, and Kierkegaard's Academy and beat records are spotless. Their potential to handle this case is limitless." Kierkegaard missed Wosniak's reply. As Reggie returned with a hawkish, heavyset knight behind him, Kierkegaard flushed with shame and adjusted Author: Walken Date: Sat Dec 23 13:38:40 2006 Subject Loster Tales of the Solamnic Knighthood, Part I the straps on his armor, which were already in perfect placement. Just as he was on the verge of self-doubt, of his integrity and of his armor's fit, Kierkegaard felt a hand thrust firmly towards him. "Stabler. You must be Kierkegaard." Kierkegaard smiled, wistfully, "At your service."
The Storytellers of Ansalon, The DragonLance MUD
Astinus points to the massive wall of books behind him and bids you to make a selection.
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