The fires raged on unchecked or hindered by the last alliance. The black, acrid smoke filled the air with the smells of burning flesh and beast alike. Bodies and equipment, long deserted, lay as far as the eye could see; though with the smoke, little could be seen. What failing crimson light Shawn through the darkness, only accented the carnage below.
The last alliance stood, and waited for the onslaught they knew would come, the Firebreathers would be on time. Grim, soot black faces, who had seen the horrors of brother soldiers burned alive in combat, stared bleakly across the burning plain.
Their great helmets forged in an age of craftsmanship unparalleled since; their armors forged from the very beasts they now desperately tried to destroy; their swords where the strongest and sharpest weapons all the forges of tibia could produce; their newest shield, the Great Shield was by far the marvel of the human engineering and dwarfish smithing. Still the hammers molded the war gear in deep forges where anvil clank was as fierce as the battle afar.
No man would see peace, now while Firebreather raged across the lands, scorching all they could. Those brave few who tried to stem their increasing advances fell quickly to the dragon hoards, now only this last bastion of hope survived.
Screeching of fire beast was the first sign that they had come to finish their work. Great scale clad beasts, with fire hot enough to melt the most well forged of items, with sounds deafening and power unyielding, flying across the landscape with one purpose - to kill.
With swords raised high, the last alliance engaged the fiery onslaught. They all knew that this was their last stand, their final chance at victory, even as dim as it was.
The incinerating fire and screams of death filled the air as man and beast fought to the bitter end. Dragon lords, fiercest of the dragons destroyed all who opposed them, sending each hero to a fiery death.
Great Shields took the blows of beast and cracked, sending showers of sharp wood and twisted scale flying across the field.
The battle raged on but it was clear, as it was from the start, that humanity would not be the victor. Many perished as the dragons advanced, the fires burning, and burning unquenched as spirit cracked beneath the weight of despair.
Only god could save humanity now, but where was he? Human strength was no match for Firebreather and the world crumbled beneath the war torn soil, scorched and bloodied.
Darkness consumed the land, swallowing all in its path. The clash of Firebreather and man was only one of the final battles that led to tibia’s downfall. Those battles would be forever known in ledged as "The Great War."
All that exists of the clash of Firebreather and man are the Great Shields. The few that survive are testaments to last struggles of man before tibias decimation. Some claim to hear screams emanating from the shields - seaming to be the final screams of their last holders, captured in time for all eternity.
The dragons of today are scant replicas of their ancestors of old, although Firebeasts still instill fear into the harts of many to this day.
I had a craving for a nice cold beer as most dwarfs of my ageing generation do, and decided to go to Frodo’s pub for a good, imported Kazordoonian mug (not as good as the ones back home but when you travel a lot you tend to not get so picky). Thais was always a busy town, and its pubs where no different; many adventurers from the farthest corners of the realm gathered here to unwind after harrowing adventures.
A quick glance around the room relieved an open spot by the fireplace, a great spot for any dwarf to relax. Sitting down and signaling Frodo to service me I caught snippets of the various tales being reenacted in the room. One paladin, (who looked to have had a few more then the rest of his companions) was reenacting what appeared to be a grand battle with a dragon. His companions roared with laughter and pounded on the table as he got up and mock shot his bow to show how he had slayed the mighty beast, scaring a waitress half to death. In the far corner of the pub a group of druids where talking about the prices of healing runes and their displeasure of having no intervention from the king to regulate prices. In the middle some knights where having drinking competitions and showed off their scares they had earned from various sorties. It was a lively night indeed.
Frodo at last arrived with my beer and I asked for news. Nothing of interest was said, only that a guild war was being waged into its second month and the troll raids had increased – both of which where talked about constantly on the streets. None of the worries of the outside penetrated the brick walls of this fine establishment.
While enjoying the refreshing first sip I noticed a huddle of sorcerers in a corner, they where talking in hushed tones but for the dwarven ear, it was easy to pick up.
“What are we going to do with this?” spoke the gruff man in the middle.
“I think we should sell it, I’m no knight” the more respected one on the end spoke, looking around to see if anyone was watching. I quickly raised my mug to hide my interest.
“Why sell such an item?” the skinny one on end questioned. “The gods didn’t send such an item to us to sell, with such power who knows what we can accomplish.”
“I don’t think it will be useful on our adventures, and we always are in need of money” the respected one spoke. “Have you seen the price of fluids and runes these days? I can’t even sell my backpack of sudden deaths for a decent price!” embarrassed by his angry out burst he softly spoke “if anyone knew we where using such an item don’t you think it might jeopardize our future? Look at the latest reports on the number of deserters and bandits, both are on the rise. Who knows what will happen when someone wants that sword and has their assassins kill for it?”
“Humph, it’s not fair” grumbled the gruff man.
“But it is fair” the skinny one spoke. “We have been gifted by the gods and should sell it for gold and decent sets of equipment, you know our equipments getting warn as it is. As a sword it won’t benefit any of us, you have the final say though Hagbard.”
The respected man called Hagbard rubbed his brow and spoke as if the weight of the very future was trust upon him. “We need this money too badly; I will sell the sword by secret bid to attract as little attention as possible.”
“So you will sell your precious toothpick eh” the gruff man sneered.
As they got up, I realized that I hadn’t lowered my mug since I had raised it in deception and now took the opportunity to take another swallow. I wondered what weapon they where talking about and thought it would probably be some sword of valor or some other priceless sword. But what I saw next would quickly change that assumption. Hagbard let his cloak slip just enough to flash the deadly steel. I blinked in surprise and nearly lost my mug, could that be the Cyclopsmania Sword? Impossible! That sword was lost ages ago in the fight of Cyclops and Blog. A sword that even the gods could not locate could be a valuable sword indeed, especially one second only to the Excalibug in power and might. With a sword nicknamed the “god slayer” by many mortals, wouldn’t it be too much to wield?
As the 3 passed by my table I felt a wave of evil go with them, and knew right away that if the legends where true, then the sword’s destiny would be also. Nothing good would become of its possessor or its finders…
The next day a posting was placed on the thais bulletin board that read the latest sales and sure enough under the code name “Toothpick” the mighty sword was placed for action.
Shaking my head I muttered to myself and walked away, foolish mortals who try to wield a sword meant for neither man, nor god…
I watched from my window as the great sword was sold. a dark wanderer who looked more like a paladin then a knight bought the sword for 5 million of his best cash and items - a worth sum by any standards.
I thought the weapon should have been sold much higher but perhaps the god fearing men didn’t want to take the chance. To no surprise, the swords cursed grip took its first victim and hagbard's haste turned to be another’s profit. The weapon - with much controversy - was placed for biding once again though without the code name of before.
The greatest of traders, more commonly known as alex, was selling the weapon for his friend, the dark wanderer. He took the controversy but soon the highest price was named and the sword auction closed.
Being a dwarf, I had a good concept of money as my fathers before me worked in the mines, gaining gems and gold. When the sum went to 6.5million I thought that this would be a great sale for both. A gut instinct told me that this deal would not be as strait forward as I had thought, and indeed I found out why.
I returned to my home after a quick supply check and money counting only to see that a friend was impatiently waiting on my door step. The words he said that day would stay with me for ages to come.
"karr," he bellowed out with notable distress. "Come quick, recca has been thieved, he has lost 6.5million gold!"
it took a moment to clue in to what he was saying and then I remembered the conversation I had with recca that he wanted that sword.
The thieving was the topic of the day, everyone knew and everyone wanted to state their piece. I was angry but not surprised at such and action, 6.5million is too much to risk lightly. It was then that I realized that not only recca had been thieved but its original owner siobkerry, the dark wanderer, had as well. By thieving the sword alex had destroyed his friendship, created world enimies and fulfilled the next piece of the prophecy - the sword had now struck siobkerry and alex.
I now write this in great haste as the battles still thrive, the sword that was not meant to exist has fallen upon the world. Nostradamus Tibius once recalled such a sign that if the god slayer should return upon the world, that it would mean the end times must be near.
For a simple dwarf like me that was a great realization. I knew it would be soon, but to be this soon was more then I could bear. So I returned to the pub where it all began, and drank, drowning the ancient prophecies of doom behind a mug of the best kazordoon import.
The evil had claimed 3 lives, corrupted 3 people and its path of destruction wouldn’t end there. It would not be long before it stuck again, the power of greed and the foolishness of man had brought the end times of ledged into the frighteningly reality of today...
As seen in (TibiaNews on 27/08/2004)
Everyday people around the Tibian world talk to each other, exchanging messages. Some of these are hard to understand, often with shortened pronunciation or in a different dialect altogether. Yet over the years a new language has started to develop, created not with the idea to save time or to look good in front of other people but more out of the accidental miss use and miss spelling of proper English.
Karrism was first started by me, Karr Chaos way back when I first entered this relm. My eager speech was commonly doted with grammatical errors and spelling misprints. After the community got to know me they adopted my style of speech, accepting it as part of everyday life. Many even started to use - rather my style became addictive – on people, mostly those who commonly associated with me.
As more people started speaking my language, a need for translators was created and soon many people where in the business of turning simple Karrism into viable English. Where normal people would listen to my speech and become lost, translators would step in and clear up the confusion.
Now a day the language has taken Tibia by storm, being spoken by many respected people and poppers alike. Entire cults now worship the dialect, most notably the Nightmare Knights of Antica, where there is a group called Follower of Karrism. Many sources report that this group is responsible for the rapid spread of the dialect.
What is Karrism you ask, unfamiliar with the common signs of Karrism? Well look no farther!
One of the most predominate signs of Karrism is the constant change of spelling of words ending in ing. Some common examples of these are going and things, turned into goign thigns. Other letters often become switched around so ing is not the only ending or wording that is changed, keep an open eye and you will spot more!
Another common sign is when entire sentences seam to form into each word. Some examples of this are “I went to the park” becoming “iwent to thepark.” Any sentence can be improperly spaced, its knowing which Karrism is and which is simple error that shall determine the mark of a true knowing Karrism expert.
Sometimes entire words are miss-spelled completely, obscuring their meaning entirely. The best example of this is “ejre ste upi/,” in English “where are you?” this is often the hardest type of karrism to define and a definite clear sign that Karrism has taken full hold of the persons vocabulary.
Spacing can also play a large role in determining Karrism, such as “I went to the bank,” becoming “I wen tto the bank.” Another good example is “who are you?” becoming “whoa rey ou?” this example shows how multiple words can have mixed letters.
The complexity of this language can really be seen when entire sentences are muddled and jumbled in karrism, the worst case reported so far was this sentence: “qjatt gw hss; jz yo8gn om>”
This fad is only going to become more popular as the years go on; Karrism is defiantly here to stay! When you see someone speaking steamily gibberish, stop and think if it’s Karrism or another new language, the answer might surprise you.
A spark sprang from the darkness, illuminating the path ahead;
Its quick burst of life revitalizing, sending thoughts racing to my head;
An image, a voice, a thought; all melding into one sentence said;
All paths leading into one; thoughts of you while I lay in bed.
My ships have docked, their sailing done forever;
The mission they completed was to find my lover;
And thought this route was both crazy and clever;
I know that now I wont need to sail again; no; never.
Long hours I spent to find the one I need, the one to complete me totally;
Many years did I search to find the one who would keep me soberly;
But now that the search is done, the mission over, no losing technicality;
Every piece is lined up, in perfect sync, all the ducks in a row, orderly.
Three words echo in my mind; "I love you;"
Two days of bliss I've had; yesterday and today;
One demand I have to make; to see you;
No regrets, only desire; to be close to you.
Thanks I whisper into the wind, fate has decided to pay back my over payments;
I sweat when I think of the times ahead, the our day looms closer, young love hence;
But I know that no mater where we are, everything will stay together and make sense;
Along as I am with you, cuddled closely to your warm soft skin, I will have no laments.
Here; now; forever; always; by your side,
A heart beat away, a thought beyond the veil,
I will be waiting for your strong embrace,
Illuminated by the spark we both share.
Burn away everything and only love will remain;
It's teasing jests, daring you to even think to refrain.
Time had passed and days had gone, giving way to new realities, to new possibilities. In the garden of eden stood a tree, a special tree whose fruit was forbidden by all to eat. But yet, by knowing its illicit nature, only made the allure all the more tempting. Though he had promised to himself and to others that he would not pluck the fruit, he found himself consumed by the possibilities it could unlock, an almost lust filled desire for the knowledge it contained.
He was a moral man, a man with integrity and worth, who valued his rules and guidelines with an almost fanatical worship. But yet the fruit danced on the outside his mind, always there in the background, teasing to be tried out and explored. Perhaps it was because he was mortal that one day he decided he wanted to have that which he could not have - the forbidden fruit.
He inched closer to that tree, feigning innocence and indifference. Slowly he crossed the barriers he had set for himself, the limitations he did not wish to cross. It was almost too easy to break trust with himself, and worst, it gave him a sense of giddish glee, the kind you only get when you are doing something you shouldnt and getting away with it.
Almost too soon he was up the tree, hanging from a limb, an almost lustful glare painted across his face. His hand grasped the trees fruit, feeling its texture, feeling its emotion, feeling its beating will. A thought struck him, paralyzing him to mute silence, a frozen tableau.
Guilt, fear, and reality pierced through him, crashing through the core of his mind, reviling that the path he was taking was damning and damaging to himself and to others. He had given his word, both to himself and to others and yet here he was breaking it for the simple pleasure to know what it would be like to taste this unknown fruit, to have a taste of what might have been in another time or place.
But he wanted the fruit anyway, he wanted everything for himself, greedily succumbing to the desires that raged through his body. His will was fighting a loosing battle, wanting what it did not have, craving the passion that radiated from the fruit. Almost impossibly, it was the fruit who halted the mans actions.
The fruit whispered in his mind "I'am the fruit, and I know you desire me, just as much as I desire you. But we both have our morals and responsibilities, bound by our own rules and promises. Both of us where given sincere trust, and both of us do not wish to break it, though our bodies and senses tell us differently; though our minds scream at the possibilities. We both wish to break free from the world, to explore paths that we have been unable to walk, but we both know that once we cross through that portal, the way back is sealed forever. We both know that this cannot be, or rather it can be but not in this time or place."
A pause settled over the garden, as if the garden itself had stopped everything it was doing to analyze the crucible unfolding in the branches of the forbidden tree. The silence was broken an audible release of breath. "So," the man spoke, trailing off in thought before the words came to him. "So let us keep what we have and never breach the trust we have gained. Let us use our connection to fulfill that which we do not have - for a moment - but never break the binds that firmly tie us to our own realities. in another time, in another instant, in another path, this could be reality, but not yet; not now."
A smile split his face as he let go of the fruit, new words of wisdom forming on his tongue. "Everyone is tempted to touch the forbidden fruit, everyone will push themselves to the apex of breaking their will when doing so, but greater are those who can stop themselves and walk away then those who taste that forbidden fruit. the fruit is not there to consume your mind, but there to expand it and teach it the values it holds dear."
The man learned a valuable lesson that day, he learned that though he was free, he still must bind himself with limitations, to surround and define himself with his beliefs and morals, and yet expand himself to understand that which he does not know, through faith of being.
Last night I was the man who climbed the forbidden tree, I was the man who grasped the fruit I should not of been seeking, and yet I was the man who was able to walk away without anymore then a brief touch of that which I could not have. In the end, I am the man who was able to grow from it, and not the man who was consumed and destroyed by it, and for that I'm grateful for the chance I was allured to take.
Karr looked at the package before him, a red bag with a golden bow. There was nothing quite like getting a package like this, filled with the mystery of surprise. What could be inside he thought? Perhaps a demon shield, maybe a boots of haste, or a new dragon scale mail? Karr was hopeful but a sceptic as any dwarf should be.
The package had not come without a price; the crumpled body of a half god sprawled on the tile floor in a dungeon not far away could vouch for that. The package had been long fought for with many brave warriors succumbing to the bludgeoning force of a once benevolent god. The descending vultures had been a feat out of legend. Karr had barely escaped the stampede that had come after the god's death, his hard won present held high into the air to prevent it from being ripped from his own hands.
So few had helped kill the god yet so many claimed a piece of the reward. Such was the reality of the Tibian world; the soul portal was not picky about who it allowed access into the mortal plain.
The dwarf shook away the thought and concentrated on the task at hand. With nubby fingers he gingerly pulled at the bow. A thought struck him as the package revealed its contents. What if there was a teddy bear inside? Excitement filed him at the prospect.
"Who wouldn't delight at the thought of getting your own little stuffed bedside friend to spend the long lonely nights with?" he grinned silently
With sudden anxiously he looked around to see if anyone had read his thoughts, it would be unseemly for a dwarf to display so much delight in a stuffed animal. Nervously he smoothed the contours of his face and watched the bag as it continued to open.
The bow finally parted and the package unfolded. Where there was once wonder and excitement, there now was disappointment and loss. Inside the package was yet another rocket.
The dwarf took the rocket and tossed it carelessly towards the huge pile of rockets in the corner of his house. There was enough explosive power here to level an entire city. "Why had the Gods been so cruel as to give Tibian's so much destructive force? Shouldn't they be promoting peace?" He sourly thought.
Karr's eyes slipped to the other large pile in the room, a lifetime supply of anniversary cakes. The candles burning from those pastries filled his house with oily black smoke. The smoke had forced him to open all the windows just to be able to breathe. Maybe after the 15th Anniversary party was over he would settle down an open a bakery? Do cakes last long? He somehow thought these would last forever given their suspect glossy nature.
Other anniversary gifts included an easel which hid in the corner of his house. The painting that sat on it grotesquely demonstrated why dwarves where not allowed to own art supplies. Even the limp party decorations that hung from various trophies and hooks on his wall looked bored at the festivities going on outside. The gods had a twisted sense of humor he grimly thought.
The amount of good gifts he had received where limited to the single shelf that adorned his wall. A bedraggled piggy bank with as much gold inside as a poor Rook rat, a small stack of questionably authentic platinum coins, a small amount of diamonds which were cloudy and badly cut, and a few bars of chocolate that he wouldn't have eaten if someone had given him a stack of crystal to do so!
"So much for a fun party," Karr grumpily intoned to the empty room, looking at the next red bag with a golden bow which sat in front of him.
*karrs eyes gleam in the fire light as he camps out in the open poh air. lost in deep thought karr thinks of past stories. one event drifts up from his mind and plays before his mind's eye*
A long, long time ago, in an age no longer remembered, a past no longer recorded, a world that few could of imagained, and a life that will never be lived in again: a knight order existed.
That order was known as the Honor Knights of the land, each proving himself by forging his own equipment. They where master smiths and sword masters, their law was their blades. For ages they roamed the lands looking to bring justice.
During that time people called their weapons the Sword of Valor. Forged from long lost metals and with their very honor - it was a sword few could ever dream to weild, must less forge. It took years of study to focas the mind to craft such monuments to honor.
As an age came and past and cities arose and fell, so to did these knights. They vanished from time and their weapons where lost for all eternity - or so was thought.
The war of God and man had raged on for years, and still the human race was failing. Kuman Greybeard was patroling the grasslands of the front when he suddendly fell down a hole and into a dark cave.
Being a dwarf, he could see through this tar black darkness and looked up. The hole was far to high to climb out of and there wasnt anything to climb on so he walked down the path into the depts of the earth it seamed.
After walking for sometime he felt a chill and stoped to warm himself. He was abruptly startled by a ghoastly image infront of him. It was calling for him to follow it into the mirky depts. Having no other choice he followed the ghastly figure down, down, down into the darkness.
At the bottom was many great items; swords, armors and shields of many types but one barrel of swords stood out. He walked over and pulled a sword out, making a metalic ring in the silent air as he lifted it. He could feel the power of justice inside the sword as he held it. How many like these was abandoned here and why he wondered?
He decided to search around a found a few books with odd lettering. He blew off the dust and saw some that had readable characters and opend them up. It seamed that this was once a garrison of some knightly order now gone to dust. What luck he thought as he knew these swords would aid his soldiers.
Fom then on the swords where given to front men. Though many existed, they where not limitless and where found and welt without the true purpose of their first masters. Despite this great discovery the humans lost the war and again the mighty swords passed out of the world of Tibia and into the misty ledgends of time.
But not all things are lost forever and one by one the Sword of Valors where found by knights. Some said the first of which were guarded by fearsome Demons, made manifest by the sword's dishonored legacy. Knowing not their origin or purpose their new owners used them for their impressive power and traded them for their high worth. Time had again washed away their nobel heritage, and the greed of man's mind hand made these hollow replicas of their former honor forged pasts.
*karr munbles something inaudible to the night air and thinks about his ansestor's stories. Faintly heard in the dark shadows is the ring of hammer on anvil, the ghoast of a lost art*
Karr closed the ancient volume before him, a rare tome rumored to be part of Tibia's mystic secrets. As deep and confusing as the tome was, this normally didn't prevent him from gleaming insights into the world. Yet even still, he couldn't concentrate. As much as he sought to explain the feeling he could only ascribe them to the presence of a great evil.
With a huff he stood from his desk and pushed the well worn wooden chair back into place. There would be no further study this night. The old Dwarf made his way to the closest window and looked up at the night sky. Little points of light danced in the heavens, refusing to surrender their secrets to only the most astute followers of the Star Arts. He was not a practitioner of those arts and so divining the stars for answers was beyond his reach like so much this night. The answer to his misgivings would have to come from elsewhere he thought. So he chose to go to the only place in town that offered those answers.
Frodo's tavern was quite busy this evening, filled with the citizenry of Thais. Karr chose his usual seat by the fireplace and waited for Frodo. A glance around the room told him he was not the only one with a feeling of foreboding. Many adventurers sat in the dark corners of the bar, nursing their drinks with down cast eyes staring into the darkness.
Frodo at least came and set the cup before him: "Kazordoon's finest" he intoned, knowing well Karr's preference.
The dwarf offered his thanks and leaned closer to the bar tender. "I know this will be a strange question, but I have to ask. Have you heard of anything strange?"
The man looked like he had been asked if he was smuggling rum into the city. He looked to each side to see if anyone had overheard Karr's words. Satisfied that no other had heard he leaned in closer and spoke to Karr in hushed words. "Be careful with your words this night, for rumor is swimming with news of a new evil." The room suddenly became oppressive, and the stout dwarf felt as if evil lurked in every corner.
Frodo continued his caution in silent whisper, spoken words far too loud for their content. "There is talk of a new evil, something powerful, something like the Ruthless Sev.." he silenced his speech, some words could not be spoken, even in hushed tones.
Fordo having sensed he had over stepped his good fortune, nodded respectfully to Karr and returned to his duties. Karr could only gaze into the hazy darkness outside. "Banor be praised...." he swore to the night air.
White snow crunched beneath Karr's boots as he made his way to the silent grave, the newest grave on an island of many stone monuments. The monuments marked the final resting place of legends, those mortals who sprang out of myth. Even the soul portal could not save everyone from certain death, it was how life worked. Those who became legends where buried here, on the northern island known as Aasgaard, named after the god city of a distant world.
Karr traveled often to the island, paying his respects to those who had gone before him, those who had inspired his path and made him what he was. Now he had come on a special trip, to greet the newest tenant.
As he walked through the cemetery he brushed the snow off a grave with his gauntleted hand, reviling the name read "Genisis GE," grave stone worn dark grey with age. Another name caught his attention, "Dave Death" barely visible under a layer of ice.
Thoughts flickered through his mind as the name brought vivid images of an age long gone to dust. Dave had left the lands forever; his body lost forever, his memory immortal.
The wind tugged at Karr's cloak as he kept walking, passing name after name. Some brought happy memories; others invoked sadness and even more incited old hate.
He passed the grave of his long dead mentor, Omega Guardian, struck down by the gods. How he had railed against them for their injustice! The memory came and left, a flash in his mind.
To his left the long slender headstone of Elosaydar stood out, a reminder of what giving up led to. His mind recalled one of his famous quotes, etched into the marble: "Never again will I call them Gods!"
He smiled in spite of himself, finally realizing the truth years to late, now fully seeing the bitter irony at work. The past was over, the golden age a distant memory; hope was diminished once again to mortal minds. The thought chilled him, what was there left if the world stopped believing in hope?
Karr quickened his step, his increased stride outlined in the puffy powder. Thoughts of the past should not to sabotage the future, only a fool lived in the past and dwelled on its failures.
He spotted his goal, a great big obelisk sticking out of the snowy ground. He knew what the name on that grave said, and he had come to see it again. The granite was new – too new to Karr's likening – and the letter scripting showed skill and talent to its carver. It had cost a fortune to craft such a monument but Karr felt that the money was worth the investment; a legend had to be remembered properly, but more importantly a best friend.
The old dwarf removed his gauntlet and traced the words with his hand "Smoke Dragonwake" he intoned to the deathly still air. He noticed other names adorning the stone: Evizerate, Smoked, and Smoke Dragon. Each name had a history behind it yet they where all alias' of one man, Smoke.
His thoughts drifted as he recalled the first time he had met him, in the city of Thais. Innocence and youth had led him to start chatting to Smoke, though he was just as new as he. The friendship had not established itself until a year later when on a lonely night he had happen upon Smoke training and decided to join him.
Karr never liked the long hours of honing his skills and he quickly stopped training. It was only when he decided to start again that he met another man by the name of Dark Serphant. He had trained with Smoke for a while, along with Stan Masta, flarex and a few others and all of them welcomed Karr into their group.
It was not long before they all became inseparable, fighting many battles together, talking for endless hours while they blocked monsters hits and swung their training swords at each other - and the occasional monster. Many good times where had between them, yet as all things go they too began to separate and dwindle away, each fading and drifting.
The remaining three had forged a bond of blood, side by side they would stand as brothers. Life was still good and time passed as Dark, Smoke and Karr kept training and leveling together.
Smoke quickly became a legend as the greatest swordsman to walk the world. He was known as a heavy artillery battle man who could take on any challenge and walk away victoriously. His attitude would brook no argument, nor give mercy; he was a style all to his own. He was the sword, Karr was the shield and Dark was just trying to stay alive. Together they tackled the Warlocks, brining down the wizards in great triumphant battles of raw magic and blood. Spoils where divided evenly though Karr knew he was the loser in the deal as he blocked exclusively. Yet his friends needed the loot more then him so he didn't care. He smiled at the memories returning to him, the great times they had together.
"Karr," a quiet voice spoke from behind him, interrupting his daydream.
He blinked and turned to see Dark Serphant waiting a few paces away, motioning him that the ferryman was preparing to leave.
"I will see you again, I promise," Karr spoke to the stone, taping it with his hand, far more aged then it had been. "A pity the Gods hate us so, I would have liked to of killed more dragon lords with you. The future is no longer here; perhaps I too shall one day join you in this frozen place."
The dwarf left the monument behind him and passed Dark on his way back through the maze of graves, taking notice of his friend's distant eyes as he too, sought memories of an age already newly passed. Frost bit at his thick grey beard but the stout dwarf hardly noticed.
Dark returned from his thoughts and caught up to Karr. The aged dwarf turned to face the obelisk again and wisped into the frigid wind "Rest in peace Armageddon Blade."
"Burn the Gods" he scorned, "Burn them for their foolishness." Snow floated off his head as he shook it in despair.
The cold wind blew through the cemetery, lengthening the icicles that grew there. The cold wind was not a beginning as there are no beginnings or endings in the turn of the wheel, but this, this was a beginnin.
*Karr puffs diligently on his pipe as he sits inside his villa on the main trade street of Venore. He reads the passage he had written in his memoirs*
"I narrowly escaped death, inches away from destruction by a god which saw me as the only obstacle from absolute reign. As I barred his path and called oaths out to his dark frame, I knew I was signing my own death warrant, but I proceeded anyway; I did it willingly and without fear. He mocked me; he chided me for standing again him, against something in which my power could not compare. But I held my ground, unmovable as I had a thousand times before in front of this god and for that he banished me to the darkness for a time, laughing as I winked out into blackness.
From my tiny cell I heard bits of news, echoing from raised voices, muffled by the thick walls that surrounded me. There where the cries from many people, outraged that the very gods had turn against them, killing without reason, with only the intention of controlling the masses.
The world had turned black as it never had before, blacker then the darkest night. Lightening bolts shattering the silent clouds as the very air thickened, choking away the warmth and care of the light.
It could not be true I thought, as I gazed around my prison cell, it was too early, far too early, and I was ill prepared. I could not deny the facts, the prophecy spoke true - the darkest hour had come, Zathroth had returned and reincarnated in the form of Guido, an untouchable god.
Fear took me in sweeps, assaulting me in waves with despair and anguish, flooding my face with fresh tears of hopelessness, and fear. How could the world turn so quickly, how could I fail to see the signs, fail to build up my own guild for such a battle? but I knew I had seen the signs, I had known it was coming, the foreboding each and everyone in tibia had felt, the very palatable taint of dark malice hanging like choking smoke. I knew the truth and I had ignored it. I had failed...
I was consumed, destroyed, beaten into nothingness. I teetered on the edge of nothingness, on the abyss of death, at the crag of madness. From my isolated cell came a single revelation.
I was still here.
I had faced a god who had every power in the world to crush me and yet I still stood, banished into the dark prison of time, but alive. My sword still hung at my belt, my armor still fastened to my body, my shield protecting me from the invading blackness. I would leave this prison in a few days and I would return to the world of the living.
I hardened myself and pulled together; I turned my anger into white fire; the brightest it's ever been, the hottest temperature conceivable. I poured this energy into hate, into wicked hate, into maddened hate. I directed it to the Alliance, though I knew, by all the holies, that such an act would doom my very soul to the darkest pits of the inferno.
I had made a grievous error, the Alliance where far worse then I could imagine, their desperation invoking the very scourge of darkness itself, the great destroyer. Even the darkness could not grasp the insanity this god held, the complete utter uncaring malice for human life; for any life.
His decent now marked the final hours of tibia, time that would stretch into days and months, maybe even years... the world itself would weep, its tears the blood of the lost, of legends and heroes alike, of villains and no names. This god would move under one banner, consume under one name; the Alliance.
My friends where dead, murdered from time itself, their earthly chains broken and scattered into the nothingness. I had to move forward, even by bracing myself on weakened legs, summoning every ounce of strength, every vestige of power left within my withered old body, i have to move.
I was all that remained, I had to be the one to lead the world to victory, to destroy Zathroth, to end his unchained army, to free the world from the madness that now threatened to unbalance it.
The people where not ready to accept it, I knew many would scoff that such a thing could even happen, let alone convince them that it was playing out as reality. The Nightmare Knights had been right, history itself would repeat, the darkness would once again consume the world but on an entirely different level then before.
"Could I stop it?" I wondered, knowing the answer to be "no" before I even finished the thought. The world was lost, but I knew I could stand long enough to grant enough time for many souls to escape, not all, but enough.
I feel with every fiber of my being that this battle would be the last of my time in this small world. I knew upon joining it that there would be no turning back, that the consequences would have to be accepted. I had doubted my conviction before, but now I was resolved to go forward. I am an old man from a dead era, I fight for freedom I will never have, freedom that I will never see, but I do so not for myself but for the next generation.
This war started by the will to be free, and it will finish under this same reason. The world will be free, or it will end; we will die before we will accept slavery; we will sacrifice ourselves for our children and their future. I accepted it long ago, and I believe it is the only path I can take.
What hope can be found in a dieing man when he knows everything he has gained is lost? What hope can he find after knowing there may be no one left to carry his line? What hope can spring from his belief that the world is lost? That is the hope that someone will pick up his torch and carry it forward.
*Karr closed the book, tears in his eyes and spoke to the empty darkness. "Elosaydar, I will raise your torch high." the wind howled fiercely outside Karr's villa. The Darkest Hour had come, and nothing would stand in its way, nothing.*
The fires burned as Karr made his way to the private armory hidden deep beneath his villa. "Ahh there it is" he exclaimed as he spotted the single dusty chest lying below. He crossed the small, cold room and brushed the thick dust away from the cover. A heavy bound lock secured the chest, keeping any who accidentally found this room from obtaining any of the precious contents inside. No one knew about this chest, even the Gods where ignorant of its existence. He pulled the master key from his pocket, the only key in its existence, key 0000, and fit it into the lock, turning it till a metallic click was made. The lid popped open slightly, groaning from lack of use. Karr opened the lid full back and peered at the contents of the chest.
One thousand backpacks of uhs gleamed in a thick bag (without the use of magic to compact them, it would have been impossible for them to exist in such a chest); three hundred backpacks of sds sat absorbing all the light, one backpack of crystal coin sat tucked inside, an easy 20million. But the prize he had been seeking was hidden at its bottom in a fine chest of its own, small and slender, adorned with the most modest of designs. Karr picked up the box and flipped the small brass latch, and opened the lid. Inside laid the most beautiful sword of all creation, the sword that only one other had used, the holy blade Excalibug. It was a simple sword by all accounts, a slender bright mettle blade attacked to a magically imbued gold hilt, with a white sandstone grip. The beauty however, lay in the pure white gems that blazed on the hilt.
"Perfect" Karr thought as he put the sword back in its case and closed the chest firmly. He brought the chest upstairs and returned to his study, he had plans to look at. He knew with every fiber of his being that this was to be his final moment; everything he had done was left to this point.
*Puffing diligently on his pipe karr spots some people approaching him and asking about the spiky on rookguard*
The spiky story is it? Well ok.
Many ages ago rookguard was attached to the rest of tibia. It was a land where new adventures first gained their achievements and the small successes that helped them advance later on.
And it is here that my story begins…
A young adventurer whose name is now lost even to the dwarfish race was new to the adventuring life and came to the old bar of rookguard (that too is now gone to dust). (back in those days there wasn't any of the glory equipment that most use today but only scimitars existed as the greatest of all weapons - those great knights who forged their own sov's did not appear till many ages latter) while ordering a drink he overheard talk about a legendary item being seen on a mountain top.
Intrigued he asked the pair and with a sour grunt they said it was on Mt. Sternum and turned back to their beer.
As most young adventures do, he dreamt of achieving great things, to early in his career. Gaining this weapon seamed beyond his grasp but he wanted it badly and thus set out with his desire to succeed.
The wind was fierce on that mountain and the monsters brutal and vicious but at last he reached the summit and found the sword firmly stuck in the frozen rock. He pulled it with all his might and after what seamed like an eternity, it came lose and he took it.
He returned to town and was startled to see a dragon attacking the village. This monster was beyond his ability to kill, yet he decided that his new found sword would see him through. Killing a dragon with a spiky is nearly impossible as most of you know but he fought on.
He changed the beast and fought hard, blocking blow and magic alike, ablaze with the furry that the sword unleashed. He was so in blazed with the sword that he didn't realize that the land has split and rookguard was now growing farther from the mainland due to the power of rage being unleashed.
He finally realized that the landscape had indeed changed and missed a step, leaving himself wide open for the dragons attack. The dragon's swipe gave him a horrible gash for his error. He bleed heavily and at last tirering down from the loss of blood, initiated a final strike and the dragon fled (some say he died in his lair due to his wounds).
Dragging the sword behind him he walked the island, searching for help yet he could not find any and at last died, the area becoming an island due to the swords power. The residence came back to the village and saw that they where an island now adrift. Obi started his store then and other villagers soon followed for no sooner had the island split apart, but a soul vortex had appeared (perhaps the gods had decided that all new adventures would start out on this small island to learn the lessons that our sword wielders did not).
A sign now resides near the island, it says: "Only the humble may touch the sword of furry," yet sadly no adventure today can claim that great sword, because all lust for power and those who are truly humble, do not desire such weapons or power.
The moral of the story: do not become greedy, even the luckiest of warriors can fall pry to their misjudgment.
*karr then becomes lost in thought and puffs continuously at his pipe*
"Why do you fight for them Karr Chaos," Tortured Soul screamed at me, exasperation and despair twisting his battle worn face. "Why do you forsake your old brotherhood, your friends and allies, your hopes and dreams to fight for them, those who where your most hated enemies? Why Karr, why do you defend their ideals so different then your own?"
The words hit me like a demon claw, tearing at the fabric of my mind, blasting through my very soul like an anvil strike, and challenging the very thread of sanity I clutched to like a fearful child. Why had I chosen this path, why had I decided to go against the very grain of fate and fight for all that which had destroyed me and left me naked and broken?
My vision failed and my mind receded into the cold depths of memory, invoking the past to consume me, to repay its events before my mind in a twinkling of time. Though but a heart beat of space, it felt like re-living an eternity of suffering, of change, and renewal.
The darkness formed into a vision, I standing on a platform declaring freedom. "Carlin will remain free," I screamed to the crowd, challenging the newest abomination to lay claim to a free world. "Carlin will not subject itself to your 'protection,' I will see that it remains free!" I yelled at the guild waiting in the shadows.
For all the passion I evoked that day, I doubted that anything I could do would be enough to stop the tide that was reshaping the world. The most powerful man, the richest man, the highly well known man, was leading a powerhouse to take over a city that was far too weak to repulse their presence. I hated that city with a passion yet I could not sit by while the city began to fall to The Rising Phoenix.
I stood against everything, with nothing more then conviction, with only the idea that one man could make all the difference and when I fell to that man's assassins and lost my precious DSM, I knew that justice and freedom would always come at a cost. The city was saved, my bold move had surprised the TRP and they withdrew their claim.
Blurriness; the vision disappears, transforming into another picture, a mocking tableau of another time. The picture pulls at me, mocking my own weakness, crushing me under an iron fist. Powerabuse, extortion, and greed flicker through my thoughts as the picture forms.
"This isn't fair!" the bulletin board read, another angry post of the terror The Black Dragons where creating, devastating everyone who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. My mind burned with hate every time I saw those posts, people to weak to defend themselves against other's superiority. So I did what I always do, I criticized their every move, rallied the world to stand against them and end the corrupted power they where invoking. I knew as I wrote that I was scribing my own death warrant.
Hellraiser himself came for me, attacking me because his guild could not accept the truth I have reviled before Tibia. No one was able to support me; they cowered in the shadows, fearful of reprisal evident on their faces. More of the BD came and I fell swiftly, weeping not for my loss but for the death of the righteous world and the weaknesses that crippled their minds.
The haziness returns, another time another place, the TRP once again returning to my mind, old hate rekindling, and a nightmare scenario developing before me. The rivers where flowing with blood when I woke up.
"Karr!" Clubster exclaimed, almost tripping over himself to give me the news. "The Nightmare Knights have been destroyed by the TRP, they've killed everyone!"
Sweat drips down my face, the world freezes, sending an icy chill down my spine. Petros had lied to me I thought, he said it was alright to keep a TRP BB inside my guild as long as they could hunt him with no penalties. By Weyoun open declaration of war upon our peaceful guild, I knew I had guessed wrongly.
The blood of my members, my brothers and sisters, called to me, asking me why they had to die, why I had failed them. Their blood mingled with the dirt on my hands as I clasped to my knees, trying in vain to answer their laments. Did they die because I was unable to understand the twisted words of a madman? Did they die because I was too stubborn to bow to a guild so void of reason? Or did they die simply because the lust for power and blood needs no reason, only the fresh bodies of the innocent and weak?
The deaths where not my fault I reasoned, they where the work of men whom should not exist, of people whom life other then their own was of little importance. The TRP had dealt me a deep blow and I vowed, soaked in the blood of my fallen friends, that I would become strong and crush all those who defied the very core of my beliefs, who denied freedom and justice, life and growth to all those who deserved its replenishing power.
Blackness, blackness, blackness, my vision turns again. The Cult of the Black Prophecy appear before my rebuilt dream, my guild, and destroy one of my members over a misunderstanding. Hate fills me again as I hear their pitied excuse.
"We can go on forever Karr," the dark diplomat sneers. "We are a dark role-playing guild and we found fault with your member's words, and killed him for them!"
Hate filled my mind and I arose to his challenge, seeing them as the powerabusers they where, their role-playing a faux sheet spread over their real facade. I would bring war around their pyramid city, riding at the head of my men, ridding the world of their hated ways. Clubster called me back to sanity, saying he would stand by me in what ever path I would choose but cautioned me that we where not ready.
As I bowed out of the conflict with nothing achieved, I felt the loss of myself and my own weakness clearly visible for the world to see. I would need money, power and an army of all those with the right conviction to see goodness spread upon the world. Yet I did not have the heart to sustain the search for such rare men and feel instead to the temptation of my fortune.
Tortured Soul's voice brings me back to the present, the past twinkling deep in the back of my mind, destroying the last of my conviction.
I could not answer him that day, nor form any reply that could justify my supporting of everything that I hated. But now I am able to answer that question.
I died many times along the path I walked, reborn each time by my own phoenix fire. Each time I assessed my path and adjusted my steps to move back into the right direction. Along that way it came to me that I might one day have to forsake my old grudges and hate, forsake everything I ever cherished, forsake even the friends I had made along the way. I knew then that the dream I had could only be completed if I threw everything into the wind and let nothing hold me back, or restrain my decision. I knew that even though everyone in the world would hate me, that everything would turn away from me, that every step I took would burn me to the core, I knew that I would only be able to make it through if I really believed in the future I wanted to create.
The once light serving guilds I had known fell into temptation, the same temptations that laid my own body to waste. Their ideals twisted into abominations, extremes, hatred consuming their actions. They gave up the very pious beliefs that justice was exacted with love, honor came at mercy, and forgiveness echoed in every place they left behind.
Though the darkness did not deserve to exist in the LAH war, they deserved at least the chance to walk free upon the world without prejudice; to be shown the very kindness they could not find to display themselves; to be given what all people who lose so utterly, desire – a new start.
The last power of the light died the day the war ended, exacting heavy fines, harsh punishments and restriction, and branding every member who fought in that war as nothing but dirt that should be trampled. Where was the justice that those guilds where so known for, where was the compassion that each member had once displayed, where was the humility, the honor, the moral self-sacrifice those who truly walk the path of good display in every action they make?
The tides had turned, and the seeds of hate had been sown, growing into a crescendo. Those people fought for their beliefs, their belief that the world needed people like them to exist in a healthy amount, and yet where suppressed by those whom where support to be the epitome of what the dark guild could not be.
The tension reached a climax, the repression to great to be ignored any longer. The Dark Side formed for one goal, for one purpose, for one end – to fight for their right to exist, no more, no less. They do not want to ravage the world with death or destruction, they do not want to be branded as criminals because of the actions of a few, and they simply wish to exist, to be free.
Though they do not deserve my kindness for all they have done to me, I still put all my hate aside to help them obtain their freedom because I believe that even people as they deserve to be free. Perhaps this is what it means to be true to your beliefs, that I can support what I believe even though my actions may differ. This is why I fight; this is why I have joined my killers, my destroyers, my reasons to fight for life itself. Maybe those who look upon these words can begin to understand, to know why things are the way they are.
Change is a powerful force, it can shift the world in ways people would never guess, yet in the end change is what makes us grow, what carries us into the future.
The Eagles had departed ... flown away. The Legions had been called home. The Armies were gone, leaving only a skeleton presence to maintain a show of strength while the Empire struggled for its life elsewhere. Within six years, even the few legions left behind had followed that first exodus, and after four hundred years of Pax Romana _ Roman peace, protection and prosperity in Britain _ the country lay soft and undefended, at the mercy of her enemies.
-Prologue to The Eagle's Brood by Jack Whyte
Rome fell just as our golden age of Tibia fell; burned out and abandoned to the harsh realities of everything human. As the last of the Eagles departed from the lands that gave rise to their fame, so too did the legends of our time, disappear into oblivion. Each passing left the world weaker and poorer then it had been, each pinnacle of rich history fading along with its maker, lost to the youth. After so many years of greatness, of societal ability and of fostered growth, at last the lands known as Tibia lay open and undefended against the intruders that set to amalgamate its differences, and flatten its core doctrines.
Thank you everyone for the lesions you have taught me in my time here. Thank you my friends for your encouragements and support throughout the many tough times you have been called on to support me. Thank you my beloved's, for all the love I have gained from your caring embraces.
My time has finally come, and I will walk gracefully from this land and not look back. I do not like leaving long lists of names in private farewells, so I will not share them. My wealth goes with me, except that which I have moved elsewhere for others to earn in time. My guild will go to a new leader who can change the world with her dreams.
I pray that more can escape this game before it is too late.
Karr's worn hands ran over the mute head stone of his brother Smoke's tomb, sending fresh feelings of sadness through his withered body. The rough, cold grey stone sat amongst other legends of their time, flanked by the tombs of the Citadelica, and as a backdrop to the hundreds of other stones whose carefully carved names and descriptions marked the legends who resided in the sacred island known only as Omega.
Memories. That is why this place was created, a monument for the living – the dead did not care what grandeurs adorned their silent homes. Peace could not be duplicated more effectively then in their current states. But these where made to honor the lives of heroes and legends, and the eras that preceded them.
A deep sigh released a plume of frosty air, freshly escaping the warmth of Karr's armored body as he regarded the memories of his past. He now felt the advance of years slowly creeping upon him, but he wished to believe the immortality of youth, long since passed, marked now by diminished thoughts and memories. He was old and the world had surrendered; or maybe he had forsaken the world? The question itself was moot; the decision was made; final.
The aged dwarf had one last chore before the last ship came to bare him into infinity, the land known to the wise as the Grey Heavens. So he un-slung his worn sword and slipped it gently into the left most hole on the front side of the stone. Three identical holes bound that trinity, one on the lower left, one in the upper middle and the last on the lower right. Two of them now held the bladed end of worn swords. One last hole remained for the soul brother still remaining, Dark Serphant, the last of the three brothers.
"So it is done," the wispy voice spoke from the hollowed armored, void of the hearth feeling that his expelled air suggested. Void of the fire that has for so long dominated his every action and will. A single tear rolled down his wrinkled cheek, its trail glistening in the frosty air, to fall into the snowy drift that collected at the stone base.
Snow crunched softly beneath his leather boots, arguing against the intrusion on its lonely surface as the mourner turned away from the grave and made his way back to the dock – the ship would be ready for him now. Few others came to see the past; they cared only for their immediate present, the lush history of their past irrelevant to quick victory.
The heavy crunch of compressing snow was replaced by the dull thunk of weathered planking as worn out leather boots stuck the shoveled dock that was the only access to this dead island. Memories clouded his thoughts and glazed his eyes as he nearly walked into the old elf that waited for him on the dock.
"A sad day indeed," the elven speech softly intoned, identifying it immediately as Elosaydar, the Wise One that had left years earlier.
"It is good to see you old friend, it has been a long road since your absence," the dwarf spoke as he grasped the delicate but still fierce elf and hugged him tightly.
"We have much to catch up on, you and I, will you join me for tea?" the elvish smile drew warmth even out of the coldest place in Tibia.
Karr laughed for the first time as they boarded the ship. "Good old Elo. Yes, I think I will. It is time for us to depart for good."
The grey horizon swallowed the ship as it sailed to the place no map would ever find.
And so it was that Karr Chaos passed out of the world of man.
Laughter split the room in two as an old joke was rehashed in the Grey Havens Tavern. Many old adventurers sat here, drinking strong ale and telling tall tales of youthful adventurism. Karr was no stranger to this place, this was not the first time he had came to the Grey Havens to retire, though this time he had held true to his word and stayed away for two long years. With each passing month he came less and less to the tavern, and soon his visits where marked as a rarity. On this occasion he had come to chat to old friends and absorb the nostalgia of good times turned to memory.
He sipped his ale and listened intently to one of his fellow retired adventures as he recounted his fist steps into the hazardous Land of Tibia. In mid sentence the room abruptly went silent. Everyone knew when a new face exited the portal, a feeling of unwelcome interruption. This visitor was particularly unwelcome; he came to recall one of the patrons here.
This man had the look of a seasoned warrior, his sword belt firmly cinched to his waste, his armor ablaze with polished acuity. His black leader boots echoed off the marble flagstone as he made his way through the silent elder's heads following his movement. The man stopped at Karr's table and he gasped, recognizing the man to be none other then Kagne.
"It's been awhile" the man said, a smile slightly piercing tight lips.
Karr studied the man, seeing that something had changed in him, noting the confidence in his presence. The little Kagne had grown up.
"Welcome to the Grey Havens, what brings you to this hallowed hall?" The room pulsed with silence at his words.
"We miss you and want you to return," the man said.
"As I've told everyone countless times, I'm finished with Tibia," Karr said, impatient that he would be disturbed by yet another plea to return. "There is nothing more for me to accomplish in this world, I have done everything that I've set out to do and have moved on."
"The world had changed much in your absence," Kagne said, pushing the issue further. "There is a new town, many old places have a new look and it's even easier to gather your past wealth!"
The dwarf scowled. What kind of changes would the old want to see? A world that is even easier to master? Where is the challenge in that?
"Nothing will make me return to this world," Karr said flatly.
"I feared as much, that is why I brought this," and with that Kagne tossed a very thick tome onto the tabletop, sending the mugs vertical for a moment before resettling in new spots.
Karr reached out and touched the familiar tome, tracing his worn finger around the gold lettering on the cover: "The Darkest Hour."
"I brought you the one thing you never did finish," the warrior said, a smile breaking his lips. "I want you to finish your book."
Karr let the book lie unopened; he already knew the words inside. He reclined on his easy chair and looked strait at Kagne. "You know as well as I do that I've been gone too long. I don't have the energy to pick up a book based on a world I no longer wish to be in."
"Garbage," Kagne replied. "You of all people would be able to recover enough to finish the book."
"It won't be easy, I will need some help."
"Don't worry, this time it will be I who will help you."
Karr shook his head in agreement, his eyes lost in thought. Could it be that he could pick up the sword once again and become familiar with the new world he left behind? Could he finally finish his book and lay to rest this final saga?
As the pair walked to the portal on the other side of the tavern the other patrons resumed their speech, shaking their heads as Karr passed, grumbling that yet again another retirement had been broken so easily. Some people they guessed, didn't know when to quit.
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