The archivist's eyes searched for an opening, a weakness. His hands wrenched suddenly about his adversary and a sickening crack pierced the still air. Its spine broken, the book lay unmoving in the archivist's now gentle grip. As he lifted its lifeless form into the dim light, the pages of the ancient tome fell open, the secrets of the text laid bare. I remember the words he read, the religious fervor of his voice: "Here begins the first chronicle of the life of holy [[Akarat]], prophet of [[Zakarum]]...." And on the shelves that stood all around him, tome after tome waited. I have the utmost respect for the archivists, these warriors of myth and legend. We know their names: [[Alimet Two Quills]], master of illumination with both left and right hand; [[Morienne the Scrivener]], a midwife whose poetry stole the hearts of kings and brought tyrants to tears; and [[Salazar Cid]], the [[Master Transcriber ]] of [[Gea Kul]], whose bombastic penmanship is known in all the lands of the [[Twin Seas ]] and beyond. But these are only a chosen few. The members of their honored fraternity are many, and their numbers grow every day. In the dark days that I fear are yet to come, much will be decided by sword and axe, with steel and spell, but I believe that in scroll and tome our survival lies.