Changes

::''In my writings, I have recounted stories first encountered an archivist in the ruins of the barbarians and their endless battles with the demons great city of Travincal. While exploring one of the frozen northlong-abandoned temples, and devoted pages to I was drawn by the wizards flickering of Caldeum who harness faint torchlight through a distant doorway, and then, as I crept nearer, by the primal forces sound of realitya voice. But There was a feeling in the might air of these heroes is nothing compared to danger near at hand, an electricity that made the power of the archivists of Westmarchhairs on my neck rise. These brave souls wade into battle wielding tome and quillI inched forward, armored not breath caught in ensorcelled plate or links of chainmy throat, but in grateful for the knowledge safety of generations past. These archivists fight not only for our future, but for our past as wellthe hallway's long shadows.Then I saw him''

::''I first encountered an archivist in He was surrounded, the ruins looming shapes of the great city of Travincalhis foes bearing down upon him. His hair was unkempt and frazzled, his calloused hands cut and stained. While exploring one But he had an air of the long-abandoned templessupreme confidence, I was drawn by the flickering of faint torchlight through a distant doorwaysubmerged violence that threatened to explode into being. He leapt forward, and then, as I crept nearer, by his hands grabbing for the sound leather bindings of his nearest enemy.'' ::''The archivist's eyes searched for an opening, a voiceweakness. There was His hands wrenched suddenly about his adversary and a feeling sickening crack pierced the still air. Its spine broken, the book lay unmoving in the air archivist's now gentle grip. As he lifted its lifeless form into the dim light, the pages of danger near at handthe ancient tome fell open, an electricity that made the hairs on my neck risesecrets of the text laid bare. I inched forward, breath caught in my throatremember the words he read, grateful for the safety religious fervor of his voice: "Here begins the hallway's long shadowsfirst chronicle of the life of holy Akarat, prophet of Zakarum.... Then I saw " And on the shelves that stood all around him, tome after tome waited.''

''He was surrounded, the looming shapes of his foes bearing down upon him. His hair was unkempt and frazzled, his calloused hands cut and stained. But he had an air of supreme confidence, of a submerged violence that threatened to explode into being. He leapt forward, his hands grabbing for the leather bindings of his nearest enemy.'' ''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.''