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It is fitting that the book end with "From the Yearning
for War and War's End," Michael Williams's poignant
reminder for us all that war - though sometimes sadly
necessary - is a destroyer of both love and of life.
Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman
A Good Knight's Tale
Harold Bakst
In those chaotic years just after the Cataclysm, when
the frightened citizens of Xak Tsaroth were fleeing their
beloved but decimated city, there was among them a certain
half-elf by the name of Aril Witherwind, who, while others
sought only refuge, took to roaming the countryside,
carrying upon his bent back a huge, black tome.
Even without his peculiar burden, which he held by a
leather strap thrown across one shoulder, Aril Witherwind
was, as far as half-elves went, a strange one. Though he was
properly tall and willowy, and he had the fair hair, pale
skin, and blue eyes typical of his kind, he seemed not at all
interested in his appearance and had, indeed, a slovenliness
about him: His shoes were often unbuckled, his shirt hung
out of his pants, and his hair was usually in a tangle. He
often went days without shaving so that fine, blond hairs
covered his jaw like down
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