Original Submissions

• 

  The Criminal, part III: "I am sorry old friend." by Ghost
  Added on Feb 7, 2007

  Leaving Rocker in the dungeons, Serpent is sent out to finish Haadith. To save his man from the prison, he had to give up on the old friend

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  Submitter's note:
  
  This is the final part of the story of the fall of Templar Haadith Oash of Allanak.  Here, in the final part, you will see how the story ends.
  
  I have edited the log many times, deleting some passages of conversations, mindtalks, and some emotes and I have also replaced some names/actions as **censored** to avoid passing some information that better kept as it is.  I hope you find it a good read.
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  * Leaving Rocker in the jails, Serpent heads to the alleys in search of Haadith.  The sanctuary
  * he provided, would also be the place where he could find his old friend. 
  -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
  
  
  A Cluttered Office [WD]
     This tiny square chamber is unfurnished save for a battered desk
  behind with a few crates serving as seating behind it.  The room has no
  visible exits, save back to the bar and contains no windows.  Dust clings
  heavy in the air and there is a smell of decay and rot about the place that
  has likely been present for centuries.  The stone walls are stacked with
  battered crates, all arranged in a haphazard fashion and tilting madly in
  several different directions. 
  A pink-flowered plant is rooted here, its leaves exuding a sharp scent.
  A gwoshi carved wooden chest sits here.
  A couple of open shelved cabinets are here.
  A large wooden crate is here, stacked neatly in the corner.
  A rough hide sleeping mat lies on the floor here.
  The short, scar-faced man is sitting at a long, low and cracked clay table.
  The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak is sitting at a long, low and cracked clay table.
  
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man walks over a long, low and cracked clay table, setting over a crate.
  
  
  The short, scar-faced man gets a large bag from a bone-studded backpack.
  
  
  You sit at a long, low and cracked clay table.
  
  Rummaging around his large bag, the short, scar-faced man sits at a long, low and cracked clay
  table.
  
  
  Slim of build and soft of feature, this man's unscathed pale skin
  wraps
  itself delicately around high, well-born features.  Boyishly smooth, his
  face is comely in Zalanthan terms, neither overly obese nor malnourished,
  but is rounded in way that would indicate he was clearly well fed but has
  avoided the pitfalls of gluttony.  His set of piercing jade eyes, are framed
  by thick, black lashes and he most notably seems almost with out trace of
  scar or line of age.  His long, ebony hair, is well lathered with sweet
  scented oils and has been brushed straight to luxurious shine then twisted
  into a soft braid and is often tossed delicately behind his shoulder. 
  The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak is in excellent condition.
  
  The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak is using:
  <worn on face>           a thin, grey-sandcloth facewrap
  <worn across back>       a bone-studded backpack
  <primary hand>           a sharp, well-balanced bone halfsword
  <worn around body>       a dusty dark, hooded cloak
  <worn on legs>           a pair of patched sandcloth pants
  <worn on feet>           a dusty pair of black, soft leather boots
  
  
  The short, scar-faced man takes his blue silk sash out of his large bag, eyeing at the short figure
  in a dusty dark, hooded cloak.
  
  The short, scar-faced man holds a blue silk sash.
  
  
  At your table, the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak says in southern-accented sirihish:
       "So..."
  
  
  The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak looks at the short, scar-faced man.
  
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the gargantuan, battle-scarred mul with the Way.
  
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the gargantuan, battle-scarred mul:
      "Hork.. With me?"
  
  
  The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak eyes the short, scar-faced man's sash for a moment,
  before flickering his gaze to you.
  
  
  The short, scar-faced man looks at you awaiting.
  
  
  Easily, but with some hestiation, the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak says to you, in
  southern-accented sirihish:
       "We need to talk."
  
  
  You send a telepathic message to the gargantuan, battle-scarred mul:
      "In case Haadith comes out of the office, don't let him out."
  
  
  You dissolve the psychic link.
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, to the short figure in a dusty
  dark, hooded cloak:
       "Yes.  We need."
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish:
       "about the lessons I guess."
  
  The short, scar-faced man puts a blue silk sash inside a large bag.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the short, scar-faced man with the Way.
  
  The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak places his hands on the table, and pushes to his
  feet slowly.
  
  The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak stands up from a long, low and cracked clay table.
  
  The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Alone..."
  
  
  The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak turns his gaze to the short, scar-faced man.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the short, scar-faced man:
      "After I nod, count to three in yourself, and then hold the door."
  
  
  At your table, the short, scar-faced man says in sirihish, resting his palms at a long, low and
  cracked clay table:
       "Shall I take my leave, Chief?"
  
  You dissolve the psychic link.
  
  Gesturing at the empty seat, you say to the short figure in a
  dusty dark, hooded cloak, in sirihish:
       "Take a seat, we can send this one out."
  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.
  
  The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak pauses near the door, turning to you.
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "I am napping for a small bit.. it's been too much this week.. life has.."
  
  The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak sits at a long, low and cracked clay table.
  
  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
  
  Nodding to you, the short, scar-faced man stands up from a long, low and cracked clay table.
  
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the short, scar-faced man with the Way.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the short, scar-faced man:
      "Watch me.. When you see me rising to my feet, hold the door."
  
  You dissolve the psychic link.
  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.
  
  You say to the short, scar-faced man, in sirihish:
       "That thing looks nice."
  
  The *censored* Magicker sends you a telepathic message:
      "Boss you know any way of getting this gem off my neck without killing me?"
  
  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
  
  Before heading for the door, with a nod, the short, scar-faced man asks you, in sirihish:
       "Yes, indeed. I guess, I'll give it after your talk with him. Hmm?"
  
  Wetting his lips, you ask the short, scar-faced man, in sirihish:
       "Well.. You saw Rocker?"
  
  You are using:
  <worn in hair>           a thin leather headband
  <worn around neck>       a soft, grey-veined black neckband
  <worn across back>       a bone-studded backpack
  <secondary hand>         a translucent, crystalline longknife
  <worn as belt>           a finely-crafted pouched belt
  <worn around body>       a black skull-studded greatcloak
  <worn about waist>       a thin pouched belt
  <worn on legs>           a set of soft, grey-veined black leg-wraps
  <worn on feet>           a pair of soft, grey-veined black boots
  
  At your table, the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak says in southern-accented sirihish,
  turning to the short, scar-faced man:
       "Where did you get it?"
  
  Turning back, when he reaches the door, with a shake of his head, the short, scar-faced man says to
  you, in sirihish:
       "No. I don't know what he's up to."
  
  Mercy on.
  
  The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak raps his fingers nervously over a long, low and
  cracked clay table, eyes flickering rapidly between the short, scar-faced man and you.
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man's eyes flickers back to the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak.
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, turning to the short figure in
  a dusty dark, hooded cloak:
       "I am sorry old friend.. But things are turning bad.  You are aware of it?"
  
  You stand up from a long, low and cracked clay table.
  
  You reach down and draw a razor-sharp, hawk-etched halfsword out of your boot.
  You brandish the halfsword.
  
  You begin moving silently toward your victim.
  
  The short, scar-faced man begins guarding the west exit.
  
  
  The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak groans loudly as you thrust your halfsword up between
  his ribs.
  The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak's eyes roll back in his head.
  A sharp, well-balanced bone halfsword clatters to the ground as the short figure in a dusty dark,
  hooded cloak releases it.
  The short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak crumples to the ground.
  
  
  The short, scar-faced man draws an obsidian dagger.
  
  The short, scar-faced man draws an obsidian dagger.
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man shakes his head, crouching near the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak.
  
  
  
  The short, scar-faced man looks down at the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak standing at
  his position near door.
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man touches to the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak's neck, biting his lower lip.
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man quietly whispers under his breath, shaking his head.
  
  
  You wound the short figure in a dusty dark, hooded cloak on his
  back with a brutal stab.
  
  
  Eyeing at the body of the soft-featured, black-haired man, with a grin, the short, scar-faced man
  says to you, in sirihish:
       "Clean job, Boss! "
  
  Exhaling a soft sigh, you sit at a long, low and cracked clay
  table.
  
  You think:
       "Could not learn to read and write fully."
  
  
  The short, scar-faced man sheathes an obsidian dagger.
  
  
  The short, scar-faced man sheathes an obsidian dagger.
  
  The short, scar-faced man stops guarding the west exit.
  
  The short, scar-faced man walks back toward a long, low and cracked clay table, stopping just to get
  a sharp, well-balanced bone halfsword.
  
  
  The short, scar-faced man picks up a sharp, well-balanced bone halfsword.
  
  
  
  The short, scar-faced man puts a sharp, well-balanced bone halfsword on a long, low and cracked clay
  table.
  
  
  At your table, the short, scar-faced man says in sirihish, spitting on the body of the
  soft-featured, black-haired man:
       "So, what now?"
  
  At your table, you say in sirihish, exhaling a soft breath:
       "Nothing.  I will get Rocker out of the Jail."
  
  You stand up from a long, low and cracked clay table.
  
  
  At a long, low and cracked clay table, you overhear the short, scar-faced man say in sirihish,
  frowning:
       "Is he in the jail?"
  
  You nod to him.
  
  
  Standing from a long, low and cracked clay table, the short, scar-faced man asks you, in sirihish:
       "What do you want me to do with the body?"
  
  You say to the short, scar-faced man, in sirihish:
       "I will take off the head, and you drag the body.. To out.. I don't know."
  
  
  Nodding, the short, scar-faced man says to you, in sirihish:
       "Alright, it'll be done, before you're back with Rocker."
  
  You say to the short, scar-faced man, in sirihish:
       "There is the carpet in the cabinet.. Clean it in the southside.. To the Globulu..Whatever the
  fuck's name."
  
  
  The short, scar-faced man looks up at you lifting his gaze from the body of the soft-featured,
  black-haired man, then nods.
  
  You get a small pack from an open shelved cabinet.
  It is very light, and empty.
  
  You put a small pack inside an open shelved cabinet.
  
  
  Gazing to an open shelved cabinet, the short, scar-faced man exclaims to you, in sirihish:
       "Alright, Chief!"
  
  You get a hooked knife from a gwoshi-hide knapsack.
  It is very light.
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man kneels down next to the body of the soft-featured, black-haired man.
  
  You brandish the knife.
  
  You behead the body of the soft-featured, black-haired man.
  
  
  A Cluttered Office [WD]
     This tiny square chamber is unfurnished save for a battered desk
  behind with a few crates serving as seating behind it.  The room has no
  visible exits, save back to the bar and contains no windows.  Dust clings
  heavy in the air and there is a smell of decay and rot about the place that
  has likely been present for centuries.  The stone walls are stacked with
  battered crates, all arranged in a haphazard fashion and tilting madly in
  several different directions. 
  The head of the soft-featured, black-haired man lies here.
  The headless body of the soft-featured, black-haired man lies crumpled here.
  A pink-flowered plant is rooted here, its leaves exuding a sharp scent.
  A gwoshi carved wooden chest sits here.
  A couple of open shelved cabinets are here.
  A large wooden crate is here, stacked neatly in the corner.
  A rough hide sleeping mat lies on the floor here.
  The short, scar-faced man is sitting at a long, low and cracked clay table.
  
  
  You pick up the head of the soft-featured, black-haired man.
  It is very light, and empty.
  
  You put the head of the soft-featured, black-haired man inside a
  small pack.
  
  You sit at a long, low and cracked clay table.
  
  The short, scar-faced man stands by the headless body of the soft-featured, black-haired man, watching you in silence.
  
  Glancing at the headless body of the soft-featured, black-haired man, you say to the short,
  scar-faced man, in sirihish:
       "You can take him out."
  
  contact malenthis
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You are unable to reach their mind.
  
  The short, scar-faced man dips a nod to you, and kneels by the headless body of the soft-featured,
  black-haired man.
  
  The short, scar-faced man strains as he lifts the headless body of the soft-featured, black-haired
  man.
  The headless body of the soft-featured, black-haired man half rises from the ground.
  
  
  
  The short, scar-faced man opens the door.
  
  You say to the short, scar-faced man, in sirihish:
       "And the sash.. Leave it in the chest if you want."
  
  
  Holding the headless body of the soft-featured, black-haired man at the ankles, nodding, the short,
  scar-faced man exclaims to you, in sirihish:
       "I'll do it, when I'm done with this, Chief!"
  
  
  The short, scar-faced man stands up from a long, low and cracked clay table.
  
  
  The short, scar-faced man stealthily moves west, dragging the headless body of the soft-featured,
  black-haired man behind him.
  
  
  The short, scar-faced man closes the door from the other side.
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man rubs his forehead.
  
  Your new objective is:
  Delivering Haadith's head.
  
  
  The short, scar-faced man opens the door from the other side.
  
  
  The short, scar-faced man has arrived from the west.
  
  
  The short, scar-faced man closes the door.
  
  
  The short, scar-faced man walks over to a long, low and cracked clay table, checking the pockets of
  his dusty dark, hooded cloak.
  
  
  You send this message to the staff:
       "Alright.  For the sake of saving someone from boredom, there is someone in the jails, put
  there till I deliver someone's head to the templarate.  The pc templar said giving other templars
  will work.  Now both the templar and the prisoner..."
  
  You send this message to the staff:
       "Is there a chance I deliver the head to an NPC templar, explain the situation, and the PC is
  taken off? For his playability issue, just for that. The prisoner and the templar PC. Both are logged off.Or do we have to wait for them both?"
  
  
  The short, scar-faced man sits at a long, low and cracked clay table.
  
  
  At your table, the short, scar-faced man says in sirihish, eyeing his blue silk sash in his hands,
  with a broad grin:
       "Maybe you might want to have a closer look on them, hmm?"
  
  You say to the short, scar-faced man, in sirihish:
       "Not now.  I will go and get Rocker out."
  
  You stand up from a long, low and cracked clay table.
  
  Wiping his nose, you say to the short, scar-faced man, in sirihish:
       "I will go and get him out."
  
  A Cramped, Dingy Bar [EWU]
     Were it not for the sheer overpowering vileness of the air outside,
  this small and tightly-cramped room would scarcely seem a breath of
  freshness at all.  Thick, acrid smoke intermingles with the smell of
  unwashed bodies, vomit, cheap booze, and ancient decay in the limited
  confines of this room, creating a unique amalgam of foulness that even the
  rough sensibilities of a dwarf would quail at.  The walls of the room are
  short and the roof is relatively low, giving one an acute claustrophobic
  feeling that mirrors the feel of the surrounding alleyways with merciless
  precision.  A few crates are stacked here and there in a seemingly haphazard
  array.  Whatever their intended purpose, it appears as though patrons have
  begun using them as seats in lieu of squatting on the ale-damp floor.  The
  center of the room draws your attention once your eyes have adjusted to the
  change in lighting and reveals a strange stoneworked depression, roughly
  three cords deep and ten cords across.  Broken stonework sculptures surround
  the edges of the depression in a seeming mockery of a gleeful dance.
  Several battered crates with a thick slab of pure obsidian draped across
  them seem to serve as a makeshift bar in a corner of the room.  An equally
  battered wooden door is situated just behind it. 
     Just beside the bar, a loosely hanging rope ladder disappears up into a
  jagged hole in the ceiling of the room. 
  A multi-ringed dartboard hangs on a wall here.
  A message board is propped up against a wall.
  The lanky, dreadlocked man, is hanging out here lazily against the wall.
  The muscular, hatchet-faced man stands here by the door.
  The long-haired, scar faced man stands by the bar, arms over his chest.
  The very short and thick male wearing a grey shaded, black face-wrap is standing here.
  The thick-set, sideburned bartender is here cleaning out mugs with a rag.
  
  
  Brown drops slowly fall from the edge of a cask behind the bar, forming slowly from some unseen
  leak.
  
  
  A staff member sends:
       "We'll watch the situation, but probably better if both are on.  If he is stuck in there a long
  time we'll release him."
  
  You send this message to the staff:
       "Hmm.. I will deliver the head to an NPC templar then.  And tell him the situation.  I plan to
  log out soon.  And will email the time he got in the jail, and the delivery time.  The rest is up to
  you and them I guess."
  
  A staff member sends:
       "That's great. Can you please email a log of the delivery to naiona@ginka.armageddon.org,
  halaster@ginka.armageddon.org and the mud?"
  
  You send this message to the staff:
       "Of course.  I will cc to my clan imms as well."
  
  A staff member sends:
       "Thanks!"
  
  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.
  
  The barrel-chested, dark-curled man sends you a telepathic message:
      "Serpent.  Interested in yet another bounty on a foolish sharp-ear?"
  
  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the barrel-chested, dark-curled man with the Way.
  
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the barrel-chested, dark-curled man:
      "*Exhaustion* Sure.. Sure my Lord.  There are lots of bounties these days.  just on my way
  delivering another head now.  Who is the target?"
  
  
  You hear a man's voice from the west say, in sirihish:
       "Please, please, have pity on me."
  
  -----------------------------------------------------------------------
  * Exhausted, Serpent walked back once more into the crowds of people.  This time carrying
  * the bag, that would set his man free from the dungeons, to end the hunt on his organisation. 
  * Meanwhile, his mind was still searched  with other business offers.
  --------------------------------------------------------------------------
  
  The barrel-chested, dark-curled man sends you a telepathic message:
      "You know of an elf who calls himself Scar?  He dresses like he's from the alleys.  He has
  yellowed eyes that are dull and lackluster, vacant?"
  
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the barrel-chested, dark-curled man with the Way.
  
  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.
  
  The short, scar-eyed man sends you a telepathic message:
      "Serpent. Do you have my head?"
  
  
  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the barrel-chested, dark-curled man:
      "Name I heard.. Also heard of the yellow eyed elf.. But never saw him myself.  I will see what I
  can dig up my Lord."
  
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You contact the short, scar-eyed man with the Way.
  
  You suffer from use of the Way.
  You send a telepathic message to the short, scar-eyed man:
      "Am I in my good day today?  I was just on my way.  Where do you want it?"
  
  You dissolve the psychic link.
  
  
  A foreign presence contacts your mind.
  
  
  The short, scar-eyed man sends you a telepathic message:
      "The gates of the Templars Quarters will be fine."
  
  You sense a foreign presence withdraw from your mind.
  
  
  The barrel-chested, dark-curled man sends you a telepathic message:
      "Oh.  And I've the feeling he may decide to watch me, from time to time.  Just another place to
  check for him."
  
  
  Silently, the pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man makes his way out
  of the crowds.
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar looks up at you.
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar lowers the hood of a blue, hooded templar's robe.
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man holds your small pack out,
  giving a rough shake to it.
  
  Extending your small pack to the short, scar-eyed templar, you say
  to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
       "Here is what you want."
  
  The sleek, honey-eyed young woman sends you a telepathic message:
      "Think there's an elf .. by the name of Scar trailing me, weapons out.. he's roaming around, I
  know."
  
  You give a small pack to the short, scar-eyed templar.
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar gives a small pack to the half-giant soldier.
  
  You now follow the short, scar-eyed templar.
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar gives the half-giant soldier an order.
  The half-giant soldier gives a small pack to the short, scar-eyed templar.
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar peers into his small pack, smiling thinly.
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Excellent work, Serpent."
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man exhales a soft breath.
  
  You say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
       "Anytime, my Lord."
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar gets the head of the soft-featured, black-haired man from a small
  pack.
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar puts the head of the soft-featured, black-haired man inside a small
  pack.
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar gets the head of the soft-featured, black-haired man from a small
  pack.
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar frowns, holding up his head of the soft-featured, black-haired man.
  
  To his head of the soft-featured, black-haired man, holding it up by its hair, the short, scar-eyed
  templar says, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "You were always an idiot, Haadith."
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar puts the head of the soft-featured, black-haired man inside a small
  pack.
  
  Lightly, the short, scar-eyed templar exclaims, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "In you go!"
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man watches the short, scar-eyed
  templar silently.
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar closes a small pack.
  
  A human soldier sends up a call to the wall to close the gates.
  A human soldier closes the gate.
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Come...I'll give you what we agreed upon, and end this useless antipathy between us."
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar walks north.
  A human Allanaki soldier walks north.
  The half-giant soldier walks north.
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man shuffles throught he crowds, following after a faint shape.
  
  ----------------------------------------------
  * Quickly, in the escort of two soldiers, the templar and Serpent walk to the bazaar, and to the Nenyuki bank
  ----------------------------------------------
  
  You follow a faint shape, and walk east.
  
  House Nenyuk Bank [W]
     This large mud brick building is lit with irrig lamps, a pale greenish
  light fighting back the darkness seeping in through the doorway.  A few
  scribes sit towards the back of the room, making notation after notation in
  fine, spidery handwriting, totting up the series of debits and credits
  making up the finances of House Nenyuk.  Behind the scribes, rows and rows
  of locked wooden boxes are stacked in haphazard order.  Near the door sits
  the main clerk, flanked by guards, the desk in front of him littered with
  transaction slips written on agafari paper. 
  The short, scar-eyed templar is standing here.
  A heavy-set House Nenyuk banker sits behind a desk.
  A tall, ash-haired guard watches her surroundings intently.
  A human Allanaki soldier has arrived from the west.
  The half-giant soldier has arrived from the west.
  
  Thoughtfully, as he makes his way to the Nenyuki banker, the short, scar-eyed templar asks you, in
  southern-accented sirihish:
       "So....how did the killing go?"
  
  Looking at the desk idly, you say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
       "Just one hit.. And he hit to the ground."
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man rubs his temple, knitting his brows.
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar gives you 13000 coins.
  
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man lifts the bag, testing its weight.
  
  You say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
       "Looks heavier than I thought."
  
  Nodding, the Nenyuki banker tells you, 'Thanks for your business.'
  
  Smiling briefly, the short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "It is. I want you to understand that I hold no grudge."
  
  You hear a man's voice shout from the west in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Imported materials!  Rare items!"
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "We can work together...or against each other. One way is profitable for us both...the other,
  we simply end up killing one another."
  
  With bow of his head, you say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in
  sirihish:
       "And I want you to know, that I apreciate your intelligence."
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Before the end of the day...hopefully the hour...any hunt against your people will be
  ceased."
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar nods at you.
  
  You ask the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
       "And when will Rocker return where he is supposed to be?"
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "I'll see that he's immediately released...and can get you your lost items back, if you wish."
  
  You say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
       "It would be very good indeed my Lord, if you would be that kind.  I rather like my blades, if
  you don't mind."
  
  You hear a man's voice shout from the west in southern-accented sirihish:
       "No blades can pierce these armors!"
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Rocker may have been transferred to another cell...so it may take a bit to release him, but he
  should be out safe and sound."
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "I never got to torturing him...I'm fairly certain nobody else has, either."
  
  Nodding, you say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
       "So he truly was a guest then.. I see."
  
  Nodding to you, the short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "I need to go by the Quarter, and get this taken care of. I'll find your mind when I'm going to
  go by the jails to pick up your weapons."
  
  
  You say to the short, scar-eyed templar, in sirihish:
       "Thank you My Lord.  It has been a good week.. For forming such an allience."
  
  With a thin smile, the short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Indeed, it has."
  
  You hear a man's voice shout from the west in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Imported materials!  Rare items!"
  
  You are no longer following anyone.
  
  The pale-faced, serpent-tattooed man steps aside from the doorway, peering outside.
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar says to you, in southern-accented sirihish:
       "Walk in His shadow, Serpent. You've done a great job. "
  
  The short, scar-eyed templar walks west.
  A human Allanaki soldier walks west.
  The half-giant soldier walks west.
  
  ---------------------------------------------------
  * Thus ended the story of Serpent's old friend, Lord Haadith Oash of the Blue.  The effects of his
  * final actions echoed for quite sometime even after his death.  Meanwhile, Serpent found a new
  * allience in the templarate.  Due to some unfortunate events following afterwards, however, it did
  * not grow strong.  But in the end, little turn out as expected in Zalanthas.
  ---------------------------------------------------
  

  ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
  

  Submitter's note:
  

  
  

  This is the final part of the story of the fall of Templar Haadith Oash

  of Allanak.  Here, in the final part, you will see how the story

  ends.
  

  
  

  I have edited the...
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