Ah, you're a hero my man. Thank you!

The music had ended hours ago and only the regulars and weirdos remained. Jim, the salesman, occupied his weekly spot at the end of the bar, wallowing in the dregs of his beer and premature baldness. Situated across the room in a booth chosen for its proximity to the men's room sat a fake blonde with nicotine stained skin and a dubious reputation for her nocturnal business affairs who went by the name of Pam. Tucked away in the opposite corner, a couple of college students of doubtful age were nursing their unlikely opportunity with tequila and cheap beer. And seated at a table next to the stage was a handsome performer from earlier in the evening who had introduced himself as Troy and an old man who could have been mistaken for his grandfather.

The bartender crossed the room, offering Jim all the obliviousness he did the rest of the world at this point and pretending not to notice Pam counting the profits of her solicitations, and set another pitcher down between the older man and the performer. Up close it was immediately apparent they weren't family; there was certainly a familiarity between them, but with that an undercurrent of awkwardness that only accompanied strangers. Despite that though, the resembelance between the two was uncanny. Kelly observed and came to these conclusions all in the span it took to clear their empty glasses. They were an odd pair, each in their own way, and their conversation was even stranger.

"—why I came back her isn't important right now, you'll learn that in time. Thank you, my dear."

"Oh, ho, 'in time', aren't you funny! If I'm to believe half of what you're telling me, I'll need to be at least twice as drunk as I am," Troy replied, his tone a peculiar mix of incredulous and excited. He gave Kelly a wink and refilled his glass feeling he had gotten the better of his companion. He held up a guitar pick he had been tapping on the table, "Thanks again by the way. I might not have had a set without you."

"If that's what it will take," the old man interrupted, turning to Kelly with a pained smile and a few crumpled bills, "We'll have two shots of Jack and your best ceaser."

She had been searching for something casual and flirty to say to Troy, but leaned on duty when nothing seemed forthcoming. She nodded to the two of them and made off for the protection of the bar before a blush could make its way to her cheeks. Excepting Pam, who made a lewd gesture and offered to "distract the old one", no one seemed to notice her embarrassment.

With each successive trip to their table that night Kelly had been shedding her professional indifference and after this last, she had to admit to herself she was outright curious about the two of them. So as she set to making their drinks she sought to inconspicuously listen in on their conversation, and if something came up that she might use to chat with Troy, then all the better.

“Alright then, tell me how it is girls think. Tell me what women want,” Troy spat out following a muffled burp. It was subtle, but now that she was paying closer attention, Kelly noticed that the disbelief she had heard before was slowly beginning to fade from his tone.

“That I can't do, for two reasons--" the old man began.

“Oh, come on. What good is access to all of one's wisdom before they've learned it if you won't share it?”

The old man smiled and shook his head, the kind of action that is generally reserved for children who simply can't know any better or teachers who are about to correct a misconception. He held up his finger and continued, “The first is this: all men must learn to fathom the female mind in their own time. It is a measure of growth that one comes to such an epiphany and only then through experience. The second reason being, and more importantly, I don't know. The unfortunate truth is that women are simply unfathomable, at least in all this one's experience. Every shining moment of elucidation on the subject is very often followed by another and that another too, and all of them often as false as the ones proceeding.”

“Just wonderful, so I suppose love eludes me for the rest of my life and that's why you're here, to warn me against my follies.” Kelly caught this last exchange as she arrived at the table with their drinks.

“On the contrary," the old man rummaged through his jacket before producing the contents of his pockets. As he began seperating cash and coins from all the other detritus that collects in one's pockets, Kelly could have sworn she noticed a guitar pick nearly identical to the one Troy still drummed atop the table. Before she had time to give it more attention, the old man offered her a handful of money with a wistful look in his eyes and continued, "You encounter a woman who absolutely captivates you, who stirs a passion in you like nothing else has or—and take my word on this matter—will.”

Troy's cloudy demeanor cleared immediately and he leaned in, "What does she look like? Can you tell me that much?”

“An absolute vision. She was like an autumn sunrise. Cool and calm, and radiant”

“You say was, as in something went wrong”

Having retreated to the bar, Kelly watched the old man flick a shot of Jack down his throat and wince, "Imagine how desolate my life had to have become for me to have spent the waning years of my life desperately, and nearly futilely, developing a time machine"

Thanks for the encouragement Jax. Now that I know we have an audience I'll try to be more productive. Although I don't think any of us can match sciborg

Nice work Buck. It's good to see someone else keeping this lonely thread alive. My efforts have been a bit lack luster in recent weeks.

Here's something of an introduction or preface that I just thought up on my car ride home:


I have spent the better part of three decades wandering in flight to the far reaches of a flagging empire. In that time I have worn many names. Some of those names have been praised for their actions, others are openly feared, while even a few have been remembered solely for the mystery that surrounded them; but all, without fail, have come to be associated with an insatiable darkness that follows in their wake.

To whomever may come to find this document, should it survive, I must immediately disabuse them of the illusion that the revelation of my true name or my death—I have lit the last of my warding candles so as to record this confession—might signify an end to the darkness that has become synonymous with my presence. The miserable truth of the matter, one of which I have had the burden of carrying throughout the long sordid years since my flight began, is that my demise will herald the darkest of those days that have yet to come.

My name is Yel'en of Ahktunash. I am the last devotee of a false god, and the sole practitioner of daeinvoc outside of the bonds of the newly resurrected cult of Lamtun—who dare not acknowledge my existence, and when they must refer to me only as venatorem, the hunted.

The ink I've laid has barely begun to dry and the candle's flame has had its first taste of wax, and the ceremonial runes described therein, yet already I can hear the dark promises of their minions whispered from just beyond the encroaching darkness. Since my life is now surely measured by a candle's breath, I hasten to describe those events that culminated in the greatest of my crimes, not so that I might achieve anything resembling absolution—the things I have done are beyond redemption—but that perhaps I might gain even that faintest glimmer of empathy one offers a condemned man.



Would you read on? [I used some weak Latin as filler for the time being. Whether I change names and places to reflect that choice or just wing it on a made up language depends on where things go with it]

Through House of Chains.

Have to say that this one was my least favorite so far...

I'll move on to either Midnight Tides, or find Night of Knives

House of Chains was actually my least favourite too. I enjoyed Karsa's bit, but I found it disjointed. I also found that the pacing and plot development of the latter half of the novel wasn't really on par with the previous installments. If you persevere though, I think you'll come to find that of any of the novels, House of Chains was board setting.

As Raizen mentioned, you should be able to finish Night of Knives in no time. I've heard from a lot of people that they really liked Trull Sengar (one of the main protagonists from Midnight Tides). For me though, I got hooked on Tehol Beddict

I kind of wish I had discovered this when I had started the series. I remember having just gotten used to him jumping from story to story and then beginning the fifth book. It was nearly enough for me to quit. I persevered though, and after you wrap your head around the actual chronology of things it's less cumbersome of an experience.

The only one I am currently reconsidering reading is Knight of Knives

I've read Night of Knives and The Return of the Crimson Guard. They have a distinctly different "taste" to them, as well a disparity in writing quality. Not to say that the first is bad, but he certainly grew as a writer by the time the second was published; although I think that is quite common. I will say though, there are a number of rather significant events in RotCG which I felt were rather glossed over in the Erikson books that follow it in the chronology.

Waiting a year or more to get sequel that didn't tie together any of the loose strings from the previous one(s) would have been enraging.

I've always felt that the inclusion of relative dates would go a long way to tightening the series and assuaging new readers. I would be pissed to wait a year and get an entirely new story.

Over the years I've taken both courses (also the sci-fi fiction ones) and I remember back when I was in the fantasy fiction course at the college that my prof was flipping through slides quickly at the end of a class to try and cover the important points before we left and I caught Bakker's name on one of them as I sat idly pretending to be listening.

I approached her after class about it (this was in the period where "we" were waiting to hear the final details and release date for WLW) and as it turns out it was a slide from the previous years course. She had had Bakker come in and do a reading and quest lecture for a period. It was as disappointing to learn it wasn't scheduled for out class as it was exciting to have noticed his name there in the first place.

So I'm kind of hoping those textbook lists might attract a few more to witness an apocalypse