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With that said, Ral resumes expounding on the wonders of quins and I stare out the window to watch Sanshu pass by. Giddy from nerves and trepidation, I bite my tongue to keep from blurting out a joke about rats and mazes. Arriving at our destination, Jorani knocks on the double doors before opening them, waiting for me to enter first. The doors slam shut behind us, sending a chill down my spine as I study who I assume is the Azure Ascendant. Seated at the table with fingers interlocked, the mysterious bandit bares his teeth in a feral, unpractised smile.

His svelte frame swathed in silk robes, he gestures at the seat across from him, the movement revealing iron-hard pecs brimming with short chest hair, so soft and velvety I almost want to reach out and stroke it.

The Boy and the Peddler of Death

Me boy Jorani told me all about ye. Steel Rat. Clicking his tongue in annoyance, GangShu tosses something to the side. Ye never bet, so when ye offer one, I shoulda thought it through. Sorry I ran out without thanking ye, but time was pressing. Almost nil, considering their names differ by a single character. The introductions finished with, GangShu leans over hungrily, greed apparent in his eyes.

I.B. Singer's Cruel Choice

How does he even know about it? After a few minutes of mental begging and screaming, I open my eyes and shrug. Blobby sort of does whatever it pleases. Pouting adorably, GangShu rests his cheek on his fist, grumbling beneath his breath. Chuckling, GangShu smiles again, this time more naturally. Neither confirming nor denying anything, I glance at Jorani in sympathy, seeing the anger and hurt in his eyes. GangShu is so dreamy, even I want to cuddle him.

After a long silence, GangShu clears his throat. Time to pack up and head elsewhere. Best of luck now, and give em hell. Blinking in confusion, I turn in my seat as he strolls to the doors.

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Heard stories about Heavenly Water in the south and always wanted to visit. The other Ascendants ignore me as they file out the door, though Lei Gong shrugs in apology. Chuckling, GangShu shakes his head. Because you can save lives. You cared enough to come save Sanshu right? Why should I care if ye slaughter each other? Should I stand on their side and slaughter all humans?

Chasing after him to ask more questions, the hall stands empty as my words catch in my throat. Why was he looking for Blobby?

My Meagre Musical Collection

What was he gonna do with it? Why did it choose me instead of the powerful ancestral beast? There was something about GangShu that made me like him, despite his callous attitude towards humans. His shy, hopeful smile almost breaks my heart, the cowardly half-rat terrified of being thrown away. Well… beggars and choosers and whatnot.

Characters – Shattered Destiny

Happy to have you on board. The iron rod seems wholly lacking compared to a full suit of Runic armour, and I fight to hold back my tears. Like Like. You are commenting using your WordPress. You are commenting using your Google account. You are commenting using your Twitter account. You are commenting using your Facebook account. Notify me of new comments via email. Notify me of new posts via email. I might be broken. I can never catch a break. This functionary, however, has been thoroughly mystified; and the remote source of his defeat lies in the supposition that the Minister is a fool, because he has acquired renown as a poet.

All fools are poets; this the Prefect feels; and he is merely guilty of a non distributio medii in thence inferring that all poets are fools. The Minister I believe has written learnedly on the Differential Calculus. He is a mathematician, and no poet. As poet and mathematician, he would reason well; as mere mathematician, he could not have reasoned at all, and thus would have been at the mercy of the Prefect.

You do not mean to set at naught the well-digested idea of centuries. The mathematical reason has long been regarded as the reason par excellence. I dispute, in particular, the reason educed by mathematical study. The mathematics are the science of form and quantity; mathematical reasoning is merely logic applied to observation upon form and quantity.

The great error lies in supposing that even the truths of what is called pure algebra, are abstract or general truths. And this error is so egregious that I am confounded at the universality with which it has been received. Mathematical axioms are not axioms of general truth. What is true of relation—of form and quantity—is often grossly false in regard to morals, for example. In this latter science it is very usually untrue that the aggregated parts are equal to the whole. In chemistry also the axiom fails.

In the consideration of motive it fails; for two motives, each of a given value, have not, necessarily, a value when united, equal to the sum of their values apart. There are numerous other mathematical truths which are only truths within the limits of relation.

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But the mathematician argues, from his finite truths, through habit, as if they were of an absolutely general applicability—as the world indeed imagines them to be. I know him, however, as both mathematician and poet, and my measures were adapted to his capacity, with reference to the circumstances by which he was surrounded.

Her Majesty, Queen Grace Boldheart

I knew him as a courtier, too, and as a bold intriguant. Such a man, I considered, could not fail to be aware of the ordinary policial modes of action. He could not have failed to anticipate—and events have proved that he did not fail to anticipate—the waylayings to which he was subjected. He must have foreseen, I reflected, the secret investigations of his premises. His frequent absences from home at night, which were hailed by the Prefect as certain aids to his success, I regarded only as ruses, to afford opportunity for thorough search to the police, and thus the sooner to impress them with the conviction to which G—, in fact, did finally arrive—the conviction that the letter was not upon the premises.

I felt, also, that the whole train of thought, which I was at some pains in detailing to you just now, concerning the invariable principle of policial action in searches for articles concealed—I felt that this whole train of thought would necessarily pass through the mind of the Minister.

It would imperatively lead him to despise all the ordinary nooks of concealment.

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He could not, I reflected, be so weak as not to see that the most intricate and remote recess of his hotel would be as open as his commonest closets to the eyes, to the probes, to the gimlets, and to the microscopes of the Prefect. I saw, in fine, that he would be driven, as a matter of course, to simplicity, if not deliberately induced to it as a matter of choice. You will remember, perhaps, how desperately the Prefect laughed when I suggested, upon our first interview, that it was just possible this mystery troubled him so much on account of its being so very self-evident.

I really thought he would have fallen into convulsions. It is not more true in the former, that a large body is with more difficulty set in motion than a smaller one, and that its subsequent momentum is commensurate with this difficulty, than it is, in the latter, that intellects of the vaster capacity, while more forcible, more constant, and more eventful in their movements than those of inferior grade, are yet the less readily moved, and more embarrassed and full of hesitation in the first few steps of their progress.

Again: have you ever noticed which of the street signs, over the shop-doors, are the most attractive of attention? One party playing requires another to find a given word—the name of town, river, state or empire—any word, in short, upon the motley and perplexed surface of the chart. A novice in the game generally seeks to embarrass his opponents by giving them the most minutely lettered names; but the adept selects such words as stretch, in large characters, from one end of the chart to the other. These, like the over-largely lettered signs and placards of the street, escape observation by dint of being excessively obvious; and here the physical oversight is precisely analogous with the moral inapprehension by which the intellect suffers to pass unnoticed those considerations which are too obtrusively and too palpably self-evident.

But this is a point, it appears, somewhat above or beneath the understanding of the Prefect. He never once thought it probable, or possible, that the Minister had deposited the letter immediately beneath the nose of the whole world, by way of best preventing any portion of that world from perceiving it. I found D— at home, yawning, lounging, and dawdling, as usual, and pretending to be in the last extremity of ennui.

He is, perhaps, the most really energetic human being now alive—but that is only when nobody sees him. Here, however, after a long and very deliberate scrutiny, I saw nothing to excite particular suspicion. In this rack, which had three or four compartments, were five or six visiting cards and a solitary letter. This last was much soiled and crumpled. It was torn nearly in two, across the middle—as if a design, in the first instance, to tear it entirely up as worthless, had been altered, or stayed, in the second.