W
WolfOfOdin
Inro to a story, comments are lurved 
"The Book is Written. You know your part, play it to the hilt." The words emanated from the primordial gloom, as Mr. Knife and Mr. Spade nodded their overlarge heads and grinned grins of malicious glee and barely held back violence. There was a promise of pain in those words, a promise of untold sorrow yet to be wreaked, hissing in the minds of Knife and Spade like dead leaves scraping against weathered and pitted stone. They donned their garb, sharpened their implements, and hissed in delight and wonder at the deeds that would be written and played in the minds of others in the Order.
"Long is the hour and the shadows are dancing merrily, wouldn't you agree, Mr. Spade?' Knife keened, his blade-like fingers flexing rhythmically, scrapping furrows into the wood of the table at which they sat for evening preparations. Knife was, like many of his particular sect, overly thin and overly strange in looks to the average eye. Clad from head to boot in shades of the richest brown, blood already sat red and dark upon his lapel and the collar of his cream-colored shirt. His face, what one could call a face, was blank as a new bank of snow, the eyes tiny black points and his mouth a large gash filled with hundreds of slender spikes and squat blades, caressed by a wriggling black worm of a tongue.
"Ahhh yes Mr. Knife. Rather merrily do I say they dance at this particular moment in this hour, which is as you said is rather long indeed." Rumbled the bass tones of the ponderous Mr. Spade. Unlike his narrow and pointed companion, Mr. Spade was slow where Knife was quick, heavy where Knife was light and just as deadly and devoted to their orders. His squat, stubby fingers tapped a slow rhythm on the table, the iron-gray nails kept smooth and polished as newly cut gems. His dense flesh, the pale gray of a new december morning, was pitted and weathered, all the way up to his large, noseless head, deep set blue eyes and slab-like dirty teeth. Unlike Mr. Knife's unbridled glee and boundless energy, the large Mr. Spade seemed near a monolith, immovable and slow to act. Yet those who had run afoul of the Order and had Spade set on their tail would testify to his unending patience, and brutal strength when roused. But now was time to act, and so deliberately, Mr. Spade raised his arms, and made the proper genuflections before his lips parted, and again he spoke. "But, I find Mr. Knife, that shadows should be....the least of our concerns on this most beneficent of hours. We must cross into a strange land....a land devoid of the Eternal Dim that our most delightful Order has brought here. Such a frightful and backwards land, Mr. Knife. We must traverse through the Doorless Wall unto the Land of Men. I wonder...I wonder...why do I wonder? Mr. Knife, your ideas upon this most revealing revelation?"
"Haha! Oh Men! Such arrogance infests these spawn of apes and churning clay! Why Mr. Spade, I think that the idea of our crossing is one of the most grand ideas our Order has ever had in the history of it's having ideas for us to execute! The Book is there, Mr. Spade, and it is not for those poor simple creatures to read. Such knowledge goes beyond the ken of two eyed men! Tee-hee! I titter with deligh, Mr. Spade, for the enlightenment we shall bring unto these simple ones. And just think, between the rending and tearing and snapping and slicing and oh so much slashing, we may recruit some of these folk to our most gray and hearty banner! Oh the praise and adulation we shall recieve, Mr. Spade! We may even be gifted with another name, or mayhaps a line in the Order's Great Book!" Mr. Knife squealed in delight.
"The Book is Written. You know your part, play it to the hilt." The words emanated from the primordial gloom, as Mr. Knife and Mr. Spade nodded their overlarge heads and grinned grins of malicious glee and barely held back violence. There was a promise of pain in those words, a promise of untold sorrow yet to be wreaked, hissing in the minds of Knife and Spade like dead leaves scraping against weathered and pitted stone. They donned their garb, sharpened their implements, and hissed in delight and wonder at the deeds that would be written and played in the minds of others in the Order.
"Long is the hour and the shadows are dancing merrily, wouldn't you agree, Mr. Spade?' Knife keened, his blade-like fingers flexing rhythmically, scrapping furrows into the wood of the table at which they sat for evening preparations. Knife was, like many of his particular sect, overly thin and overly strange in looks to the average eye. Clad from head to boot in shades of the richest brown, blood already sat red and dark upon his lapel and the collar of his cream-colored shirt. His face, what one could call a face, was blank as a new bank of snow, the eyes tiny black points and his mouth a large gash filled with hundreds of slender spikes and squat blades, caressed by a wriggling black worm of a tongue.
"Ahhh yes Mr. Knife. Rather merrily do I say they dance at this particular moment in this hour, which is as you said is rather long indeed." Rumbled the bass tones of the ponderous Mr. Spade. Unlike his narrow and pointed companion, Mr. Spade was slow where Knife was quick, heavy where Knife was light and just as deadly and devoted to their orders. His squat, stubby fingers tapped a slow rhythm on the table, the iron-gray nails kept smooth and polished as newly cut gems. His dense flesh, the pale gray of a new december morning, was pitted and weathered, all the way up to his large, noseless head, deep set blue eyes and slab-like dirty teeth. Unlike Mr. Knife's unbridled glee and boundless energy, the large Mr. Spade seemed near a monolith, immovable and slow to act. Yet those who had run afoul of the Order and had Spade set on their tail would testify to his unending patience, and brutal strength when roused. But now was time to act, and so deliberately, Mr. Spade raised his arms, and made the proper genuflections before his lips parted, and again he spoke. "But, I find Mr. Knife, that shadows should be....the least of our concerns on this most beneficent of hours. We must cross into a strange land....a land devoid of the Eternal Dim that our most delightful Order has brought here. Such a frightful and backwards land, Mr. Knife. We must traverse through the Doorless Wall unto the Land of Men. I wonder...I wonder...why do I wonder? Mr. Knife, your ideas upon this most revealing revelation?"
"Haha! Oh Men! Such arrogance infests these spawn of apes and churning clay! Why Mr. Spade, I think that the idea of our crossing is one of the most grand ideas our Order has ever had in the history of it's having ideas for us to execute! The Book is there, Mr. Spade, and it is not for those poor simple creatures to read. Such knowledge goes beyond the ken of two eyed men! Tee-hee! I titter with deligh, Mr. Spade, for the enlightenment we shall bring unto these simple ones. And just think, between the rending and tearing and snapping and slicing and oh so much slashing, we may recruit some of these folk to our most gray and hearty banner! Oh the praise and adulation we shall recieve, Mr. Spade! We may even be gifted with another name, or mayhaps a line in the Order's Great Book!" Mr. Knife squealed in delight.