<b>[ Error: Author has left the notes field and entered the chapter content. Archons have been alerted. ]</b>


    Alright, I won''t waste any time with this one. If you''ve seen the comments on the latest chapters, you''ll already know what''s coming: <b>REWRITES</b>.


    As it stands, I''m deeply unsatisfied with the direction in which I began taking the climax of this book. I went against my gut instincts and set up this duel between Blake and Rax and there''s no dancing around it; it was a mistake. That is not the direction this story should be taking.


    I''ve been working on full chapter rewrites that go back as far as Chapter 51 that better support the climax of the story I originally intended, but I realized that getting those up in time will be a pain AND would mess up the remainder of our Rising Stars run for good. So with that in mind, I''m going to keep 51-54 as written, and start posting the rewrites from 55 onward.


    Later today I''ll edit Chapter 55 for new readers, and post the revised Chapter 55 for current readers. Tomorrow will see the new Chapter 56, and probably Chapter 57 as well--I do still owe you one more Bonus Chapter, after all.


    <hr>


    So that''s it, but I need to actually fill out the minimum word count for this to post--we seriously need an option to post announcements that aren''t chapters. So to hit that minimum, here''s the first nine stanzas of Robert Browning''s "Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came." It''s a super influential work of poetry and the only poem (other than song lyrics) that I''ve ever really enjoyed. Have it as a treat.


    <hr>


    <blockquote>


    I.


    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    My first thought was, he lied in every word,


    That hoary cripple, with malicious eye


    Askance to watch the working of his lie


    On mine, and mouth scarce able to afford


    Suppression of the glee, that pursed and scored


    Its edge, at one more victim gained thereby.


    II.


    What else should he be set for, with his staff?


    What, save to waylay with his lies, ensnare


    All travellers who might find him posted there,


    And ask the road? I guessed what skull-like laugh


    Would break, what crutch ''gin write my epitaph


    For pastime in the dusty thoroughfare,


    III.


    If at his counsel I should turn aside


    Into that ominous tract which, all agree,


    Hides the Dark Tower. Yet acquiescingly


    I did turn as he pointed: neither pride


    Nor hope rekindling at the end descried,


    So much as gladness that some end might be.


    IV.


    For, what with my whole world-wide wandering,


    What with my search drawn out thro'' years, my hope


    Dwindled into a ghost not fit to cope


    With that obstreperous joy success would bring,


    I hardly tried now to rebuke the spring


    My heart made, finding failure in its scope.


    V.


    As when a sick man very near to death


    Seems dead indeed, and feels begin and end


    The tears and takes the farewell of each friend,


    And hears one bid the other go, draw breath


    Freelier outside, (``since all is o''er,'''' he saith,


    ``And the blow falIen no grieving can amend;'''')


    VI.


    While some discuss if near the other graves


    Be room enough for this, and when a day


    Suits best for carrying the corpse away,


    With care about the banners, scarves and staves:


    And still the man hears all, and only craves


    He may not shame such tender love and stay.


    VII.


    Thus, I had so long suffered in this quest,


    Heard failure prophesied so oft, been writ


    So many times among ``The Band''''—-to wit,


    The knights who to the Dark Tower''s search addressed


    Their steps—-that just to fail as they, seemed best,


    And all the doubt was now—-should I be fit?


    VIII.


    So, quiet as despair, I turned from him,


    That hateful cripple, out of his highway


    Into the path he pointed. All the day


    Had been a dreary one at best, and dim


    Was settling to its close, yet shot one grim


    Red leer to see the plain catch its estray.


    IX.


    For mark! no sooner was I fairly found


    Pledged to the plain, after a pace or two,


    Than, pausing to throw backward a last view


    O''er the safe road, ''twas gone; grey plain all round:


    Nothing but plain to the horizon''s bound.


    I might go on; nought else remained to do.


    <cite>Robert Browning - Childe Roland To The Dark Tower Came</a></cite></blockquote>