
The trials and struggles, the hard-won successes, the desperate battle for survival of Gabe Knight. He has fought the evil that lies in the shadows; now he must battle against the limbo of nothingness…
Rummaging through my attic the other day, I found a pen that was once used by Gabe when writing his Voodoo book. It was almost without any ink, and even as I wrote my name on a piece of paper, the ink spluttered and came to a gluggy stop.
I felt immense sadness within me. This seemed a metaphor, I thought, of the story of Gabe himself. So much richness, so much potential, so much a tool for the purpose of his life’s story… and now… emptiness… nothingness…
I fixed my eyes upon the pen. “Write!” I said to it.
In spite of my demanding tone, the pen did not oblige.
I prayed. “O Lord, cause this pen to write again!” I begged the pen. “Please! Write!” I sat looking at it, hoping. No one ever hoped more strongly! But it remained a blank, milord, a blank…
I spoke to others who were Gabe Knight pen collectors. We commiserated with each other, and talked wistfully of what had once been - the glory days of ink and tale.
And then I was struck with an idea. New ink! Would that not solve the problem? I knew this would mean work for me, because the ink of Gabe’s pen is not available from a newsagent or stationer’s… It must come from one’s own lifeblood. It must come from the - pardon me, I’m going to get Biblical here - from the sweat of one’s brow. It takes work, it takes effort, it takes time and dedication and tiredness and walking and talking and doing…
I have started with the making. Perhaps… perhaps we can all help in this, in order to get the pen that tells the story of Gabe working again. And if we do, I feel we will be liberating Gabe from his imprisonment of not-being.
Dear fans of Gabe,
You might have noticed small whisperings, odd half-transparent shapes in the darkness, in the fog… It’s almost as though something is trying to speak to us.
I don’t know. Perhaps it’s a government plot. The government is always good to blame. We could suggest that they’ve put something in the water to cause these vague hallucinations.
But the odd thing is… the hallucinations look to me almost… well, like Gabe Knight.
I have a thought. Perhaps it’s Gabe himself… trying to speak to us…
I know - that’s truly weird. Of course he couldn’t do that. He’s just a character in a game series.
But what if…?
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Gabriel Knight Writer, bookseller - and Shadow Hunter of the Ritter family - currently struggling for life.
I dreamt of blood upon the shore,
of eyes that spoke of sin.
The lake was smooth and deep and black,
as was her scented skin.
A mask I wore as I approached,
I was what I am not.
And though the pattern was unclear,
its meaning could be bought...
— Gabriel Knight
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