Dungeons 3 Quotes

Have you ever seen anything quite as pathetic?" said Malfoy. "And he’s supposed to be our teacher!" Harry and Ron both made furious moves toward Malfoy, but Hermione got there first - SMACK! She had slapped Malfoy across the face with all the strength she could muster. Malfoy staggered. Harry, Ron, Crabbe, and Goyle stood flabbergasted as Hermione raised her hand again. "Don’t you dare call Hagrid pathetic you foul—you evil—" "Hermione!" said Ron weakly and he tried to grab her hand as she swung it back. "Get off Ron!" Hermione pulled out her wand. Malfoy stepped backward. Crabbe and Goyle looked at him for instructions, thoroughly bewildered. "C’mon," Malfoy muttered, and in a moment, all three of them had disappeared into the passageway to the dungeons. "Hermione!" Ron said again, sounding both stunned and impressed.

I believe the red stone was kept under lock and key in the dungeon far below Aldene Castle. I know that in 1507, when the Eldest visited Aldene, he was concerned about something dangerous that was held in Aldene’s dungeon.

In the vaults of our hearts and brains, danger waits. All the chambers are not lovely, light and high. There are holes in the floor of the mind, like those in a medieval dungeon floor - the stinking oubliettes, named for forgetting, bottle-shaped cells in solid rock with the trapdoor in the top. Nothing escapes from them quietly to ease us. A quake, some betrayal by our safeguards, and sparks of memory fire the noxious gases - things trapped for years fly free, ready to explode in pain and drive us to dangerous behavior...

So...this is the dark dungeon where the very angry Tristan sleeps?" "No. This is the dark dungeon where the very dangerous Tristan keeps himself away from the very carless young woman." Clearly, he was in no mood for small talk.

We stood there for a long moment before he said, "You know, we still have like, half an hour down here. Seems a shame to waste it." I poked him in the ribs, and he gave an exaggerated wince. "No way, dude. My days of cellar, mill, and dungeon lovin' are over. Go castle or go home.

He belonged to a walled city of the fifteenth century, a city of narrow, cobbled streets, and thin spires, where the inhabitants wore pointed shoes and worsted hose. His face was arresting, sensitive, medieval in some strange inexplicable way, and I was reminded of a portrait seen in a gallery I had forgotten where, of a certain Gentleman Unknown. Could one but rob him of his English tweeds, and put him in black, with lace at his throat and wrists, he would stare down at us in our new world from a long distant past—a past where men walked cloaked at night, and stood in the shadow of old doorways, a past of narrow stairways and dim dungeons, a past of whispers in the dark, of shimmering rapier blades, of silent, exquisite courtesy.

But she’d lost everything. She’d been broken. Deep in that dungeon, she’d lost her faith. Only to learn that God wasn’t going to let her go even if she let Him go. He wasn’t going to forsake her even when she felt forsaken.

There is no shame in wanting to be alone yet also wanting the comfort and the strength of your brethren.

Fashion Tip Number 12: Gray is not the color to wear if you want to get noticed in a smoky, dingy dungeon.

You never said you used to play Dungeon and Dragons,” Lesley had said when I explained my reasoning. I’d been tempted to tell her that I was thirteen at the time, and anyway it was Call of Cthulhu, but I’ve learned from bitter experience that such remarks generally only make things worse.

Kids aren’t always a product of their parents. But sometimes that doesn’t matter. Sometimes parents can cast a shadow so thick, you can drown in it.

He's a castle with secret tunnels and abandoned dungeons and heavy locked doors. And I'm his skeleton key.

I'm all right, Nic," Wolfe said, and finally looked at him. "We walked through the dungeons under Rome, survived Philadelphia, and this perfumed cage won't bring us to our knees. We're all stronger than that." "All right," Santi said. "But don't ask me to stop standing next to you. Because you know I will, however much you shout about it.

They will not break me. Fuck them all. They will not break me. But I will break them. This is my promise to myself, to my friends, and to you, anyone who reads these words. I will break them all. - Crawler Carl, 25th Edition of The Dungeon Anarchist’s Cookbook

Finally, I texted Max. Jameson locked me in the world’s most expensive dungeon, I wrote. He’s got some asinine idea about protecting me. Max’s reply didn’t take long. THAT GREEN-EYED BASTARD.

Our society needs criminals like Wolfgang Priklopil in order to give a face to the evil that lives within and to split it off from ... It needs the images of cellar dungeons so as not to have to see the many homes in which violence rears its conformist, bourgeois head. Society uses the victims of sensational cases such as mine in order to divest itself of the responsibility for the many nameless victims of daily crimes, victims nobody helps – even when they ask for help.

Behind Nicholas, Henry paces back and forth, with a large open book in his hands. “Didn’t we used to have a dungeon downstairs?” the blond prince asks his older brother. “Could’ve sworn I found it when I was six or seven. Gave me nightmares for a week.” He points at an image in the book and smiles manically. “That device looks like it hurts—we’ll order two.” Huh. I thought I was just teasing Ellie about the dungeon.

I’m sure some of you get sent to your rooms sometimes by your parents. All I have to say is, the next time it happens and you’re lying there all mad thinking about how hard your life is, just picture me standing next to you, ready to smack you upside the head. When I get sent to my room, it’s in a freaking dungeon! With rats!

Goddamnit, Donut,

I laughed. “Nobody is starting a harem.” “No, I suppose not,” Donut said. “You couldn’t even keep one woman interested.

The halo inked anew upon his brow seemed darker than the shadows of the dungeon

I can say no at any time ” “Yes.” “But aren’t I supposed to do whatever you say ” “Only if you want to. That’s what makes the power exchange of D s so potent. It’s a free exchange one that is meant to give us both what we need.

I'm not in love with someone!" he shouted at her, infuriated because she was right and he couldn't do a thing about it. "I'm in love with you, and damn it,I don't like it." "You've made that abundantly clear." She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. "Don't pull that regal routine on me," Grant began. Her eyes sharpened to dagger points. Her skin flushed majestically. Abruptly he began to laugh.When she tossed her head back in fury,he simply collapsed against her. "Oh,God,Gennie,I can't take it when you look at me as though you were about to have me tossed in the dungeon." "Get off me,you ass!" Incensed, insulted, she shoved against him, but he only held her tighter. Only quick reflexes saved him from a well-aimed knee at a strategic point.

You’re in love with a really lucky motherfucker.” Vemar spread his hands. “And you’re horny. We get it, Strange Lady. Anyone who orgasms while they are being tortured and masturbates in a dungeon has it bad. But unless you have help, you ain’t never gonna ride that cock again, you know? Do it for the cock.

Archer shifted on the bed so that he could look at my face. “I’ll go with you,” he said. I raised both eyebrows at him. “Cross, you’re the Casnoffs’ personal torture guinea pig. It’s a miracle they’re letting you stay in your room and not, like chaining you in a dungeon. If they catch you wandering around in the cellar-“ “If the Casnoffs were going to lock me up, they would’ve done it already.” “Why haven’t they?” Jenna wondered out loud, and Archer shrugged. “Maybe it’s because they know I can’t escape? Or maybe having to look at the dude they’ve been flaying alive every day is punishment for the other students. Either way, I’ll take it.” Archer turned back to me, and that familiar grin flashed over his face. “Come on, Mercer. Me, you, the cellar. What could go wrong?

It was funny that she should have said that, for Julian chose that moment to begin baaing like a flock of sheep. His one long, bleating "baa-baa-aa-aa" was taken up by the echoes at once, and it seemed suddenly as if hundreds of poor lost sheep were baa-ing their way down the dungeons! Mr. Stick jumped to his feet, as white as a sheet. "Well, if it isn't sheep now!" he said. "What's up? What's in these "ere dungeons? I never did like them." "Baa-aa-AAAAAAAAAAP went the mournful bleats all round and about. And then

But no one else cared that Professor Lupin’s robes were patched and frayed. His next few lessons were just as interesting as the first. After boggarts, they studied Red Caps, nasty little goblinlike creatures that lurked wherever there had been bloodshed: in the dungeons of castles and the potholes of deserted battlefields, waiting to bludgeon those who had gotten lost. From Red Caps they moved on to kappas, creepy water-dwellers that looked like scaly monkeys, with webbed hands itching to strangle unwitting waders in their ponds.

I don’t understand a word of what the fuck you just said.” The robot sighed. “I apologize, Carl. Let me translate it to earth monkey speak.

Miss Beatrice once used scissors to get poop off my butt,” Donut said. “Uh huh,” I said. “Once?” “We’re having a moment here, Carl. Don’t ruin it.

People who confuse entomology and etymology bug me in ways I can't put into words.

I hope you said your prayers and brought the lube, because you about to get fucked from here to eternity.

Glurp, glurp, motherfucker,” I said before I collapsed in an exhausted heap.

That kiss, I cannot describe. It was like a poem, a prayer, a homecoming unlooked-for. It was like dungeon walls crumbling to reveal a glimpse of sky. It

This isn't Dungeon & Dragons, dude. Just because I'm wearing black doesn't mean I have the Find & Remive Traps skill.

Take my memories of my mother, and the feelings that went with them. I do not want to know them at all. Take the ache in my throat when I think of Molly, take all the sharp-edged, bright-colored days I recall with her. Take their brilliance and leave me but the shadows of what I saw and felt. Let me recall them without cutting myself on their sharpness. Take my days and nights in Regal’s dungeons. It is enough to know what was done to me. Take it to keep, and let me stop feeling my face against that stone floor, hearing the sound of my nose breaking, smelling and tasting my own blood. Take my hurt that I never knew my father, take my hours of staring up at his portrait when the great hall was empty and I could do so alone. Take my— Fitz. Stop. You give her too much, there will be nothing left of you.

The moment I pulled his head through the hole, Donut snapped off the spell. I let go, and the severed head dropped to the ground, mouth still open wide. “What was that, bitch? I didn’t quite get that last part,” I said.

You know, we still have like, half an hour down here. Seems a shame to waste it.” I poked him in the ribs, and he gave an exaggerated wince. “No way, dude. My days of cellar, mill, and dungeon lovin’ are over. Go castle or go home.” “Fair enough,” he said as we interlaced our fingers and headed for the stairs. “But does it have to be a real castle, or would one of those inflatable bouncy things work?” I laughed. “Oh, inflatable castles are totally out of-“ I skidded to a stop on the first step, causing Archer to bump into me. “What the heck is that?” I asked, pointing to a dark stain in the nearest corner. “Okay, number one question you don’t want to hear in a creepy cellar,” Archer sad, but I ignored him and stepped off the staircase. The stain bled out from underneath the stone wall, covering maybe a foot of the dirt floor. It looked black and vaguely…sticky. I swallowed my disgust as I knelt down and gingerly touched the blob with one finger. Archer crouched down next to me and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a lighter, and after a few tries, a wavering flame sprung up. We studied my fingertip in the dim glow. “So that’s-“ “It’s blood, yeah,” I said, not taking my eyes off my hand. “Scary.” “I was gonna go with vile, but scary works.” Archer fished in his pockets again, and this time he produced a paper napkin. I took it from him and gave Lady Macbeth a run for her money in the hand-scrubbing department. But even as I attempted to remove a layer of skin from my finger, something was bugging me. I mean, something other than the fact that I’d just touched a puddle of blood. “Check the other corners,” I told Archer. He stood up and moved across the room. I stayed where I was, trying to remember that afternoon Dad and I had sat with the Thorne family grimoire. We’d looked at dozens of spells, but there had been one- “There’s blood in every corner,” Archer called from the other side of the cellar. “Or at least that’s what I’m guessing it is. Unlike some people, I don’t have the urge to go sticking my fingers in it.

Bad Llama. Level 3. It’s a llama, but it’s bad. If he were human, he’d be covered in prison tattoos and would be hanging out in front of the Circle K hitting on 14-year-old girls. They might be willing to sell you something if you have good stuff to trade. You won’t want to get hit by their spit.

It all started when the Fire nation attacked.

remember

Hold still so I can kill you! Grahh! You. That’s you.

Bob ran off to inform himselves of the recent developments.

Limp Richard

Look at how beautiful she is,” Donut whispered. “She’s like a vision of pure elegance.” “Yo,” Elle cried at the bartender. “Whose dick do I gotta suck to get another drink? Christ.

And as Doctor Ian Malcolm once famously said, Life, uh, finds a way.

Isn’t it etched on the doors to the next floor down?” “No,” I said. “It’s a massive kua-tin.

I wasn’t just going to abandon you, Carl,” Donut said. “Who do you think I am? Miss Beatrice?

I think my fans should have a name, wouldn’t that be great? Like the Princess Patrol or something.” I grunted. “How about the Donut Holes?” “Don’t be crude, Carl.

I wasn’t just going to abandon you, Carl,” Donut said. “Who do you think I am? Miss Beatrice?” “No,” I agreed. “You most definitely are not.

Well, shit,” I said. “I’m starting to think the sister isn’t a huge fan of her big brother.

Really, Katia,” Donut said, leaping to my shoulder. “If you need to borrow a sanitary napkin, just ask.

You should try riding the Tokyo subway when you only know Icelandic, German, Russian, and English,” she said.

You will not break me. Fuck you all.

There are some pretty weird ones, though. There’s a guy here who is a mushroom. Why would you turn yourself into a mushroom? He looks like a penis.

Donut: DON’T EVER DO THIS TO ME AGAIN. I THOUGHT YOU’D BEEN SQUISHED.

A few things, yes,” I said. “We need to…” I didn’t finish. Katia exploded.

You tried to kill Katia you fucking bitch!” Donut cried. She blasted a full-strength Magic Missile right into Hekla’s face.

Enchanted Mongoliensis Saddle. Adjusted to fit Cat species.

I thought of my own mother, who’d attempted to kill my father and then herself as a goddamned birthday present to me. She’d only half succeeded.

I got an achievement just for looking at it! At the boss, I mean. Not your friend’s butt. But I should’ve received an award for having to see that, too.

I believe it is customary,” the duke said, his tone low and a bit ominous, “for a guardian to spout vague threats to his ward’s new husband should that husband bring any harm to his new wife.” James nodded, glancing quickly at the duke’s right boot, where he’d learned a dagger was always sheathed. “I, however, do not make vague threats.” The duke’s eyes narrowed. “Should you show yourself in any way less than worthy of the trust Daphne has placed in you, you will find yourself swinging from the gibbet at Falstone Castle, taken down regularly to be beaten, then locked in irons in the dungeon and placed in the room I refer to as the Rat’s Nest, where the vermin will be delighted to make your better acquaintance. You will next be invited to join me in my vast, dense forest, where I will leave you for the wolves to chew on.

What the hell is wrong with you? You planning on opening a thrift store? You might want to see a shrink. One that your group doesn’t immediately kill. Reward: We don’t reward this sort of behavior. It’s weird.

I liked Bautista, I thought as I finished building my train bomb, but his Tigran race made him look like a tiger that had been vomited upon by a Lisa Frank notebook. I didn’t know how anything could embarrass him.

What’s a prime number?” Donut asked, speaking for the first time. “It’s a math thing,” I said. “You learn about them in fourth or fifth grade, and then you don’t need to know about it ever again unless you become a mathematician. Or a math teacher.

Where did the dagger come from?” Azriel’s hazel eyes held nothing but cool wariness. “Why do you want to know?” “Because the Starsword”—she motioned to the blade he had down his back—“sings to it. I know you’re feeling it, too.” Let it be out in the open. “It’s driving you nuts, right?” Bryce pushed. “And it gets worse when I’m near.” Azriel’s face again revealed nothing. “It is,” Nesta answered for him. “I’ve never seen him so fidgety.” Azriel glowered at his friend. But he admitted, “They seem to want to be near each other.” Bryce nodded. “When I landed on that lawn, they instantly reacted when they were close together.” “Like calls to like,” Nesta mused. “Plenty of magical things react to one another.” “This was unique. It felt like … like an answer. My sword blazed with light. That dagger shone with darkness. Both of them are crafted of the same black metal. Iridium, right?” She jerked her chin to Azriel, to the dagger at his side. “Ore from a fallen meteorite?” Azriel’s silence was confirmation enough. “I told you guys back in that dungeon,” Bryce went on. “There’s literally a prophecy in my world about my sword and a dagger reuniting our people. When knife and sword are reunited, so shall our people be.” Nesta frowned deeply. “And you truly think this is that particular dagger?” “It checks too many boxes not to be.” Bryce lifted a still-bloody hand, and she didn’t miss the way they both tensed. But she furled her fingers and said, “I can feel them. It gets stronger the closer I get to them.

There are some pretty weird ones, though. There’s a guy here who is a mushroom. Why would you turn yourself into a mushroom? He looks like a penis. Like one of those weird ones that’s really wide and short. My boyfriend before my Barry had a dick like that. It smelled like mushrooms, too.

Katia had a special ability she didn’t like to use very often. Rush, it was called. It turned her body into a battering ram. When activated, she blasted forward, shattering everything in her path. She could only use it once a day, and when she did use it, it knocked all the wind out of her, even if she didn’t actually hit anything. As a result, I knew she abhorred the skill, despite Mordecai’s insistence that she use it as often as possible. Also, the skill wasn’t predictable. Sometimes when she used Rush, her body flew forward five feet. Sometimes it flew forward twenty, and there didn’t seem to be any sort of rhyme or reason to the discrepancy. In addition, the angle in which she rushed forward wasn’t always perfectly straight. Mostly her body dashed straight forward in the direction she was facing, but sometimes, every once in a while, she flew slightly off-center. And that’s what happened this time. Katia screamed something incomprehensible, and she activated Rush. She was aiming at her former friend Eva. She missed her by inches. Instead, she inadvertently became the first crawler on this season of Dungeon Crawler World to kill one of the top 10 and claim a bounty.

Indeed, Ruhn said, “Wanna … hear a … joke?” The prince didn’t wait for a reply before he continued, “Two angels … and a Fae Prince … walk into … a dungeon …” Ruhn didn’t finish, and didn’t need to. A broken, rasping laugh came out of Hunt. Then Baxian. Then Ruhn. Though every heave shrieked through his arms, his back, his broken body, Hunt couldn’t stop laughing. The sound bordered on hysteria. Soon tears were leaking down his cheeks, and he knew from the scent that the others were laughing and crying as well, like it was the funniest fucking thing in the world. The door to the chamber banged open,

One author, in writing of the Bible’s uniqueness, put it this way: Here is a book: 1. written over a 1500 year span; 2. written over 40 generations; 3. written by more than 40 authors, from every walk of life— including kings, peasants, philosophers, fishermen, poets, statesmen, scholars, etc.: Moses, a political leader, trained in the universities of Egypt Peter, a fisherman Amos, a herdsman Joshua, a military general Nehemiah, a cupbearer Daniel, a prime minister Luke, a doctor Solomon, a king Matthew, a tax collector Paul, a rabbi 4. written in different places: Moses in the wilderness Jeremiah in a dungeon Daniel on a hillside and in a palace Paul inside a prison Luke while traveling John on the isle of Patmos others in the rigors of a military campaign 5. written at different times: David in times of war Solomon in times of peace 6. written during different moods: some writing from the heights of joy and others from the depths of sorrow and despair 7. written on three continents: Asia, Africa, and Europe 8. written in three languages: Hebrew… , Aramaic… , and Greek… 9. Finally, its subject matter includes hundreds of controversial topics. Yet, the biblical authors spoke with harmony and continuity from Genesis to Revelation. There is one unfolding story…

The East Side was like Detroit without RoboCop, or Gotham without Batman. In postapocalyptic terms, this was the kind of world where a dude with a Mohawk would go after a civilian, and the civilian would come back the next day with a posse to get revenge. Basically, it was a warmhearted community, in the sense that your heart never stopped racing enough to cool down.

Same ol’ shit. Imani is mother hen-ing every damn person in here, even though they’re all terrified of her. Your friend Li Jun doesn’t know his best friend is in love with his sister even though she’s turned into a demon, and most of those girls from Hekla’s group are as helpless as I was when I was still in the wheelchair. On top of that, some crazy asshole who doesn’t want everybody to think he’s a crazy asshole is throwing a train full of explosives in our direction. So, you know. Typical day.

You,” she said, bending an icy eye on Elizabeth, “come with me. You have much to explain, madam, and you can do it while Faulkner attends to your appearance.” “I am not,” Elizabeth said in a burst of frustrated anger, “going to think of my appearance at a time like this.” The duchess’s brows shot into her hairline. “Have you come to persuade them that your husband is innocent?” “Well, of course I have. I-“ “Then don’t shame him more than you already have! You look like a refugee from a dustbin in Bedlam. You’ll be lucky if they don’t hang you for putting them to all this trouble!” She started up the staircase with Elizabeth following slowly behind, listening to her tirade with only half her mind. “Now, if your misbegotten brother would do us the honor of showing himself, your husband might not have to spend the night in a dungeon, which is exactly where Jordan thinks he’s going to land if the prosecutors have their way.” Elizabeth stopped on the third step. “Will you please listen to me for a moment-“ she began angrily. “I’ll listen to you all the way to Westminster,” the dowager snapped back sarcastically. “I daresay all London will be eager to hear what you have to say for yourself in tomorrow’s paper!” “For the love of God!” Elizabeth cried at her back, wondering madly to whom she could turn for speedier help. An hour was an eternity! “I have not come merely to show that I’m alive. I can prove that Robert is alive and that he came to no harm at Ian’s hands, and-“ The duchess lurched around and started down the staircase, her gaze searching Elizabeth’s face with a mixture of desperation and hope. “Faulkner!” she barked without turning, “bring whatever you need. You can attend Lady Thornton in the coach!

You’re like a nuclear missile, you’re dropped somewhere and cause devastation all around. You’ve always been that way. And I figured you’d come here and just fucking destroy everything that stood against me, like you do all the time. I wanted to tell you, I really did, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t risk you saying no, to the whole plan going out the window.” I got off Galahad, who adjusted his suit, but didn’t bother getting back to his feet. “Do you even know what Simon was here for?” “No, although we will. A few years in a dungeon will loosen his tongue a little.” “I never thought you’d be on the receiving end of my anger,” I said softly. “I always thought you’d be honest with me. That you knew how I felt after leaving Merlin, leaving behind the lies and manipulations. But I was wrong. You’re just shittier at it than he was.” “I have more important things to do than lament whatever has broken in our friendship,” he said, anger leaking from every syllable. “I think you should leave this city and this state.” “You’re having me kicked out?” Galahad shook his head. “I’ll be putting Bill Moon in charge of the investigation into what happened here. We’ll make things more palatable for the humans living here, and then we’ll be taking Simon back to Shadow Falls.” “And Rean?” “He has refused my aid and vanished with his remaining colony into the woods. Nine out of twenty-two died today, I doubt he wishes to involve himself with the affairs of anyone other than his colony.” “You lost two allies in space of a day and damaged your reputation as a ruler who takes care of his own. Congrats. You must be very proud.” “I think we’re done here,” he said and got back to his feet once more. I took a step toward him and I noticed something in his expression. Fear. But not fear of me, Galahad would never have been scared of me, but maybe the fear of what had been lost between us, and my anger evaporated, replaced with sadness. “Galahad, you should know something,” I said, gaining his attention as he walked off toward the house. He stopped at the open door and glanced back at me. “What is it?” “I’m not a nuclear bomb, I’m a scalpel. I cut away the tumors and diseased flesh that threatens to consume everything. So, you need to be very careful that during your reign, you don’t become something that requires my utmost attention.” And with that, I turned and walked away.

Mental note: no torturer in a dungeon cell ever devised anything as frustrating, as inescapable, as terrifyingly pointless as a conversation with a drunk.

Is it true that if we don’t return our library books on time you lock us in a dungeon under the school?” I asked. Everybody

Let us be honest. Did all the priests of Rome increase the mental wealth of man as much as Bruno? Did all the priests of France do as great a work for the civilization of the world as Voltaire or Diderot? Did all the ministers of Scotland add as much to the sum of human knowledge as David Hume? Have all the clergymen, monks, friars, ministers, priests, bishops, cardinals and popes, from the day of Pentecost to the last election, done as much for human liberty as Thomas Paine? What would the world be if infidels had never been? The infidels have been the brave and thoughtful men; the flower of all the world; the pioneers and heralds of the blessed day of liberty and love; the generous spirits of the unworthy past; the seers and prophets of our race; the great chivalric souls, proud victors on the battlefields of thought, the creditors of all the years to be. Why should it be taken for granted that the men who devoted their lives to the liberation of their fellow-men should have been hissed at in the hour of death by the snakes of conscience, while men who defended slavery—practiced polygamy—-justified the stealing of babes from the breasts of mothers, and lashed the naked back of unpaid labor, are supposed to have passed smilingly from earth to the embraces of the angels? Why should we think that the brave thinkers, the investigators, the honest men, must have left the crumbling shore of time in dread and fear, while the instigators of the massacre of St. Bartholomew; the inventors and users of thumb-screws, of iron boots and racks; the burners and tearers of human flesh; the stealers, the whippers and the enslavers of men; the buyers and beaters of maidens, mothers and babes; the founders of the Inquisition; the makers of chains; the builders of dungeons; the calumniators of the living; the slanderers of the dead, and even the murderers of Jesus Christ, all died in the odor of sanctity, with white, forgiven hands folded upon the breasts of peace, while the destroyers of prejudice, the apostles of humanity, the soldiers of liberty, the breakers of fetters, the creators of light, died surrounded by the fierce fiends of God?

White light veiled the world. He did not see things, he saw into them, through them, saw the nightwalker and shadows for the insubstantial entities they were. The souls of his comrades glowed, their light dimmed only by self-imposed restraints, restraints Abelar had shed. As he fell, his body ignited with radiance, an apotheosis of light. For a moment, he felt himself motionless, suspended in space, as if he had become the light. He savored the time, thought of Elden, his innocent eyes, his trusting soul. He loved his son—forever. The moment ended. He plummeted earthward toward the nightwalker. The creature shielded its face with a forearm, cowered before Abelar. Abelar’s soul swelled. No regrets plagued him or tortured his final thoughts. His mind turned to those he loved, his wife, his father, his son. He laughed, shouted Elden’s name as he descended, and his voice boomed over the rain, over the thunder, over the darkness.

There’s a stone with an iron ring in it here!’ yelled Anne, excitedly. They all rushed over to her. Julian dug about with his spade and uncovered the whole stone. Sure enough, it did have a ring in it – and rings are only set into stones that need to be moved! Surely this stone must be the one that covered the dungeon entrance! All the children took turns at pulling on the iron ring, but the stone did not move. Then Julian tied two or three turns of rope through it and the four children put out their full strength and pulled for all they were worth. The stone moved. The children distinctly felt it stir. ‘All together again!

Fartstrider’s

Loving something means you either get to see it die, or it gets to see you die.

The fifth edition simplifies and rationalizes D&D in key ways. Breaking down a door is a great example: When Angela wanted to throw her weight around, Willi asked for her strength score—and figured it was high enough to get the job done. “The idea is if you are not rushed, and there’s really no danger, we simply look at it and say anyone with a strength of fifteen or above can open it,” Willi said. “If you are being chased by a horde of goblins and it’s important to get in the door in a rush, then I might make you roll. But generally, it’s the DM’s prerogative.” Compare that to the 3.5 edition rules, which are rather more complicated. First, the player may attempt to smash the door open with a Strength check. They roll a d20 and add their strength bonus. Then the DM checks a table5 that lists different kinds of doors (simple wooden, good wooden, strong wooden, stone, iron, wooden portcullis, iron portcullis) and determines the door’s breaking point. If the player scored higher than that number, they’re through. If not, they’ve got a long way to go. Next, the DM figures out the door’s armor class (10, plus a modifier based on its size, and minus 2 because it’s an inanimate object). Then the player has to fight the door like it’s an opposing monster. They attack, and if the attack roll is higher than the door’s AC, they do damage—but not before the DM goes back to his tables and figures out the door’s hardness. Hardness reduces damage, so if you hit for 9 points of damage against a stone door with a hardness of 8, you really only do 1 point of damage . . . and at that rate, you’ll have to hit the door another sixty times before you eventually smash the thing to pieces. Or, more likely, you toss the stupid rule book under the couch and go play video games instead.

[#1 – Get 10 great results on quests!] [#2 – Slay 500 monsters that give experience!] [#3 – Defeat a level 75+ dungeon!] [#4 – Slay the Dread Whale!] [#5 – Slay 100 steady adventurers above your level!] [#6 – Reach level 100!] [#7 – Slay 1 great adventurer!]

a meal is never perfect until it is shared.

Is that why I’m here?” Ryker asked aloud. “Because it would be fun for someone else? To make a life and then experience it through them?

They speak a lie and even though we don’t believe them, they speak a line of hate-against the elves above or the deep gnomes or another drow house- and even though we don’t agree with them, we don’t speak out,” Zak said.

For Drizzt had done what Zak had always wanted to do. Drizzt had seen the corruption, the evilness, the ugly weight of Lothian edicts, and Drizzt had rejected it more fully than Zaknsfein had ever found the courage to do, more fully than Jarlaxle had ever found the courage to do.

Lorcan, focus.” Praedra snaps her fingers in front of my face. “While Caed was in the Spring Court dungeons, his mark was discovered.” I cock my head to one side. “Seems like a responsible person would cut his hand off to stop that happening again.” Excellent. More blood for my cap. It stiffens in anticipation, becoming a stovepipe top hat. Caed’s fists clench so tightly that the wooden bolt he’s checking snaps in half. “Tempting, but why bother when we could remove the eyes from everyone who saw it?” Oooh, the Fomorian speaks my language, and that offer is tempting. “Eyeballs are fun.

ready,” he said. “You got a shirt?” I asked. “No.” “A name?” “Donner.” “You’re not with a party, are you?” He looked confused, but shook his head. “No.” “Fair enough! Lead us to the oubliette.

They are hunted ruthlessly by the tunnel trolls, who like to capture and lick them. Not because they impart any sort of hallucinogenic effect. It’s just that tunnel trolls are weird-ass fuckers.

Indeed, Ruhn said, “Wanna … hear a … joke?” The prince didn’t wait for a reply before he continued, “Two angels … and a Fae Prince … walk into … a dungeon …” Ruhn didn’t finish, and didn’t need to. A broken, rasping laugh came out of Hunt. Then Baxian. Then Ruhn.

You’re here and alive. I don’t know what I’ve got to weep about. Except sixteen years and a grandchild, lost to me forever. How could you, you wretch! Account for them. Account for yourself and what you’ve been doing that was so very important you couldn’t come home to us.” And suddenly, all the very good reasons I’d had for not going to her seemed trivial. I could have found a way. I heard myself say aloud, “If I hadn’t given my pain to the stone dragon, I think I would have found a way, however risky. Maybe you have to keep your pain and loss to know that you can survive whatever life deals you. Perhaps without putting your pain in its place in your life, you become something of a coward.” She slapped the table in front of her, then exclaimed in pain at her stinging fingers. “I didn’t want a moral lecture, I wanted an accounting. With no excuses!” “I’ve never forgotten the apples you threw to me through the bars of my cell. You and Lacey were incredibly brave to come to me in the dungeons, and to take my part when few others dared to.” “Stop it!” She hissed indignantly as her eyes filled with tears again. “Is this how you get your pleasure these days? Making old ladies weep over you?” “I don’t mean to.” “Then tell me what happened to you. From the last time I saw you.” “My lady, I would love to. And I will, I promise. But when I encountered you, I was on a pressing errand of my own. One that I should complete before I lose the daylight. Let me go, and I promise I’ll be back tomorrow, to give a full accounting.” “No. Of course not. What errand?” “You recall my friend the Fool? He has fallen ill. I need to take him some herbs to ease him, and food and wine.” “That pasty-faced lad? He was never a healthy child. Ate too much fish, if you ask me. That will do that to you.” “I’ll tell him. But I need to go see him.” “When did you last see him?” “Yesterday.” “Well it’s been sixteen long years since you’ve seen me. He can wait his turn.” “But he is not well.” She clashed her teacup as she set it down on the saucer. “Neither am I!” she exclaimed, and fresh tears began to well.

She reported that another hawk message had come in. Azania gave a very un-princess-like caper and a fist pump. “The reign of King Tyloric has ended!” YEEEERRRSSSS!! he thundered. Three windows up in the castle’s turrets shattered at the reverberation. Glass tinkled down. “Dragon, any chance we could think before we bellow?” Gnarr-t a chance. “I understand perfectly. Anyways, it is the best news since Ignis and Taramis decided to smile upon Solixambria.” He displayed at least fifty fangs in a grin so huge, the stretch caused his jaw joint to pop loudly. “Who’s the replacement, may I ask?” “Lord Harikic, who happens to be married to Queen Shariza’s younger sister, Immiriza.” “What is it with Humans and rhyming names?” “What is it with Dragons and silly Clan names, like Crusher, Grinder or Obliterator?” “That’s what they do.” “So practical,” she teased, inflicting a hug upon him. “Is it bad of me to feel vindicated? Before you ask, this man is a very different prospect. He –” “Knows what a bathtub is?” Consumed by a fit of helpless giggles, she gasped, “Dragon, I love you!” “Oh dear. Does Azerim know he’s lost your affections?” “Not like that, you ridiculous reptile.” Placing his right fist over his heart, he moaned in a high-pitched, knightly voice, “Oh, say it not, Azania, my verimost muse, for I have loved thee most fulsomely since the very first day I clapped paw upon thy peerless person! Woe, thou breakest at least one of mine five hearts. How shall this scorned creature ever become whole again?” This was too much for the Princess. She guffawed so hard that tears sprang into her eyes. She folded up in his paw, apparently unable to stand. He eyed the girl wriggling in his paw in a perfectly undignified state of hysterics. Ah, so this would be ‘rolling with laughter’ in Human parlance. The problem was that it was catching. What was it about yawns and laughter that was more infectious than the worst disease imaginable? Very soon, his roars of mirth shook the castle. Another two windows gave up the unequal battle and dropped their leaded glass into the courtyard with a loud crash. Inzashu, the Prince and at least twenty servants rushed out to see what the commotion was all about. “Celebrating Tyloric’s downfall,” Azania managed to explain between hiccoughs. Thundersong said, “This would be the same Tyloric who clapped Princess Azania in irons in his dungeon for a month, hoping she’d break and agree to marry Prince Floric.” “Floric the Flatulent? Gods, no!” several servants blurted out. One man ducked aside and deposited his breakfast in a nearby flowerbed. “Sorry …” “I understand perfectly,” Azania said.

Some shit’s going down soon. I need someone to run things if I’m not around.” “And where would you be?” “You’ll hear about everything from Bryce,” Hunt said, holding his stare. “But I need a second in command right now.” Baxian smirked, though. “Who said you’re in charge?” Hunt rolled his eyes. “My wife, that’s who.” But he pressed, “So…will you? I need some who can fight. On the ground and in the air.” “Oh, you’re only asking because I have wings?” Baxian ruffled his black feathers for emphasis. “I’m asking,” Hunt said, noting the spark of amusement on the Helhound’s face, “because I trust you, asshole. For some weird reason.” “Asteri dungeon bonding at its finest.

Who said Athalar and Ruhn are still in the dungeons? They haven’t been since this morning.

Irithys will do what she’s told,” Lidia said as they descended into the gloom. Rigelus said nothing more as they wound around and around, into the earth beneath the Eternal Palace. Even deeper than the dungeons where Ruhn and the others were kept. Most believed this place little more than myth. Rigelus at last halted before a metal door. Lead—six inches thick.

After several long minutes, though, the sprite said, “The dungeons aren’t this way.” “And you’re so familiar with the layout of this place?” “I have a keen memory,” the queen said flatly, her long hair floating above her head in a twirl of yellow flame. “I need only see something once to remember it. I recall the entire walk down here to the mystics in perfect detail.” A helpful gift. But Lidia said, “We’re not going to the dungeons.” From the corner of her eye, she noted Irithys peering at her. “But you told Rigelus—” “It has been a long while since you left your bubble … and used your powers.” Whatever embers were left with the halo’s constraints. “I think it wise that we warm you up a bit before the main event.

Mercy. Lidia had held none in her heart two days ago, when she’d walked past Hilde in the upper corridors and slipped her own comm-crystal into the hag’s pocket. With Ruhn in the dungeons, no one was accessing the other end of the line, anyway. The crystal was, for all intents and purposes, dead. But in Hilde’s possession, when Mordoc had sniffed it out on Lidia’s suspicion … the crystal once again became invaluable. She could think of no one, other than the Asteri themselves, that Irithys might hate more than the hag who had inked the tattoo on her burning throat. No one that Irithys might enjoy hurting more than Hilde. And yet the Sprite Queen had refused.

Then Bryce’s star illuminated the rock framing the tunnel’s mouth. She ran. A teeming mass of things crusted the entrance, smaller than the beasts beneath the dungeon, but almost worse. Cruder, more leathery. Like some sort of primordial bat-lizard hybrid. Black tongues tasted the air between flesh-shredding, clear teeth. Like the kristallos, bred and raised for eons in darkness— A few of the creatures leapt, swooping into the void below, off on the hunt—