Guild Master Quotes

Tell me something, Raphael?" He was already turning, heading to the door. "What is it you'd like to know, Guild Hunter?" She hid her smile at his slip. "What do I call you? Husband? Mate? Boyfriend?" Stopping with his hand on the doorknob, he shot her an inscrutable look. "You can call me 'Master'.

Your weapons-master appears to have an actual, beating heart," she said to Raphael. "Who knew?" "Jessamy." "I concede that point." Elena referring to Galen

I’ll spend my life training just for the moment I have my chance at you. I’ll wait until you think I’ve forgotten today. I’ll wait until you think it was just a dumb guild rat’s threat. After I’m a master, you’ll jump at shadows for a while. But after you jump a dozen times and I’m not there, you won’t jump just once, and that’s when I’ll be there. I don’t care if you kill me at the same time. I’ll trade my life for yours.

long ago, there’d been choices he could have made that would have sent him on a different path. But those days were dead, and the future held only nights, a stretch of darkness that led down to the eternal dark. He would meet Vorcan, eventually, and he’d swear his life to the Guild Master, and that would be that, the closing of the final door. And his sense of outrage at the injustices around him, the corruptions of the world, would wither in the unlit tunnels beneath Darujhistan. In the exactness of the methods of assassination, his final victim would be himself.

He was a master in the art of spreading boredom and playing the clumsy fool-though never so egregiously that people might enjoy making fun of him or use him as the butt of some crude practical joke inside the guild. He succeeded in being considered totally uninteresting. People left him alone. And that was all he wanted.

Freeman and slave, patrician and plebeian, lord and serf, guild-master and journeyman, in a word, oppressor and oppressed, stood in constant opposition to one another, carried on an uninterrupted, now hidden, now open fight, a fight that each time ended, either in a revolutionary re-constitution of society at large, or in the common ruin of the contending classes.

I know what a Guild is supposed to be. A place for friends, for people who help one another, not a place where those at the bottom are used by those at the top,

Never interrupt a librarian mid-thought!” Ms. Bakadet had said. “She could be on the verge of locating a long-lost book that the next Nobel Prize winner needs to complete their master work!

Every element has sub-elements, but it also has aspects. For water, they are Flow and Change; for fire, Transformation and Destruction. Earth’s aspects are Foundation and Strength, while air’s are Freedom and Spirit. Metal is formed of Gravitation and Power, and nature—your alignment, Morgan—is made of Life and Death. The Domination elements are more aggressive, requiring emotion and drive in order to be utilized. The Discipline elements, however, require calm and willpower.

Denigration afflicted our vaunted ideals long ago, but such inflictions are difficult to measure, to rise up and point a finger to this place, this moment, and say: here, my friends, this was where our honour, our integrity died. The affliction was too insipid, too much a product of our surrendering mindful regard and diligence. The meanings of words lost their precision – and no-one bothered taking to task those who cynically abused those words to serve their own ambitions, their own evasion of personal responsibility. Lies went unchallenged, lawful pursuit became a sham, vulnerable to graft, and justice itself became a commodity, mutable in imbalance. Truth was lost, a chimera reshaped to match agenda, prejudices, thus consigning the entire political process to a mummer’s charade of false indignation, hypocritical posturing and a pervasive contempt for the commonry. Once subsumed, ideals and the honour created by their avowal can never be regained, except, alas, by outright, unconstrained rejection, invariably instigated by the commonry, at the juncture of one particular moment, one single event, of such brazen injustice that revolution becomes the only reasonable response. Consider this then a warning. Liars will lie, and continue to do so, even beyond being caught out. They will lie, and in time, such liars will convince themselves, will in all self-righteousness divest the liars of culpability. Until comes a time when one final lie is voiced, the one that can only be answered by rage, by cold murder, and on that day, blood shall rain down every wall of this vaunted, weaning society. Impeached Guild Master’s Speech Semel Fural of the Guild of Sandal-Clasp Makers

He hardly went out at all. He took part in corporate life - in the regular meetings and processions of the journeymen - only just often enough as to be conspicuous neither by his absence nor by his presence. He had no friends or close aquantances, but took careful pains not to be considered arrogant or a misfit. He left it to the other journeymen to find his society dull and unprofitable. He was a master in the art of spreading boredom and playing the clumsy fool - though never so egregiously that people might enjoy making fun of him or use him as the butt of some crude practical joke inside the guild. He suceeded in being considered totally uninteresting. People left him alone. And that was all he wanted.

Freeman and slave, patrician and plebeian, lord and serf, guild-master and journeyman, in a word, oppressor and oppressed, stood in constant opposition to one another, carried on an uninterrupted, now hidden, now open fight, a fight that each time ended, either in a revolutionary reconstitution of society at large, or in the common ruin of the contending classes.

Moreover, the material problems of the painter’s life make it desirable that painters should collaborate and unite (much as they did in the days of the Guilds of St. Luke). If only they would ensure their material well-being, and love one another like friends instead of making one another’s life hell, painters would be happier, and in any case less ridiculous, less foolish and less culpable.

Stoddert named Joshua Humphreys Chief Naval Constructor of the United States, and authorized him to oversee naval shipbuilding operations throughout the country. But Humphreys’s efforts to impose his authority on shipwrights in other cities met with strong resistance. Different techniques, styles, and designs prevailed in the various seaports, and much of the terminology had evolved into regional dialects that outsiders found unintelligible. To ask a master builder to take direction from another master builder, in another region, was contrary to every tradition of the profession. Humphreys now proposed to bring openness and transparency to an enterprise that had always been shrouded in the medieval secrecy of the craftsmen’s guild. Shipbuilding is a “noble art,” he told a colleague. “I consider it my duty to convey to my brother builders every information in my power.

The teachings of the Mage Guild were that none of these others was real, no one else and nothing anywhere was real, that everything around him was merely a shadow born of Alain's own illusions. He had accepted that wisdom—until he had met Mari. In a world where nothing was allowed to change, Alain had been changed. He could let himself feel emotions again. He had learned what it meant to help someone else. He had learned what a friend was. He had forgotten what love was. Until he had fallen in love.

The core of the problem was that the guild put the helm in the hands of people who had not even learnt to row. The apprentices were, in many cases, willing and eager to learn. They did not, however, understand just how much they had to learn. Some of the realities - and practical limitations - of their art could not be learnt, save through experience. They therefore voted for things that either could not or would not be delivered. And they didn’t want to listen to the masters, the people who did have the experience, because they weren’t telling them what they wanted to hear.

Pity. I might have been willing to listen to some paltry excuses.” She looked at the clock on the mantel. “Pack your clothes and get the hell out. Right now.” They blinked. “What?” Tern said. “Pack your clothes,” she said, enunciating each word. “Get the hell out. Right now.” “This is our home,” Harding said. “Not anymore.” She picked at her nails. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Master,” she purred, and the man cringed at the attention. “I own this house and everything in it. Tern, Harding, and Mullin haven’t yet paid back their debts to poor Arobynn, so I own everything they have here—even their clothes. I’m feeling generous, so I’ll let them keep those, since their taste is shit-awful anyway. But their weapons, their client lists, the Guild … All of that is mine. I get to decide who’s in and who’s out. And since these three saw fit to accuse me of murdering my master, I say they’re out. If they try to work again in this city, on this continent, then by law and by the laws of the Guild, I have the right to hunt them down and chop them into itty-bitty pieces.” She batted her eyelashes. “Or am I wrong?” The Master’s gulp was audible. “You are correct.

ITEM: the skull Ohmphal, of the Master Thief Ohmphal, with great ruby eyes, and one pair of jeweled hands. HISTORY OF ITEM: the skull Ohmphal was stolen from the Thieves’ Guild by the priests of Votishal and placed by them in the crypt of their accursed temple. INSTRUCTIONS: the skull Ohmphal is to be recovered at the earliest opportunity, that it may be given proper veneration in the Thieves’ Sepulcher. DIFFICULTIES: the lock of the door leading to the crypt is reputed to be beyond the cunning of any thief to pick. WARNINGS: within the crypt is rumored to be a guardian beast of terrible ferocity.

She settled into a sitting position, wincing. "Oh, my poor rear end. I hope you appreciate what I went through to get here." Alain watched her anxiously. "You have hurt your..." "My butt. Yeah." She returned his gaze, puzzled. "I'll survive. Why are you blushing?" "Blushing?" His face felt warm. What did that mean? "Yes." Mari laughed. Does talking about my butt embarrass you? I'm sorry. It's nothing special." "I..." His face felt even warmer. "I think it is." "You do, huh? Where have you been all my life?" This time he gave her a mystified look. "I sent almost all of it inside a Mage Guild Hall. The one in Ihris. You know this." Mari laughed again.

Alain gazed at the old road, his expression uncharacteristically somber. "The Emperors believe they have the power to force their illusions on all others. This is part of that. The road itself is declared dead, never to be used, and no one dares dispute the Imperial will." "Not much better that the Great Guilds, is it?" "No I do not think so. When you seek allies among the commons, Mari, I believe you should look to those who do not blindly accept the authority of their leaders." "Too much failure to accept authority and you end up with anarchy, like in Tiae," Mari pointed out. "That is so," Alain agreed. "But as you told your elder, there is much that lies between total control and anarchy. The leaders of our Guilds and the rulers of the Empire would have us believe that only those two extremes exist, but I have been among the free cities and you have been in the confederation. Their governing systems are not perfect, but they work while still allowing their people freedom." "Freedom?" Mari turned to Alain, surprised. "I've never heard you use that word. Hardly anybody uses it." "I was taught that freedom is an illusion, only one more illusion which distracts from the path of wisdom." A flare of some deep emotion showed in Alain's eyes. "But I have felt freedom, Mari, as I walked the road beside you, and I know it is no illusion. The will of the Great Guilds, of the Emperor, those things are illusions, and their images will not endure.

Denigration afflicted our vaunted ideals long ago, but such inflictions are difficult to measure, to rise up and point a finger to this place, this moment, and say: here, my friends, this was where our honour, our integrity died. The affliction was too insipid, too much a product of our surrendering mindful regard and diligence. The meanings of words lost their precision – and no-one bothered taking to task those who cynically abused those words to serve their own ambitions, their own evasion of personal responsibility. Lies went unchallenged, lawful pursuit became a sham, vulnerable to graft, and justice itself became a commodity, mutable in imbalance. Truth was lost, a chimera reshaped to match agenda, prejudices, thus consigning the entire political process to a mummer’s charade of false indignation, hypocritical posturing and a pervasive contempt for the commonry. Once subsumed, ideals and the honour created by their avowal can never be regained, except, alas, by outright, unconstrained rejection, invariably instigated by the commonry, at the juncture of one particular moment, one single event, of such brazen injustice that revolution becomes the only reasonable response. Consider this then a warning. Liars will lie, and continue to do so, even beyond being caught out. They will lie, and in time, such liars will convince themselves, will in all self-righteousness divest the liars of culpability. Until comes a time when one final lie is voiced, the one that can only be answered by rage, by cold murder, and on that day, blood shall rain down every wall of this vaunted, weaning society." Impeached Guild Master’s Speech - Semel Fural of the Guild of Sandal-Clasp Makers

Asha stared as Mari for a while, her face once again betraying no emotions. "When we were acolytes, newly come to the Mage Guild Hall on Ihris, Mage Alain once tried to catch me as I fell. He was punished for this." Her gaze went to Alain. "We talked. In the first days. Before such things were driven from us. He was...he could have been...someone..." "A friend," Alain said. "Friend." Asha seemed to be looking inward now, as if searching for memories lost in time. "What does this mean?" Alain's voice took on more feeling. "It is someone who helps." "Helps?" Asha suddenly inhaled strongly. "I remember. When all else was gone...Alain...helps...helped...me." "We were taught to forget this," Alain said. "Master Mechanic Mari reminded me of what it meant. She has reminded me of many things. She must do something of great importance. Will you help me now, Mage Asha?" Here gaze rested on Alain, then went back to Mari. "This Mechanic helps Mage Alain. I will help, too. I will not betray you to the Guild, Mage Alain.

Sons of ditch-diggers aspired to be bastard sons of kings and thieving aristocrats rather than of rough handed children of dirt and toil. The immense profit from this new exploitation and world-wide commerce enabled a guild of millionaires to engage the greatest engineers, the wisest men of science, as well as pay high wage to the more intelligent labor and at the same time to have left enough surplus to make more and thorough the dictatorship of capital over the state and over the popular vote, not only in Europe and America, but in Asia and Africa. The world wept because within the exploiting group of New World masters, greed and jealousy became so fierce that they fought for trade and markets and materials and slaves all over the world until at last in 1914 the world flamed in war. The fantastic structure fell, leaving grotesque profits and poverty plenty and starvation empire and democracy staring at each other across world depression. And the rebuilding, whether it comes now or a century later, will and must go back to the basic principles of reconstruction in the United States during 1867-1876--Land light and leading for slaves black brown yellow and white...

I can't figure you out," she said. "What do you want?" "What I want does not matter." He said it mechanically, if that description could ever fit a Mage, the words coming out as if they had been drilled into him. Remembering some of the harsher harassment she had endured in her Mechanics Guild apprenticeship, Mari wondered what things had been like for this Mage. What had been done to make him seem so inhuman? "Why can't you just act like everyone else?" He gave her an inscrutable look. "I am not like everyone else." For some reason that sounded sad to her. "I ask your pardon, Mage." The formal words almost stuck in her parched throat, but Mari forced them out, seeing real surprise flashing for a moment in the Mage's eyes in response. "I'm a Mechanic, but I'm not closed-minded." Which has gotten me in trouble already more times than I can count. "Thank you for your warning." The Mage shook his head. "Thank...you," he repeated, the words sounding almost rusty as they came out, an intentness again showing in his eyes. "Thank you," he repeated in a murmur to himself, a hint of understanding appearing in his voice. "I...remember. Asha." "Asha?" "Long ago. I do not remember what to say." He gave her a look in which no feeling could be seen. "What do I say?" "Um...you say...you're welcome," Mari replied, feeling oddly anguished by the Mage's reactions. "Yes." He inclined his head toward her. "You...are welcome, Master Mechanic Mari.

A veritable pacifist when it comes to social guilds or luncheon clubs, I turn into something of a militant on the subject of the only true and living Church on the face of the earth. . . . Setting aside for a time the heavenly host we hope one day to enjoy, I still choose the church of Jesus Christ to fill my need to be needed--here and now, as well as there and then. When public problems or private heartaches come--as surely they do come--I will be most fortunate if in that hour I find myself in the company of Latter-day Saints. . . . When asked "What can I know?" a Latter-day Saint answers, "All that God knows." When asked "What ought I to do?" his disciples answer, "Follow the Master." When asked "What may I hope?" an entire dispensation declares, "Peace in this world, and eternal life in the world to come" (D&C 59:23), indeed ultimately for "all that [the] Father hath" (D&C 84:38). Depressions and identity crises have a hard time holding up under that response. . . . We cannot but wonder what frenzy the world would experience if a chapter of the Book of Mormon or a section of the Doctrine and Covenants or a conference address by President Spencer W. Kimball were to be discovered by some playful shepherd boy in an earthen jar near the Dead Sea caves of Qumran. The beneficiaries would probably build a special shrine in Jerusalem to house it, being very careful to regulate temperatures and restrict visitors. They would undoubtedly protect against earthquakes and war. Surely the edifice would be as beautiful as the contents would be valuable; its cost would be enormous, but its worth would be incalculable. Yet for the most part we have difficulty giving away copies of sacred scripture much more startling in their origin. Worse yet, some of us, knowing of the scriptures, have not even tried to share them, as if an angel were an every-day visitor and a prophet just another man in the street. We forget that our fathers lived for many centuries without priesthood power or prophetic leadership, and "dark ages" they were indeed.

Lady Mechanic, there is one other thing I yet need to know. You have done a great deed here, and done is a great service. Now I would know what that deed will cost us." "Cost you?" Mari lowered her head, sighing loud enough for Alain to hear. "Of course, because I am a Mechanic, and Mechanics never do a deed for free, instead charging the maximum that they can get." "You said this, Lady, not me." "Then here is my price, General." Mari looked up again, meeting his eyes. "You and your soldiers are to forget they ever saw me, no matter who asks." Flyn regarded her for a moment. "No matter who? Including members of your own Guild, Lady?" "Especially including members of my own Guild." Another long pause, then Flyn nodded. " that part of the price we can pay. And?" "Oh, you want to pay more?" Mari asked. "My horse. The poor beast has been ridden hard for a few days and needs proper treatment. I'm neither experienced nor good at handling horses, so if someone else would take care of her now it would be to the horse's benefit and mine." Flyn nodded again. "And?" Mari gestured. "And a private campsite, fire and food for myself and the Mage." "The Mage has already earned that for himself, Lady. We can do that for you as well, but I must tell you that after our reversal and retreat our provisions are neither extensive nor of great quality." Alain saw Mari run her eyes across the beat-up soldiers. Alain wondered if the commons could see the sympathy in those eyes. "As long as I get the equivalent of what your soldiers receive I'll be content, General." "Lady? Perhaps I was not clear as to how limited our means are at the moment—" "I will not eat better than men and women who have been through what these soldiers obviously have recently," Mari snapped. "I will have the same as them, General, nothing more." Flyn regarded Mari once more with outright astonishment. "Very well. And?" Mari narrowed her eyes at Flyn. "And, General, you will immediately cease to as me 'and?'. If you say that word one more time. My price will go up dramatically." The General gazed at her, then nodded. "Very well, Lady Mechanic. I accept your price, ridiculously small though it is. I do have one other question." "Which is?" Mari asked. "Am I allowed to use that prohibited word in other contexts?" Mari kept her hard look for a moment longer, then grinned at him. "Certainly, General. Use the word 'and' in as many other contexts as you desire. It appears to be your favorite word and I'd hate to deny you the use of it.

Long story short, I got lured into a trap. A Mage using that concealment spell tried to knife me. Then someone else tried to blow my brains out with a bullet." "A Mage attacked you?" Alain asked, feeling a sick sensation inside. "She tried. I knew they'd been watching me. I didn't give them any reason to try to kill me." Mari looked at him. "Did I?" "It is my fault," Alain admitted. "Even though I have tried to keep them from finding out who you are, they still believe that you are dangerous." She gave him another look, then shook her head. "From the looks of things, I'm mainly dangerous to my friends and myself. Just how much trouble did you actually get in because of spending time with me in Dorcastle?" Alain looked into the fire. "My Guild did not believe that I had been with you in Dorcastle. The elders thought that the woman I had been seen with in that city was a common I had sought out because she researched the Mechanic I had met in Ringhmon." "Why would you want to find a common who looked like me?" Mari asked. "For physical satisfaction." The simple statement would have created no reaction in a Mage, but he saw the outraged look in Mari's face and hurriedly added more. "I would not have done that. But the elders assumed that I did. I told you that they believed I was attracted to you." "Alain, 'attracted to' doesn't bring to mind the idea of finding another woman who resembles me so that you can pretend that you're—" she choked off the words, glaring into the night. "The elders assumed that. I never wanted it. I would never do it. There is no other woman like you." Somehow he must have said the right thing, because she relaxed. "But because of that belief of theirs," Mari said, "your elders thought you might look for me again." "They actually thought that you would seek me," Alain explained. "They were very concerned that you would..." His "social skills" might need work, but Alain realized that he probably should not say the rest. Too late. Mari bent a sour look his way. "What did they think I would do?" "It is not important." "Alain..." He exhaled slowly, realizing that Mari would not give up on this question. "The elders thought that you would seek to ensnare me, using your physical charms, and through me work to strike at the Mage Guild." She stared back in disbelief. "Ensnare? They actually used the word ensnare?" "Yes. Many times." "Using my physical charms?" Mari seemed unable to decide whether to laugh or get angry. She looked down at herself. "I'm a little low on ammunition when it comes to physical charms, or hadn't these elders of yours noticed?" "You are beautiful beyond all other women," Alain objected. Mari rolled her eyes. "And you ate seriously deluded. I hadn't realized how badly until this moment.

One of the most powerful was that of the Masons, which included the many kinds of workers connected with building. We have evidence of the power and importance of this guild in the wonderful beauty, grace, and strength of the numerous cathedrals and churches, town halls and houses, which were built in the 12th, 13th, and 14th centuries, and still give to Europe an inimitable interest and charm. In the builders’ huts around the cathedrals that were growing up, the Master would read the Scriptures, even in times when elsewhere the mere possession of a Bible was punishable with death.

Let my hands cease to create if I’m lying to you!” the gnome uttered the most terrible oath of the masters’ guild.

She stepped forward. “So, aside from that teensy sum for Clarisse … all of this—this house, the Guild, the other properties, his fortune—it’s all mine?” The Master nodded again, already scrambling to pack up his case. “Congratulations, Miss Sardothien.” Slowly, she turned her head toward Clarisse and Lysandra. “Well, if that’s the case …” She bared her teeth in a vicious smile. “Get your whoring, blood-sucking carcasses the hell off my property.” The Master choked. Lysandra couldn’t move fast enough as she rushed for the door. Clarisse, however, remained seated. “How dare you—” the madam began. “Five,” Aelin said, holding up five fingers. She lowered one, and reached for her dagger with her other hand. “Four.” Another. “Three.” Clarisse hauled ass from the room, bustling after a sobbing Lysandra.

Capricorni don’t beg, but I’ll get on my knees right now and beg you to help us, Mr. Lords, if that’s what it takes. Before whatever is trying to kill me succeeds. Before whatever is destroying the Guild finishes the job.

I was strong and absolutely loaded. I had powerful friends with real political power who’d do my bidding—both the guild masters in the town, and even Cliff, the feudal lord. Even the king himself wouldn’t refuse me. Wait, does putting it that way make me sound like the villain?

Malachi used the exploitative nature of his magic to analyze not only what the door was made of, but its inner workings.

Would that all was as well within the castle. Alas, that you have inflicted me with one Simus of the Hawk. Never mind the fact that Simus strides from his chambers to the mineral baths naked as a plucked chicken, smiling and greeting all and sundry with a cheerful smile. Never mind the fact that he and Warren have taken to weapons practice in the Great Hall, jumping from table to table swords in one hand, flagons in the other, fighting and laughing, and cursing each other, causing ladies to swoon and leaving heel marks on all the tables. Never mind that half the lords want to kill him, the other half want to befriend him and that all of the ladies seem entranced. Which includes my own Lady Wife, thank you very much. Oh no, the worst of it is that Simus is having relations with Dye-Mistress Mavis, or so the sounds echoing in the castle halls at all hours of the night announce to all and sundry. By his tradition, Simus does no wrong, or so Dye-Mistress Mavis has informed me, Warren, and the Archbishop. Further, when we confronted her, she told us in no uncertain terms that she is an adult and Master of her trade and that her behavior is none of our concern. She added something to the effect that you aren't the only one willing to make sacrifices for her guild. Which had the Archbishop clutching for his holy symbol. I think Dye-Mistress is only after the cloths that Simus wears like a peacock. I have tried to explain that to Simus, but he just smiles that wide smile of his and indicates that he sees no harm to being 'used'. The entire Court and Council is scandalized. They all come to me and complain, taking the greatest pleasure in going over every juicy detail.

Your first and most urgent task. Dearest Lancelot, It’s time for you to learn the ways of the Zodiac Guild. The last of us lie dead, but I am the only one who found a grave. My death was planned meticulously for this purpose. And in my death, I can only hope you are the man Queen Vega foresaw you to be. It is time for you to resurrect the Guild. You will take Ling Astrum’s position as Guild Master and initiate your most trusted, loyal friends to its cause. The Imperial Star awaits you in my tomb at The Everhill Graveyard. Know this, it can only be wielded by a reigning sovereign, so it must stay out of Lionel Acrux’s hands if he has ascended to the throne. If things have gone as hoped, you will have access to the rings of the Vega Princesses. Both are needed to open the tomb, but be warned, this ancient graveyard is heavily protected. Only those proficient in dark magic can enter. Go now while the stars are in alignment. You can do this, my boy.

The Chalice of Flames holds an ancient Phoenix flame within its core. It is indestructible, cannot be tarnished and must be protected by the Master of the Zodiac Guild. All who drink the royal elixir from this cup and speak the words inscribed upon its surface will be bound to the Guild, sworn in to protect the Vega line.

Like the Bedouin tribes, these guilds were organized, powerful, and politically independent. They had their own guild masters and ran their own courts. They legally exercised monopoly power to set prices, collect fees, share profits, and create barriers to entry. For centuries they had run the Hajj purely for their own profit.

Forensic boards, like most guilds, are extremely hierarchical and largely dominated by older white men. Aspiring experts are dependent on the mentorship the guilds offer for credentials and professional development. Second-generation practitioners seek to make their contributions to the field by building on their mentors’ work—not by questioning it. The cultural norms create powerful disincentives to challenging orthodoxy or asking the guild masters tough questions.

Why are our people going out there?” said Mr. Boggis of the Thieves’ Guild. “Because they are showing a brisk pioneering spirit and seeking wealth and…additional wealth in a new land,” said Lord Vetinari. “What’s in it for the Klatchians?” said Lord Downey. “Oh, they’ve gone out there because they are a bunch of unprincipled opportunists always ready to grab something for nothing,” said Lord Vetinari. “A masterly summation, if I may say so, my lord,” said Mr. Burleigh, who felt he had some ground to make up. The Patrician looked down again at his notes. “Oh, I do beg your pardon,” he said, “I seem to have read those last two sentences in the wrong order…Mr.

Having claimed one of the most illustrious figures in Islam, these same traditions maintain Bilāl’s descendant, Mamadi Kani, becomes a “hunter king,” establishing the title of simbon or donso karamoko or “master hunter,” achieved through a special relationship with the jinn of “the forest and bush” and the special favor of Kondolon Ni Sané, twinned deities of the chase.43 Mamadi Kani will rule a following of hunters, connoting the Mande idea of polity developing from hunter guilds, the donson ton.

The London Weavers’ Company could trace its ancestry back to 1155, making it the earliest craft guild in England. Weavers were mostly small master craftsmen, working at home on piecework rates, on yarn supplied by the customer. Their monopoly over the weaving trade was gradually eroded by the growth of other textile companies such as the Mercers, and the immigration from Flanders of Flemish weavers, relying on royal support. The London weavers’ hostility to Flemings came to a hideous climax in the Peasants’ Revolt of 1381, when ‘the London mob beheaded all the Flemings they found, without judgement and without cause, even invading the sanctuary of a church where thirty-five Flemings had taken refuge, dragging them out and beheading them in the street’.2

You must believe your life is valuable. You cannot help others if you cannot first help yourself. Never become emotionless, for emotion is what makes you human." --character Master Sye Rainier, Vision of a Torn Land

pupils and therefore there was no school of Vermeer. His family obligations with so many children may have taken up much of his time as would acting as both an art-dealer and inn-keeper in running the family businesses. His time spent serving as head of the guild and his extraordinary precision as a painter may have also limited his output.

Looks like I have a real-life girlfriend now. It only took me dying to get one. Woo-hoo!

Are the workers of England now less intelligent than in the time of the guilds that they could not manage industries as their forefathers did? Try tell us you could not manage, you could not organise them. I must be very much mistaken if you could not manage them as well as your masters. capitalists are continually complaining that they cannot manage industries well enough to be productive; they are too poor to pay you a living wage. Well, if they cannot manage industry without exploiting us so, let them go. We don't want them; we can manage better than they have done yet.

So, Laylia already told me your story, but I must ask—is it true? Do you really have five rock lizards?” Faced with the guild master, Mile had no choice but to tell the truth. “No. That was a lie. We don’t actually have five…” “I-I thought as much. That would be impossible… that number would never fit in storage space,” the submaster said, relieved. But Mile had not finished speaking. “Actually, we have twenty-six.” Bang! The submaster’s head hit the table.

Listen. The Sinspire is nearly sixty yards high, one thick Elderglass cylinder. You know those, you tried to jump off one about two months ago. Goes down another hundred feet or so into a glass hill. It’s got one door at street level, and exactly one door into the vault beneath the tower. One. No secrets, no side entrances. The ground is pristine Elderglass; no tunneling through it, not in a thousand years.” “Mmmm-hmmmm.” “Requin’s got at least four dozen attendants on each floor at any given time, plus dozens of table minders, card dealers, and waiters. There’s a lounge on the third floor where he keeps more out of sight. So figure, at minimum, fifty or sixty loyal workers on duty with another twenty to thirty he can call out. Lots of nasty brutes, too. He likes to recruit from ex-soldiers, mercenaries, city thieves, and such. He gives cushy positions to his Right People for jobs well done, and he pays them like he was their doting mother. Plus, there are stories of dealers getting a year’s wages in tips from lucky blue bloods in just a night or two. Bribery won’t be likely to work on anyone.” “Mmmm-hmmmm.” “He’s got three layers of vault doors, all of them ironshod witchwood, three or four inches thick. Last set of doors is supposedly backed with blackened steel, so even if you had a week to chop through the other two, you’d never get past the third. All of them have clockwork mechanisms, the best and most expensive Verrari stuff, private designs from masters of the Artificers’ Guild. The standing orders are, not one set of doors opens unless he’s there himself to see it; he watches every deposit and every withdrawal. Opens the door a couple times per day at most. Behind the first set of doors are four to eight guards, in rooms with cots, food, and water. They can hold out there for a week under siege.” “Mmmm-hmmmm.” “The inner sets of doors don’t open except for a key he keeps around his neck. The outer doors won’t open except for a key he always gives to his majordomo. So you’d need both to get anywhere.” “Mmmm-hmmmm.” “And the traps…they’re demented, or at least the rumors are. Pressure plates, counterweights, crossbows in the walls and ceilings. Contact poisons, sprays of acid, chambers full of venomous serpents or spiders…One fellow even said that there’s a chamber before the last door that fills up with a cloud of powdered strangler’s orchid petals, and while you’re choking to death on that, a bit of twistmatch falls out and lights the whole mess on fire, so then you burn to a crisp. Insult to injury.” “Mmmm-hmmmm.” “Worst of all, the inner vault is guarded by a live dragon attended by fifty naked women armed with poison spears, each of them sworn to die in Requin’s service. All redheads.” “You’re making that up, Jean.” “I wanted to see if you were listening. But what I’m saying is, I don’t care if he’s got a million solari in there, packed in bags for easy hauling. I’m inclined to the idea that this vault might not be breakable, not unless you’ve got three hundred soldiers, six or seven wagons, and a team of master clockwork artificers you’re not telling me about.” “Right.” “Do you have three hundred soldiers, six or seven wagons, and a team of master clockwork artificers you’re not telling me about?” “No, I’ve got you, me, the contents of our coin purses, this carriage, and a deck of cards.