Isles Of The Emberdark Quotes

Stories are important,” he said. “I live because of the stories of trappers, who told me what to avoid.

Around other people, you couldn’t keep doing the same thing. They forced you to adapt. Grow.

You are always a dragon,” he said, raising his finger, “whether or not you have the shape of one. As for the coloring of your scales, there’s no way to know until the transformation.

This was a useful machine, this engine. Another reminder that progress wasn’t all bad. Machetes replaced obsidian or stone knives. Motors replaced paddles. Except one day, that march of progress had turned him into the thing that was no longer needed. Progress was a wave. It first caught you in it and carried you, but the moment you slipped off the crest, you went crashing into the surf and maybe never came back up.

If you do not accept my protection, you will become a vassal of the Scadrians, these ‘Ones Above.’ Your planet will become a farming station, like many others, used to feed their expansion efforts. Your birds will be stripped from you the moment it becomes possible to do so.

The alien thrust out his armored hand, and smoke—or mist—coalesced there out of nowhere. It formed into a gun, longer than a pistol, shorter than a rifle. Wicked in shape, with flowing metal along the sides like wings, it was to Saplings’s pistol what a shadowy deep beast of the ocean was to a minnow. The alien raised his other hand, snapping a small box—perhaps a power supply—to the side of the rifle, causing it to glow ominously.

This creature stood seven feet tall, and was encased entirely in steel. Armor, thick and bulky, with smooth, rounded edges—and a smoky grey light glowing at the joints. The helmet likewise glowed from a slit-like visor that appeared to have glass behind it. An arcane symbol—reminding Dusk vaguely of a bird in flight—was etched into the front of the breastplate.

Tell me. Is there a place on your planet where people vanish unexpectedly? A place, perhaps, where an odd pool collects something that is not quite water?

It soon took off, streaking through the air without a sound. Its ability to fly baffled explanation; the only thing Dusk’s people knew about the process was that the Ones Above had requested the courtyard launchpad be made entirely of steel.

What were those odd pieces of metal stuck to their cheeks? Ribbed, like ripples of waves, those didn’t seem like armor. More ornamental.

If you run across Sigzil, smack him for me.” “Master, I could never.” “What? It’s a sign of affection among his kind.” “The Azish?” “No, incredible bastards.

Yes, I can breathe. It’s not really water; it’s like…the memory of water. Something strange like that. A poet could explain, maybe.

Dajer laughed. Dusk hated that sound. It was the laugh of a man who had never had to care what his noises did to other people.

Gods, Ed said, could not be contained by steel, ceramic, or even an Invested shield. But a story…well, that was another thing entirely.

float here.” Fist hesitated. But Ruen the scientist perked up. “Oh, I can show you! Come with me.” He bustled to the watchpost, and none of them—though seeming reluctant—stopped him. He came out with a small jar of glowing material. “Worm paste?” Dusk asked. “We’re considering some appropriate names,” Ruen said. “‘Worm paste’ is appropriate,” Dusk replied. “That’s what

He’d captured a mythical beast in an ocean with no water, in a land with no sun.