Rogue Warrior Quotes

The more you sweat in training, the less you bleed in combat.

Pain was their body's way of telling them that they'd pushed themselves to their limits -- which was exactly where they were supposed to be.

Why does the typical adventuring group consist of a wizard, a warrior, and a rogue, anyway? It should really be a wizard, a warrior, and a rich guy. Otherwise who's going to pay for all the swords and spells and hotel rooms?

SkyClan's destiny is that we will never live in isolation from other cats. We're not like forest Clans, we can't shut ourselves off entirely from kittypets or rogues. And visitors will be welcome.

He paused; a grim silence gripped the whole clearing, broken by a contemptious Rumble from Tigerstar. "Mew away, little kittypet. It won't change anything." Firestar ignored him. "Being deputy wasn't enough," he went on. "Tigerstar wanted to be leader of the clan. He set a trap for Bluestar by the Thunderpath, but my own apprentice strayed into it instead. That's how Cinderpelt came by her crippled leg." A shocked murmer swept through the clearing. Except for Bloodclan, they all knew of Cinderpelt, she was popular even with cats of other clans. Then Tigerstar conspired with Brokentail, the fomer leader of ShadowClan, who was ThunderClan's prisoner," Firestar told the listening cats. "He brought a pack of rogues into ThunderClan camp, and tried to murder Bluestar with his own claws. I stopped him, and when ThunderClan had beaten off the attack we drove him into excile. As a rogue, he slaughtered, Runningwind. Then before we knew what he was up too, he had made himself leader of ShadowClan.

Sir, people never wanted me to make it to squire. They won't like it any better if I become a knight. I doubt I'll ever get to command a force larger than, well, just me.' Raoul shook his head. 'You're wrong.' As she started to protest, he raised a hand. 'Hear me out. I have some idea of what you've had to bear to get this far, and it won't get easier. But there are larger issues than your fitness for knighthood, issues that involve lives and livelihoods. Attend,' he said, so much like Yayin, one of her Mithran teachers, that Kel had to smile. 'At our level, there are four kids of warrior,' he told Kel. He raised a fist and held up one large finger. 'Heroes, like Alanna the Lioness. Warriors who find dark places and fight in them alone. This is wonderful, but we live in the real world. There aren't many places without any hope or light.' He raised a second finger. 'We have knights- plain, everyday knights, like your brothers. They patrol their borders and protect their tenants, or they go into troubled areas at the king's command and sort them out. They fight in battles, usually against other knights. A hero will work like an everyday knight for a time- it's expected. And most knights must be clever enough to manage alone.' Kel nodded. 'We have soldiers,' Raoul continued, raising a third finger. 'Those warriors, including knights, who can manage so long as they're told what to do. These are more common, thank Mithros, and you'll find them in charge of companies in the army, under the eye of a general. Without people who can take orders, we'd be in real trouble. 'Commanders.' He raised his little finger. 'Good ones, people with a knack for it, like, say, the queen, or Buri, or young Dom, they're as rare as heroes. Commanders have an eye not just for what they do, but for what those around them do. Commanders size up people's strengths and weaknesses. They know where someone will shine and where they will collapse. Other warriors will obey a true commander because they can tell that the commander knows what he- or she- is doing.' Raoul picked up a quill and toyed with it. 'You've shown flashes of being a commander. I've seen it. So has Qasim, your friend Neal, even Wyldon, though it would be like pulling teeth to get him to admit it. My job is to see if you will do more than flash, with the right training. The realm needs commanders. Tortall is big. We have too many still-untamed pockets, too curse many hideyholes for rogues, and plenty of hungry enemies to nibble at our borders and our seafaring trade. If you have what it takes, the Crown will use you. We're too desperate for good commanders to let one slip away, even a female one. Now, finish that'- he pointed to the slate- 'and you can stop for tonight.

The Navy’s caste system has the reputation of being about as rigid as any in the world. The first thing most Navy officer do when they meet you is look at your hands to see whether or not you’re wearing a Naval Academy class ring. If you do, then you’re about of the club. If you don’t, then you’re an untouchable. I was the original untouchable. The only things I wore on my knuckles were scars.

It would not be like this. It would be a systematic campaign moving southward towards Ios, building on the support he had from the kyroi factions. He would not be stealing out of camp at night to spin mad plans, to dress in unfamiliar clothes and forge alliances with rogue clans, or to fight alongside pony-riding warriors, capturing bandits improbably in the mountains. It would not be like this again.

I squealed as he swung me up over his shoulder and started striding back toward the waterfront. “Nikolas, put me down, you big lug!” I yelled through my laughter. He patted my backside. “This time my Mori and I are in complete agreement.” “You do know I can zap your warrior ass, right?” I squirmed and he held me tighter. His deep laugh warmed me to my toes. “But you won’t.” “How do you know?” “Because you like me... a lot.” I stopped wriggling and started grinning like a fool. What could I say? He was right.     ~

The goddamn Air Force was probably taking a coffee break. That’s how they worked—like union bus-drivers—most of the time. Six or seven hours of flight time (not to exceed this or that altitude, of course), and then it was bye-bye for a didy change, a nap, and a cup of cocoa.

we were all driven by something that pushed us further than others dared to go. We were mission oriented and would do what we had to do to achieve it.

the eight warrior cops and their chief are terminated before the civil trial, they would likely become hostile witnesses against the City.

Experience had taught me that warthogs who tough it out are better in combat than your natural gazelles.

To me, a Purple Heart is not a badge of honor. To be blunt about it, I’ve always considered them enemy marksmanship medals and I’m happy not to have ever “won” one.

You want to know who the strongest man in the Kabuki District is? You must be new in town. You won't last long with that attitude. Forget it. This town is on a whole different level. You got thugs, brawlers, vigilantes and rogue warriors from all over Edo here. It's like a haven for hooligans. This is for your own good. Have a drink and go back to the countryside. What's that? You want me to tell you about the top dogs before you go? You really like this stuff. First, there are four monsters on a level of their own: The Fierce and Divine Madamoiselle Saigo, Doromizu Jirocho the Gallant, Peacock Princess Kada and Empress Otose. The four factions are in a standoff which preserves a fragile balance of power. Who would be the strongest in a fight? You wouldn't be able to even scratch those beasts. Saigo and Jirocho in particular, were heroes during the Joui War. Well, they're too old to go on a tear now. If you want someone who's currently active, there's Katsuro Kuroguma, a young leader in the Doromizu Faction. He's the most feared man in Kabuki District right now. You'll also find a few former Joui in Saigo's Faction. There are rumours about Kada's Faction having ties to some crazy folk. Otose's Faction? It's just a bar, really. She's just an old lady with a soft heart. But if you try any funny business on her turf, you'll run into a certain guy. A guy who holds his own against the Big Three by himself. One hell of a monster, with hair that's completely white. A demon...

you have been the bravest woman I have ever met. I thought I knew you, but it was at best a long-enduring, boyish obsession, fraught with stung pride and fantasy. The last months have opened my eyes to the woman behind the warrior, and you exceed what my imagination pictured, and I laugh at my stupidity. Your stubborn courage humbles me. Your rage inspires me. You are like a storm moving through, rearranging whomever you touch in your wake—imagine the trouble we could cause if we joined forces.

Being a warrior is all I’ve ever known, all I ever wanted. I thought I didn’t need anything else. And then I found you, and it was like finding the other half of me that I didn’t know was missing.” His fingers caressed my face as his gaze and words mesmerized me. “You make me whole, Sara.” “My warrior.” I reached for the hand touching my face and laced my fingers with his. “I used to think the empty place in my heart was from losing my dad. But I was wrong. My heart was just waiting for you to come and fill it up.” He

She faced his enemy and waved a hand at the door, where Bruno and now Cross stood, looking very serious and very frightening. "Would you care to attempt escape before I am through?" Michael couldn't help it. He grinned. She was a warrior queen. His warrior queen.

Anyway,” the agent said abruptly. “I just . . . wanted you to know that I’m sorry for everything. I want to help you and the rest of the Order in any way I can, so if there is anything you need, you know where I am.” “Chase,” Dante said as the male turned to leave the room. “Apology accepted, man. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry too. I haven’t been fair to you either. Despite our differences, know that I respect you. The Agency lost a good one the day they cut you loose.” Chase’s smile was crooked as he acknowledged the praise with a short nod. Dante cleared his throat. “And about that offer of help . . .” “Name it.” “Tess was walking a dog when the Rogues attacked her tonight. Ugly little mutt, not good for much more than a foot-warmer, but it’s special to her. Actually, it was a gift from me, more or less. Anyway, the dog was running loose on its leash when I saw it a block or so away from Ben Sullivan’s place.” “You want me to go retrieve a wayward canine, is that where this is heading?” “Well, you did say anything, didn’t you?” “So I did.” Chase chuckled. “All right. I will.” Dante dug his keys to his Porsche out of his pocket and tossed them to the other vampire. As Chase turned to be on his way again, Dante added, “The little beast answers to the name Harvard, by the way.” “Harvard,” Chase drawled, shaking his head and throwing a smirk in Dante’s direction. “I don’t suppose that’s a coincidence.” Dante shrugged. “Good to see that Ivy League pedigree of yours comes in handy for something.” “Jesus Christ, warrior. You really were busting my ass since the minute I came on board, weren’t you?” “Hey, by all comparisons, I was kind. Do yourself a favor and don’t look too closely at Niko’s shooting target, unless you’re very secure about your manhood.” “Assholes,” Chase muttered, but there was only humor in his tone. “Sit tight, and I’ll be back in a few with your mutt. Anything else you’re gonna hit me up for now that I opened my big yap about wanting to get square with you?” “Actually, there might be something else,” Dante replied, his thoughts going sober when he considered Tess and any kind of future that might be deserving of her. “But we can talk about that when you get back, yeah?” Chase nodded, catching on to the turn in mood. “Yeah. Sure we can.

We were in the process of gearing up for some new business ventures in Eastern Europe, and I was more than a little interested in finding out about what the new crop of recruits looked like. But before I could ask for a detailed report, Rogue Manor’s early-warning radar began sounding an intruder alert.

The tabby rogue bounded alongside the river until he reached the fallen tree that Sky had used to cross a few days before. Leading Firestar over to the far bank, Scratch started to climb another trail that led up the cliff face on the opposite side. Firestar panted after him, wishing he had the rogue’s powerful haunches. Scratch was a true SkyClan cat!

One night, around the campfire after a dinner of bully-beef stew, someone opened an extra bottle of rum. ‘As it grew darker, the men began to sing, at first slightly self-conscious and shy, but picking up confidence as the song spread.’ Their songs were not the martial chants of warriors, but the schmaltzy romantic popular tunes of the time: ‘I’ll Never Smile Again’, ‘My Melancholy Baby’, ‘I’m Dancing with Tears in My Eyes’. The bigger and burlier the singer, Pleydell noted, the more passionate and heartfelt the singing. Now the French contingent struck up, with a warbling rendition of ‘Madeleine’, the bittersweet song of a man whose lilacs for his lover have been left to wilt in the rain. Then it was the turn of the German prisoners who, after some debate, belted out ‘Lili Marleen’, the unofficial anthem of the Afrika Korps, complete with harmonies: ‘Vor der Kaserne / Vor dem grossen Tor / Stand eine Laterne / Und steht sie noch davor …’ (Usually rendered in English as: Underneath the lantern, by the barrack gate, darling I remember, how you used to wait.) As the last verse died away, the audience broke into loud whistles and applause. To his own astonishment, Pleydell was profoundly moved. ‘There was something special about that night,’ he wrote years later. ‘We had formed a small solitary island of voices; voices which faded and were caught up in the wilderness. A little cluster of men singing in the desert. An expression of feeling that defied the vastness of its surroundings … a strange body of men thrown together for a few days by the fortunes of war.’ The doctor from Lewisham had come in search of authenticity, and he had found it deep in the desert, among hard soldiers singing sentimental songs to imaginary sweethearts in three languages.

THE SHADOWCLAN WARRIOR BOULDER was born and raised in Twolegplace. He first encountered cats from the forest when Yellowpaw and Raggedpelt visited Twolegplace looking for Raggedpelt’s father. Even then, Boulder was full of curiosity about the mysterious wild cats. Later, he took part in a skirmish with ShadowClan cats after one of their patrols caught Twolegplace cats stealing prey. The ShadowClan warriors were victorious, and Boulder had nothing but admiration for the way they had fought: in particular, the fact that the Clan cats could have killed their rivals, but chose not to. He was intrigued by this warrior code that brought with it honor, dignity, and fiercely honed battle skills. With another Twolegplace rogue named Red, Boulder went to ShadowClan and asked Cedarstar to accept him as a warrior—and Cedarstar agreed.

In my introduction to Warriors, the first of our crossgenre anthologies, I talked about growing up in Bayonne, New Jersey, in the 1950s, a city without a single bookstore. I bought all my reading material at newsstands and the corner “candy shops,” from wire spinner racks. The paperbacks on those spinner racks were not segregated by genre. Everything was jammed in together, a copy of this, two copies of that. You might find The Brothers Karamazov sandwiched between a nurse novel and the latest Mike Hammer yarn from Mickey Spillane. Dorothy Parker and Dorothy Sayers shared rack space with Ralph Ellison and J. D. Salinger. Max Brand rubbed up against Barbara Cartland. A. E. van Vogt, P. G. Wodehouse, and H. P. Lovecraft were crammed in with F. Scott Fitzgerald. Mysteries, Westerns, gothics, ghost stories, classics of English literature, the latest contemporary “literary” novels, and, of course, SF and fantasy and horror—you could find it all on that spinner rack, and ten thousand others like it. I liked it that way. I still do. But in the decades since (too many decades, I fear), publishing has changed, chain bookstores have multiplied, the genre barriers have hardened. I think that’s a pity. Books should broaden us, take us to places we have never been and show us things we’ve never seen, expand our horizons and our way of looking at the world. Limiting your reading to a single genre defeats that. It limits us, makes us smaller. It seemed to me, then as now, that there were good stories and bad stories, and that was the only distinction that truly mattered.

We are each of us the result of billions of years of the universe evolving toward its own splendor. And evolution builds: the very mitochondria that power our cells and give us life once existed as separate organisms that first infected our pre–pre–human ancestors and then became one with them. We each contain not only the slime mold and the worm, the fish and amphibian and reptile, but the pig and the ape and the barely human. If we look hard enough, we can discern hundreds of parts: kings and queens, warriors and troubadours, mages, bullies, and saints. And hustlers, adventurers, survivors, rebels, reactionaries, and rogues. And the part of us that wants to be more than human, or rather more fully human. I believe that we need to enlist all these separate selves into a single army of free companions who respect each other and love each other to the death. And who are willing to devote their lives to fight together in order to win a shared splendor. I will return to this theme of integration again and again, for it is key to everything. All of my characters struggle with themselves, and face as well external obstacles such as exploding stars or dragons or icy wastelands cold enough to freeze the breath. Maram, who writes poems glorifying his second chakra (the body’s sexual center), pants like a dog after every enticing woman he sees. Even as he resists his essential nobility and destiny as a hero, he insists that every man deserves at least one vice. When it is pointed out to him that he also drinks, gambles, gluttonizes, and whores, he declares that he is still trying to decide which vice will be his.

And quit saying my name like that!" "Like what, Jillian?" He sounded genuinely curious. "Like . . . like . . . a prayer or something." "As you wish." He paused the length of two heartbeats--during which she was astonished he'd capitulated to her will, because he certainly never had before--then he added with such husky resonance that it slipped inside her heart without her consent, "Jillian." Perish the man! "Guards. Guards!" Her guards arrived on a run, then halted abruptly, studying the man standing before their mistress. "Milady, you summoned?" Hatchard inquired. "Remove this iniquitous scoundrel from Caithness before he breeds . . . bring"--she corrected herself hastily--"his depravity and wicked insolence into my home," she sputtered to a finish. The guards looked from her to Grimm and didn't move. "Now. Remove him from the estate at once!" When the guards still didn't move, her temper rose a notch. "Hatchard, I said make him leave. By the sweet saints, toss him out of my life. Banish him from the country. Och! Just remove him from this world, will you, now?" The flank of guards stared at Jillian with openmouthed astonishment. "Are you feeling well, milady?" Hatchard asked. "Should we fetch Kaley to see if you've a touch of the fever?" "I don't have a touch of anything. There's a degenerate knave on my estate and I want him off it," Jillian said through gritted teeth. "Did you just grit?" Hatchard gaped. "Pardon?" "Grit. It means to speak from between clenched teeth--" "I'm going to scream from between clenched teeth if you disobedient wretches don't remove this degenerate, virile--" Jillian cleared her throat--"vile rogue from Caithness.

A knight is in need of advice on how to slay a dragon. Who will he beseech? A wizard. A warrior is in need of arms and armor to defeat a foul daemon. Who does he contact? A wizard. A rogue is in need of enchantments to defeat a loathsome sorcerer. What agency will help his cause? A wizard. A magician is in search of new lore to guide his research and further his cause. What earthly power will avail him? A wizard. A family is in need of deliverance for an ailing relative. Who will they implore? A wizard. Less scrupulous but opportunistic knights, warriors, rogues, mages, and families are in need of enchantment, magical erudition, knowledge, prestige, advice, and riches to further their ends. Who will they besiege, rob, accost, threaten, imprison, or attack? A wizard.

rogues?” Rosepetal sounded shocked. Sometimes

THE LEWINSKY PROCEDURE: A STRATEGY GUIDE FOR MINIMIZING POLITICAL SCANDAL Deny -The necessary first stage, where you question the accuracy of the facts. It will take time for all the scandalous details to come out, and if you’re careful or lucky, they may never come out. Deny everything until the point that the facts against you can be substantiated. Delay -Take every action possible to stall, postpone, impede, procrastinate, and filibuster. The longer the time between the initial news of the scandal and the resolution of the scandal, the better. Diminish -Once the facts against you have been substantiated, either minimize the nature of the scandal or its impact against you. “At this point, what difference does it make?” Debunk -Have a helpful news organization or advocacy group develop a useful counter-narrative that explains away the scandal or contradicts the facts or generally does something to get progressives back on your side. “Explanatory journalism” is a great help here. Distract -Change the conversation by talking about something else. It doesn’t matter what that might be, because there’s always something else more important, even if it’s reminding people to drink more water. Suggest that the scandal itself is a distraction from the real issues. Deflect -When in doubt, blame the Republicans. All administrative failures can be blamed on the failures of the prior administration. All political failures can be blamed on Republican legislation or Republican intransigence in not passing progressive legislation which would have fixed the problem. All personal failures can be excused by either bringing up the example of a Republican who did something similar, or by pointing out that whatever was done wasn’t as bad as serving divorce papers on your wife when she’s in the hospital with cancer, or invading Iraq. Divide -Point out that the scandal is being driven by the most extreme Republicans, and that moderates aren’t to blame. This won’t help you with moderates that much, but it will give the moderates another reason not to like the extremists, and vice versa, and this can only be positive. Deploy -Get friends and allies to talk about your positive virtues in public, without reference to the scandal. If the scandal comes up, have them complain about the politics of personal destruction. Demonize -Attribute malign intentions to the conservatives trying to promote the scandal. This approach should also include special prosecutors, judges, and anyone else who is involved in the scandal to one degree or another. Defenestrate -When necessary, shove someone under the bus. Try not to make this a habit, or you won’t have anyone around to deploy. The target for defenestration can be small (rogue employees in the Cincinnati regional office) or large (Cabinet secretary) but it needs to be someone who won’t scream overly much as they sail out the window. ❄ ❄ ❄

was harsh. “It would have taken the rogues a long time to set up in SkyClan’s old camp. And from the way you described Mistfeather, all ragged and skinny, the attack didn’t happen just yesterday. With

We have evolved with a tendency to link causality to things we can touch or feel, not to some distant or difficult phenomenon. We believe especially in near-term causes: a snake bites your friend, he screams with pain, and he dies. The snakebite, you conclude, must have killed him. Most of the time, such a reckoning is correct. But when it comes to cause and effect, there is often a trap in such open-and-shut thinking. We smirk now when we think of ancient cultures that embraced faulty causes—the warriors who believed, for instance, that it was their raping of a virgin that brought them victory on the battlefield. But we too embrace faulty causes, usually at the urging of an expert proclaiming a truth in which he has a vested interest.

NAVY SEAL CODE: 1. Loyalty to Country, Team, and Teammate, 2. Serve with Honor and Integrity on and off the Battlefield, 3. Ready to lead, ready to follow, never quit, 4. Take responsibility for your actions and the actions of your teammates, 5. Excel as warriors through discipline and innovation, 6. Train for war, fight to win, defeat our nation’s enemies, and … 7. Earn your Trident every day. Contents Title Page Copyright Notice Dedication Part One: Curse of the Infidel Epigraph 1.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the BloodClan deputy struggling free from Bramblepaw and Ashpaw. Before Firestar could spring at him, a screech of defiance sounded above the noise of battle and several more apprentices hurtled across the clearing. Bone was barely visible under the writhing heap of furious young cats. Bramblepaw and Ashpaw were there, with Featherpaw and Stormpaw and, yes, Tawnypaw, fighting beside her brother. Within a few heartbeats Bone had stopped trying to defend himself; his body went into a series of spasms, ending in his twitching tail, and as Firestar watched the twitching stopped. Ashpaw let out a hoarse cry of triumph. At the same instant Jaggedtooth appeared out of nowhere. Firestar felt his fur stand on end. Once a rogue, then a member of ShadowClan, and now part of the insult to the warrior code that was BloodClan. The massive warrior flung himself on the apprentices and fastened his teeth in the nearest—Bramblepaw—dragging him off Bone’s body. At once Tawnypaw launched herself at the rogue cat. “Let go of my brother!” she spat. The rest of the apprentices sprang forward with her, and Jaggedtooth abruptly dropped Bramblepaw, turning tail and fleeing across the clearing with all the apprentices in pursuit.

Even so, dozens of blacks did escape each year. They established rogue settlements in the mountains, where they grew crops, raised families, practiced their religions, and trained bands of swift and effective jungle warriors to raid the plantations, free slaves, and kill Englishmen. In their capital, Nanny Town, the runaways were said to be led by an ancient and powerful witch, Granny Nanny, who protected her warriors with magical spells.

Sasha had been a rogue cat wandering the forest, until she had come to RiverClan with her kits and settled briefly there. She might have visited ShadowClan when Tigerstar was leader. It was possible. . . . Leafpaw froze. She realized which cat Hawkfrost resembled so strongly. Brambleclaw! And every cat knew who Brambleclaw’s father was. Could it be possible that Tigerstar was Hawkfrost’s and Mothwing’s father as well? If he was, that would make Hawkfrost and Brambleclaw half brothers.

We’ll drive them out!” “For the honor of the Clans!” “Death to Darktail!” “Death to the rogues!

Fircone’s spirit shimmered closer, stopping in front of Gorse Fur. “We hunted as rogues,” he purred. “Do you remember?” “Of course.” Gorse Fur lifted his chin. Fircone nodded to Wind Runner. “You were always faster than us both.” Emberkit was still at her paws. “Were you fast?” He stared up at her with round eyes. “As the breeze,” Wind Runner told him proudly.

I slowly uncurl from my foetal position to look around.

But here is a truth of Warriordom. Pain makes the Warrior stronger, not weaker. It is the anvil on which all true Warriors are forged, whether it is the muscle burn, sleep deprivation, and cold of Hell Week, the Marine Corps crucible, Ranger training, Delta Force selection—or the kind of life-and-death struggle in which I was now engaged. The ordinary person gets hurt—and he retreats to deal with his pain. The Warrior takes in all that pain, all that hurt, all that agony, and metamorphoses it, transmogrifies it, channels it, into pure, unadulterated, kinetic strength, electric energy, and pure will to win.

You know, when people say ‘long story short,’ they’re usually trying to be polite. They don’t actually mean ‘I’ll leave out all the pertinent details about how I kidnapped a dude and tied him to a chair.

He

But where did Oakheart get the kits?” Fireheart blurted out. Graypool’s eyes narrowed. “He told me he found them in the forest, as if they’d been abandoned by rogue cats or Twolegs,” she meowed. “But I’m not stupid, and my nose has always worked just fine. The kits smelled of the forest all right, but there was another scent underneath. The scent of ThunderClan.

Bob

Why isn’t here here?!

grinning as the sight of her.

were dropped his morning.

Lucien and his fellow warriors were all gazing at Linus’s prone body. At last he got up and brushed himself off. “Didn’t we pace it at fifty feet?” Lawrence asked. “I thought Avery said they wouldn’t be able to throw anything that far?” “Or that heavy,” added Avery. “Perhaps not that far,” said Linus. “One of them must have snuck up closer and we didn’t see them. Search the trees for scouts. Mother has a surprisingly powerful arm.” Sir John’s lips twitched. “Do you mean to tell me that you lads purposely put the ladies at a disadvantage both physically and numerically?” “Clearly you have never engaged our women in a snowball fight, Sir John,” Lucien said with a low chuckle. “They cheat and therefore any measures we take are simply precautions to protect ourselves against the inevitable.” His brothers nodded in agreement. “They are ruthless,” Avery said in all seriousness.

You can be the rabbits—” She paused. “I mean the rogues.

Just a girl? Hardly. In Hellea, you were a boy, a storyteller, a rogue who infiltrated the deepest cellars of the greatest library in the world. A born trickster as well. Before that, what were you? A warrior trained by a prince, a storyteller's daughter. And more, I should think. But never just a girl, Cassia.

Couldn’t StarClan do anything to help you?” he asked. “StarClan!” The SkyClan cat spat out the word, lashing his tail. “StarClan betrayed us. They allowed the other Clans to chase us out like rogues. When we left the forest, I vowed that I would never look to the stars again.” “A Clan without warrior ancestors?” Firestar was bewildered.

His muscles twitched in anticipation, but he moderated his steps, determined not to let his absolute weakness for the woman propel him into an unmanly display of emotion. Especially here, under her father’s scrutiny. She, on the other hand, began a jog. Then she broke into a skirt-lifting sprint—as she’d done outside the burning fort. Except this time, she was not running to Phillip, and the only object in flames was Totka’s throat as it burned with the effort to swallow. He braced himself to receive her all-out run, but when she loosed his name on a jagged cry, he dropped his bow, quiver, and decorum and hastened to meet her. She flew hard into his arms, laughing and crying at once, knocking the wind from his chest and the good sense from his brain. His rogue mouth went in search of hers. Despite her happy little murmurings and the sighs hot at his ear, he regained himself and angled away, pressing his cheek to hers, unable to draw her close enough. Her body was softer than he recalled, warmer, more eager. And Little Warrior was right—she smelled as sweet as honey. Nose buried in his shirt, she inhaled until her ribs strained against his hold. “Tell me you’ve come to take me home,” she said on a contented discharge of breath.

bow, quiver, and decorum and hastened to meet her. She flew hard into his arms, laughing and crying at once, knocking the wind from his chest and the good sense from his brain. His rogue mouth went in search of hers. Despite her happy little murmurings and the sighs hot at his ear, he regained himself and angled away, pressing his cheek to hers, unable to draw her close enough. Her body was softer than he recalled, warmer, more eager. And Little Warrior was right—she smelled as sweet as honey. Nose buried in his shirt, she inhaled until her ribs strained against his hold. “Tell me you’ve come to take me home,” she said on a contented discharge of breath.

He faced Darktail. “You will take this Clan over my dead body.” Delight sparked in Darktail’s gaze. “That sounds fair.” The rogue leader flung himself at Rowanstar.

THE OCCUPANTS OF THE CAVE erupted into various sounds of emotion: outrage from Cormac; confusion from Bran; resignation and a muttered, “I knew it,” from Ré; and outright horror from Katy.

Police could find the head of your business partner in your freezer, and by the time Denny was done with them, a jury would be convinced police planted the head and stole your ice cream.

Princess Azania never had been one to linger over wardrobe issues. Today’s ensemble returned her to the martial warrior Princess of the desert – tough leathers, weaponry to spare and a fierce smile for King Azerim as she leaped from Thundersong’s paw onto his neck. Scandal? Merely a different sort for this Dragon-riding, knight-bashing, kingdom-toppling black Princess. Now, why did Humans say ‘black-hearted’ when black was obviously the best colour? Skin colour made no person a rogue! What bigoted foolishness lived even in common sayings in one’s language!

new

My gaze roamed over the picture of the little kids and their parents who had been killed and something twisted in my gut. Of course I didn't support this. But I knew for a fact that Dante and Ryder wouldn't either. Though I guessed as the leaders of their people, they did own some responsibility for it. The thought of that made me uncomfortable and I sighed as I scanned the details of the article. It looked like their car had been hit by a rogue fireball and had collided with an oncoming truck. I guessed they died instantly, or someone would have been able to heal them.

my foetal position

Nonsense,” Daisy scolded. “You can’t go to your warrior ceremony looking like some scruffy band of rogue kits. Any cat would think I hadn’t brought you up properly.” She began licking Berrypaw again, then broke off to add, “Mousepaw, you’re just as bad! Have you seen the state of your tail?” “I hope Firestar has forgotten about my tail,” Berrypaw mewed anxiously. “He might use it to give me my warrior name.

my legion is split. I am Prime and my word is law.” I take a deep breath. “My second in command was the Prime of another legion. He lost his position when Proto raided his lair and came to me for help. As a former Prime, I had to give him Command

These Gryn are something else entirely.” Bianca sighs. She should know, from what she’s told us about her love life on Earth, she’s as predatory as they are.

Where do you think you’re going?” growled a voice from the shadows. It was Darkstripe. “Yellowfang told me to go out and—” “You don’t take orders from that rogue!” hissed the warrior. “Go and help with the repairs. No cat is to leave the camp tonight!” He lashed his tail from side to side. “Yes, Darkstripe,” Firepaw mewed, dipping his head submissively. He turned and muttered “Dirtstripe!” under his breath, then headed toward the camp boundary, where he could see Graypaw and Ravenpaw busily patching a large hole in the wall of greenery. “How’s

He was quiet for a moment. “You’ve spent most of your life taking care of yourself, and I’ve spent mine protecting others. It’s not easy for either of us to go against our nature. I didn’t realize how much I was pushing you to change yours until you left.” “And now?” Another sigh. “I won’t lie to you. I’m not going to try to take you away, but I can’t stand to see you in danger either. You’re a fighter, but I’m an experienced warrior, and I’m going to do what I have to do to keep you safe.” “I understand why you feel so protective, but you have to see that I’m not helpless.” “I never thought you were helpless. I just don’t think you’re ready to face what’s out there.” My chest squeezed as I realized the futility of our conversation. I didn’t want to argue with him on our first day together since my illness, so I didn’t say anything.

Alright, I’ll explain it to you guys later.” Then I turned over to Arceus to check in with him. “How are our archers looking?” “All 15 archers are here and accounted for. Their bow strings have been tightened, and their arrows have been sharpened,” answered the elemental ranger. “Nice. Devlin, what about our warriors?” “Our 20 warriors are all geared up and ready to move. We’re just waiting on the word from Thane now,” answered the paladin-captain. “Great. How are our rogues looking?

By the time I left Phnom Penh I could have written a Cambodian cookbook called 50 Ways to Wok Your Dog.

If we look hard enough, we can discern hundreds of parts: kings and queens, warriors and troubadours, mages, bullies, and saints. And hustlers, adventurers, survivors, rebels, reactionaries, and rogues. And the part of us that wants to be more than human, or rather more fully human. I believe that we need to enlist all these separate selves into a single army of free companions who respect each other and love each other to the death.

Should we really be bringing half rogues into Clan territory?

Fireheart recalled what no other cat knew—that Yellowfang was Brokentail’s mother. Even Brokentail himself didn’t know, and now he gave no sign that he had heard Yellowfang’s kind words. Fireheart winced at the pain in the medicine cat’s eyes. She had been forced to give Brokentail up when he was born because medicine cats were forbidden to have kits. And later she had blinded him to save her adopted Clan from the rogue cats’ attack.

Rain was lying on top of Darktail, his paws over the rogue leader’s nose and mouth. Darktail was struggling feebly and making a terrible choking noise.

[Armor Piercer (Basic): Thrust with power and pierce the obstacle in your way. Works best if you target a weak point unless you keep thrusting to make one. There was once a warrior who spoke proudly of his lance. He wielded a hammer, however, so I spoke to correct him. Consequently, he corrected me with a tale of how he had been stripped bare and had to best a female orc with his lance.]

Before the Warrior can face the enemy, the Warrior must face himself.” What this means is that the Warrior must have a sort of spiritual and moral gyroscope; an internal mechanism that keeps his soul operating on an even and constant high plane, no matter how adverse the conditions under which he must operate. It is this gyro that makes it possible to endure. You endure, because you know you are a better man than your opponent—purer, more consecrated, and sanctified. You have been blessed by the God of War. You can suffer, tolerate, or undergo anything. It is my unshakable belief that when these two intrinsic values—the total acceptance of death as a natural condition of life, and the total acceptance of an absolute moral code—are combined, the Warrior becomes invincible.

internal

philosophical tenet basic to SEALdom. That concept is: if you set your mind on a goal and your spirit is the spirit of a Warrior, the word impossible DOES NOT EXIST.

Rogue Warrior.

Hollyleaf was Clanless, codeless. She could be a rogue, even a kittypet. There was no way Hollyleaf could let Ashfur tell the four Clans about Squirrelflight’s confession. She and her littermates would be driven out! Everything they had done up till now, all their loyalty to the warrior code, would count for nothing.

I am your mother, Hollyleaf,” Leafpool had whispered. Hollyleaf shook her head. That was impossible. How could she be the daughter of a medicine cat, when medicine cats were forbidden to have kits? Worse than being a rogue or a kittypet, her own birth had broken the code of the Clans.

Now, the challenge is overtly physical during Hell Week—lots of cold, and sleep deprivation, and exhausting exercise in the surf and the mud. But physical transmogrifies to mental, when, after Hell Week, those tadpoles who made it through realize that they can do about 1,000 percent more than they thought they could. They are beginning to think like Warriors.

What if I’m a rogue, too? Will they all turn against me?

By the look in this one’s eye, ’twas a simple matter to place him there, among the terrible, ruthless sorts. But somehow, she couldn’t believe something so…beautiful could be so awful. And he was beautiful, to a hard line, masculine magnificence, all long, lean contours of hard heat and piercing eyes. A beast in his prime. Her dark-eyed proteus looked over his shoulder, scowling when he saw she had not ‘come,’ was not ‘over there.’ “Sit,” he growled. “And stay.” A fissure of anger opened up inside her. She narrowed her eyes and, very softly, barked.

I’d settled for so little from a scavenger of Black warriors, and for meekly submitting to a tongue l ashing by a Green rogue.

then rested it again the

they could catch on.

Instead, the cab turned right, onto Chestnut Street,

them to turn right and look for parking at the gigantic Westin

we’re taking

If you release them, I will adore your farts. I will speak louder when I share my problems to ensure you hear. And if you’re jealous, I will take you to our bed and show you in a thousand ways that you don’t need to fear me being with anyone else.