Sg 1 Quotes

You are so much like your mother. Stubborn and relentless when you’re focused on something.

It wasn’t a death stare--not for a few seconds at least.

You won’t throw up. Unless you’re allergic to lemon root… but let’s not worry about that now.

The road to power is forged with lies and lives,” Loch says. “I have no regrets.

Will they come if you whistle? If you can’t whistle loud enough, Teague here would be happy to help you out.

Any other man would have done either of two things by now: they would have tried to run, or they would have begged for mercy. But Loch isn’t just any man.

You live on an island, surrounded by the ocean, and you don’t like seafood?” “Yes, the irony is not lost on me.

He’s never asked my opinion before. I can’t decide whether to feel honored or put on the spot. Maybe a bit of both.

Let’s just say that sometimes it takes a lot of wrong to make things right again.

I must be dead,” I mutter. How else can I explain the fact that I ogled him as if I've never seen a man before? I had, of course. Just not many worthy of a second look.

I thought you had more self-control,” I whisper. With his face so close, I can practically feel his kiss. “I am about to reevaluate that fact.

Unimaginable white-hot agony stabs into his mind. Pain shouldn’t have a color, he thinks before all thoughts are gone.

I feel as if he is judging me, only to find I’ve fallen short of his expectations. I recognize it, because I've seen such a disappointing look before. Father’s.

When I grow up, I want to be just like her--so confident and so in control.

I’ve failed with my magic,” I say with hands in fists. “Again!” “The palace is still standing. You sure it was a failure?

I look up, right into the Archgod of Chaos and Destruction’s bewildered eyes, gathering more of my magic. “Here’s a taste of consequences.

If he shows aptitude toward the A’ris element, meaning toward the healing arts, then he should contact the Healer’s Collage. Not that they would know much about magic. Anyone can become a healer these days.

Enough with the self-pity. You want things to change? Do something about it. Complaining will get you nowhere.

It must be frustrating for you to not know something, isn’t it?

The purest love flows through my heart. Love that makes life worth living, filling it with purpose and happiness.

My mind seems to empty of all thoughts and get stuck on the cruel fact of how powerful he looks. No one should look that good, with so much confidence.

I thought I would give you all a taste of how caring Uhna has been to us. I hope you enjoy it as much as we do.

Don’t rush, my dear. It is not fitting for a ma’hana, and only makes you look guilty.

I wish people would stop confusing the Magical Cleanse War with detox, as if it were a self-induced diarrhea and not a bloody battle. It is really not the same.

It’s not my fault your beauty makes it difficult for me to focus.

I have no use for the truth. I buried it deeply a long time ago.

But much time pass before war, no? Men talk long. Argue much. War may not happen, no?

I’m not going to admit to him that I needed help. “I was doing just fine without you.

Are you going to kiss where you pinched? Ocuh! Stop hitting me, Glen! I’m hurrying!

It’s simple really. I don’t worry about things out of my control. I live only in the moment. Like this one. What could be better than being in the company of a beautiful girl at a festival, celebrating the arrival of spring?

Am I interrupting something important?” Teague asks and winks. “Like the start of an intergalactic conflict between Uhna and Teryn?

It was about time they got together. They were circling each other like deepwater sharks in mating season.

And so because he was half bastard, half gentleman, he asked for her bra

Please. Don’t try and play games with me. It’s belittling. I’m not stupid — I can spot a wolf in sheep’s clothing when I see one - and your claws are showing.” -Enoch Michelson

When it comes to danger,” he’d say, “everybody’s chicken. But there are two kinds of chickens—chicken hawks and chicken shits. And it doesn’t matter how high up you throw chicken shit, it ain’t never going to fly.

You're not safe with me." He cut me off, seeming to growl. "I don't want to be safe. I want to be with you. You can't do this alone.

Do I make you nervous?" he said teasingly.

I clench my teeth and push forward. My pen grinds out the first and eldest word: an Ink-borne lance of black fire, scratched into a sheet of ice. -The Penitent God

This is not my story. -The Penitent God

His is the name of fire, the name that rides the whisper of the candlelight. His name was…is…Racath Thanjel. And this is his story. -The Penitent God

Hmm,” Joseph shrugged. “Good point. Who needs a caravan guard when you’ve got a Genshwin?

I see you are still unnerved by my presence,” the Curator noted. He was still smiling. “My apologies.

Their lives had no value; killing a Goblin was like killing a rabid dog — everyone was better off for it.

Westward Trade doesn’t have stalls, sire.

Enoch…knows things.

Ah, good day, friend. Nice of you to drop in on my little corner of the world. How might I assist you on this delightfully dreary day?” - Enoch Michelson

I am Notak,” he answered in his dry, normal voice. “I kill Demons.

They invented words like scum and slime for people like him.” “My friend tells me that they invented whores for the same reason.

You’d be surprised how much you can learn from men selling maps in the dark corners of the world." -Enoch Michelson

Someone’s life is always in danger. That’s the nature of tyranny." -Mrak

The Arkûl don’t come down this road, Human. No one does. There’s no one to hear you scream. No one except for me.” - Rachel Vaveran

P-please…I beg you, don’t do this…you c-can’t, you can’t do this to me…” “Yes, I can.

If you’ll excuse me, I have better things to do than watch you die.” - Rachel Vaveran

Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Death. How may I be of service this evening?” - Racath Thanjel

Don’t take it personally. I don’t bow, as a rule.” - Racath Thanjel

An upright spine is more valuable to me than favor.” - Racath Thanjel

If he’d judged Felsted correctly, he was the kind of man who checked all the locks in his house every night. Twice. Probably for fun.

Azrael’s hand is on your shoulder, Human. I am here for your soul." - Racath Thanjel

The truth is in your actions. The guilt is in your eyes. You have lived in sin for far too long. Tonight, I come in judgment.” - Racath Thanjel

I do not believe that the Duke will find those terms acceptable. Might I convince you to reconsider—” “Dear God, go faul yourself, you self-important gecko!

To be early is to be on time, to be on time is to be late.

tongues that might otherwise be loose would pay heed and silence themselves a

His stride was long, tall, and proud. He wore a mask of proprietary disinterest, as though everything before his eyes belonged to him and his whimsy. He looked arrogant. He fit right in.

I am owed a debt of Human blood. Your share is overdue. God made me your creditor, Hammon. You are mine to do with as I please. Tonight, I am judge. I am jury. I am executioner.” - Rachel Vaveran

Thinking,” Vrag interrupted. “Is not your prerogative, dog. That is my calling. You go where I tell you to go, you take what I tell you to take, and you kill what I tell you to kill — do I make myself plain?

And through it all was the pervasive sound of money. Money lost. Money found. Spent. Earned. Exchanged. Gambled. Wasted. Tainted lucre, wealth corrupted by those who found success on the suffering of others.

I loved his enormous aptitude for compassion, adoration and respect. That was his way of showing love. He lacked the capacity for wickedness, and that caressed my belief that he might just be an angel. My angel.

Whistling. The Human was whistling to himself, off-key and wretched. Whistling! Like he hadn’t a care or a clue about the poverty and decay around him. Like he was above it all. Like nothing was wrong with the world.

He and Alexis had met on his first day in Velik Tor. He had been eleven, she ten. They had bonded almost instantly, and had been like brother and sister ever since. They were, after all, the only family they really had.

Racath admired them — well, most of them. Not the deacon. People like the deacon had spent their lives down on their knees while others had fought and died defending them from the Demons. Shameless swine." -The Penitent God

You had your chance. But that’s over now. No more antidotes. No more schedules. No more sickly-sweet order. No more cheating death. Your time has come, Felsted, and I am your angel. Follow me into the dark.” - Racath Thanjel

Don’t make fun,” Alexis scolded. “The Stinger’s design was piss before I came along. I turned it into a work of art, and by my good right hand, I plan to keep improving it until the day I die. Shut up and appreciate me.” -Alexis Vylis

Look, you don’t have to believe me,” Nelle told him. “Hell, you can even try and resist fate if you want. But God has a plan for you, Racath Thanjel. Fate has a plan for you. Sooner or later your own choices will bring you into that plan.

When I look back at our story, there is no single place where it began. Our tale is not like the horizon over the sea, a single line that might be traced, but a constellation, a scattering of silver points through which our history is woven.

This will do,” Notak said. “I need to meet my colleague to discuss details. How much do you want for the map?” “Go ahead and take it. No charge. One map is a small price to pay to help put Hammon in the ground. Hell, you can have the pencil too.

That brought Rachel up short. Getting any sort of response out of Notak was hard enough. She could count one hand the times she had ever seen him actually hurt by something. It was like seeing a mountain cry. Something you really didn’t want to see.

Mother of heaven…” Rachel breathed as she crouched next to Notak in the darkness of their roost across the street. “You said this place was guarded, not that it was entrenched. Faul, that’s not a warehouse, that’s a garrison that likes to hold crates in its spare time!

Genshwin?” Jax called after him. “A moment, if you please?” Racath looked back over his shoulder at the Duke. “I’d like your name, if you’d be so kind.” Beneath his hood, Racath smirked, then continued toward the tunnel. “I told you,” he called over his shoulder. “My name is Death.

Well, then. I guess I’ll make my way over towards Redborough and the houses of ill repute.” Rachel grinned impishly. Notak did not take his eyes off the street, but a grin found his face. “The brothels? If you are looking for new employment, then you definitely should not have dressed like that.

I owe nothing to anyone, I swear it! Who hired you? I can pay, just tell me who hired—” “God hired me!” Rachel’s rebuke was like the crack of a toxic whip. Like poisoned thunder. “Humanity owes my kind a debt of flesh for every drop of blood we shed for you. For every one of us that died to save you.

All the blood drained from Hammon’s face. “No…” “Yes.” “But…that’s not possible….” Hammon’s voice was weak, and he sounded like he was talking more to himself than to Rachel. “It can’t be…I thought they were all—” “Dead?” Rachel’s eyes flashed with ire so cold it could have frozen the ocean. “Do I look dead to you?

These people were the Demons' ilk. They were no different than the Arkûl that constrained them, or the Goblins that terrorized them. And if, one day, the Dominion fell, they would face the same punishment as their Demon masters. But today was not that day, and Notak was not their judge, their jury, nor their executioner. Today, he was just looking for answers.

All that was left now was for him to get out, and for Rachel to kill Hammon. She would have fun with that, Notak was sure of it. He was glad to let her have that little savage pleasure. He had no objection with her taking the blood onto her hands this time. Or any time. There was always plenty of blood to go around. And he didn’t want any more of it than was absolutely necessary.

Rachel snorted derisively. “You don’t seriously buy into all her prophetess hocus-pocus, do you?” “I do, actually,” Notak said, frowning. “She is the augur, Rachel.” “She’s exasperating!” “She is eccentric,” Notak corrected. “And you would be too if you had lived the life she had.” “She’s a whore!” Rachel spat, ignoring him. Notak looked at her, plainly puzzled. “I am fairly certain that she is a virgin, actually.

I am here on behalf of the people of the west. I speak for the Burrows.” “Ohh,” the Demon said, mockery dripping from the word. It made an exaggerated bow, its movements smooth as flowing magma. “An emissary! How quaint. I would expect introductions are in order, then. I am called Briz’nar, Greater Demon, Hand to the Duke of Milonok, and Commander of the Guard.” “That’s delightful,” Racath scowled. “You can call me Azrael.

Rachel gestured toward the city beyond the alley. “The people out there? Humans who spend every day under the Demons’ heels? They’ve given their share. They’ve made up for the blood of my kin with their sweat and their agony. Their debt is paid. “But you,” she pointed a damning finger down at him. “You have given nothing. You’ve shed no blood, and you’ve suffered no pain. Your debt is unpaid, Hammon. I am here for compensation.

Oh, God in heaven, kill me now…” Rachel groaned. “I hate going to see Mrak. I always feel awkward going back to Velik Tor. After being a Scorpion for so long, after everything Oron’s told us about Mrak’s past…” she shook her head darkly. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to resist the temptation to perforate his bowels.” Notak looked back down at the letter. “Post script,” he read aloud. “Rachel, please leave Mrak alive and unharmed. We still need him, unfortunately, no matter how tempting it is to perforate his bowels.” “You made that up, he did not say that!” Notak handed her the letter, pointing. “Right there at the bottom.” Rachel squinted at the writing. “Faul.

She was always like that — it’s what I remember most about her. There was always something…wrong with Rachel. She was always permeated with some terrible resentment, like a cloak she wore around herself. In a way, it was fascinating. Beautiful…but terrifying. Make no mistake: I have seen greater power than hers, before and since. But hers…hers was different. And I feel no shame in admitting that I was always afraid of Rachel Vaveran. -The Penitent God

Of course, the Genshwin are almost as enigmatic as our hero himself: they were some of the last Majiski, those who had managed to survive by taking up refuge in an underground fortress beneath Oblakgrad. Most of them were young, the children of those who had perished in the purges, too young to remember the times before the Wall. They were a secret, hidden from the Demons’ sight. They were assassins and spies, thieves and mercenaries — masters of shadow and steel. -The Penitent God

Before we go on from here, I just want to say," he paused and took a step closer to me and reached his hand out to my heart. "What I should have said back on the plane is I know you're real." His eyes narrowed, "I'll always fight for you, Lexi, in my own way.

Forgive me, I have yet to introduce myself.” The Human spread his arms expansively and bowed in his chair. He made grand gestures at his stall full of paper, ink, charts, and graphing tools, like they were his subjects, and he their king. “I am Enoch Michelson, adept cartographer, recluse, and the lord and master of a tiny, dark corner of Patrician’s Market. I am a knower of many useless things, and a knower of a few things that matter. Finder of lost items. Gossipmonger.” His smile grew even slyer. “And an informant for a little band of Majiski assassins.

Racath’s eyebrows drew together. “Terms?” “Yes, terms,” Briz’nar replied, a forked tongue dancing behind its sharkish teeth. “Conditions for the riots to cease. The rabble must have some sort of price if they are sending one of your kind to do the bargaining. What is it, then? Coin? Food? Perhaps a much needed bath?” Some of the Arkûl chuckled. Racath rolled his eyes. “I’m not here to negotiate with anyone!” he answered incredulously. “The only terms I have are that you die, this Bridge is destroyed, and the Dominion never even thinks about looking at the Burrows ever again.

Racath tapped the offending Goblin’s shoulder. Growling, the creature reluctantly turned away from the woman to face him. It did not release her arm. “What?” it growled, baring its teeth threateningly. The Genshwin said nothing in reply. He just stood there, towering over the mongrel, a pillar of black shadow and burning eyes. He had more than a full head of height in his favor. The Goblin snarled impatiently. “You gots sumthin’ you wants to say, whelp?” “No.” Racath’s voice was lethal-flat. “I just wanted you to see this coming.” He straight-punched the Goblin in the snout.

We need to talk," he insisted, opening the door to his jeep that was parked next to my car. I was still holding out hope this would end and I would see his smile soon. "What's wrong?" I retaliated before I go in. "There's something you need to know, something I haven't told you," he said, taking my backpack from me.

No.” The word shattered Felsted’s question like an ugly, stained-glass window. “I chose poison because you deserved it. Because I wanted to watch you wriggle while the fear turns your brain to paste. That fear of death that drove you to the Demons door? I wanted to watch it betray you and eat you from the inside you. This is what comes of people like you, Felsted. I will not abide the folly of your peers’ betrayal. By every drop of blood on my hands, I swear that every single one of you who turned to the Dominion — for power, money, fear, I don’t care — will wither, break, and die. Azrael is coming for you and your friends, Felsted. The angel of death is here.

They were silent for a second. The whispers of the candlelight were the only sounds, and the light outside the window began to fade to night. After a moment, Rachel opened her eyes back up and looked down at her chest, lips pursed. “Do I really have small breasts?” Notak seemed to freeze solid in his chair. Stiffly, he turned his piercing blue eyes onto Rachel, his face intensely blank. “I do not how to answer that.” She frowned at him. “Yeah, you probably aren’t the best person to ask…” she said, almost to herself. “Indeed,” Notak said dubiously. “Do I even want to know what prompted such a question?” Rachel shrugged and put her head back again. “No, not really.” “I shall not ask, then.

No one really knew who (or what) the Curator actually was, nor could anyone guess as to where he came from or why he stood guard over this gate. He was like the rainclouds outside or the sun behind them: you didn’t question where they came from or what they were doing, simply because they had always been there. Some of the more sociable Genshwin had tried several times to wring some interesting answers out of him, but no one had ever been able to get past his enigmatic grin. It made Rachel uncomfortable. As a youth, she had often tried to provoke him to anger without success. He would just laugh and shake his head at her like a patient father ignoring a petulant child. He was too patient, and she resented that; he was intentionally cryptic and she hated him for it. And the Curator knew it, too.

It’s difficult to explain…you see, I have met her, and so I know that same powerful aspect in her eyes that Racath saw that night. But it is not easily put into words, not so easily described to someone who hasn’t seen it. It was just…something. Liken it to meeting a star. You do not know the star, have never spoken to it before, nor have you ever picked it out of the sparkle of its sisters in the night sky. But the star knows you. It has spent your whole life watching you from the sky. You can keep no secrets from it. It knows every thought in your mind, every move you have ever made, every flaw you have hidden, every pain you have felt. Like the millennia it spent before you were born were years in waiting. Waiting for you and only you, like you are what gives it purpose. Like watching over you is the dedication of its entire life. So it knows you better than you know yourself. And while the star is bright, a twinkling gem that brims with youth and beauty, there is an intangible wisdom to it. It is undeniably experienced. But not old. It may have lived for a thousand of years before you were born, counting every second until you were brought into the world. But, for a star, a thousand years is still very, very young. Young enough to kiss. That feeling, that meeting with a star, is what pierced Racath’s heart when Nelle looked into his eyes. She was starlight, nightfire on an ebon velvet sky. Rapture.

If you were to look on him fleetingly, to spare him only a passing glance, you would see only a man. If you looked a moment longer, you might get the feeling that there was something about him, something distinctly different. You might notice something peculiar about his eyes, might spot something strange about the tattoos running the length of his arms. Something out of place, something you cannot quite put your finger on….But to you, he still would be just a man. But a clever eye…a clever eye could see him for what he truly is. A clever eye would notice how his pupils taper at their tops and bottoms. A clever eye would see that his irises are no natural color. A clever eye would see that the patterns coiled on his arms, like blackened tongues of roiling flame, are not sunken into his skin like a tattoo’s Ink, but gently beveled at their edges — a part of his flesh. A clever eye could tell that, no, he is not just a man. Not just a Human. He is a Majiski — one of my people. -The Penitent God

Unlike the rain-slicked streets of Oblakgrad, Dírorth was a stir of activity. The streets were lined with vendors selling greasy meat pies to passersby. The clogging crowd of Humans cramped together as they pushed past one another, rushing from one errand to the next. The shouting of a thousand voices melted together into a perpetual buzz, like a great swarm of bees hovering over the street. And yet a strange silence hung over the city. It filled in the background, inhabiting dark corners where the din of the crowd could not squelch it. It had a strange omnipresence, like something that you are subconsciously aware of, but do not consciously see with your eyes. It was a silence ignored, hidden by the façade of hectic traffic. You wouldn’t really notice it, not unless you were looking for it. Not unless you actually stopped to listen. If the city folk had stopped, frozen, if they had stilled themselves for a moment, the silence would have gaped wide open like a dark, hungry maw. But they ignored it. For the past century, they had covered that silence with the commotion of everyday life, refusing to let it control them. To define them. They did not hear it. They would not hear it. I myself did not hear it for years and years, not until the day that I actually stopped to listen. Can you hear it, now? Can you hear it in the words your reading, the words I say to you? Listen. Hear its empty resonance across the cobbles. Feel it in the dust beneath Notak’s boot, damp with last night’s rain. Smell it on the ragged clothes of the peasants, hidden in the folds of dirty fabric. See it in their eyes, latent beneath the gloss of the everyday. Taste it in the clamor of the streets, clamor born out of a unconscious urge to fill the quiet with something, anything to drive it away, anything to stave off the silence that reeked with defeat. It was the echo of a hundred years of slavery. It was the song of a people, waiting for God.