Man must look after man sicne no god watches out for us.

As if she had summoned them, a flurry of stones flew out of the darkness, striking his mail, pinging off his helm. One hit his unprotected leg and he yelped and clutched it. That was a mistake. The second barrage was entirely directed at his legs.

Fisk would take care of it.

So truth created the ultimate lie. Was this what the world was like for wizards? This thorny, gray tangle where right and wrong were so mixed there was no telling them apart?

Cogswhallop glanced skeptically at the complex runes. "Are you sure this'll work, gen'ral?" "Of course I'm sure-" Ping. The silvery note echoed in the cramped room. Makenna felt her face turn scarlet.

In his opinion, working was vastly overrated. Particularly as a way to build character, for everyone who engaged in it was far too snappish and fussy, and seemed to have no manners at all.

The lingering laughter fled from his eyes as he realized that he'd given himself away. "Where's Fiddle now?" "Safe and cared for. Safer than you'll be if you don't answer my questions." Ping. He managed not to laugh, but it looked like a hard fight. "Dung," Makenna muttered. the knight's expression changed to startled disapproval. A prig, as he? Maybe she could use that. "I said you should let me handle this," Cogswhallop told her. "I'd have meant it.