These warriors of the Sacred Band were inscrutable; they loved their war and death and picking through the bones of time to sort out right from wrong, good from bad, holy from profane, honor from dishonor.

Only from chaos does order come. The angry Fates bring death where they will, when war is king, says Enlil, storm god of the armies, and the tip of his crown rends the clouds above their heads. "Wheresoever I rule, death comes shambling after. So it has always been, is, and will be."

So well do I love you, I go to my god singing your praises. When I meet my father, I will tell him I fought beside you.

Your honor blinds you, Tempus, to what's right and wrong these days.

Wanting neither too much to live, nor too much to die.

Reasons never matter, once Death comes cold and bold and takes the living by the hand. You count up your dead, every one.

You've been playing gods-and-witches again, that's clear.