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.

Shed your mortal skin and let me take you beneath the waves.

Wisdom, Niko thought as he leaned his cheek against his long-handled rake, cannot be had without price.

Wars don't bring lasting peace, only lasting death.

You three have done quite enough today: all of you and your feckless, treacherous god.

Stop grieving. Start giving thanks to me. You live to fight on other days.

Live to fight on other days.