For the gift of life, the only true thanks was in living fully, and facing death with honor.

Gods have bloody hands.

‎For Tempus...was a dozen storm gods' avatar; no army he sanctified could know defeat; no war he fought could not be won. Combat was life to him; he fought like the gods themselves.

Such hubris could only come from a man's mouth.

I don't want to be any closer to the gods than death will bring me.

Tempus wanders eternally, bringing death to whomever loves him and being spurned by whomsoever he shall love.

One lot apiece, one chance to undo an error or secure a fate.