One man, one horse, one holocaust on demand.

Wisdom, Niko thought as he leaned his cheek against his long-handled rake, cannot be had without price. And that price is blood. The sound of it in your veins. The pound of it in your head. The volume of it in a human body; the sickness when you've spilled it.

Gods have bloody hands.

The city guardsmen were like the keres, doom-bringers of merciless vengeance.

Look around you. It's an honor to fight beside you. Today we choose to fight. For the freedom to fight on other days. So we remember what's worth fighting for.

The heavens listen to what is said on these cobbles. Laws of man and nature come together here. Here you must be firm. Here you must be true.

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