Freed hands both rising for the pommel now, so natural, so smooth, it was like Kiriath machinery, as if he were machinery, a cunningly crafted clockwork Kiriath mannequin, built to complement the steel.
He felt the accustomed kiss of the grip on his palms, felt the grin on his face turn into a snarl.
Cold chime as the scabbard gave up its embrace.
And the Ravensfriend came out.
Mots clés sword-myth
Books — the warm, leather-skinned weight of them in your hands, the way they smelled when you lifted them close to your face. The unfeasibly heart-jolting shock once, as a tome fell heavily open at some much-visited page, divided itself neatly in two blocky halves along the spine — and you thought, guiltily, that you’d broken it.
Richard K. MorganMots clés books
You know nothing of me.” Through clenched teeth. “Nothing. You’ve fucked me, that’s all. Well, that’s a crowded hole you’re in, darling. And us humans, we’re a lying, dissembling bunch, remember. Doesn’t pay to trust us between the sheets any more than anywhere else.
Richard K. MorganMots clés knowledge-and-truth
Everyone's afraid of what they don't understand," Ringil said quietly.
Richard K. MorganMots clés fear understanding
These are pious, clean-living men, worshipping at the temple of their own bodies.”
“Hmm. Sounds distinctly erotic.
Mots clés worshipping
Can’t fucking believe it’s come to this,” it muttered. “Negotiating with a fucking herdsman — you know, sometimes it’s — listen, I was the thief of fire once, you goat-shagging thug. You know that? The fucking doom bringer to kings.” An arm thrown out in exasperation. “Back when the earth was young, back when there was still a moon in the fucking sky, I pulled on whatever flesh was needful and I struck terror into the hearts of the powerful and enthroned all across this mudball world, and another dozen like it. I took the spirit form and strode across measureless ... ah, fuck it, never mind.
Richard K. MorganMots clés gods-above-and-below
Potential, and the will to deploy it. That's all magic is in the end, you know.
Richard K. MorganMots clés magic
But I won’t watch them go to war again. I’ve been to war, you know, to save civilization from the reptile hordes. I bled for it, I saw friends and other men die for it. And then I watched men like you piss it away again, the civilization we’d saved, in squabbles over a few hundred square miles of territory and what language the people get to speak there, what color their skin and hair is and what kind of religious horseshit they get crammed down their throats.
Richard K. MorganYou know God does not manifest Himself,” Halgan shouted. “That is also heresy. The Revelation is not corporeal. You know this. Why do you persist in this perverted speech?”
“I like perverted. Maybe you would, too, if you gave it a chance.”
“Leave my men alone,” Rakan said coldly. “Degenerate.”
Ringil smooched a kiss at him.
Mots clés kisses-and-degeneracy
Well.” Ringil gave the Throne Eternal captain another brittle little smile. “You know, the thing about fucking is, it’s a lot less wear and tear than trying to kill each other with bits of steel. And it’s the sort of thing that does tend to lead to confidences and favours if you play it right. Ask any woman, she’ll tell you that. Unless of course your experiences in that direction are limited, as, come to think of it, yours probably are, to whores and rape.
Richard K. MorganMots clés experiences-and-graces
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