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As a general rule, signs are too subjective a topic for polite company. Where one man sees a sign of blessings to come, another sees bad tidings, and a third is puzzled by the animated discussion his companions are having about an oddly shaped piece of toast.
He was the sort of rural soul who had more fingers than teeth—and he was missing several fingers.
Goblins do not excel at much, but they are masters at tactical retreat.
He wore a vacant, angry expression, as though he was furious at everything and ready to take it out on anything.
“Oh, there’s always a choice. Choice is a constant.” Flinn grinned, a cold glint in his eye. “It’s consequences that vary.”
“You know, saying ‘no offense’ doesn’t count for much after saying something really offensive.”
“I’d say you have a destiny, and choices are the steps you take to reach it.”
“Perhaps you have forgotten the nature of the employer–employee relationship, Mr. Ingerson. When Master Niln sends an order, your opinion on the matter is optional. Your compliance is not.”
The only other woman in our party is the mage. And it’s no use trying my luck with the pyromancer. I’ve been burned before.” “Ha!” “It wasn’t a joke,” said the bard, clutching his hand. “It took the temple healer over an hour to regrow my eyebrows.”
“That’s economics. Everyone is worth something, and some people are worth a lot more posthumously, which is rather the point, you see.
“Is there a good way to be bankrupt?” said Jynn. “Morally,” suggested Heraldin.
