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Johan was the kind of physical specimen that inspires sculptors, clad in the kind of cutting-edge gear that inspires bankruptcy.
He was sick of drinking, and sick of being sober, and regretting that those were essentially the only two options he, and everyone else, ever had.
In the Age of Darkness, when the truth was concealed by Mannon and many competing belief systems spread over Arth, most people thought that religious conflict would end if the world could be converted to one faith. Then Arth’s gods and goddesses revealed themselves once more and united the world in the worship of one consistent pantheon. Religious conflicts resumed the next day.
“You know, saying ‘no offense’ doesn’t count for much after saying something really offensive.”
The brothers of the Order of Adchul once famously saved a town from flooding by drafting a cease-and-desist letter to the river.
“That’s the song of the Warbling Slateclaw. Wherever ye go, there ye are. Try to find the comfy chair.”
A long-forgotten thrill was creeping back into him, notes of excitement that rang in his voice and hummed in his bones. The open road was before him, with mysterious lands and unknown foes and treasures waiting to be discovered. Of course, he had spent the last twenty years with the open road before him, and certainly there were plenty of unknown foes along his way. But now he had a task, a reason to roam, rewards to be reaped. Not all who wander are lost; some are on quests.
“Heroes clean the sewers out every few years, but new critters come up from the depths or down from the top all the time. Still, monsters are better than taxpayers, right?” “Sorry?” “Both will try to squeeze the life out of you, but you can take an axe to the monsters. Ha ha! Sorry. Little civil servant humor there.
“Is there a good way to be bankrupt?” said Jynn. “Morally,” suggested Heraldin.
Some men were too proud to ever admit defeat; the closest they came to surrender was learning to keep their mouths shut.
Individually, a walking skeleton or a zombie was a nuisance on par with a door-to-door missionary from the Temple of Oppo; both had unnatural persistence, an unnerving grin, and a single-minded focus on making converts. Fortunately, zombies and skeletons tended to be rather feeble and slow, and so the odd undead was easy to get rid of—certainly easier than door-to-door priests.
“Marketing is its own kind of magic, is it not?” said Zurthraka. “An illusion that men pay to be fooled by.”
The Ashen Tower’s interior was granite and ash-gray limestone, built in the stark, angular motif favored by dungeon architects everywhere.
“Aye,” said Gorm. “Soon, everything’s going to be different.”
