And the One will take the Sword of the Western Sun and triumph over the enemy with boldness and insight. The arm of the One is steady and heads will roll. Snow Giants will battle.

I'm a peasantI'm the muzhikA pest you're destined to play the musicAnd yes it's pleasant to say it's beauty I'mIndebted to rest respecting it truly.

Every marriage tends to consist of an aristocrat and a peasant. Of a teacher and a learner.

By the second cycle of the solstice of the warm time, the One will face the enemy. And the One will unearth the Shield of the Northern Lights and smote the enemy with daring and intelligence. The heart of the One is pious and evil will cower. Couatl will rise.

The black of the ocean waves was the color of the sorrow in my breast, a sorrow that was never far away and always visible.

And the One will reveal the Bow of the Southern Star and conquer the enemy with courage and fine judgment. The sight of the One is true and the enemy cannot hide. Griffon will fly.

I did not choose to be a monster—a shell of a man—half-human, half-fiend. I am a tiefling. I am what I am.

He is happiest, be he king or peasant, who finds peace in his home.

I am for poetry that is admired by peasant and aristocrat alike.

Iona stared at me for a long time. “You are going to leave me a widow before I have a chance to become a bride.