Epic Fantasy Quotes

The door opens, and I turn my head, my heart thudding at the sight of Griffin. Tall, broad, muscular but sleek, he stalks into the room like a predator, his gait balanced and sure, his glittering, gray eyes focused entirely on me. Inky hair, a hawkish nose, that stubborn jaw, and thick, black stubble make him look hard and intimidating. With his sword strapped on and his dark brows lowered, he’s a warlord on the prowl.tI shiver. I couldn’t want him more.

Those of strong character and training are chosen by fate. They cannot help but rise to the forefront when their nations are troubled.

Dragons have wild hearts that need the open sky

But then he saw it, then he saw what he had known he was seeing and could not accept. There in the night, amid the mist, upon the flat of the plains, the shimmer of light from Allear was not right. The grasses were too flat, the mists curled awkwardly, as if impeded by some large mass and then the glamor was gone, the trick revealed. And before Thorin’s very eyes, a mass of soldiers appeared — thousands of them — wearing black and facing his camp. Doom settled around Thorin like some shroud for a watery grave. “Ah, bloody hell.

Your best disguise is the strong impression your enemy has of you. Strong...and dead wrong.

It's death and destruction I want to bring down upon House Lannister, not scorn. Jon said.

She paused in the doorway, tipping her head to consider Brittany, who only glared. "You're right. I think most girls don't look like the tooth fairy dresses them every day.

Isaac stopped her at the bottom of the stairs with a crooked smile. "I would wish you sweet dreams, but how can they be memorable if I won't be in them?

The villagers had removed their masks. They displayed their true faces. And they were dreadful, diabolic visages. Blasted skin hung from shrunken mouths and red veins burst from their skin, leaving pronounced contours akin to miniature rivers. Each throbbed and pulsed, at home on scabby foreheads.I balked. The eyes drew all attention.Silver coins replaced eyeballs. They glinted with the same alluring lustre as the ones I had coveted in the chests. Instantly, dreadfully, I knew they were one and the same – accursed treasure used for nefarious sight, a symbol of the damned. And yet, the more I stared, the more I coveted them.

What are you wrapped up in?' Roan whispered. Her anger and frustration had shifted to a sympathy that grated Vhalla.'I'm simply learning where I'm meant to be.' It was the only response because it was the truth.

When a mortal man breaks a people, it is always blamed on the gods.

Dear Time,You're so beautiful when You stand still.

Lucifer unbound his absolutionHis purpose took unstoppable formA wyrm whose brilliance blindedTenacity burned as radiant as the AlmightyLucifer remembered this so vividlyA fond memory of when God stood thunderstruck

Long has black powder been in the hands of dwarves alone. Alas, winds ever change and nothing remains the same forever.Lord Arrlo Salkeld

I remembered Nahadoth's lips on my throat and fought to suppress a shudder, only half succeeding. Death as a consequence of lying with a god wasn't something I had considered, but it did not surprise me. A mortal man's strength had its limits. He spent himself and slept. He could be a good lover, but even his best skills were only guesswork - for every caress that sent a woman's head into the clouds, he might try ten that brought her back to earth.

For the wanderer astray, the hermit seeking the lost booksTo him the bitter path of knowledge is truly germaneAnd to gaze at the grand canvas of depravity, the deified crooksAll the depth of duplicity of the celestial rulers most profane.

Owllwin was easiest the most contrary person Cricket had ever known. He was arrogant but humble, cowardly but brave, foolish but wise. He was funny, but sometimes she caught him crying when he was off on his own. It were as if he pushed himself to be a better person in spite of himself, in spite of his own failings, and Cricket secretly admired the fact: not many people were willing to admit they had faults in the first place.

I am going to go into this world, and I don't care if you and your narrow mind cannot be a part of it.

Books are keys that open many doors.

Down they went, into the darkness. Down ancient, worn steps coated in slippery mildew. Down into the deep recesses of the earth, far beneath the corridors of Deep-Spire.

When his dead father touched his hand, Athson almost dropped the arrow." From The Bow of Destiny

You are blessed with a knack for sucking the wonder out of the extraordinary.

Why all this death?You might as easily ask ‘Why all this life?’.

She was the lover of two mighty kings.She was their Chalice.The certainty of the knowledge settled over her shoulders like a weighty mantle. She might not know where she came from, but she knew where she was going. She knew who she wanted to be, who she was.She was the queen of Amendal, leader and protector of the dal.Time to start acting the part. She stood and pulled them up with her. Amendal was still in danger, and she would not stand for it any longer.By Aiea, and all the gods of Odren, no more would die today.

They have forgotten that war is momentum.War is natural. And war makes one strong.

For every blissful moment you must an anguish meet.

There was a feeling on the air like the eve of the end of the world.

One can lose themselves in the twilight, when there are no colors to guide the way.

You said the d-word,” Owllwin said regretfully. “I didn’t think you would, or I woulda warned ya.”“ . . . the d-word?” Cricket repeated in confusion.“Yeah . . .” Owllwin paused as if he was glancing around, then he whispered through the wall, “Dragon.” Cricket blinked. “Why can’t I say that?

Elijah: You are a dangerous woman.Valeria: You do not know the half of it, but I suppose you are not one to always dabble in safe waters either. So, do you still want to work with me?Elijah: It will be my pleasure.Valeria: Is there anything I need to know about you?Elijah: No!Valeria: That is a lie.Elijah: Is there anything I need to know about you?Valeria: No!Elijah: That is also a lie.Valeria, smiling: Then we are a pair of liars.

(Evil people) do not believe in forgiveness. Their transgressions are either punished or not punished. That is the only result that matters.

The hard truths are the ones to hold tight. - Old Bear

The unnamed man’s nose flared in insult as he thought to himself while the pig named Corbin prattled on. He disgusts me with his gluttonous sweat and fearful stink. He is like a swine, plumped up for the slaughter, but none I would like to eat. He sits across the table from me wheedling, desiring, wanting more and more and more. He wants assurances of safety, he wants money, he want, he wants, he wants... I am close, but not quite ready, to lean across and slit his jowls with a second smile, stand up and leave. But that is not my job...not yet.

I don’t know why it’s not universally acknowledged that looking back is a terrible idea. It only makes going forward that much harder.

The Inquisitor waited for silence. "Do you believe in anything?""Not if I can help it. Belief alone is nothing to be proud of, Inquisitor. Belief without evidence is the very hallmark of the savage.

Always give the rabble something to love and something to hate.

It was your personality that consumed me. You became my favorite. My favorite of them all…

With every fall of the sun and rise of the moon, I can hear it. The Prophecy. It echoes through the halls of time. It is written on the surface of every star. Even the sun and moon cannot withhold the news of the second coming. I hear it. And I fear it.

Hurricanes couldn’t remove you from my mind. You’re my world and I’m incapable of not loving you.

It is not Love that is the crime and it is not Love that is the sin. It is the absence of it!”ARcher Tariq - "A Rising Darkness

It made the woman feel like a thousand seas had come together from all worlds, like faraway lands had been bridged together, and the vastness of the known and the unknown were somehow easier to comprehend.

She had no time for sleep, with the weight of the world upon her shoulders. And she feared to dream. Sleep is a little death, dreams the whisperings of the Other, who would drag us all into his eternal night.

Right and wrong matters little when survival matters most.

He said he’d heard the sound of one hand clapping. He said, once his mind took in the wondrous no-sound of holy oneness, the empty echo of eternal bliss, he was never the same. He could hear it still, he said, resounding in the ether and tickling the back of his brain.Something not normal was going on with his brain. No argument there.

There was love, a reliable and real love grown in a handful of days, and Tristan did not know why it was: friendship had happened to both of them, on the sudden, completely aside from Tristan's both endangering and saving Crissand's life. It was no reason related to that, it was no reason that either of them quite knew. Crissand had simply risen on his horizon like the sun of his banner...and that was that....They were together, and there was a great deal right with the day simply in that.

You don't pity a warrior for her scars, because scars are proof of survival and victory.

You have to earn it.' Vhalla didn't know what else to say. She had trusted him, to lead her, to teach her, and he broke that trust. It wasn't as though it was something she could simply start again on command.

A grim expression came over Syah’s face. “The colt you speak of lost its mother during a storm. If this stallion was that colt, it is not just wild, it is insane. That horse will break your bones.” “And that will be a worthy end, a prince struck down by such a noble steed.”Fasime pushed himself off the support of the fence, but Oman grabbed his arm.“It’s not worth it, Brother.”“I can tame him.” “What will we tell Mother and Father if he kills you?” Oman questioned.“Tell them I gave my life with pride. Do not punish him if he kills me. Release him back into the wild, and my spirit will ride him into the mist.

His gaze ran over her body again, resting on the deepest of the fracture lines in her shields. 'Come here.'Purple feathers fanned around Riana's sides. Sudden tears moistened her eyes at the unexpectedness of what Sier was offering. She sank against him, and his arms folded around her back. Her weight supported, Riana let herself float on the night and tucked her face into his neck. Sier's power closed around her in a violet wave, running into her halo, slipping though her opened shields.

I never thought I’d ever leave Zerc. But after knowing Cricket, it occurred to me that I had no reason to stay. I had no family, no friends aside from her. I never even spoke to Enkai until she brought us together. It was she who first inspired me to dream of actually seeing those worlds I spent my every waking moment reading about. Her and her wild heart, her laughing spirit, so bright in her eyes whenever she spoke of her travels and all the wondrous places she had seen. When I was a boy, I envied her for her adventures. When I became a man, I only pitied her.

I'm trying to do what's right, but I don't know if there is a such a thing as a right option anymore. Just different kids of wrong."Breakfast narrowed his eyes at her. "Don't get too comfortable with that notion.

This is the beginning of a new time,” Torius said, “a great moment for us. One of us has learnt the Tongue and freed a princess. I have saved him and killed the guards. No longer will we be slaves. No longer will the guards tell us what to do. No longer will we listen. We will fight till we get what we want!”A roar exploded from the children around him.“This is a revolution,” Torius went on. “You all remember the pain that you have felt when the guards have touched you. You all know the shame we carry within us at being treated like this. No more! We will stand!

My strings are being pulled, this time by a different puppet master.

At least he possessed enough sense to recognize how little sense he possessed.

The rhythm of fraught footsteps and fervent heartbeat orchestrated a symphony of anticipation and dread.

On the revelation that there are no gods or afterlife:-"I do not 'like' the truth any more than you Avil, or anyone. I wrestled with it for a long time, for a while I was distraught, desperate to find that my research had been wrong - the more I searched, the deeper I delved the more clear it became that the truth was what it is. After much reflection, I came to the conclusion that though accepting the truth is hard, moving on from that, it becomes clear that the important thing is to make the world we live in a better place. We get one life, it's our duty to make the most of it."~Brael Truthseeker of House KrazicDeathsworn Arc 2 : The Verkreath Horror

And once upon a time I wondered: Is writing epic fantasy not somehow a betrayal? Did I not somehow do a disservice to my own reality by paying so much attention to the power fantasies of disenchanted white men?But. Epic fantasy is not merely what Tolkien made it.This genre is rooted in the epic — and the truth is that there are plenty of epics out there which feature people like me. Sundiata’s badass mother. Dihya, warrior queen of the Amazighs. The Rain Queens. The Mino Warriors. Hatshepsut’s reign. Everything Harriet Tubman ever did. And more, so much more, just within the African components of my heritage. I haven’t even begun to explore the non-African stuff. So given all these myths, all these examinations of the possible… how can I not imagine more? How can I not envision an epic set somewhere other than medieval England, about someone other than an awkward white boy? How can I not use every building-block of my history and heritage and imagination when I make shit up?And how dare I disrespect that history, profane all my ancestors’ suffering and struggles, by giving up the freedom to imagine that they’ve won for me.

I propose to speak about fairy-stories, though I am aware that this is a rash adventure. Faërie is a perilous land, and in it are pitfalls for the unwary and dungeons for the overbold.

Man, Sub-creator, the refracted Lightthrough whom is splintered from a single Whiteto many hues, and endlessly combinedin living shapes that move from mind to mind.

His gaze hits mine with the force of a battering ram. He looks… appalled. “I-I won’t do this. I can’t… be with you.