Orconomics

Not all who wander are lost; some are on quests.

Marketing is its own kind of magic, is it not?” said Zurthraka. “An illusion that men pay to be fooled by.

Oh, there’s always a choice. Choice is a constant.” Flinn grinned, a cold glint in his eye. “It’s consequences that vary.

[...] liberty and piety are all well and good, but a kingdom needs stability to survive; a healthy stalemate wherin every people, every faction, every city finds the status quo preferable to the price of change

Just a few months ago, the well-regarded Silver Slayers were rumored to have met an unlikely end when their junior member broke rank and charged through a hatchery with an ill-advised war cry, awakening several Acid Drakes and their hungry progeny. “Let’s hope not, aye? Come on.

Gorm was a veteran of waking up in a strange place with a surplus of questions and a shortfall of memories.

I prefer to quit while I’m ahead,” Heraldin explained. “Ye’ve a funny definition of ‘ahead,’” said Gorm. “I prefer to define words in ways that suit me,” said Heraldin.

A long history of armed conflict had shaped the Heroes’ Guild into a group that was remarkably effective at killing and remarkably poor at conflict resolution.

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.

These … these are priceless artifacts,” breathed Niln. “First rule of professional heroics, lad. Nothing’s priceless,

Ye must be Angusss,” said Gorm, stamping up to the bar. “Anguss,” corrected the serpentine barkeep, polishing a glass. “The middle ‘s’ is silent.

Wherever ye go, there ye are. Try to find the comfy chair.

Gorm made his decision. History pivoted on it.

You don't set much of a standard for whom you'll seek out advice, do you ?

He was a firm believer that the best meals were made by holding dead things over a fire until they smelled good. As far as he was concerned, the tiny pile of twisted fruits and exotic extracts set before him was blasphemy.

The whole world had gone mad, and sanity looked insane.

Every dwarf in existence is male and, by all appearances, solitary, until he show up with a tiny bearded baby strapped to his back and flailing a toy hammer

Marketing is its own kind of magic is it not?” said Zarthraka. “An illusion that men pay to be folded by.

It ain’t anger,” said Gorm, stepping out from the stairway. The other heroes had been breakfasting around an old oak table, and upon Gorm’s appearance they attempted to arrange themselves around it to affect maximum nonchalance. “Oh, good morning, Gorm,” Heraldin attempted. “I mean, of course there’s some anger. You’re fightin’ after all. But anger ain’t what makes ye berserk.” Gorm stood next to the table and looked out across the terrace, to the city. “It’s purpose. Ye find something in the battle to fight for, something ye’d die for. Your brothers back in the clanhome, the honor of your Da’s name, the lives of innocents. A reason to fight, if nothing else, like a tiny fire, and ye reach out and grab it. And ye hold it no matter how it burns. And soon ye can’t separate yourself from your purpose, any more than ye could take the light from a candle flame. Ye live to win. Ye can’t lose; ye can only die.” “Whoa,” said Laruna. “And later, they’ll say ye looked crazed, or ye howled like a beast, or ye seemed possessed, but their words are nothing but a vapor in a breeze. ’Cause ye can still feel a flicker of the fire ye held inside, and ye know now what ye knew then, and ye’ll never be the same. That’s what it is to be a berserker, and I’d never trade it for anything. Or I wouldn’t have, until I ran. A berserker doesn’t run.

but more than that, she wanted to not have another hit, and to not need it.

Everybody is trying to look like someone else, even to themselves. We’re just more honest about it.

Oh, there's always a choice. Choice is a constant." Flinn grinned, a cold glint in his eye. "It's consequences that vary.