S.G. Night Quotes

“Please. Don't try and play games with me. It's belittling. I'm not stupid - I can spot a wolf in sheep's clothing when I see one - and your claws are showing. -Enoch Michelson”

— S.G. Night

“I clench my teeth and push forward. My pen grinds out the first and eldest word: an Ink-borne lance of black fire, scratched into a sheet of ice.
-The Penitent God”

— S.G. Night

“Racath admired them - well, most of them. Not the deacon. People like the deacon had spent their lives down on their knees while others had fought and died defending them from the Demons. Shameless swine.
-The Penitent God”

— S.G. Night

“Rachel snorted derisively. "You don't seriously buy into all her prophetess hocus-pocus, do you?"
"I do, actually," Notak said, frowning. "She is the augur, Rachel."
"She's exasperating!"
"She is eccentric," Notak corrected. "And you would be too if you had lived the life she had."
"She's a whore!" Rachel spat, ignoring him.
Notak looked at her, plainly puzzled. "I am fairly certain that she is a virgin, actually.”

— S.G. Night

“It will be a battle, then. A siege. A hundred-thousand Ink-borne arrows, flying forth from my flaming pen to assault the walls of tyrannical Cold that hold this man in awful rapture.
It will be campaign for my friend's very soul. A war of Ice, Ink, and Ember.
So be it.
My pen scratches the icy parchment once more. A second Ember joins the first.
The War begins.
-The Penitent God”

— S.G. Night

This is not my story.
-The Penitent God

— S.G. Night

“Of course, the Genshwin are almost as enigmatic as our hero himself: they were some of the last Majiski, those who had managed to survive by taking up refuge in an underground fortress beneath Oblakgrad. Most of them were young, the children of those who had perished in the purges, too young to remember the times before the Wall. They were a secret, hidden from the Demons' sight. They were assassins and spies, thieves and mercenaries - masters of shadow and steel.
-The Penitent God”

— S.G. Night

“His is the name of fire, the name that rides the whisper of the candlelight. His name was ... is ... Racath Thanjel. And this is his story.
-The Penitent God”

— S.G. Night

“Hmm," Joseph shrugged. "Good point. Who needs a caravan guard when you've got a Genshwin?”

— S.G. Night

“Oh, God in heaven, kill me now ... " Rachel groaned. "I hate going to see Mrak. I always feel awkward going back to Velik Tor. After being a Scorpion for so long, after everything Oron's told us about Mrak's past ... " she shook her head darkly. "I don't know if I'll be able to resist the temptation to perforate his bowels."
Notak looked back down at the letter. "Post script," he read aloud. "Rachel, please leave Mrak alive and unharmed. We still need him, unfortunately, no matter how tempting it is to perforate his bowels."
"You made that up, he did not say that!"
Notak handed her the letter, pointing. "Right there at the bottom."
Rachel squinted at the writing. "Faul.”

— S.G. Night

No one really knew who (or what) the Curator actually was, nor could anyone guess as to where he came from or why he stood guard over this gate. He was like the rainclouds outside or the sun behind them: you didn't question where they came from or what they were doing, simply because they had always been there. Some of the more sociable Genshwin had tried several times to wring some interesting answers out of him, but no one had ever been able to get past his enigmatic grin.
It made Rachel uncomfortable. As a youth, she had often tried to provoke him to anger without success. He would just laugh and shake his head at her like a patient father ignoring a petulant child. He was too patient, and she resented that; he was intentionally cryptic and she hated him for it. And the Curator knew it, too.

— S.G. Night

“I see you are still unnerved by my presence," the Curator noted. He was still smiling. "My apologies.”

— S.G. Night

Their lives had no value; killing a Goblin was like killing a rabid dog - everyone was better off for it.

— S.G. Night

“Racath tapped the offending Goblin's shoulder. Growling, the creature reluctantly turned away from the woman to face him. It did not release her arm.
"What?" it growled, baring its teeth threateningly.
The Genshwin said nothing in reply. He just stood there, towering over the mongrel, a pillar of black shadow and burning eyes. He had more than a full head of height in his favor.
The Goblin snarled impatiently. "You gots sumthin' you wants to say, whelp?"
"No." Racath's voice was lethal-flat. "I just wanted you to see this coming."
He straight-punched the Goblin in the snout.”

— S.G. Night

“Thinking," Vrag interrupted. "Is not your prerogative, dog. That is my calling. You go where I tell you to go, you take what I tell you to take, and you kill what I tell you to kill - do I make myself plain?”

— S.G. Night

Look, you don't have to believe me," Nelle told him. "Hell, you can even try and resist fate if you want. But God has a plan for you, Racath Thanjel. Fate has a plan for you. Sooner or later your own choices will bring you into that plan.

— S.G. Night

“That brought Rachel up short. Getting any sort of response out of Notak was hard enough. She could count one hand the times she had ever seen him actually hurt by something. It was like seeing a mountain cry. Something you really didn't want to see.”

— S.G. Night

“Well, then. I guess I'll make my way over towards Redborough and the houses of ill repute." Rachel grinned impishly.
Notak did not take his eyes off the street, but a grin found his face. "The brothels? If you are looking for new employment, then you definitely should not have dressed like that.”

— S.G. Night

“And through it all was the pervasive sound of money. Money lost. Money found. Spent. Earned. Exchanged. Gambled. Wasted. Tainted lucre, wealth corrupted by those who found success on the suffering of others.”

— S.G. Night

His stride was long, tall, and proud. He wore a mask of proprietary disinterest, as though everything before his eyes belonged to him and his whimsy. He looked arrogant.
He fit right in.

— S.G. Night

“My palm connected with the final looking-glass. A wave of brittle fractures rippled outward from the place my sanguine hand had struck. It shattered. I watched the pieces of my former life
the reflection of this monster I'd become-fall about my feet in a hailstorm of blood, tears, and broken mirrors. My attrition was complete. And now dissension boiled in my veins. I would find my penance. Even if God could not forgive me, even if she could not forgive me ... maybe I could at least find the power to forgive myself.”

— S.G. Night

“I am Notak," he answered in his dry, normal voice. "I kill Demons.”

— S.G. Night

“I do not believe that the Duke will find those terms acceptable. Might I convince you to reconsider-"
"Dear God, go faul yourself, you self-important gecko!”

— S.G. Night

A latent warmth flickers behind those golden, burning rings. The Cold struggles to squelch it, shrouding it with the frigid Night. It almost smothers it entirely.
Almost.
But I know it is still there. It is like the heat of an unassuming coal beneath a blanket of graying ash. It is hidden, but not extinguished.
I can feel it. I can feel its gentle breath against my skin, like distant sunlight during newborn spring.
I can hear it. I can hear it reaching to divide the curtains of shadow on his face, like the whispers of blossoms unfolding.
I can see it. I can see it behind his fiery eyes, flickering like a starlight-dappled pool, dancing in and out of view.
It is buried. Buried, but burning nonetheless. Buried but burning, like one last hope in my heart. One last Ember in the dark.
-The Penitent God

— S.G. Night

“He has a story. A story worth more than my own beating heart. He has a name. A name that - if it were only uttered aloud, breathed out in the meekest, softest whisper - would shake the Cold to its arctic foundations. Cut it in half like an ignited sword. Tear it asunder, and cast it broken and crippled from this place. His is the name of fire. The name that rides the whisper of the candlelight.
-The Penitent God”

— S.G. Night

What is a hero without his name?
-The Penitent God

— S.G. Night

Rachel scowled. "You've known Mrak longer than anyone alive. You know what I know - the things he's done, the things he hides from everyone else."
The Curator's smile did not wane as he shrugged. "Indeed I do. But judge-jury-executioner is not my calling. I'm just the gatekeeper.

— S.G. Night

“This," Racath shouted to them. "Is freedom! Feel it, let it carry you!”

— S.G. Night

“Do not try and argue the quality of literature to me," Notak said, inflectionless. "You will lose.”

— S.G. Night

“I am the Penitent God. And tonight, I have begun my battle. My siege. The hundred-thousand Ink-borne arrows, flying forth from my flaming pen, to assault the walls of tyrannical Cold that hold this man in awful rapture. My campaign for my friend's very soul. My war of Ice, Ink, and Ember.”

— S.G. Night