David Annandale > Quotes

“Ghosts do not exist. Do not offend the Emperor by believing in such nonsense.”
― David Annandale, The House of Night and Chain

“And then the roar. That roar. The roar of the end of all hope.”
― David Annandale, Kaiju Rising: Age of Monsters

“What will you do now?’
‘Whatever I can. As useless as that might be.”
― David Annandale

“The ramparts were infinite. So was his will.”
― David Annandale, Castellan

“This is your chance to speak,' he said to Vecchiaz. 'Use it well.'
'What are your terms?' Vecchiaz asked.
'There are none.'
Another pause, a confused one this time. 'I don't understand.'
'I spoke clearly,' said Mortarion. 'I will repeat myself. There are no terms.'
'But we wish to surrender.'
'You can't.'
'But we no longer wish to fight you.'
'That was never your choice. I came to destroy you. What you do in response to that is up to you. It is no concern of mine.”
― David Annandale, Mortarion: The Pale King

“Nothing is indestructible. Anyone who believes otherwise is already halfway to being defeated.”
― David Annandale, Spear of Ultramar

“In silence, I made the orks a promise of my own. They were letting me go because I had lived up to my legend. I would do more than that when they came again to Armageddon. Legend would clash with legend, and I would bring them more than war. I would bring them more than apocalypse. I would bring them extinction.”
― David Annandale, Yarrick: The Omnibus

“History altered is worse than history forgotten. - Sanguinius”
― David Annandale, Ruinstorm

“The heretics did not enter the palace. The Sisters of the Order of the Piercing Thorn burst through the great door, throwing back the startled besiegers. ‘The way is clear!’ Setheno taunted the heretics. ‘Is this not what you wanted? Why do you not claim your prize?’ The cultists tried.”
― David Annandale, Yarrick: The Omnibus

“Give me a sign, God-Emperor. I do not even ask for the faith of saints. Give me the faith of the lowliest serf.
No answer came. No strength returned. The meaninglessness of the galaxy became more and more manifest, a monstrous truth of crystalline clarity.
When he was not kneeling in his cell, he was in the librarium. Midships, on the same level as the chapel, much smaller but still a great, high space, lined with shelves instead of glassaic, the librarium tortured him with the promise of wisdom, and the possibility of meaning. If only he could find the right book, the right argument, the revelatory turn of phrase that would restore to him what he had lost.
If only.”
― David Annandale, Sacred Hate

“The enemy’s covering shots dropped away as the army pulled further away. I stopped in the middle of the highway, pistol out, sword held high. I was vaguely aware of dull throbs in my ribs and my shoulder, and burning on the side of my neck. I was injured. A trivial fact. The shelling and the gunfire stopped, but there was still a huge noise. It had a two-beat rhythm. It kept repeating. It was a shout from thousands of throats. It was my name.”
― David Annandale, Yarrick: The Omnibus

“There was nothing to be gained in speaking to the evil, and everything to lose.”
― David Annandale, Warden of the Blade

“When we witness the destruction of beauty, it is the destruction that we remember, that will forever remain the defining impression of a location. The beauty that came before becomes nothing more than the prologue to horror.”
― David Annandale, Yarrick: The Omnibus

“My soul bears many scars from the days and months of my defeat and captivity. But there is one memory that, above all others, haunts me. By day, it is a goad to action. By night, it murders sleep. It lives with me always, the proof that there could hardly be a more terrible threat to the Imperium than this ork. Thraka spoke to me. Not in orkish. Not even in Low Gothic. In High Gothic. ‘A great fight,’ he said. He extended a huge, clawed finger and tapped me once on the chest. ‘My best enemy.’ He stepped aside and gestured to the ramp. ‘Go to Armageddon,’ he said. ‘Make ready for the greatest fight.”
― David Annandale, Yarrick: The Omnibus

“You are under my control now. There will be no memory of you except that which I choose to give you, and what I shall give, you will not like.”
― David Annandale, The Deacon of Wounds

“The door opened. I stopped. Beyond it, orks lined both sides of the corridor. They had been watching for me. The moment I appeared, they roared their approval. They did not attack. They simply stood, clashed guns against blades, and hooted brute enthusiasm. I had been subjected to too many celebratory parades on Armageddon not to recognise one when it confronted me. I went numb from the unreality before me. I stepped forward, though. I had no choice.

I walked. It was the most obscene victory march of my life. I moved through corridor, hold and bay, and the massed ranks of the greenskins hailed my passage. I saw the evidence of the destruction I had caused around every bend. Scorch marks, patched ruptures, buckled flooring, collapsed ceilings. But it hadn’t been enough. Not nearly enough. Only enough for this… this…

At length, I arrived at a launch bay. There was a ship on the pad before the door. It was human, a small in-system shuttle. It was not built for long voyages. No matter, as long as its vox-system was still operative.

I knew that it would be.

Ghazghkull Mag Uruk Thraka awaited me beside the ship’s access ramp. I did not let my confusion or the sense that I had slipped into an endless waking nightmare slow my stride. I did not hesitate as I strode towards the monster. I stopped before him. I met his gaze with all the cold hatred of my soul. He radiated delight. Then he leaned forward, a colossus of armour and bestial strength. Our faces were mere centimetres apart.

My soul bears many scars from the days and months of my defeat and captivity. But there is one memory that, above all others, haunts me. By day, it is a goad to action. By night, it murders sleep. It lives with me always, the proof that there could hardly be a more terrible threat to the Imperium than this ork.

Thraka spoke to me.

Not in orkish. Not even in Low Gothic.

In High Gothic.

‘A great fight,’ he said. He extended a huge, clawed finger and tapped me once on the chest. ‘My best enemy.’ He stepped aside and gestured to the ramp. ‘Go to Armageddon,’ he said. ‘Make ready for the greatest fight.’

I entered the ship, my being marked by words whose full measure of horror lay not in their content, but in the fact of their existence. I stumbled to the cockpit, and discovered that I had a pilot.

It was Commander Rogge. His mouth was parted in a scream, but there was no sound. He had no vocal cords any longer. There was very little of his body recognisable. He had been opened up, reorganised, fused with the ship’s control and guidance systems. He had been transformed into a fully aware servitor.

‘Take us out of here,’ I ordered.

The rumble of the ship’s engines powering up was drowned by the even greater roar of the orks. I knew that roar for what it was: the promise of war beyond description.”
― David Annandale, Yarrick: The Omnibus

“The monster’s death was not quiet. Nor was my triumph. I forced myself up. Be the symbol. I charged out from the ruined house, bolt pistol firing. ‘Soldiers of the Imperium!’ I howled. ‘With me!’ I cut the nearest cultists down. The response was ragged. The heretics were being slow to deal with the death of the tank, and their frame of reference could not encompass my continued existence. They had thought fear was their special province, theirs to inflict upon us. I had taught them how wrong they were.”
― David Annandale, Yarrick: The Omnibus

“These times are sent to test us, to test our faith, and to test our discipline. When the trials come, we must remain steadfast. That is what we shall do.”
― David Annandale, The Deacon of Wounds

“When presented with a choice of beginnings, choose the one with meaning.”
― David Annandale, Roboute Guilliman: Lord of Ultramar

“When your goals align with the enemy's, let the enemy labor for you. - Guilliman”
― David Annandale, Ruinstorm

“The chanting of the Word Bearers swirls around the walls of the chapel. It laps at Khrossus, a foul, maddening tide. The sound has become a visible thing. It flows over the floor of the chamber. It is fluid and mist, and it trembles like flesh, and it has the strength of stone. Colours whisper of dreams, of madness, of burning worlds. The dome of the chamber is blurry. Khrossus looks once, and feels as if he might fall up and through the ceiling, plunging all the way through the Carchera system, and then onwards, out of the materium altogether.”
― David Annandale, Spear of Ultramar

“How could we believe there could be angels without demons? - Sanguinius”
― David Annandale, Ruinstorm

“The shrine before her gave her a way to concentrate her thoughts, and powerful as symbols were, it was still just a symbol. Monuments and rituals served their purpose, but they fell away to insignificance before the essence of faith itself. That was what she offered the God-Emperor now.”
― David Annandale, Ephrael Stern: The Heretic Saint

“How perfect were the dictates of fate!”
― David Annandale, Ephrael Stern: The Heretic Saint

“I stand and I do not fall!" he shouted. "I stand and I do not fall!”
― David Annandale, Vulkan: Lord of Drakes

“We all walk the assigned path.”
― David Annandale, Ruinstorm

“He was posturing. So much posturing. Humans never tired of it.”
― David Annandale, The Oath in Darkness

“He had seen the ambitious and the proud seek to raise themselves above their kin, and in so doing corrupt themselves, make themselves into things of contempt. The true nobility did not need to prove itself. It simply was, a fact as indisputable as the orbit of planets and the majesty of stars.”
― David Annandale, Roboute Guilliman: Lord of Ultramar

“Down their lengths, the prisoners struggle in bonds they do not truly perceive. Fate shackles them. By power of eight and will of four, they are caught in the design. It pulls them towards me. I take up the web. I gather it in. The prey rushes forwards, blind in the arrogance of false hope. They are three, coming to be ground and torn by jaws of eight and edict of four. They believe in the illusion of choice, in the ragged dream of their struggle. The disciple of reason, the holder of secrets, and the winged nobility, they are infused with fire. It will burn them. I will burn them. They are no more than ash. But by knives of eight, for the glory of four, of the three there is the one whose pyre must be the galaxy. I pull the web, and shape his fate. The riven must stand before the undivided. He will embrace the majesty of ruin.”
― David Annandale, Ruinstorm

“There are no answers. There is only obedience.”
― David Annandale, Warden of the Blade