PRECURSOR

“Know something? I'd lay even odds that between the people following us and the people hunting us, we've become this city's principle means of employment. Tal Verrar's entire economy is now based on fucking with us.”
― Scott Lynch, Red Seas Under Red Skies

“Fuckdamn,” said Conté, totally unable to help himself when the sums involved vanished over his mental horizon. “Beg pardon, Doña Sofia.”
“You should.” She drained her snifter in one quick unladylike gulp. “Your calculations are off. This merits a triple fuckdamn at least.”
― Scott Lynch, The Lies of Locke Lamora

“All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king.”
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring

“So we wait?” asked Severard.
“We wait, and we look to our defences. That and we try to find some money. Do you have any cash, Severard?”
“I did have some. I gave it to a girl, down in the slums.”
“Ah. Shame.”
“Not really, she fucks like a madman. I’d thoroughly recommend her, if you’re interested.”
Glokta winced as his knee clicked. “What a thoroughly heartwarming tale, Severard, I never had you down for a romantic. I’d sing a ballad if I wasn’t so short of funds.”
“I could ask around. How much are we talking about?”
“Oh, not much. Say, half a million marks?”
One of the Practical’s eyebrows went up sharply. He reached into his pocket, dug around for a moment, pulled his hand out and opened it. A few copper coins shone in his palm.
“Twelve bits,” he said. “Twelve bits is all I can raise.”
― Joe Abercrombie, Before They Are Hanged