55 books
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111 voters
“Acting all sanctimonious while spouting bad info was a terrible way to win a debate, but a great way to piss people off.”
― The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet
― The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet
“Among them is a renegade king, he who sired five royal heirs without ever unzipping his pants. A man to whom time has imparted great wisdom and an even greater waistline, whose thoughtless courage is rivalled only by his unquenchable thirst.
At his shoulder walks a sorcerer, a cosmic conversationalist. Enemy of the incurable rot, absent chairman of combustive sciences at the university in Oddsford, and the only living soul above the age of eight to believe in owlbears.
Look here at a warrior born, a scion of power and poverty whose purpose is manifold: to shatter shackles, to murder monarchs, and to demonstrate that even the forces of good must sometimes enlist the service of big, bad motherfuckers. His is an ancient soul destined to die young.
And now comes the quiet one, the gentle giant, he who fights his battles with a shield. Stout as the tree that counts its age in aeons, constant as the star that marks true north and shines most brightly on the darkest nights.
A step ahead of these four: our hero. He is the candle burnt down to the stump, the cutting blade grown dull with overuse. But see now the spark in his stride. Behold the glint of steel in his gaze. Who dares to stand between a man such as this and that which he holds dear? He will kill, if he must, to protect it. He will die, if that is what it takes.
“Go get the boss,” says one guardsman to another. “This bunch looks like trouble.”
And they do. They do look like trouble, at least until the wizard trips on the hem of his robe. He stumbles, cursing, and fouls the steps of the others as he falls face-first onto the mud-slick hillside.”
― Kings of the Wyld
At his shoulder walks a sorcerer, a cosmic conversationalist. Enemy of the incurable rot, absent chairman of combustive sciences at the university in Oddsford, and the only living soul above the age of eight to believe in owlbears.
Look here at a warrior born, a scion of power and poverty whose purpose is manifold: to shatter shackles, to murder monarchs, and to demonstrate that even the forces of good must sometimes enlist the service of big, bad motherfuckers. His is an ancient soul destined to die young.
And now comes the quiet one, the gentle giant, he who fights his battles with a shield. Stout as the tree that counts its age in aeons, constant as the star that marks true north and shines most brightly on the darkest nights.
A step ahead of these four: our hero. He is the candle burnt down to the stump, the cutting blade grown dull with overuse. But see now the spark in his stride. Behold the glint of steel in his gaze. Who dares to stand between a man such as this and that which he holds dear? He will kill, if he must, to protect it. He will die, if that is what it takes.
“Go get the boss,” says one guardsman to another. “This bunch looks like trouble.”
And they do. They do look like trouble, at least until the wizard trips on the hem of his robe. He stumbles, cursing, and fouls the steps of the others as he falls face-first onto the mud-slick hillside.”
― Kings of the Wyld
“Sometimes my lies impressed the hell out of me.”
― The Liar's Key
― The Liar's Key
“We’ll have to get you a sword,” I said. “When funds allow.”
Snorri shook his head. “An axe for me. Swords trick you into thinking you can defend. With an axe all you can do is attack. That’s what my father named me. Snorri. It means ‘attack.’” He lifted the axe above his head. “Men think they can defend against me—but when I knock, they open.”
― Prince of Fools
Snorri shook his head. “An axe for me. Swords trick you into thinking you can defend. With an axe all you can do is attack. That’s what my father named me. Snorri. It means ‘attack.’” He lifted the axe above his head. “Men think they can defend against me—but when I knock, they open.”
― Prince of Fools
“Fuck that!" My turn to drop the scroll-case as though it were hot. "...your stewardness."
"'Highness' is the correct form of address when the steward is of noble birth... if we're being formal, Jalan."
"Fuck that, your highness.”
― The Wheel of Osheim
"'Highness' is the correct form of address when the steward is of noble birth... if we're being formal, Jalan."
"Fuck that, your highness.”
― The Wheel of Osheim
Dragons & Jetpacks
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A book group for all those who love sci-fi and fantasy. We read three books per month, one from each genre, plus a carefully curated moderators specia ...more
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A group to chat about SFF books. Authors and readers welcome. I might post about my books and the Self-Published Fantasy Blog-Off too. I plan on maki ...more
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For Moderators and Co-Moderators: This is a dedicated group for discussing ideas, sharing answers, and finding solutions with the challenges of runni ...more
Paul’s 2025 Year in Books
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