Chris Gousopoulos’s Reviews > The Warrior Prophet > Status Update

The proposition “I am the centre” need never be uttered. It is the assumption upon which all certainty and all doubt turns.

"Who are the Dûnyain?"

We are His servant. Save my Brother, we are the last of those who descended from the void …

It was strange the way memory cared nothing for the form of the past. Perhaps this was why those dying of old age were so often incredulous. Through memory, the past assailed the present, not in queues arranged by calender and chronicle, but as a hungry mob of yesterdays.

There were no codes. There was no honour. The world between men was as trackless as the Steppe—as the desert! There were no men … Only beasts, clawing, craving, mewling, braying. Gnawing at the world with their hungers. Beaten like bears into dancing to this absurd custom or that. All these thousands, these Men of the Tusk, killed and died in the name of delusion. Save hunger, nothing commanded the world.

Although subtle beyond reason, the thing called Sarcellus walked a far simpler world than that walked by men.

But she cried louder. “You must save him, Achamian! You must save him!” Small confusions, stirring like vermin.

“Sometimes, Esmi, we must cross death to reach our destination.”

“The man you call Prince Kellhus is an imposter … A prince of nothing.”