I Will Take What Is Mine With

Give A Thing A Name And It Will Somehow Come To Be.

A Man Of The Night's Watch Lives His Life For The Realm. Not For A King, Nor A Lord, Nor The Honor Of This House Or That House, Neither For Gold Nor Glory Nor A Woman's Love, But For The Realm, And All The People In It. A Man Of The Night's Watch Takes No Wife And Fathers No Sons. Our Wife Is Duty. Our Mistress Is Honor. And You Are The Only Sons We Shall Ever Know.

The Ones Who Look The Most Suspicious Are Likely Innocent. It's The Ones Who Look Innocent I Need To Beware.

There Are A Number Of Things That I'm Trying To Get Into The Books. There's A Meta-fictional Aspect, If I May Use That Pretentious Word, To Writing Anything. You're Writing In The Shadow Of All The People That Have Gone Before And, In A Way, You're Having A Dialogue With Them. As Someone Who's Read J.r. Tolkien And Robert E. Howard And All The Great Fantasists Before, This Is Almost My Answer To Them.

In A Room Sit Three Great Men, A King, A Priest, And A Rich Man With His Gold. Between Them Stands A Sellsword, A Little Man Of Common Birth And No Great Mind. Each Of The Great Ones Bids Him Slay The Other Two. ‘do It,’ Says The King, ‘for I Am Your Lawful Ruler.’ ‘do It,’ Says The Priest, ‘for I Command You In The Names Of The Gods.’ ‘do It,’ Says The Rich Man, ‘and All This Gold Shall Be Yours.’ So Tell Me—who Lives And Who Dies?