Nothing -- not pain, fatigue, hunger, fear or desire -- will ever deviate you from the path. Like an icebreaker you crush all opposition, ploughing forward no matter what it takes.
Physique
Before thought effects; other dialogue conditions may apply.
473 · Voice lines
Nothing -- not pain, fatigue, hunger, fear or desire -- will ever deviate you from the path. Like an icebreaker you crush all opposition, ploughing forward no matter what it takes.
You haven't yet banished all weakness, but you will. We know you will...
Oh yes, they're all wiped out. Your bushels of grain, your salted meats, your hogsheads brimming with bitter ale. All gone. Your fields have been put to the torch, your great-hall is a ravaged husk. You are bereft.
Especially love, bröther. Face it, no one's willing to make the sacrifices that are necessary, not in this day and age.
Look deep inside yourself. You know it's true, because it hurts.
You will be free to love Revachol like no one has ever loved her. You will be her champion, and she will be faithful to you. If you can just make this last sacrifice, you will finally know happiness.
Oh yes, they're all gone. Carried off by foreign invaders because you failed to uphold your most ancient and noble vöws. The worst part is they might even prefer it this way...
What's that? Can't hear yourself over the moans of your wömen in the hands of foreigners who play them like instruments. Be careful, or they'll wear you like a sock, Harry-boy.
A day will come when you need to take a shotgun to that cellar, shoot whatever is down there in the head, and walk away, never looking back.
It was time to banish that pitiful, sad look from your face -- and replace it with a perfect reflection of your unyielding resolve, your noble suffering.
Whoah! Something wants to come out of you -- a bit of vomit? Thankfully you keep it down, because your body does not control you.
She's right. Something wants to come out -- through your mouth. But you can keep it down because your body does not control you.
As you breathe in, the odour comes over you. It's a spell of the mind telling you to run -- and your stomach to wring itself empty. With your hands at your sides and your eyes squinting you stand in it.
I'm not squishy and permeable. I'm bark, sap and steel. Cast me in ceramic shell, but only for ritual purposes. It would adorn me well... bring me to attention.
Too late. It's impossible to keep it in. Your body curls and pushes it out. Burst by burst...
It's especially painful this time. You've thrown up so much there's nary anything left down there. Hot tears of pain streak down your face -- you're crying too. Crying and convulsing at the same time.
Every time it happens it gets worse and worse. There's nothing more to throw up now. All that's left is crying and convulsing dryly at the same time.