Like moons make swell and wane the nescient seas, so too the sky-strewn gods ordain the tidal fates of mortal days. And yet - a notion born in lonely hours - come ebb, come flow, come all that is beyond the breadth of our dominion: be a moon unto yourself. Even the waves of fate can break upon the shores of will.

You could've asked me to do the same - to throw myself at her, what I wanted be damned. But you didn’t. And I’m grateful.

Go on. Give the worgs some Booze! They'll love it.

Findal: "Oh, thank you, thank you. I thought I was going to die down here."
Player: "Don't thank me yet. I'm here to finish what they started."

It’s been seven years since I left. It’s no paradise - but it’s home. And it’s worth saving.