Proud Warrior Race Guy/Quotes
My home, Thanagar, is a war-like world. There one must strike first or die.
To defeat you in such a manner would be lacking in honor. I prefer to beat my opponents the old-fashioned way... brutally!
Quickstrike: So, what's a warrior without weapons?
Dinobot: A warrior, STILL!
We Szekelys have a right to be proud, for in our veins flows the blood of many brave races who fought as the lion fights, for lordship... Ah, young sir, the Szekelys, and the Dracula as their heart's blood, their brains, and their swords, can boast a record that mushroom growths like the Hapsburgs and the Romanoffs can never reach. The warlike days are over. Blood is too precious a thing in these days of dishonourable peace, and the glories of the great races are as a tale that is told.
You think you know glory, whelp, just because you have survived a single day of battle? To feel the thunder of munitions like the fury of the gods as the ground tears apart around you, to wet your blade with the blood of kings, to be the first man on a planet crawling with alien terrors; that is to know true glory. Mark it well.
There seems to be some kind of rule of science fiction. When you have no idea what to do; Make the aliens space warriors with their code and all that crap.
Tazendra and Ibronka: I will remain until the last.
Tazendra: Your name, madam?
Ibronka: I am Ibronka, my lady.
Tazendra: Well, I perceive you are a Dzur.
Ibronka: I have that honor, my lady. And I observe that you are, as well.
Tazendra: That is true. Therefore, let these others go up the ropes, and, if there is a last defense to be done on this spot, well, we shall do it, you and I.—The Lord of Castle Black, Dragaera
Other races go to colonize new planets. We're not settlers -- we're warriors. We want to fight. A lot of krogan leave... and most never come back.
Marcus: Greetings to clan leader Zatuk, whose father is Movar, the Comet Spitter, whose father is Raghir, the Lash of a Thousand Barbs. I'm honored by your presence.
Zatuk: Greetings to the Marcus from the Cromwell clan, whose father is Richard, the Settler. We come in peace. Chief Marcus, we Gorgs do not like wasting words on false pleasantries. We both know why we are here: we want to put an end to this war. Do you find anything objectionable in my words?
Marcus: Your words are clear and wise, Chief Zatuk. We have only to agree on the conditions.
Zatuk: Very well. Our conditions are as follows...
(three hours later)
Sweetwater: Looks like you owe me a drink, Commodore. Gorg ships are closing on us.
Marcus: Chief Zatuk, what is the meaning of this? Is your word worth so little?
Zatuk: Pale, cadaverous human! How dare you question my honor?! The word of a Zordon is a bond! If I desired, I could crush you in an instant - I have no need for cowardly tricks.
Marcus: Commander Sweetwater, can you determine which clan these ships belong to?
Sweetwater: Their marking indicate they are affiliated with the Raggra clan.
Marcus: Chief Zatuk, eight of the Raggra clan's vessels are approaching. If you had no foreknowledge of this, then I apologize for my previous words.
Zatuk: I have been betrayed! Someone must have told them the location of this meeting. Well... if it's a battle they desire, THEY SHALL HAVE IT! Warcry, Red Alert! Chief Marcus - this is our battle. You stay out of this.—The Gorg, Nexus the Jupiter Incident
Let the weeping be for cowards: but you child, I bury without a tear; you are my son, and Sparta's too.
Cattle die
kinsmen die
all men are mortal.
Words of praise will never perish nor a noble name.—Norse proverb
You are no Kavalar. You do not understand Kavalars, I would guess, yet you stand here and I see judgment in your eyes. By what right? Who are you to judge us? You scarcely know us.
To make a Thraddash your friend, kill him -- but then of course, he's dead so what's the point?
Heaven grew weary of the excessive pride and luxury of China....I am from the Barbaric North. I wear the same clothing and eat the same food as the cowherds and horse-herders. We make the same sacrifices and we share our riches. I look upon the nation as a new-born child and I care for my soldiers as though they were my brothers.
—Genghis Khan after 75,000 Mongols defeated 600,000 Chinese and sacked Beijing.
Born to be a soldier, from his youth he hears of nothing else. The farmer who bears arms tells to his son his adventures, and the lad, eager to tread in the footsteps of his elder, trains his feeble arms early to the use of formidable weapons; so when he has reached a size necessary to take a place in the valiant ranks, he is quickly formed into a soldier.
—Military Experience in the Age of Reason by Christopher Duffy
Hear! Sons of Kahless. Hear! Daughters too.
The blood of battle washes clean
The warrior brave and true.
We fight, we love, and then we kill.
Our lives burn short and bright.
Then we die with honor and
Join our fathers in the black fleet,
Where we battle, forever battling, on
Through the eternal fight.
Now it chanced when the old King-the Queens son- completed his days, the four who stood in his presence were Goorkhas. Neither Sikhs, alas, nor Pathans, Rajputs, nor Jats. Goorkhas, my Father.
But on the frontier, in the clear light of morning, when the mountain side is dotted with smoke puffs, and every ridge sparkles with sword blades, the spectator may observe and completely appreciate all grades of human courage-the wild fanaticism of the Ghazi, the composed fatalism of the Sikh, the stubbornness of the British soldier, and the jaunty daring of his officers.
—Winston Churchill, Story of the Malakand Field Force
We're the children of Skyrim, and we fight all our lives
And when Sovngarde beckons every one of us dies
But this land is ours and we'll see it wiped clean
Of the scourge that has sullied our hopes and our dreams"
And there was speech in the south, and a man of the south that was wise
A periwig'd lord of London. Called on the clans to rise.
And the riders rode and the summons. Came to the western shore.
To the land of the sea and the heather. To Appin and Mamore.
It called on all to gather from every scrog and scaur
That loved their father's tartan And the ancient game of war
And down the wintry valley And up the windy hill,
Once more, as in the olden, the pipes were sounding shrill;
Again in Highland sunshine The naked steel was bright;
And the lads, once more in tartan, went forth again to fight
...Where flew King George's ensign The plaided soldiers went;
They drew the sword in Germany, in Flanders pitched the tent.
The bells of foreign cities Rang far across the plain:
They passed the happy Rhine, they drank the rapid Main
Through Asiatic jungles The Tartans filed their way,
And the neighing of the war pipes Struck terror in Cathay—Robert Louis Stevenson, Ticonderoga, part II The Seeking Of The Name
"I have studied Terran history. Many Terran cultures have similarities to the Klingon culture." Ezra sighed. "I do have to admit, sometimes they take it to extremes".
Unioc captain: We must ensure that somebody out there will learn from our mistakes.
Unioc officer: Are we about to pick a fight with something that can throw planets?
Unioc captain: Don't be ridiculous. The ones throwing planets picked this fight.—Schlock Mercenary, 14 May 2019
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- ↑ First verse varies depending on whether the bard favors the Empire or the Stormcloaks