The Alpha Ghur was the meanest bitch that ever bit into a bone. She had never once been mounted. She ruled over the others with a rusted, double sided battle-axe, chipped along both blades. Among hyenas the females were the biggest, the strongest, and the meanest. So it was among the Ghur.

It’s a hard thing—outlivin’ your loved ones. Outlivin’ your enemies, now that’s easy. A fella could do that all day long.

Gnomish luck doesn’t work that way. If you want to triumph, first you have to try, and then you have to give it some umph! The luck comes somewhere in between.

but as the Hill Dwarves like to say, Hope is a hen that never lays.

Mountain folk have their own code. And they hold each other to it, straightforward like; No beatin’ around the bush.

The trick to survivin’ the Every Path is to apply your wit and heart in equal measure—the All-Father’s bound to favor a gnome like that.

Gronyar grunted with satisfaction. His belly bulged. There was nothing better than eating your enemies, except maybe shitting them out.

On the Plain of Sorrow, three hyenas to one lion meant a fight. Tip the scale too hard in either sides favor, and it meant a slaughter.

Every critter seeks to bring about a situation, which may cause a boon to its survival. As dumb as Ogres are, they’re still natural creatures.

Ale is the most civilized thing to a Dwarf, but to a Human it’s a reversal; a step back into a more primitive state.”(HammerThorn)