Ascomanni Quotes

"The term Ascomanni is derived from the Germanic for “Ash Men.” The first Vikings sailed down European rivers in boats of ash wood. And ash is what they left behind. Once, the Ascomanni were just deepspace legends, dark whispers passed by traders and smugglers to new recruits in the shadowy hollows of asteroid cantinas or docking-bay watering holes. In the deep of space, so they’d say, there lurked Obsidian tribes who escaped the Society’s culling of the rest of their race following the Dark Revolt hundreds of years ago. Hunted by my family’s extermination squads and Olympic Knights, they fled into the darkness. For years they plagued the far colonies of Neptune and Pluto, remaining little more than myth to the Core. But now, with the Obsidian diaspora from the poles of Earth and Mars, that myth has become reality. Bands of Obsidians, alienated by the new strange world, freed from military slavery to Gold masters—or exhausted from the Reaper’s war—embrace the legend of their ancestors. They’ve not so much left the Ice as they’ve brought the Ice to the stars."

"It wasn’t until Octarius that the first Kuiper Obsidian was spotted, and the name Ascomanni began to circulate. At first, they were of little concern. Further reconnaissance suggested nomadic caravans of ice miners, subterranean dwellings, sparse populations, and fractious tribal dynamics. It seems the Ascomanni even managed to take some carvers with them. Their skin was said to be red, possibly from genetic sculpting with Deinococcus radiodurans, an extremophilic bacterium highly resistant to deepspace radiation, vacuum, dehydration, and cold."

"Could be someone the Fear Knight helped to power. A translation discrepancy. Or maybe Atlas’s ships were damaged and he lost coms for ten years and tucked tail. Whatever the case, if this Volsung Fá exists, it would be highly unlikely Martian or Terran Obsidians who turned raiders would have any interaction with true Ascomanni. They’re years away on the ships they have. People just gave the pirates the name because people like legends. But it makes you wonder, what if they have met with their long lost brethren? What if they are coordinating and Volsung Fá rules not just the far Obsidian, but the pirates too?"

"There was one mightier ’fore Allmother’s reign Allfather, King of Stains, was his name. For him, Old Kuthul rose against Sunborn Till in Ladon was he felled, for kin to mourn To the fires his people and the Volk were sent But not all to ash and bone must we lament From sun to dust did the moons and dragons chase The brood of Kuthul, who hid in darkest space, Five ages passed of shadow and ice Entombed in floating caverns, hunted like rabid mice Blossoms of blood and thrones of flesh were grown As brother ate brother; sister ate sister for a savior, Allfather groaned Then came the Outlander to answer his plea Mighty were the Lords of Ink, mightier was He. Whores of their children, shards of their thrones Made He, who crowned Himself with their bones And fashioned Dark Wind of those not destroyed To serve, to anoint, to proclaim: He Who Walks the Void."

"I have lived three lives,” Volsung rumbles through that titanic helmet. “The last is that of Volsung Fá. The second that of Pale Horse, slaveknight to the Warlord of Ash. The first that of Vagnar Hefga, first broodmate to Alia Volarus, the Snowsparrow, Queen of the Valkyrie, broodfather to the god Ragnar Volarus and greedy little Sefi."

"She would have you give up war. She would have you forsake the Wind for roofs. Your stone and bone heritage for the soft silk of heatlanders. She would let their cities suck you dry. She would have you live in their world. I would have them live in ours."

"Remind them the Allfather’s truth: the world is yours, if you can take it."

"They are a race of relentless darkness. That is their home, after all: the darkness out there in the Kuiper Belt. And darkness always finds a way. They are the product of a failed rebellion. The scions of the warriors who followed King Kuthul. They are consummate survivors. Clever enough to know what they’re good at, wise enough to realize what they are not. To think of them as simply space-dwelling Obsidians is to underestimate them."

"Banished to the dark, we found solace in the fact that we were spending our lives spreading the light of the Society. It was our sustenance. Our religion. Then came the Battle of Ilium. Then Luna itself fell. Then the light went out.” He looks down. “Nothing can live long without light. Nothing good."

"I find little glory in war,” he says. “Satisfaction yes, for a job well done. I claimed Aleskandar au Rûn upon my blade. He was a worthy foe, and met a worthy end. That was proper. I bested him man to man. But others, great names—Cassander au Megara, Alethia au Codovan, Talia au Anthos…I saw them done under by reptiles, spit, skinned. Their warrior virtue, and it was virtue, was denied. That is why I hang my head, dominus. There is much to admire in our foe, and little in our allies."

"They are reptiles, dominus. Perhaps not in physiology but in their lack of empathy,” another answers. “The centuries have taught them starvation and poverty can only be staved off by violence. They fight other tribes who are their mirror, and so their violence and cruelty are exponential and theatrical."

"A man from the wilderness who has never heard music might come upon a city and hear through a window the song of a violin. It makes no matter if he knows the complexity of the piece, or the reverence culture has for the instrument, he will stop and listen because he can recognize the rarity of beauty. These Ascomanni would go into the house and beat the player to death for making a racket, enslave the children, break the violin, and burn down the house. All of them. They do not seek context, or assimilation, only domination. If it does not fit into their paradigm, they destroy it."

"Do you think I enjoy the weight of this, Dominus Lune?” He pushes it toward me. “The worship of asteroid-dwelling savages? The slaughter of the Society’s civilians? The venal backbiting among Darrow’s Volk? No. A single day under the sun with sand between my toes is worth ten years on a throne. One performance of Giulio Cesare or Parsifal does more for my heart than ten thousand chanting my name. I need no honors. I crave no power. Let me be rid of it all."