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Quote by Tapio Tiihonen

“From steel-town Youngstown to the crumbling marble of Rome — Earl Jenkins ain’t no ordinary knight. He drinks monk-brew, fights Huns, and cracks jokes while the Empire burns. Book I, How I, Earl Jenkins, Got Mixed up with a Bunch of sword-swingin´ Saints”

Quote by Tapio Tiihonen

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Tapio Tiihonen

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“Where the Devil Loses His Lawn Ornament From marble to mudbrick, after stirrups & shock, Jenkins/Aëtius and his ragtag knights — with blue blades & purple quills — haul back to Rome and seed Europe with Lady Concordia’s grandeur, the Invincible Blaze.”

“And that, my friend, is how the Huns write history — with hooves, hide, and a hell of a throw. Καὶ οὕτως, ὦ φίλε, ἱστορεῖ τὸ γένος τῶν Οὕννων — πόδεσίν, δέρματι, καὶ ῥίψει τις ἐκ τῆς κολάσεως. Book I, How I, Earl Jenkins, Got Mixed up with a Bunch of sword-swingin´s Saints”

“Gentlemen," she says, "wherever y’all go, plant these early in the season. Wait a couple of weeks and watch. They’ll survive sun, shade, and drought. And come the second year? They’ll bloom, and that cross’ll shine. It’ll mark your victory. Every seed’s got a soul, and that soul lives in another world. These lil’ brown specs — they’re stardust with roots." We kiss the air above her hand — as one does — and that’s the last we see of her. But Lord, how could we ever forget her? Book I, How I, Earl Jenkins, Got Mixed up with a Bunch of sword-swingin´ Saints”

“And Romulus? The lad who once wore the crown of Caesar drank the holy water, bowed to Severinus’ spirit, and put on the sandals of the monks. No big speeches. No lightning bolt from Jupiter. Just quiet steps in a ruined garden. That’s how the last emperor of Rome became the first Knight of the Twilight — a monk without cloister, walking the broken empire with memory in his satchel.”

“State land shrank. Bit by bit, province by province, diocese by diocese, Rome was selling itself away. Wouldn’t be long before we’d sold every field, every vine, every memory.”

“Faunus? That merry old spirit who once filled the glens with whispers and wild birds and good honest fruitfulness? Gone. Chased out like a rat at a monastery banquet.”