The one who was forgotten. The one who could not forget.
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meandering-monotreme asked:
prokopetz answered:
(With reference to this post here.)
Last time I checked in on the series, Harry Dresden is acting as personal ass-kicker to a godlike elf queen whose day job is beating up Cthulhu, he wields the very fires of divine creation thanks to a boon granted to him by an actual, no-shit angel with whom he appears to be on a first name basis, and he lives on a magic island whose guardian spirit scares the hell out of basically everybody, including the aforementioned god-queen, but that regards Harry as its best buddy. He’s stalemated the Master of the Wild Hunt in a battle of wills, thrown down with Satan’s right-hand man in a fistfight, and once rampaged through downtown Chicago atop a necromantically reanimated T-Rex skeleton commanded by the power of polka.
Exactly what about any of this says “low fantasy” to you?
“Oh,“ the girl said, shaking her head. "Don’t be so simple. People adore
monsters. They fill their songs and stories with them. They define
themselves in relation to them. You know what a monster is, young shade?
Power. Power and choice. Monsters make choices. Monsters shape the
world. Monsters force us to become stronger, smarter, better. They sift
the weak from the strong and provide a forge for the steeling of souls.
Even as we curse monsters, we admire them. Seek to become them, in some
ways.” Her eyes became distant. “There are far, far worse things to be
than a monster.”
―
Jim Butcher, Ghost Story
Harry: Listen, you call it “bad at darts” I call it free amateur acupuncture.
Mac: Get. Out.

