The Witcher: Blood Origin Quotes (TV Series)

Seanchaí: Hope is vital. The elves need a story lost to time. One of the few who overcame the many. The Story of the Seven.
Jaskier: Let me guess. A bunch of warriors join forces to fight against all odds. It has been done to death.
Seanchaí: Has it?

Seanchaí: Seven estranged warriors who come together to fight an unstoppable empire, bring humans and monsters to the world via the Conjunction of the Spheres, and create the very first version of a witcher. That’s been done to death?
Jaskier: No. No. No. I’ve not heard that one, admittedly. Wow! That’s very different. This is really fun. You’re telling me that the first version of a witcher was a bada** elf? This is really going to pi** Geralt off.

Seanchaí: It all began twelve hundred years ago, in the Elven golden era. Before the arrival of humans and monsters in the world.

Merwyn: You saved us. You saved me.
Fjall: You saved yourself.
Merwyn: You’ve always been there when I’ve needed you.
Fjall: It’s my duty.
Merwyn: Well, we both know that it’s more than that.

Merwyn: Fjall, I nearly died today. I won’t die living a lie.

Fjall: I was born to be your protector.
Merwyn: [as she kisses him] So protect me.

Osfar: Eredin doesn’t know his a** from his elbow. F*** him and his shiny army. Where the f*** were they today when it counted? Couldn’t organize a ride in a brothel.

Fjall: Just kill me. Be done with it.
Osfar: No. You need to suffer. In disgrace.

Osfar: Fjall Stoneheart, you have broken your oath as royal protector and betrayed your birth clan. You are hereby banished from Xin’trea. Dog Clan disown you. As do I. You’ll die forgotten. And unspoken.
Fjall: Goodbye, Father.

Alvitir: [to Merwyn] You’re obsessed. You need at least one friend who isn’t a book. I don’t know how you live like this. The smell alone.

Merwyn: All this is our future. What has happened will happen again.
Alvitir: Oh, you’re a seer now.
Merwyn: No. I just don’t deny what’s in front of my own eyes.

Merwyn: [to Alvitir] History is all around us, brother, reminding us how brilliant we once were, and how brilliant we can be again if we try.

Éile: I chose this path. When I was a young girl, my sword master had a key harp on her wall. I fell in love with it. My mother tried to save me, but I was lost to the music. And so I became a roving bard.

Éile: Why do a**holes always go running to town guards when they get their a**es kicked?

Éile: I’m the one who sends you to the clay.
Fjall: Relax. My Dog Clan days are done.
Éile: Horses**t. No one leaves Dog Clan.
Fjall: And yet here I am, earning my fortune as a sellsword on a poxy island at the edge of the world.

Éile: How did the son of mighty Osfar fall so far?
Fjall: Easy. F***ed the princess.

Éile: Protect, not f***. Clan basics.
Fjall: Should have got that one tattooed.
Éile: Too long a phrase for a Dog Clan c**k.
Fjall: I’ll remember that when your head rolls to a bloody stop in the mud.

Fjall: Well, many thanks for not trying to kill me in my sleep.
Éile: There’s still time. An eye for an eye.

Shen: Where are you going?
Fjall: To find the nearest brothel.
Shen: What will I tell your father?
Fjall: Tell him I’m too busy dying, forgotten, and unspoken.

Fjall: I have but a few hours left on this s**thole of an island. Who wants to ply me with the finest skril and unspeakable debauchery, huh?
Brauna: Behind these doors lies a veritable cornucopia of delectable depravities and unmentionable delights. But first we must address the sordid issue of coin.
Fjall: Ah, yes. My word is my coin.
Brauna: Your word affords you naught but the greasing of a cat’s a**.

Aevenien: Where’s the road taking you?
Éile: To seek redemption.

Níamh: [to Éile] Not enough to have a musician sister. Now I must suffer a s**t jester too.

Fjall: Look, there are bound to be more of these stabby f***ers on the way. We’ll have more of a chance if we stick together. Despite you being a pain in me hole.
Éile: Fine. But cross me, and I’ll feed your c**k to the dogs. I don’t f***ing trust you, Stoneheart.
Fjall: Nor I you, Lark.

Scían: And so the Lark no longer soared alone. One had become two.

Scían: Merwyn was free now. Free to write her own story. Just as her hero Solryth had. To start a new golden era. This was her destiny.

Balor: Faced with chaos, the people will always choose order. No matter the cost.
Eredin: Or how blatant the farce.

Merchant: [referring to Merwyn] How does one princess no one’s ever heard of manage to take the whole Continent easy as pi** like that?

Éile: We need to be smart about this. If you can’t control your fire because someone insulted your lover, then we should part ways now.
Fjall: This has nothing to do with her.
Éile: This has everything to do with her! She killed our clans.

Éile: I should have died with my clan.
Fjall: Me too. We’re the last of us.
Éile: They’ll erase our clans from history.
Fjall: Not as long as we breathe.
Éile: Then we end them before they end us.

Fjall: Raven Clan. Dog Clan. How can we trust each other?
Éile: By the blade.
Fjall: By the blade.

Éile: We find Merwyn, end her beast and anyone who stands with her.
Fjall: Send them all to clay. Blood sworn. To the end.
Éile: To the end.

Merwyn: I was destined for more. Old stories are bound to repeat. They just need the right person to tell them.

Merwyn: I need to become Empress in more than just name. Or all of this, every drop of blood spilled, will have been in vain. I just have to find a way.

Fjall: The closer we get to Xin’trea, the worse our odds.
Éile: Then we change the odds with the best blade in the land.
Fjall: Who?
Éile: [referring to Scían] My old sword master. If she doesn’t kill me on sight.

Éile: [referring to Scían] She was the one who introduced me to music. When I left my clan to become a bard, she was banished. Forced to become a sellsword.
Fjall: You’re willing to risk your throat?
Éile: We want vengeance? We need her.

Scían: Born of Black Sands. Blade and soul as one. All beginnings. All ends.

Éile: We have a chance if we do it together.
Scían: Your quest is hopeless.
Éile: I need you. We need you.
Scían: You have your own path to take.

Éile: [as Scían is fighting Fjall] What are you doing?
Scían: He’s the one with an axe. Doesn’t seem to know how to use it though.

Scían: [to Fjall and Éile] Your instincts are good. But you let your emotions control you. And you, you have forgotten how to work as part of a clan. You’re not bad when you’re working together. We can work with that.

Fjall: Three against an empire.
Scían: Not enough. We need to find more.
Éile: Then we’ll find others who want to kill the b**ch.
Scían: There will be no coming back.

Seanchaí: And so two became three. The first drops in a torrent that would change the world forever.

Dwarf Banker: [to Fjall] You know what they say about elves that carry big axes?

Dwarf Banker: Die slowly, a**holes!

Scían: Fight as a clan, and we may just make it out.

Merwyn: What is your name?
Avallac’h: Crevan Espane aep Caomhan Macha. But most people call me Avallac’h.
Balor: One wonders why.

Avallac’h: Yeah. I’m definitely going to die.

Eredin: You’re going to get yourself killed.
Brían: I’ll be fine.
Eredin: You might be fine being a flippant little s**t, but I’d very much like to keep my head attached to my f***ing shoulders.

Éile: Who the f*** are you?
Brother Death: Let’s just say I’m one for a good story. I think that you might be the start of one.

Brother Death: [to Éile and Fjall] I thought that I was done with killing. Seems that killing isn’t done with me. So, I reckon I’ll be joining your little story. If you’d have me.

Éile: How good are you with those cleavers?
Brother Death: Too good.

Seanchaí: And so three became four.

Meldof: You’d think finding a sergeant with one eye and a penchant for pretty dwarves would be easy.

Light: Mere tokens beget mere tastes. Transformation requires true sacrifice.
Balor: What do you mean? What do you mean, true sacrifice?

Merwyn: There is one more thing that I require. An heir. Please ensure that Fjall Stoneheart is brought back to me, alive.
Eredin: He’s more likely to cut your throat than grace you with an heir.
Merwyn: Well, circumstances change. Those at odds can become allies.

Merwyn: [to Eredin] So, do we see eye to eye? Well, don’t think on it too long. Lives seem to be made and destroyed in the blink of an eye these days.

Brían: This could be a new beginning.
Eredin: Or our quick end.

Syndril: The monoliths are causing tears between the worlds. Strange energies are leaking into ours.

Zacaré: The end of our world is upon us.

Syndril: We stand a better chance together than apart.
Scían: The gods brought us together. There’s meaning in that.

Seanchaí: And so four became six.

Éile: [referring to Balor’s beast] Honestly, we’ve no idea how to kill it. We barely escaped a monster a tenth its size earlier.

Syndril: Without your help, the world ends.
Zacaré: Maybe I should just let the world end.

Éile: Your merging of elf and beast. If you can do it, it can’t be you. It needs to be a warrior. Not a mage. One of us.

Zacaré: Even if you do survive the ritual, you’ll probably lose who you are. Completely. Every nerve, every sinew will be brutally corrupted. The transformation will be long. Beyond painful.
Éile: Ithlinne said, “Two apart shall become two as one.”

Éile: I’ll do it. This is my destiny.
Fjall: F*** destiny.

Fjall: We’ve all done unspeakable things in the name of our clans.
Éile: I thought sharing my music could fix what I did. But it will never be enough. Sacrificing myself is the only way.
Fjall: No. You bring so much hope to this world. I’ve seen it. I bring nothing but death. You need to live, Éile.
Éile: It’s okay. Fjall, all my songs are sung.

Meldof: [to Brothe Death] If you fell into a bucket of tits, you’d come up holding a c**k.

Balor: [to Avallac’h] Tell me, boy, is it youthful arrogance, or just naked stupidity? Shall we make this quick? Or interesting? Interesting it is then. Have you ever witnessed a fool turned inside out?

Meldof: I can no more sprout hair on me chin than a king can wipe his own a**.

Meldof: You and the mage lass…
Brother Death: Yeah?
Meldof: How did you come to be then?
Brother Death: Well, it’s a long story.
Meldof: Only stories worth telling.

Fjall: I don’t have any gifts. Other than killing and disgracing myself constantly.

Fjall: What I had with Merwyn wasn’t real. Under any star. I wish we’d been born under the same star.
Éile: Yeah. Don’t forget me.

Éile: You have to stop this. It was supposed to be me!
Syndril: [referring to Fjall] He’s taken the first elixir. If we stop this now, he will die.

Zacaré: You should go. This could all go very wrong. Éile, I know what it’s like to watch someone turn into a monster.
Éile: Do what you have to do. I’m not going anywhere.

Meldof: You lot aren’t made for taking this much pain.
Brother Death: Elves can take a lot more than a dwarf can. That’s a well-known fact.
Meldof: Ah. Fact. Elven fact. We’ve been taking punishment from the likes of you for generations. Suffering and pain you’ll never understand.

Meldof: Your world is built on our bones. Know why I call those monoliths c**k towers? Because our ancients buried them to bring fertile bounty to the land. They’re sacred. And, yet again, elves defile them.

Fjall: [after he’s transformed] I want to destroy everything.

Éile: [to Fjall] What the f*** were you thinking? I thought you were gone. I couldn’t bear it.

Fjall: I’d die for you, Éile.
Éile: You already did.

Balor: True sacrifice comes from within. Now I realize what she meant. Too late.

Seanchaí: The Fjall who emerged from that cave was not the same as the one who had entered. The energy that shifted in the air around him was like nothing any of them had ever felt. Or seen.

Scían: Hurry up, Meldof.
Brother Death: Leave her pi** in peace. Nothing worse than being rushed.

Scían: Éile of Raven Clan, meet Uthrok One Nut.
Uthrok One-Nut: It’s just a nickname. They’re huge. Like two enormous, swollen pomegranates.

Éile: [to Fjall] Carry my voice with you. Don’t let go, not until you’re staring that beast straight in the eyes.

Meldof: Right then. Let’s go f*** up an empire.

Uthrok One-Nut: If I fall, you owe me a song, and I want both me stones in it.
Éile: Uthrok Mighty C**k. He who had two enormous balls that slew an empire!
Uthrok One-Nut: Hark that Lark! On me, you magnificent b****rds!

Merwyn: Everything that you’ve heard is true. I had Alvitir killed. And your family. All of Dog Clan. I knew everyone that I loved would die, and I said yes. Without a second breath. I was going to be a footnote in someone else’s story. I was a fertile thing to be traded. I was unseen, Fjall!
Fjall: No. I saw you.
Merwyn: The old ways had to die.

Fjall: [to Merwyn] You truly are demented. Do you honestly think I could forgive you after what you did? Do you know the sacrifices my clan had to make just to protect you? The horrors we inflicted on others in your name? And you betrayed us. You’re a monster. I should know.

Meldof: [to Scían, referring to the blood] Bit of color on your face suits you, so it does.

Scían: [after they kill the soldiers] A bit of color suits you too.
Meldof: Thanks.
Brother Death: F*** me, was it always this tiring?
Meldof: Come on, big lad. We’re only just getting started.

Éile: You’re just another spoiled princess.
Merwyn: I am Empress!
Éile: You are a child given the reins of a warhorse.

Merwyn: Take your revenge then, and be done with it, little Lark.
Éile: The thought of watching the life drain from your eyes fed me. Nourished my broken heart all this long way. But the closer I got, a thought kept eating away at me. That what you did was right. Wiping out the monarchies. And the clans. We were the monarchies boots on the necks of the people. We were their blade, without question. But you are just more of the same. You changed nothing. You’re just another boot looking for more necks.

Éile: [after she stabs Merwyn] I’ve given you a choice. Leave the blade as it is, and a physic might find you. Save you.You’ll live long enough to watch your world crumble around you. Face your wrongs. Or pull it out and bleed to death a coward. No one will know. No one but you.

Balor: All my life, people like you have dismissed me. No longer. I control Chaos! I don’t need any of you.

Éile: Come back to me.
Fjall: Please.
Éile: I can’t.
Fjall: I’ll wait for you in the great halls of Caer Aenwyn. Live, Éile. Live.
Éile: [as she stabs him] I love you.

Seanchaí: With a final touch, the great mage shattered. His greatest creation, not realizing the energy released would shatter space and time itself. The fragile veils between worlds had been ripped apart. Planes of existence began to cross. Skies warred with skies. Night fed upon day. Multiple worlds crossed through each other, scattering species like seeds as they merged. This was the Conjunction of the Spheres. Every living thing fell silent. And then the Continent awoke.

Seanchaí: Éile and Fjall had seeded new life. A child carrying a blood like no other, one marked by beast and magic.

Éile: It happened, Ithlinne. I slayed a beast, just like you said. Only it wasn’t the beast I expected.

Ithlinne: The time of the spheres is upon us. Aen Seidhe lost across the skies. Cast adrift in time. Ever searching for love. Lost. And left behind. The Lark’s seed shall carry forth the first note of a song that ends all times.
Seanchaí: And one of her blood shall sing the last.
Jaskier: Wait. What? Who? Who? Which one of their blood?

Seanchaí: Sing the Song of the Seven, Sandpiper. So the oppressed may find hope and strength in the tale of their ancestors, and be ready for the great change to come.