Athiyk, Servant of Hate. Tier'Dal Royalty.

[Straif]

MOAR RACE WAR PROPAGANDA POSTERS!!!!

[Humwawa]

Poster about killing Halflings, please! Please?

[Nightblade]

Freeport.

A glimmering jewel of a coastal town to the eyes of the fair skinned.

Polished, painted glass; cracked and chipped. Nothing more. Rotten is the core of those that lead it, those that protect it. Those that claim to serve it. No, no, no.

They serve us.

Their tolerance towards races not of their ken shall be the window in which the Ebon Hand will slip. The doorway where the Indigo Brotherhood shall march through.

To where blade meets flesh, and the arcane makes blood sizzle on the sun-bleached stones, you shall find me, making 'merry' with the denizens who were once haughty enough to point gnarled, arthritic fingers and proclaim us outlaws. Bandits. Sell-steel.

Cowards. Wrinkled deviants who hide behind politicking, trade agreements, charters, and a faith misguided.

Let us show them our faith, brothers. Let us give them honour, through death delivered by noble blood, and sure hands. With sword, shall we break them. With shield, shall we deny them the pettiness of vengeance.

Glory is not for me to win on the field of battle, not for us. Glory is for Him. His name, which drowns out all others with the seething fury of those who serve Him.

Ours is not to question, only to serve.

I relish in the thought of being the one to storm the ramparts and cave Lucan's skull in, to kick his body from the parapet and into a pyre of the dead.

I pray you choke on your rage when you see the name 'Treason' carved into the rib-cages of the dead, and that it steels you to give some semblance of a fight when we first meet. Treason brought this upon you. Treason killed your wife, your kiddies, your neighbors, your friends. It's just a name, but so...damned...fitting.

Death is only the beginning in your servitude to us, humans. You would do well to remember that.

[maximum]

I remember seeing you once in Guk, and I complimented your name. Beware of Enkidu.

[PhelanKA]

A true servant of Innoruuk demonstrates his hatred through his actions. Not his pretty and empty words. I find you all worthy of contempt.

[Nightblade]

Unbridled hatred leaves one blind when one needs to see clearly. Would you go rushing into the setting sun against a shield wall on the enemies' terms, on his chosen ground? No.

The crow calls the raven black, and you speak of contempt. Bide thy time, to become fury unrestrained on our terms. Ensure our victory with patience, until the breeze blows sickly, and the moon bleeds; until He, who's name drowns out all others, levels His glare at the ripe fruit of new lands, and says, "Claim it, in the name of all that is dark."

Listen all you wish to those that cower behind their chattel, their pets, waving jewel-bedecked fingers and speaking of pride, hatred, and glory in battle. But remember, Treason is that which puts a dagger to the throat of the heedless, the lame, the unworthy.