To whom it may concern,


I will leave this address broad. If I were to name each and every one of you who would seek to claim victory after each and every engagement, after each and every blow struck, or even, for some of you, without having ever engaged at all, this missive would end up far longer than anticipated.


I made an Oath, beneath the Warlord's eye. A promise sworn in silver and bound in blood. I did not promise Him I would always win every fight. I did not promise Him that I would never fall. The promise I made was simple. I will never bend. I will never lie down and go quietly. I will never accept that I have done all that I can when I am knocked down and bloodied. I will stand, again, and again, and again. Until the Last Dusk.


Gloat if you like. Shake your fists and declare righteous justice done. Pit your will and your bodies against us in pursuit of whatever shiny edict you hold on high, for in doing so you glorify Him. You walk ever in the realm of the Lord, and we will not break.


I will offer only this single warning. To claim our defeat with such premature fervour is unwise. You will find no bent backs, no bowed heads, and no sore knees among us. Upon the day you see me kneel to willingly give my life, on the day I no longer rise, you will know I have failed Him. On that day, you can tell me I am defeated, that your victory looms. Until then, you've joined me in the crucible, and in this place, I am His Chosen.


Ever His,


Whirran Arcan-Tetzauh


Herald of Strife

Penned by my hand on Quensday, the 25th of Niuran, in the year 500 MA.