All shall bear witness to the truth ineffable:
the strong prevail, and the weak are remade by the earth.
For without strength, we are nothing.
Without war, we are nothing.
Without earth, we are nothing.

So my Empire has spoken, its every voice lifted in loud proclamation
one I expect to see in the militia alongside me, their oaths scripted
in steel and writ in blood.

This is the way forward, brutal and bitter.

We are called to fight until the flesh fails, and after.

It is a bold choice. But mine is the worship of a God who weighs all
risks and tips the scales in favour of the ambitious. Should we fail,
let us court ruin. Should we perish, let us do so standing,
immolated in the fire of conflict and forged anew.

There will be no second surrender.

There will be no treaty.

From hereon, we etch the bitter ashes of defeat or the graven gold of
victory into Memory.

We bleed and claw, bite and seize, as many times as it takes to find
Strength; an Empire Red, blood-washed and holy.

May we never know peace.

Paxe Visara
Thronekeeper of Bones

Penned by my hand on Falsday, the 13th of Ivolnos, in the year 5 AC.