"What is to give Light must endure burning."

For nearly half a century the citizens of Targossas have stood as the only shield between Creation thriving and its abrupt destruction. Sapience stares on, their mouths emitting a steady stream of dribble, as the world passes them by. Yet still Targossas stands alone, the only candle amidst a sea of Darkness, endlessly beset on all sides by numerically superior forces and the prospect of always playing defense. We shout our battle cries, and the forces push near our gates. We curse the blight that is their existence as they push through our defenses. We cry in anguish as they slay our brethren in the middle of the night. We whisper curses as we realize there is little we can do. We slip into despair, and apathy takes hold. We begin the process again by staring out from our gates...and waiting. Waiting for a new day, for a reprieve from the endless war waging amidst our homes and our city streets. Waiting for something, for hope.

The Fifth Axiom of Righteousness states: If a law prevents you from your task, rewrite it. If a moral gives you pause, expunge it. If a man stands in your way, cut him down. Any obstacle that impedes you is your foe, and the foe of all Creation.

The Ghazwa are tired of waiting.

We are coming.

Penned by my hand on the 14th of Chronos, in the year 669 AF.