I do not speak for Enorian. That is neither my right nor my intention. What follows is my condemnation alone.

There is a purity to be found when you know the sum total of your existence. When you have lived the past, stand amidst the present, and every day gaze upon your future. You set aside such flimsy motivations as hope, peace, prosperity, and happiness. They do not serve. They never have, and never will.

Instead, you plot your march upon directives entirely more tangible. You gird your every action in armaments that cannot be so easily taken from you. Fury. Resolve. Hate.

As I stand every day upon the gallows, the noose of my Lord searing into my throat, I gaze down upon a sea of the damned who have come before. I inhale the ash of their conflagrant suffering into my lungs, I watch them writhe as they burn, and the thought that echoes louder than their screams is this. It will all be worthwhile, as long as I drag the lot of you screaming down into the same hell with me.

You speak of Duiran begging, of their weakness and what they must have done to gather support against you. You speak of the Light as if our cause is a transaction and our crusade a game. It is neither, to me. It is the answer to a simple question that was asked of me.

You can never change how you've lived your life, what paths you have taken, what deeds you have done. The question is, how will you spend the rest of it?

Beneath the eye of the Righteous Lord I swear this much. So long as you burn, I am the fire. So long as you bleed, I am the blade. Whatsoever you build, I will break. Wheresoever you aspire, there you will find me.

The only thing I hate more than you, is that for so long I WAS YOU.

In damnation,

Whirran Mulariad

Penned by my hand on Closday, the 14th of Omeian, in the year 20 AC.