Grim Views

O' Mandate!
We call upon your service
as patrons of your Will.

O' Mandate!
Grant us serenity under your whelm
as we cling to your promise.

We sing aloud the declaration!
We boast in the opportunity
to carry your banner high!

We are united under the Mandate!
Together a singular unit,
fulfilling prophecies from those before us!

O' Mandate!
Let the Alliance tremble
as we dominate our enemy!
Eradication!
No remorse!
No compassion!
The Alliance will surely perish!

We declare, this day!
A sacrifice,
An Offering!
O' Mandate!
Let her embrace blanket us!
As we fulfill our destiny!

Khorvis had taken the night to abscond from his papers and enjoy a solitary stroll about the surface grounds of the Grim Halls. Puffing away at his gnome-femur pipe, recently gifted by Supplicant Sevris, he passed a small stained-glass window that observed a minor sanctum in an aged wing. Candlelight spilled from the portal onto the weed-choked lawn, and the orc leaned over woody brier to obtain a closer look.

Within the shrine prayed aloud the Reaper Bishoph, reciting his psalm of determination, alone in his reverie. The words were just audible through the ancient panes.

"We are united under the Mandate!
Together a singular unit,
fulfilling prophecies from those before us!"

The meaning clung to Khorvis's thoughts like wet paint, whitewashing any haze of doubt that had previously clouded his musings.

With a refreshed spirit, the Inquisitor continued on his jolly rounds.