SCRIPTURE: “…and it was the veteran Kayliss - she who would later be known by her foes in Ishpan as the High Priestess of Death - that was instrumental in spreading the Truth of the Prophet throughout Lashmir. On one blood-soaked day, at her exhortation, it is recorded that thousands of Lashmiri marked themselves as true followers of B’ahn by severing their smallest fingers from their left hands. Quickly, this became a central ritual for the Cult of B’ahn and, as the years passed and the war perpetuated, it slowly codified into a coming-of-age ceremony for the young warriors that had been born to join their ranks…” (Dr. Birgitta Olsson, 2015 - 'Translating the Enkari-B’ahn Scrolls: Words from the People of the End Times'). SERMON: It is there In the ashen yellow taste that salts my tongue In the bitter grey haze that stings my eyes In the torn pride of banners and the golden clouds of flies It is there...always there. “Lashmir, declare with me! For I have been to the Obelisk, and I have seen it streaming blood under the cold shadow of the Dragon! Declare with me, as with blood I tie myself to B’ahn!” Into bondage born by the bloody shores Enkari-ru-Ath Kali! Enkari-ru-Vren Empan! “Those who will not fight - slaughter and cast the unworthy into the lake! Those who die with honour, we send to the Titan of the Skies! To war - for B’ahn! To war - for salvation!” Into bondage born by the bloody shores Enkari-ru-Ath Kali! Enkari-ru-Vren Empan! It is there In the cold blue depths where nets catch ghosts In the deep pink pleasures that blind the mind In the Hall of Replenishment and the silver Gate of Time It is there...always there.

SCRIPTURE: “The losses we have inflicted upon them are folly and should have broken them weeks ago. Yet still our foe hurls themselves against our walls. It is not death that they fear, but to be so broken that they can no longer fight for their revered god of death. And worry besets me that their deluded piety yet could overcome us, for the Third Captain has signaled that the foundations are badly weakened...” (Qa’ar Izum II, The Scrolls of the Second Phase - as translated by Dr Karl von Mecklenburg) SERMON: If every scar tells a story, then my body is a bard - So gaze not upon my broken form With the pitied horror for the Failed, But listen with your eyes To the tales that it tells Of the violence of the Ceaseless War. Here, in the deformity of my knee Is the Second Siege of Ishpan - When the sky screamed black With the sharp feathers of death And bronze fought bone to shattering. Here, in the scarred pit of my arm Is the ambush on the Pla-nanth Dun - When the Brothers of the Snake Hissed like lava in the rain And metal bit muscle to red shredding. Here, in the dead socket of my eye Is the Campaign of the Chosen - When the sails and timber burned With the fearsome heat of oil And wood pierced flesh with exploding. I am a ruin But not Failed yet I am broken, but I I am not yet dead…. So, against the walls I’ll go (Into that biting horror) Until my vigour is spent, and I Can move no more.