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By troth, a cold wind stirs, e'en as the bones do sing remorse. Twas this site that rang of tragedy and betrayal. Slaughter most cruel. Twas not tears, but blood that day. Hearthstone cracked and burning, Were any spared? There was no kindness that day... no mercy. It was a day for the foul to rejoice. The sun rose dark and red as the Devil's beard and good men fell.
Aye, the cracked bell tolled and it was a most evil day. A rout, a massacre, a near burning of the very soul . Shy not from the angry peel. They return. They return. And do they expect a meek lamb to slaughter. Aye, they think of you as but an easy day's feast.
But lo, what is that in good Henry's hand. Ist a turkey leg or an eagle's that he gnaws. These men be not the devil, I say. They are but men. Fleet, vile, vicious, uglier than sin, despicable even to curs, for what noble dog could ever love a man without honor. Still, these nightmares are men and so are vulnerable.
Will ye face them? Will ye rise up with voices Hail to confront the demons of the past... of sour Eagles, that dire ghost of Norvitus, of the flash of bomb and cruel blow as our cities were sacked. Will you take up the spear to defend your home and make yourself heard or let them rampage taking what they will. Will you cover your head fearul even to watch?
Is it to be a day of thunder or one of tears? Do you cry Hail or whimper? Dost thou feel the heel of their general as if you were but one of his dogs?
Oh, this does not suit.
I ask you to stir, to rise, to grow hoarse and fight beyond weariness for this is the fight. This is the moment when ghosts descend. This is fear itself, but fear has no strength, but that which we lend it.
So, this time, this fifth time I ask you... will you rise hail or cower under your covers a victim of fear or sour cynicism. Will you make them tremble with a voice as one and a pride they can but dream of? Is your heart steel or pudding. Do you stand. Do you cry. Will you make them blanch? Are you a part of this fight. Aye, will you join this day?
Will you fight on sons of Washington?
Aye, the cracked bell tolled and it was a most evil day. A rout, a massacre, a near burning of the very soul . Shy not from the angry peel. They return. They return. And do they expect a meek lamb to slaughter. Aye, they think of you as but an easy day's feast.
But lo, what is that in good Henry's hand. Ist a turkey leg or an eagle's that he gnaws. These men be not the devil, I say. They are but men. Fleet, vile, vicious, uglier than sin, despicable even to curs, for what noble dog could ever love a man without honor. Still, these nightmares are men and so are vulnerable.
Will ye face them? Will ye rise up with voices Hail to confront the demons of the past... of sour Eagles, that dire ghost of Norvitus, of the flash of bomb and cruel blow as our cities were sacked. Will you take up the spear to defend your home and make yourself heard or let them rampage taking what they will. Will you cover your head fearul even to watch?
Is it to be a day of thunder or one of tears? Do you cry Hail or whimper? Dost thou feel the heel of their general as if you were but one of his dogs?
Oh, this does not suit.
I ask you to stir, to rise, to grow hoarse and fight beyond weariness for this is the fight. This is the moment when ghosts descend. This is fear itself, but fear has no strength, but that which we lend it.
So, this time, this fifth time I ask you... will you rise hail or cower under your covers a victim of fear or sour cynicism. Will you make them tremble with a voice as one and a pride they can but dream of? Is your heart steel or pudding. Do you stand. Do you cry. Will you make them blanch? Are you a part of this fight. Aye, will you join this day?
Will you fight on sons of Washington?
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