For the One who took our insipid koada`dal forebears and forged their pallid, pale-skinned flesh into purest night..
For the One whose fell hand lays a shadow over the hearts of every quavering coward mortal who is too weak to see His greatness..
For Innoruuk, Our Father, who burns darkly in the coruscating blackness of the most holy City of Hate! Let there be blood on our hands.
The scorn banshees will sing of our deeds as a choir, while this world burns.
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