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The Regime



Our Mission





A wicked wind blows through the lands,

Hatred peers onto the plains.

The sky despairs with the sights it bears,

And dark clouds cannot cover the shame.


A day by day dream, a hellish machine,

Which makes nightmares of fathers and wives.

An evil of man, with a powerful hand,

Now crushes the lands of the light.


Fire has failed to cleanse him.

Love is a joke to his hordes.

Hope is but a flicker of comfort.

Power is all that he loves.


Terror fills all of the living.

Death is a merciful fate.

The hand of the wicked comes forward,

And but few rise to challenge its hate.


The sword of the righteous shall smite it.

The hope of the chosen shall purge.

All power here born by the wicked,

Shall summon the good to converge.

~ Raziel


“Zeal is its own excuse.”



Our Lands





Our Ranks





Our Warriors





Our Memories





Our Doorways