[X] With the Rage of Rehabam we destroy our foes [Fervor rises to Absolute, recruitment will continue, the sect will prioritize absolute militancy over the next few weeks as it prepares measures to defend against the Jury of Nachivan].
[X] Ma'on, the gunpowder-fists of the Western Navel [Gain a contact in the Militant Pugilist sect and its squads of street-toughs, granting strong bodies on the ground].
[X] Elder Komandir Varhan Sarbadgar, who brings with him the support of his Pale Horse Standard and some of the most extreme veterans of the War with the Mare, many of them on leave in Nachivan and spoiling for a fight.
Gathered siblings in the house of God, we stand before tragedy.
Today, Tislev of 822, it is three hundred and sixty three years ago since the venerable and rightly-guided Pasan Ghadi died. Three hundred and sixty three years ago since the Grand Mouflon who made a million false servants of the Patriarchate weep. Three hundred and sixty years since Jurors, much like the detestable insects who now suck the blood from Nachivan, had to kill our Grand Mouflon by treachery. Cowed, pugilists across Vaspukaran bowed, satisfied with a Folk Rite granted to us by the Patriarchs.
Today, in the house of God, we stand before a tragedy for the Jurors of Nachivan have killed a child.
What depravity, what monstrosity does it take, I ask you, to kill a child? Ponder over the depths one must sink to, my siblings.
Five years ago, the Patriarchate stood face to face with the Grand Mare, the state which plies all the seas with their great ships of iron, and five years ago many Vasparak children were also killed. Do you think the soldier of the Mare, the gardener-corps and their janissaries, took it upon themselves to kill children? Not so! A soldier kills the enemy who is placed before him, and it was instead our proud soldiers, our heroic defenders of the flock, who took upon themselves the solemn duty of confiscating harvests, garrisoning houses and driving villages into destitution for the sake of their own salvation. I ask you, are the soldiers of the jury of Nachivan not soldiers? Then what soldier has a child as his enemy? Such depravity has not been loosened upon the world since the days of Babbarak, when man grew so wicked God had to swallow the world in the murky depths for his sin to be cleansed.
But the Jurors, our mighty heroes, did not restrict themselves to a child.
Where could be find any who thought, any who breathed, any who spoke the word of God, they descended like a horde of locusts. Defenseless women they proudly shot in the back and children not even of age to carry a weapon they kicked until the last bit of air left their weeping mouths. Siblings, sisters brothers, I ask of you: what kind of jury, and what kind of judgement, deems the murder of children, the elderly and women righteous? In the hands of the Jury of Nachivan are the ill-gotten gains of spoils taken from innumerable toilers and weapons built in the factories of the Grand Mare for shooting Vasparak soldiers and turned by the Jurors into excellent tools for shooting Vasparak, but we are many and they are few. The Jurors may have shook the door, but in response we will shake all the earth and make the very firmament shudder as the Grand Mouflon's steps once did.
In response to peace and protest, the so-called Jury of Nachivan is now bravely lowering a smoking gun. If these greatest of heroes, these world-pahlevans, respond with such fear to a raised voice, then how will they respond, siblings, brothers and sisters, to the raised fists of all Nachivan? This lowly sister Hwârvahr begs of you, let us remind the Jury of Nachivan why all foes of God once scattered when the Grand Mouflon raised the Six-Shin-Aluf.