“…non nobis, Domine, non nobis;
sed nomeni Tuo da Gloriam!”
Having won nothing and having lost all in the wreckage, you toil over vacant lands that yield a fruitless harvest. You sow weeds that strangle the grain and thorns that rend the produce.
In trying to conquer, you have been undone. With mickle might you warred long against an enemy whom was your only ally, and are now defenseless against the true Adversary. This Enemy is not merely at the gates, but encompasses you in every direction. Verily, it is later than you think.
A blanched façade covers a rickety structure, rotting girders support papier-mâché walls; a cursory sortie from the Adversary could scatter you as a house of cards. No longer even a pretend prince, you now sweep the streets you used to own.
From an indomitable tower, your patient Liege has suffered long your impertinence… and yet sends more warriors to your aide: Scholars, Bards, Knights, & Nobles. Each having traveled long in their different ways, the High King brings them from distant lands towards a single aim: to reclaim what is His.
“…not to us, oh LORD, not to us,
but to Your name give Glory…”
Come, let us reason together and may your swords stand with ours, for they will be knocked aside if raised in strife. Do not tarry in idle connivings, nor lift your voices in slander and contempt. Your reasoning has too long lacked Reason and your Logic is found ill.
The King has spoken, and His words are immutable. Gracious is He, but resolute also.
You will not enjoy this, this will not be over quickly… you are not your King.