People of Sanctuary.

Hm!

I do not stand here to bleat at you like a old goat. I am not here to fill your ears with honeyed lies and poison. I will not speak to you of my love for little boys or drone on about morality.

The town we live in is wretched and hard. Survival is not easy in these depths. We should not lie to ourselves: Sanctuary is surrounded by wickedness, and wickedness permeates every ruined building and street. Ours is a grim town.

People of Sanctuary, I must ask for your votes.

You know me, Gaeseric. You know what I have accomplished, and you know what I will accomplish. I will stamp the snakes out from the grass. I will wring the necks of thieves, whether they lurk in filthy alley or sumptious tower. I will force the lazy to useful labors, and drive the rats from the basement. Those who sneer at the law will be duly punished, those who twist the law to their own ends will be twisted by my own mighty fists.

Most of us were slaves, forced to suffer trials and tribulations beyond the endurance of lesser men. Why, then, do we build a town filled with mawkishness and petty regulations? We should live strong and hard, doing what is necessary and cleaving through the tyranny of papers and petty regulations. If a great and weighty stone must be removed from the street, I will ask the spirits to lend me strength and see it done.

Make no mistake, people of Sanctuary. I will serve as I have served before: the first to do what is needed, the first to reveal the disgrace of others who claim to lead, the first to drive this town towards its necessary potential as a bull drives his herd.

People of Sanctuary, vote for Gaeseric on this coming election. And, above all else, know this:

I WILL NOT YIELD