[These are tacked up by a limping, grim faced old man]

Citizens of Sanctuary,

I am not a young man. I am no Rhunyorn, Khovn, Crowshire or Dentra. I come not to you with flowery rhetoric, or promises of gold and wealth. No, I am old and weak and tired, yet from my lips you’ll hear the truth unmarred by ‘political realities’ or allegiance to an Order of effeminate magocrats. One Hundred and Forty Six years ago, our foes stood at the gates arrayed before us with terrors unseen. With little more than spears and the rags that sat upon their backs, broken by years of hard labour they turned them away into the night. Cast your eyes about. Where is the tenacity of our forefathers now?

The lower wards seethe with discontent. Those who could not escape are held in chains by the blade and the whip. The fires of rebellion have long since been exorcised from the hearts of its people, yet even as the blood flows freely in the streets our leaders dither in the Courts and whisper conciliation.

The Spellguard have long since been lost to the hearts of the people, content to brood in their Tower with little thought but their own interests, and the Watch sits idle, rifle with indecision and apathy. The Seekers, last of all, linger in their long exile, braving the terrors of the night that surrounds us, alone and forgotten. The people stir with anger at our doddering leaders, and no edict or proclamation shall prevent our future being decided in the streets with blood and fire tomorrow, should we not turn back from this dire course we have set ourselves upon.

I tell you right now, that our Government is failing us. The fools that sit upon it couldn’t likely find their own backside with a torch, and a map. If we do not stem this tide of inadequacy soon, it will sweep all of us along on a current of concessions. We have already given to them my home in the Canal. Who’s shall be next?

My name is Edward Raymus, and I speak this night to announce my candidacy for the sovereign Council of our Sanctuary.