Cisban approaches a raised dias, a crowd of a hundred thousand in the streets and colliseum awaiting his words
"My people, sons and daughters of Astoreia, for many years we have been a peaceful nation. Ignored, decried, and tormented by warmongerers from foreign shores. Ten years ago, I was elected to lead this nation of pacifists, monks, scholars, and farmers, and I asked for time, time which you so graciously gave me as I sought to fulfil a dream of our nation. A dream to resist the foreign horrors that sail the globe, that plunder our shores, THAT DARE TO TOUCH OUR HOLY SOIL! I used that time to rebuild this nation into a military power so grand that our neighbours and enemies envy us, and sought to bow us down!
BUT NO MORE! Cisban raises a fist as he the crowd roars, NO MORE SHALL WE BOW BEFORE THE BROKEN AND THE WEAK! He takes a second to compose himself, no more shall we address those beneath us as if they were our betters, no more shall we dredge the waters and till the soils for a meagre scrap. This land, is ours for the taking, land we rightfully earnt, land we were destined to have! BY OUR BLOOD IN THE SOIL, AND THE STRENGTH IN OUR HEART, WE SHALL SEIZE THE VICTORY WE SO DESERVE!
Cisban leans back from the podium as the crowds tempo reaches an inferno, the noise echoing through the skies above
Go forth my nation, go forth my sons, go forth my daughters, let not the sinner nor apostate sway us from our righteous cause, let not the foe within nor the foe beyond even grasp at our victory. GLORY TO ASTOREIA!
Cisban smiles as the camera cuts
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