It was the crack of dawn. The sun had painted the earth in all her firey colors for the first time since last darkness. while most citizens were awakening to go about their daily business, The ORDER gathered in their ossuary at this chilly hour, with the dew and the fog of the world above leaking into their catacombs like so much human pulp.
"It's come to pass that we must do something." Said the elder hooded one, "There are stray cats on every corner, and the illiterate dregs who rot on our streets are innumerable. There comes a time when the mightiest of us are called upon to do what ordinary citizens cannot."
"Ita vero." was repeated throughout the council.
"It is henceforth our responsibility, and our privilege, not only to clean up the Sacred Cytadel, but to further deter those who would take advantage of its hospitality." Said the Elder, "On this night, and all others, the imbeciles will fear the Hand of Mod. On this night, brothers, they will know why the flag of our nation is the color of skin and blood."
"Illae autem discite."
When the sun rose again, the streets were red with blood, and slick with human fat. The slums were burning, and those village idiots who did not lay dismembered in the streets were displayed on pikes. Over the forest of impalement hung a strange red banner. Rumors began to spread once more of a forgotten order, nearly lost to the ages...