We're one, yet we are divided.
For many years our fatherland, the land of our ancestors and the sacred circle of earth given to us by the Gods, was inhabited by their sons.
All hail Zalmoxis, Father of the Getai and Saviour of our People.
For here we stand, alone and divided.
My name is Kostos. I am so named because I am one of the Kostobokoi, may Zalmoxis protect them. For we are a warrior tribe, and for a long time, the hordes of Skythioi have been cut to swathes by our mighty blades.
Since a young age I was taught the values of our ancestors, the one we shall follow until the end times. For Getia cannot be led astray, deceived by foreigners and their vanity, and become a bastard without root. Getia shall be forever One under the might of the Gods, and the spirit of our People.
To the South lie the Thraikioi, our cousins. But also our sworn enemies. It shall be our duty to show them the path, for they may be different at the first sight, but they are Getai in the heart.
We shall show them the true path, and make them retain the wisdom of our fathers.
The Greeks lie everywhere. I find them a mixed blessing.
They give us swords, goods, all kinds of riches.
But they are a filthy kind. Long ago they have neglected their own ways, and dropped into the most terrific vices.
They swim in their wine, and drink it until their deaths. They neglect the fate of their children, they tarnish the sanctity of marriage and of their own Gods. They think of nothing but profit and comfort, and deliver themselves into earthly delight.
Their fields now lay in neglect, and their corrupt spirit shall be no threat to us. When Getia is ready, we will drop on them like thunder, and noone of them shall have the courage to resist. They are not men.
The Romani are the third on this list, comrades.
Greedy dogs, like the Greeks all they think is of their money and their gain.
They shed the blood of their people to line the deep pocket of their magnates.
They live under their so called "freedom", where rich men are free to rob the people blind, the common free to say blasphemy unto their Gods and the earth, the women free to be promiscuous and the child free to disobey his parents and ignore his ancestors.
They shall not stain the earth any longer.
Their multitude of traders, slaves to money and luxury, shall perish without mercy.
They may throw gold at us, but we will throw real men at them. They will bow, and their rich lands shall feed us in convenant and respect towards our Gods. Their foul ways shall perish with them.
To the East I see nothing but petty peoples, long past their prime. Ruled by tyrants who think themselves as Gods.
If Zalmoxis wills it, we shall teach them their place.
And they shall bow to us in unison, born as they are to be slaves.
To the West, other peoples await. But who am I to tell of them?
For my knowledge dies here, silently.
And now let's sleep, comrades. For the night goes high, and tommorrow we shall be busy.
We march to war. Bloody war.
With our own kin.
Let the fire warm you in your dreams.
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