I am glad you have the humour left to act unfrightened by this declaration. While your 'pretend courage' might be a bit inspirational to certain members of your fine city, the viel of truth is thin, and easily seen past. This sums up your organization as a whole. You have in your hands the power to heal, defend the weak, commune with Purity herself, but yet, you and yours use that power as an excuse to kill, and maim. For me, this war isnt about your petty shrines, for the only good it has served you in the past was fleeing from Combat. For me, this war is about the power abused. The sickening thud of a Mace, or a Sword brought down in Hatred, and Enjoyment.
Never again, will you enjoy a moonlit night away from your City. Never again, will your Churchmembers be able to gaze upon the sight of the Vashnars' without the fear of attack. How this is easily dismissed seems the epitome of inanity. Higher-structured orginizations seek your destruction. Your petty tirade of bravery does nothing more, than to exite the molecules within my blood. They scream 'The Hunt' to me. I indeed delight in the hunting, and killing of you, but I dont try and mask it with the illusion of Good. I bask in my soul's purity, while you suffer in truth.
As for the many who back the actions of old, I burn for your division. Seeing your soul depart your body seems a fitting end for the malignant misuse of your vehicle of flesh.

We're the carriers of a new anomoly,
Fold, unfold. Bend, shift colour,
Always turning our backs to the winds,
Deaf to the inner voices screaming.

Penned by my hand on the 16th of Scarlatan, in the year 234 AF.