Propagation of the Truth.

Midnight. All is quiet. The silence is both soothing to the soul as it reeks with its indiscreet slither of insanity. All is still. All but that silent thump. *thump* *thump* *thump*, it goes slowly and - as if growing impatient - it slowly becomes louder and louder until *CRASH*.

What began as an innocent little pat would slowly become an incessant flurry of mad flailing and pounding upon the walls. The masons, the guards and gatekeepers are diligent. They stand fast and hold the fort. The walls will hold. There shall be no defeat this day. This day. What about the next? What about the month ahead? What about the future? Will fatigue not find its way into the souls of these obstacles? These shields of meat? Will not we succumb?

The city will soon tire of the ringing in its ears. Blow upon blow, it grew from a silent rhythmic harmony to a skippy beat and when the cacophony reaches its crescendo, will the city still be there? Will the walls hold? Not on this day. We are tired, we are hurt, but we have yet to be broken.

Hold fast and still my dears. Perhaps they can't see us shaking from the outside... We will win and they will never know of this...