---

Riders with news of Morne,

The lords, all murdered by slaves,

Slaughtered by Misbegotten hordes,

The weeping castle returns to siege.

Burning their wounded alive,

The others put to rusted steel,

An overwhelming sense of pride,

For every master that they kill.

-

Their aggression is relentless,

Swinging their weapons wild,

All who cross this path shall know,

The crucibles rise at the sedition of Morne.

Spread the word across the Lands Between

A weakness in the Orders strength,

Led to wretched running free,

The crucibles rise at the sedition of Morne.