The sin shall be upon your head. Yes, I see that there are many of you. Yes, I know that your fellows in the trees have bows. I am not afraid of you, or of the sting of your weapons. Fear is the sickness of the weak, and the greatest blight the Turning has left upon the World.
Fear drives the weak to murder, the powerful to war, and the pious into doubt.
Fear of Chaos, fear of the Twisted Breeds, the Unholy Legion, or the armies of one's neighbors. Most insidious of all is the dark fear that breeds despair, fear that the All-Father is dead. Bid your archers shoot, if you must. As Saint Eliander endured the lashes of his tormentors and came through unmarked, so shall my flesh be as stone to your arrows, for Eliander's blessing is upon me. The blessings of seventeen bishops lay upon my sword, and my armor was touched in high mass by the Patriarch himself.