The Battered Remains of Foolish Persistence

"The Battered Remains of Foolish Persistence" is a [SEASON NUMBER] thread started on [IRL DATE] and finished on [IRL DATE].
==Summary==
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==Full Text==
The rumble of war saturated the air of the continent. Even in the wreckage of the battle torn structure, the small collection of individuals within it’s basement could feel it…like the rush of a wave about to wash them all away. Their hour was desperate. More desperate then when the hollow city they hid in was burned by a rouge warlord, or even when gods themselves fought upon the earth.  
They gathered solemnly, and sat around a once important and impressive table, that was now ruined with mildew and age. It was an even spread of men and women. They were once nobles, and held themselves as such. However, they were nobles who’s eyes were tired, as they had experienced hard living in the name of survival, and had long yearned the days of old to come back. What truly set them apart though were all the marks they shared with one another. Bent noses. Misshapen cheekbones. Crooked jaws. While the chair at the head of the table remained empty, in memorial to the one among them that hadn’t survived at all.
Twenty years older from their height of Central prosperity, the collection of former barons, and overseers sat in quiet before one of them, a woman with several missing teeth pulled out a series of raven delivered letters, and passed them around the table. 
“As we already now…Vidar’s plan failed, his Construct is in the hands of the enemy. Likewise…the rumor of a man who could bend demons to his will faded as quickly as it appeared. On my own life, I cannot even recall the subjects name…” She gestured ruefully to the parchments. “And now the Rebellion moves against the last shreds of dignity Central has fought and bleed to keep alive…the last light left before his continent is plunged into darkness.”
“And the demon is with them…again…” An old man with a massive scar on his cheek said, the injury looking as though it had been gashed open with his own teeth before healing…poorly. “Darien’s betrayal could not have come at a worse time. He once marked the supremacy of Central, only to devolve into its downfall. What other explanation could there be?” 
“Explanations don’t matter anymore…” The first woman said, her eyes down cast. “Our time is up.” The words fell heavy on the group as the woman breathed a sigh. “The demon turned the tied when the Rebels should have fallen to Odin’s forces. It permitted that maniac to ‘negotiate’ away our very livelihood. It permitted the Rebels to fester for decades, and undo Vidar’s forces…It has marked our defeat at every turn.” She paused, as her hand came to gently rest on a large ledger before her. “However…ever since our exile…we’ve prepared a final cavate.”
“Darien’s research was meticulous…and our spies reporting intel on the Warden with every chance they had provided the rest to fill in the cracks…the only thing the fallen prodigy…was the inevitability of his personal fall when dealing with a demon…”
The woman nodded to the older man. “Something we have found peace with…the final obstacle to a permeant solution.” The book fell open, a wealth of information on everything Central had learned over a lifetime about demons, and more specifically, the Warden and her kin. “Warden…” The woman breathed. “You are mighty…but what will happen to you when one of us should make the sacrifice to bring worth one even greater against you. What will happen…
…when we all make the sacrifice to bring him forth…?”