They say the Dawi are the great bearers of grudges. Every slight is recorded, every offence committed to memory and no transgression left unanswered. They swear oaths to their false ancestor gods to right past wrongs and bring balance back to their foolish perception of the universe. So shackled they are by notions of right and wrong, good and ill, honour and dishonour.
Your erstwhile cousins have vast libraries and tomes dedicated to the subject of grudge. Yet, truly, they know little of the concept. For you, Dawi Zharr are the true bearer of the grudge.
It was you, in that long forgotten age, with eyes filled with ash and a parched tongue who called into the darkness. It was you who heard the oppressive silence and echo of your own pleas as an answer to these prayers. It is you who was driven to the depths of depravity and sin for mere survival. It is you who emerged from this time, alive but with the greatest grudge to bare.
Let the fools keep their records for you need no scribe. Burnt into your ancestral memory is the recipient of your hate, the object of your ire and to whom the sum of all your vengeance are levelled against. One word. Everyone.
Thus Spoke Xarathustra.
