Since griefers ruin our games, and sometimes there is no admin there to stop them, I thought it would be wise to create a backstory to this problem. Years ago, my people flourished in the middle ground, a peaceful tiara, where water flowed like the bloodstream of our desires. When the war came, we remained neutral. We did not care about nationalism nor cared for rebellion. All we wanted was our land, our sanity and our freedom. The first dark tanks of war came in October. They trampled over our homes, and engulfed our cornfields, hoping to leave a barren buffer where nothing survived. They bombed and destroyed everything around us while littering our streets with numerous recruitment fliers. The crimson warriors were no kinder to us. They plundered our livestock, stole our sheep, and hid like spies within our town. They killed any who dared to join the ranks of the Empire. Much of our youth were lured away either by force or lies, to be trained in the wilderness as one of them. When the Jekotian started to launch sneak attacks from our town, the unforgiving Empire responded with heavy bombardments, destroying our memories, our families, and what was left of our humanity. By winter, what was once a thriving settlement, turned to rubble. Those who survived pledged vengeance to all. And so that day came, when we were ready. We dispersed, drew up new identities, and joined the ranks of both Empire and Jekotian. We sabotaged their war effort, creating uncertainty. No longer were their fortified bases secure, no longer did their top generals live in safety far behind the front lines. We became the lords of anarchy, the daemons unspoken.