“I live by faith and I will die by faith:
...
I was brought into this world from the Thighs,
On the day of my death I will hear them clap,
And my body will once again become one with Her Bottom.”
There was a time when the Empire sat on the blade of a sword that dug deeper into its flesh with each passing year, but with the advent of the Electrification Era, the hand of peace removed the dark blade and firmly gripped at the Thigh Region. Now, even when the Serpent’s spawn breeds ever faster and greater Envasions, we effortlessly dominate these Horrors with the weapons of fire and thunder, retaking the holy Gorgeousness of our Allmother and relieving other sistren from the need to take up arms.
Today, most of the Thighland and its inhabitants are relatively safe, far from the mortal dangers posed by the Alleater and the actions of its creations. Envasions born on the Rusted Archipelago rarely swim to the northern shores of the Empire, preferring to march through the Tail Continent, as much of its Archipelago has already succumbed to the defilement, and only a few remaining Free Tail Nations refuse to accept defeated so easily. The Infernal Miscreations of the Crus are no threat to the Western Healing Front, and with the aid of the Koleus, the Malady is gradually being pushed back. Envasions originating on the Ashened Archipelago likewise target the closest victims, either Kozara or Koleus, while those Umbral shoals that pass Ratanel and Taranel will encounter only the towering cliffs of the Great Thigh Plateau, forcing them to detour through passes and beaches advantageous to the Empire's defenders. The ancient Clockwork Legions and their walking factories will soon be destroyed. Nor the Envious and their cults can thrive in a nation whose citizens’ hearts are already filled with virtuous thoughts and dreams; only the Cult of the Worm, still sealed within the Forbidden Catacombs of the Golden City, clings to its pathetic existence like a virus.
Because of this tranquility, the Empire of Hips and Thighs no longer demands its citizens to fight the creations of the Serpent, providing them a chance to never be tainted by images of war and Umbral Horrors… or worse. Instead, Thighlanders are encouraged to work industriously to graciously provide their neighbors, not with the number of monstrosities slain, but in material resources and labor, as well as spiritual faith and scientific knowledge. These foreign soldiers are thankful to the Empire, for they never fear hunger, knowing that after every battle they will be treated to such magnificent feasts that their thighs will grow thicker, and each sumptuous dish, prepared from ingredients grown on the fertile hips of Allmother, brings them closer to understanding why the Bottom of Meora is divine.
Only those who feel guilty about hiding behind others' bottoms while they shed their blood, or those who wish to righteously defend Her Gorgeousness in real battles, can enlist and join the ranks of the Imperial Leggionehrs – defenders of the Empire of Hips and Thighs, who know that behind their rears lies a world worthy of protecting and returning to, and whose backsides are looked upon with awe.
They are few in number, but even these few are enough to protect the Allmother’s massive Bottom: a small army of a hundred Leggios, comprising only a couple dozens of millions active-duty volunteers. Perfectly organized, dedicated, disciplined. Led by astute legates, with the grace of the Empress of Meat and the Thigh Council, these people are entrusted with preserving the purity and beauty of their provinces, exterminating the enemies both within and without. They fear no failure, because the Faith can correct everything. They fear no doom because their resolve is bottomless. They fear no death because they know that there will always be other faithful, who are ready to take their place and as ready to die for the Thigh.
***
What is beyond comprehension to other nation is the unique ancient manners of warfare the Thighlanders employ, with guerrilla tactics that not many dare to emulate and a success rate that surely no one can match. It is, of course, out of options to confront the Nightmares of Envy in fair fight. They have no concepts of Honor. It is in their dark blood to never be Honorable, and they deserve no fair fight in return. But the Thighlanders take this more critically. When other nations prefer to simply overpower this enemy, like a giant hand slapping a mosquito, the Empire is a spider who has already calculated the ensnaring of every arrogant insect that will pass through its web: hit-and-run strikes, mobile ambushes, surprise sniper barrages, mounted and motorized rear assaults. Complex, dangerous, and lengthy operations are flawlessly executed by a minimal number of soldiers with absolute precision and timing for every single kill.
The Imperial Leggios strike like lightning on a clear day – unexpected, so fast and so hard that no one will be left alive to hear the following thunder: “If the foe fears, then you have failed; the enemy must die before he fears you, for the enemy who fears you knows about you and will fight even harder”.
The Leggionehrs wholeheartedly love the Bottom, and Meora rewards their faith threefold. No other explanation can justify their success in waging war using methods that have failed for other nations. It cannot simply be superior skills alone. You can’t sneak up on the Nightmares of Envy, for they can sense every grain of dark desires in your Soul, but the devotees of the Bottom have none of that, not even the fear of failure. They simply live and love the Thighs. They fight knowing that the Allmother Herself will aid them, commanding nature itself along their path. Their mounts never stumble and are difficult to catch. Their aim is always steady and on target. And the failure is never thought of. This is the power of the true Faith.