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The scholar-prophet rose to his complete height, somewhere near 6 foot and 4 inches. Even though he wore his black cloak over his blood encrusted gray wool uniform jacket and pants, with his muddy, near knee-high, black leather boots, the cold San Francisco Bay Area air chilled him to his very core. His long wild white hair blew into his face, and obscured his vision. "Drat." he thought while reaching up with a piece of string to tie back his hair. "I have to keep watch, otherwise one of those filthy beast will sneak into camp, or attack and I shall not know of it, or be able to stop It.", he muttered to himself. Then, a slight crack of a broken twig came to his ear. Instantly his thoughts turned dark. "Have I been so careless that I have allowed one of those people to came into camp?" he thought, as he prepared himself for potential battle.
Fire filled his veins, and pure power crackled in the air, as he focused on the source of the sound. He was ready to smite and kill the source of the sound, if need be. A lifetime of fighting against The Imperial Knights of Lucifer and the other Legions of Hell and Doom had done this to him. A lifetime of war and protecting the people of Deseret had conditioned his reflexes in this manner. "Prophet..", came a voice, cautious and careful, "It is I Johnathan. Edward.." "Step forth and prove from the shadows and prove if you be friend or foe!", commanded The Prophet, Edward Lee. As a man stepped from the night, The Prophet's eyes filled with a terrestrial glory, and he knew this was no demon in disguise. "Ah, it is you Johnathan. Good. Are we ready?" asked The Prophet, his aged eyes softening noticeably, but not losing their stern intelligence. He had not really wanted to fight. He had seen fighting and death all his days. He had seen enough. "Yes, we are.", answered The Prophet's right hand man, Lt. General Johnathan "Old Juggernaut" Jackson. A smile threatened to come to The Prophet's lips as he remembered the way his childhood friend had received the name "Old Juggernaut". It was because Jackson had stood unmovable, and at the end, unstoppable, at the Battle of Ryan's Palace. As a result, the good people of Deseret's holy crusaders beat back the hordes of Hell. They had bought their children one more day of life. And for many, this had meant sacrificing their own.
Holding himself high, to give his people a source of earthly strength, he marched through his soldiers, his people, and his friends. Clouds came to his eyes as he did so. It hit him hard, the knowledge that his people faced the same fate that the people of Nephi had, almost more than 2000 years before. He knew that his friends, his people, his sheep, for he was their shepherd, and now his family, all of them, all knew that they faced certain genocidal extermination. They knew they were right; that their cause was just, that liberty must be preserved. Yet, their conquerors were wining. But for their for their freedom, for their nation, for the liberty of the entire world, they were most willing to go to war. Pride and thankfulness filled The Prophet's chest, for he was proud of his people's courage and bravery, and was humbled to be able to lead them. They looked to their LORD SAVIOR for strength, were dedicated to their cause, and truly lived the life that was described in their rallying war song, Battle Hymn of The Republic. "For truthfully," though Edward Lee, "they do follow the lyric, "As HE died to make men holy, Let us live to make men free", completely." Looking upon them only strengthened his determination to win this horrible war. "But how?", he thought "How?".
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