Derelicts, righteous derelicts. They stand across the fence. Upon the land charred by their enemies, scorched, barren, desolate. Yet, their heads remain held high, monuments of defense, fortressses amidst the raging. They are outcasts, they are transcendence and purity. They rise as towering citadel, as fierece shields of passive denial. Denial of defeat, a denial of conquer, a denial of submission. Truth, harbingers of truth. Outcasts. You cannot fell them.