From the Ivory Crown: THE INDIGNITY OF CELIA'NOR

[Nectorist 12869]

T H E    I N D I G N I T Y    O F    C E L I A ’ N O R

Issued by the Ivory Crown & Grace of the High Prince

13th of the Deep Cold, year 224 S.A

 

Long before the war began, a human confided in the elves of Cauróst his regard towards the cruelty imposed upon our people by marauders and White-Rose charlatans.

 

“Nᴏʙʟᴇʀ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ɪᴛ ʙᴇ ᴛᴏ ʙʟᴇᴇᴅ ᴀʟᴏɴɢsɪᴅᴇ ᴅɪɢɴɪғɪᴇᴅ ᴇʟᴠᴇs, ᴛʜᴀɴ ɪɴᴅɪɢɴɪғɪᴇᴅ ʜᴜᴍᴀɴs.”

 

 

In times of war, understandably alien to those of the soft pastures, words are merely the instruments of assurance to those who fear to prove their strength on the battlefield. They twist the truth so that they may tell themselves that, if skill may not guide their armies, justice shall. However, in aspiring to be led by justice, they will not hesitate to stoop to any low ground in order to contort themselves into their fallacious beliefs. Having fled behind their walls, owing to their inability to defeat us in the field, they prove elusive in offering us any battles except those that they try to fight with words. The Ivory Crown’s response now is done for its own amusement, as the vanished armies of the Horenic Covenant seem to find meaning in the war of the pen.

 

In the late censure issued by the Horenic Covenant, the Princedom of Cauróst stands accused of having transgressed upon the Principality of Celia’nor, with the aid of the Canonist Church and Orcs of Krugistan. Our involvement in this war was founded on an owed debt to the Holy See, not buried history and blood-grudges that possess no true relevance in the political affairs of Mankind, for without their aid in years past during the age of the Eastern Crusade, it’s plausible Cauróst  would not have come to exist. Thus, it has been the intention of the Crown to act with grace and humility up to this point, for our honor compels our participation in the war of swords, not the war of words, in spite of the designation of our state as a “false-princedom,” alongside a slurry of deceptive, venomous, and outright unfounded accusations undoubtedly corroborated by the Celian Crown itself. With these allegations, the Horenic Covenant has sought to bring into question the dignity and legitimacy of the Princedom of Cauróst in juxtaposition to the likeness of Celia’nor. 

 

I. A “FALSE PRINCIPALITY”

Forgotten by the human hands that wrote this censure and the hands that nakedly desire to be human, is that the dances of bloodlines and lineages crucial to the legitimacy of the human crowns have little sway in the elven realms. Cauróst is a sovereign Princedom because its people will it to be, will its High Prince to be, and have yet to see their rise to power challenged. Galahad Ílumrin has no need to draw upon the legacies of his forebears to ensure his rule: strength-of-arms guarantees it, something the Celian Crown and their cohorts have failed to recognize. 

 

Most critically, however, is the undeniable truth that Galahad not only possesses a claim to Prince of Malinor as the eldest son of Húrin Ibarellan-Nullivari, but to the Celian throne itself as a descendant of the royal Ibarellan bloodline, something the Horenic Covenant conveniently neglected to mention in their original censure. To deny Galahad’s lineage as a descendant of the Ibarellan and Nullivari bloodlines is to call into question Húrin’s as well, thereby undermining an integral element of Celian history and heritage.

 

II. THE “HARRYING OF CELIAN ELVES”

The skittish accusations of the elves who desire humanity are as unfounded as they are pitiful. Save those noble, dignified families who have fled their former country, despairing the state of impurity and decadence it has fallen into, we have invited few Celians into our realm and certainly have done no harm to others. Our armies have kept themselves in the south and the west, where we have made battle with the Horenic Covenant alongside our allies. If the wounds of these recent defeats still ache, and the nightmares of failure keep the Celian Crown awake at night, we accept our portion of the responsibility, but no army of ours has ventured so far north prior to this missive. 

 

We implore the Celian Crown to look inwards, not outwards, for the flaws that cripple the ruined nation it claims to govern. While it falsely accuses us of harrying its people, its councilors divulge state secrets to us in the hopes that they may be rewarded with positions in a new order. As it writes fanciful poetry about the imagined crimes we have committed, its subjects write to us asking for clemency in the future. We weep once for the Celians who must live under such an unstable order, then once more for that order which must lie to its subjects among a time of wavering allegiances.

To the Principality of Celia’nor, 

When I relinquished my many stations in Leyu’sil, I did so with grace. I was willing to forsake the many grievances laid upon me, a boy, that left me bitter, wounded, and aggrieved at the hands of highborn lords and nobles too blinded by their own vanity to reconcile with the vices that had gripped their once respected society. In my exodus, I set my sights to the horizon and chased it with such zeal that your people wouldn’t comprehend since the Silver Rebellion. It was this zeal, whether fueled by my contempt or your incompetence, that would later become the Princedom you now scorn, while your citadel seeps with degeneracy and filth that you parade as something worth taking seriously. But make no mistake, you are hardly worth the ridicule you so brazenly invite.

 

Yet, to stay my blade as you so readily decry the merit of not only myself, but my people, would be to stoop to the indignity that you’ve permitted to dilute your society. It was this nature of inaction, this comfortable surrender to corrosion, that chased away dignified, noble elves who know better than to dwell with a creed of cynical royals who so desperately attempt to cling to the legacy they once had. It is these noble elves who weep when they remember what it once was to be a Celian, and what it is now to be a Celian. It becomes clear, then, why you saturate your ranks with mice-men and humans whilst priding yourselves on elven heritage: it’s a hapless attempt to compensate for the unfortunate retreat of your populace, and now that they’ve left, you cannot brandish your blades in the defense of your ideals as we have. You must crawl with the likeness of a lapdog to the Horenic Covenant while seeking comfort within your marble walls, to perpetuate your nonsense by way of quill and ink.

 

It’s no doubt that you are a militant people, whose bravado and methods of war strategy outshine that of their elven kindred in the south and west— I particularly commend the bravery you displayed in the Aevos Coalition War, of which I’m sure it has absolutely no bearing on your current political affairs with the covenant. Prior to the war, when the descendants were called upon to deflect the cosmic threat in the Aestmarch, it’s said your people acted with such honor that you abandoned the quest when not promised treasures in victory. Too, it is with great dignity that you elect to rekindle this buried history between us only when you have the assured aid of world-powers. 

 

Since Cauróst’s genesis, countless times have you heeded our formation as an affront to your hegemony. I was, after all, once a proud denizen of Starland myself, who had served for over a decade in service of your military and the pursuit of Celian ideals. In the past, when I was younger, less wise, and less tempered than I am now, I dismissed these paranoid and unfounded accusations that sought to vilify us and treaded diligently not to boast ourselves as something we weren’t. We possessed not the tapestry of history your people knew, no legacy, and no story. However, in light of the colorful claims put forth by the Horenic Covenant, I no longer feel the need to treat you with such tender regard. So, I will put it plainly.

 

My people did not abandon your pathetic excuse for a Principality only for you to weave falsities that we are anything but, simply put, your betters.

This will be the only letter I pen. You may either respond with words, or your steel.

—Galahad Ílumrin

Signed,

Galahad Ílumrin

High Prince of Cauróst , Prince of Malinor & Eldest Son of Húrin Ibarellan

 

 

Galar Ithelanen

Lord of Camlannen

[sam33497 7356]

Silwyn Cerusil read the message carefully, a pride blossoming within him. From a quiet home, his gaze was cast across the beautiful city of Caurost, to a distant Galahad leading a host of soldiers, claiming his birthright and ambition, not stopping at a sufficient level of achievement even when experiencing difficulty. A lengthy sigh left him. "You have surpassed your father. I never had any doubt in you... But it is still mystifying to see it."

[tasty_cheesecake 2298]

Enrique read the document, pondering: "Celia'nor never wanted passports anyway, and the Caurosi sign a border control pact with me freely."

[Holyland 3650]

[!]

A vagabond, a prophet - a Caurósian who had defied those who now beseeched his people to react.

Where were the stars of that land, that repugnant Celia'nor?

So, then, did he speak, with all the wisdom of one who knew tyranny -

- and all the ire of one who had been repressed by it, once before.

 

"When the sheep made the wolf their king, they thought they had found protection, but in truth, they had given him the right to devour them."

 

"The sheep of Celia'nor are still blind unto their wrongful kingsmen."

"How pitiful it is."

[Turbo_Dog 3566]

“Elves” Spuds states plainly with little else to it

[Orlanth 4667]

"A nation which was built by our hands..." spoke the illusive FERRYMAN from the shadows. "They would be (FOOLS) to think it would not fall by the same means."

[Chase 3793]

Tilruir'tir never fancied himself a national. Patriotism was thrust upon him from a young age, and he had grown to resent the very idea of it in his middling years. Now, on the cusp of a new Elven age, he could not help but enthrall himself at the shortcomings of the enemy. Things would be different. Things would be better. That alone brought him solace.

Spoiler

 

[Rig 17580]

"Pitiful garden snakes that they are, they shall be trampled underfoot." said Meracahe on the purported Celia'nor Host.

[RedResult 573]

Thalien Wynasul would look upon the missive as he would begin to smile thinking back to his days of celia'nor with a sigh escaping his lips "if only they knew of the sins they have committed.. i believe that those whom came before would look down in disgust as to what has been made of their nation." hed say as he would place the missive down on the table before him before pondering to himself. "the name of my house might be that of a curse upon those lands now. yet it will always mean something to those that know."

[Jihnyny 5233]

Spoiler

i love caurost :)

 

[Morigung-oog 5697]

The venerable Sohaer couldn't help but muster at a smile at the skilfully woven words  of her nephew.  Nursing a glass of wine, she sat comfortably within the hallowed halls of the Silver Citadel, drafting up warplans on her brand new table-map. 

 

"We may not see eye to eye, but even I cannot fault him for his words this time. A Nullivari he is indeed. Well played."

[trinn 5128]

Had the young Vulnrith been the same elf that left the safety of the Watcher's Roost, the loom of war would have bade him leave from the Princedom. Yet, in his time settled there, the gentle fall of silk had replaced itself with forms of steel. The dark metal of a gauntlet covered his hands, and he seldom left home without the company of his blades.

 

Despite his aversion for fighting, the distaste could be placed aside in favour of the honour to repay a promised debt.

Better battle-tested, than cowered behind penned missives. 

 

[Songwitch 1832]

"If you ask the lion to protect you from the bear, you've only chosen to end up in one belly instead of another." 

An unhurried vagrant named Tanayem declared.

"The Stars have truly fallen."

[Phoebe202 1057]

Alicent chuckled. "This makes it sound like Celia'nor is a middle aged man trying to one up his ex wife--and get custody of the kids, just to prove he's 'right'."

[Malta 2811]

A worn wiry hand grasped at the parchment sprawled out on the desk before it, rummaging swiftly through its contents before letting it fall back down squarely against the wood.  The Ferryman cackled, a raspy wicked laugh.

"Time to collect on some loans."