Where are the White Riders?

[KidKrinkles 2043]

 

 

[A missive sent and scattered far and wide, plainly available to those who read it.]

 

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If you find something tugging away in your chest, that is your conscience clawing up your throat in revilement.

A black ichor seeped into Numendil long ago, and there it pooled. Perhaps it began with the emboldening of the bravest—those who stepped into their orders feeling ten feet tall. Might makes right, after all. But what is it now that fuels the mechanical march of your legs?

I say often that Numendil has fallen so far. Even in quiet conversations spoken in confidence, crossing through the countryside or in some wayward tavern in a far-flung place, I still find Knights trying to justify their actions and their oaths to me, as if I am the one astray.

Letters make fine kindling to me. As if I were the pen pressed to your chest, running black ink down your skin, marking you forever as cowards, dogs, and murderers. Yet I find myself writing upon mirrors more than pages these days, for all I offer is reflection.

Spare me the tired refrain of “But it wasn’t me!” I’ve grown tired of the ‘what-about-isms’ of half-baked hearts. If I could shake awake the dead of Norland and Hael’unor, they would tell you plainly that your complicitness did more harm than any Imperial sword. 

Let it never be unsaid that a Knight who follows tyrants shares in his tyranny.

Is there any question that Anorhil’s line has always been scourgestone: gilded, sweetened, polished to mask their Machiavellian plotting and guile? 

It is not a question. The righteous do not rule the White City anymore, and the gallant do not follow. We have all contributed to a great and bloody icon, turning penitence into our past sins made manifest once more.

So too did we once rise as a great empire and conquer, only to fall and crumble. So too does a second tide of Adunic blood, and greater Adunic shame, rise now as a vast tide on the horizon.

 May the deluge sweep away the unjust who pretend at boldness.

It is no shame to admit wrongfulness. I do not castigate you; my former peers, my lifelong friends, my home. I do not bury you beside your onyx-crowned King and his blood-red blade.
I shout at you to awaken.

 

 

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I pray you lift your eyes from the banner above you long enough to see the corpses your chivalry and skullduggery afford.

There is only one amendment for what has happened and what continues: the answer you already know. The Last Rite of Kings must be invoked. 

Will you regale your children of the honorable deeds committed in this heartless crusade? I do not believe Malchadiel will afford you the glory of a shrunken infant’s head to carry upon your belt; though I am sure you might frighten the youth plenty. Is the title of “Ser” truly earned if you cannot do what is right when it is needed most?

And to those standing aside while the world warps around them, while a coalition of men knocks upon your neighbors’ doors and drags them into the streets, I ask:

How long will you keep chewing your tongue and soothing yourself on your own self-deluding words,

 “Surely, I am not next.”

Woe to the fool who opens his doors to a Dragon.

Should you wish to reply; do not. 

You will find me amongst those defending their homes, and might speak into my ear amongst those ranks, or, spit your blood-mixed words into my visor as you expire.

 

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Spoiler

 

[Lenny 1615]

“Isn’t this the righteous one that stood beside us as Haelun’or saw its judgement and cheered for it? How strange ... I wonder if that threat of his will ever ever be attempted.” Tar-Zôrzagar spoke to his son nearby as he peered over it, “I suppose his ‘courage’ only manifests with a pen in hiding, a shame.”

@TomFunks

 

[TomFunks 756]

“He could muster not the courage if he tried, for he abandoned Malchediael in greed. Who could care for the words of a man who prefers a chain around his neck to a white flame?” Pharazôn questioned in turn. He pondered his father’s initial inquiry, then. “Indeed, his voice bellowed first against the High Elves, yet now he presents himself as an ally to the weavers. Where was his blade? Is he not complicit, too?”

[_Sheylo_ 1177]

"This one is righteous. Yet I do not know what he calls for.." The High Elf, one of many whom had quickly evacuated stated upon reading the letter that had quite easily found itself in his clutches. A faint, azure shadow followed in his grasp of the letter, as well as the folding of it and setting it neatly away, rather than the usual casting of it into flames. "Though may he gather those of the blade an expedite our wait."

"He will come to realize soon enough, that the only battle is with patience." A hand wafts up, that same azure shadow following as he gestures to his very close friend nearby, offering her the letter.@WizardWhisper"Within time, they will eat themselves as they have before. 'Tis a cycle for our safety net. Once it is safe, we will come together once again. - In the mean time, let us search more on what AEVOS  has to offer rather than petty squabbles between the descendants. - That is what you like, no?" 

 

Spoiler

((Do not metagame. This is sent to the poster of this forum,  "Victor Rorin" @KidKrinkles))

And even so, a letter might yet find its way to the writer's doorstep, abode, or concealed refuge. Words of encouragement are to be had.

So read the letter, "The dead of Haelun'or was only of the delegation. Our people yet live, as they shall due to their evacuation. You have our support."

"You are a brave soul, yet lost initially, you have found your way. Understand that this has occurred before, and it may yet transpire again. You stand upon the side of balance. And upon the side of balance lies peace, prosperity, and learning. Maehr'sae Hiylun'ehya."
 

A few dashes were marked before beginning anew. "I wish you fortune, my friend. I helped raise Numendil, and even so, I shall witness its fall. The Adunians, initially of Barrowton — they were good people. You are the last of that noble ilk. Remain steadfast and stand against the tyrants. Those who follow them are blind or lost. You must instruct them. — Not all may be swayed beneath the fall of a blade."

 

[Helmet 1454]

A piece of metal clamped around one of the missive's sides, staring at it a good while. A chortle reverberated through it's owner. "Odd, how ah mix-blood carries Horen's heart bettah than th'men o tha Empire themselves. To give into 'might makes right', is t'embrace th'thoughtworks of the Dark." The old and senile thing lectured a cliff face aloud whilst alone, standing in the middle of some forlorn road.

 

"The splintering of man is inevitable, at dis rate. Author protect us all, in it's wake." He pinched the parchment with his middle finger & thumb along it's equator, using his index digit to fold the paper in half before sticking it into his vest.

Edited December 4, 2025 by Helmet

[Venomous_Pup 2978]

1 hour ago, KidKrinkles said:

Might makes right, after all.

As the Star-Touched Elf's eyes gazed over those dreaded words, it only incited further paranoia; the heretical teachings seeped into that which claims counter of Dark, that invokes remembrance of the words drawled out by a High Warlock, only to reinforce what he claimed was the truth of the operating entities of the world. The Nature of the Ibleesian Curse only became clearer. What the old history taught was mere misdirection, to make way for a more insidious plan, and the Descendants would unknowingly fuel it. What is one meant to do?

[The Vulgate Cycle 577]

"What the hell does he want us to do? Fall on our swords?" the recently elevated Knight asked no one in particular. Frustrated. "What right does he have to evoke the Last Rite, when he himself gave up that privilege?" asked a Blood Royal.

In response, penned under missives he found.
'You didn't stay to help us make the best of the new reality; you and many others abandoned us to deal with our problems alone. You don't know better. You hardly know us at all.' Signed, Castamir Mithrenion.

Edited December 4, 2025 by The Vulgate Cycle

[Turbo_Dog 3567]

Spuds read the missive not once but twice. It was powerful poetry to his eyes but he would fall into the same trap thousands have over the years. Speaking his thoughts aloud for only the air to hear though he knew this very well “Sure glad I knew what I am. A mercenary is all of these, and I am a mercenary. Knights do what I do for free it’s bad for business. And I want business.” The mouseman was left though only to mourn for customers who’d play the price for the lives of others as he’d only grumble for the time about this

[PrimnyaQuorum 3999]

"Oh, Victor-"

 

A Pale-Elf seems to lament, in his own distant corner of the world. In his grasp is cradled a relic; 

 

a reminder of a past, unified time. 

[JustMeMorgan 2065]

Nested in a building covered away, Acalmaehr began producing weapons and tools, saddles a plenty. He’d take two of the fastest stock left from the dissolution of the Silver City to a field…

 

”Change of heart Victor huh.” - “When the one who may read fortunes begins to bear arms against the Hegemony, that is the calling all must hear. Asul lente karin’ento. The sun will rise, and it is now only Urguan and the Horde not invaded with the politics of an empire who wishes to consume all of Azuras.”

[MatronMaeve 170]

Morwen Callaghan’s eyes slowly traveled the page as she silently mouthed out the words. She started from the top once more, reading them multiple times over. Were her own people waking up to their dark deeds and role played in propping up a tyrant? “Never thought Ay’d hear a confession from one of their knights. ‘Bout damn time our people acknowledged the sickness that is mankind. Our needless pursuit to erase anythin’ different than us, but a scourge on this land. 'Let the deeds I act out now be better than those who came before me'- ya that be a bunch horse shite. They know n’ their hearts they fallen.”