Where is the Bowie Knight?

[The Vulgate Cycle 577]

 

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

 

Spoiler

A direct Response to@KidKrinkles's

NO OOC HATE I PROMISE!!!

 

---

 

 

It has been a long time since you and I have seen each other face to face. I still remember it, a cold bitter, eternal night, in a tavern within Vjardengrad. The land all around us touched by Orsathiael’s hand, stretching out, seeking to bring ruin upon us all. A ruin that I warned you of many decades before, warned you and all the others who took its boon long before this day, this final face to face talk. You walked like a man who knew he was doomed, knew that his choices had led him to fatal conclusions, and even then, I sympathized. I could only imagine how desperate you might have felt, how afraid, how alone. And even today, as I pen this very public response to you, I would still offer my hand out, to help you be rid of that nasty boon, should you still have it. Or any other you might be afflicted with, self imposed or otherwise.

 

Yet, I grow tired of your distant admonishments. Penned, in whatever camp out in the woods you call home now. Distributed among the masses, as though you bear no responsibility for the course your own people have taken. Pretending, as though your voice is authoritative, and you somehow bear any right to condemn us as you do. 

 

Upon the declaration of the Empire of Man, in that fateful court where Caraneth, the Queen Mother did battle with her son, the former Tar Anorhil, you may recall that half of Numendil stood behind her. Me, counted among that number; because I felt lied to by our then Tar and because I loved Caraneth deeply, and still do. I have to imagine many felt the same. Lied to, as though they had been fed curdled milk. Caraneth fought Victor's Justice and lost. 

 

She lost.

 

And Anorhil confirmed himself in his place at the highest seat of Numenedain power. For which we had to abide. 

 

Victor, before Tar-Anorhil’s reign had even begun, you had made yourself a rare sight among the Numenedain and once he took his seat of power, you were never to be seen again but a time or two. To the woodlands and hearth of Norland you went and grumbled distantly of events in the south.

 

—

 

Decades before, upon the Mountain that would prove to be Orsathiael’s domain, I bore witness to you and several others accept the boon of that fell daemon despite my calls that you do not. And at the time, I did not hold it against you. It had caught us at an extremely vulnerable moment, it infiltrated our minds as our bodies wavered and our willpower flagged. The feeling of chains wrapping about our limbs on top of it all, pulling, pulling, on us and the sound of its malignant whisper:

 

“I offer you a concordat … Of following, of that which you cannot forsake. A piece of me to buy my freedom, in time. To set in motion the breaking of chains.”

 

Yet I wonder now. Did you question it at all? Did you even hesitate? Did you not listen to its words and wonder what their true meaning was?

 

I suspect not, because for so long you were convinced that you could wield this unknown power to your will, your advantage. You were convinced you would save the creation. The Mountain fed you lies and you swallowed them whole. You did not heed the warnings of Thalandir or your kin. You and those who took those boons named Anorhil tyrant for requiring you wear a pointed hat.

 

And long after we began to suspect, with greater certainty, that only malice came with the boons of Orsathiael, I had to convince a child to not accept YOUR OFFER to one day grant that very same boon upon her.

 

—

 

By your own admission, you say you wept upon the ascension of Anorhil to the Throne of Numendil. You did not give him a chance, nor any benefit of the doubt. You say in your missive, titled ‘A Declaration of Conscience’ that you were concerned about the growing connection between the Church of Canondom and the Kingdom of Numendil. Personally, I shared these concerns. The Church of that time was riddled with sin, with hostility towards our people. Rumors abound that of threats made to burn down the White Tree, of War against us, of atrocity. I do not fault your misgivings. 

 

But for all your talk of mistrust for the church, of prideful monarchs, of a fall, what did you do? You left. And upon the declaration of the Empire of Man, you disavowed your Knighthood. The very thing that gave you the right to bring about meaningful change to our people. 

 

You claimed in that same declaration of your conscience that it was not a disavowal of your people, and perhaps, in your mind, you are doing what is right. But let us be frank with what has truly happened Victor.

 

You abandoned us.

 

—

 

Instead, with no knowledge of our people or their doings, you in your own words say:

 

 ‘While you might worry for the state of my own soul, I ponder now if those gallivanting have ever had one at all.’

 

…
 

‘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.’

 

A brazen affront to not only those who sought mercy, committed no crimes, or were simply not there, but our people as a whole. You do not associate with us, yet you assume the worst of us. You do NOTHING for us, yet say we do not do enough. 

 

You know nothing of our thoughts, our opinions, of our beliefs. You only know what you envision in your mind’s eye. There is no nuance, no complexity in you. Just the bitter idealism of a past half imagined by your nostalgia-fueled desire to return to a time that can no longer be.

 

—

 

In saying all this, I must concede one thing you have stated many times over. It is that you are correct to say that we are not redeemed just because the Church has decreed it so and lifted our status as an exilic kingdom. It is not enough to simply say we are redeemed and good, it is far from enough. And we have committed wrongs, which are not easily rectified by simply declaring that we were well intentioned.

 

Redemption however is an eternal process, one which, much like love, must be worked at tirelessly and ceaselessly. I myself, am one generation removed from a time in which Adunians were nearly extinguished from the world entirely. From a time when a dark shadow loomed large over us and threatened to consume us entirely. It must never come to be, it must be fended off at all costs.

Our people are not perfect. We never have been. Like all others, we will stumble, we will fall, and we will fail. We will come short of our mandate to Aeradar and the oath that Tar-Numenetar laid out for us.

 

Yet I am here and you are not. That is a difference between you and those that remain.

 

—

 

When Caraneth lost her duel with Anorhil, many of the Elders of the Numenedain simply left us. 

 

You, among them and LONG before most of the others.

 

You did not stay to contribute your voice and work ethic to our people, to the youth.

You did not stay to keep the spark of past chivalry and honor alive. 

You did not stay to help guide us through a new age, a new reality.

You did not stay to give us a chance to show you and the rest of our elders that we still believe in Numenetar’s vision. That we were doing the best we could.

 

You and the Elders left us a mess to clean up.
You left those who loved you and believed in you because we would not follow you all into self-imposed exile. 

 

That is why, in forsaking your Knighthood, which confers to you the legal right to do so, morally-

 

YOU HOLD NO RIGHT TO EVOKE THE LAST RITE OF KINGS

 

 

---

 

Signed,

Ser Arthur-Indocar Marsyr, Brannohtar of Clan Rhysfelgar, KNIGHT OF THE REALM

 

[Xayshi 49]

reserved

 

[Rayalia 537]

Like so many missives sent by those she loved, this, too, gets placed with a heavy heart in the Iron Princess' desk drawer. The poor thing barely closes, bursting with parchment after parchment of evidences: conflicts and reminders of the present and past, those that send pangs of hurt through her heart. Some scripts - her own - pile up entirely unpublished, for she herself had never had the strength to let her own words be truly known; not like how her Marsyr-cousin had, not this, not compiled rather than in small outbursts. The new piece to her collection draws some ease to her, however, alongside a minute release of resentment paired and mixed with a dash of guilt. 

How often she pictured what could have been if more had simply stayed and tried, if she'd been successful in convincing them to. How lively and wonderful the small safe-haven of Angrenost might have become; a relic of history mixed with the brightness and whimsy of the future, where one's word meant oath and oath weighed the quality of the soul. Iron on the outside but a bleeding heart within, the royal would endeavor to thank Arthur in the coming days. For what, exactly, would remain only for the two of them to know.

[Seva 624]

Mîrithiel of Sidhrion hums lightly as she settles a gaze across the missive. She set the papers down on her friend's desk, tilting her head in approval. "Some of us have lived through these long years. Empire or no, we stand." She shook her head lightly. "I am not the girl I was who spoke honestly to the Emperor, but neither am I a woman who would hide from it." There was nothing left to be said.

[Gaja 1310]

Frederick Euler would think back on the many long years back on Aevos. He wasn't even a knight for most of them--the struggles against Orsathiael, the Druscans, attacks from the undead or warlocks and heaven knows what else. He'd recollect that he never quite felt settled in Numendil, for those like Victor Rorin were never his people--they would not welcome the Adrian man, despite him living his whole life in the same Kingdom, for Frederick was of Adria and his family of Veletz.

 

Yet, all those battles, he stood side by side not with Victor Rorin, but with Arthur Marsyr. For Victor Rorin had abandoned the Adunians to play hero in Norland, a loathsome place filled with the worst of the worst. Frederick smiled as he put the missive away, for despite all their disagreements and differences, both him and Arthur protected the same home, the same people--and hoped for a brighter tomorrow.

[Sonybut7 530]

A Nord looks upon his morning letters and missives. Affront the hearth, did he gather with his two young children- twins they were. And there came the missive, a quick glance was made over it. And so equally was it tossed into the fire, for the Nord did not concern himself with the slop missives of Idunia.

And so his day went on, knowing he lived in a land where the word rightenous isn't used to hide away a families of foul-ilk.

[Werew0lf 24179]

“Peace and love, until I see Victor Rorin enter my territory. Argelion, would his mutilated scalp serve as a fine gift?” The Emperor read the missive within his bedchambers, filled with newfound strength. He pondered on his thoughts, and decided to head to the Idunian capital to meet his best friend once again. 
 

An order is sent out to the imperial dragon knights regarding the capture of one ‘Victor Rorin’. 

[Cally 1080]

A Grand Admiral of Idunia, Maerîl sat at her desk with a pipe of Oyashi opium between her teeth as she filed a death-painted finger down the bounds of the scroll. Golden teeth grit in the night did she hum in some approval of her Knight Commander's words penned. Once, had Victor Rorin been a dear friend of hers, even in his long ignorance of Orsathiael and his whims. Thinking foolishly that he could rule over what was expected of him, what the Daemon forged him for. Slowly had she begun to lose sympathy for him, after hugging him with his proclamation that he didn't want to perish at the hand of an eternal being. 

-

Said eternal being had kept her up at night with the doomed preface that it had taken her daughter from her, along with the weight of the world that she had added sand to. She felt guilty, even if everyone said she shouldn't be. Chains, was all the noise that filled her ears in cusp of sleep.

The moment she found out that he sought to spread this misfortune upon others did she declare that once he entered her territory, friend or foe, he would become the latter.

 

Dead by her hands would be the only outcome that would bring her any peace. 

Knowing then, that his malevolent touch could not reach anyone again.

And he, her once greatest friend, would never again be the catalyst of powers he could not know, nor control.

[HugoAntero 1962]

50 minutes ago, Werew0lf said:

“Peace and love, until I see Victor Rorin enter my territory. Argelion, would his mutilated scalp serve as a fine gift?” The Emperor read the missive within his bedchambers, filled with newfound strength. He pondered on his thoughts, and decided to head to the Idunian capital to meet his best friend once again. 
 

An order is sent out to the imperial dragon knights regarding the capture of one ‘Victor Rorin’. 

Conspiracy theorist Eugene "Lucy" Frybo pumps their fist in the air as Hadrian and Argelion appear to share their bedchambers.

[Nooblius 7965]

A Red Pilgrim sat upon a tree stump in beautiful Alduun's shadow. The Autumn Isle breeze brought serenity to this old monk after a lifetime of toil. A friend approached him, telling him of these dueling letters. Carandir shared his mind;

 

I had always said, to all my detractors, that I would wager there not be a king or prince more than I who would hear their concerns, their accusations, and answer them. I alone, would listen to those who condemn me, for sorry fear of my own soul, and trust in the heart of the fleep; who well understands the virtue of compassion, better than a man of war with a broken heart.

 

Some can say I had convinced them of my view. Some can say I had been convinced by their view. Some can say we understood another better, but disagreed; none can say they had heard and achieved nothing- except those too afraid to act.

 

I need not remind you who belonged to each category; you know, friend.

[JustMeMorgan 2065]

"This is a lot of words for the people that skin, gut and mutilate children." said Acalmaehr pointing at the post amongst colleagues and friends. "I wonder how many Orenian infants they put in that big torture bill in their cities. They really have no leg to stand on."

[Werew0lf 24179]

2 hours ago, HugoAntero said:

Conspiracy theorist Eugene "Lucy" Frybo pumps their fist in the air as Hadrian and Argelion appear to share their bedchambers.

 

Spoiler

ive been erping with lenny