NO MIGHT, NO RIGHT
A missive from the Court of Kings, c. 175 SA
Someone has bribed the scribes and town criers. This missive is public.
Ten years ago today, the motives of the lily-livered Sarryn, Dakaith, and her cohorts were made manifest, stoking the fires of what I predicted would be a cannibalistic, self-eating slaughter. For refusing to bend the knee, myself and others were made pariahs and later deemed threats to the stability of the coven that once belonged to us. I foresaw that, if Sarryn and Dakaith, or “Solomon” as he styles himself, had the gall to threaten mine and Cordelia's right to the hierarchy in the first place, they would revel in the tidings of war. After all, “might is right,” they told me.
My judgment was misguided.
What ensued was not a testament to their might, but a mockery of the teachings they crown their own and a shoddy throne occupied by the forebearers of cowardice and indolence. Of course, they won’t admit these shortcomings— they’ll maintain their farce of glory, and that I am the arrogant fool in over his head. Let's put those statements to the test.
In the annals of this civil war, we have slain three of their own and seized the flame of one: ones called Laelia, Azrael, and Aluthshae, for their threats on our lives and misaligned loyalties to the cockroach. And yet, even when their heads were delivered and Hell itself howled with vainglory, not a finger was lifted for their coveted prospects.
By way of missive and town criers (again, I emphasize, the only weapon they know is the pen and paper written from the comfort of their hidden homes), they sought to sabotage our kinship with the Overlord of Kaethul Yera, who in turn forsook our arrangement in an attempt to save face. But “sabotage,” “dismantle,” or “sunder” are ever the generous words. She was never a particularly useful ally, even when afforded the personal resources and information to enact change, so their operations along with the Mother Church proved to be of little consequence at the end of the day.
Since then, Sarryn and her underlings exhibit uncertainty, as evidenced in their reliance on clayfaces and disguise virtuoso. This proclaimed prodigy of the flame, the ringmaster of a new generation preaches “might is right” like sacreligious prayer, yet barricades herself behind impregnable steel doors and locked bunkers. It betrays a deeper fear of the inevitable, one I see fit to deliver personally.
But I am benevolent as I am vehement, and I understand patience wears thin as a thread for many of you. You were not designed to cower in the depths of deception and apathy, you were designed to stand on the mantle between providence and power— how dare she take that from you.
Shed your allegiance to Sarryn and Solomon, and in doing so, we will absolve your involvement in this war. Do so, and you will be spared street executions, no longer be hunted like prey, nor be stripped of your gifts. Should a tertiary coven be formed from the exodus, it will be considered a neutral entity disjoint from its predecessors. If there is any doubt to the merit of my words, I am not so foolish as to renege my sworn deals. Those are absolute. I am principled— it was not me who slew the Queen of Haense.
But her killers wear her blood like perfume.
It calls into question why, then, does Sarryn not seize Kinghood? Perhaps it’s a matter of judgment levied by ra’Urdol, that she does not deserve to feast at the table of Kings. Either way, she never had the nerve to go after true power. She knows not to share that mantle with me.
You cannot call yourself a threat to be taken seriously when you cower like a trembling leaf.
But rest assured, I don’t hunt you because I feel threatened— I hunt you because I feel like it.
Malphas