Letters to Magnus Empyrean

[AuroraWR]

Several copies of a letter, each addressed to one Magnus Empyrean, are left pinned throughout the continent. The banker in Tilverton holds one in case the man checks his accounts there. Others are pinned in place with arrows: one to the docks South of the Monastery, another on the docks of Darmshall, and one last folded sheet whose arrow was stuck into the crumbling mortar of the stone entrance leading to Jyn Pal's underground hallways.

Who will find and read these letters? She isn't sure. Matilda just hopes one will stand long enough for the intended recipient.

Magnus Empyrean,

As my attempts to find you this last week have failed, I am writing instead. I do not write to you as someone with authority, instead I write as a commoner who knows what it is to live under the rule of nobles and as one who has lived in a world torn by war. I have seen the horror that unchecked necromancy creates and it is what pushed me from living out in the wilds to the safety of Arandor. I know what it is to feel helpless and to see injustice and be frustrated by an inability to create change.

When I first heard of what happened I thought to find you and hear your side of the story, that perhaps there were unseen circumstances around your leaving Mercadia. I prayed that what I was hearing was false because I did not want to believe the person I knew was capable of such senseless slaughter. Any pretense of hope I had was then destroyed when you started attacking the Elves.

It was Human necromancers who nearly destroyed Tilverton. It was Human necromancers who kidnapped, murdered, and defiled. Yet when you came demanding justice and change, it was Elven blood you spilled. In Arandor, necromancy is bound by law, watched by peers, and punished when abused. For decades it has not slaughtered innocents in the streets. Yet you have done what Elven necromancy itself has not. That is not justice for the protection of others, it is cowardice dressed as righteousness.

I do not believe you came here intending to become a murderer. I believe you once wanted to stop monsters and protect people. Perhaps that is true or perhaps I am simply being naive. However, the moment you decided that your ideals or pain excused the suffering of others… that was the moment you became no different than the so-called monsters you seek to ban.

If there is any humanity left within your heart I beseech you… please stop the senseless violence.

I write this request with a pit in my stomach knowing it is likely in vain. If you truly wished to protect the world from rogue necromancy you would use your blade within Jyn Pal, or spend your time bringing Rudyard to justice for his part in Tilverton. Instead you ally yourself with someone who supported the necromancer Zoma. He is no better than the Nobles of Kelt, reaping benefits of a position of authority then cutting his losses when it no longer suits him and leaving commoners to face the consequences.

The world you have created in recent days is less safe than the world we knew before you began, and it is the common people in the streets who have to face the consequence of your actions: both in fear within Edana and those of Arandor who were attacked. What you are doing is wrong. One life lost to this madness is one too many, and there have been so many lives harmed.

While I know I do not have the skills or power to stop you, that will not stop me from standing if I must. I will defend people, Human and Elves, as well as I am able. As someone wise once said… I believe in peace, and so I arm myself for its defense.

Sincerely,
Matilda Dawnvale

[Wyrd]

As Matilda checks the locations of the letters, she'd find no answer. That is, until she sets foot in the bank of Tilverton. There, she'd find a frightened banker, with a black eye, swollen lips and a bandaged hand. He greets her with a nod and, as he hands over her bankbox, he discreetly passes along a letter signed by Magnus. The banker's sad gaze says everything his words cannot.

Additionally, in Jyn-Pal, she'd find the letter there cut to pieces, seemingly by a sharp object. Deep marks on the wall where the letter was affixed to indicate the violence of the attacks.

This, however, shows a pattern. Tilverton, a lawless land with a bank and other necessities available... Jyn-Pal, a realm of necromancers and undeath... These are no coincidences - it is a path. And Matilda, being a skilled tracker, would be able to discern familiar footprints as well as hoofprints, all along the roads connecting both locations. And she'd be able to count one, two, three distinct tracks, quite recent too.

There's no mistake: they were there and likely more than once. With undeniable certainty she'd realize she's getting closer.


The letter left with the banker reads:

Matilda Dawnvale,

You should thank the gods this night that I found your letter before I found you. But, mark my words, I will find you still.

Your blindness in regards to your masters is amusing. And so is theirs. When Arandor and Mercadia were barking at one another over a drunkard, I took it upon myself to study elven history and culture, to know exactly who and what I was dealing with. That is when I learned of Jyn-Pal, which you seemed so eager to forget about in your letter, despite having left one there. Tilverton, at least, still stands.

Was it human necromancers who caused the downfall of Jyn-Pal? Was necromancy not bound by law back then? Watched by peers? And punished when abused? For decades - no, centuries, innocents have perished to the plague left in the Southlands by the very people you now defend. I'm old enough to have seen it before. I've seen it in Kelt and now I'm seeing it here - history repeating itself.

If you care so much for your dear Arandor, then you'd sooner rather than later wish it be rid of this rot. You claim that necromancy pushed you from the wilds and into the elven capital. How naive that you'd escape what you abhor only to find yourself amidst it, where it's practiced freely and even legally. Your elven masters cannot pretend to watch what happens between walls, underground or far away, by the necromancers they licensed to practice. Same as they could not watch the elves I put to the blade. Where were they then? And where are they when the dead rise from their graves?

Let me answer that: they are in Arandor. Protected by wards and magics. Yet, no magic and no ward will save them from another undeath cataclysm. Same as it didn't save Jyn-Pal.

Same as it didn't save the arandorians from my axe. It's a simple choice to make. A logical one, that resonates what history has taught us: ban necromancy and you'll no longer have to deal with me.

You accuse me of being a monster. You are absolutely correct. I am a monster, a warrior born and raised by war, forged in iron and fire, molded in the old ways. I am a warlord, child. And it was a mistake to try to be anything else, to conform to the laws of the new world, to allow myself to be controlled by sheep, under the false pretense of honor. How disgraceful of me. I should have known better. Honor is but the weapon of weaklings. A shield to hide behind, because they have no other choice.

I was blind, but now I can see again. There is only one true law to this world: strength. The strength to accomplish things, to change things. Laws could not protect Mercadia or Arandor. They are a feeble illusion enforced by those in power to remain in power, no different than the nobles you criticize. I was mistaken to think sheep are worth reasoning with. No. They must be ruled through fear and corralled in their pen by the strong hand of a shepherd.

Cease your silly attempts to throw tar at Clyde's name. I assure you: whatever he did alongside Zoma was infinitely inferior to what he did by my side in Kelt. You claim to have lived the horrors of war. You are far too young and far too meek to have lived through the eye of that storm. If you believe our actions in Arandor and Mercadia will burden our conscience any, child, you should have seen what we did in Kelt during the climax of the civil war. I'll spare you the imagery of hell.

You say I created a much less safe world. Good. It will only get worse. The panic you see now is but the dissonant bleats of sheep being put in their place. Soon, they'll silence again. And a braver, sturdier world will rise from those ashes. A stronger world where titles, oaths and letters such as yours will be things of the past.

Heed my advice, child: stop pursuing me and mine. You will not like what you find. This is the only answer you'll receive from me. I refuse to entertain a woman who's abandoned and forsaken her own race for an elven cock. Enjoy your days as a pet of Arandor. They won't last forever: either because you'll grow old as I did, if you're lucky, or because I found you first.


In vita et in morte,

Magnus Empyrean
3rd Legatus of The Iron Legion