The Epidemic of Self-Saviourism; 'Letters to' your own amour propre.

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Cigarette ashes stained the letter, the familiar smell indicating the Dwarfess who wrote it before her writing could even be read.

1631869204533.png

(a macabre painting of the bodies at Elfmarch, Aellen soldiers piked in a manner which mimicked army legions.)


To my beloved citizens, All to which are equally my brothers, as you are my peers, and my highest concern-

Do we lack the comprehension of our own statements? we have with no hesitation nor self-respect thrown negligent sign-offs to the public; scorning the fighting capability of a battle you cower at the mere thought to fight in.

I read many a letter, many a statement, many a 'decree' of removal or critique- yet so comes the writer, men who call themselves of this land, yet when our walls are stormed, they cower in their expensive homes, personal libraries, or worse yet; foreign lands.

If you are one to desert a battle in your silence, feathers of white upon your head- then in such, you are pitying, yet tolerable; but to those men who act like their 'donations' are of importance when merely just a name to a sum, those men who foresee that we should 'fight'- yet seemingly find every reason to miss the battle- you are the derogatory aspect of the term 'Aellenite'.

I will love this nation to my dying breath, but i have read policy upon letter upon treaty- we dig ourselves deeper into pity, we blame Calendale for any matter we have; call them barbarians? Only a month ago guards attempted to execute a Calendale peasant within our walls, to the publics knowledge, she had committed no crime but be an Umri on Aellen soil- a familiar offence we were outraged over under the West's doing.

We have become hypocrites, and self-entitled at that.

The politics is but a bell-curve, the more we seek to hate Calendale, the more we reflect them; this is a public cease and desist.

More appropriate so, it is a mere statement; Fight our battle, Involve yourself in our politics, forsee the war- but the letters do nothing but muse laughter and self-defeatism.

But one more letter, designed to full one's amour propre or critique an establishment they have never attempted to correct; so be, the fall of this nation will come upon us in fury. Give your coin to our military, fight our forces, unite in spirit- or perish in cowardice.

With love or reluctance, my friends, we shall move forward.

'Cain.'
 
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Burnsalan20

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Elred read through the letter lofting a brow at the harsh words the little dwarf spoke. "My letter was not a surrender or a call for cowardice... What is she talking about?" His ear twitched as he grew ever more annoyed "Not wishing to spill my families blood for a nation that spit on it is not fleeing... It is merely a reconsideration of priorities. Not even an apology was offered.." He pouted for a moment before pinning a copy of Aellens Offering letter below

 

Dog

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Aldric stared at the missive with mild interest, eventually returning a letter apace to the author. The letter was neatly placed near a shrub of prickly leaves, it’s content written in cursive.

“Let me be your King and Calendale will not fight elvenkind again. Thank you.

- Aldric del Riviere”

The olden wraith stared in odd fascination of the prospect, knowing he would - once again - rule as a great king of enarion!
 

Lyte

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Arndil stared at the missive for a bit before a simple sigh left his lips. “How I wish the army was more discreet and had the Elf power to fight back Calendale’s forces.” He said before leaving the area to continue his duties.
 

Sukitoru

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"If I were you, I would not protest for them." A woman spoke, lazed hands gently pinching the corners of the copied paper she had found of this missive. She speaks, once more, to her friend No-one; For they listened about politics. Odilia was not one for them, and so she would not bother her weaponcrafting.

"Regardless of hypocrisy, they will find reasons to call you knife-ears, whores, bitch-men and scum." She tiredly pulled at the rims of her mask, and then tugged at the jaw - It unclasped, and there was a crack of usually stone-set limb and muscle being moved again. She'd stretch her fingers and arms out following.

"And to that end, to keep yourself from dying, you have to live under their heel, constantly pushed into the mud." She sighed, recalling a friend of hers;

"I so hope this determination lasts, Docherte. Eventually, they will march on that city, slaughter everyone within like penned pigs,"

".. and then be known as honorable for annihilating a people reduced to herbalists and writers." She spoke, before putting the letter away with all of the other war-letters; In chronological order .. No, alphabetical, today. A little different. Soon, she'd go back to studying what would sooner kill her. No-one has heard enough, she'd assume, and so she continues to be the mage in the tower.
 
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Artoria

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"Honor.. That chivalrous term has changed since the times of old Westholm. Perhaps it is time that I stand up one last time.. to show what true honor means to the world." The old knight commented, grasping the hilt of her mithril blade one final time.
 

Swifty

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Anthony Coalman scans his eyes across the missive. He would spot the comments about cowardice and defining the term 'Aellenite'. He nods in approval.

"This one has honour, perhaps they can inspire the Nation. Let's make this a fair fight, the winner takes all one last time."

He then pledges to himself that if he was to strike the writer of this letter down in combat, he would try to the best of his ability to keep them alive and take them back to Calendale for a drink - for he respected them.
 

Snavier

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For once in the cursed mans life was he impressed by an Aellenites writing and approval of peace, he read over the missive as the creatures around him grew suspicious and backed away just in case something was doomed to happen.
But. . Nothing happened, Guilt exhaled briefly in Approval before a wide smile was plastered on his face,

"Impressive. . This shocked me even. ."

Guilt removed his utensils and booklet as he dipped the Quail feather in the ink and began writing and sent the missive to the wonderful writer;


To the One who wished for peace.

You have impressed me, your missive gave me a realization that not all of you Aellenites are - Evil.
You shall hear from me again sooner or later and I wish to have a drink with you, Cain.

May the Guilt find you first.

Signed By;
The Guilty One

He stamped his missive and a bunch of other notes to his satchel before he hid it behind his cloak before setting out, before he left; He fed his creatures and set off out the estates quarters.
He left to find.
 

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