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[!] Whereas Quill's letter was private, copies of Richard's response are spread across the Hadrian Empire for all to read
A LESSON IN HONOUR
Issued by the
MARKGRAF OF VERONIA
On this Harvestday 26th, Highbloom, 1563
A LESSON IN HONOUR
Issued by the
MARKGRAF OF VERONIA
On this Harvestday 26th, Highbloom, 1563
QUILL VON EISENWALDE,
Your letter is written with the urgency of youth and the conviction of one who mistakes boldness for wisdom. It speaks loudly, but says little that withstands scrutiny. There is fire in your words, yes - but also the smoke of delusion.
You issue your challenge with all the drama of a child playing at chivalry, unaware that men of state do not settle matters of law and honour with theatrical posturing. Were I to accept your duel, it would not be a meeting of equals - it would be a public flogging disguised as sport. I have no desire to humiliate a seventeen-year-old who cannot yet tell the difference between righteousness and petulance.
You dress your accusations in poetic outrage, as though mimicry of style might make up for lack of substance. You accuse me of corruption, cowardice, and vanity - but in truth, the only thing I have seen you wield with any confidence is your own ego. You wield it proudly, too, like a boy swinging a sword he has not earned the right to carry.
You speak of justice and equality while drowning in the arrogance of your own assumptions. You presume to lecture me on honour, having never borne the weight of command, never sat in council, never faced an enemy in battle, nor stood alone against the fury of the realm. I have done all these things, not to elevate myself - but because someone must. While you posture, I serve.
I will not indulge the fantasy you offer. I will not duel you. Not because I fear your blade, but because I refuse to dignify this farce with steel. My blade is drawn for the defence of the Empire, not the bruised pride of a boy who believes raising his voice makes him a man.
Your tongue is too quick, your pride too swollen, and your understanding far too thin. You have mistaken inherited title for earned stature - and it is precisely that confusion which makes you unfit for the challenge you propose.
I do not fear you, Quill. I pity you. You are a product of a house that has traded legacy for noise and dressed petulance in noble colours. You are loud where you should be listening, reckless where you should be learning.
One day, perhaps, you will learn what true honour demands. It is not thunderous speeches or gestures plucked from bardic tales—it is restraint. It is clarity. It is knowing when silence speaks louder than any sword.
Withdraw your challenge. Save what little dignity remains to you. And if you truly wish to serve the Empire one day, start by mastering yourself before you attempt to lecture others.
Your letter is written with the urgency of youth and the conviction of one who mistakes boldness for wisdom. It speaks loudly, but says little that withstands scrutiny. There is fire in your words, yes - but also the smoke of delusion.
You issue your challenge with all the drama of a child playing at chivalry, unaware that men of state do not settle matters of law and honour with theatrical posturing. Were I to accept your duel, it would not be a meeting of equals - it would be a public flogging disguised as sport. I have no desire to humiliate a seventeen-year-old who cannot yet tell the difference between righteousness and petulance.
You dress your accusations in poetic outrage, as though mimicry of style might make up for lack of substance. You accuse me of corruption, cowardice, and vanity - but in truth, the only thing I have seen you wield with any confidence is your own ego. You wield it proudly, too, like a boy swinging a sword he has not earned the right to carry.
You speak of justice and equality while drowning in the arrogance of your own assumptions. You presume to lecture me on honour, having never borne the weight of command, never sat in council, never faced an enemy in battle, nor stood alone against the fury of the realm. I have done all these things, not to elevate myself - but because someone must. While you posture, I serve.
I will not indulge the fantasy you offer. I will not duel you. Not because I fear your blade, but because I refuse to dignify this farce with steel. My blade is drawn for the defence of the Empire, not the bruised pride of a boy who believes raising his voice makes him a man.
Your tongue is too quick, your pride too swollen, and your understanding far too thin. You have mistaken inherited title for earned stature - and it is precisely that confusion which makes you unfit for the challenge you propose.
I do not fear you, Quill. I pity you. You are a product of a house that has traded legacy for noise and dressed petulance in noble colours. You are loud where you should be listening, reckless where you should be learning.
One day, perhaps, you will learn what true honour demands. It is not thunderous speeches or gestures plucked from bardic tales—it is restraint. It is clarity. It is knowing when silence speaks louder than any sword.
Withdraw your challenge. Save what little dignity remains to you. And if you truly wish to serve the Empire one day, start by mastering yourself before you attempt to lecture others.
Loyalty Binds Me
The Most Honourable, Richard Vianden, 1st Markgraf of Veronia, Reichsmarshall of the Hadrian Empire and Chairman of the Imperial Diet
The Most Honourable, Richard Vianden, 1st Markgraf of Veronia, Reichsmarshall of the Hadrian Empire and Chairman of the Imperial Diet
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