Brace yourselves for a long and winding tale, Sapience.

Some months ago, a strange and enduring plague of old took hold of us all. No city escaped it. No banner, no creed, no cause offered protection. It thinned our breath, wore at our strength, and in some cases, even peeled skin from flesh. Soon enough, something was discovered: royal lemons, striped limes, blood oranges - were all rumoured and now, some known to cure it.

The months dragged on. The search for citrus continued fruitlessly - until an 'anonymous benefactor' sent a jar of pickled royal lemons to Hashan. 'There is no more,' this benefactor claimed. And so Hashan wrote: "It came from a cellar,". "Search the chests!" All in their attempt to hide the truth of its source. To obscure the truth behind this would be hero. And so, many of us did to no avail.

Yet a month later, Eleusis received one too.

And now, the truth begins to slip through. Ser Aerek - Knight Arbiter - was questioned about said jars. His answers were short. Guarded. As though ashamed. He soon retreated behind the walls of Aster Malik.

This, from the very Knight who declares knights should "...seeks to hold ourselves to a higher standard of integrity and return this norm to Sapience."
The same man who insists that knights must be "...truthful, dependable, and evenhanded to our enemies."

So where was the evenhandedness? Where was the truth? Where, exactly, was the honour?

Even when Lord Neraeos questioned him directly, Aerek did not offer answer nor said cure as one might. Instead, he hid behind Aster's walls, shouting safely at a Divine from within. "Aster Malik has stood for a thousand years," he cried, his voice aquiver, summoning all manner of allies from Sapience - no doubt offering what jars remained to secure Aster Malik's defence and likely whatever else of worth he could muster. Integrity be damned. Cyrene fought bitterly. And failed - under the weight of this Knight Arbiter's quiet hoarding and backroom deals.

We were told there were no more jars to give. And then there were. And then again - after the siege - yet more emerged, given to Ashtan and Targossas in reward for defending Aster.

So the question must be asked: was it negligence? Favouritism? Or something more petty? Was it simply a mortal, trying to flaunt his power in deciding who gets to suffer and who does not?

Perhaps it's coincidence that his ex-wife would hope to worship Lord Neraeos. Perhaps not. Perhaps Ser Aerek is above grudges. Perhaps he is not.

But what we do know is this:
When a cure was found, he hoarded it.
When other cities received it, Cyrene and some others were left to suffer in the dark - until, out of spite and fear, it was given freely to them - and obviously not Cyrene - in defense of Aster.
And when asked, he lied - not with words, but with silence. A duty-bound knight, hiding behind technicalities. 'A knight shall tell no untruth to ally or enemy'

And yet, Cyrene, despite having supported Aster for so long both financially and martially, even assisting in its re-construction was dismissed so easily when it needed Aster's aid the most. It bodes poorly for those without such a history.

Some may call it a lapse. A mistake. But I have read the Code he is bound to. I have seen what it demands. And I have watched Ser Aerek, who styles himself its arbiter, walk beneath it unburdened, wearing it like a cloak simply when convenient. Simply to lord himself over so many. To grasp at, and hold onto a sliver of power that Aster's planning had granted him. Anonymous benefactor indeed.

We are told that knights carry the weight of duty, the demands of honour and the burden of truth. But if Ser Aerek - this man - is the one who decides what is Chivalrous and what is not, then we must ask: how much can that code possibly weigh, when it is carried by him?

Perhaps with Ser Aerek as its head, the only difference between a knight and anyone else is that the knight insists he is better.

It's likely most of you won't care, having already been given his prize. But you will. When such a spiteful mortal - would employ such subterfuge, to hide a cure - for so long - that so many in Sapience needed, all to who knows what end.

Ask yourself this. If you were absent the cure, would you trust such a knight?


In service,
Crixos

Penned by my hand on the 25th of Valnuary, in the year 979 AF.