My good sir, from whence I first envisaged instigating such a correspondence, it was not in such an unfortunate position of belligerent strife that my kinsmen and I find ourselves forced into, nor was it assumed that the time scale of my letter-writing would be so drastically shortened so that it is in a state of expeditiousness; the normally necessary (but perhaps trivial) pleasantries have been dispensed with as you are probably acutely aware, but let me apologise regretfully and remind your highness that the oft-forgotten respect that roots itself in such long-winded titles stands true without their presence, and that, although they have been removed, this matter is of upmost importance and it would do us infinite favour to grant us a moment of your valuable time.
Melodramatic as it might appear, perhaps some form of evidence is in order to provide a realisation of the sheer gravity of the situation – right now, as I take hesitant glance out of the window, there is a burning fire reminiscent of Hell’s everlasting inferno, stripping the elegant gardens of their decoration, leaving nought but great of rising malignant smoke; I jerk my neck back fearfully, avoiding the sharpshooters distributing death like the Bringer himself. Perhaps you have heard the famous statement made by the philosopher Vardes -“The King commands, the Mob rules.” It is particularly relevant right here. They cry for food, we can give them none, for we have none. They cry for an end to the slaughter, we cannot, for we have no troops to end it. They yearn for things we cannot give, and they attack us for it. That is the nature of government, I fear. Would it be pseudo-prophetic to suggest that all institutions at one time fall without chance? That great leaders have great irrevocable decisions to make, and it is these which make them last just a little bit longer before they are eaten by the monster they strive to serve?
I do not dare to question your judgement, for it is has been proved time upon time to be proper, and who but the Almighty can honestly believe they have the knowledge and superiority to question a man besides?
All I require, no, all I need, is for you to send troops to relieve the siege of our capital, the centuries old city of Archida, and bring order to the principalities. A temporary peace with our cantankerous neighbours, the Grenlish, is possible as a long-term aim. I ask, nay, I beg, for the strength of your great country to show its long arms and squash this momentary war. For, if you allow me to be poetic, what powerful man can claim to be human if he is someone who does not use his power for the greater good?
As this author pauses to refill his quill with midnight blue ink and proceeds, nine hundred and fifty-six years have stood between this lesser action and that fateful late summer day when my forefathers finally united the clans and formed the independent nation of Archland. Almost a millennia peace has prospered, stood against the sea of blood, would you let it crumble on a whim?
My time is cut cruelly short.
Most respectfully,
His Majesty’s Secretary and Acting Chief Advisor, Sir Charles Obbard OAE.
Postscriptum – I do not wait on a reply, except if that desired reply takes the literal form on hundreds of soldiers, for such a sight would be worth a thousand words.
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