Sir Bruce Edward Zieger to the former knights of the Order of the World Tree
{Written in a thick Gothic calligraphy, in purple ink on fine vellum.}
London, England -- July 4th, 2032
Greetings and felicitations, to my brothers in the blood and my sisters in the night, those of you who formerly considered yourselves knights of the Order of the World Tree.
Our two year journey together has seemingly come to an end. The Sword of Caine has been broken, London is once more under Camarilla control, and we the former knights are heroes of Avalon. But once again, Mithras has vanished, this time into what could reasonably be described as a gateway to hell. There is no certainty this time, that he will indeed return, or when, for he could this time, have suffered the final death. But were he to return tomorrow night, how many of us would receive his blessing and how many of us would be forgotten, left by the wayside, or worse?
And what is Avalon without its god-king? Should Mithras not return, what will become of his former kingdom? Who will rule and who will bow down in submission? For whatever else Mithras was, he was just, wise and benevolent. Of course, he could afford to be, by the time of his supposed arrival in Britannia, he was already at least a thousand years old. Which of his heirs and or lieutenants will have even a fraction of his experience, wisdom and or honor?
I believe we can surmise that whomsoever is chosen to sit upon Mithras’ throne, will for a time, be forced to dwell in that ancient’s shadow, for Mithras cast a very long shadow indeed. It might take centuries of bloodshed and war to earn a reputation strong enough to impress those who knew the ancient in person, rather by reputation. And one might also wonder, what it would take to step out from under such a shadow, for the legend of England’s god-king is nearly as vast as that of the god for whom he was named. What atrocities will the new master of London have to perpetrate to impress the capital’s jaded society of the night? How long before the new prince seeks to become the new king of Avalon by right of battle? For London has always been the seat of Mithras’ power, not just the city of a powerful prince, but the imperial city of the god-king of Avalon.
Of course, here you ask, what does any of this have to do with us? The answer is quite simply, everything. At the moment Avalon, as well as London are under the guidance of a triumvirate of near ancients: Marcus Verus the Baron of Chester and eldest surviving childe of Mithras, James Mannerly the Brujah Baron of Canterbury, and Rhodry ap Geraint the Baron of Cardiff. These three elders are heirs to the suzerainty of Avalon and each one, now act as a regent in Mithras’ absence. At the moment, seemingly, all is well within London as these three Barons of Avalon work in harmony to maintain Mithras’ empire. But how long can their partnership last?
The science of politics tells us that the most unstable power structure in history, is the triumvirate. As I am sure you are aware, there is no need to enumerate each and every occasion down through human history in which a three sided alliance crumbled and led its corresponding civilization to the brink of annihilation.
But for those of you with an interest in Kindred history, the most famous example was that of the Trinity of Constantinople, an alliance formed by Michael the Toreador sometimes referred to as the archangel, the Tzimisce known only as the Dracon and a Roman era Ventrue called Antonius. For centuries after the Fall of Rome, these three friends and some say lovers, created a grand social experiment they called the Dream. What was the Dream? Even now centuries after the Dream has collapsed there are few who can explain it, but those to whom I have spoken described it as very close in nature to the Brujah ideal of Carthage. I suspect, that while there are differences, the Dream of the Trinity and Kingdom of Avalon have more in common than they have in difference. Is this parallel a parable or prophesy? In sum, it is neither, rather it is a fear, one that I believe will spread through London like a malignant cancer. Even if the Three Regents of Mithras should remain in good standing with one another, without Mithras on the throne, sooner or later, a pretender will arise, for nature abhors a vacuum.
Which of course, finally, leads me back to you my fellow knights. For I wish to posit to you a different proposition for our future than that offered to you by Thorton Bryant, our most esteemed solicitor. He set his sights high when he suggest that we could master London’s Heathrow Airport and despite the results, he was right. It was not his fault that an elder swooped in at the last minute to steal away the prize, but then, London is a city of elders and we for all our ferocity are just neonates in their eyes. Now we are being offered the crown jewels in the form of the City of London. However unlikely it might be that we might gain possession of the stomping ground of every elder of London, how long do you think we will be able to hold it as the elders once again swoop down to devour it like a murder of crows? Your opinions are your own, and it is not for me to tell you what you should believe. For myself, I have no intention to serve as a foot soldier in the chaos to come, forced to choose sides or flee the approach of tyranny, or worse yet, grovel under the table for the scraps from an as yet unknown master.
In short, what I am suggesting is that we seize our destiny by the throat. To the north, in the Barony of Yorkshire and the Humber, Aldous Tope the Ventrue Baron of York and Prince of Leeds lies dead, slain by those desperate survivors of the Sabbat who escaped London half a year ago. The choice is simple, we can split up and take sides in the coming political firestorm here in London or we take back the city of Leeds and the Barony of York from whatever is left of the British Sabbat.
Like you, I have grown weary of the all consuming war with the Sabbat, after all, each of us has lost someone to that mad band of lunatics. But, if we let them dig in, within a decade or three, they will once again be setting fire to our havens, slaughtering our herds and diablerizing our childer. I propose that instead of letting them lick their wounds and breed a whole new generation of cannon-fodder to throw at us, we push them back into the sea and watch them burn with the rising of the sun.
There is one among us, one who has led us in the past, who I would see take his rightful place as a Baron of Avalon. But, I am not suggesting that you march north to wage war against the bloody survivors of the English Sabbat for the glory of just one of us, rather I am suggesting that if Brian O’Reilly becomes the Baron of York, that each of us can be a prince in our own right. The barony of Yorkshire possesses at least a dozen cities worth claiming and there are over five million mortals from which to feed our own broods.
Are we knights of Avalon with the potential to be the princes of our own cities or are we the pawns of the elders of London? That is the question that I posit to you. Take your time and think over the proposition that I have laid before you, but don’t take too long, for the fires of elder ambition are already smoldering and it will take but a breath from the abyss to unleash the inferno that could consume us all.
Yours in Eternal Darkness,
Bruce Edward Zieger, Knight Errant of Shadows.
