Events

Salazar Caradini stared at the paper in front of him. Beside it on the table lay two letters, already carefully addressed and sealed. They were easy to write; the one he was now up to was not. He had written many letters over the years, as a diplomat, as a journalist, as a historian - and he was hardly ever out of words. Actually, he loved words; you could do amazing things with words. You could create beauty, and you could provoke a war. You could make someone a compliment which was a compliment as well as one which was not, but still sounded like one. Words could be formed like a work of art by the use of your wit and brains leading either your tongue or your quill.

And yet, this was different, and his wits were of no use. This was serious. Maybe he could worm himself out of the uncomfortable situation, but that's something he had never done, and he had no intention to start now. He sighed, and then he put the quill into the inking pot and then set it on paper.

"Your Majesty,

first, let me congratulate you on the occasion of your son's marriage. It is a most joyful occasion, of course, and I wish him and his young wife all the best; I have no doubt they will do you much honour in the years to come.

Secondly, let me assure you that it is most painful for me that I wasn't there to attend the celebrations, and indeed could neither pay my respects, nor offer my congratulations in person. As I'm a Filira, and indeed the Royal Historian, this is inexcusable. I therefore cannot ask you to excuse my absence, which must be a disappointment to you, to the Karin, and to the trust your late father set into me when he enobled me. All I can do, and indeed do right now, is to offer my retirement from both the Noble's Chamber as well as the Royal Academy. However you will decide, my loyalty towards Matia, and towards the Royal family, will of course be unchanged.”

Salazar did add the usual formalities to his letter before he signed, dusted, and sealed it. He sighed again. Suddenly he felt empty, like the last reason for his sheer existence had left him – which was a heretic thought, of course. The Argonauts were gone – Thy was gone! – and his function as a historian had become almost obsolete since the Rivers of Time phenomenon had muddled up history until it was almost unrecognisable and made little sense anymore. His once fine skills as a healer did wither during his lonely watch during the Second Swarming, when he stayed behind. So being in service as a Filira was about the last thing which gave him the feeling that he still was of use, that his opinion wasn’t worthless, that he meant something in the eyes of Jena – more than just a caretaker for what remained of the Argo Navis.

Salazar rang for Menthys and gave him the three letters – one for the future Karinae, one for the Karin, and the one he just wrote to the Karan. The other two were heartfelt congratulations – the third, though slimmer, weighted a ton to its author.

“Please deliver these by hand, Menthys,” he said. “And be quick.”

“Yes, Seraph.” Menthys, half way out of the room, stopped in the door and had another look at Salazar. “Are you well, Seraph?”

Menthys meant well, but the gaunt Matis couldn’t help being sarcastic when he quipped, “Quick, I said. You don’t have to wait for an answer.” It will come, he thought. Whatever it will say, it will come in time.

(OOC: Sorry. Should have been posted already a week ago)