Letter to a Little huntress

To the person of Lady Artemis of House Task upon the passage of Dun orn Task, expatriate of Osrona and former Commander of the Royal Osronan Constabulary

My little huntress, if you’re reading this, I have finally passed. Don’t feel guilty about it, my fate was sealed from the day Revan poisoned me. But you made my last years as pleasant as you could, and it warmed what remained of my worn heart. Two thirds to be exact, it was perpetually freezing and burning to ash at the same time from curses I had accumulated in Uraheim and Ifraheim. I was also, of course, once blasted straight through the chest, destroying a third of my heart. Witches are shifty, and usually have beams.

I regret not being able to raise you in my prime, my precious daughter, but I taught you all I could with the time I had. Your brothers I made into killers, but you I spoiled. My tiny princess, so fierce even as a baby. A true Task, though...perhaps I mislead you in that manner. To ensure no matter how much I spoiled you, you felt as if you needed to earn your place as a Task. The adopted daughter. The runt.

Not….entirely true.

I met your mother shortly after I killed Kaida. She was a mercenary, I was...well, THE mercenary. We hit it off, showed her my scars, kept the mask on of course. It was a phase. And….well, years pass very quickly. You came. She left you bundled up in some furs in Pyrelight Citadel as an infant. Right before my morning meditations in the cold.

You are adopted in a sense. But I am your father, and you are a Task. Blood and sass and all. I never quite knew how to tell you why I did the things I did, but then, few understood even when I explained it. Yet, as my daughter, it’s your right to know, and as your father its my duty to tell you.

I once served the Empire of the Petrakis in my youth. I was a constable, city watch, a magi amongst common rabble. I rose to become their commander, and I strove to be a man that fought for his own justice above all else. But the constabulary was a farce, an illusion for the excesses of nobility. It held no power, and time and time again I had to swallow my pride for duty.

But in the earliest years of Confederate Theria, after killing Crowley the clown and stealing his mantle, I walked up here with my black plate, my two fists, and my mask, and proceeded to take it for my own. I conquered this city rung by rung with allies willing to live, kill, and die by my word. People I could trust, brothers, family. That is what your allies must be to you. Not fairweather friends, those that would do ANYTHING to see it through.

To lead them, you must take their burdens upon you as well. To share them, that they might rejoice. This is the path to winning the hearts of the people, to turning a conquest into a willing state of freedom.
When Garljing came, he came with fire. He was a warlord like none Theria had seen, and by right of blood, ash, and flame he took it from me. That is why I served him proudly my daughter. He understood my frustration. He GETS it. He adopted Theria the same way I adopt hatchlings, he’s never tried to take our freedom despite having the power to obliterate us.

He’s the warlord of warlords. The king of the mountain.

Okay and I thought he was pretty cool.

I must prepare for Valero’s honor duel, so I’ll end this here. I love you, my daughter, And I entrust the completion of the will gate in your hands should I pass. You will be its gatekeeper, and push its boundaries to the stars.

With love,
Your father, blood and love alike.