I wrote this challenge in October 2019. It was an open challenge to the squires of my shared lineage in the SCA to step forward and excel.
“Unto the Squires and dependents who serve the Descendants of Logos, He who is Fons Honorum of a Great and Noble Lineage, do I, Robert Downey, Knight and Vassal to the Dragon throne send greetings.
I have been overlong in the attendance of the affairs of my estate, and have grown fat and weak with the pleasures of the table and of soft flesh.
Though my hand still knows the lover’s embrace of good steel, I can feel the weakness in me, and I am angry.
The Fryers mewl incessantly that for every thing there is a season. What do they know of Nobility? Nothing but the defilement of noble daughters in the Cloysters, is what I say.
The tilling of fields, and the prattlings of clerks and money changers have lulled me into a stupor. I have been distracted by Peasants and Merchants… feeding upon comfort and greed… for that is their magic.. These creatures wield cunning engines of gold and ledgers of lies that promise wealth. I have not paid attention, and have allowed my lust for Knightly adventure to be shackled. But I will not yet allow my standard to be furled for the final time.
I awake, as if from some drug addled torpor. I have sinned against Chivalry by allowing my harness to tarnish, my manhood to grow limp and flaccid, like some Flemish cloth merchant with soft hands and throw pillows.
I admit that I have drank deeply in the past from the cup of worshipful honor, seeking renown and Knightly adventure. But past renown is like a fine pair of Brais.
Certainly they are wonderful to wear, for a time, but if not renewed they begin to stink and chafe.
And so I challenge you, you men of coat armor who serve the scions of Logos. I have worn the legacy chain of our ancestor for too long.
Awake from your slumber, as I am, and seek out worshipful honor. Earn your spurs with your deeds, not your words. Put aside your vapid politics, your complaints and excuses, your finely crafted whining about how things “should be” and give me the pleasure to pass this relic on.
For once more, I ride in search of stricken fields, and I would not have this Hoary and Honorable chain of Fealty rot with my worthless corpse should I gamble once too often with my Body.
Tell me, Mia Familia, What will you do to win worshipful honor when the snow thaws, and the Destriers strengthen upon new grass for the summer campaigns?
What Chivalric enterprise will you put forth and have heralds cry before the Culture of Chivalry?
Strive above your station! Throw yourself to the hazard and win Renown, or Die trying…
I grow weary of wearing this Chain, and wish to pass it on. Don’t make me die with it around my neck…..
I have many other relics to pass on, but you are not worthy of them yet. If I have to bury them in a cold tomb rather than pass them on, I will haunt you and your sons to seven generations…. This I swear. “