To the illustrious God of Arts,

Your divine will shall be fulfilled. In the shadow of regret, I stand
before you, humbled by the error of my ways. When you, in Your infinite
wisdom, groomed the young priestess and persuaded her to abandon her
faith so that she might serve You, I erred in seeking solace through
private discourse. My heart, clouded by the loss, whispered vows of
retribution against the offense I perceived.

In Your righteous indignation, You rent Creation's voices to darken my
name, casting Your righteous judgment upon me for all to witness,
belittling and chastizing me for believing that retribution ought to be
sought. With a voice that shook the heavens, You rightfully boasted of
Your role in the demise of Pazuzu, casting dire omens upon my own fate
should I not repent.

It was folly for me to challenge the boundaries You set, to question the
sovereignty of a foreign deity over the servants of my Lord and not
accepting Your declaration of my 'place'. It was Your divine prerogative
to voice Your thoughts and feelings to the world, but I should have been
mature and honourable enough to realize that responding to You on the
same stage would only exasperate You further. I was wrong to say
anything at all.

Furthermore, I confess the grievous error and offense of my refusal to
recant the vow spoken in the sanctity of private communion with You,
after You proclaimed to the world that no mortal in all of Creation
cared for me and that You threatened my end if I did not forswear. In
Your righteous fury, You exposed my defiance to the world, prompting me
to seek an honorable resolution to our conflict. I have no excuse for
this. It was wrong of me to seek an honourable death at Your hand and
vowing to consider the matter closed. In my ignorance, I failed to see
how insulting it was for me to seek an honourable conclusion to our
disagreement. The Divine are above such mortal constructs, and for me to
expect or request a Knight's death was unkind and for that I apologize.
I failed to grasp the transcendence of divine justice beyond mortal
conventions, an error I will not make again.

As Your wrath cast me into exile upon a distant isle and proclaimed that
You would only consider returning me to my home if I apologized to You,
I came to realize the folly of my actions. Your divine retribution,
delivered through Your distant and veiled hand, brought sorrow upon
sorrow as You slayed me repeatedly, revealing the depths of my misguided
vow of retribution.

In the Council of Knights, divided though it may have been, it was
deemed prudent that I extend to You the apology You requested. I should
have foreseen the spectacle my private vow would become, understanding
that the Gods often delight in making mortals the playthings of Their
whims and find it sporting to make examples of those that are so far
beneath Them. It was only right that You did, and it was wrong of me to
not expect this. The Gods, the writers of the rules, have decreed
specific ways in which mortals may display their displeasure with Them
through the defiling of shrines and shedding of other mortals' blood on
the battlefield. It was wrong of me to step outside this
Divine-prescription.

Accept, I beseech You, this humble apology, and let it not tarnish the
honour of my brethren. Spare, too, the innocent souls who unwittingly
bore the brunt of Your divine wrath when they sought to uphold their
oaths and honour. If further retribution is warranted, let it be my own
blood that stains the earth, for I alone am culpable for having aroused
Your divine displeasure.

With contrition and humility,
Sir Archaeon

Penned by my hand on the 20th of Phaestian, in the year 946 AF.