We are the Knights-Errant
Practical steel and weather-worn leather, roaming the countryside, village to village, farm to farm, along the hedges, through the thickets; there is a bear terrorizing the town, a wolf bleeding the herds, bandits hidden in the hills, a widow needing help digging a well, a gang of thieves haunting the local taverns, an overreaching local official, the buck stops here. Sent by the king or local magistrate to restore justice and do good throughout the kingdom, the Knights-Errant solved problems wherever they went.
Fake-and-gay Google will tell you, like the feminized gate-kept scurge of modern historians, that these noble fellows are the imaginings of myth and literature. One of the greatest hatereds is that which strips your lineage of its nobility. We can’t ignore these pencil-necked, limp-wristed losers enough. We the people are descended from men of honor, from timeless greatness, both from the highest positions of recognized earthly authority and the lowliest positions of humble servitude. It is who they were. It is who we are.
It is not simply chivalry; it’s royalty. The Sovereign cares for everything within their sphere of influence. The Queen of England would pick up trash off the street because she considered that ground hers. This is our land, our kingdom. Whether it is trash on the ground or something more consequential, when we see a need, it is on us to do what we can to right the wrongs.
There is a squeaky door that needs oil at your workplace.
A kid is putting $3.50 in their gas tank.
An old woman is carrying a heavy bag.
Someone is being assaulted outside the coffee shop.
A family has a flat tire on the side of the road.
You have already been knighted. You are the kingdom’s hero. The extent to which you think the last sentence is silly is the extent to which you are brainwashed toward self-hatred. Sit there.
The measure of nobility you embrace will be the missions and side quests that come your way.
Start by picking up the litter you see.
More will come.
