Today

It is today, says Wolff to himself. Today is the last day of a wicked age. Incompetence rewarded, arrogance cosseted, silliness encouraged — these were the things of that age. It was not always so. And he remembers.

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What is that blade you bear, Sir Wolff?

It is named Perdurias, milord. It was sanctified by Bishop William.

What are its properties? Know you that no blade may be brought into the Citadel without our inspection?

I had not heard that, milord. As to your question on its properties, it is perdurable. And hence, the one who forged it called it 'Perdurias'. It is merely an instrument, although somewhat potent.

Put it away. This is a new age, and a better one. We will not have relics of the past in our way, where we might trip over them.

I shall hang it up next to my door, then, milord.

Better you hang it behind the door, Sir Wolff.

But that is where I hang the shield of my ancestors, milord.

You call us 'milord' and yet you disobey us?

Milord, by virtue of your office, I call you thus. But by virtue of it being true, I tell you what I tell you. For that is the nature of truth, milord.

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And in Wolff's mind, he weighed two things. Primus, Wolff was no longer Sir Wolff. Secundus, 'milord' would never be anyone's lord again. Looking up at the ravens, he smiled.

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Note: The fictional adventures of Sir Wolff do provide much that is of interest. You can find them linked here. Just ignore the one about earwax. That was an accident.