Venator's Manifesto
Venator's manifesto, or "The End Was Not Enough" as it was originally titled, is an idealist manifesto and a call to arms written by Saint Venator following his return to the Freelands after the great war that resulted in The End. It was published by his recently-established Witch Hunters with the aim of legitimizing their actions, and to increase recruitment.
Venator himself read the manifesto aloud before the Consulate of the Freelands. This set in motion a chain of events that led to the criminalization of witchcraft in the Freelands, Arkovoij, Craw Eiland, Ghardlind, and partly in the Greymarshes, and the systematic hunting and killing of thousands of witches all over the world.
Criticisms
Following the speech and publication of the End Was Not Enough, the document faced plenty of criticism. Though fear prevented the common folk and witches (naturally) from speaking up, druids and some religious institutions were very outspoken against it.Invoking the Divine
The most persistent criticism of the manifesto was its invocation of the Divine. Speaking of, writing about, or even thinking about the Divine is considered blasphemous for laypeople. While Venator as a saint was legally sanctioned to speak of divine matters, many Sanctists argued (and still argue) that the manifesto invites blasphemy. The document using imagery alluding to the Angel of Iron didn't help perceptions. Several chapters of the Sacred Blasphemers expressed concern that such language might challenge the holy taboos protecting divine secrecy.Implicating sorcery as a whole
While the manifesto doesn't condemn druidism outright, its language has been criticized by druid circles as manipulative. Venator seemingly associated all sorcery with apocalyptic danger, despite druidism’s more earthly approach to magic traditions. Venator himself rarely addressed criticism, busy hunting witches as he was. Still, he took the time to make several public statements that his manifesto only criticized Freelander druids as a political faction within the Freelands, not as practitioners of sorcery.The End Was Not Enough
I, Venator Cobble, saint by the miracle of healing, speaker of the Divine, anointed by the Sacred Blasphemers of Storth, most devout of Saint Zēlos, and survivor of this accursed war and cataclysm men now call The End: I now address the peoples of the Freelands and every realm that still draws breath! I have been graced by yet another miracle, for it is only by the miracle of mercy my lungs yet breathe, and by Divine grace my hands yet steady the rifle once gifted to me for my virtues. Look upon me as I walk among you many faithful in the streets of our cities, on the roads between our states, and let no man doubt the scars I now bear. I have returned from a slaughter most foul, and naught but slaughter it was. For how can one name it "war" that which killed with no warriors' honor, had no grace, no victors, and a mere handful of survivors among those that numbered in the tens of thousands? Slaughter! I saw the peaks of Chesmis bloom with unholy light, heard the wail of stone torn from stone, watched comrades and innocents alike dissolve into ash. No mortal artillery wrought that doom, no sword, nor spear; it was witchcraft! Untamed, capricious, insatiable. The witches spun their sigils for glory, the so-called learned magi muttered their runes for empire, and the mountains themselves paid the tithe of their hubris. Should we suffer such arrogance to swell again? I hereby name witchcraft the cancer gnawing at the root of our world! Its very practice is treason against creation. Mark me: no pact, no license, no boon can domesticate that poison. To parley with it is to invite the next calamity. Those who protest, be they druid, scholar, consul or crown, scream of "balance" and "natural order." Where was this balance when valleys split and rivers boiled? An order that spares the serpent’s head is no order fit for mankind. I have therefore founded the Most Sacred Company of Witch Hunters, sworn by bullet, rope, and sacred vow. Our charge: to seek and excise foul sorcery wherever it festers, to shield hearth and harvest from its blight, and, by righteous rust, to restore faith to our world. Let the wholly black cloth and hat be our sign. Let every hamlet know that where our hunters roam, the innocent rest easy and the blasphemer feels the noose tighten. Who will stand idle while their children breathe the same air of those kinds that birthed The End? Rise, ye of clear conscience! Veterans, marksmen, priests, other Saints and patriots. Bring your blades be they rusted, bring your bows and guns, your hounds, and your steadfast prayers. Join me, and join the legacy of those honorable men who have protected the realm of Crownmark before us. Spurn this charge, and pray the next flash of sorcerous light spares what you love.
This is very nice. Quite interesting. Are witch hunters immune charming girls?
Oh, they're not immune to anything! Fallible as all people are. Thanks for stopping by!
Summer is upon us! Check out the Hells! It's where my Summer Camp entries are at.