Post by King Laman II
I, King Laman, son of Laman, write with a heart still aflame from the righteous wrath that drove us to strike against those who dared defile our honor. Today, I recount the attack of retribution—a day when our blades sought justice for the daughters of our kin, stolen in the night, and how we clashed with the Nephites under King Limhi, only to uncover a tangled web of deceit. Hear my tale, for it is one of fury, restraint, and hard-won clarity.
The outrage began when word reached me that many of our daughters—maidens of our blood, our pride—had vanished from their gatherings in the wilderness. Whispers spoke of shadows moving in the night, of Nephite treachery, and my blood boiled. I knew not the true culprits then, but the trail pointed to the Nephites in the land of Lehi-Nephi, now ruled by Limhi, grandson of Zeniff. To me, they were all of one ilk—covetous, scheming, ever a thorn in our side. I rallied my warriors, their eyes burning with the same rage that gripped my soul, and we marched to avenge our loss.
We struck at dusk, a tide of vengeance sweeping toward Limhi’s city. Our war cries shook the air as we fell upon their outposts, expecting resistance from a people complicit in our grief. The Nephites fought back fiercely, their spears glinting in the fading light, but our numbers and fury pressed them hard. I saw their king, Limhi, among them, directing his men with a calm I did not expect. My warriors demanded his head, believing him the mastermind of the abductions, and I confess my own hand itched for justice. Yet something stayed our blades—a moment of doubt, perhaps, or the weight of my father’s lessons on rash judgments.
As the battle teetered, Limhi’s people did something unforeseen: they surrendered, not out of cowardice, but with a plea. Limhi himself stepped forward, his hands unbound, offering himself to our mercy. He swore his people had no part in the crime, claiming ignorance of our daughters’ fate. My warriors scoffed, their swords still raised, but I saw truth in his eyes—or at least enough to pause. To kill a king in haste might spark endless war, and I would not risk our strength on unproven guilt. Instead, we demanded he prove his words.
In a tense parley, Limhi’s people opened their gates, showing us their homes, their records, their lives—none bearing the marks of our stolen kin. They spoke of rogue priests, men once loyal to Noah, now cast out and skulking in the wilds. My heart twisted at the thought that these wretches, not Limhi, might hold our daughters. To appease my warriors’ bloodlust and preserve the fragile truce, Limhi’s people agreed to keep their king alive and answerable, vowing to aid us in hunting the true culprits. It was not the vengeance we sought, but it was enough to still our hands—for now.
As we withdrew, I felt the weight of my father’s crown heavier than ever. We had struck in righteousness, yet found no full satisfaction. Limhi lives, his people humbled but unbroken, and our daughters remain lost. But mark my words, my people: this is not the end. I will scour the wilderness for Noah’s priests, and when I find them, their blood will answer for our pain. Let Limhi and his Nephites know we watch them still, and let our enemies tremble, for Laman’s wrath is patient but unyielding. Raise your voices, my kin, for our honor endures, and justice will yet be ours!
