Scars of Camelot (Fate/Magic the Gathering)

Pain was a normal thing. Pain was something that everyone experienced. Pain was what reminded you that you were alive.

These were all things that were true, but that didn't mean I had to like it.

Really, what aroused me from my stupor was the familiar rocking of riding a horse. It was a rather strange thing, to wake up to a number of aches, having been tied to a horse. Of course, it wasn't necessarily unusual; I could see a pair of familiar forms around me.

"Where's the other two horses?"

My voice was hoarse. Neither of my companions seemed too surprised that I had spoken up. Though perhaps they had more pressing concerns. To my side was dear Lamorak, a man that you could maybe describe as handsome if you could get past the rather ugly scars he bore. He was a born knight through and through, you could say.

The other was more like a gorilla, really. That was my brother, Gawain.

"Dead. Gave out from the strain." Gawain answered glibly. "Took you long enough to wake up. It's been two days."

"And we both know whose fault that is. Maybe mother should take you for a refresher around the cauldron."

It was a sharp retort, but really, only meant in jest. When I described Gawain as a gorilla, it was not an insult but more a statement of fact. He had no talent for spellcraft, not that of our mother at any rate. He could barely brew magical potions correctly. It was no fault of his, but rather unfortunate circumstance of ability. He was a boy who had dreamed of becoming the heroic knight that wielded sword and spell in accord, but only one of those two arts was actually within reach for him.

Even so, he was a swordsman without reasonable parallel. If it ever came to battle between Gawain and the 'greatest of the King's knights', it would be difficult to know who would actually win. While Lancelot, Tristain and even dear Lamorak were called Arthur's greatest knights, only one knight was considered Arthur's right hand.

"Spoken truly like one who has slept two days straight. You have bed hair." Gawain shot back. I gave him a brief glower, before raising my wrists as far as they would go.

"The ropes?"

"Can you sit up on your own?"

"Better then this. Which one of you took off my helmet, anyway? Mother will skin us alive if this gets out."

Really, the fact that I was wearing what I could only assume was Lamorak's spare tunic was a dead giveaway. One of them had taken off my armour, to dress my wounds no doubt, but that left us in a prickly situation.

"I rather think that probably won't matter soon." Lamorak murmured, releasing my hands with a tug at the ropes. The reins weren't hard to steer; not matter what I feared, my body was not weak. "His Highness called all knights back to Camelot."

"… Don't tell me the messenger got a look."

"Hey, that one is on him." Gawain called back. "With any luck my curse worked, but… you know..."

Well, at least he tried. I'd deal with my mother later.

"Whatever. What happened? I remember the picts, but then..." I winced. My memory was quite fuzzy. We had come out here to deal with some raiders. Well, when I said we, I meant me and Lamorak. Gawain ran into us on the way and decided he wanted to play hero, as he was want to. I remember the fight starting. The three of us against like ten picts didn't even seem fair, but then…

My memory gave out around there.

"The picts whistled forth a metal dog the size of a house." Lamorak answered. "You don't recall?"

"Considering Mordred decided to go in through the mouth and out the back of its head, I'm not sure I'm surprised." Gawain retorted drily. "You were pretty scratched up, like you'd gone through a mill."

"Right." Well, that didn't tell me much except that I'd gotten too into it again like an idiot. "I take it my aches are just healing scratches?"

"Probably. Dress yourself next time." Gawain's retort held no bite but the snicker of a sibling. He had been worried. I could see it on his face.

"You're better with herbs."

"Maybe, but you might want to get that wound on your arm looked at regardless. I don't recognise whatever passed for that things blood."

"It'll be fine." I just waved it off. Gawain was many things, but a master healer was certainly one of them. There wasn't any reason to worry about it. It would sort itself out like they always had. "Why does the king want us?"

"Something to do with the war with the picts." Lamorak answered. "I suspect it might be related to our little incident. Your sword was ruined, by the way."

"Its cheap steel anyway." I shrugged. "What, did His Highness call everyone home?"

"Appears so." Gawain muttered, glancing in the sky. "Two more days walk."

"Only two." Well, that said a lot for how much time we had made. "Where's my armour?"

"In the packs. It's a bit shredded on the right side." Lamorak smiled with amusement, rolling his eyes. "I suppose it could be worse."

"Worse. Right. I'm going to need a blacksmith, clearly." Of course, I could just mend it with my mana, but that would just exhaust me. I would rather save my energy.

Maybe having real armour made me quite lazy. Still, it was disappointing that my armour had been shredded.

"Tell me we have something good for dinner."

"Jerky."

"… Better then potatoes."

That was the truth. I'm not sure what Gawain's obsession with potatoes was, but at least it was not something I had to put up with now.

Night came soon enough. My wounds did not seem terribly deep, lots of scratches and gashes. It wasn't particularly troublesome, though my arm ached just a bit.

"Oi, Gawain, what'd you shove in my arm?"

"Same as the rest of you." The gorilla answered, tending to the fire. "Still aching?"

"Just my arm."

"Give it time. It's your sword arm, you probably just sprained it." Gawain's answer was somewhat nonchalant, though I couldn't help but feel that he was worrying. He did, after all, claim that was the privilege of siblings.

Still, the fact I was injured was quite strange. That did not happen often. Then again, I wasn't like Gawain, who was almost invincible in the daytime and a prodigy with the blade. No, I didn't bear any of the extreme talents of my siblings.

All I had was the strength of the well within me. I didn't have any particular talent at potions or swordsmanship. I didn't have talent for politics or cooking. That well was all I had.

Still, at least I could claim I kicked more ass then Gawain.

Two days passed quickly. Even if my armour was trashed, I insisted on wearing it into the capital. Perhaps my face had been revealed, perhaps it had not, but either way I did not particularly want to invite my mothers opinion. If I could get out of here again without having to meet her, that would be great.

"Sir Gawain, Sir Lamorak and Sir Mordred, your highness."

Sometimes I wondered why the king bothered to have a man who announced those who had arrived. He could clearly see us walking into the throne room. A large table had been set up, a map strewn on it, and there was far too many bodies in the room. It was, at best, awkward. I could see my mother in the corner, which was, well, unfortunate.

"Who is missing?" That pure voice was Merlin, asking a question he clearly already knew the answer to. I could feel my skin crawl as his eyes slowly passed us all, as if he could see right through me. "Sir Mordred, your armour..."

"It's fine." I grumbled. He gave me an odd look, before letting the subject drop, his eyes steadily moving along.

"Morgan."

"Merlin."

"Is everyone present Merlin?"

Whatever discussion my mother and Merlin were going to, however briefly, have was cut off by an impatient sounding king.

"We are missing Pellinore's retinue."

"How long?"

"Days."

"Then we will give them the short version later." Arthur declared, sweeping forward and depositing his sword by the table. "Gather around, we have some things to discuss. The war with the picts has changed."

"Changed?" I could hear some voices already beginning to ask questions, but Arthur silenced everyone with a thud, a knife point driving into the border between Britain and the territories held by the picts.

"Seven days ago now, an incident occurred in a river town called Gwent." Arthur stated. "News reached us four days ago of the incident. I thank you for your quick attendance." He took two steps around the table, his eyes slowly scanning everyone. "The incident I am referring to is the appearance of a dragon."

"So when you say the war has changed, you mean the picts have brought a dragon to bear." I knew that voice. It was Bedivere. A soft voice that promised it would protect you.

"Perhaps if it was that simple. The village was razed. Gwent may as well not be on the maps anymore." Merlin mused. "The picts could only be deploying this dragon out of some level of desperation. A dragon is not something you command, it is something you hope will do as you wish."

"Merlin's thoughts aside." The king continued, plopping another three knives down. "The men of Lot believe the picts are moving for another attack."

"Desperation, nothing more." That voice was King Mark. "The picts are exhausted from this war. If we are given any more advantages then they will fall."

"That's what we are worried about." I knew that voice well. Gareth. My sister. She spoke up quite loudly from the side of the room, her arms crossed over her chest. "If this is what they bring to bear when desperate, what will they bring to bear when they think they will be extinguished?"

"Dragon slaying is a hard task." Lancelot spoke up drily. "Even amongst the strongest of us, the number of dragons we have slain is not high. Do we know its strength?"

"Impossible to know." Arthur answered softly. "It ruined a whole town. Given the location, that's not really particularly impressive."

It was a callous statement, but a necessary one, I suppose. The destruction of a town of maybe a few hundred people at most was never going to be particularly impressive, even if it was a dragon doing it. It would only really be tested by real combat.

"You wish for us to lead an expedition on it?" I spoke up. "My sword is ready, your Highness."

"Your sword is in multiple pieces, Sir Mordred." Merlin retorted, a laugh on his lips. "However, the sentiment is noted. King Arthur, your knights are ready and at your command. All you need do is command."

Arthur just nodded, his face creasing with many lines. Perhaps the only thing he felt right now was suffering.

"The picts are likely to march." He finally stated. "The dragon will embolden their efforts. However, that is not the only thing." He paused just briefly. "There are other rumours that have already begun moving. Several here have told of tales of large metal dogs that are rampaging the countryside."

Gawain, Lamorak and I all looked between each other guiltily, before Lamorak stepped forward.

"The rumours are not rumours. We have encountered one." Lamorak declared. "Sir Mordred came out first best in the encounter, I'm happy to say." He said it with a shit eating grin on his face. I honestly wanted to punch him in the face.

"What he means to say is it ate Mordred." Gawain was no less happy to have fun at my expense. "Unfortunately, its head did not survive the encounter."

"Laugh it up." I grumbled. Arthur's gaze fell to me for just a moment.

"Is it true?"

"Dunno. I can't remember. Ask the gorillas." I answered darkly. Arthur stared for just a moment longer, before nodding and turning his gaze to the jokers.

"Is it true?"

"Yes, uncle." Gawain's voice very quickly became deadly serious. "It was the size of a house, give or take, and it had the strength of a giant. Mordred's injuries were not particularly severe from being eaten, but I have concerns about anyone attempting to replicate it."

"Any traits that you would find concerning?" This time it was Kay. I could hear some murmuring in the background. We had their attention, at least, yet I had no knowledge to give.

"It did not tire, nor was it bothered by injuries." Lamorak noted. "It's strength is likely greater then thirty men together. Until Mordred broke its head, it did not slow in any way. If I may, Highness, I find it concerning that the picts are able to produce such things unnoticed."

"That is a concern we all share." Arthur noted. "But they can be killed." His voice was low, and I could swear I heard something akin to 'at too high a cost' under his breath.

"Perhaps the solution to such things is not a martial one." Morgan spoke up, her words as smooth as silk. "These creatures seem more akin to siege engines. We should meet them as such."

"Perhaps." Arthur shook his head, falling quiet. I could hear those around me begin to speak up and chatter, pledges of support for the people of Lothian and those around them flowing like water. Yet even so, I didn't feel much for my home.

Lothian was where I was born, if that meant anything, but it wasn't where I lived. I couldn't be happier to have left it behind.

"Perhaps the solution is magic." Tristain spoke up. I blinked. I didn't even realise he had deigned to attend. It would be difficult to contemplate a situation that would convince him to return. Even so, Arthur's gaze fell on him.

"Is that your thought?"

"They are clearly made with defeating the typical force you bring to bear in mind." He noted. "Some sort of unknown pict sorcery, perhaps."

His words just highlighted what he once was, and what he had left behind. I don't know what Arthur had to say to get him to come back. I had my doubts my predecessor would stick around long, either.

Yet even so, a small part of me wanted to speak to him, just once.

"Maybe it is. It would explain how it moves." Merlin mused. "That would make them a subspecies of golem, though. I don't see why they wouldn't have used it before."

"Does it matter what they have done before, rather then what they do now?" Tristain asked. Merlin seemed to fumble for only a moment, before nodding.

"No, you are right. The past is irrelevant." He stated. The furor became deeper and deeper, a loud storm of words that could never fully be discerned. Too many conversations at once. Too many things.

"Bit of a mess." Lamorak muttered under his breath, though I knew I was the one he was really talking to. "It's like they all want a piece of the glory. Tripping over themselves to be a part of the solution."

"But not too part of the solution." I noted. "Some of the kings promise a retinue or two, but not one is willing to commit." It just showed that Britain was nowhere near as unified as we might think. Self interest still prevailed. I just smiled, motioning towards my mother. "She's going to flip soon."

"You think?"

"No, she has the eye twitch." Gawain noted. "Mother will lose her temper soon."

That, at least, was an amusing thought. Indeed, like clockwork, a loud bang rang out.

"Gentlemen. While the well wishes and the pledges are appreciated." Mother spoke up darkly, her voice filled with venom. "Perhaps we should return to the crux of the issue. Not only are the picts preparing to invade, with the lands I safeguard directly in their way, but I have a dragon on my doorstep." Her gaze fell on the High King, yet it wasn't a gaze of ice or steel. It wasn't something I had ever actually seen from my mother. "Your Highness, how should I proceed in this situation?"

"You're asking for instructions this time?" I could almost feel the amusement on Arthur's lips, as if some internal joke between the two had simply repeated for the umpteenth time. "Then we will approach this problem as the threat to our lands it is. I won't stand for another incursion on Britain. I think we all agree on this point?" A resounding room of eyes rang out. Arthur just nodded.

"Then we will bring the troops to bear. Kay, draft a notice and inventory. I will lead the men there."

"Is that your place?" Morgan's voice was sharp. Arthur answered her gaze with one of his own, as if the two were daring each other to blink first.

"I am the king. I will make it my place." Came the answer. "Knights, I will not demand attendance. We have a dragon to slay. Who wants to hunt?"

[ ] Volunteer to slay the dragon.
[ ] Volunteer to march with the king.

Do you wish to talk to anyone?
[ ] No.
[ ] King Mark.
[ ] Tristain (Possible failure).
[ ] Gareth.
[ ] Morgan.