Icipall
Don't worry, we can fanfix that!
- Location
- Cold snow fields of Finland
Myrddin letting out a bit of how much he knows.
And remember, looking into the future in itself changes it.
"Thank you, my knight. What did you see or hear?"
Well, shit.
A Light in the Dark: A King Arthur/Warhammer 40k Imperial Knights Story
- Thread starter MysticKnightJoe
- Start date
- Crossover Fantasy
Always Late
Lacking in coffee, sleep, and brains
- Location
- Ohio
So the priest that baptized Merlin to turn him good will play a roll. Neat.
So Merlin's not with the Craftworlds. But his use of blue ink... lets just say my worries are not born from him being Calgar's secret informant.
Gwyn ap Nudd
MysticKnightJoe
Defender of Holy Terra
- Location
- Fighting the Forces of Evil Across the Cosmos
The Bridge to Mona was a battered, ancient thing. It had been built long before the coming of the Imperium, by some long-forgotten tribe or kingdom. It had been built over, of course, during the Great Crusade. But even that was five thousand years ago, and wear showed.
One statue stood at the left of the entrance, a figure built in the shape of a stately bearded man, carrying sword and tome. So much had been worn away, but the original outline was still there. On the other side was nothing but a jagged, jutting, stone stump. Once another statue had stood, but it had fallen long ago.
Archimedes gestured to the statue. "Behold Bran the Blessed, or what is left of him, anyway. The High King during the Great Crusade, and the one who ensured the whole world wasn't simply burned to ash."
Bedwin performed the sign of the Aquilla, looking with awe at the weathered thing. "Bringing us into the Emperor's light."
Bedwyr studiously decided to not mention that there wasn't much of the Emperor's light anymore. He looked with some amount of awe at the ancient statue, trying to pick up more details. He thought he could just make out weathered writing at the base of the statue as they drove by, but it was so faint it couldn't be deciphered. "What was the other statue?" he asked Archimedes.
The learned man frowned, turning to survey the jagged pile that was the only sign that something had once stood. "Haven't the foggiest, that has been lost to time."
Bedwyr frowned, he squinted, trying to make out similar weathered letters at the base of the old statue. But the base was entirely smooth.
"There have been guesses, of course," Archimedes said, after a moment. "It would have to be someone contemporary to King Bran. Perhaps one of his siblings, or his spouse."
"Did the Imperium remove it?" Bedwyr asked. He could think of no other reason why.
Bedwin snorted. "No. Even I know that. It was taken out a thousand years ago during a minor invasion of Greenskins."
"Minor!" Archimedes shook his head. "A minor invasion of Greenskins is still enough to settle for millions of dead, boy."
"It took a century to rebuild," confirmed Pellinore. He was staring straight ahead, stiff with anticipation. He changed the subject quickly. "Archimedes, must we meet with Gwyn? If any psykers yet live, perhaps it would be better to not get involved in it, and get to the ship that will carry us to the Chaoslands instead. We can make do without support from Blaise."
The druid shrugged. "Up to you. But I would suggest at least following through on your original plan. Blaise is one of the oldest and wisest psykers on the planet, if any could survive a purge, it would be him. And if not, you are safe enough."
Pellinore shook his head. "I would rather not be within any distance of a purge, Archimedes." He gestured to Bedwyr and Bedwin. "Not when I have uninvolved on board."
Archimedes stared at the knight. His voice held no accusation, though it made Bedwyr shiver. "And bringing them to the Chaoslands is safe?"
Pellinore didn't answer. He returned to his deep thoughts as they continued to cross the bridge. The landscape became nothing but windswept sea and weathered grey stone blocks. The going was smooth and uninterrupted.
The isle called Mona loomed at last in the distance, the end of the bridge flanked by two jagged lumps, remnants of statues that once stood as proud as Bran the Blessed.
Bedwyr looked to Archimedes questioningly, but the druid only shook his head. Bedwyr looked back to the anonymous edges as they passed. Lost to even the wise, like so much in the world.
They entered the isle, and at long last, found their way to Ynys Witrin.
Hooded and cloaked wulfs greeted them as they entered the walls of the city of witches. Four of them seemed to spring from holes in the ground, armed with swords and spears.
"Who goes there?" the leader growled. He was dark coated and his animal face was covered in old scars.
"King Pellinore," answered the knight. He stepped from his car. "Here to meet with King Gwyn ap Nudd."
The wulfs shifted among themselves, muttering so softly Bedwyr had to strain to catch the words. They were speaking in Gothic, and Bedwyr was only able to understand a few words.
Before they could respond, Manw forced his way forward, shoving past Sagramore and Pellinore to glare into his fellow's eyes. "What are you doing here, brother?" he nodded at Archimedes. "This one says you are engaged in a purge."
The other wulf flinched, then glared at Archimedes. The owl, also called Archimedes, landed on the druid's shoulder, and the wise man was rewarding the cyborg creature with a scrap of meat.
The wulf bared his fangs. "Damnation. Druids stick their heads everywhere." He looked between the group. "Best speak with King Gwyn about that."
"Yes, I was about to suggest the same," Pellinore said calmly. He gently placed a hand on Manw's shoulder, pulling him back a little.
They were escorted, leaving their cars and knights at the gate, into the town. Bedwyr gagged as the sickly sweet smell of death entered his nostrils. The only living creatures present were more grim, fierce, wulfs. They watched with cold eyes as they walked through. All wore cloaks flung over themselves, and all were heavily armed.
King Gwyn ap Nudd had set up his command tent before a structure with a shattered, burned-out, door. It was a simple display of strength, only slightly larger than the other hide tents around it.
The figure that strode out was a tall being, wearing specially constructed druid-forged armor, much like Pellinore's. His fur was pure white, except his ears, which were red as blood. His armor matched this, being all white except the right arm, which was painted as red as his pointed ears.
The wulf tribal king barked a cold laugh as he saw Pellinore approach. He opened his arms. "King Pellinore! It has been sometime."
"Indeed," Pellinore said, keeping his voice level. He looked around. "And I wish it was under better circumstances."
Gwyn lowered his arms, his ears slicking back and his grin revealing his very sharp teeth. "I would wish the same, friend." He somehow made 'friend' sound like a threat. His fellows seemed to catch the tone, tensing as well.
"Why?" Manw barked, interrupting the stand-off to storm forward. "My King, why? This is madness!"
Gwyn shot a glare at Manw. "Manw. My sister's son." The fierce mood seemed to melt away slightly, and Bedwyr almost thought he could catch something else in the cruel eyes. Shame, perhaps. "You weren't here when we were told to do this." Yes, there was shame in the chieftain's eyes. "You know the cost to live in this galaxy, boy. We have to follow the orders of any loyal human king."
Manw turned away, clenching his fists. "I know that."
"Are all the psyker's dead then?" Pellinore asked softly.
The last vestiges of battle-rage melted from the wulf's countenance, and suddenly Bedwyr thought he looked like a tired old man. "No. We only slew the ones that hadn't yet passed the trials. And any who resisted, of course." The wulf bowed his head. "Children. Mostly."
Bedwyr felt suddenly very ill.
"A tragedy indeed," a voice rose. It was the voice of an elderly man, as exhausted as Gwyn. "But know this, Gwyn ap Nudd, psykers know well the cost of what it means to live in this galaxy, much as you and your people do."
The man who entered the conversation was as tall as Pellinore, and hidden behind a massive, dark, robe that covered his entire form. A chain hung around his neck, with the Aquilla hanging down to midchest. A pointed straw hat set on his head, and his face was hidden by the shadows cast by his hat and a dark cloth covering the bottom of his face.
"Blaise," Archimedes murmured so only Bedwyr and Pellinore could hear. "I told you, your journey wasn't a waste after all."
Blaise continued to speak, "sixty psykers died this day. Gwyn and his warriors didn't give us much of a chance. They just barged right in." He gestured to the broken doors. "Almost made me jump out of my skin. There are fifteen of us left, not counting the ones that are outside our walls, such as my old student Myrddin." The old psychic looked pointedly between both sides. "And know this, no more blood will be spilled on this account. What is done is done, and both the psykers and wulfs of Avalon know the cost of being what we are. Such is the curse of existence."
"Regardless," Pellinore said softly, "I am sorry for what has occurred."
Blaise sniffed, waving his hand irritably. "As I said, fifteen yet live. Fifteen who have resisted Chaos their entire lives. They will be strong enough to fight, when the time comes." There was a struggle to conceal more emotion. "The sixty may not have been strong enough."
Bedwyr swallowed, the death-stink still filling his nostrils. He felt a blob of bile fall back into his stomach.
Pellinore noticed, giving Bedwyr a sympathetic smile before returning to his conversation. "Lord Blaise, I am pleased to see you well. I have been meaning to speak with you."
"About the Questing Beast?" Blaise hissed. "I know." The psychic shook his head. "I am impressed it has taken you this long to get to me, King Pellinore. There is much I know that could help you."
"And are you willing to help?" Pellinore asked.
"I am," Blaise said. He stood a little taller, a bit firmer on his feet. "And I will accompany you, into the Chaoslands."
"Is that safe?" Sagramore blurted. He had been watching the psyker with a kind of nervous tension.
The loremaster looked at the younger knight, and nodded after a moment. "I have lived on this planet for a long time, boy. I have faced agents of the dark Gods, day and night, since before you were born. I can face the Chaoslands easily enough."
"Can you not just show us?" Pellinore asked, mediating.
Blaise shook his head, the Aquilla around his neck clanking lightly as he did. "No. I must guide you through the dark."
"And is this allowed?" Pellinore asked Gwyn.
The wulf king shrugged. "We weren't ordered to stop them from here, just kill the ones who haven't passed the trials."
"Very well," Pellinore said evenly. "May we speak further on this, Blaise?"
A nod. "Yes. Shall we go somewhere more private, to make the arrangements?"
Blaise and Pellinore moved into one of the tents, and no one made any sign of wanting to follow them.
Bedwin shivered, making the sign of the Aquilla. He murmured to Bedwyr. "Gives me the creeps, psykers do."
Bedwyr nodded, though in truth he was more disturbed by the smell of death that still lingered in the air.
[Thanks for sticking with me for 100 posts!]
One statue stood at the left of the entrance, a figure built in the shape of a stately bearded man, carrying sword and tome. So much had been worn away, but the original outline was still there. On the other side was nothing but a jagged, jutting, stone stump. Once another statue had stood, but it had fallen long ago.
Archimedes gestured to the statue. "Behold Bran the Blessed, or what is left of him, anyway. The High King during the Great Crusade, and the one who ensured the whole world wasn't simply burned to ash."
Bedwin performed the sign of the Aquilla, looking with awe at the weathered thing. "Bringing us into the Emperor's light."
Bedwyr studiously decided to not mention that there wasn't much of the Emperor's light anymore. He looked with some amount of awe at the ancient statue, trying to pick up more details. He thought he could just make out weathered writing at the base of the statue as they drove by, but it was so faint it couldn't be deciphered. "What was the other statue?" he asked Archimedes.
The learned man frowned, turning to survey the jagged pile that was the only sign that something had once stood. "Haven't the foggiest, that has been lost to time."
Bedwyr frowned, he squinted, trying to make out similar weathered letters at the base of the old statue. But the base was entirely smooth.
"There have been guesses, of course," Archimedes said, after a moment. "It would have to be someone contemporary to King Bran. Perhaps one of his siblings, or his spouse."
"Did the Imperium remove it?" Bedwyr asked. He could think of no other reason why.
Bedwin snorted. "No. Even I know that. It was taken out a thousand years ago during a minor invasion of Greenskins."
"Minor!" Archimedes shook his head. "A minor invasion of Greenskins is still enough to settle for millions of dead, boy."
"It took a century to rebuild," confirmed Pellinore. He was staring straight ahead, stiff with anticipation. He changed the subject quickly. "Archimedes, must we meet with Gwyn? If any psykers yet live, perhaps it would be better to not get involved in it, and get to the ship that will carry us to the Chaoslands instead. We can make do without support from Blaise."
The druid shrugged. "Up to you. But I would suggest at least following through on your original plan. Blaise is one of the oldest and wisest psykers on the planet, if any could survive a purge, it would be him. And if not, you are safe enough."
Pellinore shook his head. "I would rather not be within any distance of a purge, Archimedes." He gestured to Bedwyr and Bedwin. "Not when I have uninvolved on board."
Archimedes stared at the knight. His voice held no accusation, though it made Bedwyr shiver. "And bringing them to the Chaoslands is safe?"
Pellinore didn't answer. He returned to his deep thoughts as they continued to cross the bridge. The landscape became nothing but windswept sea and weathered grey stone blocks. The going was smooth and uninterrupted.
The isle called Mona loomed at last in the distance, the end of the bridge flanked by two jagged lumps, remnants of statues that once stood as proud as Bran the Blessed.
Bedwyr looked to Archimedes questioningly, but the druid only shook his head. Bedwyr looked back to the anonymous edges as they passed. Lost to even the wise, like so much in the world.
They entered the isle, and at long last, found their way to Ynys Witrin.
**************
Hooded and cloaked wulfs greeted them as they entered the walls of the city of witches. Four of them seemed to spring from holes in the ground, armed with swords and spears.
"Who goes there?" the leader growled. He was dark coated and his animal face was covered in old scars.
"King Pellinore," answered the knight. He stepped from his car. "Here to meet with King Gwyn ap Nudd."
The wulfs shifted among themselves, muttering so softly Bedwyr had to strain to catch the words. They were speaking in Gothic, and Bedwyr was only able to understand a few words.
Before they could respond, Manw forced his way forward, shoving past Sagramore and Pellinore to glare into his fellow's eyes. "What are you doing here, brother?" he nodded at Archimedes. "This one says you are engaged in a purge."
The other wulf flinched, then glared at Archimedes. The owl, also called Archimedes, landed on the druid's shoulder, and the wise man was rewarding the cyborg creature with a scrap of meat.
The wulf bared his fangs. "Damnation. Druids stick their heads everywhere." He looked between the group. "Best speak with King Gwyn about that."
"Yes, I was about to suggest the same," Pellinore said calmly. He gently placed a hand on Manw's shoulder, pulling him back a little.
They were escorted, leaving their cars and knights at the gate, into the town. Bedwyr gagged as the sickly sweet smell of death entered his nostrils. The only living creatures present were more grim, fierce, wulfs. They watched with cold eyes as they walked through. All wore cloaks flung over themselves, and all were heavily armed.
King Gwyn ap Nudd had set up his command tent before a structure with a shattered, burned-out, door. It was a simple display of strength, only slightly larger than the other hide tents around it.
The figure that strode out was a tall being, wearing specially constructed druid-forged armor, much like Pellinore's. His fur was pure white, except his ears, which were red as blood. His armor matched this, being all white except the right arm, which was painted as red as his pointed ears.
The wulf tribal king barked a cold laugh as he saw Pellinore approach. He opened his arms. "King Pellinore! It has been sometime."
"Indeed," Pellinore said, keeping his voice level. He looked around. "And I wish it was under better circumstances."
Gwyn lowered his arms, his ears slicking back and his grin revealing his very sharp teeth. "I would wish the same, friend." He somehow made 'friend' sound like a threat. His fellows seemed to catch the tone, tensing as well.
"Why?" Manw barked, interrupting the stand-off to storm forward. "My King, why? This is madness!"
Gwyn shot a glare at Manw. "Manw. My sister's son." The fierce mood seemed to melt away slightly, and Bedwyr almost thought he could catch something else in the cruel eyes. Shame, perhaps. "You weren't here when we were told to do this." Yes, there was shame in the chieftain's eyes. "You know the cost to live in this galaxy, boy. We have to follow the orders of any loyal human king."
Manw turned away, clenching his fists. "I know that."
"Are all the psyker's dead then?" Pellinore asked softly.
The last vestiges of battle-rage melted from the wulf's countenance, and suddenly Bedwyr thought he looked like a tired old man. "No. We only slew the ones that hadn't yet passed the trials. And any who resisted, of course." The wulf bowed his head. "Children. Mostly."
Bedwyr felt suddenly very ill.
"A tragedy indeed," a voice rose. It was the voice of an elderly man, as exhausted as Gwyn. "But know this, Gwyn ap Nudd, psykers know well the cost of what it means to live in this galaxy, much as you and your people do."
The man who entered the conversation was as tall as Pellinore, and hidden behind a massive, dark, robe that covered his entire form. A chain hung around his neck, with the Aquilla hanging down to midchest. A pointed straw hat set on his head, and his face was hidden by the shadows cast by his hat and a dark cloth covering the bottom of his face.
"Blaise," Archimedes murmured so only Bedwyr and Pellinore could hear. "I told you, your journey wasn't a waste after all."
Blaise continued to speak, "sixty psykers died this day. Gwyn and his warriors didn't give us much of a chance. They just barged right in." He gestured to the broken doors. "Almost made me jump out of my skin. There are fifteen of us left, not counting the ones that are outside our walls, such as my old student Myrddin." The old psychic looked pointedly between both sides. "And know this, no more blood will be spilled on this account. What is done is done, and both the psykers and wulfs of Avalon know the cost of being what we are. Such is the curse of existence."
"Regardless," Pellinore said softly, "I am sorry for what has occurred."
Blaise sniffed, waving his hand irritably. "As I said, fifteen yet live. Fifteen who have resisted Chaos their entire lives. They will be strong enough to fight, when the time comes." There was a struggle to conceal more emotion. "The sixty may not have been strong enough."
Bedwyr swallowed, the death-stink still filling his nostrils. He felt a blob of bile fall back into his stomach.
Pellinore noticed, giving Bedwyr a sympathetic smile before returning to his conversation. "Lord Blaise, I am pleased to see you well. I have been meaning to speak with you."
"About the Questing Beast?" Blaise hissed. "I know." The psychic shook his head. "I am impressed it has taken you this long to get to me, King Pellinore. There is much I know that could help you."
"And are you willing to help?" Pellinore asked.
"I am," Blaise said. He stood a little taller, a bit firmer on his feet. "And I will accompany you, into the Chaoslands."
"Is that safe?" Sagramore blurted. He had been watching the psyker with a kind of nervous tension.
The loremaster looked at the younger knight, and nodded after a moment. "I have lived on this planet for a long time, boy. I have faced agents of the dark Gods, day and night, since before you were born. I can face the Chaoslands easily enough."
"Can you not just show us?" Pellinore asked, mediating.
Blaise shook his head, the Aquilla around his neck clanking lightly as he did. "No. I must guide you through the dark."
"And is this allowed?" Pellinore asked Gwyn.
The wulf king shrugged. "We weren't ordered to stop them from here, just kill the ones who haven't passed the trials."
"Very well," Pellinore said evenly. "May we speak further on this, Blaise?"
A nod. "Yes. Shall we go somewhere more private, to make the arrangements?"
Blaise and Pellinore moved into one of the tents, and no one made any sign of wanting to follow them.
Bedwin shivered, making the sign of the Aquilla. He murmured to Bedwyr. "Gives me the creeps, psykers do."
Bedwyr nodded, though in truth he was more disturbed by the smell of death that still lingered in the air.
[Thanks for sticking with me for 100 posts!]
Last edited:
Icipall
Don't worry, we can fanfix that!
- Location
- Cold snow fields of Finland
Well, considering how Vortigern's invasion is going, soon nowhere will be safe.
No kidding, Bedwyr.
Well, that's nice of him.
Trials.
You're welcome.
Melissa
MysticKnightJoe
Defender of Holy Terra
- Location
- Fighting the Forces of Evil Across the Cosmos
Gwyn, Blaise, and Pellinore walked into the abhuman tribal king's tent, to no doubt discuss adult matters and the hunt itself. Pellinore looked to Bedwyr, and gently said, "I will be back. Stay outside for now."
Normally, Bedwyr might have argued, wanting to see Pellinore perform the essential diplomatic functions of a knight. But his stomach was roiling, and the death-smell on the wind wasn't doing it any favors, so he happily went away, trying to find a cleaner place.
The funeral pyres had burned out long ago, but red-robed priests still stood by, praying before them. For the dead psyker's, themselves, or the wulfs, Bedwyr couldn't be certain. The town aside from that was empty, with not even a flicker of life. It truly felt like an unhollowed place. Bedwyr was certain no one would live here ever again.
Bedwin followed close behind him, in similar somber silence. Bedwyr didn't even think to tell him to back off. It felt strangely good, having someone near his age.
"Do you think it is safe, past the walls?" Bedwyr asked. He wasn't certain how dangerous the isle proper was. He'd heard tell psykers drew monsters to them, like flies to honey.
Bedwin seemed a little startled at being addressed. He looked around nervously, then said, "No more than inside, I think." He patted the head of his warhammer as he spoke.
Without thinking about it further, Bedwyr nearly ran past the broken gates, ignoring the armed wulf guards to enter into the somewhat cleaner air of the rocky woods. He leaned on a tree, and took several gasping breaths.
Bedwin walked beside him. "Best get used to such things," the other boy said softly, "you are to be a knight, and that means battlefields, and the stink of death will hang close on you." Despite the coldness of the young priest's words, his face was as pale as Bedwyr's and his voice shook.
"I'll be fine," Bedwyr said calmly. He took another deep breath, and felt his stomach slowly stop roiling. "I've fought before, even killed before, but that place has a certain dark energy."
Bedwin pulled back his cowl, revealing his bald head, tattooed at the crown with the Aquilla in red ink. He mopped his brow. "I'm not used to it either," he admitted.
Bedwyr smiled. "Yeah, I can tell."
In mock anger, Bedwin put his hands on his hips. "Well, you could have said something, you jerk!"
Bedwyr grinned at him, already feeling much better. He looked into his bag. "Well, I've got some dried meat, a bit of bread, and some warm mead. Good a meal as any, with my stomach no longer in rebellion."
Bedwin made a face, somehow showing more emotion than when he was in the dead city. "Shame the inn is certainly closed, or we'd have a proper lunch."
Bedwyr shrugged. "Another thing to get used to. Can't always eat well on the battlefield." A much easier thing to get used to, in his opinion.
They found a craggy little glade, sat on a pair of jutting stones, and doled out their meager meal. It was filling, and the mead and meat were both well-spiced, the bread somewhat stale but hardy and full of nuts.
Bedwyr was slightly drunk, setting down his bladder of mead, when he heard a little voice raised in song. He quirked his ears, trying to catch the lyrics. All he could decipher was the tiny voice was coming closer.
"Do you hear that?" He asked Bedwin.
The young priest shivered, gripping the handle of his hammer with a pale grip. He did hear it, evidently, and it filled him with superstitious panic.
The voice drew closer. From its timber and volume, Bedwyr estimated that the owner couldn't be older than about six. He gave Bedwin a slightly incredulous look.
Bedwin didn't calm. "Things can be deceiving," he hissed, "especially in a cursed realm like this."
Bedwyr rolled his eyes, taking another sip from his mead. He felt no danger from the voice, which he now recognized as High Gothic, something he had only recently started to learn. He caught some words, and realized it wasn't a complicated song, perhaps equivalent to a children's fable.
The child at last emerged into the little glade. She was a tiny little creature, with pale eyes and gold hair. She was small for her age, wearing a simple pure white smock. She carried a strange air, mixing childhood simplicity with an odd air of melancholy. She stopped short at seeing the two.
Bedwyr smiled. He was unused to small children, aside from Aglovale and Dido's baby, and wasn't certain how to react. "Good afternoon," he said.
The girl started to shrink back into the woods, a little quicker when she saw Bedwin in his red robes holding his hammer in a near-death grip.
Bedwyr gave Bedwin a look, and held his hand up in a calming gesture. "What is your name, child?" he asked.
The little girl stopped backing away, and in a tiny, soft, voice, answered, "My name is Melissa." Then, with a sudden surge of confidence, she added, "I am not a child!"
Bedwyr laughed. Bedwin was tense, eyeing the girl with only slightly diminished fear. "Bedwyr," he hissed.
Bedwyr ignored his friend. He reached into his pouch, and produced some more bread and meat. "Want some food?"
Melissa moved slowly forward like a skittish deer. She reached out and took the food from Bedwyr's hand. She smiled. "Thank you!"
"Bedwyr!" Bedwin hissed again. He was quivering. "Bedwyr! I've read the records of this place, that child is a psyker!"
Bedwyr didn't feel the fear that perhaps he should. He had been around several psykers by this point, and the only one who had given him any level of threat had been the wicked Priest of Tzeentch. He did have one worry, suddenly. "Is that so?" he asked.
Melissa nodded shyly, nibbling on a bit of bread.
"She may have not passed the trials," Bedwin groaned. His hand was sweaty on his hammer.
"I did!" Melissa said, angrily puffing out her chest. "I went through them the other day, it was super easy!"
Bedwin didn't relax at all. Bedwyr reached out and placed a comforting hand on his weapon-hand. "The ones who passed are strong enough," he said calmly.
"She's six!" Bedwin growled.
"I'm ten!" Melissa cried, affronted.
"And what?" Bedwyr hissed back, quietly, so the child couldn't hear. "Are you going to kill her? Smash her head in with that hammer? A child?"
He felt Bedwin's grip loosen on the hammer, and he let out a sigh of relief. Bedwin seemed to shrink in on himself, covering his head with a sweat soaked hand. "I'm not cut out for this," the priest groaned.
Bedwyr patted his shoulder. He looked towards Melissa, hoping she hadn't noticed. The child was eating happily.
The little girl beamed happily at him. "Don't worry! I knew he wouldn't kill me!"
Bedwyr was pretty sure he felt Bedwin shudder under his grip. He patted the other boy again. "So, what are you doing out here, Melissa?"
The little psyker showed a basket, covered with a faded red cloth. "Master Blaise sent me out to fetch some herbs."
Bedwyr sighed. Yeah, that made sense. It must have been to keep her away from the massacre.
"No, it was after the wulfs came and killed everyone," Melissa said seriously. Her eyes were firm. "I was lucky, Master Blaise said. I just passed my trials, and now I'll be sent to learn with Lord Myrddin."
Bedwyr smiled. "I've learned a thing or two from Lord Myrddin myself."
Her eyes widened excitedly. "You know Lord Myrddin?"
"He's a friend of mine's tutor," Bedwyr answered. It seemed accurate enough, he wasn't sure what Myrddin's role was beyond that. Somethings didn't bear thinking about.
She nodded solemnly. "Arthur," she said. Then she blushed, as if she had said something she shouldn't have.
Bedwyr laughed, and patted her head. "You can call him Wart, when you meet him," he said cheerfully.
Melissa shook away his hand, pouting.
"We should get back," Bedwin said suddenly. He gestured at the basket. "Blaise will be wanting those herbs, I think."
Melissa scrambled to her feet. "Oh! Right! I nearly forgot." She rushed off without saying goodbye, springing over the rocks and brambles, and nearly vanishing from sight by the time Bedwyr and Bedwin had gotten to their feet.
Shaking his head, Bedwin said, "I'm really not sure how you managed that. I'm not good with kids or psykers, and she's both at once."
Bedwyr laughed. He started to follow the strange child, grinning back. "Just go with the flow, Bedwin. You worry far too much."
Normally, Bedwyr might have argued, wanting to see Pellinore perform the essential diplomatic functions of a knight. But his stomach was roiling, and the death-smell on the wind wasn't doing it any favors, so he happily went away, trying to find a cleaner place.
The funeral pyres had burned out long ago, but red-robed priests still stood by, praying before them. For the dead psyker's, themselves, or the wulfs, Bedwyr couldn't be certain. The town aside from that was empty, with not even a flicker of life. It truly felt like an unhollowed place. Bedwyr was certain no one would live here ever again.
Bedwin followed close behind him, in similar somber silence. Bedwyr didn't even think to tell him to back off. It felt strangely good, having someone near his age.
"Do you think it is safe, past the walls?" Bedwyr asked. He wasn't certain how dangerous the isle proper was. He'd heard tell psykers drew monsters to them, like flies to honey.
Bedwin seemed a little startled at being addressed. He looked around nervously, then said, "No more than inside, I think." He patted the head of his warhammer as he spoke.
Without thinking about it further, Bedwyr nearly ran past the broken gates, ignoring the armed wulf guards to enter into the somewhat cleaner air of the rocky woods. He leaned on a tree, and took several gasping breaths.
Bedwin walked beside him. "Best get used to such things," the other boy said softly, "you are to be a knight, and that means battlefields, and the stink of death will hang close on you." Despite the coldness of the young priest's words, his face was as pale as Bedwyr's and his voice shook.
"I'll be fine," Bedwyr said calmly. He took another deep breath, and felt his stomach slowly stop roiling. "I've fought before, even killed before, but that place has a certain dark energy."
Bedwin pulled back his cowl, revealing his bald head, tattooed at the crown with the Aquilla in red ink. He mopped his brow. "I'm not used to it either," he admitted.
Bedwyr smiled. "Yeah, I can tell."
In mock anger, Bedwin put his hands on his hips. "Well, you could have said something, you jerk!"
Bedwyr grinned at him, already feeling much better. He looked into his bag. "Well, I've got some dried meat, a bit of bread, and some warm mead. Good a meal as any, with my stomach no longer in rebellion."
Bedwin made a face, somehow showing more emotion than when he was in the dead city. "Shame the inn is certainly closed, or we'd have a proper lunch."
Bedwyr shrugged. "Another thing to get used to. Can't always eat well on the battlefield." A much easier thing to get used to, in his opinion.
They found a craggy little glade, sat on a pair of jutting stones, and doled out their meager meal. It was filling, and the mead and meat were both well-spiced, the bread somewhat stale but hardy and full of nuts.
Bedwyr was slightly drunk, setting down his bladder of mead, when he heard a little voice raised in song. He quirked his ears, trying to catch the lyrics. All he could decipher was the tiny voice was coming closer.
"Do you hear that?" He asked Bedwin.
The young priest shivered, gripping the handle of his hammer with a pale grip. He did hear it, evidently, and it filled him with superstitious panic.
The voice drew closer. From its timber and volume, Bedwyr estimated that the owner couldn't be older than about six. He gave Bedwin a slightly incredulous look.
Bedwin didn't calm. "Things can be deceiving," he hissed, "especially in a cursed realm like this."
Bedwyr rolled his eyes, taking another sip from his mead. He felt no danger from the voice, which he now recognized as High Gothic, something he had only recently started to learn. He caught some words, and realized it wasn't a complicated song, perhaps equivalent to a children's fable.
The child at last emerged into the little glade. She was a tiny little creature, with pale eyes and gold hair. She was small for her age, wearing a simple pure white smock. She carried a strange air, mixing childhood simplicity with an odd air of melancholy. She stopped short at seeing the two.
Bedwyr smiled. He was unused to small children, aside from Aglovale and Dido's baby, and wasn't certain how to react. "Good afternoon," he said.
The girl started to shrink back into the woods, a little quicker when she saw Bedwin in his red robes holding his hammer in a near-death grip.
Bedwyr gave Bedwin a look, and held his hand up in a calming gesture. "What is your name, child?" he asked.
The little girl stopped backing away, and in a tiny, soft, voice, answered, "My name is Melissa." Then, with a sudden surge of confidence, she added, "I am not a child!"
Bedwyr laughed. Bedwin was tense, eyeing the girl with only slightly diminished fear. "Bedwyr," he hissed.
Bedwyr ignored his friend. He reached into his pouch, and produced some more bread and meat. "Want some food?"
Melissa moved slowly forward like a skittish deer. She reached out and took the food from Bedwyr's hand. She smiled. "Thank you!"
"Bedwyr!" Bedwin hissed again. He was quivering. "Bedwyr! I've read the records of this place, that child is a psyker!"
Bedwyr didn't feel the fear that perhaps he should. He had been around several psykers by this point, and the only one who had given him any level of threat had been the wicked Priest of Tzeentch. He did have one worry, suddenly. "Is that so?" he asked.
Melissa nodded shyly, nibbling on a bit of bread.
"She may have not passed the trials," Bedwin groaned. His hand was sweaty on his hammer.
"I did!" Melissa said, angrily puffing out her chest. "I went through them the other day, it was super easy!"
Bedwin didn't relax at all. Bedwyr reached out and placed a comforting hand on his weapon-hand. "The ones who passed are strong enough," he said calmly.
"She's six!" Bedwin growled.
"I'm ten!" Melissa cried, affronted.
"And what?" Bedwyr hissed back, quietly, so the child couldn't hear. "Are you going to kill her? Smash her head in with that hammer? A child?"
He felt Bedwin's grip loosen on the hammer, and he let out a sigh of relief. Bedwin seemed to shrink in on himself, covering his head with a sweat soaked hand. "I'm not cut out for this," the priest groaned.
Bedwyr patted his shoulder. He looked towards Melissa, hoping she hadn't noticed. The child was eating happily.
The little girl beamed happily at him. "Don't worry! I knew he wouldn't kill me!"
Bedwyr was pretty sure he felt Bedwin shudder under his grip. He patted the other boy again. "So, what are you doing out here, Melissa?"
The little psyker showed a basket, covered with a faded red cloth. "Master Blaise sent me out to fetch some herbs."
Bedwyr sighed. Yeah, that made sense. It must have been to keep her away from the massacre.
"No, it was after the wulfs came and killed everyone," Melissa said seriously. Her eyes were firm. "I was lucky, Master Blaise said. I just passed my trials, and now I'll be sent to learn with Lord Myrddin."
Bedwyr smiled. "I've learned a thing or two from Lord Myrddin myself."
Her eyes widened excitedly. "You know Lord Myrddin?"
"He's a friend of mine's tutor," Bedwyr answered. It seemed accurate enough, he wasn't sure what Myrddin's role was beyond that. Somethings didn't bear thinking about.
She nodded solemnly. "Arthur," she said. Then she blushed, as if she had said something she shouldn't have.
Bedwyr laughed, and patted her head. "You can call him Wart, when you meet him," he said cheerfully.
Melissa shook away his hand, pouting.
"We should get back," Bedwin said suddenly. He gestured at the basket. "Blaise will be wanting those herbs, I think."
Melissa scrambled to her feet. "Oh! Right! I nearly forgot." She rushed off without saying goodbye, springing over the rocks and brambles, and nearly vanishing from sight by the time Bedwyr and Bedwin had gotten to their feet.
Shaking his head, Bedwin said, "I'm really not sure how you managed that. I'm not good with kids or psykers, and she's both at once."
Bedwyr laughed. He started to follow the strange child, grinning back. "Just go with the flow, Bedwin. You worry far too much."
Last edited:
Always Late
Lacking in coffee, sleep, and brains
- Location
- Ohio
... yeah, unless that girl's supposed to be the genderbent of the poor Abridged sap suck with Elizabeth or her last name's something German, I have no idea who this tiny blonde psychic prodigy is.
Icipall
Don't worry, we can fanfix that!
- Location
- Cold snow fields of Finland
Normally this should be something to be concerned about when in a forest in a cursed lands.
He's right, Bedwyr.
FTFY
No one should be.
Guess she can read minds.
MysticKnightJoe
Defender of Holy Terra
- Location
- Fighting the Forces of Evil Across the Cosmos
She is based on something. Just a little more King Arthur adjacent than King Arthur proper
- Location
- Dethklok
should be trials there
Return to the Camp
MysticKnightJoe
Defender of Holy Terra
- Location
- Fighting the Forces of Evil Across the Cosmos
They went back the way they came a bit faster. Though Melissa was evidently harmless, the air still held fear for both. The fog seemed to be growing thicker and colder, and that led to an almost primordial fear of the unknown.
Bedwyr saw Melissa ahead of them, stumbling forward on her little legs. He chuckled as the ruined gate came back into view. Melissa halted short. Two wiry wulfs emerged to greet them.
"You are back, and alive," one said, a massive one with black and white fur. He turned to his fellow. "You owe my three thrones."
A grunt from the other. "Bah." The other fumbled in his pocket for a second, and shoved over three slightly bent coins. Then it smiled, looming over the returning three. "You lot are more durable than expected."
Bedwin puffed out his chest, trying to put on an air of pride. "We were protected by the grace of the God-Emperor."
Duel barks of laughter greeted that. "He's busy, I suspect," the wulf who lost the bet said.
Bedwin smiled nervously. "Yes, I suppose." He stormed past both them, and Melissa.
"Bit on edge, isn't he?" The winner said, with surprising sympathy. "Understandable." The abhuman's eyes focused on Bedwyr's flask of mead. "Any more drink in that?"
Bedwyr handed it over with no argument. "I'm not allowed to have more than a quarter of it anyway," he explained.
The wulf took a long swig. "Good idea. Too much will stunt your growth, and the ladies like tall men. Men do as well, if that is more your fancy." He passed it to his fellow guard, who finished it off.
Melissa watched the proceedings with solemn silence. She said, "There were no monsters out there, I would have sensed them."
"Useful," Bedwyr admitted. It was indeed, he thought, but probably can't be good for sanity. It must be that much worse to know exactly what lurks in the dark, instead of only being able to guess.
"That's a matter of opinion," Melissa said sleepily.
Bedwyr laughed ruefully. He patted the little girl's head and she batted his hand away with a squeak of protest.
Both the wulfs watched with some surprise. "You show an admirable lack of fear," the loser said, tipping the flask back in a vain attempt to get more drops of amber liquid.
With a shug, Bedwyr smiled. "Much more to be afraid of than a small child."
The wulf grunted. "She's a psyker."
"So are some of your kind," Melissa said smoothly. She suddenly didn't look quite as much like the child she was. "Are you really preparing for the Wild Hunt?"
The winner of the contest stiffened, his ears slicking back. "Where did you hear that?"
Neither reached for weapons, Bedwyr noticed gratefully, but he felt the immediate worry in their eyes. "What is the Wild Hunt?" he asked.
"Nothing that concerns either of you," the loser snapped. He gestured fiercely into the town. "Get back in, both of you. And don't think anymore of the Wild Hunt. It is a matter for the King and no one else."
Bedwyr grabbed Melissa's arm before she could make anything worse, and hurried past the two guards, ignoring the little psyker's squawk of protest. He felt two pairs of wolfish eyes digging into his back the whole way through.
"Why did you say that?" he asked her as they moved through the still empty streets.
She frowned up at him. "They were being rude."
Bedwyr shook his head. "Still, best not to poke at secrets." He chose to not dwell on the Wild Hunt. That was the business of the wulfs and their king and tribes.
Melissa looked up at him with wide, curious, eyes. "You are a very straightforward person, Sir Bedwyr."
"I'm not a knight yet, Melissa. No need to add 'Sir' to my name." Honestly, he almost wanted to say she would never have to add the title to his name, but he would be a knight one day, and Pellinore had drilled him that he had to at least pay some service to optics.
Melissa giggled lightly, skipping ahead of him. Bedwyr watched after her, wondering with some nervousness how much of his thoughts the psyker could catch. He pushed that from his mind. There was nothing he could do about it, so it was best to just not worry about it.
Moving forward, he caught up with Bedwin. The young priest was tapping his foot nervously as they approached. "Bedwyr, good, I was getting worried." Bedwyr noticed the sheen of sweat on his friend. Today had really broken through his calm facade.
"I'm fine, Bedwin," Bedwyr said, trying to sound cheerful. "There was no danger."
Bedwin's eyes darted to Melissa, who was chewing happily on a bit of cheese. "We are always in danger, Bedwyr," he hissed, "especially where psykers are concerned."
Melissa cheerfully said, before Bedwyr could say anything, "That is true enough, Brother Bedwin." She smiled up at him. "If you are a Brother yet. Bedwyr says he isn't a knight yet, so maybe you aren't a proper brother yet either."
Bedwin laughed a little shrilly. "Er, yes. I have not yet given my final vows. I am but a humble initiate." He nodded at Bedwyr. "Like Squire Bedwyr, I am in training."
Melissa tilted her head. "But unlike Bedwyr, you have doubts."
Bedwyr looked to his friend. Bedwin hung his head, stepping back a little. His head was hidden in the shadow of his robe. "I...no. I have faith. I know what i must do."
Melissa didn't say anything more. She walked past the young priest. Bedwyr patted the man's arm as he went by. "It's alright. People get scared all the time."
Bedwin looked into Bedwyr's eyes, and the squire was stunned at the pain there. "Not a Priest. Not a follower of the God-Emperor. I must not fear, to do otherwise is heresy."
"That isn't in any of the books I've read," Bedwyr said, trying to add a bit of levity. "Though I haven't read much."
A weak smile. "It is more implied by the doctrine."
Before the conversation could continue, Bedwyr felt a tug at his sleeve. He looked down at Melissa. She said solemnly, "You will want to know that King Pellinore wants to see you now."
"Did he say that, or think that?" Bedwyr asked.
She didn't answer, giving a look that said quite clearly "What do you think?" and spun on her heel back to the main camp.
Bedwyr shrugged at Bedwin, and walked back into the camp.
Bedwyr saw Melissa ahead of them, stumbling forward on her little legs. He chuckled as the ruined gate came back into view. Melissa halted short. Two wiry wulfs emerged to greet them.
"You are back, and alive," one said, a massive one with black and white fur. He turned to his fellow. "You owe my three thrones."
A grunt from the other. "Bah." The other fumbled in his pocket for a second, and shoved over three slightly bent coins. Then it smiled, looming over the returning three. "You lot are more durable than expected."
Bedwin puffed out his chest, trying to put on an air of pride. "We were protected by the grace of the God-Emperor."
Duel barks of laughter greeted that. "He's busy, I suspect," the wulf who lost the bet said.
Bedwin smiled nervously. "Yes, I suppose." He stormed past both them, and Melissa.
"Bit on edge, isn't he?" The winner said, with surprising sympathy. "Understandable." The abhuman's eyes focused on Bedwyr's flask of mead. "Any more drink in that?"
Bedwyr handed it over with no argument. "I'm not allowed to have more than a quarter of it anyway," he explained.
The wulf took a long swig. "Good idea. Too much will stunt your growth, and the ladies like tall men. Men do as well, if that is more your fancy." He passed it to his fellow guard, who finished it off.
Melissa watched the proceedings with solemn silence. She said, "There were no monsters out there, I would have sensed them."
"Useful," Bedwyr admitted. It was indeed, he thought, but probably can't be good for sanity. It must be that much worse to know exactly what lurks in the dark, instead of only being able to guess.
"That's a matter of opinion," Melissa said sleepily.
Bedwyr laughed ruefully. He patted the little girl's head and she batted his hand away with a squeak of protest.
Both the wulfs watched with some surprise. "You show an admirable lack of fear," the loser said, tipping the flask back in a vain attempt to get more drops of amber liquid.
With a shug, Bedwyr smiled. "Much more to be afraid of than a small child."
The wulf grunted. "She's a psyker."
"So are some of your kind," Melissa said smoothly. She suddenly didn't look quite as much like the child she was. "Are you really preparing for the Wild Hunt?"
The winner of the contest stiffened, his ears slicking back. "Where did you hear that?"
Neither reached for weapons, Bedwyr noticed gratefully, but he felt the immediate worry in their eyes. "What is the Wild Hunt?" he asked.
"Nothing that concerns either of you," the loser snapped. He gestured fiercely into the town. "Get back in, both of you. And don't think anymore of the Wild Hunt. It is a matter for the King and no one else."
Bedwyr grabbed Melissa's arm before she could make anything worse, and hurried past the two guards, ignoring the little psyker's squawk of protest. He felt two pairs of wolfish eyes digging into his back the whole way through.
"Why did you say that?" he asked her as they moved through the still empty streets.
She frowned up at him. "They were being rude."
Bedwyr shook his head. "Still, best not to poke at secrets." He chose to not dwell on the Wild Hunt. That was the business of the wulfs and their king and tribes.
Melissa looked up at him with wide, curious, eyes. "You are a very straightforward person, Sir Bedwyr."
"I'm not a knight yet, Melissa. No need to add 'Sir' to my name." Honestly, he almost wanted to say she would never have to add the title to his name, but he would be a knight one day, and Pellinore had drilled him that he had to at least pay some service to optics.
Melissa giggled lightly, skipping ahead of him. Bedwyr watched after her, wondering with some nervousness how much of his thoughts the psyker could catch. He pushed that from his mind. There was nothing he could do about it, so it was best to just not worry about it.
Moving forward, he caught up with Bedwin. The young priest was tapping his foot nervously as they approached. "Bedwyr, good, I was getting worried." Bedwyr noticed the sheen of sweat on his friend. Today had really broken through his calm facade.
"I'm fine, Bedwin," Bedwyr said, trying to sound cheerful. "There was no danger."
Bedwin's eyes darted to Melissa, who was chewing happily on a bit of cheese. "We are always in danger, Bedwyr," he hissed, "especially where psykers are concerned."
Melissa cheerfully said, before Bedwyr could say anything, "That is true enough, Brother Bedwin." She smiled up at him. "If you are a Brother yet. Bedwyr says he isn't a knight yet, so maybe you aren't a proper brother yet either."
Bedwin laughed a little shrilly. "Er, yes. I have not yet given my final vows. I am but a humble initiate." He nodded at Bedwyr. "Like Squire Bedwyr, I am in training."
Melissa tilted her head. "But unlike Bedwyr, you have doubts."
Bedwyr looked to his friend. Bedwin hung his head, stepping back a little. His head was hidden in the shadow of his robe. "I...no. I have faith. I know what i must do."
Melissa didn't say anything more. She walked past the young priest. Bedwyr patted the man's arm as he went by. "It's alright. People get scared all the time."
Bedwin looked into Bedwyr's eyes, and the squire was stunned at the pain there. "Not a Priest. Not a follower of the God-Emperor. I must not fear, to do otherwise is heresy."
"That isn't in any of the books I've read," Bedwyr said, trying to add a bit of levity. "Though I haven't read much."
A weak smile. "It is more implied by the doctrine."
Before the conversation could continue, Bedwyr felt a tug at his sleeve. He looked down at Melissa. She said solemnly, "You will want to know that King Pellinore wants to see you now."
"Did he say that, or think that?" Bedwyr asked.
She didn't answer, giving a look that said quite clearly "What do you think?" and spun on her heel back to the main camp.
Bedwyr shrugged at Bedwin, and walked back into the camp.
Icipall
Don't worry, we can fanfix that!
- Location
- Cold snow fields of Finland
Headpats are good civilization.
Oooh, interesting.
That they do.
Always Late
Lacking in coffee, sleep, and brains
- Location
- Ohio
Ah yes, the classic activity in any high mortality environment; Bet on someone's survival.
Said work keeping him busy:
Well, I mean, Space Marines have pretty much been the poster child of the Imperium for five thousand years, that would skew the public perception of the 'ideal male' quite a bit towards the Hollywood Action Hero style.
Daaaaaaw.
Psychic Wherewolves, this is going to be fun. At least Beddie-Boi knows not to judge a book by its cover.
Yes please, we've already had one Lovely Lauralorn, it was very nice, but we don't need another with access to 40kinsanityhookaythankyouverymuch.
... OK, ya'll know what's coming next. I have to post this.
I regret nothing.
Invitation to Hell
MysticKnightJoe
Defender of Holy Terra
- Location
- Fighting the Forces of Evil Across the Cosmos
Pellinore was waiting for them both outside the tent. Archimedes was beside him, tweaking something on his owl with a tiny, gleaming, screwdriver. King Gwyn was nowhere to be seen, and Blaise had vanished.
"Bye for now, Bedwyr!" Melissa squeaked. Before he could react, she was already gone, running as fast as she could into the broken building.
Archimedes put down his screwdriver, and both he and the owl watched the girl run. "That must be the prodigy. Myrddin has talked about her from time to time." The druid sighed. "Though I think being a prodigy in that isn't something to be pleased about, even if this planet wasn't under invasion."
Pellinore shook his head. "There is a cost to all power, and being a psychic comes with a higher cost than I think most people are willing to pay." A bitter, rueful, smile. "Worse than being a King, even."
"Academically speaking," said Archimedes, "what happened to Listenoise wasn't your fault." The druid's high voice was surprisingly gentle. "I believe I've taught you enough logic for you to know that."
"As a King, everything that occurs to my land, good or bad, is my responsibility and my fault," Pellinore declared. "That is something that goes beyond simple logic, Archimedes. Sad to say, I don't think you will ever understand that."
"I suppose not," Archimedes said stiffly. "Though it sounds to me like a simple extension of the general Code Chivalric." The druid fumbled again in his robes, producing a small vial of oil. He dripped some drops on the mechanical parts of his owl, who stretched, preened, and made a cooing sound.
"Not inaccurate," Pellinore agreed amicably.
Bedwyr kept quiet throughout this, of course, letting the two older men speak of interesting and complicated things. In fact, he was curious. He had no interest in ever being a King, no matter what Claire or anyone else would say, but hearing Pellinore speak of it, especially in the context of the Code Chivalric.
But Pellinore saw him, and the conversation between him and the druid ended at that. "Oh, Bedwyr, you're back. Good. This is not a place you want to be outside the walls during the night."
"Possibly even inside the walls," Bedwin muttered, performing a sign against evil.
Pellinore nodded at the priest in agreement. "Bedwin. Good, this concerns you as well." He looked down at Bedwyr. "Archimedes says the boat Myrddin has sent is waiting for us. We leave tomorrow morning, immediately. Myrddin has also been kind enough to prepare supplies and resources. Enough for three years."
Bedwyr blinked in surprise. "He is giving us much," he said.
"I hope to only be there for one year, at most," Pellinore informed him. It was an optimistic statement, and they both knew it. Myrddin clearly knew it as well.
"I take it," Bedwin said stiffly, "that you will now inform me that either I accompany you into hell, or find my way back alone."
"I'd be with you," Archimedes noted. The druid shook his head. "Part of the way, at least."
"Are you sure you don't want to join us on our quest?" Pellinore asked, with a tone that suggested he knew the answer very well.
"I am a scholar, King Pellinore, not an adventurer. I am close enough to the pits of hell right here, thank you."
Bedwin hung his head for a second. Slowly, he said, "I will accompany you, King Pellinore. If you would have me." He looked up, forcing a smile. "What better aid to follow you into hell than a Priest of the God-Emperor."
"Are you certain?" Pellinore asked again, hammering in the seriousness of it all. "Because if you aren't, boy, I will send you home whether you like it or not."
Bedwin stamped his foot, looking Pellinore right in the eye. "My faith is strong, King. Strong enough to face this challenge."
A long moment passed before Pellinore at last nodded. "If you say so, priest."
"It had better be, that is all I will say on it," Archimedes added rather coldly. "I'd almost consider forcing him home anyway, Pellinore."
Bedwin didn't hang his head, though Bedwyr didn't make out a flinch that coursed down his spine. The light shudders continued to quake over his body, as if he were in a state of aftershock.
But Pellinore only patted Archimedes' shoulder, said, "One must have faith in another's word." And that was that.
He gave Bedwyr and Bedwin the directions to the ship, informed them they would be woken at the crack of dawn the next morning, and they would all spend the voyage into the Chaoslands preparing for the ordeal. He thanked Bedwin for volunteering his aid, and then retired to his tent.
When the adults were gone, Bedwyr turned on Bedwin. "Are you sure about this?" he asked. "The Chaoslands will be far worse than here, I can tell you that from experience."
Bedwin didn't look him in the eye, but his voice was firm and strong. "If anything, my reaction to this place has made me realize I need to face a true ordeal. That way I can know my faith is true, and not an illusion like mist on a lake."
"What do you mean?" Bedwyr asked.
Bedwin at last looked at him. His eyes were just as hard as his voice. "There is a growing sect of borderline-heretics in the Church."
"The Redemptionists?" Bedwyr asked. "I've faced those bastards, what do they have to do with this?"
"Not them," Bedwin shook his head. "The bulk of those are amateurs, unrecognized by the general Ecclesiarchy. I speak of a different sect. One that is growing rapidly."
"What do they believe?"
Bedwin took a deep breath. He performed the sign of the Aquilla, as if what he was about to say was a threat to his safety. "They believe," he whispered close to Bedwyr, "that the God-Emperor is dead."
"Really?" Bedwyr tried to sound shocked, but in truth, he could immediately see the logic of it. That wouldn't be something he'd want to express or explain to a priest, even one who was rapidly becoming a good friend.
Bedwin nodded grimly. "Aye." Then he said, "And sometimes, in my darkest moments, I think that maybe they are right. That we are alone now, alone to fight Chaos and evil." The boy-priest swallowed. "So that's why I'm going with you. I want to face hell, reach into the deepest part of myself, and see what is there."
"What if nothing is there?" Bedwyr asked. He remembered his experience with the cauldron. Could Bedwin handle coming to the same realization as him?
A sad smile. "Then so be it."
They stood in depressed silence for a long moment. The stench of death had at last started to drift away, replaced by a more pleasant smell of sea-mist. "Does this sect really believe that we are alone?" Bedwyr asked.
"Some do," Bedwin said. He sighed. "But others believe a Messiah is coming. The most deranged believe that he will be the God-Emperor Reborn."
"People really are getting desperate," Bedwyr said softly.
Bedwin shrugged. "It is a minority among a minority sect." He didn't sound convinced. He sounded scared, as if the idea terrified him.
Bedwyr had an idea why. The Redemptionists were mad dogs, blind, fierce, and stupid. They would rampage and destroy, but only within their limited, individual, means. But this sect, the ones who believed in a God-Emperor Reborn, would find a figurehead sooner or later. And when they did, who knew what that may lead to.
"It is beyond us," Bedwin whispered, the strength drained from him. "All we can do now is fight."
I already know that, Bedwyr wanted to say. He didn't though. He just nodded, patted Bedwin on the shoulder, and started for bed.
[Going to try and get back to a multiple update per week schedule! Started a new job and it took a bit for my brain to get used to the new schedule. There are things I want to get to soon.]
"Bye for now, Bedwyr!" Melissa squeaked. Before he could react, she was already gone, running as fast as she could into the broken building.
Archimedes put down his screwdriver, and both he and the owl watched the girl run. "That must be the prodigy. Myrddin has talked about her from time to time." The druid sighed. "Though I think being a prodigy in that isn't something to be pleased about, even if this planet wasn't under invasion."
Pellinore shook his head. "There is a cost to all power, and being a psychic comes with a higher cost than I think most people are willing to pay." A bitter, rueful, smile. "Worse than being a King, even."
"Academically speaking," said Archimedes, "what happened to Listenoise wasn't your fault." The druid's high voice was surprisingly gentle. "I believe I've taught you enough logic for you to know that."
"As a King, everything that occurs to my land, good or bad, is my responsibility and my fault," Pellinore declared. "That is something that goes beyond simple logic, Archimedes. Sad to say, I don't think you will ever understand that."
"I suppose not," Archimedes said stiffly. "Though it sounds to me like a simple extension of the general Code Chivalric." The druid fumbled again in his robes, producing a small vial of oil. He dripped some drops on the mechanical parts of his owl, who stretched, preened, and made a cooing sound.
"Not inaccurate," Pellinore agreed amicably.
Bedwyr kept quiet throughout this, of course, letting the two older men speak of interesting and complicated things. In fact, he was curious. He had no interest in ever being a King, no matter what Claire or anyone else would say, but hearing Pellinore speak of it, especially in the context of the Code Chivalric.
But Pellinore saw him, and the conversation between him and the druid ended at that. "Oh, Bedwyr, you're back. Good. This is not a place you want to be outside the walls during the night."
"Possibly even inside the walls," Bedwin muttered, performing a sign against evil.
Pellinore nodded at the priest in agreement. "Bedwin. Good, this concerns you as well." He looked down at Bedwyr. "Archimedes says the boat Myrddin has sent is waiting for us. We leave tomorrow morning, immediately. Myrddin has also been kind enough to prepare supplies and resources. Enough for three years."
Bedwyr blinked in surprise. "He is giving us much," he said.
"I hope to only be there for one year, at most," Pellinore informed him. It was an optimistic statement, and they both knew it. Myrddin clearly knew it as well.
"I take it," Bedwin said stiffly, "that you will now inform me that either I accompany you into hell, or find my way back alone."
"I'd be with you," Archimedes noted. The druid shook his head. "Part of the way, at least."
"Are you sure you don't want to join us on our quest?" Pellinore asked, with a tone that suggested he knew the answer very well.
"I am a scholar, King Pellinore, not an adventurer. I am close enough to the pits of hell right here, thank you."
Bedwin hung his head for a second. Slowly, he said, "I will accompany you, King Pellinore. If you would have me." He looked up, forcing a smile. "What better aid to follow you into hell than a Priest of the God-Emperor."
"Are you certain?" Pellinore asked again, hammering in the seriousness of it all. "Because if you aren't, boy, I will send you home whether you like it or not."
Bedwin stamped his foot, looking Pellinore right in the eye. "My faith is strong, King. Strong enough to face this challenge."
A long moment passed before Pellinore at last nodded. "If you say so, priest."
"It had better be, that is all I will say on it," Archimedes added rather coldly. "I'd almost consider forcing him home anyway, Pellinore."
Bedwin didn't hang his head, though Bedwyr didn't make out a flinch that coursed down his spine. The light shudders continued to quake over his body, as if he were in a state of aftershock.
But Pellinore only patted Archimedes' shoulder, said, "One must have faith in another's word." And that was that.
He gave Bedwyr and Bedwin the directions to the ship, informed them they would be woken at the crack of dawn the next morning, and they would all spend the voyage into the Chaoslands preparing for the ordeal. He thanked Bedwin for volunteering his aid, and then retired to his tent.
When the adults were gone, Bedwyr turned on Bedwin. "Are you sure about this?" he asked. "The Chaoslands will be far worse than here, I can tell you that from experience."
Bedwin didn't look him in the eye, but his voice was firm and strong. "If anything, my reaction to this place has made me realize I need to face a true ordeal. That way I can know my faith is true, and not an illusion like mist on a lake."
"What do you mean?" Bedwyr asked.
Bedwin at last looked at him. His eyes were just as hard as his voice. "There is a growing sect of borderline-heretics in the Church."
"The Redemptionists?" Bedwyr asked. "I've faced those bastards, what do they have to do with this?"
"Not them," Bedwin shook his head. "The bulk of those are amateurs, unrecognized by the general Ecclesiarchy. I speak of a different sect. One that is growing rapidly."
"What do they believe?"
Bedwin took a deep breath. He performed the sign of the Aquilla, as if what he was about to say was a threat to his safety. "They believe," he whispered close to Bedwyr, "that the God-Emperor is dead."
"Really?" Bedwyr tried to sound shocked, but in truth, he could immediately see the logic of it. That wouldn't be something he'd want to express or explain to a priest, even one who was rapidly becoming a good friend.
Bedwin nodded grimly. "Aye." Then he said, "And sometimes, in my darkest moments, I think that maybe they are right. That we are alone now, alone to fight Chaos and evil." The boy-priest swallowed. "So that's why I'm going with you. I want to face hell, reach into the deepest part of myself, and see what is there."
"What if nothing is there?" Bedwyr asked. He remembered his experience with the cauldron. Could Bedwin handle coming to the same realization as him?
A sad smile. "Then so be it."
They stood in depressed silence for a long moment. The stench of death had at last started to drift away, replaced by a more pleasant smell of sea-mist. "Does this sect really believe that we are alone?" Bedwyr asked.
"Some do," Bedwin said. He sighed. "But others believe a Messiah is coming. The most deranged believe that he will be the God-Emperor Reborn."
"People really are getting desperate," Bedwyr said softly.
Bedwin shrugged. "It is a minority among a minority sect." He didn't sound convinced. He sounded scared, as if the idea terrified him.
Bedwyr had an idea why. The Redemptionists were mad dogs, blind, fierce, and stupid. They would rampage and destroy, but only within their limited, individual, means. But this sect, the ones who believed in a God-Emperor Reborn, would find a figurehead sooner or later. And when they did, who knew what that may lead to.
"It is beyond us," Bedwin whispered, the strength drained from him. "All we can do now is fight."
I already know that, Bedwyr wanted to say. He didn't though. He just nodded, patted Bedwin on the shoulder, and started for bed.
[Going to try and get back to a multiple update per week schedule! Started a new job and it took a bit for my brain to get used to the new schedule. There are things I want to get to soon.]
bookwyrm
Doom of Public Libraries
- Location
- Wichita, Kansas
So the 40k incarnationists put into an Arthurian space where saints convert pagans and the words of Jesu Kristos is on the lips of every Knight of the Round. I guess in this universe the Holy Grail is linked to a Space Marine (Dark Angels naturally) of ages part, a true begotten son of the Emperor who sacrificed himself to redeem the sins of the whole world?
Icipall
Don't worry, we can fanfix that!
- Location
- Cold snow fields of Finland
Truth to be told, being a king is a shitty job.
Even a single year would be very hard to spend in the Chaoslands.
Oooh.
Always Late
Lacking in coffee, sleep, and brains
- Location
- Ohio
There has been more than one instance of such madness taking root. That tends to end in things like Vraks or that one time a priest took over a world and enslaved the populace to build a massive cathedral that stretched into space.
Unfortunately, we're not in M42, so this is not going to be Fyomperor. But I have mentioned before that Arthur will have a difficult time fixing the Imperium once the Warp storms recede, and the task will break him.
40k really doesn't do "redemption". Once Chaos has you, there is only your death and the eternal torment at their hands to look forward to.
We have seen the Green Knight already. Almost certainly one of the Fallen. As for the Holy Grail... in terms of function it's probably going to be linked to the Sisters; or one of the earliest Saints.
- Location
- United States, CA
It just so happens the God-Emperor is only MOSTLY dead. There's a big difference between mostly dead and all dead. Mostly dead is slightly alive. With all dead, well, with all dead there's usually only one thing you can do.
Go through his clothes and look for loose change.
The Attack
MysticKnightJoe
Defender of Holy Terra
- Location
- Fighting the Forces of Evil Across the Cosmos
Bedwyr had been assigned an empty house, on the fringe of the tribe's tent city. It was little more than a hut, a single-room house with one lonely bed. It had, perhaps, belonged to a laborer or scribe. Whoever the owner had been, they were gone now. At least the door was still there.
The death-smell and the stench of smoke had finally gone away as Bedwyr trudged to his lodging. Now the city was simply an empty, haunted, place.
Tomorrow, Bedwyr would be returning to his former homeland. It had been a full year, Bedwyr realized, and already he no longer considered the Chaoslands a true home. Perhaps he never had.
No building in Caer Myrddin, as it was known, had much in the way of artistry. They were simply lumps of cold, hard, grey, stone. This place, even when people had lived here, hadn't been a cheerful place.
The door was already open, the empty threshold gaping like the mouth of a pit. Bedwyr stumbled in with barely a second thought, and barely took in the furnishings before he slumped on the bed.
He dreamed of blood.
He dreamed of walking deep into a woodland, where the trees throbbed like the veins of the heart. He found a sword in his hand, and started to slash and cut, and when the trees took the blows they burst, and suddenly the wood was swamped in blood.
A torrent of it, that rapidly reached up to his eyes. Still, the hand moved and the sword flashed, and the trees fell, gushing, to the forest floor.
The red filled his entire world. He raised his hand again, sword tight in his right hand. He brought it down, and as he did, he saw that his arm was no longer human, no longer the human-like machine facsimile of his replacement.
It was the clawed arm of a bird, bristling with multi-colored feathers that seemed to shift against the ceaseless red of the realm around him. The claws gripped the sword tightly, somehow as well as normal fingers.
He felt his leg throb painfully, at the old brand that Pellinore had burned so long ago. His skin itched, and he knew, instinctively, that feathers were springing on him, more and more forcing their way into the air.
There was a jolt, suddenly, and the scene vanished, splitting apart. Bedwyr opened his mouth to scream at the wrenching pain.
He was still screaming when he woke, not even taking a moment to breathe as he sprang up in bed.
An instant later he was forced back down by invisible bonds. He strained against them, spasming. They wouldn't give.
"Hush, hush," a soft, aged, voice intoned. Gentle, gloved, hands stroked his hair. "It is over. Calm. Calm."
Bedwyr took several deep breaths, and felt, at last, his facilities return to him. He looked up, and found himself staring at the cloaked form of Blaise.
The old psychic stroked the sweat from Bedwyr's brow. "You were attacked." The psyker shivered. "An assault on your mind, one of the fiercest I've ever encountered."
Bedwyr swallowed. He felt the bounds on him relent, realizing they were creations of the loremaster's mind. "Why?" he croaked out. His throat felt dry.
Blaise placed a clay cup to his lips, forcing it backwards so cool, clear, water slid down Bedwyr's throat. "I know not." The cup emptied and Blaise pulled it away. "Ferocity, thankfully, doesn't always equal strength. Whoever did this was not the strongest of psychics, and perhaps limited by distance."
Bedwyr leaned back in the bed, drained beyond measure. It seemed impossible. But unless one of King Vortigern's sorcerers somehow cared about him, there was no other option. "If I was attacked psychically, I know who was behind it," he said.
"Who?" Blaise was insistent. The sanctioned psyker gripped Bedwyr's wrists in a gentle but firm hold. "Who?"
"I only knew him as the Priest of Tzeentch," Bedwyr whispered. "He was a mad old hermit, a petty sorcerer. When I was born he claimed and branded me for his service. But when I left, we killed him. My brother, Lucen, stabbed him in the throat."
Blaise shook his head. "Even a petty sorcerer and priest can gain something of power in the Chaoslands." The old man removed his grip. "Enough that their body shifts and twists and changes. What would mean death to a normal man may simply have been decidedly painful to such a creature."
Bedwyr closed his eyes. Suddenly, he wasn't scared or tired, but angry. How dare that shambling charlatan threaten him now.
"I think," Blaise said calmly, "with this, it would be best for you to return home."
"No!" Bedwyr snarled, his rage exploding from him.
"This is for your own safety!" Blaise bellowed, his voice powerful for all his age.
But Bedwyr forced forward, overpowering the psychic. "No!" He looked up at the man. "I must go! I have to!"
"Why?" Blaise hissed. "This thing is after you now, and will bring power to bear. As much as it can muster."
"Because I have to kill him," Bedwyr said. He rose unsteadily to his feet, still shaking with rage. Outside, he noticed, the sun was starting to rise.
Blaise helped steady him. "Pellinore will understand," the old man said carefully, "and this may be beyond you."
Bedwyr smiled at him. "Don't worry. If I know anything about the Priest, this was a major push. You hit him good right? To get him to stop his attack?"
"I did," Blaise admitted. He cupped his chin. "The one who did this had more frenzied emotion behind it than strength, I will admit."
"I'm never going to be safe in the Chaoslands anyway," Bedwyr said. He pulled on a clean tunic as he spoke. "This just means I have to keep an eye out."
"Because if this man wants to kill you or worse," Blaise said, "He will have to come to you?"
"Exactly," Bedwyr said, sheathing his sword and dagger at his side. "And when he does, I'm going to kill him once and for all."
The death-smell and the stench of smoke had finally gone away as Bedwyr trudged to his lodging. Now the city was simply an empty, haunted, place.
Tomorrow, Bedwyr would be returning to his former homeland. It had been a full year, Bedwyr realized, and already he no longer considered the Chaoslands a true home. Perhaps he never had.
No building in Caer Myrddin, as it was known, had much in the way of artistry. They were simply lumps of cold, hard, grey, stone. This place, even when people had lived here, hadn't been a cheerful place.
The door was already open, the empty threshold gaping like the mouth of a pit. Bedwyr stumbled in with barely a second thought, and barely took in the furnishings before he slumped on the bed.
He dreamed of blood.
He dreamed of walking deep into a woodland, where the trees throbbed like the veins of the heart. He found a sword in his hand, and started to slash and cut, and when the trees took the blows they burst, and suddenly the wood was swamped in blood.
A torrent of it, that rapidly reached up to his eyes. Still, the hand moved and the sword flashed, and the trees fell, gushing, to the forest floor.
The red filled his entire world. He raised his hand again, sword tight in his right hand. He brought it down, and as he did, he saw that his arm was no longer human, no longer the human-like machine facsimile of his replacement.
It was the clawed arm of a bird, bristling with multi-colored feathers that seemed to shift against the ceaseless red of the realm around him. The claws gripped the sword tightly, somehow as well as normal fingers.
He felt his leg throb painfully, at the old brand that Pellinore had burned so long ago. His skin itched, and he knew, instinctively, that feathers were springing on him, more and more forcing their way into the air.
There was a jolt, suddenly, and the scene vanished, splitting apart. Bedwyr opened his mouth to scream at the wrenching pain.
He was still screaming when he woke, not even taking a moment to breathe as he sprang up in bed.
An instant later he was forced back down by invisible bonds. He strained against them, spasming. They wouldn't give.
"Hush, hush," a soft, aged, voice intoned. Gentle, gloved, hands stroked his hair. "It is over. Calm. Calm."
Bedwyr took several deep breaths, and felt, at last, his facilities return to him. He looked up, and found himself staring at the cloaked form of Blaise.
The old psychic stroked the sweat from Bedwyr's brow. "You were attacked." The psyker shivered. "An assault on your mind, one of the fiercest I've ever encountered."
Bedwyr swallowed. He felt the bounds on him relent, realizing they were creations of the loremaster's mind. "Why?" he croaked out. His throat felt dry.
Blaise placed a clay cup to his lips, forcing it backwards so cool, clear, water slid down Bedwyr's throat. "I know not." The cup emptied and Blaise pulled it away. "Ferocity, thankfully, doesn't always equal strength. Whoever did this was not the strongest of psychics, and perhaps limited by distance."
Bedwyr leaned back in the bed, drained beyond measure. It seemed impossible. But unless one of King Vortigern's sorcerers somehow cared about him, there was no other option. "If I was attacked psychically, I know who was behind it," he said.
"Who?" Blaise was insistent. The sanctioned psyker gripped Bedwyr's wrists in a gentle but firm hold. "Who?"
"I only knew him as the Priest of Tzeentch," Bedwyr whispered. "He was a mad old hermit, a petty sorcerer. When I was born he claimed and branded me for his service. But when I left, we killed him. My brother, Lucen, stabbed him in the throat."
Blaise shook his head. "Even a petty sorcerer and priest can gain something of power in the Chaoslands." The old man removed his grip. "Enough that their body shifts and twists and changes. What would mean death to a normal man may simply have been decidedly painful to such a creature."
Bedwyr closed his eyes. Suddenly, he wasn't scared or tired, but angry. How dare that shambling charlatan threaten him now.
"I think," Blaise said calmly, "with this, it would be best for you to return home."
"No!" Bedwyr snarled, his rage exploding from him.
"This is for your own safety!" Blaise bellowed, his voice powerful for all his age.
But Bedwyr forced forward, overpowering the psychic. "No!" He looked up at the man. "I must go! I have to!"
"Why?" Blaise hissed. "This thing is after you now, and will bring power to bear. As much as it can muster."
"Because I have to kill him," Bedwyr said. He rose unsteadily to his feet, still shaking with rage. Outside, he noticed, the sun was starting to rise.
Blaise helped steady him. "Pellinore will understand," the old man said carefully, "and this may be beyond you."
Bedwyr smiled at him. "Don't worry. If I know anything about the Priest, this was a major push. You hit him good right? To get him to stop his attack?"
"I did," Blaise admitted. He cupped his chin. "The one who did this had more frenzied emotion behind it than strength, I will admit."
"I'm never going to be safe in the Chaoslands anyway," Bedwyr said. He pulled on a clean tunic as he spoke. "This just means I have to keep an eye out."
"Because if this man wants to kill you or worse," Blaise said, "He will have to come to you?"
"Exactly," Bedwyr said, sheathing his sword and dagger at his side. "And when he does, I'm going to kill him once and for all."
Last edited:
Icipall
Don't worry, we can fanfix that!
- Location
- Cold snow fields of Finland
Khorne won't be happy Tzeentch is stealing his shtick.
Fiercest.
And this time there will be double tapping. Maybe even triple tapping.
- Location
- Yes
probably house not horse.
- Location
- Dethklok
Or just borrowing Pellinore's mount to step on him. Repeatedly.
- Pronouns
- Mr
You are ignoring content by this member.
Show ignored content
I got the image of a titan just jumping up and down on them stuke in my head.
Always Late
Lacking in coffee, sleep, and brains
- Location
- Ohio
Prelude to Leavetaking
MysticKnightJoe
Defender of Holy Terra
- Location
- Fighting the Forces of Evil Across the Cosmos
With a shrill shriek, the Priest of Tzeentch hurtled back from his focus. The glass orb exploded in a shower of razor sharp shards, ripping through the mutated freak's skin, globs of brackish blood flying through the cave.
Falling in a heap on the ground, the Priest struggled to rise, hissing in rage and pain.
A cold chuckle filled the room. The Priest growled in rage as he forced himself to look at his ally of convenience.
Killomer crossed his arms, smirking. "So, your magic didn't work?"
The Priest spat at the brainless warrior. "It would have, but some pathetic practitioner got in my way."
"Pathetic? Strong enough to defeat you."
"I am not in favor of the King of Magic!" The Priest screamed. "Which is why I utilized the focus." He gestured at the shattered remains of the orb. "And the sacrifices!" He gestured at the gutted, bloody remains of three maidens.
"Waste of perfectly fine women, if you ask me," Killomer growled.
"Don't think I haven't forgotten!" The Priest roared. "It was you who ruined my chance to get revenge from the beginning, you who stopped me from killing the boy and his stupid brother! You, for your skull is full of not but bone and gravel!"
Killomer took a step forward, hand on his axe. "Is that so? Well, how about we find out what kind of slime is in yours then!"
"Enough!" A third voice boomed through the cave. Metal clanged on stone as the third, newest, member of the triad approached.
Sir Gruffyd had seen better days. Through ritual, he had survived his duel with Pellinore mostly intact, though the dark druids had severed away much of his mortal flesh, replacing it with dark, twisting, machinery. His face was especially affected, transformed into a permanent machine scowl.
"I grow tired of your squabbling!" The knight boomed. He glared between the two. "Perhaps it would be best if the two of you slew each other here and now."
"Sir Gruffyd," Killomer said, holding his hands up. "I assure you-"
"Enough excuses! Before you found me, this was nothing but your petty grudges. Doomed for failure by the fact of your weakness." The knight gestured at the debris in the room, the broken focus and the dead women. "And still you waste our time!"
"You have no right," the Priest shrieked.
"I have every right!" Gruffyd bellowed. Before the Priest could react, he slammed a metal fist right into the creature's face. The reptilian nose crunched and flattened, and more blood gouted. "I don't worship your pathetic God of Change, weakling, and I am Killomer's superior in the Church of Skulls and Blood!" He stepped over the writhing, shrieking, Priest. "I am a Champion of Vortigern's army, and I am in control here!"
Killomer went to one knee. "Of course, my Lord. Blood for the Blood God."
"Skulls for the Skull throne," Gruffyd answered the refrain. He looked between both of his subordinates. "You have your obsession with the boy Bedwyr. But I want King Pellinore. We have a duel to settle, and it won't end until one of us kills the other. Such is honor."
He walked back to the Priest, grabbing him by the weakened throat and pulling him up close to his face. "And that means they have to come here. No more psychic assaults."
"Does it really make a difference how Pellinore dies?" The Priest sneered in defiance. "If Bedwyr stabs him in the back under my thrall, how does that matter?"
Another punch shattered the Priest's jaw. A second cracked several ribs. "Honor!" Gruffyd bellowed. "You may know nothing of it, but I do!" He left the Priest shattered and mewling on the ground. "You will live," he said coldly. He glared down at Killomer, ignoring his victim. "It was good that you found me, warrior. Without me, you would no doubt fail. Remember that."
The Chaos Knight stormed out of the cave, snarling oaths under his breath. Killomer rose back to his feet. "They do get so arrogant when they are given a mount," he said dryly.
He walked over to the Priest, whose wounds were already slowly knitting back together. The mutant let out a gurgling moan of agony. "Do get up," Killomer said calmly. He kneeled down beside the pathetic creature. "Ways to go yet, and believe it or not, we do still need you."
The Priest let out another moan, closer to a snarl of sheer hatred. Soon. Soon he would have his revenge. On all these blood-mad fools.
Bedwyr had needed help climbing out of the threshold. Blaise had given him a shoulder, and Bedwyr had felt a brief spasm of shame as the old man lent his strength to the young.
"We must speak with Pellinore of course," Blaise muttered as they moved into the sun. "As well, I would recommend we bring another of my fellows. It is possible the enemy psyker will get help for another assault. Even if not, we will need as much psychic help as we can to challenge him."
Bedwyr sighed. "We need to balance it out, don't we?"
"My fellows are strong," Blaise argued.
"Who is the strongest among you?" Bedwyr asked.
"The child," Blaise admitted. He sounded more than a little embarrassed about it. "She isn't ready though, not for going into the Chaoslands at any rate. That is a challenge beyond most but myself and Myrddin."
"So," Bedwyr said softly, "it seems we will only have you then."
"Quite."
They hobbled through the town, like some strange three-legged beast. There were no eyes to see them, Bedwyr thought. Somehow it was all even more deserted than it was yesterday.
"Where did everyone go?" Bedwyr asked.
"The wulfs faded into the woods before dawn. We are heading to the coast, to catch the boats," Blaise answered. He gestured to the town square. "Of course, the others are waiting for you. You are quite lucky I decided to check up on you."
Bedwyr felt the feeling return to his legs, and gently moved away from the psyker. With two tentative steps, he walked normally the rest of the way. "Could use some breakfast," he said.
A chuckle. "So could I, lad. Using power takes a lot out of you."
"Same as anything else," Bedwyr said.
Blaise grunted in answer, suggesting slight disagreement, but no interest in arguing the point.
When Pellinore saw the pair, he moved straight to Bedwyr. His eyes gleamed with worry. "What happened?"
The others in their grim group watched. Sagramore crossed his arms, scowling at the world at large, Claire beside him standing firm. Bedwin, seemingly aware, performed the sign of the Aquilla over his chest. He had an inkling, Bedwyr thought.
"He was attacked," Blaise said gruffly. He hacked out a cough. "Psychically. I was able to beat it back, but it was a close thing."
"The Priest?" Pellinore asked Bedwyr.
Bedwyr nodded.
"A Chaos Sorcerer?" Sagramore asked.
"A mean little bastard of one," Pellinore grunted, with uncharacteristically brutal energy. "Will he go again?" he asked Blaise.
"I'm not sure," Blaise said. "I felt something break in my return attack. Whether that was the attacker himself or some form of focus or font I can't be sure. It will be some time, at the least."
"I can handle him," Bedwyr argued. He felt a bit of desperation. It would be so foolish if after all the friction, all the argument, this is what made him be forced to retreat to relative safety. "I have to finish him off once and for all to be safe, and to do that, I'll have to go into the Chaoslands." He looked up at Pellinore, hardening his eyes.
Pellinore looked back at him, and Bedwyr knew that his teacher understood him. The vetern knight nodded. "So be it. We must do what we have to do. And this Priest has haunted us for too long."
"If there is another attack, I should be able to repel it," Blaise added. He rubbed his hands together, showing some nerve.
"So be it," Pellinore said carefully. He turned to the others. "We have an unforeseen enemy, are you still with me in this?"
Bedwyr was not surprised that no one chose to leave. He took a deep breath. As he looked up, he caught the eye of Melissa, watching from behind a wall, peaking out just enough that her yellow hair and eerie, wise, eyes were visible. An instant later, she was gone.
Falling in a heap on the ground, the Priest struggled to rise, hissing in rage and pain.
A cold chuckle filled the room. The Priest growled in rage as he forced himself to look at his ally of convenience.
Killomer crossed his arms, smirking. "So, your magic didn't work?"
The Priest spat at the brainless warrior. "It would have, but some pathetic practitioner got in my way."
"Pathetic? Strong enough to defeat you."
"I am not in favor of the King of Magic!" The Priest screamed. "Which is why I utilized the focus." He gestured at the shattered remains of the orb. "And the sacrifices!" He gestured at the gutted, bloody remains of three maidens.
"Waste of perfectly fine women, if you ask me," Killomer growled.
"Don't think I haven't forgotten!" The Priest roared. "It was you who ruined my chance to get revenge from the beginning, you who stopped me from killing the boy and his stupid brother! You, for your skull is full of not but bone and gravel!"
Killomer took a step forward, hand on his axe. "Is that so? Well, how about we find out what kind of slime is in yours then!"
"Enough!" A third voice boomed through the cave. Metal clanged on stone as the third, newest, member of the triad approached.
Sir Gruffyd had seen better days. Through ritual, he had survived his duel with Pellinore mostly intact, though the dark druids had severed away much of his mortal flesh, replacing it with dark, twisting, machinery. His face was especially affected, transformed into a permanent machine scowl.
"I grow tired of your squabbling!" The knight boomed. He glared between the two. "Perhaps it would be best if the two of you slew each other here and now."
"Sir Gruffyd," Killomer said, holding his hands up. "I assure you-"
"Enough excuses! Before you found me, this was nothing but your petty grudges. Doomed for failure by the fact of your weakness." The knight gestured at the debris in the room, the broken focus and the dead women. "And still you waste our time!"
"You have no right," the Priest shrieked.
"I have every right!" Gruffyd bellowed. Before the Priest could react, he slammed a metal fist right into the creature's face. The reptilian nose crunched and flattened, and more blood gouted. "I don't worship your pathetic God of Change, weakling, and I am Killomer's superior in the Church of Skulls and Blood!" He stepped over the writhing, shrieking, Priest. "I am a Champion of Vortigern's army, and I am in control here!"
Killomer went to one knee. "Of course, my Lord. Blood for the Blood God."
"Skulls for the Skull throne," Gruffyd answered the refrain. He looked between both of his subordinates. "You have your obsession with the boy Bedwyr. But I want King Pellinore. We have a duel to settle, and it won't end until one of us kills the other. Such is honor."
He walked back to the Priest, grabbing him by the weakened throat and pulling him up close to his face. "And that means they have to come here. No more psychic assaults."
"Does it really make a difference how Pellinore dies?" The Priest sneered in defiance. "If Bedwyr stabs him in the back under my thrall, how does that matter?"
Another punch shattered the Priest's jaw. A second cracked several ribs. "Honor!" Gruffyd bellowed. "You may know nothing of it, but I do!" He left the Priest shattered and mewling on the ground. "You will live," he said coldly. He glared down at Killomer, ignoring his victim. "It was good that you found me, warrior. Without me, you would no doubt fail. Remember that."
The Chaos Knight stormed out of the cave, snarling oaths under his breath. Killomer rose back to his feet. "They do get so arrogant when they are given a mount," he said dryly.
He walked over to the Priest, whose wounds were already slowly knitting back together. The mutant let out a gurgling moan of agony. "Do get up," Killomer said calmly. He kneeled down beside the pathetic creature. "Ways to go yet, and believe it or not, we do still need you."
The Priest let out another moan, closer to a snarl of sheer hatred. Soon. Soon he would have his revenge. On all these blood-mad fools.
****************
Bedwyr had needed help climbing out of the threshold. Blaise had given him a shoulder, and Bedwyr had felt a brief spasm of shame as the old man lent his strength to the young.
"We must speak with Pellinore of course," Blaise muttered as they moved into the sun. "As well, I would recommend we bring another of my fellows. It is possible the enemy psyker will get help for another assault. Even if not, we will need as much psychic help as we can to challenge him."
Bedwyr sighed. "We need to balance it out, don't we?"
"My fellows are strong," Blaise argued.
"Who is the strongest among you?" Bedwyr asked.
"The child," Blaise admitted. He sounded more than a little embarrassed about it. "She isn't ready though, not for going into the Chaoslands at any rate. That is a challenge beyond most but myself and Myrddin."
"So," Bedwyr said softly, "it seems we will only have you then."
"Quite."
They hobbled through the town, like some strange three-legged beast. There were no eyes to see them, Bedwyr thought. Somehow it was all even more deserted than it was yesterday.
"Where did everyone go?" Bedwyr asked.
"The wulfs faded into the woods before dawn. We are heading to the coast, to catch the boats," Blaise answered. He gestured to the town square. "Of course, the others are waiting for you. You are quite lucky I decided to check up on you."
Bedwyr felt the feeling return to his legs, and gently moved away from the psyker. With two tentative steps, he walked normally the rest of the way. "Could use some breakfast," he said.
A chuckle. "So could I, lad. Using power takes a lot out of you."
"Same as anything else," Bedwyr said.
Blaise grunted in answer, suggesting slight disagreement, but no interest in arguing the point.
When Pellinore saw the pair, he moved straight to Bedwyr. His eyes gleamed with worry. "What happened?"
The others in their grim group watched. Sagramore crossed his arms, scowling at the world at large, Claire beside him standing firm. Bedwin, seemingly aware, performed the sign of the Aquilla over his chest. He had an inkling, Bedwyr thought.
"He was attacked," Blaise said gruffly. He hacked out a cough. "Psychically. I was able to beat it back, but it was a close thing."
"The Priest?" Pellinore asked Bedwyr.
Bedwyr nodded.
"A Chaos Sorcerer?" Sagramore asked.
"A mean little bastard of one," Pellinore grunted, with uncharacteristically brutal energy. "Will he go again?" he asked Blaise.
"I'm not sure," Blaise said. "I felt something break in my return attack. Whether that was the attacker himself or some form of focus or font I can't be sure. It will be some time, at the least."
"I can handle him," Bedwyr argued. He felt a bit of desperation. It would be so foolish if after all the friction, all the argument, this is what made him be forced to retreat to relative safety. "I have to finish him off once and for all to be safe, and to do that, I'll have to go into the Chaoslands." He looked up at Pellinore, hardening his eyes.
Pellinore looked back at him, and Bedwyr knew that his teacher understood him. The vetern knight nodded. "So be it. We must do what we have to do. And this Priest has haunted us for too long."
"If there is another attack, I should be able to repel it," Blaise added. He rubbed his hands together, showing some nerve.
"So be it," Pellinore said carefully. He turned to the others. "We have an unforeseen enemy, are you still with me in this?"
Bedwyr was not surprised that no one chose to leave. He took a deep breath. As he looked up, he caught the eye of Melissa, watching from behind a wall, peaking out just enough that her yellow hair and eerie, wise, eyes were visible. An instant later, she was gone.
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