Always Late
Lacking in coffee, sleep, and brains
- Location
- Ohio
... yeah, nah, garish paint usually means that the Prince of Pleasure is involved. I am cautiously optimistic.
A Light in the Dark: A King Arthur/Warhammer 40k Imperial Knights Story
- Thread starter MysticKnightJoe
- Start date
- Crossover Fantasy
Icipall
Don't worry, we can fanfix that!
- Location
- Cold snow fields of Finland
A mad knight Bedwyr met during one of Myrddin's lessons.
- Location
- Dethklok
he's been mentioned a few times
here's also what Bedwyr knew at the start of the story
The King of Gallia
MysticKnightJoe
Defender of Holy Terra
- Location
- Fighting the Forces of Evil Across the Cosmos
The bridge, as it turned out, was a flattened boulder forming a crude ramp across a smaller stretch of the chasm. It was a frightful, awkward business getting across the thing, and the car rocked and shuddered over every ill-formed bump.
The two resistance cars waited for them, one facing them, the other facing away to watch the terrain for more War Dogs. Gowther's knight was latched to the one facing them, and the mutant knight was cheerfully blabbing through the vox the whole time.
Cutting through Gowther, Pellinore asked, "May I ask who you are, exactly?"
"I am Derfal, son of Hywel," the driver of the lead car answered. "My father was once Lord Chieftain of these lands. Now we are fighting for what remains."
"Stubborn," Liemire muttered, "they should just leave."
"It isn't just Armorica!" Derfal snapped, having evidently heard Liemire's comment. "It is for all of Gallia."
"Gallia doesn't exist anymore, Derfal," Pellinore said gently, "Even the parts that aren't Armorica are heavily corrupted and held by the Chaos Lord Claudas."
"Claudas is nothing," Derfal growled. "We have the King with us."
"Taliesin?" Bedwyr asked, remembering the sad young bard turned king. "He is here?"
A snort. "Cacofonix? No, we have the King of all Gallia now, not Uther's glorified Court Bard."
Bedwyr would hardly call Taliesin glorified, when his positioning as king was effectively an exile. "Who is the King of Gallia, Sir Derfal?"
"I'm not a knight yet, whoever is speaking," Derfal said, though Bedwyr detected a certain pride in being referred to as one. He didn't answer the question.
They made it across the crude bridge, with only a minor scare at the very end. Sagramore's luggage car tipped dangerously, almost falling and dragging the unlucky knight with it, but eventually they righted it with some careful maneuvering.
"Right," Derfal said after the danger was averted. "Follow us. It will take two days, we break at night and stick together. After those things are done licking their wounds they may be back."
The vox cut out, and even Gowther's voice stopped coming through.
"What do you think?" Liemire said, "this 'King of Gallia' business?"
"I'm not sure," Pellinore replied. He shook his head. "Gowther may have had a change of heart, certainly, he seemed to be on the cusp of one when we left him. Still, working with him is a worrying sign."
"Do you know Hywel and Derfal?" Bedwyr asked, remembering Pellinore had mentioned coming here before.
"Somewhat," Pellinore said grimly. "Hywel is a good man, from a good knightly family, and his son should be similar. I am happy to hear he still lives. However, he has been here for a year, in constant battle no doubt. That could make any man desperate. Desperate enough to swear an oath to a man claiming a title that doesn't exist anymore, and work with men like Gowther? It isn't a good sign."
"Do you think they have fallen?" Bedwin asked, gripping his Aquilla.
"Possible," Blaise interjected. "If nothing else, I'm not sensing any warp around Gowther, Derfal, or any of their equipment." He nodded toward Sagramore's car, where Melissa stayed close to Claire. "Melissa might be better at that," he admitted a little sourly. "But she would warn us at least."
Sagramore did call through the vox shortly after, but only to touch base. Claire poked in to inform that Melissa didn't sense anything either, but was currently sleeping. To this, Blaise muttered darkly that that might not prove anything either.
They rested among the ruins of another town, which everyone kept very quiet about. Liemire and Bedwin performed quick, nervous, benedictions to drive away the unquiet, possibly vengeful dead.
The resistance fighters kept their distance, and maintained vox silence through the entire journey, only coming in to give quick, cryptic, direction. Mostly, they led, their words meaning little to those who hadn't been part of a resistance for the past year. An endless sprew of code-phrases and direction only given context by the movement of the cars.
When they finally reached the destination, it came almost as a shock. One instant they were approaching the vast mountain range that formed the border between what once had been Armorica and the other provinces of what had once been Gallia. The next, they rounded a bend and entered a village.
The village was teaming with people, men, women, even children. They passed through a heavy wall, guarded by two knights and a group of warriors in long cloaks armed with spears and guns. A blurt of code from Derfal and they were allowed in.
Bedwyr peered out the window in curiosity. People moved in normal patterns despite their situation. Children ran by the cars, laughing and waving. An ancient druid in undyed wool hunched over a cauldron, calling, "Get your fix!" to anyone who passed. Two men, a small blonde fellow and a giant red head, went by, carrying five large boars between them.
"What is this place?" Pellinore asked, looking around. "These buildings are old but strong. I've never heard of this, never seen it on any map."
Bedwyr looked higher, and took in the buildings. They were old, older than the salvaged wall, older than the cars, scoured and battered by the long stretch of decades, if not centuries. Here and there were even hastily fixed damage, caused by long-ago war and battle.
The two cars in front stopped suddenly. "You can come out now," Derfal said, "no weapons, least for now."
"We are in the hornet's nest," Liemire hissed to Pellinore, "there is something off about this place, something old. You can't seriously expect us to go out unarmed."
Pellinore looked at Liemire, his voice firm. "I trust Derfal and his father if nothing else. We will go out unarmed as directed."
Feeling naked and nervous, Bedwyr walked from the car with the others. The people watched them curiously, and Bedwyr got the immediate sense that even if they were armed, these people wouldn't fear them. They seemed an inch away from unabashedly welcoming them.
Gowther emerged from the car, grinning from ear to ear, the same as Bedwyr remembered him. His sword was newer and he seemed cleaner, more healthy. "Pellinore!" the mutant knight waved. Then he looked at Bedwyr. "Small squire whose name I've forgotten!"
Pellinore returned the wave, smiling a touch nervously. "Gowther," he returned the greeting with a nod.
Derfal, or at least who Bedwyr assumed to be Derfal, came out next, a sullen young redhead with the beginnings of a mustache. He didn't seem to notice them, looking towards the center of the village.
A big man, decidedly portly but clearly having lost some weight judging by the limp skin at his jowels, came forward. He was armed with a sword at his side, and opened his arms in greeting. "King Pellinore! Sir Sagramore! Greetings and welcome to you both, and your retinue!"
"Lord Hywel," Pellinore said, smiling. "I am pleased to see you live."
Hywel clapped Pellinore heartily on the shoulder, managing a strained smile. "Somehow, old friend, somehow." He grinned as Bedwyr. "And you finally took a squire. I was about to force Derfal on you, but that seems to be unnecessary now."
Derfal made an irritated sound in his throat, near universal among teenagers.
"And he can't be mine!" Gowther declared unnecessarily. "Because I have a squire too! I met him after I met the small squire boy."
Pellinore groaned and cupped his face in his hand. "Gowther did you kidnap a child?"
Gowther scowled and rose to the very tips of his hooves. "Oh! So when Pellinore does it it is giving a child a new life, but when I do it suddenly it is 'kidnapping' and 'endangering a minor.'"
Nervous laughter rippled through the whole gathering. Bedwyr had the immediate thought that at this point, being a squire was no more dangerous than living here anyway. Really, he was more worried that Gowther of all people was teaching someone how to be a knight. He wasn't entirely sure Gowther even had a good grasp on reality, let alone knighthood.
For now, everyone seemed to agree that it was best to not speak of it just yet. Hywel continued, "You will have to meet with the King of Gallia, to ensure that you can stay."
Pellinore shook his head. "There is no king, and the country you speak of hasn't existed in a long time. Hywel, this doesn't make sense. What has been happening here?"
"I have been happening here!" A voice boomed through the village, like the sound of a thousand trumpets being blown simultaneously. Everyone shuddered and jumped involuntarily.
Bedwyr's eyes widened slightly. Only one being had ever sounded like that. One entity, one non-human. The giant-ghost who had once been Gwydion.
The giant emerged, moving with a precision that was almost impossible for a normal knight to achieve. It was colored with deep purple and gold, a leaping horse inlaid on its heavy shoulder. Its sword and gun gleamed in the sunlight, and somehow its very eyes had a fierce, commanding, depth. A living depth.
"I am the King of Gallia!" the giant boomed. "I am Vercingetorix!"
The two resistance cars waited for them, one facing them, the other facing away to watch the terrain for more War Dogs. Gowther's knight was latched to the one facing them, and the mutant knight was cheerfully blabbing through the vox the whole time.
Cutting through Gowther, Pellinore asked, "May I ask who you are, exactly?"
"I am Derfal, son of Hywel," the driver of the lead car answered. "My father was once Lord Chieftain of these lands. Now we are fighting for what remains."
"Stubborn," Liemire muttered, "they should just leave."
"It isn't just Armorica!" Derfal snapped, having evidently heard Liemire's comment. "It is for all of Gallia."
"Gallia doesn't exist anymore, Derfal," Pellinore said gently, "Even the parts that aren't Armorica are heavily corrupted and held by the Chaos Lord Claudas."
"Claudas is nothing," Derfal growled. "We have the King with us."
"Taliesin?" Bedwyr asked, remembering the sad young bard turned king. "He is here?"
A snort. "Cacofonix? No, we have the King of all Gallia now, not Uther's glorified Court Bard."
Bedwyr would hardly call Taliesin glorified, when his positioning as king was effectively an exile. "Who is the King of Gallia, Sir Derfal?"
"I'm not a knight yet, whoever is speaking," Derfal said, though Bedwyr detected a certain pride in being referred to as one. He didn't answer the question.
They made it across the crude bridge, with only a minor scare at the very end. Sagramore's luggage car tipped dangerously, almost falling and dragging the unlucky knight with it, but eventually they righted it with some careful maneuvering.
"Right," Derfal said after the danger was averted. "Follow us. It will take two days, we break at night and stick together. After those things are done licking their wounds they may be back."
The vox cut out, and even Gowther's voice stopped coming through.
"What do you think?" Liemire said, "this 'King of Gallia' business?"
"I'm not sure," Pellinore replied. He shook his head. "Gowther may have had a change of heart, certainly, he seemed to be on the cusp of one when we left him. Still, working with him is a worrying sign."
"Do you know Hywel and Derfal?" Bedwyr asked, remembering Pellinore had mentioned coming here before.
"Somewhat," Pellinore said grimly. "Hywel is a good man, from a good knightly family, and his son should be similar. I am happy to hear he still lives. However, he has been here for a year, in constant battle no doubt. That could make any man desperate. Desperate enough to swear an oath to a man claiming a title that doesn't exist anymore, and work with men like Gowther? It isn't a good sign."
"Do you think they have fallen?" Bedwin asked, gripping his Aquilla.
"Possible," Blaise interjected. "If nothing else, I'm not sensing any warp around Gowther, Derfal, or any of their equipment." He nodded toward Sagramore's car, where Melissa stayed close to Claire. "Melissa might be better at that," he admitted a little sourly. "But she would warn us at least."
Sagramore did call through the vox shortly after, but only to touch base. Claire poked in to inform that Melissa didn't sense anything either, but was currently sleeping. To this, Blaise muttered darkly that that might not prove anything either.
They rested among the ruins of another town, which everyone kept very quiet about. Liemire and Bedwin performed quick, nervous, benedictions to drive away the unquiet, possibly vengeful dead.
The resistance fighters kept their distance, and maintained vox silence through the entire journey, only coming in to give quick, cryptic, direction. Mostly, they led, their words meaning little to those who hadn't been part of a resistance for the past year. An endless sprew of code-phrases and direction only given context by the movement of the cars.
When they finally reached the destination, it came almost as a shock. One instant they were approaching the vast mountain range that formed the border between what once had been Armorica and the other provinces of what had once been Gallia. The next, they rounded a bend and entered a village.
The village was teaming with people, men, women, even children. They passed through a heavy wall, guarded by two knights and a group of warriors in long cloaks armed with spears and guns. A blurt of code from Derfal and they were allowed in.
Bedwyr peered out the window in curiosity. People moved in normal patterns despite their situation. Children ran by the cars, laughing and waving. An ancient druid in undyed wool hunched over a cauldron, calling, "Get your fix!" to anyone who passed. Two men, a small blonde fellow and a giant red head, went by, carrying five large boars between them.
"What is this place?" Pellinore asked, looking around. "These buildings are old but strong. I've never heard of this, never seen it on any map."
Bedwyr looked higher, and took in the buildings. They were old, older than the salvaged wall, older than the cars, scoured and battered by the long stretch of decades, if not centuries. Here and there were even hastily fixed damage, caused by long-ago war and battle.
The two cars in front stopped suddenly. "You can come out now," Derfal said, "no weapons, least for now."
"We are in the hornet's nest," Liemire hissed to Pellinore, "there is something off about this place, something old. You can't seriously expect us to go out unarmed."
Pellinore looked at Liemire, his voice firm. "I trust Derfal and his father if nothing else. We will go out unarmed as directed."
Feeling naked and nervous, Bedwyr walked from the car with the others. The people watched them curiously, and Bedwyr got the immediate sense that even if they were armed, these people wouldn't fear them. They seemed an inch away from unabashedly welcoming them.
Gowther emerged from the car, grinning from ear to ear, the same as Bedwyr remembered him. His sword was newer and he seemed cleaner, more healthy. "Pellinore!" the mutant knight waved. Then he looked at Bedwyr. "Small squire whose name I've forgotten!"
Pellinore returned the wave, smiling a touch nervously. "Gowther," he returned the greeting with a nod.
Derfal, or at least who Bedwyr assumed to be Derfal, came out next, a sullen young redhead with the beginnings of a mustache. He didn't seem to notice them, looking towards the center of the village.
A big man, decidedly portly but clearly having lost some weight judging by the limp skin at his jowels, came forward. He was armed with a sword at his side, and opened his arms in greeting. "King Pellinore! Sir Sagramore! Greetings and welcome to you both, and your retinue!"
"Lord Hywel," Pellinore said, smiling. "I am pleased to see you live."
Hywel clapped Pellinore heartily on the shoulder, managing a strained smile. "Somehow, old friend, somehow." He grinned as Bedwyr. "And you finally took a squire. I was about to force Derfal on you, but that seems to be unnecessary now."
Derfal made an irritated sound in his throat, near universal among teenagers.
"And he can't be mine!" Gowther declared unnecessarily. "Because I have a squire too! I met him after I met the small squire boy."
Pellinore groaned and cupped his face in his hand. "Gowther did you kidnap a child?"
Gowther scowled and rose to the very tips of his hooves. "Oh! So when Pellinore does it it is giving a child a new life, but when I do it suddenly it is 'kidnapping' and 'endangering a minor.'"
Nervous laughter rippled through the whole gathering. Bedwyr had the immediate thought that at this point, being a squire was no more dangerous than living here anyway. Really, he was more worried that Gowther of all people was teaching someone how to be a knight. He wasn't entirely sure Gowther even had a good grasp on reality, let alone knighthood.
For now, everyone seemed to agree that it was best to not speak of it just yet. Hywel continued, "You will have to meet with the King of Gallia, to ensure that you can stay."
Pellinore shook his head. "There is no king, and the country you speak of hasn't existed in a long time. Hywel, this doesn't make sense. What has been happening here?"
"I have been happening here!" A voice boomed through the village, like the sound of a thousand trumpets being blown simultaneously. Everyone shuddered and jumped involuntarily.
Bedwyr's eyes widened slightly. Only one being had ever sounded like that. One entity, one non-human. The giant-ghost who had once been Gwydion.
The giant emerged, moving with a precision that was almost impossible for a normal knight to achieve. It was colored with deep purple and gold, a leaping horse inlaid on its heavy shoulder. Its sword and gun gleamed in the sunlight, and somehow its very eyes had a fierce, commanding, depth. A living depth.
"I am the King of Gallia!" the giant boomed. "I am Vercingetorix!"
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Always Late
Lacking in coffee, sleep, and brains
- Location
- Ohio
Dang it, now I can't help but hear this guy as All Might.
1. Ancient Terran name.
2. Space Marine size.
3. No canon chapter with Horse symbols.
4. Purple and Gold.
Yeah, no, we see you Mr. Emperor's Children.
I think that these are the first Asterix references that I have seen on this website. Can't say that it isn't fitting for the situation, though.
MysticKnightJoe
Defender of Holy Terra
- Location
- Fighting the Forces of Evil Across the Cosmos
Not actually planned at all, I just realized I was getting to a bit where they were going to this hidden village of resistance fighters and it just kind of made sense
- Location
- Dethklok
Should be boulder
I think it should be face here
But it's cool to see references to Asterix
Icipall
Don't worry, we can fanfix that!
- Location
- Cold snow fields of Finland
It isn't.
Cacofonix? Wait a minute...
You know, when I made those jokes of them finding a village full of indomitable Armoricans, I was joking!
Huh. Taking a name of a real historical figure.
wahaha this is going to be fun!
Ghosts
MysticKnightJoe
Defender of Holy Terra
- Location
- Fighting the Forces of Evil Across the Cosmos
Bedwyr had no clue what that name meant. It just sounded like an archaic series of syllables. It was Pellinore's reaction that told Bedwyr that the name meant something.
Pellinore took a step away from the knight, frowning. "That's not possible," he said.
A laugh that sounded like a mountaineer's horn. "Of course it is possible, I have returned from the dark mist of death!"
"But how?" Pellinore snapped, head bent as if having an intense headache. "You have been dead for five thousand years, for Terra's sake."
Hywel grunted for attention. "We found him here, King Pellinore. There are a series of caves just behind this old village, and there we found his throne." The chieftain nodded to a hovering group of druids. "With the help of these fine fellows, we rebuilt it, thinking that we could use all the mounts we could get. Imagine our surprise when we discovered that it contained King Vercingetorix."
"I've seen something similar," Bedwyr admitted suddenly. "Gwydion, in the Forest Sauvage. I think he may have been even older than the King." He remembered to refer to Vercingetorix by his proper title, one was polite, even to an undead.
"Ah yes, I know of that man," Vercingetorix responded. "He is indeed older than myself. Have you heard of any others?"
"I certainly hope not!" Bedwin gasped. He turned bright red when everyone looked at him. "No offense."
"None taken," the King said with equanimity, "I suspect I have only dodged a terrible fate by some very good luck."
Bedwyr remembered Gwydion's spasming memory, he's incapability of distinguishing between the present and the past. The human mind wasn't meant to exist for thousands of years. "I think you may be correct, King Vercingetorix."
"Well," Vercingetorix bellowed, though Bedwyr was pretty sure he was trying to talk somewhat normally. "To speak of such sorrowful topics is upsetting. We were starting a feast, to celebrate our continued survival. I believe it can be easily shifted to also celebrate the coming of our new friends and companions in arms." There was a hint of a question in that last statement, almost a threat.
"And we are happy to join you," Pellinore replied diplomatically. His jaw was set, but Pellinore was an expert at keeping any negative feeling hidden, with fellow nobles especially.
Bedwyr took a deep breath, and tried to keep a lid on his nerves as well. Bedwin was clearly having trouble, the boy was pale as a sheet and kept swallowing fruitlessly, even as Bedwyr helped him to one of the long, stone tables in the center of the village.
The tables were quickly filled and piled high with cooked meat and enough drink to drown Claudas' forces. The village sat down with little attention paid to social status. It quickly became loud and excited, and Bedwyr quickly found himself alone with Bedwin. Pellinore had been pulled aside by Hywel, huddled far away and not touching any food. Liemire had similarly rushed over to his fellow druids. He couldn't even make out where Sagramore, Claire, Blaise, and Melissa had ended up.
Vercingetorix stood over the entire festivities like a metal god. It was, in fact, rather uncomfortable.
"I think he just likes to watch," a boy about Bedwyr's age said.
Bedwyr blinked lamely. "What?"
"The King." The boy was grinning. "Saw you staring, and you seemed a bit uncomfortable by it. But, well, the guy can't eat, drink, or enjoy any of the pleasures of flesh that an ordinary human can, so I think it makes perfect sense that he likes to watch."
"You realize," Bedwin croaked, "that that isn't a comfort. It sounds rather voyeuristic."
Their neighbor shrugged, taking a deep bite of boar. "I get it though, you know." He swallowed and then grinned. "Don't worry, he doesn't peek during private time between couples. That would really be beyond the pale."
Bedwyr snorted a laugh, just managing to hold in a swallow of clear water. "I am Bedwyr, squire to King Pellinore," he said, letting a bit of pride leak into his voice. "Who might you be?"
The boy was small and dark-skinned, with an infectious grin. "I am Palamedes, squire to Sir Gowther." He frowned. "Did I say that right? You said it that way, but I am a bit new to this."
"It is fine," Bedwyr said cheerfully. "You said it well, and with honor." So this was Gowther's squire. He certainly wasn't what Bedwyr had expected. He had guessed that it would be another woods mutant, but Palamedes seemed fairly normal.
Palamedes frowned. "Not sure how you can say something with honor," he admitted. "It is just saying, you can speak correctly, or not."
"Knights do everything with honor," a nearby warrior said, "speaking, eating, passing gas."
"I'll have you know," one of Hywel's knights declared, "that I pass gas with more honor than you have in your right thumb!"
"Not much of a contest," the warrior grumbled. He held up his right hand, revealing that his right thumb was little more than a stub, hacked off in some fight or another.
"Never said I had much!"
Bedwin looked a little scandalized, but Palamedes' grin only grew. "It is like a party here, when we aren't fighting, we live as well as we can," the squire said.
"I see," said Bedwin, who at last managed to take a bite of food. "We didn't even say a prayer," he muttered.
Palamedes shrugged. "We don't exactly have a priest here."
"You do now!" Bedwin declared, trying to look impressive. It had mixed results.
"So are you going to go up and say a prayer?" Bedwyr asked, smiling. He wouldn't mind that, truth be told.
Bedwin looked around at the group of rowdy resistance fighters, nobles, and villagers. All were eating and drinking and arguing with startling energy. He flushed and muttered, "Maybe later."
"Silence!" Vercingetorix's voice boomed out across the feast, and just as suddenly there was silence. For a second, Bedwyr thought that he was going to call Bedwin to speak a prayer. Instead, the King declared, "We shall have music! Bard, sing us a tale!"
"Of course, oh King of Gallia."
Bedwyr stiffened. The voice was immediately familiar. It was an old man's voice, gentle, controlled. The old man climbed, with the help of the short blonde warrior Bedwyr had seen when they had come into town, on top of the table.
It was unmistakable. He was wearing a simple traveler's cloak of brown over homespun tunic. He looked fitting for the rural setting of this strange village, rather than the palace Bedwyr had seen him in last. Aneirin fiddled with his harp, smiling at the crowd, who had fallen dutifully silent, at least for now.
"This is a song about Clever Jack," the old bard said. His eyes drifted across the crowd, first settling on Pellinore, then, eerily, straight into Bedwyr's. "An adventurer and trickster, facing foes beyond himself."
"Do you know him?" Palamedes asked. "You've gone as pale as the priest."
"How did he get here?" Bedwyr asked right back. Rude to answer a question with a question, but it was all he could process right now.
Palamedes shrugged. "He came…" The fellow squire stopped short. He frowned in thought. "I'm not sure when he arrived."
Aneirin began his song, a cheerful, bawdy, tale about Clever Jack tricking a loud and violent giant of fire into giving him a mountain of gold and escaping with his life.
Bedwyr barely noticed the song. Aneirin shouldn't be here. There were miles of destroyed, inhospitable land between Caer Gei and here. Aneirin was old and evidently frail. There was no way he could have possibly survived the journey.
But here he was, playing a song and drinking deep from a mug of mead pushed into his hands by a cheerful warrior. He seemed real, almost more so than how he'd appeared at the Caer. Bedwyr remembered suddenly how the old man had vanished into thin air after his tale of the Green Knight. He shivered, suddenly feeling a chill in the air.
The old bard returned to his seat to thunderous applause, a cheerful, elderly smile on his face. Bedwyr watched him, only having to shift his gaze a little to see that Pellinore was watching the old man as well, a grim look on his face.
Vercingetorix clanged his mechanical limbs together in a strange parody of applause. The sheer amount of noise reminded Bedwyr that there was more than one ghost here.
The village erupted into song, loud and cheerful, with even their giant king joining in. The sheer, defiant cheer almost overwhelmed Bedwyr. He couldn't imagine that this place was dangerous. Yet somehow, he felt like this was where the true dangers of their journey would begin.
Pellinore took a step away from the knight, frowning. "That's not possible," he said.
A laugh that sounded like a mountaineer's horn. "Of course it is possible, I have returned from the dark mist of death!"
"But how?" Pellinore snapped, head bent as if having an intense headache. "You have been dead for five thousand years, for Terra's sake."
Hywel grunted for attention. "We found him here, King Pellinore. There are a series of caves just behind this old village, and there we found his throne." The chieftain nodded to a hovering group of druids. "With the help of these fine fellows, we rebuilt it, thinking that we could use all the mounts we could get. Imagine our surprise when we discovered that it contained King Vercingetorix."
"I've seen something similar," Bedwyr admitted suddenly. "Gwydion, in the Forest Sauvage. I think he may have been even older than the King." He remembered to refer to Vercingetorix by his proper title, one was polite, even to an undead.
"Ah yes, I know of that man," Vercingetorix responded. "He is indeed older than myself. Have you heard of any others?"
"I certainly hope not!" Bedwin gasped. He turned bright red when everyone looked at him. "No offense."
"None taken," the King said with equanimity, "I suspect I have only dodged a terrible fate by some very good luck."
Bedwyr remembered Gwydion's spasming memory, he's incapability of distinguishing between the present and the past. The human mind wasn't meant to exist for thousands of years. "I think you may be correct, King Vercingetorix."
"Well," Vercingetorix bellowed, though Bedwyr was pretty sure he was trying to talk somewhat normally. "To speak of such sorrowful topics is upsetting. We were starting a feast, to celebrate our continued survival. I believe it can be easily shifted to also celebrate the coming of our new friends and companions in arms." There was a hint of a question in that last statement, almost a threat.
"And we are happy to join you," Pellinore replied diplomatically. His jaw was set, but Pellinore was an expert at keeping any negative feeling hidden, with fellow nobles especially.
Bedwyr took a deep breath, and tried to keep a lid on his nerves as well. Bedwin was clearly having trouble, the boy was pale as a sheet and kept swallowing fruitlessly, even as Bedwyr helped him to one of the long, stone tables in the center of the village.
The tables were quickly filled and piled high with cooked meat and enough drink to drown Claudas' forces. The village sat down with little attention paid to social status. It quickly became loud and excited, and Bedwyr quickly found himself alone with Bedwin. Pellinore had been pulled aside by Hywel, huddled far away and not touching any food. Liemire had similarly rushed over to his fellow druids. He couldn't even make out where Sagramore, Claire, Blaise, and Melissa had ended up.
Vercingetorix stood over the entire festivities like a metal god. It was, in fact, rather uncomfortable.
"I think he just likes to watch," a boy about Bedwyr's age said.
Bedwyr blinked lamely. "What?"
"The King." The boy was grinning. "Saw you staring, and you seemed a bit uncomfortable by it. But, well, the guy can't eat, drink, or enjoy any of the pleasures of flesh that an ordinary human can, so I think it makes perfect sense that he likes to watch."
"You realize," Bedwin croaked, "that that isn't a comfort. It sounds rather voyeuristic."
Their neighbor shrugged, taking a deep bite of boar. "I get it though, you know." He swallowed and then grinned. "Don't worry, he doesn't peek during private time between couples. That would really be beyond the pale."
Bedwyr snorted a laugh, just managing to hold in a swallow of clear water. "I am Bedwyr, squire to King Pellinore," he said, letting a bit of pride leak into his voice. "Who might you be?"
The boy was small and dark-skinned, with an infectious grin. "I am Palamedes, squire to Sir Gowther." He frowned. "Did I say that right? You said it that way, but I am a bit new to this."
"It is fine," Bedwyr said cheerfully. "You said it well, and with honor." So this was Gowther's squire. He certainly wasn't what Bedwyr had expected. He had guessed that it would be another woods mutant, but Palamedes seemed fairly normal.
Palamedes frowned. "Not sure how you can say something with honor," he admitted. "It is just saying, you can speak correctly, or not."
"Knights do everything with honor," a nearby warrior said, "speaking, eating, passing gas."
"I'll have you know," one of Hywel's knights declared, "that I pass gas with more honor than you have in your right thumb!"
"Not much of a contest," the warrior grumbled. He held up his right hand, revealing that his right thumb was little more than a stub, hacked off in some fight or another.
"Never said I had much!"
Bedwin looked a little scandalized, but Palamedes' grin only grew. "It is like a party here, when we aren't fighting, we live as well as we can," the squire said.
"I see," said Bedwin, who at last managed to take a bite of food. "We didn't even say a prayer," he muttered.
Palamedes shrugged. "We don't exactly have a priest here."
"You do now!" Bedwin declared, trying to look impressive. It had mixed results.
"So are you going to go up and say a prayer?" Bedwyr asked, smiling. He wouldn't mind that, truth be told.
Bedwin looked around at the group of rowdy resistance fighters, nobles, and villagers. All were eating and drinking and arguing with startling energy. He flushed and muttered, "Maybe later."
"Silence!" Vercingetorix's voice boomed out across the feast, and just as suddenly there was silence. For a second, Bedwyr thought that he was going to call Bedwin to speak a prayer. Instead, the King declared, "We shall have music! Bard, sing us a tale!"
"Of course, oh King of Gallia."
Bedwyr stiffened. The voice was immediately familiar. It was an old man's voice, gentle, controlled. The old man climbed, with the help of the short blonde warrior Bedwyr had seen when they had come into town, on top of the table.
It was unmistakable. He was wearing a simple traveler's cloak of brown over homespun tunic. He looked fitting for the rural setting of this strange village, rather than the palace Bedwyr had seen him in last. Aneirin fiddled with his harp, smiling at the crowd, who had fallen dutifully silent, at least for now.
"This is a song about Clever Jack," the old bard said. His eyes drifted across the crowd, first settling on Pellinore, then, eerily, straight into Bedwyr's. "An adventurer and trickster, facing foes beyond himself."
"Do you know him?" Palamedes asked. "You've gone as pale as the priest."
"How did he get here?" Bedwyr asked right back. Rude to answer a question with a question, but it was all he could process right now.
Palamedes shrugged. "He came…" The fellow squire stopped short. He frowned in thought. "I'm not sure when he arrived."
Aneirin began his song, a cheerful, bawdy, tale about Clever Jack tricking a loud and violent giant of fire into giving him a mountain of gold and escaping with his life.
Bedwyr barely noticed the song. Aneirin shouldn't be here. There were miles of destroyed, inhospitable land between Caer Gei and here. Aneirin was old and evidently frail. There was no way he could have possibly survived the journey.
But here he was, playing a song and drinking deep from a mug of mead pushed into his hands by a cheerful warrior. He seemed real, almost more so than how he'd appeared at the Caer. Bedwyr remembered suddenly how the old man had vanished into thin air after his tale of the Green Knight. He shivered, suddenly feeling a chill in the air.
The old bard returned to his seat to thunderous applause, a cheerful, elderly smile on his face. Bedwyr watched him, only having to shift his gaze a little to see that Pellinore was watching the old man as well, a grim look on his face.
Vercingetorix clanged his mechanical limbs together in a strange parody of applause. The sheer amount of noise reminded Bedwyr that there was more than one ghost here.
The village erupted into song, loud and cheerful, with even their giant king joining in. The sheer, defiant cheer almost overwhelmed Bedwyr. He couldn't imagine that this place was dangerous. Yet somehow, he felt like this was where the true dangers of their journey would begin.
- Location
- United States, CA
Not to be confused with his cousin, Handsome Jack, who was a hero.
Always Late
Lacking in coffee, sleep, and brains
- Location
- Ohio
... come to think of it, I may have been looking at Vercingetorix all the wrong way, besides whether or not he is one of the Emperor's Children or a Dark Angel. Is this truly a seven foot tall Space Marine, or is it a Dreadnought instead? Would explain the sanity/sleeping stuff.
Son of the Lion or the Phoenician I know thee not, but welcome among the Emperor's faithful I can assuredly deny.
That appropriately moody enough?
1. Dreadnought intensifies.
2. Emperor's children intensifies.
3. Salamander intensifies?
That you know of, boy.
Ah, a greek name amidst these Britons and Gauls. Shall ye be faithful, or betrayed?
Yeah, I'm seeing the Asterix similarities myself now. Comedic dysfunctionality.
Less chance of being made the butt of a joke.
... MERLIN! Come get your Eldar friend and take him home!
Especially since he has bad timing on his memory alterations.
Psykers do that, be on the lookout for hoarfrost.
I wonder how many of the Uncrowned Princes enjoyed scenes like this once upon a time...
Icipall
Don't worry, we can fanfix that!
- Location
- Cold snow fields of Finland
This is starting to turn into Smash Bros. Everyone is here!
Yeah, that's not eyebrow raising at all.
- Location
- Dethklok
that was a good one.
though this time the bard was able to sing at the banquet instead of being tied down and gagged. Being able to sing has its perks, it seems
Ganieda
MysticKnightJoe
Defender of Holy Terra
- Location
- Fighting the Forces of Evil Across the Cosmos
The feast never really ended for the whole night. People did leave from time to time, to perform tasks or simply to take a rest, but the party never really ended. Even when the food ran out and the dancing and music stopped, people simply talked together, staying at the communal tables.
Bedwyr found himself enjoying the atmosphere, the whole thing far less formal than the parties at the Caer, and therefore more cheerfully personal.
He talked with Palamedes for a time, about nothing of any strong importance. Bedwin joined in from time to time, though he seemed to be the only one too nervous to really enjoy himself.
Pellinore had spent hours in quiet discussion with Hywel, far from the rest, drowned out by the other ambient sounds. Bedwyr hadn't even seen his mentor take a bite of food.
Returning his attention to his own sphere of camaraderie, seeing that Bedwin had fallen asleep at his seat, he almost jumped when he found himself face-to-face with a new pair of eyes.
The woman had long, red hair, and was wearing a wool cloak and a distractingly tight tunic. Her skin was soft looking and eerily pale. None of this was what stood out to Bedwyr. The first thing he noticed were her eyes.
Her eyes had pupils like those of a goat's, horizontal pupils that showed little emotion. She didn't have horns, but Bedwyr would put money on the fact that she had hooves. She looked, aside from the obvious differences, like a female version of Gowther.
"Hello Ganieda," Palamedes said politely. The other squire grinned. "You see something you like?" He nudged Bedwyr.
Ganieda tilted her head to the side. She didn't say a word. Then she reached out and grabbed Bedwyr's head, shifting it from side to side.
Bedwyr was a touch too off-put to really react. He smiled at the mutant girl awkwardly. "Palamedes, who is this, and what is she doing?"
"Bedwyr, allow me to introduce Ganieda, sister of Gowther, and druidess." Palamedes frowned. "I have no idea what she is doing now."
Bedwyr smiled at the woman, trying to not seem awkward. "I'm sorry milady, but I already have a lady love."
Ganieda showed no sign of understanding him. Palamedes, however, got interested. "You do? Have you kissed her?"
Bedwyr flushed to his ears, the strange mix of everything finally getting to him. "I...look...that's personal," he muttered.
"He has," Claire's voice heroically intruded. The damsel slid beside Ganieda. "Ganieda, please let go of the boy, he looks as if he is about to die."
Ganieda finally let go of Bedwyr's face, leaning back and frowning slightly. She said nothing, but her hands flicked rapidly, in several different patterns.
"No, he isn't a psychic," Claire answered, sounding a little amused.
A rapid flurry of signs.
"I never said he was," Claire said
Ganieda did another quick flicker of hand signs, directed first at Claire, then at Bedwyr.
"She is sorry," said Melissa, who was gently pushing the sleeping Bedwin's chair aside, putting some effort into not waking the boy up. "She heard that she would be able to tell by touch. I didn't let her, so she decided to test you."
"That would make the job of witchfinders quite simple," Claire muttered. She was smiling though, and slid into place beside Ganieda. "Ganieda here is quite the find. The nature of my order is to find women from all around and recruit them. Me and her had immediate affinity."
"What does that mean?" Bedwyr asked.
Ganieda shrugged. Evidently she didn't have a clue.
Palamedes, more than slightly drunk, snorted and declared, "It means they had se-"
Claire threw a slab of bread at the boy, striking him in the center of his forehead and sending him sprawling. She sniffed. "Honestly. This whole place has us all acting like barbarians."
Ganieda did a slightly slower series of handseals, ending with something that even Bedwyr could very easily recognize the meaning of.
"No, that isn't part of the rituals!" Claire snapped, her face growing so red you could see it through her veil.
Ganieda frowned, doing some more handseals.
Claire grew even redder. "What do you mean you don't want to be a damsel anymore?"
"What are they talking about?" Melissa whispered into Bedwyr's ear.
Bedwyr blushed himself. "I'll tell you when you are older."
Melissa scowled. "I want to know now!"
Bedwyr was saved from having to discuss the topic with the little psyker by the timely appearance of Pellinore. The knight's grim continuance cut straight through the pleasant atmosphere, and stopped Melissa's embarrassing line of question in its tracks.
Palamedes pulled himself back to his seat, grinning broadly. "You must be King Pellinore! Gowther won't shut up about you."
Pellinore nodded at Gowther's squire in vague acknowledgement. The seats were all taken, so he stood for a moment. He cast a look towards Ganieda, who stared back at him with her strange eyes.
"She is fine, Pellinore, whatever you wish to say you can speak it in front of Ganieda."
Pellinore nodded at Claire. "Very well. As you know, Aneirin is here, having evidently followed us here from Graymere. We can't discount that we are being manipulated by something strange and potentially inhuman."
"Inhuman? Perhaps. Manipulated? Certainly not." The old man walked over to them, hands behind his back. "Where are the rest of your little crew?" He looked between the lot. "I see the little boy priest, but where is Sir Sagramore and the druid Liemire?"
"Sir Sagramore took to bed," Pellinore answered, glaring at the old bard. "Liemire has his own business."
"How did you manage to get here?" Bedwyr asked suspiciously. His hand pawed reflexively at where his sword would be.
Aneirin smiled his faint old smile. "Now, why is it such a surprise? Long ago, a bard could travel from one side of the planet to the other without being bothered by anyone. Such was the way of the realm."
"And how long ago was that?" Claire asked.
"Now now, my dear, I am a shy fellow, and do not wish to say how elderly I truly am."
"But why are you here?" Pellinore asked. He was keeping calm about the situation, with no involuntary spasms towards no-existent weapons or even a flicker of distaste in his voice.
Aneirin smiled at the knight. "Why, I am here to help. I did tell you, King Pellinore, there is but one being on this world who can find your quarry, and I know where he is."
"The Green Knight?" Bedwyr gasped involuntarily. Palamedes leaned forward, a newcomer to this conversation, but obviously curious.
"Quite right, I am glad someone remembered my little tale." The old man gestured around them. "This village is ancient. Beneath these newer buildings are foundations and ruins that stretch back to the earliest days of human life in this world. To the days of the rule of the Tuatha de Danum. Back then, during the days when man and Tuatha worked hand in hand, cities were built before the fortresses of the Tuatha."
Palamedes paled suddenly. "We are in front of a sanctuary? One of the hollow hills? We can't go in there! My mam always said that to go into a sanctuary would be to die."
"Your mam was wise indeed," Aneirin said, "the Tuatha are few now, and many have become twisted creatures. You have no doubt heard the tales of Fionn mac Cumhail, who slew a corrupted one at the fortress of Tarra."
Bedwyr had, in fact, never heard that particular story of the Eireman warrior. He also didn't want to ask. If this was leading where he thought it was, he didn't want to think about whatever dangerous sorcery the Tuatha could level at their foes.
Ganieda performed a rapid dance with her hands and fingers, eyes intent.
"The Green Knight, at the very least, hasn't been corrupted, otherwise he would have taken my life that day," Aneirin continued. "Tuatha are forces of nature, and a corrupted one doesn't much care about what they destroy. The Green Knight showed precision."
"But we still can't trust him," Pellinore argued. He crossed his arms, glaring at the bard. "The Tuatha were mercurial, often cruel, and savage. Even one who claims to be a knight, can perform noble deeds, is too unpredictable to be trusted. More to the point, bard, I don't trust you. None of us do. I don't think you are human yourself."
Aneirin shrugged. He moved away from the table. "It is your choice, in the end. Know, King Pellinore, that it is the choice between success and failure. I will be at the foot of the mountain tomorrow morning. If you don't arrive, I will simply assume you have chosen to not accept my aid. I will leave and you will never see me again. If you arrive I will lead you to the Green Knight. He will help you find the Questing Beast. He is the only one who can."
The old man turned and left, rapidly vanishing into the night. "Think on it, King Pellinore, hunter of the Questing Beast."
They watched him leave for a long moment. Ganieda scowled darkly, and flicked her fingers in his direction.
"Indeed, Ganieda," Claire said, "he is a creepy old jerk."
Bedwyr found himself enjoying the atmosphere, the whole thing far less formal than the parties at the Caer, and therefore more cheerfully personal.
He talked with Palamedes for a time, about nothing of any strong importance. Bedwin joined in from time to time, though he seemed to be the only one too nervous to really enjoy himself.
Pellinore had spent hours in quiet discussion with Hywel, far from the rest, drowned out by the other ambient sounds. Bedwyr hadn't even seen his mentor take a bite of food.
Returning his attention to his own sphere of camaraderie, seeing that Bedwin had fallen asleep at his seat, he almost jumped when he found himself face-to-face with a new pair of eyes.
The woman had long, red hair, and was wearing a wool cloak and a distractingly tight tunic. Her skin was soft looking and eerily pale. None of this was what stood out to Bedwyr. The first thing he noticed were her eyes.
Her eyes had pupils like those of a goat's, horizontal pupils that showed little emotion. She didn't have horns, but Bedwyr would put money on the fact that she had hooves. She looked, aside from the obvious differences, like a female version of Gowther.
"Hello Ganieda," Palamedes said politely. The other squire grinned. "You see something you like?" He nudged Bedwyr.
Ganieda tilted her head to the side. She didn't say a word. Then she reached out and grabbed Bedwyr's head, shifting it from side to side.
Bedwyr was a touch too off-put to really react. He smiled at the mutant girl awkwardly. "Palamedes, who is this, and what is she doing?"
"Bedwyr, allow me to introduce Ganieda, sister of Gowther, and druidess." Palamedes frowned. "I have no idea what she is doing now."
Bedwyr smiled at the woman, trying to not seem awkward. "I'm sorry milady, but I already have a lady love."
Ganieda showed no sign of understanding him. Palamedes, however, got interested. "You do? Have you kissed her?"
Bedwyr flushed to his ears, the strange mix of everything finally getting to him. "I...look...that's personal," he muttered.
"He has," Claire's voice heroically intruded. The damsel slid beside Ganieda. "Ganieda, please let go of the boy, he looks as if he is about to die."
Ganieda finally let go of Bedwyr's face, leaning back and frowning slightly. She said nothing, but her hands flicked rapidly, in several different patterns.
"No, he isn't a psychic," Claire answered, sounding a little amused.
A rapid flurry of signs.
"I never said he was," Claire said
Ganieda did another quick flicker of hand signs, directed first at Claire, then at Bedwyr.
"She is sorry," said Melissa, who was gently pushing the sleeping Bedwin's chair aside, putting some effort into not waking the boy up. "She heard that she would be able to tell by touch. I didn't let her, so she decided to test you."
"That would make the job of witchfinders quite simple," Claire muttered. She was smiling though, and slid into place beside Ganieda. "Ganieda here is quite the find. The nature of my order is to find women from all around and recruit them. Me and her had immediate affinity."
"What does that mean?" Bedwyr asked.
Ganieda shrugged. Evidently she didn't have a clue.
Palamedes, more than slightly drunk, snorted and declared, "It means they had se-"
Claire threw a slab of bread at the boy, striking him in the center of his forehead and sending him sprawling. She sniffed. "Honestly. This whole place has us all acting like barbarians."
Ganieda did a slightly slower series of handseals, ending with something that even Bedwyr could very easily recognize the meaning of.
"No, that isn't part of the rituals!" Claire snapped, her face growing so red you could see it through her veil.
Ganieda frowned, doing some more handseals.
Claire grew even redder. "What do you mean you don't want to be a damsel anymore?"
"What are they talking about?" Melissa whispered into Bedwyr's ear.
Bedwyr blushed himself. "I'll tell you when you are older."
Melissa scowled. "I want to know now!"
Bedwyr was saved from having to discuss the topic with the little psyker by the timely appearance of Pellinore. The knight's grim continuance cut straight through the pleasant atmosphere, and stopped Melissa's embarrassing line of question in its tracks.
Palamedes pulled himself back to his seat, grinning broadly. "You must be King Pellinore! Gowther won't shut up about you."
Pellinore nodded at Gowther's squire in vague acknowledgement. The seats were all taken, so he stood for a moment. He cast a look towards Ganieda, who stared back at him with her strange eyes.
"She is fine, Pellinore, whatever you wish to say you can speak it in front of Ganieda."
Pellinore nodded at Claire. "Very well. As you know, Aneirin is here, having evidently followed us here from Graymere. We can't discount that we are being manipulated by something strange and potentially inhuman."
"Inhuman? Perhaps. Manipulated? Certainly not." The old man walked over to them, hands behind his back. "Where are the rest of your little crew?" He looked between the lot. "I see the little boy priest, but where is Sir Sagramore and the druid Liemire?"
"Sir Sagramore took to bed," Pellinore answered, glaring at the old bard. "Liemire has his own business."
"How did you manage to get here?" Bedwyr asked suspiciously. His hand pawed reflexively at where his sword would be.
Aneirin smiled his faint old smile. "Now, why is it such a surprise? Long ago, a bard could travel from one side of the planet to the other without being bothered by anyone. Such was the way of the realm."
"And how long ago was that?" Claire asked.
"Now now, my dear, I am a shy fellow, and do not wish to say how elderly I truly am."
"But why are you here?" Pellinore asked. He was keeping calm about the situation, with no involuntary spasms towards no-existent weapons or even a flicker of distaste in his voice.
Aneirin smiled at the knight. "Why, I am here to help. I did tell you, King Pellinore, there is but one being on this world who can find your quarry, and I know where he is."
"The Green Knight?" Bedwyr gasped involuntarily. Palamedes leaned forward, a newcomer to this conversation, but obviously curious.
"Quite right, I am glad someone remembered my little tale." The old man gestured around them. "This village is ancient. Beneath these newer buildings are foundations and ruins that stretch back to the earliest days of human life in this world. To the days of the rule of the Tuatha de Danum. Back then, during the days when man and Tuatha worked hand in hand, cities were built before the fortresses of the Tuatha."
Palamedes paled suddenly. "We are in front of a sanctuary? One of the hollow hills? We can't go in there! My mam always said that to go into a sanctuary would be to die."
"Your mam was wise indeed," Aneirin said, "the Tuatha are few now, and many have become twisted creatures. You have no doubt heard the tales of Fionn mac Cumhail, who slew a corrupted one at the fortress of Tarra."
Bedwyr had, in fact, never heard that particular story of the Eireman warrior. He also didn't want to ask. If this was leading where he thought it was, he didn't want to think about whatever dangerous sorcery the Tuatha could level at their foes.
Ganieda performed a rapid dance with her hands and fingers, eyes intent.
"The Green Knight, at the very least, hasn't been corrupted, otherwise he would have taken my life that day," Aneirin continued. "Tuatha are forces of nature, and a corrupted one doesn't much care about what they destroy. The Green Knight showed precision."
"But we still can't trust him," Pellinore argued. He crossed his arms, glaring at the bard. "The Tuatha were mercurial, often cruel, and savage. Even one who claims to be a knight, can perform noble deeds, is too unpredictable to be trusted. More to the point, bard, I don't trust you. None of us do. I don't think you are human yourself."
Aneirin shrugged. He moved away from the table. "It is your choice, in the end. Know, King Pellinore, that it is the choice between success and failure. I will be at the foot of the mountain tomorrow morning. If you don't arrive, I will simply assume you have chosen to not accept my aid. I will leave and you will never see me again. If you arrive I will lead you to the Green Knight. He will help you find the Questing Beast. He is the only one who can."
The old man turned and left, rapidly vanishing into the night. "Think on it, King Pellinore, hunter of the Questing Beast."
They watched him leave for a long moment. Ganieda scowled darkly, and flicked her fingers in his direction.
"Indeed, Ganieda," Claire said, "he is a creepy old jerk."
Icipall
Don't worry, we can fanfix that!
- Location
- Cold snow fields of Finland
Ah, beastfolk.
That man has family!?
Hm, accurate anime hijinks.
Welcome to being a dad, Bedwyr.
Always Late
Lacking in coffee, sleep, and brains
- Location
- Ohio
Given she's based on the sister of Merlin... either being a prophet or scouting someone to be the next member of Chaldea's V-Tubers.
It's always a nice note to see that sign language survives in the grim, dark future, especially since many of its more well-renown factions like Space Marines have an entire language entirely in sign.
Anyone else getting Caldera flashbacks?
I'm getting Caldera flashbacks.
A Green Knight who's an Eldar... sounds like a Striking Scorpion Exarch.
So the Eldar of this world still exist, but much like the Craftworld-Exodite-Dark divides of the wider galaxy, many of the few survivors have become seduced by their own hedonism. And given the reviled and dire solution to their unsustainable population numbers was interbreeding with humans, mutations and birth defects may have plagued these hybrid children.
*snrk* OK, that is a perfectly Tolkien-esque way to end the chapter. Big, epic and ominous speech from someone ancient, wise, and potentially not on your side, followed by a sick and plain english burn from a more 'human' side character.
- Location
- United States, CA
Ganieda almost sounds like a Silent Sister. It's unlikely, but a Null would be the hard counter to Chaos the party needs.
The fact Melissa didn't let Ganieda touch her is kinda interesting.
Choices and Leavetakings
MysticKnightJoe
Defender of Holy Terra
- Location
- Fighting the Forces of Evil Across the Cosmos
The village never really stilled or quieted throughout the night. There was a ceaseless hum of activity between shifting guard positions, loud warriors speaking to each other with dysfunctional kinship, and the simple facts of life with many different people operating on many different sleep cycles.
So though Bedwyr fell asleep quickly and cleanly after helping Bedwin into a proper bed, and climbing into the one across from the priest, he awoke to the same bustle of activity he had fallen asleep to.
Bedwin was gone, and Bedwyr was surprised to see Palamedes standing by his bedside. The boy waved, grinning. "So, I'm with you lot now," he said.
"What?" Bedwyr asked. He rubbed his eyes, shaking off the early morning exhaustion.
"Exactly like I said," Palamedes replied, "Gowther, my teacher of sorts, has declared he will accompany Pellinore to destroy the Questing Beast. Couple reasons, I'd say, not the least of which that his own sister is coming."
"More the merrier, I say," Bedwyr said. He held out his hand, and Palamedes clasped it a little awkwardly.
"Not used to greeting like warriors do," the other boy admitted.
"How did you end up with Gowther anyway?"
Palamedes shrugged. "My family is from far away. We never really held with the Imperium and the Cult of the God-Emperor, but we were never worshippers of Chaos either." He performed a sign to ward off evil. "Well, ol' King Claudas isn't interested in having anyone who isn't in his camp performing dark rituals and running around cutting maiden's heads off. So we got chased out with everyone else. I got separated and was being chased after by a band of those big mutant bastards the Chaos-lords have in their armies. Suddenly ol' Gowther barrels out of nowhere and kills the bastards."
"And that's it?" Bedwyr said, realizing. "He just made you his squire on the spot." It hardly seemed orthodox, but then neither was Bedwyr, and Gowther was hardly one with his finger on the pulse of how society was supposed to function.
"Aye," said Palamedes. He grinned wryly. "Went on and on about how Pellinore had one, so he has to as well."
Bedwyr got up from bed, pulling on a shirt and new pants. He was a bit past being shy around other men at least. "So your family, they worshipped the old Gods? The Tuatha?"
Palamedes shook his head. "No one ever really worshipped the Tuatha de Danum. They worshipped the Tuatha's Gods." He sighed. "And there isn't any point to that anymore."
"Why not?"
"Because they are dead. The lot of them."
"Gods can die?" Bedwyr asked, a little horrified. "How?"
"Not a clue," Palamedes answered, "I don't think it is worth dwelling on it."
Bedwyr had a bad feeling that he wouldn't be able to help dwelling on this subject. It was just too arresting, too eerie. The only kernel of anything other than overwhelming horror in it, if Palamedes was telling the truth, was that it meant that maybe the Chaos Gods could die as well.
"You are dwelling on it," Palamedes declared. He cuffed Bedwyr lightly on the shoulder. "I told you not to."
Bedwyr smiled thinly. "Probably just an old myth."
"Yeah, probably," Palamedes agreed.
Desperate to change the subject, Bedwyr said, "So, what do you think about coming with us? You alright with it?"
Palamedes shrugged. "Not like I'm safe here. Gowther wants to help out, and I'm fine with following him around for now." He grinned. "Sides, could be fun, being on a quest and all."
"Good practice for later."
"Yeah, later," Palamedes said. He shuffled his feet awkwardly. It seemed like something was weighing on him. "Right, so," he finally continued, "I'll see you with the rest."
Before Bedwyr could say anything more, the other boy turned and left the room. Bedwyr shook his head. Something was clearly weighing on his fellow squire, and he couldn't help but be worried for him.
"You should be careful around Palamedes," Bedwin said. The priest rolled over on his bed, watching Bedwyr carefully. "He may claim that he and his family don't worship the old Gods of the Tuatha, but it is the nature of the heretic to lie."
"Do you not believe his claim that those Gods are gone then?" Bedwyr asked.
"I don't know," Bedwin grunted. He got up, pulling on his own tunic. "All I know is I damn well hope so. Those old xeno Gods were almost as vile and brutal as the Chaos Gods in several ways. And heresy is heresy."
Bedwyr shivered. The rumors surrounding the Tuatha were many. If their Gods were anything like that, maybe it was good that they were dead. "What do you think about going into the hill and meeting with the Green Knight?" he asked. A transparent attempt to change the subject, and it was barely changed at all.
"I'm against it, of course," said Bedwin. He slipped his warhammer into the ring at his belt. "But it is up to Pellinore, and I trust him."
Bedwyr had a feeling that Bedwin was fairly sure that Pellinore would say no to the other of the bard. He, of course, wasn't certain one way or the other. "Yeah," said Bedwyr, "I trust him too."
They left the bunk room and entered the still-busy village of the resistance fighters. They had only been here for a day, but already they were greeted with smiles and cheerful greetings, as if they had always been there.
"You almost forget they are at war," Bedwyr said softly, trying to not be overheard.
"Sometimes," a nearby warrior said, to Bedwyr's immediate embarrassment. The fellow only grinned though. "Just cause we are fighting doesn't mean we should forget about life and living it."
The fellow waved farewell a second later and jogged to catch up to a small group of heavily armed men and women. "My watch shift is next, I hear you lot will be leaving soon, fare thee well and all that!"
Bedwyr waved an awkward farewell, as he and Bedwin continued through the village. At long last they made out Pellinore and the others, with Gowther and Palamedes standing in front. Gowther was waving his hands animatedly.
"...now you need help, yeah," Gowther said cheerfully. "Well I'm willing to lend my intense talents at your disposal. You should be thankful, weeping, giving me lots of the money and the…" the mutant knight stopped, trying to think of something other than money. "Food. Yes, food. Lots of food."
Pellinore seemed to be trying to find an excuse that wouldn't piss off the volatile warrior. He shook his head and finally said, "Now see here, Gowther. You have sworn to serve King Vercingetorix and his men here, right?"
"Yeah." Gowther showed no comprehension, and scratched absently at his light goatee.
"That means," Pellinore continued carefully, "you have to ask him permission before you go on a quest."
"Why do I have to do that?" Gowther asked, sounding irritated.
"Because he is your lord."
"And why is he my lord?"
"Because you swore allegiance," Pellinore said with a sigh. "A knight is supposed to obey his lord and not abandon their duty."
Gowther frowned. "But I'm not abandoning anything, I'll come back after we kill the Questing Beast."
"We don't know how long that will take," Claire added gently. "Vercingetorix needs all the help he can get here."
"Ganieda is going," Gowther grumbled. He kicked a small rock, and it clattered against the rock wall of a house.
Palamedes smiled as Bedwyr joined the conversation, but gave Bedwin a wary look. The priest didn't look the other squire in the eye, studiously trying to ignore him. "Doesn't look like it is working out," Palamedes said softly.
"I can see that," Bedwyr muttered. "Shame. I wouldn't have minded the extra help, but it is up to Pellinore in the end."
Vercingetorix pounded over with typical sound and gravitas. He was flanked by two knights, fully mounted and painted in the colors of Hywel's house. "I hear you intend to leave now, King Pellinore!"
Pellinore turned and stared up at the ancient knight. "I do. I thank you for your hospitality, great King, but I must go on my quest."
A shift of the massive metal skull that was almost a nod. "I understand. I am pleased to see that honor and duty has survived in this world, even five thousand years after my death."
"Hey big guy!" Gowther yelled suddenly.
"Yes, Gowther?" Vercingetorix responded, utterly nonplussed by the wild man's lack of tact.
"Pellinore says I have to ask you if I can go on the quest with him," Gowther said, hands on his hips. "But Ganieda didn't have to ask, it isn't fair."
Vercingetorix waved his sword-arm. "You may go, Gowther. So long as you promise to return here on the quest's completion."
Gowther pumped his fist in the air and almost jumped for joy. "Sweet! I'll get my stuff." Before anyone could respond or contermand, the nimble fellow was off like a shot.
Pellinore sighed. "I should have known. Guess we have a new companion."
Vercingetorix boomed a laugh. "So you have your squire, the Lady Claire, Ganieda, Druid Liemire, Sir Sagramore, Brother Bedwin, young Palamedes, the other druid whose name I never caught, I'm afraid, and of course good Sir Gowther."
Bedwyr was fairly certain no one had ever called Gowther 'good' in any circumstances until this very moment of sheer surreality. He looked up as the giant continued.
"Nine companions, King Pellinore. That is a fortuitous number, even to this very day."
"Among everyone on this planet," Pellinore said, "the good and the bad."
A sad flicker in the depths of the metal eyes, though it was mostly conveyed by Vercingetorix's suddenly sober voice. "Ah yes. Much has changed as much as stayed the same. Chaos has held sway on this world intermittently, and it has been fought off before. But now is a darker day then any Avalon has faced. Incursion, invasion, infestation. Our world is mostly conquered now. Yet it pleases me, that good men and women still fight. That we haven't lost that spark."
"For the Once and Future King!" Pellinore declared. He drew the sword Dyrnwen and pointed it to the sky. Bedwyr found himself drawing his own sword, and mirrored his mentor, he almost thought there was defiance in it, like they were challenging Vercingetorix with a declaration of loyalty to another king. The others followed suit to varying degrees of awkwardness. Palamedes almost dropped his weapon, but managed it with a nervous grin.
"I have never heard that particular title," Vercingetorix said, "but whatever kind of man he is, or will be, I look forward to meeting him." The giant sighed, a rumble like stones down a mountain. "I must leave, I'm afraid. I have much to do, and enemies to slay. Good luck, King Pellinore."
The giant and his flanking knights left then, with a clank of machinery and another pair of farewells from Hywel and the other, a woman.
Pellinore sheathed Dyrnwen. He sighed. "So. We must speak of the next step."
Liemire stepped forward, producing a much aged map. "I have some possibilities…"
"No, old friend," Pellinore said. He grimaced. "I know what we must do."
"No!" Bedwin gasped, growing pale.
Bedwyr knew what was coming immediately. He kept his face carefully neutral. He would follow Pellinore anywhere, and be confident in his safety.
"We will follow Anierin. We will speak to the Green Knight." Pellinore shifted his sword at the belt, looking at his companions with grim eyes. "That is what I've decided."
So though Bedwyr fell asleep quickly and cleanly after helping Bedwin into a proper bed, and climbing into the one across from the priest, he awoke to the same bustle of activity he had fallen asleep to.
Bedwin was gone, and Bedwyr was surprised to see Palamedes standing by his bedside. The boy waved, grinning. "So, I'm with you lot now," he said.
"What?" Bedwyr asked. He rubbed his eyes, shaking off the early morning exhaustion.
"Exactly like I said," Palamedes replied, "Gowther, my teacher of sorts, has declared he will accompany Pellinore to destroy the Questing Beast. Couple reasons, I'd say, not the least of which that his own sister is coming."
"More the merrier, I say," Bedwyr said. He held out his hand, and Palamedes clasped it a little awkwardly.
"Not used to greeting like warriors do," the other boy admitted.
"How did you end up with Gowther anyway?"
Palamedes shrugged. "My family is from far away. We never really held with the Imperium and the Cult of the God-Emperor, but we were never worshippers of Chaos either." He performed a sign to ward off evil. "Well, ol' King Claudas isn't interested in having anyone who isn't in his camp performing dark rituals and running around cutting maiden's heads off. So we got chased out with everyone else. I got separated and was being chased after by a band of those big mutant bastards the Chaos-lords have in their armies. Suddenly ol' Gowther barrels out of nowhere and kills the bastards."
"And that's it?" Bedwyr said, realizing. "He just made you his squire on the spot." It hardly seemed orthodox, but then neither was Bedwyr, and Gowther was hardly one with his finger on the pulse of how society was supposed to function.
"Aye," said Palamedes. He grinned wryly. "Went on and on about how Pellinore had one, so he has to as well."
Bedwyr got up from bed, pulling on a shirt and new pants. He was a bit past being shy around other men at least. "So your family, they worshipped the old Gods? The Tuatha?"
Palamedes shook his head. "No one ever really worshipped the Tuatha de Danum. They worshipped the Tuatha's Gods." He sighed. "And there isn't any point to that anymore."
"Why not?"
"Because they are dead. The lot of them."
"Gods can die?" Bedwyr asked, a little horrified. "How?"
"Not a clue," Palamedes answered, "I don't think it is worth dwelling on it."
Bedwyr had a bad feeling that he wouldn't be able to help dwelling on this subject. It was just too arresting, too eerie. The only kernel of anything other than overwhelming horror in it, if Palamedes was telling the truth, was that it meant that maybe the Chaos Gods could die as well.
"You are dwelling on it," Palamedes declared. He cuffed Bedwyr lightly on the shoulder. "I told you not to."
Bedwyr smiled thinly. "Probably just an old myth."
"Yeah, probably," Palamedes agreed.
Desperate to change the subject, Bedwyr said, "So, what do you think about coming with us? You alright with it?"
Palamedes shrugged. "Not like I'm safe here. Gowther wants to help out, and I'm fine with following him around for now." He grinned. "Sides, could be fun, being on a quest and all."
"Good practice for later."
"Yeah, later," Palamedes said. He shuffled his feet awkwardly. It seemed like something was weighing on him. "Right, so," he finally continued, "I'll see you with the rest."
Before Bedwyr could say anything more, the other boy turned and left the room. Bedwyr shook his head. Something was clearly weighing on his fellow squire, and he couldn't help but be worried for him.
"You should be careful around Palamedes," Bedwin said. The priest rolled over on his bed, watching Bedwyr carefully. "He may claim that he and his family don't worship the old Gods of the Tuatha, but it is the nature of the heretic to lie."
"Do you not believe his claim that those Gods are gone then?" Bedwyr asked.
"I don't know," Bedwin grunted. He got up, pulling on his own tunic. "All I know is I damn well hope so. Those old xeno Gods were almost as vile and brutal as the Chaos Gods in several ways. And heresy is heresy."
Bedwyr shivered. The rumors surrounding the Tuatha were many. If their Gods were anything like that, maybe it was good that they were dead. "What do you think about going into the hill and meeting with the Green Knight?" he asked. A transparent attempt to change the subject, and it was barely changed at all.
"I'm against it, of course," said Bedwin. He slipped his warhammer into the ring at his belt. "But it is up to Pellinore, and I trust him."
Bedwyr had a feeling that Bedwin was fairly sure that Pellinore would say no to the other of the bard. He, of course, wasn't certain one way or the other. "Yeah," said Bedwyr, "I trust him too."
They left the bunk room and entered the still-busy village of the resistance fighters. They had only been here for a day, but already they were greeted with smiles and cheerful greetings, as if they had always been there.
"You almost forget they are at war," Bedwyr said softly, trying to not be overheard.
"Sometimes," a nearby warrior said, to Bedwyr's immediate embarrassment. The fellow only grinned though. "Just cause we are fighting doesn't mean we should forget about life and living it."
The fellow waved farewell a second later and jogged to catch up to a small group of heavily armed men and women. "My watch shift is next, I hear you lot will be leaving soon, fare thee well and all that!"
Bedwyr waved an awkward farewell, as he and Bedwin continued through the village. At long last they made out Pellinore and the others, with Gowther and Palamedes standing in front. Gowther was waving his hands animatedly.
"...now you need help, yeah," Gowther said cheerfully. "Well I'm willing to lend my intense talents at your disposal. You should be thankful, weeping, giving me lots of the money and the…" the mutant knight stopped, trying to think of something other than money. "Food. Yes, food. Lots of food."
Pellinore seemed to be trying to find an excuse that wouldn't piss off the volatile warrior. He shook his head and finally said, "Now see here, Gowther. You have sworn to serve King Vercingetorix and his men here, right?"
"Yeah." Gowther showed no comprehension, and scratched absently at his light goatee.
"That means," Pellinore continued carefully, "you have to ask him permission before you go on a quest."
"Why do I have to do that?" Gowther asked, sounding irritated.
"Because he is your lord."
"And why is he my lord?"
"Because you swore allegiance," Pellinore said with a sigh. "A knight is supposed to obey his lord and not abandon their duty."
Gowther frowned. "But I'm not abandoning anything, I'll come back after we kill the Questing Beast."
"We don't know how long that will take," Claire added gently. "Vercingetorix needs all the help he can get here."
"Ganieda is going," Gowther grumbled. He kicked a small rock, and it clattered against the rock wall of a house.
Palamedes smiled as Bedwyr joined the conversation, but gave Bedwin a wary look. The priest didn't look the other squire in the eye, studiously trying to ignore him. "Doesn't look like it is working out," Palamedes said softly.
"I can see that," Bedwyr muttered. "Shame. I wouldn't have minded the extra help, but it is up to Pellinore in the end."
Vercingetorix pounded over with typical sound and gravitas. He was flanked by two knights, fully mounted and painted in the colors of Hywel's house. "I hear you intend to leave now, King Pellinore!"
Pellinore turned and stared up at the ancient knight. "I do. I thank you for your hospitality, great King, but I must go on my quest."
A shift of the massive metal skull that was almost a nod. "I understand. I am pleased to see that honor and duty has survived in this world, even five thousand years after my death."
"Hey big guy!" Gowther yelled suddenly.
"Yes, Gowther?" Vercingetorix responded, utterly nonplussed by the wild man's lack of tact.
"Pellinore says I have to ask you if I can go on the quest with him," Gowther said, hands on his hips. "But Ganieda didn't have to ask, it isn't fair."
Vercingetorix waved his sword-arm. "You may go, Gowther. So long as you promise to return here on the quest's completion."
Gowther pumped his fist in the air and almost jumped for joy. "Sweet! I'll get my stuff." Before anyone could respond or contermand, the nimble fellow was off like a shot.
Pellinore sighed. "I should have known. Guess we have a new companion."
Vercingetorix boomed a laugh. "So you have your squire, the Lady Claire, Ganieda, Druid Liemire, Sir Sagramore, Brother Bedwin, young Palamedes, the other druid whose name I never caught, I'm afraid, and of course good Sir Gowther."
Bedwyr was fairly certain no one had ever called Gowther 'good' in any circumstances until this very moment of sheer surreality. He looked up as the giant continued.
"Nine companions, King Pellinore. That is a fortuitous number, even to this very day."
"Among everyone on this planet," Pellinore said, "the good and the bad."
A sad flicker in the depths of the metal eyes, though it was mostly conveyed by Vercingetorix's suddenly sober voice. "Ah yes. Much has changed as much as stayed the same. Chaos has held sway on this world intermittently, and it has been fought off before. But now is a darker day then any Avalon has faced. Incursion, invasion, infestation. Our world is mostly conquered now. Yet it pleases me, that good men and women still fight. That we haven't lost that spark."
"For the Once and Future King!" Pellinore declared. He drew the sword Dyrnwen and pointed it to the sky. Bedwyr found himself drawing his own sword, and mirrored his mentor, he almost thought there was defiance in it, like they were challenging Vercingetorix with a declaration of loyalty to another king. The others followed suit to varying degrees of awkwardness. Palamedes almost dropped his weapon, but managed it with a nervous grin.
"I have never heard that particular title," Vercingetorix said, "but whatever kind of man he is, or will be, I look forward to meeting him." The giant sighed, a rumble like stones down a mountain. "I must leave, I'm afraid. I have much to do, and enemies to slay. Good luck, King Pellinore."
The giant and his flanking knights left then, with a clank of machinery and another pair of farewells from Hywel and the other, a woman.
Pellinore sheathed Dyrnwen. He sighed. "So. We must speak of the next step."
Liemire stepped forward, producing a much aged map. "I have some possibilities…"
"No, old friend," Pellinore said. He grimaced. "I know what we must do."
"No!" Bedwin gasped, growing pale.
Bedwyr knew what was coming immediately. He kept his face carefully neutral. He would follow Pellinore anywhere, and be confident in his safety.
"We will follow Anierin. We will speak to the Green Knight." Pellinore shifted his sword at the belt, looking at his companions with grim eyes. "That is what I've decided."
Icipall
Don't worry, we can fanfix that!
- Location
- Cold snow fields of Finland
Hah, you say that now.
True, true.
An effort in futility.
You shall be known as the Fellowship of the King.
- Location
- United States, CA
Oh.
Ohhh.
OH.
I feel like this is mandatory now.
Great chapter.