A Light in the Dark: A King Arthur/Warhammer 40k Imperial Knights Story

[MysticKnightJoe]

Diane was the first to see little Prince Galahad returning over the hill. At first, the alarming thing was an old herdsman was leaning on the little boy's shoulder, almost drunkenly. But then the child stepped closer, and the real horror was made apparent. The boy's clothes were soaked in blood, his knees scraped badly.

"What happened?" her voice came out as a cry, she was surprised to feel so worried.

"Oh hello Lady Diane," Galahad said, smiling innocently. "A man attacked us in the woods, can you fetch Sir Pelleas and a doctor please?"

"A man attacked you?" Diane asked.

"A Chaos-twisted man, Lady. Poor devil probably didn't have much of a mind left." The man's voice was rapid and warped with pain. "As for me, I fell a bit roughly, at my age I can't recover from that so quickly."

"And where is he?" Diane asked, startled.

"Dead," Galahad answered, calmly. "I killed him."

It was disconcerting how uneffected the boy seemed. Boys as young as Galahad did get drawn into Ganger Clans across the galaxy, on Macragge he'd be old enough to enter the Academies and train to possibly become a Space Marine, and Diane had seen a glimpse of the Prince's skill with the short sword at his side.

Yet the boy seemed innocent, untouched by the horrors of the universe. He wasn't behaving like a child who'd just killed his first fellow human should, he was as clear eyed as ever. Diane walked over, and helped the old man stand. "Are you alright, Prince?" she asked, looking down at the boy.

"I'm fine, scraped my knees pretty badly when I rolled under. Got my tunic wet too." He walked past the two. "Come on, we need to find Sir Pelleas, this is very close and could be dangerous."

Sir Pelleas was drinking alone, the light playing off his light brown hair. He saw the three coming, and frowned, seeming to get a good idea of the situation quickly. "What's wrong?"

"A man attacked them in the woods, a Chaos-twisted man," Diane replied.

Pelleas slammed his drink down hard, rising to his feet. "Where?" He grabbed his sword.

"By the river." Galahad gestured. "I left his body there."

"Dead then?" Pelleas didn't relax in the slightest. "What kind of arms did he bear, what was he wearing?"

"A crude bow," Galahad said, "and his clothes were ordinary." The little boy frowned. "I don't think he was much of anyone or anything, just an unlucky idiot."

"Unlucky, boy, no need to add idiot." Pelleas looked suddenly exhausted. "Chaos ruins the lives of fools and thinkers just the same."

Diane shivered. Surely there had to be more, surely it couldn't just be one man touched by the Ruinous Powers. "Sir Pelleas," she began.

"Yes, milady, we need to move quickly to our destination. The isles grow more dangerous by the day." He finished his drink. "Get inside, Galahad. Everyone else is. Diane, get that man back to his people, we are going to pack up, then ride for the Lake. We will make it by the time night falls," he said firmly.

As she made her way toward the clanholds, it struck Diane that if she were an ordinary mortal, she could escape, blend in among the sheepherders. Even if all she had was the third eye, she'd be able to hide with some careful movement. But she was too obviously inhuman, too easy to point out. She sighed. At any rate, she didn't want to get away at this point.

"You seem nervous, madam," the old man said suddenly, "worried about something."

"Not nervous, it has just set in that I've missed my chance to escape. Not that I ever had any chance."

"Escape? You seem safe enough. It is me who should want to escape, my clanhold might be under siege soon. You are going to the Damsel's fortress, under the personal protection of Lady Nimue herself."

"Do your people know anything about Annwn?" The question emerged suddenly. "Because that is where she wishes me to go."

"Of course. Otherworld, from which creatures emerge. Giant cats and mighty hounds. They say more than animals, people used to come up from there, but not anymore." He smiled wryly. "Xenos, after all."

She nodded. "She wants me to find some ruins of those Xenos, apparently. I don't think she understands how my eye works. I can only see something that has a powerful signature in the Warp." She sighed. "I doubt you know what the Warp is, of course."

"Magic, I assume. Warp is some space-term for magic, and you can pick out things that are strong in magic." The old man chuckled. "Not so hard to figure out, from context."

"That's close enough, I suppose. I'll have to explain that it isn't possible, there is nothing I can find there."

The clansman hung his head. "The Tuatha were great in magic, they say. And they built things very strong in sorcery. There is one place in particular, that still comes up in some of the older tales, that the priests of the Golden Throne could never quite stamp out. The men of Eire call it Tir na Nog. A place within Annwn of great power."

"I doubt I could find such a place anyway," Diane sighed, "regardless of how much power it has."

"That is all I can think of, I'm afraid. But if it isn't that, I'm sure it is something more reasonable."

But Diane already knew it was tied to the Otherworld, it had to be something similar. "Thank you for your help," she said softly, "explanation has been in short supply."

"Doesn't seem like I've helped much at all. Just mumbled a few old heresies in your ear." A group of herders rushed over. "My clan. You should get back to yours, I think."

She handed him off to his clan, and despite herself, felt an odd amount of comfort returning. Perhaps, in the end, there was safety in being needed. She could understand that. Thousands of years of Navigator history had been built on that principle. She'd never really thought about it before, but now the other edge was starting to come for her throat. There was never any doubt that the Navis Nobilite would be useful for the Imperium. Their role was defined and built on something as constant and eternal as the stars themselves: The very light of the Emperor of Mankind.

But here and now she was expected by a backwoods sect to seek out a specific area within a region of this planet that simply did not obey the laws of space and time. To walk into it with the resources of this planet could well be suicide, and she had no idea if she would be even capable of helping.

Even if she wanted to was almost secondary to the hopelessness thinking that she wouldn't be able to help find it, her third eye would have no more use than a scout driven mad by alien technologies and impossible physics.

Yet she said nothing, and Brandaine and the others were silent as she entered the car. No more conversation was had as they hurtled even faster across the land. Toward the Lake and the Fortress of the Damsels.

 

[Icipall]

Yet the boy seemed innocent, untouched by the horrors of the universe. He wasn't behaving like a child who'd just killed his first fellow human should, he was as clear eyed as ever.

Click to shrink...

And that, in its own way, is even more disturbing.

"Unlucky, boy, no need to add idiot." Pelleas looked suddenly exhausted. "Chaos ruins the lives of fools and thinkers just the same."

Click to shrink...

Indeed.

She nodded. "She wants me to find some ruins of those Xenos, apparently. I don't think she understands how my eye works. I can only see something that has a powerful signature in the Warp."

Click to shrink...

Or that indicates that what you're looking is just that powerful.

There was never any doubt that the Navis Nobilite would be useful for the Imperium.

Click to shrink...

FTFY

 

[MysticKnightJoe]

Galahad was sullen as the car moved along. Sir Pelleas had been quietly approving, Manw had ruffled his hair, and old Herne had smiled thinly at him. He understood things were busy, they were focusing on the return to the Lake. To his foster-mother, Lady Nimue.

He wasn't worried about her, she allowed him to do as he wished in terms of expanding his education, learning more about the sword and the horse and the lance. He had free reign of the fortress and the surrounding land, tutors beyond the three here. She trusted him to be a good lad and do no harm, and he never betrayed that trust, for a true knight would never betray a ladies' trust.

There were two ladies with Sir Pelleas, the glum faced Brandaine, who had barely spared him a glance, and Lady Diane, who Galahad vaguely recognized from his education as a Navigator, who apparently Lady Nimue wanted as part of her expeditions into Annwn. Galahad didn't care about that so much, what he cared about was that he was certain Diane didn't like him.

She'd seemed fond of him, when they had first met, she'd smiled as she'd watched him, but after he had returned from slaying the Chaos-corrupted murderer, she seemed suddenly wary of him.

He wasn't sure what he had done. Was she upset because he had killed the man? That was self-defense, what a warrior had to do to survive. He certainly hadn't thought much of it, beyond it being gross and a bit sad.

He'd sulked a little before going to bed. He'd woken up clean minded, and decided that the only thing for it would be to woo Lady Diane. If a knight had earned the disfavor of a Lady, the knight had to make amends and regain it.

Usually, that involved a grand quest or a great gesture of esteem. He was stuck in Sir Pelleas' car for now, so a quest was impossible. So he had to work up a great gesture, though he wasn't sure exactly what.

"Sir Pelleas!" he walked up to his mentor as the man was hunched over a map, clearly in deep thought. "What gesture is appropriate to earn back a lady's esteem?"

Pelleas looked up, smiling. "You are a little young to be worrying about that yet, my lad."

"I don't think so." Galahad sat beside him, frowning and waving his feet back and forth. "I'm never too young to start learning anything."

Pelleas stared at him a moment. "Both the ladies in our company are fully grown, and I suspect would find romantic gestures from you cute at best and annoying at worst."

"It isn't romantic," Galahad declared firmly, "I did something to upset Lady Diane, and I just want to make her not upset."

"I see." Pelleas stroked his mustache, in the way Galahad knew meant he was thinking carefully. "It isn't you, I assure you. It has been difficult for both of them, and it doesn't seem like it'll be any easier ahead."

"Maybe," Galahad responded, but he was stubborn, and certain he knew some degree of what had happened between him and Diane. "But she acted cold to me, after I came back from killing a man."

"Probably," Pelleas said softly, "because that was a distinctly unchildlike thing to do. Do you have no ill feeling about killing the man?"

"It was vile, but it needed to be done, he attacked me," Galahad said simply.

"A good answer, for a knight, but a child would be expected to be more disturbed by it. Especially as I believe it was the first time you killed a man."

"It wasn't," Galahad said, casually.

Pelleas seemed taken aback for a moment. "I see." But he didn't pry further, which Galahad was thankful for. "But it was the first time Lady Diane became aware of you as a warrior. Violence was ever a more distant thing for her. You should just do something more childlike near her, or with her. That should help her, I think."

"Like what? What do children usually do?" Galahad asked.

"I don't recall," Pelleas replied, glumly. "My childhood feels ever distant, a half-remembered dream. Just do what you think is natural, alright?"

Galahad smiled, and nodded. But he couldn't help but feel much the same as Sir Pelleas.

*****************​

By lunchtime, Galahad had decided the first step was to put away his sword and shield, and go unarmed until they reached the Lake. He didn't feel unsafe without his weapons, but it did feel strange to be without their weight. Most everything else he did fell somehow into training his muscles or reflexes. His weights were back home, but he'd learned some exercises that didn't require them.

So the next time Diane saw him, he was doing handstand pushups before lunch. "Hi Lady Diane!" He called out as he went down.

"Hello Prince Galahad," she replied. She smiled, which instantly made Galahad feel better. "I see you are full of energy today."

"Of course. I have to work out my body so it grows into the strongest possible shape when I become a grown man!" He sprang back to his feet.

"I see." She was somber again. "Is that really all you think about, Prince?"

"What do you mean?"

"Growing stronger, I mean," she said.

"Not at all!" Galahad smiled. "I also think about the Code Chivalric, and the Feudal Order of Avalon, and I am learning how to read and write Avallac and Gothic!"

"I suspect you are most interested in learning how to fight." She was smiling again.

"I guess." Galahad wasn't entirely sure what she was getting at. "It takes a lot of training to become a proper Knight, and I want to be the best Knight that ever was."

"Is that so?" Diane looked down at him, her eyes clear. "You are already very skilled for your age. That I can see. It must be good, having such a clear purpose, and being certain of your success."

"But you have a purpose, you are a Navigator, you guide ships through the Warp in the Imperium, that's what the old book Lady Nimue made me read says." It had been a long, boring, dry tome, but at least it had some pretty pictures.

"Yes but now I'm just an ordinary woman with an eye that can kill and higher than average strength. I can swing a club well enough, but I'm not exactly a trained fighter like you or Brandaine or Sir Pelleas." She took a deep breath. "How much do you know, of what your foster mother wants from me?"

Galahad turned away. He knew enough that it was tied to what he was certain was his destiny. To be the greatest Knight that ever was. "Some," he said, softly, "enough to know that you will succeed."

"Throne," Diane whispered, "I do want to, in a strange way." She shook her head, either not wanting to expand on it, or thinking that Galahad hadn't heard her whisper. "You are a good child Galahad. Is there anything you want to do, while we wait for the others?"

It hit Galahad quickly, and he blushed. "If you want, could we arm wrestle? You said you had great strength, and if it is ok I'd want to test myself."

"Arm wrestle?" Diane burst into laughter. "Like a pair of voidsmen?" She took it like he had suggested it to a noblewoman, but calmed quickly. "Oh, very well."

She placed her elbow on the table, her long pale hand opening. "Go ahead," she said.

Galahad had difficulty getting set up for the contest, but managed to wrap his small hand around hers. "I'm ready!"

And in the ancient tradition of warriors, voidsmen, and soldiers, Diane said, "One, two, three, go!" And with a quick movement of her arm drove Galahad's hand down to the table.

Galahad had put as much strength as he could have mustered into it, but was startled at how easily he'd been bested. He looked down as his hand, under Diane's, for a moment, frowning.

"Prince Galahad?" Diane asked. She seemed nervous that he was about to throw a tantrum.

"Can we go again?" he asked.

Three times they set up, and each time Galahad lost. He didn't get upset or throw a tantrum, he just looked intent and curious. "You are strong," he said, admiring, "I do usually lose to grown men at this kind of thing, but I can at least hold them for a little bit."

"They, like Lady Diane, no doubt don't wish to harm you." Sir Pelleas had entered the lunch car. The other two gentlemen were no doubt just behind, and so was Diane. "Though with her strength your defense was probably just an afterthought."

"I don't wish to crush his spirit," Diane said, quickly.

Pelleas laughed. "Madam, you could never crush this little lad's spirit. He could be staring straight down the eye of Chaos itself and wouldn't back down for a moment."

Galahad beamed, determined to show there were no hard feelings. "Yeah, I don't ever win direct contests of strength against adults like that, I was just curious about how strong you meant! I'll beat you when I'm a man grown, so wait until then!"

"You were right, uncrushable indeed," Diane said.

The others joined them, and Galahad greatly enjoyed the lunch, now that he was friendly with everyone at the table. Even Brandaine seemed to relax near him now.

Old Herne looked around the table, eyes settling at last on Diane. "Eat well. For tonight we reach the Lake itself."

 

[Icipall]

He'd sulked a little before going to bed. He'd woken up clean minded, and decided that the only thing for it would be to woo Lady Diane. If a knight had earned the disfavor of a Lady, the knight had to make amends and regain it.

Click to shrink...

...Oh dear.

"It isn't romantic," Galahad declared firmly, "I did something to upset Lady Diane, and I just want to make her not upset."

Click to shrink...

Ah, good, he understands the difference.

It hit Galahad quickly, and he blushed. "If you want, could we arm wrestle? You said you had great strength, and if it is ok I'd want to test myself."

Click to shrink...

Hah! Do indeed what comes naturally. Nicely done, Galahad.

Pelleas laughed. "Madam, you could never crush this little lad's spirit. He could be staring straight down the eye of Chaos itself and wouldn't back down for a moment."

Click to shrink...

I can believe that.

 

[MysticKnightJoe]

Sir Pelleas' car approached the great Lake, ahead of King Caradoc's retinue by several miles. Located within the domain of King Owain, the Lake was a gigantic thing, from each shore seeming to stretch forever, utterly virgin and untouched by the presence of humanity.

But this was an illusion, Diane was certain it was an illusion. Everything on this planet was an illusion, even the very surface of the world seemed to exist to conceal another world beneath. So it didn't surprise her when three women in short-cut robes approached the car.

All three seemed unarmed, protected solely by the sheer isolation of their fortress and the religious respect they carried.

"Sir Pelleas!" One called in greeting. She was a stately woman in her early fifties. "You have made good time. Is she with you?"

Diane felt a jolt of anger. She stepped out of the car, behind the three men. "I am," she said angrily. "I am Diane, Navigator of the Rogue Trader Ship Prydwen. I understand your mistress desires something of me, and I grow tired of being yanked from place to place." She nodded toward Brandaine, lurking in the entryway. "My companion, Guardswoman Brandaine, has been brought with me evidently by accident, as I do not believe Lady Nimue desires her. Just me."

There was an uncomfortable shuffling. The lead damsel shook her head. "In truth, we had hoped to get all the castaways. Lady Isolde remains with Queen Morgan, and will come here soon enough. Her last missive said as much."

"And Vent and Dagonet?" Diane's voice sounded harsh and angry, and also, she realized, strangely demanding.

"They are with King Arthur," blurted a younger woman, "outside our reach."

Diane stepped forward, determined now to stand strong. "Take me to Lady Nimue, then, so I may speak to her. I know what she desires of me, and I also know that it is highly likely impossible. I want to clear this matter immediately, so I may be put on tasks I can actually help with."

"Of course." And they were led toward the edge of the lake, and slowly, it began to rise with a grind of old machinery. The three entered. "Come down, and be welcome."

***************​

Galahad would be annoyed about not being noticed on his return, but he realized this was Diane's moment. She was taking hold of this, tightly. So he hung back with Lady Brandaine as they walked into the cave. He held out a little hand, and she took it.

"It can get slippery sometimes," he told her solemnly.

She laughed. "I think, little Prince, if I trip and fall I may just take you with me."

"Not if we step carefully."

"If we step carefully, then I will not trip." She smiled now.

"Exactly!"

She laughed again. "Very well." She stepped forward, watching ahead at the others. She shook her head. "Strange we are so ignored. A Prince and a Guardswoman."

"I don't think so, Lady Diane is important here," he responded.

"But you certainly are sometimes. And meanwhile I'm just me. I have to get comfortable with that. I can't even be Lady Isolde's guard anymore."

Galahad frowned. "I don't know about that. There is always something that can be done, by anyone."

"I hope you are right, boy," Brandaine sighed.

It was well lit here, and the stairs were wide. There were several entries at different points, and they were relatively uniform. Galahad knew the exact spacing of the steps, and walked with practiced grace. Everything was a test after all.
When they reached the bottom, Brandaine stopped suddenly, putting a hand to her mouth and gasping. Galahad looked up at her, for he wasn't sure what was so surprising.

Beneath the Lake was a practical city. Usually it would be quiet, only featuring the Damsels that would live or study here instead of within their homes and with family resources. Right now, however, it was bustling. This was what startled Brandaine and no doubt what caused Diane to stop as well.

The visitors to the lake had gathered from all corners of the isles, and most of them were tribal people, carrying their weapons and families with them. There were wulves as well, moving among the blue-painted humans, training with them. The clash of training weapons rang across the city as they walked, the constant hum of human conversation and intercourse almost overwhelming.

Damsels in their dresses and veils moved among them, busy with their own tasks. Druids in their strange white version of the Mechanicum dress were working over massive cauldrons of something that bubbled thickly, and they would occasionally dip long ladles in and fill the flasks of warriors who gathered before them.

"What is this?" Brandaine asked. "An army?"

"We told you," Herne said grimly, "The Wild Hunt is gathering."

Sir Pelleas and Manw were being greeted cheerfully enough, several other men and women in the garb of nobles gripping Pelleas' arms, but quickly letting him know. The wulves surrounded Manw and embraced him happily, talking rapidly about how pleased King Gwyn would be to see him again. No one spoke to Herne the Huntsman. They seemed to give him a wide berth, and he didn't complain, though Galahad wasn't sure why he wasn't upset to be so isolated from the men and women he was to lead.

They approached the center, where Lady Nimue's home was. None of the buildings were very elaborate, but hers was somewhat larger, and flanking it were four knights, painted in the great blue swirls of the tribes.

Galahad heard a woman cry, "There you are! You Princling, I"ve been looking for you for the past three days, hells take it!"

Galahad flinched when he heard the voice. "I'm sorry, Lady Lionors, did I worry you?"

Lionors was a tall and beautiful blonde woman, wearing an armored dress and carrying a longsword in a sheathe by her side. She was, Galahad knew, the daughter of a Lord whose blood hewd closer to the tribes then the Imperium, and she had been his keeper and guard for some time. "Of course you worried me," she yelled, "going off on a horse without telling anyone. The men may not care what you do, but I sure as hell do, child!"

"Lady Lionors," Sir Pelleas said, smiling in his charming manner. "Prince Galahad did catch us off-guard, but no harm was done, we took care of him well enough. We have much to speak of with Lady Nimue, and are in quite the rush."

Lionors gave the knight a sharp look. "If you wish to watch Prince Galahad at all times, sir, you may take him off my hands. But as of now I am his caretaker in this busy city, and I take my duties seriously, as do you, as does everyone on Avalon. This is a powder keg, in many regards, and the vanishing of the son of an important King allied to the Damsels is a major deal."

"I understand," Galahad said softly, shuffling his feet, "I'm sorry, Lady Lionors."

She sighed, unable to show him more than a slight frown. "I accept. You should have gotten me if you wanted to ride out and greet the returning heroes."

"Hardly heroes, Lady," Manw began to argue, "just doing the work that needed to be done."

Galahad wanted to argue about that, but things quickly turned into Lionors introducing herself to Brandaine and Diane, and other adult matters. Of course, Lionors was barely an adult. She was only eighteen and just a few years ago hadn't seemed to take all this quite so seriously.

She reached out and took his hand, and before he could protest, the others entered Lady Nimue's house. If Lady Lionors was to be an adult, he wanted to be as well.

He frowned.

No. He had to be there.

*******************​

Diane's heart was pounding. This was more than just a minor sect on a minor world, they had an entire army here, building up to this Wild Hunt. She barely noticed the young woman they were suddenly introduced to, even though Lady Lionors seemed friendly and thoughtful.

She walked into the leader's home, barely aware of her captors, focused strongly on who she had been brought to meet.

Seated in the room of the house was an elderly woman, over seventy as Caradoc had suggested. Her face was lined and weathered, a clear sign of a life lived hard in a dangerous world. She was a heavy woman, sturdily built and with a strength to her that belied her age.

She didn't smile as they entered. "You made good time, my friends." She reached out to grab a walking stick, and slowly got to her feet. "Lady Diane of the Navis Nobliate, I do apologize for this affair. I had wished to get you in a more fitting circumstance, but events have moved forward all too quickly and that necessitated speed over decorum."

Diane glared at the old woman, putting on as much a show of pride and imperiousness as she dared. "Lady Nimue, I presume? I am indeed most displeased by the kidnapping you subjected me to. Your men treated me and my friend Guardswoman Brandaine with nothing but respect, even saved our lives from a wretched mutant, but nonetheless I am angered by this situation."

Nimue looked back at her, as firm a will as any Diane had ever faced. "I understand," she said cooly, "but I do have my reasoning, and I assure you it is for the good of this world, and perhaps even the Imperium beyond."

She crossed her arms. "Yes, I know. You want me to find something within Annwn, the Xenos-infested Otherworld of this planet. You have a distinct misunderstanding of how my powers work. I can't just pick out a powerful point in the world, it has to be of immense strength for it to stick out like that."

Nimue, to Diane's surprise, smiled ruefully. "I am aware of that, Lady Diane. Queen Morgan is my adviser in much lore, and she has made it very clear, as you just did, that this is a longshot." Suddenly, the woman looked even older. "I have tried many methods to find what we need over the years, every trick available. You are a new possible factor. You may not work, as scouts and machines have not worked. All I ask is to please try."

Diane looked around the room. The three men who had brought her here had their heads bowed, in embarrassment as much as respect. All this for what they all knew was a longshot. Brandaine was scowling, seated on a wooden chair, ignored as ever. "Perhaps," Diane said at last, "it would help if you fully explained what exactly you are looking for. A local mentioned something called 'Tir na Nog', but that seemed like merely a local legend."

Nimue sat back down in her chair. "Yes. I owe you that, Lady Navigator. Please sit, and let me tell you an old tale the Damsels know. Of the old nobility of this world, and the tools they had to wage war on their dark enemies."

 

[Icipall]

Diane stepped forward, determined now to stand strong. "Take me to Lady Nimue, then, so I may speak to her. I know what she desires of me, and I also know that it is highly likely impossible. I want to clear this matter immediately, so I may be put on tasks I can actually help with."

Click to shrink...

I don't think things are going to go the way you expect.

"But you certainly are sometimes. And meanwhile I'm just me. I have to get comfortable with that. I can't even be Lady Isolde's guard anymore."

Click to shrink...

Brandaine is not having a pleasant time.

Nimue sat back down in her chair. "Yes. I owe you that, Lady Navigator. Please sit, and let me tell you an old tale the Damsels know. Of the old nobility of this world, and the tools they had to wage war on their dark enemies."

Click to shrink...

 

[MysticKnightJoe]

"To begin with," Nimue said, "Tir na Nog is just a name for a place within Annwn, a Kingdom or realm. It is a place within that we seek, the place that made the realm famous in the days before the Imperium."

"When Xenos ruled this world," Brandaine cut in, "we have gathered that much."

"They were Xenos, yes, but also human. The Tuatha were already a dying race when they came, and they were content to leave the world alone, for the most part. Those that didn't faded and died, even their long lifespans ultimately finite. This left the Aoi Sidhe. The aliens that were also human."

"Hybrids, mutants," Diane said coldly.

Nimue nodded in cold agreement. "They ruled this world for a long time, as the Noble Caste. As long-lived and powerful as their alien parents, but with certain benefits granted by their human blood."

"This sounds like grand heresy, speaking of them with such nostalgia," Brandaine warned. She was shaking a little, clearly understanding she had no position to speak.

"I have little opinion on their rule. They simply existed, and if speaking of what was is heresy, so be it," Nimue responded sharply. "All I care about is what use their relics could be for our present war effort."

"And Annwn contains many of these relics?" Diane asked.

"Annwn itself is a relic," Pelleas answered grimly, "a weapon in its own right. I firmly believe that its presence has somehow prevented this world's final slide into becoming a Chaos World. To fully take the world, they'd have to take it, and it has proven a difficult thing to crack."

"That's all well and good, but something doesn't add up," Brandaine cut in again, voice harsh and angry. "You speak of the Tuatha and the Aoi Sidhe as if they no longer exist, but we have heard tell of them. Sir Pelleas even mentioned one, Arawen Death-Lord. And I believe we have met one of these hybrids ourselves, in person."

Diane turned to look at the guardswoman, startled. "Who?" she asked, confused.

"You know who." Brandaine clenched her teeth. "Myrddin. That so-called charlatan. He isn't human, I know it. You know it too, Diane."

Diane was quiet for a moment. "I'm not as certain," she said at last.

"Myrddin is in truth little more than a charlatan," Nimue said, after a moment. "There is more to him than that, but he mostly uses mundane parlor tricks to make himself seem more powerful and mysterious than he really is...though, admittedly, I don't think I've met anyone with such an intimate understanding of how to manipulate human psychology - so intimate that I doubt the alien mind of a Xenos could ever hope to match it. So I don't think he's one of the Aoi Sidhe. For a time, he seemed helpful, usable. But now..."

Nimue bowed her head with a deep sigh.

"Now he seems to have gone mad, running about crowning children as Kings and throwing about moral judgements in a time where we can barely afford honor, let alone his precious morality. Doing right by others is all well and good but it won't matter if the Archenemy takes this world. I don't know what he really is, but Xenos or not, what makes him really dangerous is that he is a hopelessly naive creature that's smart enough to do some serious damage."

Nimue shook her head.

"Enough about that infuriating man. As for the Tuatha, yes. You are right. Rumors of them being extinct have been challenged strongly of late. Fionn Mac Cumhail slew one gone mad a few decades ago. Damned thing was on some kind of psychotic loop, burning down the Hall Tara over and over again. There is also rumor of one they call the Green Knight, a wanderer operating on a code of knighthood kin to our own. Finally Arawen Death-Lord is said to be the eldest of them all...and I doubt he yet lives." She glared at Sir Pelleas. "You know that too."

Pelleas bowed his head. "I heard hunting horns ring in Annwn, madam. You have heard my report."

"We'd best hope that was just an illusion," Nimue said. "What we do know is the place is overgrown, full of beasts and presently in the beginning stages of invasion by the powries. Scavengers looking for the old magics, no doubt. And we have to ensure that we find the strongest artifact before they do, at the very least."

"And this artifact, within Tir na Nog, is what you want me to find?" Diane asked. "You are so desperate for it, that even though you aren't sure it'll work, you want me. What is it?"


"Somewhere within Tir na Nog sits a grand building. Constructed in ancient days by the people who ruled this realm long ago, it is an artifact beyond anything else we've found inside that realm." She nodded toward Sir Pelleas. "As you are no doubt aware, Annwn is a realm where time runs differently, where it can be twisted and turned. Randomly, beyond any human control. Except for one place. Within the building in Tir na Nog, the place that what scant records I and Queen Morgan were able to scrounge up call the Temple of Time. There, at the very center of Tir na Nog, the unstable time of Annwn can be controlled..."

"...and a hope built upon by generations upon generations of my predecessors can be found."

"What hope?" Diane asked.

Nimue smiled softly. "The perfect knight. The one true Sir Lancelot."

Before Diane or Brandaine could ask for illumination, there was a shuffling sound from outside the room. Manw was up and moving instantly, swinging the door open and diving forward like the beast he resembled. An instant later he was back, Prince Galahad gripped tightly in his hands.

Galahad smiled nervously. "Hello, Lady Nimue."

Nimue scowled at him. "Honestly. It is always you sneaking about and getting into what doesn't concern you yet."

"I'm sorry," Galahad said, hanging his head. "I just want to help like everyone else."

Diane had to hide her smile. For all that this situation had grown complicated and cold, Galahad's simple honesty was pure and sweet.

'Well, you heard nothing that you shouldn't know," Nimue said with a sigh, "nonetheless, I did tell Lady Lionors to keep a close eye and a tight leash on you, so she will be held accountable for that."

"Wait! Don't punish her, it was my fault!" Galahad cried out. "I slipped away when she was talking to her father, she was dealing with something more important than me."

"Her father?" Nimue sighed softly. "By the Lady he is an excitable man. No doubt still worrying about her marriage prospects."

"Speaking of," Herne said, "King Caradoc is a few hours behind with his court and wife. His newborn son as well. He is worried about the paternity of his child, and wants you to check."

"Check and assuage his manhood, you mean." Nimue made a face. "That's all some men want from our order. The one good thing King Caradoc has going for him is his practicality, and that will get shoved to the side in the name of proving his damned fertility."

"It is a big deal, Lady," Pelleas said, clearly a bit upset at the insult paid to his friend. "If the child isn't his…"

"Then what? Should the baby be fed to the wolves and his wife burned at the stake?" Nimue shook her head. "It doesn't matter. He married Lady Ysave because she was the only one he could get, and he should be happy for that. I'll tell him what he wants to hear. We have far more important things to worry about."

"If I decide to not help you, then what?" Diane asked, interrupting before the elderly sect leader could continue her grumbling.

"Then I will send you and Lady Brandaine back to Queen Morgan with my apologies, and I'll find another way to get what the planet needs." The old woman slowly rose, leaning on her staff. "I've done quite a lot in the name of protecting this world, but if you truly believe there is nothing you can do, I'd rather not waste the time. But for the record, despite what you and Morgan say, I want to try. It can be done, I think."

"I'll do it, but on one condition. No matter what, if I fail or succeed, you will promise to keep Lady Isolde and Guardswoman Brandaine safe."

"Easily done." Nimue began to leave the room. "We will discuss the full details soon. First I'll have to deal with Lady Lionors' father and King Caradoc. So much to do, so little time."

Brandaine went to Diane's shoulder as they followed after the old woman. "You agreed, why?"

"It guarantees our safety, at least for now," Diane responded.

"And what if we find it? What if we go into that Xenos-realm that drove Sir Pelleas out of time, and find a piece of alien technology that we shouldn't touch? All in the name of creating something that can never exist?" Brandaine took a deep breath. "You want to do it, don't you? For some reason you want to do this, and you want to succeed. Why, Diane?"

Diane sighed, feeling the weight of the world. "Perhaps what I want, Brandaine, is to succeed here because if we don't do something, we will be destroyed with everyone else in this world. This isn't perfect, but it is something I can at least try."

Brandaine nodded, bowing her head. "I understand. Throne forgive me, but I do."

There was no guarantee it would even work. But Diane knew if she didn't try, she really would feel like a failure for eternity. The other issue, the result, gave her pause. The perfect knight, the true Lancelot. Who could that possibly be? Could such a man or woman even exist? She'd press Nimue for details on that. Whatever required Xenos tech sorcery, manipulation of time itself had better be well worth it.



[Rogue Trader has consumed my life at present, devoured quite a bit of my free time. Had a nasty bit of writer's block as well, so I thank everyone for their patience. Thank you to @GilliamYaeger for helping me get the flow right!]

 

[bookwyrm]

Oh hot damn, Avalon in use before Arthur is interned as the Once And Future King, or perhaps it is Arthur because fuck you Warp/Faerie time, or perhaps more straightforwardly something like the last of the great Eldar Wraithknights awaiting a worthy Lancelot as the living soul to reawaken it much as Caliburn woke for Arthur. Either way though, this is cool as hell.

 

[dermenscha]

Doing right by others is all well and good but it won't matter if the Archenemy takes this world.

Click to shrink...

It's the greatest of ironies that morality is the greatest weakness of evil. Especially Chaos- acts of Good have a tangible reflection in the Immaterium that hurts Chaos like little else.

 

[Icipall]

"This sounds like grand heresy, speaking of them with such nostalgia," Brandaine warned. She was shaking a little, clearly understanding she had no position to speak.

"I have little opinion on their rule. They simply existed, and if speaking of what was is heresy, so be it," Nimue responded sharply. "All I care about is what use their relics could be for our present war effort."

Click to shrink...

If you ever make contact with the wider Imperium, you'll notice that lot of things are heresy.

"Myrddin is in truth little more than a charlatan," Nimue said, after a moment. "There is more to him than that, but he mostly uses mundane parlor tricks to make himself seem more powerful and mysterious than he really is...though, admittedly, I don't think I've met anyone with such an intimate understanding of how to manipulate human psychology - so intimate that I doubt the alien mind of a Xenos could ever hope to match it. So I don't think he's one of the Aoi Sidhe. For a time, he seemed helpful, usable. But now..."

Nimue bowed her head with a deep sigh.

"Now he seems to have gone mad, running about crowning children as Kings and throwing about moral judgements in a time where we can barely afford honor, let alone his precious morality. Doing right by others is all well and good but it won't matter if the Archenemy takes this world. I don't know what he really is, but Xenos or not, what makes him really dangerous is that he is a hopelessly naive creature that's smart enough to do some serious damage."

Click to shrink...

It will be interesting to see those two finally in the same room.

the Temple of Time

Click to shrink...

View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nOs1mksL5I4

Nimue smiled softly. "The perfect knight. The one true Sir Lancelot."

Click to shrink...

Interesting.

Diane sighed, feeling the weight of the world. "Perhaps what I want, Brandaine, is to succeed here because if we don't do something, we will be destroyed with everyone else in this world. This isn't perfect, but it is something I can at least try."

Click to shrink...

When faced with an extinction, all other options start to look preferable.

 

[Always Late]

There, at the very center of Tir na Nog, the unstable time of Annwn can be controlled..."

"...and a hope built upon by generations upon generations of my predecessors can be found."

"What hope?" Diane asked.

Nimue smiled softly. "The perfect knight. The one true Sir Lancelot."

Click to shrink...

This is 100% my own media consumption influencing me, but what if Lancelot isn't a who, but a what?

See, the funny thing about time-manipulation is that if you have one area experiencing time at an accelerated rate, organic material quickly decays unless it's meant to be very long lived. But machines, with the right supplies and timed intervention, can function at an output that breaks the laws of physics. If you make one day on the outside equivalent to ten days inside, then if it takes ten days to build a weapon, the time zone can give it to you in 24 hours.

Now imagine such a manufacturing planet set up by the Aeldari Empire. Run by their psychic power. Operated by their Psychomaton robots. Built with immortal Wraithbone. You could build an army of centuries in mere decades.

At the very least, it's a viable backup plan for if the knights fail.

The perfect knight, the true Lancelot. Who could that possibly be? Could such a man or woman even exist?

Click to shrink...

Well, I know of at least one person who says the criteria for that title is flying an F-15J because it's the best fighter ever made.

 

[MysticKnightJoe]

King Arthur made his way through the dark halls of King Macbeth's halls, silent as the grave. The mad King evidently had little interest in lighting his hallways at night, so Arthur relied on the practice Myrddin had drilled him in. Each step he made was measured carefully, his senses acute.

It made him feel like a thief, especially with the long dagger still at his side. Yet this as well was something he was skilled at, and he kept to all the edicts of the thief's craft. He checked carefully around each corner before continuing onward.

He noticed it as he finally reached close to King Macbeth's suite. Even with his cautious step, Arthur very nearly stepped in the spreading pool of blood. He slipped carefully around it, looking down at the corpse with a frown.

The corpse was wearing the armor of the house guard, and his armor was ravaged beyond repair. The man's face was utterly crushed and destroyed, and unrecognizable. Arthur could recognize the cause of death, despite the sheer damage. No beast did this, it was the work of a man with a dagger, a strong arm, and a berserk drive to kill.

There was a shriek of terror and Arthur turned swiftly, he didn't draw either of his weapons, and instead moved in close to the maid who had stumbled on the scene.

She was a mousy girl, about sixteen, dressed in the simple and dour clothing of a house servant. Her eyes widened when Arthur pressed close, and she flinched, clearly expecting a blow.

"Please be quiet, lady," Arthur said softly, "I don't know if the killer is nearby, and with the evidence I can see, such a man is a berserk who will more than likely kill again."

Her eyes widened in recognition. "Lord King Arthur!" She clamped her mouth shut tightly after that involuntary exclamation.

Arthur smiled slightly, and nodded in confirmation. "Have you seen anything strange?" he asked, his voice perfectly measured.

"No," she whispered back. She darted a look at the corpse. "I only just came up. There is a servant's passway, so we don't get in the way." She took a tentative step toward the body.

"Do you recognize him?" Arthur asked. The only thing familiar to him was the shattered uniform.

The maid swallowed, thickly, at the sight of the ruined man. "I know all the guards, we are all careful about which ones are safe to approach, and which ones aren't." She swallowed again, coughed.

Arthur gently took her by the shoulder and pulled her away. "Get back downstairs," he whispered, "it isn't safe here."

She seemed paralyzed, looking at his hand on her shoulder. "I don't want to be alone right now," she said.

It took Arthur an embarrassing instant to realize she didn't mean that in a romantic sense. "Right, I'll take you back to my suite of rooms, you'll be safe there while I do my work." But before he could take her away, he heard the click of metal on stone, and the drip of something wet falling to the ground in a rhythmic beat.

"Get behind me," Arthur hissed, and moved so he was blocking her with his body.

The man who stepped into view was wearing the same armor as the dead guard, and was so soaked in blood and gore he looked as inhuman and destroyed as the corpse. In one hand, he carried a heavy club, in the other a long gore-stained dagger. He said not a word, his eyes glowed like coals in a face twisted with madness.

Arthur barely got his sword free before the murderer hurtled at him, club raised high, dagger flashing down toward Arthur's side. With the need to protect the maid behind him, Arthur had limited options in terms of defense and offense.

The Sword from the Stone flashed up, and blocked the deadly club coming down. The weapon's edge, forged through ancient magic, severed through the wooden club easily, the top falling past Arthur's shoulder to thud hard into the ground. He managed to shift away from the dagger, so its dulled tip skidded just by his ribs.

There was no human reaction in the man with the red-flame eyes. Instead of pulling back when his main weapon was destroyed, he simply changed tactic in the way only a pure berserker could, driving the club's remaining length straight at Arthur's teeth.

Angling his sword just so, the wood struck the metal with a clunk. Arthur clicked the rune, and the field that surrounded the weapon started to bite into the wood, but still the man pushed forward, screaming, his inhuman strength trying to drive Arthur back.

Arthur tried to grab the wrist holding the dagger, to prevent himself from getting stabbed, but his hand closed around something else, and with an involuntary assertion of will, Arthur drew the dagger from his side, and drove it suddenly up into the murderer's throat, driving upwards straight to the brain.

The man went limp, and Arthur pushed to send his dead weight away to the ground with a solid thud. He stared at the knife, which gleamed wetly with blood and brain. The stone in its hilt glinted dangerously.

The maid sobbed, turned, and held onto the wall, managing to hold back her bile with an admirable show of inner strength.

Arthur cleaned his dagger on the dead man's tabard, the blood coming off with startling ease. He looked back at the woman. "I'm going to speak to King Macbeth now," he said calmly, "just run down the hall, you will run into Sir Balin and Lady Cei. Tell them I sent you, tell them there was a killer here."

She looked at him, tears running down his face. "There are many killers here, my Lord," she said, her voice quivering.

Arthur nodded in understanding. He turned, and continued down the hall. He would ensure there would be no more murder here this night, not if he had any will to bring against it.

*******************​

The inhuman altar seemed to draw Dagonet close to it, its simple beauty a pure work of art in the hidden crevice of the hall. The three stones set into the face of it seemed to gleam like teardrops. They were three colors, crimson, azure, and the center one was black as the purest midnight.

"Something wicked this way comes." The voice from the center stone was feminine and powerful. "Be wary sisters. This clown is a devious one, as are all his twisted ilk."

"Show yourselves, you dead," Dagonet barked, "I do not fear dead women, especially if you hide behind the tears of Isha!" The words weren't fully his own, and he hoped didn't sound that antagonistic. How did one fight a ghost?

There was a burst of laughter, from three throats that no longer existed in the physical world. Slowly, like smoke, the three women took shape. The two flanking ones wore robes of crimson and azure, and kept their hoods up, but the lead woman wore only a cloak of midnight black that danced across her beautiful form. None of the three were human, they had long limbs and sharp tapered ears.

"Khaine's daughters!" Dagonet burst into mad laughter. "You wretched witches don't belong in this universe, your Lord is all in pieces, spread across a hundred dying worlds!"

The lead woman slipped forward in the air, and Dagonet could feel her psychic weight pressing down on him. "Khaela Mensha Khaine's will yet holds, miserable mon'keigh clown! He can yet do what is needed, kill and kill again, until all foes lie dead!"

The crimson one moved like fog to Dagonet's side. "For murder is in all's future, Aeldari and mon'keigh alike, this work is sacred, we are allowed to work beyond our death thanks to Danu's sweet gift!"

The azure one's hand reached to stroke Dagonet's chin in a disturbingly gentle gesture. "Dagonet the Jester, bells ever ringing, soon those bells will roll at the feet of the End himself!"

Dagonet laughed again. "Soon? By what reckoning, the elder race or the younger? Either way, I don't fear death, and if I am to die violently, so be it! At least you ghosts won't be the ones to take me!"

"Sisters!" the lead daughter roared suddenly. "Do not parley with clowns, for they do not follow any path of understanding we can follow, so long as death be part of the Laughing God's jest, it frightens them not!"

"The only jest here is you three," Dagonet sneered, "playing your miserable murderous games with the Red King and his minions. What do you plan to even begin to accomplish here?"

"The death of all Chaos apon the world," the one in crimson whispered into his ear, "the red tide of cleansing flame, the promise of Khaela Mensha Khaine!"

"Danu was so kind, to strengthen our souls," moaned the azure, "even as her enchantments diminished Khaine's hold. Still, enough to leverage the mon'keigh race for the purpose they are best at. Sacrifices for the freedom of the world."

"And what will remain?" Dagonet laughed. "There aren't much of your kind left here, an endless field of the dead helps no one!"

The Eldar ghost in the black cloak crossed her arms. "Nothing you propose will have the weight to divert this course, clown. Danu's plans are but dust. A purge is all that we need."

Suddenly, another psychic presence entered Dagonet's awareness. A voice spoke up. "I had a feeling this would be the case. I sensed the presence very quickly."

"Hello Myrddin," Dagonet whispered, darting a look between each of the three. "I really hope you can defuse this situation."

The woman in the black cloak scowled suddenly, her cloak billowing behind her, her beautiful perfect body on full display. "You!" she snarled. "Wizard and deceiver! Last of the damned Romantics! How dare you bring yourself before me!"

"Highest of the Daughters of Khaine, last of the Daughters of Khaine," Myrddin's voice said, a smile in it, "I am thankful to Dagonet for leading me to you. I have a proposal I hope will avail us all. Khaine's purge is not the only way this planet can be saved, even if from this weak vantage point you were to manage it."

"Explain but quickly, my patience is not endless!"

Dagonet smiled thinly, as Myrddin began.

********************
​

Guinevere resisted the urge to chew on her nails, a terrible habit she was trying to resist. She hadn't gone back to the room, and being flanked by both Cei and Balin did nothing to help her nerves. Gruoch was asleep now, exhausted from whatever had taken hold of her will and her resistance to it.

Cei had her arms crossed, scowling darkly. "Why did I let him go alone?" she said, voice quivering with anger.

"All we can do is follow the King's orders," Balin said with a shrug. "For now, I think he made the right call. This way we can react to anything else that happens in this accursed place, and keep the women and the wizard safe, whatever the hell the old devil is doing right now."

Gwen didn't scowl at Balin, though she dearly wanted to. She disliked feeling helpless, and was certain she wasn't. Before she could respond, there was the pattering of feet.

A young girl, a maid, appeared suddenly. She stopped short. "You are King Arthur's people?" she asked, nervously. "I'm Ava, I met King Arthur in the hall, we were attacked by a man gone mad, and he told me to run here."

Guinevere walked up to the girl, pleased she could help. "Hello Ava," she said gently, "you are safe here." She looked at the other two. "I think we need to do something more. If there are attackers here, Arthur needs support. I'm going down to talk to Lord Waylen and Vent. I have a feeling King Arthur will need his mount and weapons ready very soon."

"Why you?" Cei asked. "We could do it ourselves."

"I can move more freely, and draw less attention," Gwen argued, "you need to stay here, come to Arthur's aid if he needs it, and keep Ava and Queen Gruoch safe."

"There is a pass downstairs nearby," Ava said softly, "behind the tapestry with an old battle on it. There are several ravens flying above it, you can't miss it. Just pull it aside, and you will have a quick safe way down."

Gwen nodded to the maid, and without waiting for further argument, began to run down the hall. Her heart beat heavily, and she felt a sense of pure worry come over her. She needed to make her move, and quickly.



[I'm back. Sorry for the Holiday hiatus, this ended up being a very busy end of the year!]

 

[Always Late]

So it's true: Merlin is an Eldar. He's either disguised with normal human proportions, or a hybrid.

Dagonet joking that the Dark Elf Khaine cultist ghosts don't belong here feels like the culmination of a long running joke, and I love it.

What's more significant in this is that the Daughters of Khaine were allowed to exist by Danu. The Eldar who invented the hybridization process. Who made The Cauldron by studying Imperial post-human developments. The Grandmother of the Exarch known as The Green Knight.

Danu clearly did not intend to pioneer and bulldoze a clear vision. Instead, she focused on her own goals yet gave resources out to alternatives.

 

[Icipall]

He noticed it as he finally reached close to King Macbeth's suite. Even with his cautious step, Arthur very nearly stepped in the spreading pool of blood. He slipped carefully around it, looking down at the corpse with a frown.

Click to shrink...

That is not a good sign.

The man went limp, and Arthur pushed to send his dead weight away to the ground with a solid thud. He stared at the knife, which gleamed wetly with blood and brain. The stone in its hilt glinted dangerously.

Click to shrink...

Neither is that.

"Show yourselves, you dead," Dagonet barked, "I do not fear dead women, especially if you hide behind the tears of Isha!" The words weren't fully his own, and he hoped didn't sound that antagonistic. How did one fight a ghost?

Click to shrink...

Interesting that he knows, but not "fully".

"The only jest here is you three," Dagonet sneered, "playing your miserable murderous games with the Red King and his minions. What do you plan to even begin to accomplish here?"

"The death of all Chaos apon the world," the one in crimson whispered into his ear, "the red tide of cleansing flame, the promise of Khaela Mensha Khaine!"

"Danu was so kind, to strengthen our souls," moaned the azure, "even as her enchantments diminished Khaine's hold. Still, enough to leverage the mon'keigh race for the purpose they are best at. Sacrifices for the freedom of the world."

"And what will remain?" Dagonet laughed. "There aren't much of your kind left here, an endless field of the dead helps no one!"

The Eldar ghost in the black cloak crossed her arms. "Nothing you propose will have the weight to divert this course, clown. Danu's plans are but dust. A purge is all that we need."

Click to shrink...

Yeah, hate to break it to you, ladies, but your plan sucks and is generally bad.

"Highest of the Daughters of Khaine, last of the Daughters of Khaine," Myrddin's voice said, a smile in it, "I am thankful to Dagonet for leading me to you. I have a proposal I hope will avail us all. Khaine's purge is not the only way this planet can be saved, even if from this weak vantage point you were to manage it."

"Explain but quickly, my patience is not endless!"

Dagonet smiled thinly, as Myrddin began.

Click to shrink...

Time to see the best laid plans of men and Eldar.

 

[MysticKnightJoe]

Arthur slid open the door to King Macbeth's chambers, no longer moving like a thief. He was startled, instantly, by the room being brightly lit. The Red King had electric lights strung in, kept going by an ancient generator.

The older man sat in a wooden chair across from his bed, a long dagger unsheathed in his lap. He was wearing full armor, though his helm was off, placed neatly next to the dagger. His eyes stared at Arthur as he entered, flecks of volcanic red playing across them.

King Arthur smiled. "You were expecting me in more violent circumstances, I suspect, King Macbeth?"

Macbeth continued to stare him down. "There is blood on your hands, King Arthur. You have murdered this night."

"Not what I would call a murder," Arthur said, "I killed a man who attacked me. One of your guards, in a berserk fit. It was in defense of myself and a young woman, for he had already killed another." Arthur stepped further into the room. Aside from the chair and a military style cot, the room was unfurnished. "There is something rotten in your hold, sir," Arthur said, "you've allowed dangerous magics to take root."

Macbeth's expression did not change. "Tell me, did you bed my wife, kill her, or both, sir."

"Neither. I will not kill an innocent, or bed a woman with marriage vows." Arthur looked the older man dead in the eye. "Even if she was in her right mind. What madness have you allowed into your home, King Macbeth."

Macbeth frowned in thought. He picked up the dagger from his lap, and held it upright, the point aimed between Arthur's eyes. "Many years ago," he said, "I was traveling deep into the ancient moors, after a battle with a lord who had gone traitor. There I came upon an altar once buried, but reemerged through the motions of the earth and the erosion of rain and moving animals. There, the three weird women, ghosts of the eldar race, spoke to me."

"The Tuatha," Arthur said calmly, "I know of them, and I also know they aren't so trustworthy. What did these three tell you?"

"They told me a prophecy, that I would be first general, then duke, then king. All I needed to do was be ready to seize these things, spring upon the crossroads in which destiny is chosen." The dagger wavered. Macbeth seemed suddenly more lucid. "Each time a dagger I see before me, and each time I must take it by the hilt, and drive it deep. So long as one gets his hands bloody, there is nothing that can't be achieved."

Arthur tensed, readying himself to dodge. "And what you intended was I'd come to you blood-maddened, or inflamed with lustful desire. Either way, here to murder you, either way, in a position to be killed by you in a way that would elicit no question or judgment. You did miscalculate. Perhaps you could kill me now, perhaps not, but it would be outside the laws of chivalry and all would know it."

A flicker of anger flashed across Macbeth's face. "I know I could kill you here and now, you cocky whelp."

Arthur smiled, pleased he had drawn a bit of emotion from the mad King. There was some human emotion remaining after all. "As I said. Perhaps, perhaps not. I have no doubt you are strong and fast, and have the will to kill me where I stand. However, I am not an easily slain child, and I demand we face each other in an arena suitable for Kings if this is destined to come to violence."

"Are daggers still acceptable?" Macbeth asked. "As the accused, I choose the weapons."

A dagger was a most unusual choice for a duel between knights. Swords were typical, lances common, in extreme cases the mounts themselves would be used. And yet. "This is acceptable to me," Arthur said at last.

All weapons, Arthur knew, had a level of artistry to them. The dagger was perhaps the most deceptive. It was the weapon of crude gangers and cutthroats in the night, but also of cunning duelists and deceptively skilled highwaymen. It was not a weapon that could be used solely in brute thrusting and slashing, unless one was in a gang falling upon a man, like Kaiser in the ancient Terran story. Arthur knew the ways of the dagger as well as any weapon, for him it was a dance that would end on the point.

***********************​

"So what do you propose, wizard?" the woman in black asked. She vibrated with her irritation, her indistinct form wavering like fog. "Know this, I know your nature, you are both tricksters and I can spy your traps from miles out."

"I intend no trap, Khaine's Daughter, for my proposal is simply that you do not do whatever interference you intend to make the chances of your champion's victory absolute." Myrddin's voice rang boldly through the room. "My King Arthur is even now challenging your King Macbeth to a fight to the death in accordance with the law of Chivalry."

"He is hardly our King," muttered the ghost in crimson, "we give him direction, not the other way round. Better to say he is our tool of fate."

The ghost in azure giggled with surprising sweetness. "Oh, but I'm sure it is just the same for the wizard and his King." Her ghost slid into a reclining position. "Though, I have contact with the young one through the dagger he now carries. His mind is like a diamond of absolute beauty and strength, his soul a beacon of nobility, his body forged like a great sword of legend."

"Of course you'd bring up his body!" The lead Daughter of Khaine scowled, her lovely face turning into a thunderstorm. "Even as a ghost you can't help but long for the comforts of the flesh! Aeldari or mon'keigh, it never did matter to you, Avaleit."

Avaleit, to Dagonet's surprise, didn't seem especially offended by the verbal attack. "I merely comment on his heroic qualities, that is all. You can draw what conclusions you wish from that, but I for one am amenable to the wizard's proposal."

"And you?" She turned slowly on the crimson cloaked one.

"I have no preference. There is no doubt how it will end either way."

"So be it. We Daughters of Khaine vow to not interfere in the conflict between King Macbeth and King Arthur, but neither can you, Myrddin the Fatherless. We will be only witnesses."

Dagonet could see the trickster's grin on Myrddin's face. "Precisely what I desired, my lady. I shall retreat and reawaken now. Holding this trance so long is a risk, after all." And an instant later, the presence of the wizard was gone, leaving Dagonet and the three alien ghosts.

The black robed woman smiled, beautifully and terribly. "Poor wizard. Surely he must realize we made our play with King Macbeth long ago. He cannot be defeated, we've set it up to be so!"

"A shame," Avaleit said with a sigh, "King Arthur does indeed seem quite the hero. Yet no man could win out in what his heroism has led him to."

Dagonet, alone again with the three ghostly witches, felt sweat running down his face. He knew what he had to do. He had to discover what trick the Daughters of Khaine had pulled, and deliver the information to Arthur before he was slain by the alien treachery. "Ladies!" he began, smiling his finest smile. "Shall I entertain you." He'd focus on Avaleit, who seemed the most sympathetic towards King Arthur. Such was the duty of a jester.

*********************​

Guinevere emerged from the hidden stair into one of the castle's kitchens, almost stumbling over a servant sleeping curled on the floor. He made a grumbling sound, and reached to almost caress her thigh, but she slid neatly away from him.

She was out the kitchen door in an instant, her mind racing, worried beyond measure despite her faith in her lover. So much could go wrong at this juncture. What if their cars were under attack? Macbeth's men could decide to start working at eliminating the threat.

But when she emerged into the courtyard, she found it empty but for the three parked machines, the knights they attended looming over.

She ran to Arthur's, and pounded on the door. "Lord Waylen," she hissed, "Vent, King Arthur sent me."

The door was open, and Vent's face peered through. The adept had removed their respirator, revealing surprisingly delicate features. "In, quickly," they whispered. Their gothic through their flesh-voice was oddly accented and rasping, clearly a rare occurrence.

Gwen slid in. The car was frigid, neither tech-priest caring overmuch about the cold night air.

Waylen sat hunched over one of his projects, muttering darkly in binaric. He looked up as the two approached. "Adept Vent Subedeck-19D. I heard a distinctive flesh voice from you. Affectations of the flesh are not something that should be taken up lightly."

"My elucidator has been faulty. My gothic at least is fluent so it seemed reasonable to use my flesh capabilities until it could be repaired. Time cannot be spared, King Arthur needs his weapons," Vent argued calmly.

"You are one who operates within a role and solely that role, an eternal cog in the glorious machine," Waylen said, "even gender deleted before that great aim. To throw that aside, any part of it, is heresy, treason before the Church of Mars."

"I miss my function aboard Prydwen," Vent answered mildly, "but now I must find a new function. To cast myself aside or refuse to do any more than my exact task would be the true heresy. Though so tasked, I can do more than maintaining the ventilation system of Subdeck 19D. I can perform the role of Sacristan now. I intend to, for Arthur-King." Gwen noticed the "King" was added almost quickly, stumbling.

The binaric that emerged from Waylen was a rumble that nearly made Guinevere's ears bleed. She snapped out her words before she could be overwhelmed by whatever argument was ongoing with the two Tech-Priests. "I am here because King Arthur is in danger. We all are. Xenos-sorcery has a hold on this place, people have died already, we don't know how many. I am here to take stock, and ensure that we are ready to fight at need." She glared down at Waylen. "You will show me what you have been working on here. King Arthur has ordered me to prepare for battle." It was a small lie, and Gwen wouldn't regret it.

"Fine," Waylen said, he looked her up and down, almost analytically. "I suppose you will do for this. Come, girl." The Magos turned, and Guinevere followed him, Vent just behind her.

 

[bookwyrm]

Macbeth: no man of woman born may slay me!
Guinevere: Oh- that makes this easy then runs him over in the autocar

 

[Warmachine375]

Macbeth: no man of woman born may slay me!
Guinevere: Oh- that makes this easy then runs him over in the autocar

Click to shrink...

Even better. Guinevere should grab a vehicle, jump high with it and then slam that very hard on Macbeth to scream:


View: https://youtu.be/t1y3QOIRsYs?si=ocQKAV_oa8OyuiMT

 

[Icipall]

Arthur slid open the door to King Macbeth's chambers, no longer moving like a thief. He was startled, instantly, by the room being brightly lit. The Red King had electric lights strung in, kept going by an ancient generator.

Click to shrink...

Luxurious.

"The Tuatha," Arthur said calmly, "I know of them, and I also know they aren't so trustworthy. What did these three tell you?"

"They told me a prophecy, that I would be first general, then duke, then king. All I needed to do was be ready to seize these things, spring upon the crossroads in which destiny is chosen." The dagger wavered. Macbeth seemed suddenly more lucid. "Each time a dagger I see before me, and each time I must take it by the hilt, and drive it deep. So long as one gets his hands bloody, there is nothing that can't be achieved."

Click to shrink...

Or they might have just told you what you wanted to hear.

"Of course you'd bring up his body!" The lead Daughter of Khaine scowled, her lovely face turning into a thunderstorm. "Even as a ghost you can't help but long for the comforts of the flesh! Aeldari or mon'keigh, it never did matter to you, Avaleit."

Click to shrink...

Hah!

"Fine," Waylen said, he looked her up and down, almost analytically. "I suppose you will do for this. Come, girl." The Magos turned, and Guinevere followed him, Vent just behind her.

Click to shrink...

Not sure if I should be worried or not.

 

[The Lone badger]

I really hope Arthur leaves the wraithbone dagger with someone before the duel. That's not a thing you want to have anywhere near this sort of fight.

 

[MysticKnightJoe]

Much of King Arthur's car had been transformed into Waylen's shrine and workshop, the ancient Magos tinkering deep and away from his master. Guinevere watched as the hunched form of the terrible creature moved away. He seemed so distant from what a Mechanicus Tech Priest was supposed to be, she thought, something other than human. Archimedes and Vent seemed closer to what the followers of the Machine God should be.

"You fear him," Vent whispered in her ear, "that is wise. I fear him as well."

"Did you know of him before you came here?" Gwen whispered back.

"No. Not Magos Waylen specifically, but his kind? Yes. Hereteks and renegades. Waylen may not be a creator of dread Daemon Engines, but he is an innovator, a sorcerer who plays with the technologies of the loathsome xenos."

Gwen frowned. "Like King Arthur's Caliburn?" she asked, looking at Vent with an air of almost challenge.

"I don't know what Caliburn is. From what I have seen, it is a weapon from beyond time, archeotech that should be in the hands of the wise and cautious, to determine how best to use it. Yet few are wise on this planet, and even fewer are cautious." They smiled, barely visible on their quiet face. "King Arthur is wise, but he is not cautious. For he is a warrior-form, caution is not a virtue in such a man."

"Is that so?" Guinevere asked. She looked at Vent, a little curiously. "Yet you trust Arthur, the same as I do."

Vent didn't get a chance to respond, for Waylen interrupted with a blurt of binaric that rang in Gwen's ears for a painful instant.

"It is likely," the Magos said, in machine-flattened gothic now, "you will be necessary now. A biological unit is necessary for this step, and I calculate that King Arthur will be fighting as a dragon soon enough. We will begin preparations immediately."

Guinevere frowned as she saw what Waylen was referring to. In the depths of his workshop, under a tarp, was a familiar old machine. "I hardly see what this has to do with King Arthur," she said.

Waylen tugged at his beard with his metal fingers. "You lack the comprehension of a priest of the Mechanicum. But you will understand soon enough. You will be of use."

*********************​

It was black as pitch outside, yet the duel needed to be set. Arthur could feel the frigid night air on his naked chest, the loincloth around his waist scant protection. Yet this was how such a battle was fought.

"Are you sure about this?" Cei whispered in his ear. She was bundled in a thick fur cloak, and hadn't stopped scowling from the moment Arthur had told her what was going to happen. "It stinks of a trap."

Across the field King Macbeth, attired similarly to Arthur, was being slowly attended by his household, bearing torches and setting them into the earth. Arthur only had Cei, Balin, and the young maid beside him. He should feel exposed and weak, he thought, but as he watched across he saw several bodies being brought out of the castle proper and laid out on the grass. Many of the household were staying a fair distance away, watching with cold eyes.

"It does indeed," Arthur responded calmly.

"Then I should be the one to spring it, get out there dagger in hand. Bet the old King would get quite the shock seeing me with my breasts out, and while he's ogling I'll shove my dagger right up his guts and open him."

Sir Balin laughed. "Lady, King Macbeth is hardly a callow virgin to be so distracted by your charms. Best save your hide here."

"I'll have you know, Sir Balin, my charms would knock any man flat!" Cei glared at him.

"Nonetheless," Arthur interjected before the argument could get more heated. "A King issued a challenge to another King, and therefore the two Kings must settle it." He took a torch and rammed it into the earth, the flame wavering. "If there is a trap Cei, I will survive it and seize my victory."

Cei bowed her head, scowling darkly. But she didn't argue, and helped set the torches without another word.

King Macbeth stood in the center of the fire ring. He wasn't quite as tall as Arthur, and his arms were shorter, but he was more thickly built, and his body was covered with the evidence of his years of fighting. He held a long dagger, the fire gleaming off its steel.

Arthur had the knife of strange make ready as he stepped forward. He lifted the dagger in salute, sliding into a combat stance as he lowered it again.

"I give you one final chance to surrender, you hairless whelp," King Macbeth said solemnly. "You cannot win tonight or any other time. Leave my hall and leave me to my work."

"I cannot do that. Dread enchantment has been worked here, and many have died already. It can't continue on this way." Arthur prepared to spring, body tensing in anticipation.

"Then damned be he who first cries: Hold, enough!" Macbeth moved, faster than Arthur could anticipate, dagger an almost invisible flash in the night.

But Arthur met it, blocking the first stroke with a clang of steel on the unearthly material of his own weapon. And so began the deadly dance.

********************​

"It begins!" Avaliet cried, laughing like a child and spinning in the air. "Oh it has been so long since I've seen such a fight! How hard it is to not root for dear heroic King Arthur? He does so remind me of King Pwyll, do you remember King Pwyll?"

"Yes, Avaliet," snapped the leader of the Daughters of Khaine, her face dark with sheer grim mood. "I remember the half-breed King Pwyll, we dined in his court in happier times, and our kind forget nothing!"

Avaliet's spirit seemed to waver, going almost transparent. "I just thought it would be nice to remind us," she said bitterly, floating away from the other three to sulk.

"She was ever a child," muttered the one in crimson, "spent too much time with the mon'keigh while she was flesh. Perhaps we shouldn't have brought in one born here instead of on one of the Maiden Worlds."

Dagonet, ignored completely, slid out of sight toward the sulking Avaliet. "So rude to you, dear," he said softly.

She looked at him, haughtily but curiously. "Clown. You are but human, with a shard of the Harlequin King within you. Can you still entertain properly? Human jesters do have their charm, but a proper aeldari trickster is something to behold."

"I like to think I have my talents, to give human and aeldari alike entertainment," Dagonet said mildly, "and I will be here for some time I suspect." He looked at the other two, hanging solemnly before the altar. "What of your sisters?"
"They are all about their plan," Avaliet grumbled, "I want to see it pass as well, but I want to enjoy myself a little. What's the use in all this murder and bloodshed if you don't derive some pleasure from it?" Her form started to strengthen a bit. "That's what separates us Daughters of Khaine from the filth who follow that wretched master of the Skull Throne. We perform as we kill, weave the web of death into a perfect beautiful tapestry!"

"Beautiful? Your mistress makes it seem like quite the indiscriminate butchery." Dagonet started to juggle, first one ball, then began to add one after another. He understood instinctively this strange mad alien woman wouldn't be so easily impressed as a human noblewoman, so he added balls far quicker then he normally would. Soon he had nearly thirty, and had to strain to manage more.

"Desperate times, clown," she said, smiling sadly. "I would prefer it to be King Arthur. He is beautiful, for a human, and his hand gripping my dagger with such strength and purity thrills me. The wizard taught him well, forged him well. He will die tonight however. I will weep for him and for his lost potential, but he will die."

Fifty balls were flying through the air now, in a blur that seemed like a solid ring of red, white, blue, and green. "Why are you so certain? Your champion might not be so grand as all that," Dagonet still added more balls to his routine, he felt sweat running down his face.

"King Macbeth is nothing at all!" She watched the balls, eyes following their trajectory. "A mere amateur, possessed of no beauty whatsoever. But he is a great empty vessel, in which to place what little of Khaine's magic remains. I do detest the cheat we have played, but we do have no choice. We need to win, it has to be done."

"What cheat?" The count of the balls was approaching sixty, all the little balls he had on him.

Suddenly, he felt a sharp cold sensation in his lower back, that made his spine stiffen and his body quiver in terror. All the balls fell from his hands, scattering across the floor like rain.

Cackling the crimson robed eldar flew in front of his eyes, her smile wide and feral as a wild animal's. "I wished to see if you could stand my touch, clown. Clearly you could not!"

Dagonet wiped the drool from his mouth, scowling. "I thought you wanted a show!" He spun on his heel. "I know when I'm being insulted."

"And we know when we are being played," the head priestess sneered from above. "You are King Arthur's pet clown, aren't you? Find out the secret of our enchantment, then get it to your King?" She came closer, her psychic presence trying to drive him down into the dirt. "Well there is nothing you can do, little clown, so I shall tell you. The enchantment we have worked is very simple: No man of woman born can slay King Macbeth. He will carve a swathe of death through this world, cleanse it of the Ruinous Powers and all else that infest it. There is naught that you or King Arthur can do to stop this!"

Dagonet bowed his hand, falling to his knees. And privately, he smiled.

 

[The Lone badger]

That doesn't seem like a very thorough enchantment. While very specific about slaying it is somewhat fuzzier on the subject of kneecaps.

 

[MysticKnightJoe]

That doesn't seem like a very thorough enchantment. While very specific about slaying it is somewhat fuzzier on the subject of kneecaps.

Click to shrink...

In defense of old Bill Shakespeare, the original had a little more to it, but sometimes corners do get cut

 

[bookwyrm]

huh, you know even without the play's own fateful c-section cutting Macduff out of his dying mother's womb, King Arthur kinda has a couple ways to fulfill that criteria, being born in part of Myrddin's enchantments at Uther's wicked command, binding himself to Caliburn and forever leaving a part of himself in that ancient fleshless spirit of war, being not a man at all but Pendragon and High King, and maybe also, just straight up cheat the battle itself with the magic dagger or letting Macbeth brain himself upon the rocks or something.

 

[The Lone badger]

Or taking him down without killing him, the way Pellinore was wont to fight his duels.

 

[Icipall]

"No. Not Magos Waylen specifically, but his kind? Yes. Hereteks and renegades. Waylen may not be a creator of dread Daemon Engines, but he is an innovator, a sorcerer who plays with the technologies of the loathsome xenos."

Click to shrink...

One of the greatest successes against humanity the Ruinous Powers achieved was making innovation dangerous.

"Then I should be the one to spring it, get out there dagger in hand. Bet the old King would get quite the shock seeing me with my breasts out, and while he's ogling I'll shove my dagger right up his guts and open him."

Click to shrink...

Hah, as surprising and funny as that would be, I don't think it would work on him.

"I'll have you know, Sir Balin, my charms would knock any man flat!" Cei glared at him.

Click to shrink...

Depends... How good are your abs?

Arthur had the knife of strange make ready as he stepped forward. He lifted the dagger in salute, sliding into a combat stance as he lowered it again.

Click to shrink...

Maybe not field that!?

She looked at him, haughtily but curiously. "Clown. You are but human, with a shard of the Harlequin King within you.

Click to shrink...

Interesting. Wonder how that happened.

"They are all about their plan," Avaliet grumbled, "I want to see it pass as well, but I want to enjoy myself a little. What's the use in all this murder and bloodshed if you don't derive some pleasure from it?" Her form started to strengthen a bit. "That's what separates us Daughters of Khaine from the filth who follow that wretched master of the Skull Throne. We perform as we kill, weave the web of death into a perfect beautiful tapestry!"

Click to shrink...

...It says a lot about the family when she is the nicest sister.

"Well there is nothing you can do, little clown, so I shall tell you. The enchantment we have worked is very simple: No man of woman born can slay King Macbeth.

Click to shrink...

Oh, is that so.

That doesn't seem like a very thorough enchantment. While very specific about slaying it is somewhat fuzzier on the subject of kneecaps.

Click to shrink...

And as we all know, kneecaps are a privilege.