AH theres the fanaticism I expect in a warhammer 40k fic.
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
Maybe 40k would be a better place if all issues were solved with childrens' card game.
Like Triple Tirad?
Heh, shots fired.
Believe in the heart of the cards!
Knew it.
Sneaky fellow.
A Place of Violence Part 3
MysticKnightJoe
Defender of Holy Terra
- Location
- Fighting the Forces of Evil Across the Cosmos
As ever the adults confused Galahad deeply. The bandit had clearly cheated, strangely in order to lose, and no one seemed to care. Lady Lionors had shushed him when he tried to point it out. Knights wouldn't stand for such cheating. Surely Diane's victory was soured?
The thief in question slid out of his chair, and sauntered boldly over. Galahad surveyed him. Without the sword, he didn't seem very threatening. Fit and well-muscled, but unarmed and his stance was too open to suggest a threat.
"I have to say, that was quite the impressive game." He smiled, and made a knee.
"I was simply fortunate," Diane answered modestly. "In truth I hardly understood it."
"Well I'd only just learned the game myself, victory could have gone to either of us." Twm raised his hands. "But they do say that the Emperor will come to grant victory to his believers, and I guess that was the case today." He winked at Brandaine, who covered her mouth and made a sound.
Galahad scowled at the man. "But you-"
But as ever the adults carried on their conversation. Lionors didn't even have to hush him.
"It is true," Brandaine said excitedly, "the Emperor Protects the Righteous, and perhaps I did misjudge you."
Twm kneeled and kissed her hand, which Galahad found even more galling. A gesture of chivalric romance, used by a cheating bandit. "I am but a humble adventurer, my dear, and a supplicant before the Golden Throne of Terra of course."
Brandaine smiled. "I see. Perhaps if Diane had lost, that wouldn't have been so bad."
"Well, you so desired the sword," Twm said mildly, "and so won it. I do swear on my life, I didn't steal it, I did indeed find it on a man long dead, and not the fellow of your description."
"And I believe you," Diane said quickly, "did you see anything else nearby? Perhaps a ship or other dead men?"
"Just the one I'm afraid."
"How did he die?" Brandaine asked.
"From what I could tell? Starvation and exposure. Perhaps he thought the sword would protect him, but clearly it didn't." Twm laughed. "See, there is why I don't value swords so much. They are never quite as helpful on the highway as one would think."
From there, they made their way toward the homes toward the fringe, where Lionors' father King Sanam and a few other nobles made their temporary homes, a bit away from the bulk of the army. Lionors excitedly told the others she wished them to meet her father, and then they could link back up with Lady Nimue, who would be there to work with King Caradoc and Queen Ysave.
This was all well and good, but for some reason when they moved away from the crowd, Twm Sion Cati seemed to latch himself to the group, cheerfully rambling about nothing in particular. At the very least Lady Lionors, whom Galahad had been tasked with protecting, kept away from the man. Nonetheless, Galahad found himself keeping a sharp eye on him.
Suddenly, Twm stopped talking with Brandaine, whirling on him. Galahad flinched and looked away, immediately scowling at his own weakness.
"I do sense some hostility," Twm said with a laugh.
"You cheated," Galahad grumbled darkly.
"He thinks you cheated to lose," Lionors said quickly, "of course I don't believe you did any such thing, and it is a silly thing to be so angry about."
"Contests are supposed to be played fair," Galahad grumbled. He felt suddenly very embarrassed. He sounded like a child, and he didn't like being reminded of that fact. "Even card games."
"But it was a fair game," Brandaine argued suddenly, her voice a little fragile. "It had to be."
"I would have noticed myself," Diane added calmly. "A Navigator's eyes are very sharp. No treachery would have escaped me."
The two castaways pulled ahead, leaving Galahad with Lionors and the bandit. Out of eyeshot now, Twm was frowning. "Though perhaps your eyes are shaper, little lad," he said dryly.
"Oh! You did cheat!" Lionors managed to level her voice just enough.
"Why?" Galahad asked, feeling a shock of pure irritation.
"Because a sword is good in the hands of a knight, boy, but with me it just draws eyes." He kneeled, grinning a little. "Most people look at me and think that, sword of power or not, they could kill me fairly easily and then the power will be theirs. Most of them would even use it better than I, as would Lady Diane and that fellow Hank Morgan she says owned it before. So I lost it, that's all. Much more cleanly."
"But why not just say so now," Galahad whispered, "Brandaine believes a lie now."
"No, she has a bit of faith. I can see it in them both, you know, they need something to put some strength back in the spine. A little faith never hurt anyone, provided it is directed toward the right place." Twm rose back to his feet, turning around again.
Galahad frowned, not sure if he fully understood or agreed with the explanation. Nonetheless, he found that the two women had gotten a bit ahead of them, nearing the edge of the camp. "I guess so," he muttered. "But if you didn't even want the sword, why not just hand it over when asked?"
They were jogging a bit to catch up. "Everything is based on such contests. Hand it over, and whoever wishes to take it next would assume it is just as easy."
Lionors shook her head with a sigh. "And here you said you weren't a knight."
"I was born to a noble household, I just never went through the Becoming." Twm smiled his friendly grin. "I know well the way of the games."
"It isn't just a game," Galahad argued a little hotly, "there is honor and dignity to it!"
"And the ever present risk of death, yes!" Twm laughed his annoying trickster's laugh. He walked ahead, to continue his flirtation with Lady Brandaine, no doubt.
"Don't listen to him, little one," Lionors said gently in his ear, "he is a fool who doesn't understand."
Galahad barely heard her. He already knew Twm was wrong. There was always more at stake than simply something physical, for a true knight. His memories began to drift, to the day where he had learned that all too well…
The thief in question slid out of his chair, and sauntered boldly over. Galahad surveyed him. Without the sword, he didn't seem very threatening. Fit and well-muscled, but unarmed and his stance was too open to suggest a threat.
"I have to say, that was quite the impressive game." He smiled, and made a knee.
"I was simply fortunate," Diane answered modestly. "In truth I hardly understood it."
"Well I'd only just learned the game myself, victory could have gone to either of us." Twm raised his hands. "But they do say that the Emperor will come to grant victory to his believers, and I guess that was the case today." He winked at Brandaine, who covered her mouth and made a sound.
Galahad scowled at the man. "But you-"
But as ever the adults carried on their conversation. Lionors didn't even have to hush him.
"It is true," Brandaine said excitedly, "the Emperor Protects the Righteous, and perhaps I did misjudge you."
Twm kneeled and kissed her hand, which Galahad found even more galling. A gesture of chivalric romance, used by a cheating bandit. "I am but a humble adventurer, my dear, and a supplicant before the Golden Throne of Terra of course."
Brandaine smiled. "I see. Perhaps if Diane had lost, that wouldn't have been so bad."
"Well, you so desired the sword," Twm said mildly, "and so won it. I do swear on my life, I didn't steal it, I did indeed find it on a man long dead, and not the fellow of your description."
"And I believe you," Diane said quickly, "did you see anything else nearby? Perhaps a ship or other dead men?"
"Just the one I'm afraid."
"How did he die?" Brandaine asked.
"From what I could tell? Starvation and exposure. Perhaps he thought the sword would protect him, but clearly it didn't." Twm laughed. "See, there is why I don't value swords so much. They are never quite as helpful on the highway as one would think."
*****************
From there, they made their way toward the homes toward the fringe, where Lionors' father King Sanam and a few other nobles made their temporary homes, a bit away from the bulk of the army. Lionors excitedly told the others she wished them to meet her father, and then they could link back up with Lady Nimue, who would be there to work with King Caradoc and Queen Ysave.
This was all well and good, but for some reason when they moved away from the crowd, Twm Sion Cati seemed to latch himself to the group, cheerfully rambling about nothing in particular. At the very least Lady Lionors, whom Galahad had been tasked with protecting, kept away from the man. Nonetheless, Galahad found himself keeping a sharp eye on him.
Suddenly, Twm stopped talking with Brandaine, whirling on him. Galahad flinched and looked away, immediately scowling at his own weakness.
"I do sense some hostility," Twm said with a laugh.
"You cheated," Galahad grumbled darkly.
"He thinks you cheated to lose," Lionors said quickly, "of course I don't believe you did any such thing, and it is a silly thing to be so angry about."
"Contests are supposed to be played fair," Galahad grumbled. He felt suddenly very embarrassed. He sounded like a child, and he didn't like being reminded of that fact. "Even card games."
"But it was a fair game," Brandaine argued suddenly, her voice a little fragile. "It had to be."
"I would have noticed myself," Diane added calmly. "A Navigator's eyes are very sharp. No treachery would have escaped me."
The two castaways pulled ahead, leaving Galahad with Lionors and the bandit. Out of eyeshot now, Twm was frowning. "Though perhaps your eyes are shaper, little lad," he said dryly.
"Oh! You did cheat!" Lionors managed to level her voice just enough.
"Why?" Galahad asked, feeling a shock of pure irritation.
"Because a sword is good in the hands of a knight, boy, but with me it just draws eyes." He kneeled, grinning a little. "Most people look at me and think that, sword of power or not, they could kill me fairly easily and then the power will be theirs. Most of them would even use it better than I, as would Lady Diane and that fellow Hank Morgan she says owned it before. So I lost it, that's all. Much more cleanly."
"But why not just say so now," Galahad whispered, "Brandaine believes a lie now."
"No, she has a bit of faith. I can see it in them both, you know, they need something to put some strength back in the spine. A little faith never hurt anyone, provided it is directed toward the right place." Twm rose back to his feet, turning around again.
Galahad frowned, not sure if he fully understood or agreed with the explanation. Nonetheless, he found that the two women had gotten a bit ahead of them, nearing the edge of the camp. "I guess so," he muttered. "But if you didn't even want the sword, why not just hand it over when asked?"
They were jogging a bit to catch up. "Everything is based on such contests. Hand it over, and whoever wishes to take it next would assume it is just as easy."
Lionors shook her head with a sigh. "And here you said you weren't a knight."
"I was born to a noble household, I just never went through the Becoming." Twm smiled his friendly grin. "I know well the way of the games."
"It isn't just a game," Galahad argued a little hotly, "there is honor and dignity to it!"
"And the ever present risk of death, yes!" Twm laughed his annoying trickster's laugh. He walked ahead, to continue his flirtation with Lady Brandaine, no doubt.
"Don't listen to him, little one," Lionors said gently in his ear, "he is a fool who doesn't understand."
Galahad barely heard her. He already knew Twm was wrong. There was always more at stake than simply something physical, for a true knight. His memories began to drift, to the day where he had learned that all too well…
- Pronouns
- He/His/etc
It's not like Twm gave it away for free. He gained quite a bit from that exchange.
Icipall
Don't worry, we can fanfix that!
- Location
- Cold snow fields of Finland
Hm, as long as he is telling the truth, it raises the question where did the man get the sword.
He certainly will be in interesting companion to have.
- Location
- A Pit Of My Own Making
- Pronouns
- He/Him
To win, sometimes you must first loose
Galahad's First Adventure Part 1
MysticKnightJoe
Defender of Holy Terra
- Location
- Fighting the Forces of Evil Across the Cosmos
Time for Galahad was a slippery thing. An adult could say how long ago that fateful day was, but for him it was simply vaguely in the past. He was younger, and a little smaller, but that was all he recalled concretely.
They were deep in the tangled wood, his brother and him. It was chill, and misty, and he recalled the start of it as when he was jumping on river stones, a wooden sword in hand. He could see a large fish just under the surface and stabbed at it, but it was like the fish was as liquid as its surroundings.
"If I had a real sword, I could get it," Galahad muttered, stabbing again at the water. He stumbled on the wet stone, very nearly falling in.
"You are not old enough for a real sword." Lionel, not yet Lancelot, stood on the river bank. A real sword was in his hands, long and made of steel. He was practicing, swinging it up and down, the muscles in his arms and chest working powerfully.
"Arthur has a real sword," Galahad grumbled, referring to the foster son of Sir Ector, a friend of the family.
"Arthur is nearly a man grown, and he had patience for learning the blade. He built up the muscle needed to swing it around." Another lift and swing.
"It doesn't look that heavy," Galahad said, watching it lift and fall as easily as a willow switch.
"It isn't, not alone, anyway." With a sigh, Lionel lowered the blade point-first to the earth. "But when you swing it, the momentum adds to the weight at the tip, and it becomes difficult to control. You could probably carry my sword just fine, but try and swing it and you could become unbalanced and hack open your own leg or something similarly terrible."
"What about a sword sized for me!" Galahad waved his wooden practice weapon in demonstration.
"It wouldn't be a proper sword, more a long dagger or gladius. There isn't anything wrong with learning either weapon, but I know full well you want a proper knight's sword. Just be patient."
It was never any use to argue with Lionel, even when he wasn't making much sense. As far as Galahad was concerned, having a real sword would mean he could learn it and get strong with it faster than slowly increasing the weight on training weapons. He swung his wooden blade as he leapt from rock to rock back toward the shore.
Lionel had made camp in an old clearing nearby, his mighty car and great machine of war set to the side. They had the bare minimum of servants attending them, a cook, a druid, and a groom. All three would keep out of sight, as the brothers had their private camping and training trip.
Galahad could barely hold still, moving round the perimeter, eye out for any imagined threat. The cook had set up stew on a cook fire for the two nobleman, and it smelled very good for what it was, but Galahad was too excited to feel hunger. He brandished his sword excitedly. "Arthur and Cei say they will ride to war soon!"
"Sit down, Galahad," Lionel said, an irritated note in his voice.
With a scowl, Galahad obeyed, slumping in one of the chairs set up. Lionel seemed rather agitated now, perhaps he really was annoyed he had to bring his little brother along, despite what he had said to their parents.
"You know why we are here, right?" Lionel asked.
"Patrol," Galahad answered immediately.
"Right. We have to travel our lands regularly, keeping a sharp eye out for inroads by any invader. We are at war Galahad, we are always at war. Cei and Arthur riding to Armorica won't change that indelible fact." Lionel took the ladle in the cauldron, stirring for a moment, then pouring out two bowls of good thick stew. "Arthur in particular wants to build glory, but we already have glory. We just need to secure it with good works and strong deeds."
Galahad nodded. Of course he understood that, he wasn't a baby. "I was keeping watch though! I was taking the perimeter!" He took a big bite of stew.
Finally, Lionel laughed, seeming to relax a bit. "True, constant vigilance is important. Yet so is food, and you have been bounding about without any care for your stomach. Chaos could cross into the isles, and we'd be caught off-guard for the growling of our stomachs."
Galahad giggled, and finished his bowl, sitting quietly for as long as there was food inside it. "But will there be a proper war? A full invasion of the Chaoslands?"
"One day," Lionel conceded. "Father says it won't happen until there is a High King proper. He is backing King Meliodas, of course," he said that with some bitterness, clearly irritated by his father's content nature, his willingness to be but a minion. "But King Meliodas is a former Freeblade, brought to Kingship by the last High King, Uther Pendragon, who ended his reign in disgrace and controversy."
Galahad nodded along, trying to hide his annoyance at Lionel's determination to turn everything into a lesson. He didn't have near the skill for it as their tutor back at the castle, or the funny wizard-man Myrddin at Sir Ector's.
"And so is father, of course," Lionel added at last, smiling wearily. "So we jockey for respect now. One could argue we are doing better than King Meliodas in that respect. He is an abrasive man, not keen on making friends."
"He's our friend though!" Galahad liked Meliodas, he visited Benoic frequently, and had always been good to them.
"And we are rare counted there." Lionel poked the flame. "They say the High King should either be loved by all, or feared by all. Uther was feared, of course."
"So time for the other," Galahad said, "right?"
"Look at you. Head for politics already." Lionel smiled sadly. "Of course, it isn't that simple. The High King will be whoever is driven to it by fortune or strength of arms. All we can do is give the realms the best chance to defeat Chaos and live free of its great corruption." Lionel stopped suddenly, his eyes widening. "Galahad. Get in the car. Now."
Suddenly, Galahad could sense what his brother had noticed. On the wind was a strange, implacable scent, like an unknown plant. He couldn't place it, it was earthy and strangely sweet, like a fruit that only grew on one island in the middle of a storm-tossed and corrupted sea.
He didn't get a chance to argue. Lionel got up, grabbed him by the shoulder, and shoved him toward the car. An instant later the cook, a lovely red-haired woman Galahad had seen conducting herself in strange romantic ritual with his big brother, pulled him a bit more gently up into the car. "Sorry, little Prince," she said quickly, face pale, horrified both by how demanding she was being of the Prince, but also by the scent.
Galahad didn't respond. He resisted getting pulled fully into the car, standing near the edge, and looking at where his brother stood by the fire.
Lionel had his sword drawn, and was pointing it at a figure who stood shadow-cloaked in the treeline. The figure wore a long robe that covered their entire body, and carried no visible weapon. The scent was strong now. It was overwhelming, both beautiful and horrible.
"Corpses," moaned the cook, "oh my dear Prince Lionel, it smells of corpses."
At the time, Galahad had no idea what a corpse smelled like, but he took the terrified cook's word for it. "Kill it," he whispered, "put your sword through its heart, Lionel!"
But Lionel held steady, sword drawn and pointed at the creature. He stared at it, waiting, muscles primed like a hunting cat's.
"I am but a herald." The voice was a monotone, and had a certain strange cadence to it, as if the mouth of the thing didn't quite work. "For Sir Turquine. He who serves He who Thirsts, Body and Soul. He is here this day to challenge the followers of the False God, the Corpse-Emperor, to honorable combat. You are Sir Lionel, Prince of Benoic, are you not? Favored to be the new Lancelot?"
"I am," Lionel said.
"Sir Turquine is honored to meet you, and looks forward to your duel. I trust you will accept."
"I will never refuse a duel given to me by an enemy, tell your master I will send him to his deserved hell tonight. I despair that a man of honor has fallen so far to declare himself a mere slave to a God of Chaos."
The herald shifted, head bowing in acceptance. "My master will be the victor tonight, Sir Lionel. He will bring you to your deserved hell. You won't even have to die to experience it." There was a gurgling sound, a horrible sound that lived in Galahad's nightmares for all time. He could see under the hood slightly now, as he leaned forward and the firelight flickered just right.
The herald's mouth was a vertical slash down its face that opened and closed as it spoke. Galahad swore he could see razor sharp fangs all down it, and it seemed as if the hole it led to was far too massive and wide to be a human's throat. He let out a very undignified yelp, covering his mouth an instant too late.
The monster's face turned to him instantly. No eyes were visible under the hood, but Galahad knew he was seen. The hideous vertical mouth opened and closed, and Galahad could see something squirming within.
He uncovered his mouth and glared defiantly at the herald. His knuckles went white on his wooden sword.
Lionel stepped in front of the thing's gaze. "Well. Fetch your master. Take a step near my brother, and I will sever your damned head and tell him about the agreed duel myself. Go, abomination, hell-corrupted. I will be here to face Sir Turquine and rid Avalon of his stench once and for all."
With one final gurgle, the abomination ghosted back into the dark wood. Its smell lingered in the air. Galahad didn't let go of his sword.
They were deep in the tangled wood, his brother and him. It was chill, and misty, and he recalled the start of it as when he was jumping on river stones, a wooden sword in hand. He could see a large fish just under the surface and stabbed at it, but it was like the fish was as liquid as its surroundings.
"If I had a real sword, I could get it," Galahad muttered, stabbing again at the water. He stumbled on the wet stone, very nearly falling in.
"You are not old enough for a real sword." Lionel, not yet Lancelot, stood on the river bank. A real sword was in his hands, long and made of steel. He was practicing, swinging it up and down, the muscles in his arms and chest working powerfully.
"Arthur has a real sword," Galahad grumbled, referring to the foster son of Sir Ector, a friend of the family.
"Arthur is nearly a man grown, and he had patience for learning the blade. He built up the muscle needed to swing it around." Another lift and swing.
"It doesn't look that heavy," Galahad said, watching it lift and fall as easily as a willow switch.
"It isn't, not alone, anyway." With a sigh, Lionel lowered the blade point-first to the earth. "But when you swing it, the momentum adds to the weight at the tip, and it becomes difficult to control. You could probably carry my sword just fine, but try and swing it and you could become unbalanced and hack open your own leg or something similarly terrible."
"What about a sword sized for me!" Galahad waved his wooden practice weapon in demonstration.
"It wouldn't be a proper sword, more a long dagger or gladius. There isn't anything wrong with learning either weapon, but I know full well you want a proper knight's sword. Just be patient."
It was never any use to argue with Lionel, even when he wasn't making much sense. As far as Galahad was concerned, having a real sword would mean he could learn it and get strong with it faster than slowly increasing the weight on training weapons. He swung his wooden blade as he leapt from rock to rock back toward the shore.
Lionel had made camp in an old clearing nearby, his mighty car and great machine of war set to the side. They had the bare minimum of servants attending them, a cook, a druid, and a groom. All three would keep out of sight, as the brothers had their private camping and training trip.
Galahad could barely hold still, moving round the perimeter, eye out for any imagined threat. The cook had set up stew on a cook fire for the two nobleman, and it smelled very good for what it was, but Galahad was too excited to feel hunger. He brandished his sword excitedly. "Arthur and Cei say they will ride to war soon!"
"Sit down, Galahad," Lionel said, an irritated note in his voice.
With a scowl, Galahad obeyed, slumping in one of the chairs set up. Lionel seemed rather agitated now, perhaps he really was annoyed he had to bring his little brother along, despite what he had said to their parents.
"You know why we are here, right?" Lionel asked.
"Patrol," Galahad answered immediately.
"Right. We have to travel our lands regularly, keeping a sharp eye out for inroads by any invader. We are at war Galahad, we are always at war. Cei and Arthur riding to Armorica won't change that indelible fact." Lionel took the ladle in the cauldron, stirring for a moment, then pouring out two bowls of good thick stew. "Arthur in particular wants to build glory, but we already have glory. We just need to secure it with good works and strong deeds."
Galahad nodded. Of course he understood that, he wasn't a baby. "I was keeping watch though! I was taking the perimeter!" He took a big bite of stew.
Finally, Lionel laughed, seeming to relax a bit. "True, constant vigilance is important. Yet so is food, and you have been bounding about without any care for your stomach. Chaos could cross into the isles, and we'd be caught off-guard for the growling of our stomachs."
Galahad giggled, and finished his bowl, sitting quietly for as long as there was food inside it. "But will there be a proper war? A full invasion of the Chaoslands?"
"One day," Lionel conceded. "Father says it won't happen until there is a High King proper. He is backing King Meliodas, of course," he said that with some bitterness, clearly irritated by his father's content nature, his willingness to be but a minion. "But King Meliodas is a former Freeblade, brought to Kingship by the last High King, Uther Pendragon, who ended his reign in disgrace and controversy."
Galahad nodded along, trying to hide his annoyance at Lionel's determination to turn everything into a lesson. He didn't have near the skill for it as their tutor back at the castle, or the funny wizard-man Myrddin at Sir Ector's.
"And so is father, of course," Lionel added at last, smiling wearily. "So we jockey for respect now. One could argue we are doing better than King Meliodas in that respect. He is an abrasive man, not keen on making friends."
"He's our friend though!" Galahad liked Meliodas, he visited Benoic frequently, and had always been good to them.
"And we are rare counted there." Lionel poked the flame. "They say the High King should either be loved by all, or feared by all. Uther was feared, of course."
"So time for the other," Galahad said, "right?"
"Look at you. Head for politics already." Lionel smiled sadly. "Of course, it isn't that simple. The High King will be whoever is driven to it by fortune or strength of arms. All we can do is give the realms the best chance to defeat Chaos and live free of its great corruption." Lionel stopped suddenly, his eyes widening. "Galahad. Get in the car. Now."
Suddenly, Galahad could sense what his brother had noticed. On the wind was a strange, implacable scent, like an unknown plant. He couldn't place it, it was earthy and strangely sweet, like a fruit that only grew on one island in the middle of a storm-tossed and corrupted sea.
He didn't get a chance to argue. Lionel got up, grabbed him by the shoulder, and shoved him toward the car. An instant later the cook, a lovely red-haired woman Galahad had seen conducting herself in strange romantic ritual with his big brother, pulled him a bit more gently up into the car. "Sorry, little Prince," she said quickly, face pale, horrified both by how demanding she was being of the Prince, but also by the scent.
Galahad didn't respond. He resisted getting pulled fully into the car, standing near the edge, and looking at where his brother stood by the fire.
Lionel had his sword drawn, and was pointing it at a figure who stood shadow-cloaked in the treeline. The figure wore a long robe that covered their entire body, and carried no visible weapon. The scent was strong now. It was overwhelming, both beautiful and horrible.
"Corpses," moaned the cook, "oh my dear Prince Lionel, it smells of corpses."
At the time, Galahad had no idea what a corpse smelled like, but he took the terrified cook's word for it. "Kill it," he whispered, "put your sword through its heart, Lionel!"
But Lionel held steady, sword drawn and pointed at the creature. He stared at it, waiting, muscles primed like a hunting cat's.
"I am but a herald." The voice was a monotone, and had a certain strange cadence to it, as if the mouth of the thing didn't quite work. "For Sir Turquine. He who serves He who Thirsts, Body and Soul. He is here this day to challenge the followers of the False God, the Corpse-Emperor, to honorable combat. You are Sir Lionel, Prince of Benoic, are you not? Favored to be the new Lancelot?"
"I am," Lionel said.
"Sir Turquine is honored to meet you, and looks forward to your duel. I trust you will accept."
"I will never refuse a duel given to me by an enemy, tell your master I will send him to his deserved hell tonight. I despair that a man of honor has fallen so far to declare himself a mere slave to a God of Chaos."
The herald shifted, head bowing in acceptance. "My master will be the victor tonight, Sir Lionel. He will bring you to your deserved hell. You won't even have to die to experience it." There was a gurgling sound, a horrible sound that lived in Galahad's nightmares for all time. He could see under the hood slightly now, as he leaned forward and the firelight flickered just right.
The herald's mouth was a vertical slash down its face that opened and closed as it spoke. Galahad swore he could see razor sharp fangs all down it, and it seemed as if the hole it led to was far too massive and wide to be a human's throat. He let out a very undignified yelp, covering his mouth an instant too late.
The monster's face turned to him instantly. No eyes were visible under the hood, but Galahad knew he was seen. The hideous vertical mouth opened and closed, and Galahad could see something squirming within.
He uncovered his mouth and glared defiantly at the herald. His knuckles went white on his wooden sword.
Lionel stepped in front of the thing's gaze. "Well. Fetch your master. Take a step near my brother, and I will sever your damned head and tell him about the agreed duel myself. Go, abomination, hell-corrupted. I will be here to face Sir Turquine and rid Avalon of his stench once and for all."
With one final gurgle, the abomination ghosted back into the dark wood. Its smell lingered in the air. Galahad didn't let go of his sword.
Icipall
Don't worry, we can fanfix that!
- Location
- Cold snow fields of Finland
Hunger is the true enenmy.
Chaos corruption is always squicky.
Always Late
Lacking in coffee, sleep, and brains
- Location
- Ohio
Pft. Of course the Grail qualified one would see it that way. Speaking of Lancelot and all he can get away with, you'd think his birth name was Guilliman.
Galahad's First Adventure Part 2
MysticKnightJoe
Defender of Holy Terra
- Location
- Fighting the Forces of Evil Across the Cosmos
"Get him out of here," Lionel growled, the instant he was within earshot. "Ride until you see my father's keep, only stop then."
"My lord!" Their druid was an ancient man, infirm and weak-voiced. "We cannot in good conscience leave you behind to face a Chaos Lord like Sir Turquine alone! Your father would never forgive us such a transgression of duty."
"My father also won't forgive you if his youngest son is devoured by a Chaos mutant," Lionel replied back, his voice harsh and fierce. "It's my command, do it."
"But the car, it is part of your knightley presence," the groom argued, "even if Sir Turquine follows the Code Chivalric, he may use a part of your panoply leaving as an excuse for how you, yourself, have broken the Code. After that, this would simply become a matter of war, a skirmish in the endless conflict between Chaos and the Loyalists. And in such skirmishes no quarter is given to anyone present."
"But this is already a matter of war," Lionel argued, growing hot in his rage. "War is exactly what the Code Chivalric is for!"
"Nonetheless," the groom responded mildly, "we don't know the forces Sir Turquine has at his disposal. He could only have an army of mutated minions, or he could have other Chaos Knights under his command. What do we know of this abomination, at any rate?"
Lionel shrugged. "Sir Turquine is one of the Chaos Lords. Not the greatest or the least. They say he was once the Lord and Master of an island kingdom, but fell to Chaos and his entire realm was choked with sorcery as he disappeared within it, his God only knows for what purpose."
"He's a sorcerer?" Galahad whispered, a mix of fear and wonder in his voice. He dearly wished to witness his big brother destroy such a man.
"Possibly. He's a recluse among the known Lords, so it has only been guesswork." Lionel took a deep breath. "If he is, however, we have to expect to face things that do not belong in this universe, and I will be in for the duel of my life."
The cook swallowed sharply, quivering where she stood beside Galahad. Her instinct seemed to be to comfort the boy before her, and therefore derive comfort for herself, but she held back. Galahad wouldn't have minded, but he knew she had to think of him as a nobleman. She couldn't lay hands on one of his rank unless explicitly invited to. "Lord Prince, I have an idea, if you would let me speak it."
"Of course, Juliana," Lionel said, somehow managing a look of tenderness, despite his clear anger.
"I know this area of the isles very well, I grew up not far from here. The woods are dense, but not unnavigable if you know where to go, and I know the nearest village. Me and Prince Galahad can flee on foot before Sir Turquine arrives. When we reach the village, we will send word out to your father, who will send out his warriors, your brother Sir Bors, and other knights of the household."
Lionel seemed conflicted instantly, looking between Juliana and Galahad, frowning, no longer in rage, but in pure worry. "It doesn't sound safe."
"Nothing here is," she said softly. "But this is the best chance, I think."
"But I want to stay!" Galahad interjected. "I want to watch you slay the monster, brother!"
"It isn't safe," Lionel said, "you have to stay away from this, for now."
"You brought me here, to learn about the war, to become a part of it!" Galahad stood as firmly as he could, glaring up at Lionel.
Lionel clenched and unclenched his fists, taking a calming breath. "You are here because father told me to take you. To give you a few lessons in warfare and battle, perhaps to bond as well. In war, Galahad, warriors follow orders." He kneeled, so he was close to him. "Right now, I need you and Juliana to get out of here. It is very important you survive, get to the nearest village, and send for aid. I need you to do this." He looked over at Juliana, and added in a whisper, "besides, I'll be sending Juliana out whether you stay here or not, and I'd prefer if someone was with her to keep her safe. Do you understand?"
Galahad looked up at Juliana. He didn't fully understand everything involved, but he knew Juliana and Lionel were close, perhaps even lovers. Regardless of that, knights were supposed to protect women, that was how it was and would be. "I do," he said at last, bowing his head in glum agreement.
Lionel patted his shoulder, and very suddenly pulled him in a tight, embarrassing hug. "We will see each other again," he promised firmly.
Barely ten minutes later, Galahad and Juliana exited the car, and ran into the woods. The woman had a long hunting knife and an ax on her girdle, and indeed moved with the practice of one who had grown up in the wild woods of Gramarye.
Galahad, to his frustration, had nothing but his wooden sword and a short knife that had been given to him as a birthday gift a few months back. He looked back at his brother's car, before it disappeared in the thickness of the woods. He felt frustration and anger well up inside him.
"Come on, Prince Galahad!" Juliana, to her credit, didn't sound fearful. "We need to move swiftly now."
Reminding himself they were seeking help, Galahad began to run after the woman, sticking close, almost touching her cloak.
Juliana reached into her pouch and produced a lump of chalk. She began to strike it on trees as they passed. "We can draw something with it later," she said quickly. Then she blushed, remembering she was talking to a prince, not a village child. "Sorry I…"
"No, that sounds fun!" Galahad smiled at her, jogging along.
Each tree they passed, Juliana would quickly scrabble a crude 'x'. "I'm certain I know the way," she assured him, "but one must be ever careful." They jumped over a stone, and kept moving.
Galahad was trained in the woods as well, he'd even gone on the hunt with his father before. He moved with remarkable ease, moving branches away easily without snapping them, springing over a spring as he went. "Can I draw one?" he asked, bored and a bit squirrelly.
She smiled and handed him the chalk. Galahad turned to the nearest tree. Immediately frowned. "Juliana, there is already an 'x' on this tree."
"What?" she turned.
There was indeed an x, drawn with chalk, on the tree before them, almost gleaming. "I must have already drawn it," she said after a moment, "I'm sorry, you get the next one."
The next tree also had a chalk x drawn on it. So did the next one. Juliana was pale as death, looking around fearfully. "No, no, this can't be happening, it isn't possible, we never turned."
Galahad kept calm. "We passed that rock before, right?" he pointed it out. "We jumped over it."
The poor woman seemed to be holding in her terror, but her voice shook as it came out. "Emperor protect us."
"He is a sorcerer, isn't he?" Galahad was strangely unafraid. It just felt to him like a fact that had to be accepted. "We only ran straight forward, no turns."
"Don't just say that," Juliana groaned. She drew her knife and ax, looking around as if monsters were going to spring out of the trees. "This time, we turn right there. We should hit a river, we can follow that downstream to the village."
They turned right, and at last there were no chalk marks on the tree. But to Galahad, the forest suddenly looked foreboding. There were no landmarks, no real distinction where they walked. It was all simply the heavy shadows of trees. He marked them now, almost desperately, to mark something physical out in the suddenly hazy world around him.
Juliana was speaking a prayer aloud, trying to bring some form of the Emperor's light to counter the witchery they had stumbled into. It didn't work. No light and no river came.
Then, ahead, they heard sounds. It wasn't the sound of a river. It was the sound of machines. They emerged from the bushes, into an all-to familiar clearing in the woods. Juliana stopped praying, covered her mouth, and held back a sob.
Lionel's car stood against one side of the clearing, and before it was Lionel's great and mighty Lancer, spear raised forth toward the foe.
Across from him stood several indistinct forms, what at first glance seemed to be a vine-choked boulder, and before the boulder stood another knight.
This was not the beautiful and holy machine that his brother piloted, Galahad knew immediately. It was a hideous form, twisted all over with thorny vines, pulsating with barely contained energy. It glowed in several places, pulsating masses that throbbed and hissed with an electricity that was nearly alive. A thorned ax dangled from one arm, a bulging gun from the other. It seemed to sway in the breeze.
"Sir Turquine!" Lionel's voice was firm and proud, and despite the situation, Galahad felt excited and absolutely certain of his brother's victory. "You are a blight upon this world, a blight that shall be removed one life at a time! This day you have challenged Sir Lionel, the highest knight of Benioc, and this day shall be your death."
Sir Turquine did not answer. Slowly, his corrupted monstrosity rose a foot, and placed it down. It stepped closer and closer, in clear challenge and defiance.
"So be it!" Lionel shifted his own mount into a defensive stance, and suddenly Galahad was certain that he could see him.
The strength deflated from Lionel suddenly. "No!" Was his final word before battle was joined.
"My lord!" Their druid was an ancient man, infirm and weak-voiced. "We cannot in good conscience leave you behind to face a Chaos Lord like Sir Turquine alone! Your father would never forgive us such a transgression of duty."
"My father also won't forgive you if his youngest son is devoured by a Chaos mutant," Lionel replied back, his voice harsh and fierce. "It's my command, do it."
"But the car, it is part of your knightley presence," the groom argued, "even if Sir Turquine follows the Code Chivalric, he may use a part of your panoply leaving as an excuse for how you, yourself, have broken the Code. After that, this would simply become a matter of war, a skirmish in the endless conflict between Chaos and the Loyalists. And in such skirmishes no quarter is given to anyone present."
"But this is already a matter of war," Lionel argued, growing hot in his rage. "War is exactly what the Code Chivalric is for!"
"Nonetheless," the groom responded mildly, "we don't know the forces Sir Turquine has at his disposal. He could only have an army of mutated minions, or he could have other Chaos Knights under his command. What do we know of this abomination, at any rate?"
Lionel shrugged. "Sir Turquine is one of the Chaos Lords. Not the greatest or the least. They say he was once the Lord and Master of an island kingdom, but fell to Chaos and his entire realm was choked with sorcery as he disappeared within it, his God only knows for what purpose."
"He's a sorcerer?" Galahad whispered, a mix of fear and wonder in his voice. He dearly wished to witness his big brother destroy such a man.
"Possibly. He's a recluse among the known Lords, so it has only been guesswork." Lionel took a deep breath. "If he is, however, we have to expect to face things that do not belong in this universe, and I will be in for the duel of my life."
The cook swallowed sharply, quivering where she stood beside Galahad. Her instinct seemed to be to comfort the boy before her, and therefore derive comfort for herself, but she held back. Galahad wouldn't have minded, but he knew she had to think of him as a nobleman. She couldn't lay hands on one of his rank unless explicitly invited to. "Lord Prince, I have an idea, if you would let me speak it."
"Of course, Juliana," Lionel said, somehow managing a look of tenderness, despite his clear anger.
"I know this area of the isles very well, I grew up not far from here. The woods are dense, but not unnavigable if you know where to go, and I know the nearest village. Me and Prince Galahad can flee on foot before Sir Turquine arrives. When we reach the village, we will send word out to your father, who will send out his warriors, your brother Sir Bors, and other knights of the household."
Lionel seemed conflicted instantly, looking between Juliana and Galahad, frowning, no longer in rage, but in pure worry. "It doesn't sound safe."
"Nothing here is," she said softly. "But this is the best chance, I think."
"But I want to stay!" Galahad interjected. "I want to watch you slay the monster, brother!"
"It isn't safe," Lionel said, "you have to stay away from this, for now."
"You brought me here, to learn about the war, to become a part of it!" Galahad stood as firmly as he could, glaring up at Lionel.
Lionel clenched and unclenched his fists, taking a calming breath. "You are here because father told me to take you. To give you a few lessons in warfare and battle, perhaps to bond as well. In war, Galahad, warriors follow orders." He kneeled, so he was close to him. "Right now, I need you and Juliana to get out of here. It is very important you survive, get to the nearest village, and send for aid. I need you to do this." He looked over at Juliana, and added in a whisper, "besides, I'll be sending Juliana out whether you stay here or not, and I'd prefer if someone was with her to keep her safe. Do you understand?"
Galahad looked up at Juliana. He didn't fully understand everything involved, but he knew Juliana and Lionel were close, perhaps even lovers. Regardless of that, knights were supposed to protect women, that was how it was and would be. "I do," he said at last, bowing his head in glum agreement.
Lionel patted his shoulder, and very suddenly pulled him in a tight, embarrassing hug. "We will see each other again," he promised firmly.
****************
Barely ten minutes later, Galahad and Juliana exited the car, and ran into the woods. The woman had a long hunting knife and an ax on her girdle, and indeed moved with the practice of one who had grown up in the wild woods of Gramarye.
Galahad, to his frustration, had nothing but his wooden sword and a short knife that had been given to him as a birthday gift a few months back. He looked back at his brother's car, before it disappeared in the thickness of the woods. He felt frustration and anger well up inside him.
"Come on, Prince Galahad!" Juliana, to her credit, didn't sound fearful. "We need to move swiftly now."
Reminding himself they were seeking help, Galahad began to run after the woman, sticking close, almost touching her cloak.
Juliana reached into her pouch and produced a lump of chalk. She began to strike it on trees as they passed. "We can draw something with it later," she said quickly. Then she blushed, remembering she was talking to a prince, not a village child. "Sorry I…"
"No, that sounds fun!" Galahad smiled at her, jogging along.
Each tree they passed, Juliana would quickly scrabble a crude 'x'. "I'm certain I know the way," she assured him, "but one must be ever careful." They jumped over a stone, and kept moving.
Galahad was trained in the woods as well, he'd even gone on the hunt with his father before. He moved with remarkable ease, moving branches away easily without snapping them, springing over a spring as he went. "Can I draw one?" he asked, bored and a bit squirrelly.
She smiled and handed him the chalk. Galahad turned to the nearest tree. Immediately frowned. "Juliana, there is already an 'x' on this tree."
"What?" she turned.
There was indeed an x, drawn with chalk, on the tree before them, almost gleaming. "I must have already drawn it," she said after a moment, "I'm sorry, you get the next one."
The next tree also had a chalk x drawn on it. So did the next one. Juliana was pale as death, looking around fearfully. "No, no, this can't be happening, it isn't possible, we never turned."
Galahad kept calm. "We passed that rock before, right?" he pointed it out. "We jumped over it."
The poor woman seemed to be holding in her terror, but her voice shook as it came out. "Emperor protect us."
"He is a sorcerer, isn't he?" Galahad was strangely unafraid. It just felt to him like a fact that had to be accepted. "We only ran straight forward, no turns."
"Don't just say that," Juliana groaned. She drew her knife and ax, looking around as if monsters were going to spring out of the trees. "This time, we turn right there. We should hit a river, we can follow that downstream to the village."
They turned right, and at last there were no chalk marks on the tree. But to Galahad, the forest suddenly looked foreboding. There were no landmarks, no real distinction where they walked. It was all simply the heavy shadows of trees. He marked them now, almost desperately, to mark something physical out in the suddenly hazy world around him.
Juliana was speaking a prayer aloud, trying to bring some form of the Emperor's light to counter the witchery they had stumbled into. It didn't work. No light and no river came.
Then, ahead, they heard sounds. It wasn't the sound of a river. It was the sound of machines. They emerged from the bushes, into an all-to familiar clearing in the woods. Juliana stopped praying, covered her mouth, and held back a sob.
Lionel's car stood against one side of the clearing, and before it was Lionel's great and mighty Lancer, spear raised forth toward the foe.
Across from him stood several indistinct forms, what at first glance seemed to be a vine-choked boulder, and before the boulder stood another knight.
This was not the beautiful and holy machine that his brother piloted, Galahad knew immediately. It was a hideous form, twisted all over with thorny vines, pulsating with barely contained energy. It glowed in several places, pulsating masses that throbbed and hissed with an electricity that was nearly alive. A thorned ax dangled from one arm, a bulging gun from the other. It seemed to sway in the breeze.
"Sir Turquine!" Lionel's voice was firm and proud, and despite the situation, Galahad felt excited and absolutely certain of his brother's victory. "You are a blight upon this world, a blight that shall be removed one life at a time! This day you have challenged Sir Lionel, the highest knight of Benioc, and this day shall be your death."
Sir Turquine did not answer. Slowly, his corrupted monstrosity rose a foot, and placed it down. It stepped closer and closer, in clear challenge and defiance.
"So be it!" Lionel shifted his own mount into a defensive stance, and suddenly Galahad was certain that he could see him.
The strength deflated from Lionel suddenly. "No!" Was his final word before battle was joined.
Icipall
Don't worry, we can fanfix that!
- Location
- Cold snow fields of Finland
Chaos knight fighting fair? They might, but that doesn't include others following the duel.
Yeah, listen to your brother, Galahad.
Chaos fuckery, making them go in circles.
Wait, what happened here?
MysticKnightJoe
Defender of Holy Terra
- Location
- Fighting the Forces of Evil Across the Cosmos
He saw that Galahad and Juliana hadn't gotten away
Galahad's First Adventure Part 3
MysticKnightJoe
Defender of Holy Terra
- Location
- Fighting the Forces of Evil Across the Cosmos
It was a titanic clash beyond Galahad's imagination, and he watched it with undisguised awe, fear utterly banished. There was, in that instant, no doubt Sir Lionel would win the day, slay the monster, and said Sir Turquine's mutant minions running screaming for the hills.
He and Juliana kept in the bushes, in a futile attempt to stay hidden. Of course the enemy knew they were there, it was the enemy's dread magic that had drawn them back here like moths to the flame.
The monstrous machine that Sir Turquine piloted had nothing of beauty about it, but did have a certain unearthly grace. As they joined, the monster moved almost as if in the midst of a dance, while Sir Lionel hurtled forward like a rockslide.
The axe swung down, to hack open Lionel's cockpit, but Lionel slid out of the way, earth flying up in the air from the passing of his great metal feet. His return strike cut a gash into the body of the Chaos Knight, sending ichor flying.
Juliana let out a soft whoop of excitement, but Galahad's heart began to quicken. The strike seemed strange to him. It had been an instant kill shot, and it hadn't seemed as if Sir Turquine had done anything to avoid it or defend himself, yet all it became was a superficial wound.
Fluidly, Turquine returned the blow, axe twisting through the air to come at a strange and impossible angle. It would strike off Lionel's legs and leave him spasming on the ground.
But Sir Lionel was a candidate to become the Lancelot of Avalon. He was a servant of the world itself, and even dread sorcery could never catch him off guard. He had watched the stroke coming, prepared for any surprise, and only dodged in the exact instant he realized where the attack was going to be coming from.
Lionel's mighty physical shield slammed into the side of the Chaos Knight, bursting several of the glowing growths on the body, and sending more white ichor flying. It began to hiss on the shield, acid trying to eat into the blessed metal, but it was incapable of causing lasting damage.
And the future Lancelot fought with such might, with such impeccable skill, he began to overwhelm the magic of Slaanesh, their wretched champion staggering back. There was a low hiss among the gathered mutants, a swaying in their ranks, as if the wind was passing through them.
"Stand fast!" The familiar voice of the twisted herald slithered across the field. "She who Thirsts will not abandon her champion!"
Yet it seemed that the Chaos God was indeed leaving her champion, abandoning him more and more as Lionel continued to gain ground. Lance and shield pounded into the foe, every strike from the great ax was blocked or dodged with startling ease. Sir Lionel's skill was simply a full notch above the Chaos Lord.
Juliana reached down suddenly, grabbing Galahad's hand. "Sorry for the impertinence, Prince, but we should return to the car now. Once Sir Lionel emerges victorious, I don't doubt his minions will be angry, and I'd prefer to have adamantium between them and us." She had her ax out in one hand.
"Don't apologize." Galahad squeezed her hand, oddly happy for the contact. "If you can kiss Sir Lionel, and he can slide his hand up your leg, I think it is ok for you to hold my hand."
"You saw that?" Juliana's eyes widened. "Oh that was inappropriate, I-" She was interrupted by a large crunching sound, and a hideous splash as a blob of corrupted ichor impacted into a nearby bush. It began to sizzle and burn away immediately. She blanched, and started to pull him away toward the car, and Galahad saw no reason to resist.
He watched as the fight went on, more and more hideous wounds opening in Turquine's body. He grinned excitedly. Any moment would be the death blow.
The Chaos Knight sagged, bending down and sinking to its knees before Lionel. Ichor soaked down its body in waves, destroying all that lived beneath it.
Lionel stepped forward, and his Power Lance rose, aiming for where the cockpit would be. "Repent in your final moments, heretic, perhaps the Emperor will show you mercy. I shall not."
From the Chaos Knight emerged laughter. A hideous gurgling sound that rumbled and surged, the entire thorn-covered thing vibrating with it.
"Your Emperor," said the herald, in a voice that wasn't entirely its own, "is a corpse that makes no judgment."
Lionel didn't dignify that with a response, he lunged forward for the final killing stroke, Lance glowing bright, surging straight for the cockpit of Sir Turquine.
Galahad saw the instant the impossible happened. Without any sign of servo motion, without bone or sinew, the Chaos Knight warped, its body twisting so the stroke passed straight through thin air and into the ground behind.
The growths remaining on the body suddenly erupted forth with a hideous squelching sound, and they were bulbs attached on horrible thorny vines that wrapped and twisted around the body of Sir Lionel's machine.
"Oh no!" Juliana cried beside him. They were halfway to the truck.
Suddenly, the mutants began to move. They slid forward in a wave of twisted humanity, past the duel, toward the car and Galahad and Juliana.
Juliana lashed out, hacking deep into a mutated throat with her ax. She moved with surprising skill, her knife embedding in the same enemies side, moving already as the creature fell bleeding and dying to the ground. "Galahad, run!" she cried at him. "Get out of here!"
Galahad didn't want to run. He had his wooden sword out, and tripped a mutant as it came on, and as it fell struck it on the shoulders. "I can fight!" he cried.
"No you can't!" Juliana snapped. Her ax and knife flashed as she desperately tried to fend off ten mutants at once. "Get out of here! Find a village, find your family!"
Galahad wanted to argue. But then he looked up, back toward the duel, and saw something that would remain in his mind forever.
The Chaos Knight was opening, like a hideous flower blooming. In parody of a cockpit opening to reveal the knight within, a hideous puckered orifice was splitting over the front of the machine. The orifice was lined with razor sharp thorns or, Galahad realized to his horror, the teeth of some hideous monster. Slowly, from the orifice, emerged two arms, long and thin and lined with more thorn-teeth. They gripped the side, and slowly a monster emerged, as much plant as man, covered in thorny growths, lacking a mouth or eyes, but somehow completely aware of everything around it.
The horrific face of the thing looked down first at its trapped and bound prey. Galahad heard the scream of servos, and was horrified to see his brother's knight was being slowly forced open. Soon, Lionel would be at the mercy of the Chaos Lord.
He wanted to fight, he fumbled to draw his knife, ready to do as best he could to maim and kill mutants until he could be close to his brother, to help him. And then, the Chaos Lord Sir Turquine looked away from his brother. And the face that was once a man's face looked down at him, meeting his eye.
"Run!" Juliana screamed again, and this time Galahad couldn't disobey. He was already across the field, sobbing, running blindly into the forest.
He heard the pounding of feet behind him, a cry from the herald of, "Seize him! I want the boy alive!" And then he was ducking branches, ripping through bushes, and jumping stones. His wooden sword and dagger were in his hands, and sometimes he'd lash out with them, cutting branches out of his way.
The mutants were behind him, and they had much longer legs. Nothing seemed to slow them, and Galahad had a sinking feeling he was about to be caught, and dragged back to face Emperor only knew what torture. He shoved his knife back home in its sheath, and stumbled to a halt, diving behind a large stone at the bend of a river. He reached down and started to gather river stones as the two mutants started to move toward him.
He was breathing heavily, he realized, and had no idea where he was or how long he had been running. He tore a strip from his tunic, and began to prepare it as a crude sling. He peeked from behind the stone.
The two mutants were already near, their very presence profane against the natural beauty of the river. Their shoes, covered in corrupted filth from the Chaoslands, set down in the river, and began to spread. Galahad could see little fish floating belly up as the corruption struck them dead.
They were large, hideous, men. One's arm had been transformed into a snapping maw, and in the other it held a single-edged sword, covered in rust. The other was taller, and so spindly Galahad found it startling it could hold the weight of its own head, which was twice the size of an ordinary man's.
They walked slowly forward, growling in an incomprehensible language, their corruption spreading with each step. Galahad felt suddenly enraged at their transgression. Slaves of Chaos, daring to destroy Avalon the Beloved with their very step, their very presence. A stone was in his sling, and suddenly he found himself standing on the stone.
The two mutants turned towards him, the moment he began his attack. He had picked his stone well, and it impacted with a meaty thunk into the tall mutant's oversized head. The former man screamed and fell into the water with a splash, stunned for an instant.
Galahad fumbled for another stone, as the other mutant roared in rage and hurtled toward him. The wet stone slipped from his fingers as the mutant lept, his maw hand splitting open and latching tight onto Galahad's right foot. With a tight grip, the man began to pull with all his adult strength, trying to rip the boy from his place on the stone.
Screaming, Galahad struck at the man in a frenzy. He had his knife out now, and stabbed it into the arm in the same instant he flailed blinding with his wooden sword. The mutant didn't seem to notice.
Worse, Galahad could see the other one start to rise, groaning, clutching his head, but alive and very close to joining his fellow. Galahad sobbed, feeling suddenly hopeless. If only he had a real sword!
The second mutant began to rise, calling out encouragement and support to his friend. He took a step forward, grinning nastily, blood running down his face. He was grinning though, an evil grin that threatened violence and pain.
There was a sound like wind through the trees. Both mutants stopped, only one made any sound, a confused grunt. The other, the one Galahad had injured, fell in two halves into the river, split vertically from crotch to crown.
Galahad at last felt the grip loosen, his captor turning with a cry toward his fellow, waving his sword and mutated arm, looking for the killer.
The killer was standing on the shore. He was a man, Galahad was sure, but not a man. He was taller than any man Galahad had ever seen, and slender. His hair was long and a kind of silver that almost glowed like diamond, and he held a long sword that looked sharper than a winter's gale in the mountains.
The surviving mutant roared a challenge, and the fairy man laughed in response, a beautiful and cruel laugh. "You profane my river, and expect to live? Moreso, you expect to slay me? Such arrogance, child of Sai'lanthresh." The alien tilted his head and pointed his sword toward the mutant, flicking it mockingly in challenge. "Well, come at me, show me your strength!"
The mutant charged, and even before his arms fell to the ground, followed by both legs and his head and then his torso, Galahad knew the outcome was never in doubt. He didn't feel safe, despite the death of his enemy, rather, he felt a profound and absolute fear.
The fairy sheathed his sword, scowling. "Bolder and bolder they grow." Then he looked toward Galahad. "A child. Now what shall be done with you?"
He and Juliana kept in the bushes, in a futile attempt to stay hidden. Of course the enemy knew they were there, it was the enemy's dread magic that had drawn them back here like moths to the flame.
The monstrous machine that Sir Turquine piloted had nothing of beauty about it, but did have a certain unearthly grace. As they joined, the monster moved almost as if in the midst of a dance, while Sir Lionel hurtled forward like a rockslide.
The axe swung down, to hack open Lionel's cockpit, but Lionel slid out of the way, earth flying up in the air from the passing of his great metal feet. His return strike cut a gash into the body of the Chaos Knight, sending ichor flying.
Juliana let out a soft whoop of excitement, but Galahad's heart began to quicken. The strike seemed strange to him. It had been an instant kill shot, and it hadn't seemed as if Sir Turquine had done anything to avoid it or defend himself, yet all it became was a superficial wound.
Fluidly, Turquine returned the blow, axe twisting through the air to come at a strange and impossible angle. It would strike off Lionel's legs and leave him spasming on the ground.
But Sir Lionel was a candidate to become the Lancelot of Avalon. He was a servant of the world itself, and even dread sorcery could never catch him off guard. He had watched the stroke coming, prepared for any surprise, and only dodged in the exact instant he realized where the attack was going to be coming from.
Lionel's mighty physical shield slammed into the side of the Chaos Knight, bursting several of the glowing growths on the body, and sending more white ichor flying. It began to hiss on the shield, acid trying to eat into the blessed metal, but it was incapable of causing lasting damage.
And the future Lancelot fought with such might, with such impeccable skill, he began to overwhelm the magic of Slaanesh, their wretched champion staggering back. There was a low hiss among the gathered mutants, a swaying in their ranks, as if the wind was passing through them.
"Stand fast!" The familiar voice of the twisted herald slithered across the field. "She who Thirsts will not abandon her champion!"
Yet it seemed that the Chaos God was indeed leaving her champion, abandoning him more and more as Lionel continued to gain ground. Lance and shield pounded into the foe, every strike from the great ax was blocked or dodged with startling ease. Sir Lionel's skill was simply a full notch above the Chaos Lord.
Juliana reached down suddenly, grabbing Galahad's hand. "Sorry for the impertinence, Prince, but we should return to the car now. Once Sir Lionel emerges victorious, I don't doubt his minions will be angry, and I'd prefer to have adamantium between them and us." She had her ax out in one hand.
"Don't apologize." Galahad squeezed her hand, oddly happy for the contact. "If you can kiss Sir Lionel, and he can slide his hand up your leg, I think it is ok for you to hold my hand."
"You saw that?" Juliana's eyes widened. "Oh that was inappropriate, I-" She was interrupted by a large crunching sound, and a hideous splash as a blob of corrupted ichor impacted into a nearby bush. It began to sizzle and burn away immediately. She blanched, and started to pull him away toward the car, and Galahad saw no reason to resist.
He watched as the fight went on, more and more hideous wounds opening in Turquine's body. He grinned excitedly. Any moment would be the death blow.
The Chaos Knight sagged, bending down and sinking to its knees before Lionel. Ichor soaked down its body in waves, destroying all that lived beneath it.
Lionel stepped forward, and his Power Lance rose, aiming for where the cockpit would be. "Repent in your final moments, heretic, perhaps the Emperor will show you mercy. I shall not."
From the Chaos Knight emerged laughter. A hideous gurgling sound that rumbled and surged, the entire thorn-covered thing vibrating with it.
"Your Emperor," said the herald, in a voice that wasn't entirely its own, "is a corpse that makes no judgment."
Lionel didn't dignify that with a response, he lunged forward for the final killing stroke, Lance glowing bright, surging straight for the cockpit of Sir Turquine.
Galahad saw the instant the impossible happened. Without any sign of servo motion, without bone or sinew, the Chaos Knight warped, its body twisting so the stroke passed straight through thin air and into the ground behind.
The growths remaining on the body suddenly erupted forth with a hideous squelching sound, and they were bulbs attached on horrible thorny vines that wrapped and twisted around the body of Sir Lionel's machine.
"Oh no!" Juliana cried beside him. They were halfway to the truck.
Suddenly, the mutants began to move. They slid forward in a wave of twisted humanity, past the duel, toward the car and Galahad and Juliana.
Juliana lashed out, hacking deep into a mutated throat with her ax. She moved with surprising skill, her knife embedding in the same enemies side, moving already as the creature fell bleeding and dying to the ground. "Galahad, run!" she cried at him. "Get out of here!"
Galahad didn't want to run. He had his wooden sword out, and tripped a mutant as it came on, and as it fell struck it on the shoulders. "I can fight!" he cried.
"No you can't!" Juliana snapped. Her ax and knife flashed as she desperately tried to fend off ten mutants at once. "Get out of here! Find a village, find your family!"
Galahad wanted to argue. But then he looked up, back toward the duel, and saw something that would remain in his mind forever.
The Chaos Knight was opening, like a hideous flower blooming. In parody of a cockpit opening to reveal the knight within, a hideous puckered orifice was splitting over the front of the machine. The orifice was lined with razor sharp thorns or, Galahad realized to his horror, the teeth of some hideous monster. Slowly, from the orifice, emerged two arms, long and thin and lined with more thorn-teeth. They gripped the side, and slowly a monster emerged, as much plant as man, covered in thorny growths, lacking a mouth or eyes, but somehow completely aware of everything around it.
The horrific face of the thing looked down first at its trapped and bound prey. Galahad heard the scream of servos, and was horrified to see his brother's knight was being slowly forced open. Soon, Lionel would be at the mercy of the Chaos Lord.
He wanted to fight, he fumbled to draw his knife, ready to do as best he could to maim and kill mutants until he could be close to his brother, to help him. And then, the Chaos Lord Sir Turquine looked away from his brother. And the face that was once a man's face looked down at him, meeting his eye.
"Run!" Juliana screamed again, and this time Galahad couldn't disobey. He was already across the field, sobbing, running blindly into the forest.
He heard the pounding of feet behind him, a cry from the herald of, "Seize him! I want the boy alive!" And then he was ducking branches, ripping through bushes, and jumping stones. His wooden sword and dagger were in his hands, and sometimes he'd lash out with them, cutting branches out of his way.
The mutants were behind him, and they had much longer legs. Nothing seemed to slow them, and Galahad had a sinking feeling he was about to be caught, and dragged back to face Emperor only knew what torture. He shoved his knife back home in its sheath, and stumbled to a halt, diving behind a large stone at the bend of a river. He reached down and started to gather river stones as the two mutants started to move toward him.
He was breathing heavily, he realized, and had no idea where he was or how long he had been running. He tore a strip from his tunic, and began to prepare it as a crude sling. He peeked from behind the stone.
The two mutants were already near, their very presence profane against the natural beauty of the river. Their shoes, covered in corrupted filth from the Chaoslands, set down in the river, and began to spread. Galahad could see little fish floating belly up as the corruption struck them dead.
They were large, hideous, men. One's arm had been transformed into a snapping maw, and in the other it held a single-edged sword, covered in rust. The other was taller, and so spindly Galahad found it startling it could hold the weight of its own head, which was twice the size of an ordinary man's.
They walked slowly forward, growling in an incomprehensible language, their corruption spreading with each step. Galahad felt suddenly enraged at their transgression. Slaves of Chaos, daring to destroy Avalon the Beloved with their very step, their very presence. A stone was in his sling, and suddenly he found himself standing on the stone.
The two mutants turned towards him, the moment he began his attack. He had picked his stone well, and it impacted with a meaty thunk into the tall mutant's oversized head. The former man screamed and fell into the water with a splash, stunned for an instant.
Galahad fumbled for another stone, as the other mutant roared in rage and hurtled toward him. The wet stone slipped from his fingers as the mutant lept, his maw hand splitting open and latching tight onto Galahad's right foot. With a tight grip, the man began to pull with all his adult strength, trying to rip the boy from his place on the stone.
Screaming, Galahad struck at the man in a frenzy. He had his knife out now, and stabbed it into the arm in the same instant he flailed blinding with his wooden sword. The mutant didn't seem to notice.
Worse, Galahad could see the other one start to rise, groaning, clutching his head, but alive and very close to joining his fellow. Galahad sobbed, feeling suddenly hopeless. If only he had a real sword!
The second mutant began to rise, calling out encouragement and support to his friend. He took a step forward, grinning nastily, blood running down his face. He was grinning though, an evil grin that threatened violence and pain.
There was a sound like wind through the trees. Both mutants stopped, only one made any sound, a confused grunt. The other, the one Galahad had injured, fell in two halves into the river, split vertically from crotch to crown.
Galahad at last felt the grip loosen, his captor turning with a cry toward his fellow, waving his sword and mutated arm, looking for the killer.
The killer was standing on the shore. He was a man, Galahad was sure, but not a man. He was taller than any man Galahad had ever seen, and slender. His hair was long and a kind of silver that almost glowed like diamond, and he held a long sword that looked sharper than a winter's gale in the mountains.
The surviving mutant roared a challenge, and the fairy man laughed in response, a beautiful and cruel laugh. "You profane my river, and expect to live? Moreso, you expect to slay me? Such arrogance, child of Sai'lanthresh." The alien tilted his head and pointed his sword toward the mutant, flicking it mockingly in challenge. "Well, come at me, show me your strength!"
The mutant charged, and even before his arms fell to the ground, followed by both legs and his head and then his torso, Galahad knew the outcome was never in doubt. He didn't feel safe, despite the death of his enemy, rather, he felt a profound and absolute fear.
The fairy sheathed his sword, scowling. "Bolder and bolder they grow." Then he looked toward Galahad. "A child. Now what shall be done with you?"
Icipall
Don't worry, we can fanfix that!
- Location
- Cold snow fields of Finland
Yeah, something fishy is going on.
Of course, fucking Chaos.
Aeldari. Now the question is whether Galahad found salvation, or damnation.
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MysticKnightJoe
Defender of Holy Terra
- Location
- Fighting the Forces of Evil Across the Cosmos
Chaos always cheats
Galahad's First Adventure Part 4
MysticKnightJoe
Defender of Holy Terra
- Location
- Fighting the Forces of Evil Across the Cosmos
Reaching down and trying not to vomit, Galahad lifted one of the severed arms from the river, trying to keep anymore of the white-ish blood of the mutant from falling into the river as he dragged it over to the pile he and the fairy had begun on the rivershore.
The Eldar had the torso and head in his arms, lying them upon the soaking stinking corpse pile. "I thank you, child of men. I was hasty, I think, this was filthy work." The alien was wearing a long black coat, over a breastplate of some kind of silvery metal. His sword was sheathed now, worn at his side in a sheathe of black leather.
Galahad managed a nod. "What do we do now?"
"We wait for them to dry, then burn them to ash, it is the best way we have to remove their corruption from this place." The alien paced nearer to him, an unreadable expression on his inhuman face. "Tell me, child, how did you find yourself here?"
Galahad felt a flash of defiance. "I am not a child! I am Prince Galahad of Benioc!"
"A Kingdom I have never heard of," the eldar mused, sounding strangely melancholic. "Yet I believe you. You don't seem the type to play pretend, and lie to me."
"You should know, you called this your river, but it lies in Benioc's territory!" Galahad knew he needed to show strength on that point.
The alien laughed. "Perhaps, but your Benioc lies upon a world that belongs to the Aeldari of old. Who therefore has claim over the land?"
"We do," Galahad argued, "your kind aren't even supposed to be here!" Remembering the sword the eldar carried, he added quickly, "Anymore."
"And yet, here I am, and I say this river belongs to me. Do you contest that?"
"I guess not," Galahad said, eyes darting again to the sword. He remembered how it had so easily parted flesh and bone, and decided that it would cut him to pieces just as easily. "But why is it your river?"
"The water in this river flows through Annwn, and therefore is under the domain of my people. Annwn is the one territory on this planet your Imperium of Man." He said those three words with a sneer. "Has yet to claim."
'We've lost a lot of ground," Galahad pointed out glumly, "Chaos has even come here. They took my brother."
"So that is what the minions of Sai'lanthresh were doing here," the alien muttered, "led by one of your Knights, turned into a slave to the ruinous powers?"
"Sir Turquine," Galahad confirmed. He described what had happened, how Sir Turquine had drawn his brother into a seemingly advantageous position, and then blindsided him with dark sorcery.
"It seems likely to me that your brother is still alive. Possibly your entire retinue yet lives. This may not be a blessing for them, or for you." The alien turned toward the pile of corpses. "It seems they have dried enough."
Galahad sat quietly as the eldar lit the corpse pile alight, the flames leaping high in strange and unnatural colors. He turned his head away, feeling suddenly wary of the color itself. "What's your name?" he asked, over the crackling of the hideous corpses. "You haven't said your name, though I have introduced myself."
The fairy was silent for a moment. "It has been an age since anyone has asked me for a name."
"Do you not have one?" The idea confused Galahad, the alien was an abomination, but he spoke the language, and seemed like an individual of a sentient race. Why would such a being not have a name?
"I have many. I am just weighing which one would be proper to share here, in this space-time." The alien was also turned away from the fire, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Oh yes. In the elder days, when your kind and mine were friends on this world, those eldfriends called me after a figure from an ancient play. They called me Oberon."
The name sounded vaguely familiar to Galahad, though the idea of humans and eldar being considered friends disturbed him somewhat. "Do you know where my brother would have been taken, Oberon?"
"To Sir Turquine's hideous adobe, no doubt. This is information I could discover more concretely. Do you truly intend to mount a rescue? He will be defended by sorcery most foul and mutants all devoted to the enemy of all." He was suddenly looking at Galahad intently, oddly curiously.
"I must," Galahad said boldly, "I don't know where else to go to get aid from my father. So it is up to me. I am to be a Knight, after all. Knights don't run away."
"I suppose they do not," Oberon said with a sigh. "Come with me, then."
"To where?" Galahad asked, nervously.
"Annwn. My home."
The sun was high in the sky as Galahad followed after his strange apparent ally. The alien was moving at an almost leisurely pace by the river, though the unnatural grace of the creature made it seem like he was almost jogging.
"Why are you moving so slow?" Galahad snapped. "They could be half-way to the Chaoslands by now!"
"I assure you, time is not something we need to worry about," Oberon replied. "There are things we must do in Annwn, before you will be ready to attempt your rescue."
Galahad fell into sullen silence, angered by the alien's languidness. He couldn't rest, and now that the numbness of shock was wearing off all he wanted to do was run in the direction he remembered his brother had gone.
The river was beautiful, pure and clear, and nature seemed to defy Galahad's irritation. The alien seemed content with silence, moving along steadily until they came on a spring bubbling out of a nearly sheer cliff overgrown with ivy. Oberon began to walk straight toward it, beginning to whistle. "Stick close."
Galahad ran to get closer, and suddenly found himself within a grotto, spiraling downward into the darkness. He blinked, confused. "What just happened?"
"A secret of my people," Oberon said, "do keep up."
Galahad scowled angrily, but stuck close behind his untrustworthy guide.
"Tell me child, do you know why this place is of such importance?" Oberon asked suddenly.
"I don't know," Galahad grumbled, "how should I know?"
"I suppose I should have known the meaning would be wiped away from most of you, safety against the Imperium," Oberon sighed. "The waters that flow into and out of Annwn are important, because they form a power within the place, separate from the true space-time of this universe. Through that, we can perform things that shouldn't be possible now that the Ruinous Powers hold sway over so much."
"Magic?" Galahad asked, instantly wary. He stepped carefully down each step in the grotto, and slowly he began to notice they seemed almost carved by mechanism, not natural forces.
"If you wish to be so crude," Oberon said with a sniff. "Still, we shall find where your brother has been taken, and where you must go to reach him in time. It is, however, a narrow way to this goal, child, I must warn you that. No matter what happens, do not panic, remain calm and keep your mind steady."
"What do you mean?" Galahad asked, suddenly terrified. He looked back, and saw that there was no wall behind and no light from the sun. In fact, the sun was now seemingly in front of them.
"We are here, in Annwn, what you humans call Otherworld."
Galahad turned toward the sun, and his eyes widened. Before him was indeed a world of green grass and elegant trees. The sun was far lower than it was in the world they had entered from, making the entire place wreathed in pinkish dawn or dusk. The river flowed out of the grotto and into a lake, utterly placid before the two, ringed by reeds.
As the two came closer, Galahad noticed that the lake seemed almost too placid to be real. Not a thing stirred upon its surface, so it more closely resembled a mirror than water. He shuddered, suddenly feeling very frightened and very ill.
Oberon stepped to the lake edge, kneeling before it. "Lucky us," the eldar muttered, "these things can be unpredictable, you know."
Slowly, Galahad stepped beside the alien, the urge to flee strong in him. "What do I do now?" he asked.
"Kneel by the lakeside, and look down into it," answered Oberon.
For all his fear, Galahad found himself obeying. He knelt, and looked into the river. He stared back, his reflection perfect on the lake's surface. 'How long am I suppose-"
He didn't get to finish the question. Surprisingly strong hands gripped him suddenly, and Galahad found his face being forced suddenly beneath the water. Immediately he struggled, confusion and betrayal spasming through him.
"Remember," Oberon's voice hissed in his ear, somehow clear despite the water filling it, "be calm."
The Eldar had the torso and head in his arms, lying them upon the soaking stinking corpse pile. "I thank you, child of men. I was hasty, I think, this was filthy work." The alien was wearing a long black coat, over a breastplate of some kind of silvery metal. His sword was sheathed now, worn at his side in a sheathe of black leather.
Galahad managed a nod. "What do we do now?"
"We wait for them to dry, then burn them to ash, it is the best way we have to remove their corruption from this place." The alien paced nearer to him, an unreadable expression on his inhuman face. "Tell me, child, how did you find yourself here?"
Galahad felt a flash of defiance. "I am not a child! I am Prince Galahad of Benioc!"
"A Kingdom I have never heard of," the eldar mused, sounding strangely melancholic. "Yet I believe you. You don't seem the type to play pretend, and lie to me."
"You should know, you called this your river, but it lies in Benioc's territory!" Galahad knew he needed to show strength on that point.
The alien laughed. "Perhaps, but your Benioc lies upon a world that belongs to the Aeldari of old. Who therefore has claim over the land?"
"We do," Galahad argued, "your kind aren't even supposed to be here!" Remembering the sword the eldar carried, he added quickly, "Anymore."
"And yet, here I am, and I say this river belongs to me. Do you contest that?"
"I guess not," Galahad said, eyes darting again to the sword. He remembered how it had so easily parted flesh and bone, and decided that it would cut him to pieces just as easily. "But why is it your river?"
"The water in this river flows through Annwn, and therefore is under the domain of my people. Annwn is the one territory on this planet your Imperium of Man." He said those three words with a sneer. "Has yet to claim."
'We've lost a lot of ground," Galahad pointed out glumly, "Chaos has even come here. They took my brother."
"So that is what the minions of Sai'lanthresh were doing here," the alien muttered, "led by one of your Knights, turned into a slave to the ruinous powers?"
"Sir Turquine," Galahad confirmed. He described what had happened, how Sir Turquine had drawn his brother into a seemingly advantageous position, and then blindsided him with dark sorcery.
"It seems likely to me that your brother is still alive. Possibly your entire retinue yet lives. This may not be a blessing for them, or for you." The alien turned toward the pile of corpses. "It seems they have dried enough."
Galahad sat quietly as the eldar lit the corpse pile alight, the flames leaping high in strange and unnatural colors. He turned his head away, feeling suddenly wary of the color itself. "What's your name?" he asked, over the crackling of the hideous corpses. "You haven't said your name, though I have introduced myself."
The fairy was silent for a moment. "It has been an age since anyone has asked me for a name."
"Do you not have one?" The idea confused Galahad, the alien was an abomination, but he spoke the language, and seemed like an individual of a sentient race. Why would such a being not have a name?
"I have many. I am just weighing which one would be proper to share here, in this space-time." The alien was also turned away from the fire, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Oh yes. In the elder days, when your kind and mine were friends on this world, those eldfriends called me after a figure from an ancient play. They called me Oberon."
The name sounded vaguely familiar to Galahad, though the idea of humans and eldar being considered friends disturbed him somewhat. "Do you know where my brother would have been taken, Oberon?"
"To Sir Turquine's hideous adobe, no doubt. This is information I could discover more concretely. Do you truly intend to mount a rescue? He will be defended by sorcery most foul and mutants all devoted to the enemy of all." He was suddenly looking at Galahad intently, oddly curiously.
"I must," Galahad said boldly, "I don't know where else to go to get aid from my father. So it is up to me. I am to be a Knight, after all. Knights don't run away."
"I suppose they do not," Oberon said with a sigh. "Come with me, then."
"To where?" Galahad asked, nervously.
"Annwn. My home."
*****************
The sun was high in the sky as Galahad followed after his strange apparent ally. The alien was moving at an almost leisurely pace by the river, though the unnatural grace of the creature made it seem like he was almost jogging.
"Why are you moving so slow?" Galahad snapped. "They could be half-way to the Chaoslands by now!"
"I assure you, time is not something we need to worry about," Oberon replied. "There are things we must do in Annwn, before you will be ready to attempt your rescue."
Galahad fell into sullen silence, angered by the alien's languidness. He couldn't rest, and now that the numbness of shock was wearing off all he wanted to do was run in the direction he remembered his brother had gone.
The river was beautiful, pure and clear, and nature seemed to defy Galahad's irritation. The alien seemed content with silence, moving along steadily until they came on a spring bubbling out of a nearly sheer cliff overgrown with ivy. Oberon began to walk straight toward it, beginning to whistle. "Stick close."
Galahad ran to get closer, and suddenly found himself within a grotto, spiraling downward into the darkness. He blinked, confused. "What just happened?"
"A secret of my people," Oberon said, "do keep up."
Galahad scowled angrily, but stuck close behind his untrustworthy guide.
"Tell me child, do you know why this place is of such importance?" Oberon asked suddenly.
"I don't know," Galahad grumbled, "how should I know?"
"I suppose I should have known the meaning would be wiped away from most of you, safety against the Imperium," Oberon sighed. "The waters that flow into and out of Annwn are important, because they form a power within the place, separate from the true space-time of this universe. Through that, we can perform things that shouldn't be possible now that the Ruinous Powers hold sway over so much."
"Magic?" Galahad asked, instantly wary. He stepped carefully down each step in the grotto, and slowly he began to notice they seemed almost carved by mechanism, not natural forces.
"If you wish to be so crude," Oberon said with a sniff. "Still, we shall find where your brother has been taken, and where you must go to reach him in time. It is, however, a narrow way to this goal, child, I must warn you that. No matter what happens, do not panic, remain calm and keep your mind steady."
"What do you mean?" Galahad asked, suddenly terrified. He looked back, and saw that there was no wall behind and no light from the sun. In fact, the sun was now seemingly in front of them.
"We are here, in Annwn, what you humans call Otherworld."
Galahad turned toward the sun, and his eyes widened. Before him was indeed a world of green grass and elegant trees. The sun was far lower than it was in the world they had entered from, making the entire place wreathed in pinkish dawn or dusk. The river flowed out of the grotto and into a lake, utterly placid before the two, ringed by reeds.
As the two came closer, Galahad noticed that the lake seemed almost too placid to be real. Not a thing stirred upon its surface, so it more closely resembled a mirror than water. He shuddered, suddenly feeling very frightened and very ill.
Oberon stepped to the lake edge, kneeling before it. "Lucky us," the eldar muttered, "these things can be unpredictable, you know."
Slowly, Galahad stepped beside the alien, the urge to flee strong in him. "What do I do now?" he asked.
"Kneel by the lakeside, and look down into it," answered Oberon.
For all his fear, Galahad found himself obeying. He knelt, and looked into the river. He stared back, his reflection perfect on the lake's surface. 'How long am I suppose-"
He didn't get to finish the question. Surprisingly strong hands gripped him suddenly, and Galahad found his face being forced suddenly beneath the water. Immediately he struggled, confusion and betrayal spasming through him.
"Remember," Oberon's voice hissed in his ear, somehow clear despite the water filling it, "be calm."
bookwyrm
Doom of Public Libraries
- Location
- Wichita, Kansas
Man the pre-Imperium Knight World of Avalon is increasingly shaping up to have been just fully its own civilization of space Bretonnia with fey Exodites instead of fey wood-elves, to the point where you can see why some people feel rather dubious about the value of the Golden Throne and stand more for such pagan old ways.
To think, all of this could have been avoided if Vulkan's Expeditionary Fleets had discovered the planet, and had the Salamanders immediately glass it
To think, all of this could have been avoided if Vulkan's Expeditionary Fleets had discovered the planet, and had the Salamanders immediately glass it
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Considering the nature of Lion El'Jonson's return in canon, I wonder if there's a old man sitting out in boat in the middle of the lake?
Icipall
Don't worry, we can fanfix that!
- Location
- Cold snow fields of Finland
Well, it seems that this will be his salvation. Nice to meet an understanding Eldar.
That's good. That means they can be rescued.
Oh. Oh my, that's a big name.
Inner peace, Galahad! INNER PEACE!!!
MysticKnightJoe
Defender of Holy Terra
- Location
- Fighting the Forces of Evil Across the Cosmos
The Lion stole my bit!
"He stole your doo"
The emperor did as well, don't forget that
MysticKnightJoe
Defender of Holy Terra
- Location
- Fighting the Forces of Evil Across the Cosmos
I've accounted for this fact
Prisoners All Part 1
MysticKnightJoe
Defender of Holy Terra
- Location
- Fighting the Forces of Evil Across the Cosmos
Galahad for the moment found he couldn't be calm. The alien had proven treacherous, just like every tale he had ever been told. The mild and helpful act had only been there to lull him down into the Otherworld, where he would be drowned in this lake.
Yet he quickly learned there was no use kicking or struggling, Oberon was simply too strong, and didn't even react to the kicks Galahad managed to land in his frenzy. Still, as the cool water flowed around his head, Galahad kept struggling.
"I told you, be calm!" Oberon hissed, and once again Galahad was struck by how clear his voice was.
He refused to open his mouth, so as not to allow the water to flow within. He couldn't turn to glare at the drowner. All he could do was begin to sob, angry and near defeated.
Yet as he wept, Galahad realized something strange. Though he was weeping from within the lake, he could feel the tears running down his cheeks, wet as they should be. Another truth struck him an instant later, he was dry aside from the tears.
From there it was simple to realize that he was breathing easily. It was as if the water he had been pushed through was but a film. He could feel its chill upon him, and there was a difference between Annwn above him and the lake he had been forced within.
"Good, good," Oberon whispered. The alien's grip on him loosened, and Galahad found himself at last following the instructions, his legs settling. He lay out by the river, face down into the river.
"Open your eyes." It was a different voice, directly beneath him. A beautiful, gentle, woman's voice. It startled him, and he kept his eyes firmly shut. Even now, he didn't fully trust this, not anymore.
"I won't hurt you," the woman said. Her voice was so gentle, Galahad thought he could detect no violence within it. The owner had never, would never, commit a violent act upon another.
Slowly, Galahad opened his eyes, and looked down into the lake. The water was utterly clear, and there was no obstruction to his sight. He was looking straight toward the bottom, which glittered brilliantly like a thousand stars.
Yet he could barely register the lakebed, for before him floated a woman under the lake. For all that he remained dry, she indeed seemed to be underwater, for her bright hair of shining gold billowed out around her face, and her pure white dress fluttered and wavered under invisible current. Her ears were long like Oberon's, marking her as clearly alien.
Her mouth never moved, but Galahad could hear her voice as if it came from her body, not ringing in his mind like he'd heard a wretched psyker would be like. Nonetheless, he felt fear, the woman floating before him was not human, and was perhaps something a bit more than what Oberon was.
"I cannot speak much. It places strain upon the realm itself. What do you seek, dear child?" Her eyes were infinitely gentle upon him, waiting.
"My brother!" Galahad wasn't sure where his voice came from, but knew it had come to the Lady. "He was taken by a Chaos Lord, Sir Turquine!"
She didn't respond with words, instead, one of her hands raised, and slowly she drew it up toward Galahad's head, almost in a motion of motherly comfort. Yet her hand came short of touching Galahad, as if there was a wall between them. He thought he could see something sparkling and oddly solid falling from her eyes, down toward the sparkling lake-bed.
Suddenly, Galahad was away from where he was, pulled from the lake down the rivers that emerged from within it. His consciousness flowed through Annwn barely aware of the sights before him, the eternal dusk of the strange realm gleaming pink above. Sometimes he could see shadows above the river, as if there were animals and perhaps people by it. But he was moving too swiftly to make out concrete details.
Suddenly, he emerged from Annwn, the light going from the pink of dusk to the brightness of high afternoon. Galahad realized the country was vaguely familiar. Green fields, just outside the forest where farmers tended to sheep and grew crops to feed the realm. He moved with the speed of the high magics of the elder race until he came upon pure white cliffs above the sea.
And past the cliffs, like a cancerous growth, was a hulking thing, not quite ship, not quite castle, not quite hideous thorned plant. Galahad could feel its corruption, throbbing and pulsing, and a scent like Sir Turquine's herald entered his nostrils.
Suddenly, he was back in the lake, the beautiful alien woman staring up at him. Her eyes were soft and devastated. "That man serves the enemy of all, dear one. He is loathsome and terrible, and very strong. All you will have is your courage, little one, and what weapons you can carry." More sparkling objects seemed to fall from her eyes. "Be safe."
Galahad was pulled free of the water, blinking, confused. He was dry except for the tears still running down his face. He looked into the mirror of the lake, and for a moment he could see the mysterious lady's face reflected in the water instead of his. But then she wavered and faded away as if she had never been.
"You did quite well," Oberon said suddenly, "you humans are most confusing sometimes."
Galahad turned to stare up at his mad guide. "Why?" he whispered, dumbfounded. He couldn't bring himself to be angry, not now.
"It needed to be a shock, when it comes to humans that is ever required. As for the water, water frozen in time cannot drown anyone human or eldar. Yet while an Aeldari would instantly realize this fact, humans always react as if they are supposed to drown, and in those moments can kill themselves involuntarily." Oberon sighed, shaking his head. "As I said, very confusing, how can one be killed by something that shouldn't kill them?"
"I know where my brother is being taken," Galahad said, finding the line of conversation disconcerting. "That is what truly matters."
"I see. I shall guide you as best I can to the best exit for where you need to go, I'm afraid I cannot help you past that. I can't leave Annwn for too long a period of time." Oberon didn't seem much interested in explaining that further, and Galahad had no desire to argue.
"Who was that lady?" he asked instead. "Was she…"
"The one you humans call the Lady of the Lake?" Oberon shrugged. "I have no idea what you humans are thinking in that regard. Perhaps you mean her, perhaps you are half-remembering another thing, or perhaps you really do mean that entity of the Gilded-Emperor, who once bathed in the water of this world. Or so you claim, at any rate."
"But who is she?" Galahad insisted.
Oberon began to walk away from the lake. His head was bowed and he suddenly looked very old and tired to Galahad's eyes. "When I knew humans well, as friends, you had a religion. According to that religion, your kind was born damned, that long ago you did something so horrible it necessitated eternal punishment. Until, one day, a savior was born upon your earth, and through his sacrifice and his blood, that original sin was cleansed at last."
Galahad followed, once again feeling frustrated at Oberon's insistence on being so opaque. "That doesn't answer my question."
"I can't answer it," Oberon said, "I cannot speak her name. I don't have the right." He turned, and his face carried the weight of uncounted millenia of pain. "Your kind spoke of being damned, but you have no understanding of it. You knew, know, nothing of what it is to be stained forever with sin. To hear the endless hunting call of an enemy that owns your very soul. You should know, Galahad, no savior is coming, none shall ever come. Not for the Aeldari, not for humanity."
Shivering, Galahad continued to follow the man. "Yet," he found himself fumbling at ideas, at crumbs he could just pick up from what Oberon said, "this Annwn, it was designed for purpose, right? And she is part of it?"
"Oh yes. What you see around you is the last enchantment of the Tuatha de Danum, we who saw the Fall. It is a slim hope, a weak and pathetic hope, but it is our hope."
"She told me all I would have is my courage, and I will hold to that. Hope is part of that." Galahad was quiet for a moment. "You're scared, aren't you, Oberon?"
The alien warrior did not answer or look back at the boy. He kept walking, silent as the realm around them.
[Happy Mother's Day]
Yet he quickly learned there was no use kicking or struggling, Oberon was simply too strong, and didn't even react to the kicks Galahad managed to land in his frenzy. Still, as the cool water flowed around his head, Galahad kept struggling.
"I told you, be calm!" Oberon hissed, and once again Galahad was struck by how clear his voice was.
He refused to open his mouth, so as not to allow the water to flow within. He couldn't turn to glare at the drowner. All he could do was begin to sob, angry and near defeated.
Yet as he wept, Galahad realized something strange. Though he was weeping from within the lake, he could feel the tears running down his cheeks, wet as they should be. Another truth struck him an instant later, he was dry aside from the tears.
From there it was simple to realize that he was breathing easily. It was as if the water he had been pushed through was but a film. He could feel its chill upon him, and there was a difference between Annwn above him and the lake he had been forced within.
"Good, good," Oberon whispered. The alien's grip on him loosened, and Galahad found himself at last following the instructions, his legs settling. He lay out by the river, face down into the river.
"Open your eyes." It was a different voice, directly beneath him. A beautiful, gentle, woman's voice. It startled him, and he kept his eyes firmly shut. Even now, he didn't fully trust this, not anymore.
"I won't hurt you," the woman said. Her voice was so gentle, Galahad thought he could detect no violence within it. The owner had never, would never, commit a violent act upon another.
Slowly, Galahad opened his eyes, and looked down into the lake. The water was utterly clear, and there was no obstruction to his sight. He was looking straight toward the bottom, which glittered brilliantly like a thousand stars.
Yet he could barely register the lakebed, for before him floated a woman under the lake. For all that he remained dry, she indeed seemed to be underwater, for her bright hair of shining gold billowed out around her face, and her pure white dress fluttered and wavered under invisible current. Her ears were long like Oberon's, marking her as clearly alien.
Her mouth never moved, but Galahad could hear her voice as if it came from her body, not ringing in his mind like he'd heard a wretched psyker would be like. Nonetheless, he felt fear, the woman floating before him was not human, and was perhaps something a bit more than what Oberon was.
"I cannot speak much. It places strain upon the realm itself. What do you seek, dear child?" Her eyes were infinitely gentle upon him, waiting.
"My brother!" Galahad wasn't sure where his voice came from, but knew it had come to the Lady. "He was taken by a Chaos Lord, Sir Turquine!"
She didn't respond with words, instead, one of her hands raised, and slowly she drew it up toward Galahad's head, almost in a motion of motherly comfort. Yet her hand came short of touching Galahad, as if there was a wall between them. He thought he could see something sparkling and oddly solid falling from her eyes, down toward the sparkling lake-bed.
Suddenly, Galahad was away from where he was, pulled from the lake down the rivers that emerged from within it. His consciousness flowed through Annwn barely aware of the sights before him, the eternal dusk of the strange realm gleaming pink above. Sometimes he could see shadows above the river, as if there were animals and perhaps people by it. But he was moving too swiftly to make out concrete details.
Suddenly, he emerged from Annwn, the light going from the pink of dusk to the brightness of high afternoon. Galahad realized the country was vaguely familiar. Green fields, just outside the forest where farmers tended to sheep and grew crops to feed the realm. He moved with the speed of the high magics of the elder race until he came upon pure white cliffs above the sea.
And past the cliffs, like a cancerous growth, was a hulking thing, not quite ship, not quite castle, not quite hideous thorned plant. Galahad could feel its corruption, throbbing and pulsing, and a scent like Sir Turquine's herald entered his nostrils.
Suddenly, he was back in the lake, the beautiful alien woman staring up at him. Her eyes were soft and devastated. "That man serves the enemy of all, dear one. He is loathsome and terrible, and very strong. All you will have is your courage, little one, and what weapons you can carry." More sparkling objects seemed to fall from her eyes. "Be safe."
Galahad was pulled free of the water, blinking, confused. He was dry except for the tears still running down his face. He looked into the mirror of the lake, and for a moment he could see the mysterious lady's face reflected in the water instead of his. But then she wavered and faded away as if she had never been.
"You did quite well," Oberon said suddenly, "you humans are most confusing sometimes."
Galahad turned to stare up at his mad guide. "Why?" he whispered, dumbfounded. He couldn't bring himself to be angry, not now.
"It needed to be a shock, when it comes to humans that is ever required. As for the water, water frozen in time cannot drown anyone human or eldar. Yet while an Aeldari would instantly realize this fact, humans always react as if they are supposed to drown, and in those moments can kill themselves involuntarily." Oberon sighed, shaking his head. "As I said, very confusing, how can one be killed by something that shouldn't kill them?"
"I know where my brother is being taken," Galahad said, finding the line of conversation disconcerting. "That is what truly matters."
"I see. I shall guide you as best I can to the best exit for where you need to go, I'm afraid I cannot help you past that. I can't leave Annwn for too long a period of time." Oberon didn't seem much interested in explaining that further, and Galahad had no desire to argue.
"Who was that lady?" he asked instead. "Was she…"
"The one you humans call the Lady of the Lake?" Oberon shrugged. "I have no idea what you humans are thinking in that regard. Perhaps you mean her, perhaps you are half-remembering another thing, or perhaps you really do mean that entity of the Gilded-Emperor, who once bathed in the water of this world. Or so you claim, at any rate."
"But who is she?" Galahad insisted.
Oberon began to walk away from the lake. His head was bowed and he suddenly looked very old and tired to Galahad's eyes. "When I knew humans well, as friends, you had a religion. According to that religion, your kind was born damned, that long ago you did something so horrible it necessitated eternal punishment. Until, one day, a savior was born upon your earth, and through his sacrifice and his blood, that original sin was cleansed at last."
Galahad followed, once again feeling frustrated at Oberon's insistence on being so opaque. "That doesn't answer my question."
"I can't answer it," Oberon said, "I cannot speak her name. I don't have the right." He turned, and his face carried the weight of uncounted millenia of pain. "Your kind spoke of being damned, but you have no understanding of it. You knew, know, nothing of what it is to be stained forever with sin. To hear the endless hunting call of an enemy that owns your very soul. You should know, Galahad, no savior is coming, none shall ever come. Not for the Aeldari, not for humanity."
Shivering, Galahad continued to follow the man. "Yet," he found himself fumbling at ideas, at crumbs he could just pick up from what Oberon said, "this Annwn, it was designed for purpose, right? And she is part of it?"
"Oh yes. What you see around you is the last enchantment of the Tuatha de Danum, we who saw the Fall. It is a slim hope, a weak and pathetic hope, but it is our hope."
"She told me all I would have is my courage, and I will hold to that. Hope is part of that." Galahad was quiet for a moment. "You're scared, aren't you, Oberon?"
The alien warrior did not answer or look back at the boy. He kept walking, silent as the realm around them.
[Happy Mother's Day]
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- Location
- A Pit Of My Own Making
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Cuts off here.
This is somekind of ship right?
Intresting update, references to the Fall.