MysticKnightJoe
Defender of Holy Terra
- Location
- Fighting the Forces of Evil Across the Cosmos
Arthur, Meliodas, Galehaut. I really need to do a scene with Arthur's rivals soon
A Light in the Dark: A King Arthur/Warhammer 40k Imperial Knights Story
- Thread starter MysticKnightJoe
- Start date
- Crossover Fantasy
Well I got 1 out of 3; thats almost a passing grade.
MysticKnightJoe
Defender of Holy Terra
- Location
- Fighting the Forces of Evil Across the Cosmos
Don't worry, Cu Chulainn won't be Sir Not Appearing in this Fic
- Location
- Australia
Well going by Arthurian lore it be Galehaut who at first was rival to King Arthur who wouldn't accept a crown until he conquered Arthur's kingdom, he would later become one if his knights in exchange for being *friends* with Lancelot. His mother was a giant which... is probably why he isn't a popular choice
Midnight Mass Part 3
MysticKnightJoe
Defender of Holy Terra
- Location
- Fighting the Forces of Evil Across the Cosmos
Vivian kneeled before the altar, head down as the Mother Superior walked around her. She could imagine the severe expression on the old woman's face. She bowed her head lower, in supplication. "Mother Superior, I don't know what I've done to upset you, but pray forgive your humble Sister."
"Oh quit it, you little whore," Ninnian said flatly. "I know precisely who you are, and a Sister of mine you are not."
"Mother?" Vivian added a quiver to her voice, of shock and pain.
She felt something cold placed on the top of her head, pressing down into her wimple. She could feel it through the cloth. Her heartbeat quickened, but she forced herself to remain calm. "Mother please," she cried. She made herself cry.
"You are well-trained. Some hearts would be moved by a pretty girl crying like that, and hesitate long enough for you to sheathe your knife in their heart." The cold shape withdrew as quickly as it was placed. "Would it help if I said I have no intention of killing you? Throne of Terra, I don't even have any bolts."
Vivian looked up, putting on a face of hope. "Mother, this has been a misunderstanding, I thank you for your benevolence!"
The Mother Superior gave her a truly placid look. In her hand was the great bolter from the altar, carried in both hands. Vivian noticed her arms were straining against the weight of the terrible gun, and Vivian felt a bit of pleasure at the fact this old woman was indeed beginning to be affected by the ravages of time.
"Did my sister send you, or did you just happen to slip in with the one-armed boy?"
"Your sister?" Vivian asked, innocently.
"Nimue, leader of your sect," Ninnian said, "don't play dumb, child, it is embarrassing. You've been made, just accept it."
Vivian absently observed the bolter in Ninnian's arms. She found that, for all its gilding, it was quite the ugly weapon. Blocky and crude, deadly and destructive, it was the perfect weapon to represent the Imperium, she decided.
Ninnian scowled. "Very well." She turned, and set the bolter back onto the altar. Reaching down, Ninnian produced a whip, covered in nasty looking nubs. "You are being obstinate, Sister. Bend over for just punishment."
At the gun being put away, Vivian found she wasn't so worried anymore. She burst into laughter. "And you call us lustful."
Ninnian scowled. "There is nothing sexual about this, this is punishment. I am very tempted to use it on you even now. I do thank you for revealing yourself at last."
"I question how you managed it?" Vivian asked. "I was quite indistinguishable."
"You aren't wearing several pieces of the Sororitas uniform," Ninnian said, "including the undergarments. I can tell if a Sister isn't wearing the full uniform on sight, it is the most common disciplinary problem. From there I remembered that Sir Bedwyr was accompanied by a woman of the Damsel sect. I do hope the woman whose uniform you stole remains alive."
"Perish the thought, it hasn't come to murder yet, at least on our side of this silly conflict." Vivian smiled, dropping the last vestiges of her disguise. "It seems you are intensifying matters."
"Only because my sister is! I know of her schemes, looking into matters of magics and heresy! I demand you tell me the depths of this, whatever you may know."
"I haven't been under the lake in some time, Mother Superior. I only know the general orders given, and have been following them to the best of my ability."
"Latch onto the strong, and bed whomever seems to bring you closer to that end. Sir Bedwyr the One-Armed is said to be a close friend of King Arthur, the new potential High King."
"King Arthur is the High King by rights," Vivian said mildly, "and Sir Bedwyr is my beloved, he could be a common serving man and I'd still gladly warm his bed."
"Truly sickening." Ninnian stood before her, arms crossed. "You know of us even if you claim to know little of your own faction, which I shall stress I believe is a lie on your part."
"You could try and flog it out of me," Vivian said mildly, "but I don't think you'd get much."
"I'm sure you are well used to it, you pet." Ninnian set down the whip. "Still, you may be of use. Many of the Imperial Cult on Avalon are hesitant to communicate with King Arthur. He is an unknown entity, after all, and is tied strongly to the Beast Merlin, an entity many believe to be an arch-heretic, if not a witch and xenos-breed mutant creature."
"That is where the title you have given him comes from," Vivian said, "beware the Beast, that stands at the exact midpoint of heretic, mutant, xenos, and neverborn, for he epitomizes deceit and destruction."
"I am impressed, you know the great lectures even if you choose to betray them."
"Do not project your sister upon me," Vivian said primly. "My sect is sanctioned, even if you try to deny it."
"Sanctioned, yes, but it hasn't been examined in five hundred years, perhaps more. You've all been most suspicious, of late. I think helping me could allay some of that suspicion."
"Oh very well, do explain," Vivian muttered, "I'm sure I can manage, so long as it isn't too complicated.
Before Ninnian could answer, there was the pounding of footsteps, and the great door of the chapel swung open. Bedwyr stood in the doorway, a long dagger in hand, Palamedes behind him. He looked as furious as Vivian had ever seen him.
[Not proud of the length of this one. Went on vacation and had a bit of a nasty fall, which made this week a bit messy. Nothing broken, but it did give me severe pain and kind of shoved my original plan for this update out of my head. Should be back on track now.]
"Oh quit it, you little whore," Ninnian said flatly. "I know precisely who you are, and a Sister of mine you are not."
"Mother?" Vivian added a quiver to her voice, of shock and pain.
She felt something cold placed on the top of her head, pressing down into her wimple. She could feel it through the cloth. Her heartbeat quickened, but she forced herself to remain calm. "Mother please," she cried. She made herself cry.
"You are well-trained. Some hearts would be moved by a pretty girl crying like that, and hesitate long enough for you to sheathe your knife in their heart." The cold shape withdrew as quickly as it was placed. "Would it help if I said I have no intention of killing you? Throne of Terra, I don't even have any bolts."
Vivian looked up, putting on a face of hope. "Mother, this has been a misunderstanding, I thank you for your benevolence!"
The Mother Superior gave her a truly placid look. In her hand was the great bolter from the altar, carried in both hands. Vivian noticed her arms were straining against the weight of the terrible gun, and Vivian felt a bit of pleasure at the fact this old woman was indeed beginning to be affected by the ravages of time.
"Did my sister send you, or did you just happen to slip in with the one-armed boy?"
"Your sister?" Vivian asked, innocently.
"Nimue, leader of your sect," Ninnian said, "don't play dumb, child, it is embarrassing. You've been made, just accept it."
Vivian absently observed the bolter in Ninnian's arms. She found that, for all its gilding, it was quite the ugly weapon. Blocky and crude, deadly and destructive, it was the perfect weapon to represent the Imperium, she decided.
Ninnian scowled. "Very well." She turned, and set the bolter back onto the altar. Reaching down, Ninnian produced a whip, covered in nasty looking nubs. "You are being obstinate, Sister. Bend over for just punishment."
At the gun being put away, Vivian found she wasn't so worried anymore. She burst into laughter. "And you call us lustful."
Ninnian scowled. "There is nothing sexual about this, this is punishment. I am very tempted to use it on you even now. I do thank you for revealing yourself at last."
"I question how you managed it?" Vivian asked. "I was quite indistinguishable."
"You aren't wearing several pieces of the Sororitas uniform," Ninnian said, "including the undergarments. I can tell if a Sister isn't wearing the full uniform on sight, it is the most common disciplinary problem. From there I remembered that Sir Bedwyr was accompanied by a woman of the Damsel sect. I do hope the woman whose uniform you stole remains alive."
"Perish the thought, it hasn't come to murder yet, at least on our side of this silly conflict." Vivian smiled, dropping the last vestiges of her disguise. "It seems you are intensifying matters."
"Only because my sister is! I know of her schemes, looking into matters of magics and heresy! I demand you tell me the depths of this, whatever you may know."
"I haven't been under the lake in some time, Mother Superior. I only know the general orders given, and have been following them to the best of my ability."
"Latch onto the strong, and bed whomever seems to bring you closer to that end. Sir Bedwyr the One-Armed is said to be a close friend of King Arthur, the new potential High King."
"King Arthur is the High King by rights," Vivian said mildly, "and Sir Bedwyr is my beloved, he could be a common serving man and I'd still gladly warm his bed."
"Truly sickening." Ninnian stood before her, arms crossed. "You know of us even if you claim to know little of your own faction, which I shall stress I believe is a lie on your part."
"You could try and flog it out of me," Vivian said mildly, "but I don't think you'd get much."
"I'm sure you are well used to it, you pet." Ninnian set down the whip. "Still, you may be of use. Many of the Imperial Cult on Avalon are hesitant to communicate with King Arthur. He is an unknown entity, after all, and is tied strongly to the Beast Merlin, an entity many believe to be an arch-heretic, if not a witch and xenos-breed mutant creature."
"That is where the title you have given him comes from," Vivian said, "beware the Beast, that stands at the exact midpoint of heretic, mutant, xenos, and neverborn, for he epitomizes deceit and destruction."
"I am impressed, you know the great lectures even if you choose to betray them."
"Do not project your sister upon me," Vivian said primly. "My sect is sanctioned, even if you try to deny it."
"Sanctioned, yes, but it hasn't been examined in five hundred years, perhaps more. You've all been most suspicious, of late. I think helping me could allay some of that suspicion."
"Oh very well, do explain," Vivian muttered, "I'm sure I can manage, so long as it isn't too complicated.
Before Ninnian could answer, there was the pounding of footsteps, and the great door of the chapel swung open. Bedwyr stood in the doorway, a long dagger in hand, Palamedes behind him. He looked as furious as Vivian had ever seen him.
[Not proud of the length of this one. Went on vacation and had a bit of a nasty fall, which made this week a bit messy. Nothing broken, but it did give me severe pain and kind of shoved my original plan for this update out of my head. Should be back on track now.]
Last edited:
Icipall
Don't worry, we can fanfix that!
- Location
- Cold snow fields of Finland
Sororitas.
Well, this was a surprise interruption. Hopefully it will not end with stabbing. And that Bedwyr did not forget his pants.
This is giving a sense of dread for Bedwyr and Vivian, and I hope I'm wrong.
MysticKnightJoe
Defender of Holy Terra
- Location
- Fighting the Forces of Evil Across the Cosmos
Originally I was going to show the conclusion of this segment here, but I was running late already so...have another evil cliffhanger in this trying time
Midnight Mass Part 4
MysticKnightJoe
Defender of Holy Terra
- Location
- Fighting the Forces of Evil Across the Cosmos
Bedwyr's dreams were a jumble of madness and random images, though it had begun pleasantly enough. He and Vivian hadn't been able to make love after their conversation, but the warmth of her naked body next to his had thrilled him enough, and his dreams had begun to go down the possibilities.
The softness of Vivian's skin disappeared in favor of coarse sand, of the sort Bedwyr remembered from a fight in the Chaoslands. He remembered lying flat on the stuff, bone-weary and sore. It was one of his more unpleasant memories and it seemed to be being dredged up from his subconsciousness.
"The Sea of Steel is what they call it," he remembered Derfel Cadarn saying. The red-haired warrior was lying beside him, equally exhausted. There was blood running down his brow. He'd suffered a blow during the last battle. "Remains of a thousand weapons, ground down to dust."
"What weapons?" Bedwyr asked. He could feel the blade like edges digging into his skin.
"Nobody knows. Remnants of one of the ancient wars." Derfel sat up, back to Bedwyr. All over his back, the sand had dug into him, and blood was flowing down in great rivalets.
This wasn't part of Bedwyr's memory, it was a distortion of the dream. "Sir Derfel," he managed. He tried to sit up, but it felt like great chains were digging into his back, anchoring him to the sand.
"Weapons, they say, ever desire to draw blood, even in a reduced state. Even a mundane sword is no mere plowshare, it desires to rip and tear into living guts. The Sea of Steel wasn't made by mundane weapons, so the legends go." The blood down the dream form's back was so intense the back ceased to appear as the pale white of Derfel's skin, it was red as blood the whole way.
Bedwyr felt himself being pulled downward, his back and shoulder and legs screaming in agony, the coarse steel sand ripping into him.
"The Sea of Steel is not cursed. Nothing is truly cursed. It is all simply things coming closer to what they are meant to be. What are you meant to be, Bedwyr? A weapon. Nothing more or less." It was no longer Derfel's voice either.
The sand was all over Bedwyr now, and he could feel the temptation to succumb. It was only a dream, after all. He would wake up. Yet another part of him recognized the grip of magic. This was either another direct assault upon him or simply a bitter aftereffect of the places he had been in his short and painful life.
So he struggled. He grit his teeth and snarled. He forced his hand up, and gripped tight the ground, so the sand was pressed together in his palm and cut into the skin painfully. He began to force himself upright.
It hadn't been like this when he had been here in the waking world, all it had been was a miserable beach of strange steel-gray sand. His mind gripped onto that, and he tried to enforce it upon his dream with every bit of willpower he could muster. The half-remembered awen Myrddin had taught him so long ago kept him stable.
With a roar, he was free of the sand, painful liaisons weeping blood onto the ground. He forced a limping step forward. "Where are you?" he snarled. But the apparition that had taken the form of Sir Derfel was gone.
"Bedwyr." The voice was gentle and familiar.
"Myrddin!" Bedwyr turned. The wizard was standing on a patch of green, past the beach, a long staff in hand, his pale hair fluttering in a breeze.
The wizard smiled. "I am proud of you, Sir Bedwyr. You've been doing so well. Many mortals would fall before the magics that have been besetting you for so long, yet you have stood firm. You didn't even need my aid this time."
Bedwyr staggered away from the beach, onto the green with Myrddin. "Yet I can't do anything to fight back. All I can do is endure." He closed his eyes. "It's agony."
"There was a war between Chaos and Order of old." Myrddin patted him on the shoulder. "Endurance is the best one can hope for."
"Was?" Bedwyr asked, confused.
"Chaos won. It won a long time ago. We stand in the ruins that remain."
"So it is hopeless?" Bedwyr asked.
"No!" Myrddin boomed. Around him his power grew outward. More sand was replaced by green. "No Bedwyr! It will never be hopeless so long as humankind endures, so long as they stand firm." The wizard waved his great staff. Bedwyr turned. Growing from the sea came a mighty fortress, of white, gold, and red. "Behold. King Arthur's dream."
Bedwyr looked at it indeed, and found he was beginning to weep. He bowed his head. "Arthur is beyond me," he said softly, "like a star in the heavens."
"Yet he needs you. He needs all his friends, all those he loves and who love him. That is the only way it can come. The dream to stand firm before the unending grind of Chaos." Myrddin set down his staff with a sigh.
"What is it called?" Bedwyr asked.
Myrddin laughed. There was a twinkle in his eyes. "I can't answer that. Arthur will, you will be with him when he does. That is a prophecy I can make very easily."
"First I need to heal," Bedwyr said.
"First, you need to wake up," Myrddin corrected him gently.
Bedwyr wanted to resist, but instantly, his eyes snapped open and he was back in the miserable medical cot. The dream was still vivid in his mind, but he could already feel it fading away. Irritating how that worked, no matter how vivid, no matter how much it was clearly an esoteric attack, dreams ever disappeared from his memory.
After a moment, Bedwyr decided to hell with orders from his doctors, Myrddin had told him to love, so love he would. He reached for Vivian. She wasn't there.
In an instant, he flung off the sheets and sat up. He had an immediate terrible feeling. Vivian wouldn't have left him without reason. He grabbed his dagger from under his pillow and stumbled awkward to his feet. He limped to the door, pulling on his tunic as he did.
Palamedes was standing right in front of the door when Bedwyr flung it open. He started when he saw him, fighter's reflexes taking over when he saw the dagger in Bedwyr's hand. "Sir Bedwyr?" he said quickly, formally.
"Vivian is gone," Bedwyr said in answer, pushing past him. "Something is wrong."
Palamedes almost fell over, catching himself on the wall. "She could have just gone to the toilet," he called after Bedwyr.
Bedwyr ignored him. He made his way down the hall until he heard a rustling behind one of the doors. He turned and flung it open, revealing a supply room and a half-undressed Sister, her dark hair wild, her body bound. "I think I remember you," Bedwyr said dryly.
Palamedes came up behind him. He stared down at the woman for a moment. "Did Vivian do this?" he asked.
Bedwyr walked up and untied the woman. "I have to assume so."
She stood up, rubbing her wrists. "So she did, Sir Bedwyr." She gave him a flat look. "You really shouldn't be out of bed, you need rest."
Bedwyr laughed dryly. "No doubt you intended to wake me up, subject me to another lecture."
"You woke yourself up, not I," she declared hotly. "Your madwoman was with you this night, she attacked me, stole my uniform, and went to the chapel. She wants to hear Mother Superior's Midnight Mass, so she can carry information back to her sect."
"And here I thought we had promised each other we wouldn't think about work." Bedwyr stood back up. He offered the Sister his hand, which she took. "Let me retrieve her, before some ill thing befalls her." He had a terrible feeling.
She took the offered hand, surprisingly gently. She barely needed his help to rise to her feet. "This way," she said. She started to walk down the hall. "Want my clothing back," she added after a moment. "Otherwise I'd just give you two instructions and call it a night."
They passed other Sisters, who gave them confused and worried looks, but didn't interfere. A few did follow them to the Chapel, cautiously hanging back from the three. Until they reached the great doors of the chapel.
Without waiting for anything, Bedwyr stormed forward and flung open the doors. He beheld the great pews of the place, lined up across the entire hall. There was a great statue on the altar of a winged woman, her face fierce as any warrior.
And across the chapel was Vivian, kneeling before the altar, an elderly woman in a wimple standing over her, scowling darkly. Both women were looking straight at Bedwyr and Palamedes. Their escort has seemingly wisely ducked out of sight for the time being.
Bedwyr stepped into the chapel. "I understand there has been a misunderstanding," he said calmly.
The softness of Vivian's skin disappeared in favor of coarse sand, of the sort Bedwyr remembered from a fight in the Chaoslands. He remembered lying flat on the stuff, bone-weary and sore. It was one of his more unpleasant memories and it seemed to be being dredged up from his subconsciousness.
"The Sea of Steel is what they call it," he remembered Derfel Cadarn saying. The red-haired warrior was lying beside him, equally exhausted. There was blood running down his brow. He'd suffered a blow during the last battle. "Remains of a thousand weapons, ground down to dust."
"What weapons?" Bedwyr asked. He could feel the blade like edges digging into his skin.
"Nobody knows. Remnants of one of the ancient wars." Derfel sat up, back to Bedwyr. All over his back, the sand had dug into him, and blood was flowing down in great rivalets.
This wasn't part of Bedwyr's memory, it was a distortion of the dream. "Sir Derfel," he managed. He tried to sit up, but it felt like great chains were digging into his back, anchoring him to the sand.
"Weapons, they say, ever desire to draw blood, even in a reduced state. Even a mundane sword is no mere plowshare, it desires to rip and tear into living guts. The Sea of Steel wasn't made by mundane weapons, so the legends go." The blood down the dream form's back was so intense the back ceased to appear as the pale white of Derfel's skin, it was red as blood the whole way.
Bedwyr felt himself being pulled downward, his back and shoulder and legs screaming in agony, the coarse steel sand ripping into him.
"The Sea of Steel is not cursed. Nothing is truly cursed. It is all simply things coming closer to what they are meant to be. What are you meant to be, Bedwyr? A weapon. Nothing more or less." It was no longer Derfel's voice either.
The sand was all over Bedwyr now, and he could feel the temptation to succumb. It was only a dream, after all. He would wake up. Yet another part of him recognized the grip of magic. This was either another direct assault upon him or simply a bitter aftereffect of the places he had been in his short and painful life.
So he struggled. He grit his teeth and snarled. He forced his hand up, and gripped tight the ground, so the sand was pressed together in his palm and cut into the skin painfully. He began to force himself upright.
It hadn't been like this when he had been here in the waking world, all it had been was a miserable beach of strange steel-gray sand. His mind gripped onto that, and he tried to enforce it upon his dream with every bit of willpower he could muster. The half-remembered awen Myrddin had taught him so long ago kept him stable.
With a roar, he was free of the sand, painful liaisons weeping blood onto the ground. He forced a limping step forward. "Where are you?" he snarled. But the apparition that had taken the form of Sir Derfel was gone.
"Bedwyr." The voice was gentle and familiar.
"Myrddin!" Bedwyr turned. The wizard was standing on a patch of green, past the beach, a long staff in hand, his pale hair fluttering in a breeze.
The wizard smiled. "I am proud of you, Sir Bedwyr. You've been doing so well. Many mortals would fall before the magics that have been besetting you for so long, yet you have stood firm. You didn't even need my aid this time."
Bedwyr staggered away from the beach, onto the green with Myrddin. "Yet I can't do anything to fight back. All I can do is endure." He closed his eyes. "It's agony."
"There was a war between Chaos and Order of old." Myrddin patted him on the shoulder. "Endurance is the best one can hope for."
"Was?" Bedwyr asked, confused.
"Chaos won. It won a long time ago. We stand in the ruins that remain."
"So it is hopeless?" Bedwyr asked.
"No!" Myrddin boomed. Around him his power grew outward. More sand was replaced by green. "No Bedwyr! It will never be hopeless so long as humankind endures, so long as they stand firm." The wizard waved his great staff. Bedwyr turned. Growing from the sea came a mighty fortress, of white, gold, and red. "Behold. King Arthur's dream."
Bedwyr looked at it indeed, and found he was beginning to weep. He bowed his head. "Arthur is beyond me," he said softly, "like a star in the heavens."
"Yet he needs you. He needs all his friends, all those he loves and who love him. That is the only way it can come. The dream to stand firm before the unending grind of Chaos." Myrddin set down his staff with a sigh.
"What is it called?" Bedwyr asked.
Myrddin laughed. There was a twinkle in his eyes. "I can't answer that. Arthur will, you will be with him when he does. That is a prophecy I can make very easily."
"First I need to heal," Bedwyr said.
"First, you need to wake up," Myrddin corrected him gently.
Bedwyr wanted to resist, but instantly, his eyes snapped open and he was back in the miserable medical cot. The dream was still vivid in his mind, but he could already feel it fading away. Irritating how that worked, no matter how vivid, no matter how much it was clearly an esoteric attack, dreams ever disappeared from his memory.
After a moment, Bedwyr decided to hell with orders from his doctors, Myrddin had told him to love, so love he would. He reached for Vivian. She wasn't there.
In an instant, he flung off the sheets and sat up. He had an immediate terrible feeling. Vivian wouldn't have left him without reason. He grabbed his dagger from under his pillow and stumbled awkward to his feet. He limped to the door, pulling on his tunic as he did.
Palamedes was standing right in front of the door when Bedwyr flung it open. He started when he saw him, fighter's reflexes taking over when he saw the dagger in Bedwyr's hand. "Sir Bedwyr?" he said quickly, formally.
"Vivian is gone," Bedwyr said in answer, pushing past him. "Something is wrong."
Palamedes almost fell over, catching himself on the wall. "She could have just gone to the toilet," he called after Bedwyr.
Bedwyr ignored him. He made his way down the hall until he heard a rustling behind one of the doors. He turned and flung it open, revealing a supply room and a half-undressed Sister, her dark hair wild, her body bound. "I think I remember you," Bedwyr said dryly.
Palamedes came up behind him. He stared down at the woman for a moment. "Did Vivian do this?" he asked.
Bedwyr walked up and untied the woman. "I have to assume so."
She stood up, rubbing her wrists. "So she did, Sir Bedwyr." She gave him a flat look. "You really shouldn't be out of bed, you need rest."
Bedwyr laughed dryly. "No doubt you intended to wake me up, subject me to another lecture."
"You woke yourself up, not I," she declared hotly. "Your madwoman was with you this night, she attacked me, stole my uniform, and went to the chapel. She wants to hear Mother Superior's Midnight Mass, so she can carry information back to her sect."
"And here I thought we had promised each other we wouldn't think about work." Bedwyr stood back up. He offered the Sister his hand, which she took. "Let me retrieve her, before some ill thing befalls her." He had a terrible feeling.
She took the offered hand, surprisingly gently. She barely needed his help to rise to her feet. "This way," she said. She started to walk down the hall. "Want my clothing back," she added after a moment. "Otherwise I'd just give you two instructions and call it a night."
They passed other Sisters, who gave them confused and worried looks, but didn't interfere. A few did follow them to the Chapel, cautiously hanging back from the three. Until they reached the great doors of the chapel.
Without waiting for anything, Bedwyr stormed forward and flung open the doors. He beheld the great pews of the place, lined up across the entire hall. There was a great statue on the altar of a winged woman, her face fierce as any warrior.
And across the chapel was Vivian, kneeling before the altar, an elderly woman in a wimple standing over her, scowling darkly. Both women were looking straight at Bedwyr and Palamedes. Their escort has seemingly wisely ducked out of sight for the time being.
Bedwyr stepped into the chapel. "I understand there has been a misunderstanding," he said calmly.
Icipall
Don't worry, we can fanfix that!
- Location
- Cold snow fields of Finland
Yu horni.
Very well done, Bedwyr.
View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m3dZl3yfGpc
That's one way to put it.
Getting some big old Gandalf vibes from Myrddin right; wonder if he some how has a copy of lord of the rings?
Midnight Mass Part 5
MysticKnightJoe
Defender of Holy Terra
- Location
- Fighting the Forces of Evil Across the Cosmos
Mother Ninnian watched as the crippled boy limped across the hall. He was almost pretty, she thought, if it weren't for the permanent squint his missing eye gave him, the terrible limp on his stubby leg, and the cold wrath that filled his delicate features. The dagger in his hand was only secondary to that, she knew the boy was well bloodied, but she could get her hands on the sacred sword in an instant, and he'd be surprised how well an old lady could fight when her life was on the line.
"There is," Ninnian said, her voice harsh, as it would be when speaking to a misbehaving novice. "On your part, Sir Bedwyr. Go back to bed."
"No." Bedwyr took another hobbling step forward.
Ninnian watched him carefully. She wasn't fooled, she could tell Bedwyr was well used to his disability, the limp was a feint, he could fight well enough. "Control your man, Vivian," she told the young woman before her.
"Oh I don't think I can," Vivian said cheerfully, "he is most willful, especially when he believes me threatened."
Vivian, Ninnian decided, was a rather irritating little creature. She wished she hadn't set down the whip. "Well you aren't, we had come to an understanding, hadn't we?"
Bedwyr proved to be no blood-hungry berserk. He stopped short, half-way down the altar. He looked at Vivian. "What is she talking about?"
"It seems Mother Superior has forgiven me for my indiscretion, she wishes to propose to me a mission." Vivian smiled. "No doubt as she is more willing to risk me than one of her Sisters."
"Moreso because your sect is better suited for espionage and combat," Ninnian said with a sniff. "At present, anyway. I wouldn't trust half the girls here to handle a minor attack from Chaos slave-creatures."
"Such isn't your duty, you aren't soldiers." Bedwyr finally lowered his dagger, still scowling. "Neither is Vivian."
"Oh she is worse than a soldier, or a knight for that matter," Ninnian stepped away from the still kneeling mutant, resisting the urge to glare at her. Satisfying as that would be, Bedwyr struck her as the kind of knight who was decidedly protective of the women who shared his bed. Up close, she was struck by how young he was. He wasn't even twenty yet, she thought.
Behind Bedwyr were two other people. Sir Palamedes, a black man in well-worn armor, unarmed thank the God-Emperor, but with a pensive expression on his face that suggested he recognized the uncomfortable energy of the situation. The other was one of her Sisters, wearing nothing of her uniform but her underclothes. No doubt the victim of Vivian's trickery.
Ninnian tried to recall what she had heard of Sir Bedwyr's warband. They were said to be a most eclectic bunch. A reformed mutant berserk, a member of a house unknown to both loyalist and heretic, a soldier-fanatic of a priest who'd rejected the cassock in favor of the warhammer, and a revolving cast of ragged guerilla fighters who served the undead King Vercingetorix.
Sir Bedwyr had led these warriors at a very young age, won several key battles, and most impressively to Ninnian, kept them from murdering each other. Bedwyr was no King, but he was a warleader of some charisma and talent. In short, useful. He'd be admirable if his allegiance wasn't so murky.
"What do you know of the Chaos Lord called Bluebeard?" Ninnian asked.
Bedwyr laughed. "I know that is what cowards who fear speaking the enemy's name call him."
"Arrogant boy, to speak a name is to give it power. Bluebeard is dangerous in very much that regard, his true name shall not be spoken in this holy place!"
"If you insist." Bedwyr walked past her, to stand closer to Vivian. Despite his limp, he had the arrogant way about him of a veteran knight. "Bluebeard is indeed a name I know him by. The Prince of Chaos. I have a particular grudge against him. King Pellinore is in this very temple. I suspect you know what hurt him, unless you fear to speak of that particular detail."
"Bluebeard ambushed him dishonorably," Ninnian said stiffly. "So you have sworn vengeance on him."
"I have," Bedwyr replied. He was beside Vivian now, helping her rise to her feet. He grimaced. "I tried, of course, but he has the backing of powerful magics, the weight of Chaos itself. Sevenblessed, they call him."
"Five by virtue, two by treachery," Vivian said. She shrugged. "But power they still grant."
"Here is the secret that cannot leave this hall." The risk of this was galling. "You can tell King Arthur, but he is the only one who can know." She looked. Palamedes was lurking near the back of the pews, close enough to hear. "Do you trust him?" she asked Bedwyr. "Is he loyal?"
"Of course he is," Bedwyr said immediately.
Ninnian shot Palamedes a glare, the knight giving her an abashed look in return. That was comforting, in a way, it was clear the man wasn't entirely comfortable with being here. A traitor would do his best to look eager.
"It has to do with their lost Saint, Trephine," Vivian whispered to her lover.
"We know where she is." Ninnian clenched her fists. "Years ago, we prayed in a great ritual to the God-Emperor. He heard our prayers from beyond the great storm. Saint Trephine came into being within the body of a Sister."
"I never heard of this ritual, or the result, from anyone," Bedwyr said.
"Of course you haven't. We intended to keep it hidden for just the right moment." It both was and wasn't a lie, but Bedwyr didn't need to know the complex agonies behind the matter. "Suffice to say, the ritual prayer was a success. The Saint would well save us from ourselves."
"I don't doubt you were going for Celestine." Bedwyr looked up toward the great depiction of the Battle Saint. "Scourge and purge."
"Until it is done. Yet battle is not the only way this war shall be won. Guidance and healing will be required as well. Does your King Arthur understand this? Does he worship the true God of the cosmos?"
Bedwyr's single eye glared at her. "He does. Of course he does."
"Understand, boy, there are options aside from the God-Emperor. They seem pleasing, but they are just as much heresy as Chaos. If King Arthur proves false, the holy fires will consume him as powerfully as if he was on the path to the Warp."
'King Arthur," Bedwyr said coldly, "is utterly loyal to the Code Chivalric. An edict of the Code is to always quest to the point of death to save a maiden from the clutches of evil. He is no heretic."
Ninnian made a note that Bedwyr hadn't answered the meat of her question. No matter, that could be discovered and handled at a later date. "My order is willing to back King Arthur. So long as he accepts certain provisions and a quest. Saint Trephine is in the hands of Bluebeard, Prince of Chaos. She is the source of his seventh blessing, a secret to his power. You, King Arthur, and Vivian of the Damsels shall vow to rescue her, once he unites all."
The brash young knight laughed. "That is a simple thing, I think." Ninnian saw Vivian give her lover a look that was a touch exasperated, before it melted into bemused resignation. "I, at least, vow. I intend to kill Bluebeard or Conomor or Vortimer or whatever fool name he shall be called by. Saving a woman in the process? That is fair and fine."
"If Sir Bedwyr vows, so shall I," Vivian said, a shade reluctantly.
"Do I need to as well?" Palamedes suddenly asked. "Truth be told, I'm not so sure how this accepting a quest is supposed to go. Sir Bedwyr is my commander, so what he vows to do, I should as well, but am I supposed to do that formally?"
"We will set something formal up shortly," Ninnian said briskly. "For now, Sir Bedwyr, you still need bed rest. Return to your room, and take your silly woman with you."
"Fine," Bedwyr said gruffly. He took Vivian by the arm.
Her Sister nudged Ninnian, looking at Vivian rather darkly.
"Oh yes, please have her return the uniform to my Sister."
Vivian, wrapped in Palamedes' cloak to attempt to disguise her nudity, squirmed with some embarrassment as she and Bedwyr walked back to his room, arm in arm. Bedwyr didn't feel as comforting as he usually did. He was stiff and cold and seemed still angry.
"Beddie?" She asked after a moment.
He sighed. "You went behind my back, you know. A lot could have gone very wrong, and these people could have reacted very differently. Mother Ninnian wants something from you and from me, but what if she had simply decided to kill us? We are surrounded, and they have much leverage."
Vivian scowled. "If the Imperial Cult proves to be an enemy pretending to be a friend, we have to know. I was only trying to gather information on what this sect is doing. Information that benefits King Arthur and Avalon as a whole." She pulled away from him. "You have your duties, and I have mine."
"I understand that!" Bedwyr let out a shuddering breath.
"Would you have refused the quest? Refused to swear by it?" Vivian glared at him. "It will involve you going into the Chaoslands and fighting a man who has managed to gain blessings from seven divinities. Do you think that doesn't make me worried?"
Bedwyr shrugged. "Was going to kill Vortimer anyway. Of course we will be entering the Chaoslands to wage war and save those good folk that remain. A Saint is just a bit more."
"What I'm saying is, we will all be in danger, very shortly. From enemies, which is far worse from being in danger from allies. Mother Ninnian and Lady Nimue have been squabbling for decades, but it hasn't gotten to the point of violence just yet. Sisterly regard, perhaps. Chaos, however, will not hesitate to kill you, kill us. That's dangerous. This wasn't, or at least it wasn't very dangerous." She managed a smile. "At worst, I would have been spanked."
Bedwyr smiled back. "Right now, I think I wouldn't mind spanking you a little."
Vivian felt a flush spring to her face. "Oh very well, I think I can allow that."
"There is," Ninnian said, her voice harsh, as it would be when speaking to a misbehaving novice. "On your part, Sir Bedwyr. Go back to bed."
"No." Bedwyr took another hobbling step forward.
Ninnian watched him carefully. She wasn't fooled, she could tell Bedwyr was well used to his disability, the limp was a feint, he could fight well enough. "Control your man, Vivian," she told the young woman before her.
"Oh I don't think I can," Vivian said cheerfully, "he is most willful, especially when he believes me threatened."
Vivian, Ninnian decided, was a rather irritating little creature. She wished she hadn't set down the whip. "Well you aren't, we had come to an understanding, hadn't we?"
Bedwyr proved to be no blood-hungry berserk. He stopped short, half-way down the altar. He looked at Vivian. "What is she talking about?"
"It seems Mother Superior has forgiven me for my indiscretion, she wishes to propose to me a mission." Vivian smiled. "No doubt as she is more willing to risk me than one of her Sisters."
"Moreso because your sect is better suited for espionage and combat," Ninnian said with a sniff. "At present, anyway. I wouldn't trust half the girls here to handle a minor attack from Chaos slave-creatures."
"Such isn't your duty, you aren't soldiers." Bedwyr finally lowered his dagger, still scowling. "Neither is Vivian."
"Oh she is worse than a soldier, or a knight for that matter," Ninnian stepped away from the still kneeling mutant, resisting the urge to glare at her. Satisfying as that would be, Bedwyr struck her as the kind of knight who was decidedly protective of the women who shared his bed. Up close, she was struck by how young he was. He wasn't even twenty yet, she thought.
Behind Bedwyr were two other people. Sir Palamedes, a black man in well-worn armor, unarmed thank the God-Emperor, but with a pensive expression on his face that suggested he recognized the uncomfortable energy of the situation. The other was one of her Sisters, wearing nothing of her uniform but her underclothes. No doubt the victim of Vivian's trickery.
Ninnian tried to recall what she had heard of Sir Bedwyr's warband. They were said to be a most eclectic bunch. A reformed mutant berserk, a member of a house unknown to both loyalist and heretic, a soldier-fanatic of a priest who'd rejected the cassock in favor of the warhammer, and a revolving cast of ragged guerilla fighters who served the undead King Vercingetorix.
Sir Bedwyr had led these warriors at a very young age, won several key battles, and most impressively to Ninnian, kept them from murdering each other. Bedwyr was no King, but he was a warleader of some charisma and talent. In short, useful. He'd be admirable if his allegiance wasn't so murky.
"What do you know of the Chaos Lord called Bluebeard?" Ninnian asked.
Bedwyr laughed. "I know that is what cowards who fear speaking the enemy's name call him."
"Arrogant boy, to speak a name is to give it power. Bluebeard is dangerous in very much that regard, his true name shall not be spoken in this holy place!"
"If you insist." Bedwyr walked past her, to stand closer to Vivian. Despite his limp, he had the arrogant way about him of a veteran knight. "Bluebeard is indeed a name I know him by. The Prince of Chaos. I have a particular grudge against him. King Pellinore is in this very temple. I suspect you know what hurt him, unless you fear to speak of that particular detail."
"Bluebeard ambushed him dishonorably," Ninnian said stiffly. "So you have sworn vengeance on him."
"I have," Bedwyr replied. He was beside Vivian now, helping her rise to her feet. He grimaced. "I tried, of course, but he has the backing of powerful magics, the weight of Chaos itself. Sevenblessed, they call him."
"Five by virtue, two by treachery," Vivian said. She shrugged. "But power they still grant."
"Here is the secret that cannot leave this hall." The risk of this was galling. "You can tell King Arthur, but he is the only one who can know." She looked. Palamedes was lurking near the back of the pews, close enough to hear. "Do you trust him?" she asked Bedwyr. "Is he loyal?"
"Of course he is," Bedwyr said immediately.
Ninnian shot Palamedes a glare, the knight giving her an abashed look in return. That was comforting, in a way, it was clear the man wasn't entirely comfortable with being here. A traitor would do his best to look eager.
"It has to do with their lost Saint, Trephine," Vivian whispered to her lover.
"We know where she is." Ninnian clenched her fists. "Years ago, we prayed in a great ritual to the God-Emperor. He heard our prayers from beyond the great storm. Saint Trephine came into being within the body of a Sister."
"I never heard of this ritual, or the result, from anyone," Bedwyr said.
"Of course you haven't. We intended to keep it hidden for just the right moment." It both was and wasn't a lie, but Bedwyr didn't need to know the complex agonies behind the matter. "Suffice to say, the ritual prayer was a success. The Saint would well save us from ourselves."
"I don't doubt you were going for Celestine." Bedwyr looked up toward the great depiction of the Battle Saint. "Scourge and purge."
"Until it is done. Yet battle is not the only way this war shall be won. Guidance and healing will be required as well. Does your King Arthur understand this? Does he worship the true God of the cosmos?"
Bedwyr's single eye glared at her. "He does. Of course he does."
"Understand, boy, there are options aside from the God-Emperor. They seem pleasing, but they are just as much heresy as Chaos. If King Arthur proves false, the holy fires will consume him as powerfully as if he was on the path to the Warp."
'King Arthur," Bedwyr said coldly, "is utterly loyal to the Code Chivalric. An edict of the Code is to always quest to the point of death to save a maiden from the clutches of evil. He is no heretic."
Ninnian made a note that Bedwyr hadn't answered the meat of her question. No matter, that could be discovered and handled at a later date. "My order is willing to back King Arthur. So long as he accepts certain provisions and a quest. Saint Trephine is in the hands of Bluebeard, Prince of Chaos. She is the source of his seventh blessing, a secret to his power. You, King Arthur, and Vivian of the Damsels shall vow to rescue her, once he unites all."
The brash young knight laughed. "That is a simple thing, I think." Ninnian saw Vivian give her lover a look that was a touch exasperated, before it melted into bemused resignation. "I, at least, vow. I intend to kill Bluebeard or Conomor or Vortimer or whatever fool name he shall be called by. Saving a woman in the process? That is fair and fine."
"If Sir Bedwyr vows, so shall I," Vivian said, a shade reluctantly.
"Do I need to as well?" Palamedes suddenly asked. "Truth be told, I'm not so sure how this accepting a quest is supposed to go. Sir Bedwyr is my commander, so what he vows to do, I should as well, but am I supposed to do that formally?"
"We will set something formal up shortly," Ninnian said briskly. "For now, Sir Bedwyr, you still need bed rest. Return to your room, and take your silly woman with you."
"Fine," Bedwyr said gruffly. He took Vivian by the arm.
Her Sister nudged Ninnian, looking at Vivian rather darkly.
"Oh yes, please have her return the uniform to my Sister."
************************
Vivian, wrapped in Palamedes' cloak to attempt to disguise her nudity, squirmed with some embarrassment as she and Bedwyr walked back to his room, arm in arm. Bedwyr didn't feel as comforting as he usually did. He was stiff and cold and seemed still angry.
"Beddie?" She asked after a moment.
He sighed. "You went behind my back, you know. A lot could have gone very wrong, and these people could have reacted very differently. Mother Ninnian wants something from you and from me, but what if she had simply decided to kill us? We are surrounded, and they have much leverage."
Vivian scowled. "If the Imperial Cult proves to be an enemy pretending to be a friend, we have to know. I was only trying to gather information on what this sect is doing. Information that benefits King Arthur and Avalon as a whole." She pulled away from him. "You have your duties, and I have mine."
"I understand that!" Bedwyr let out a shuddering breath.
"Would you have refused the quest? Refused to swear by it?" Vivian glared at him. "It will involve you going into the Chaoslands and fighting a man who has managed to gain blessings from seven divinities. Do you think that doesn't make me worried?"
Bedwyr shrugged. "Was going to kill Vortimer anyway. Of course we will be entering the Chaoslands to wage war and save those good folk that remain. A Saint is just a bit more."
"What I'm saying is, we will all be in danger, very shortly. From enemies, which is far worse from being in danger from allies. Mother Ninnian and Lady Nimue have been squabbling for decades, but it hasn't gotten to the point of violence just yet. Sisterly regard, perhaps. Chaos, however, will not hesitate to kill you, kill us. That's dangerous. This wasn't, or at least it wasn't very dangerous." She managed a smile. "At worst, I would have been spanked."
Bedwyr smiled back. "Right now, I think I wouldn't mind spanking you a little."
Vivian felt a flush spring to her face. "Oh very well, I think I can allow that."
Icipall
Don't worry, we can fanfix that!
- Location
- Cold snow fields of Finland
That tracks.
Oh, that sounds interesting.
*Chainsaw revs up.*
"But I am not doing it because you told me to."
Actually, that is very interesting. Four of those are obvious, but where did he get the other three?
bookwyrm
Doom of Public Libraries
- Location
- Wichita, Kansas
Seven gods? Okay five by merit so that can be the big four of Chaos and one of any number of minor unaligned players like Malal or Vashtorr or Be'lakor or something like that, and we know through Saint Trephine that he has a piece of the Emperor's divinity, but what's his other stolen miracle? Avalon is a fay planet touched by long-standing Aeldar influence and was likely once a Lileath World of the Exodites before the first DOAT settlers landed and eventually became feudal Knight Worlders, so a piece of the world-spirit of Avalon and/or some fragment of Isha or Vaul or the like, the atom of their being as a holy relic that survived Slaanesh? Or would the corruption of a holy God-Machine and so on also be sufficent, taking something of the Omnissiah and the Machine God as a coequal aspect of the imperial pantheon to that of the main Imperial Church?
Meeting of the Rivals
MysticKnightJoe
Defender of Holy Terra
- Location
- Fighting the Forces of Evil Across the Cosmos
It was pouring rain over Londinium. The city, slowly dying already, seemed to be melting before it. King Meliodas felt as if it seemed like the stone and metal of the ancient Imperial city was caving under the weight of unflinching elements.
"Either I am growing poetic, or I am going mad," Meliodas said. He still carried the black sword at his hip, the gift from the Queen of Shadows herself seemed to shudder with malign energy. Scathach had assured him it was safe, the power it contained was shackled completely, that it was a weapon designed for the singular purpose to kill esoteric threats. Secace was its true name, which Meliodas was never allowed to speak out loud, that Scathach had never said out loud, but both of them had known.
"Meliodas," a soft voice interrupted his musings. King Ban was standing a bit aways from him, watching. "You should get out of the rain, you know. I think there is something wrong with it."
Meliodas hadn't even realized he'd been standing directly into the rain. The stuff did indeed sizzle on his armor, and brown spots were rising on his surcoat and cloak. "Oh yes, you are right. Acidic, I think. They say there are worlds in the universe where the rain becomes so acidic from pollution that it melts flesh and scours the face of the planet of detail."
"This may be no natural phenomenon," Ban said nervously, "it may be an attack in and of itself."
Meliodas laughed. "If it were an attack, I'd be dead already, Ban." Still he walked out of the rain. He shook himself clean like a dog. "So. How goes the meeting?"
"They started without us. King Galehaut and King Lot are an inch away from killing each other, and they were the only other two who agreed to come. The others are off in their camps, attending to their own matters." Ban was quiet for a moment. "Seems the only thing we agree on is to deal with Arthur, and we are hardly in agreement on the method there. Who is going to be High King after this, Meliodas? Can we really afford to settle that by violence?"
'Me, of course." Meliodas gave his old friend a cold look. "Are you really suggesting simply handing the kingship to the child, out of a need for least resistance?"
"You and I both know it is Myrddin in control of that faction now. Yet despite being under the sway of the old wizard, they are far more united than us. The power of having a single figurehead to rally under." Ban seemed to be weighing his words. "Perhaps, once Myrddin is removed, we can continue onward with Arthur as King, even if just in name."
"It can't happen. Anything the wizard touches is poisoned. We both know this. It was his influence and magics that ruined the last High King."
"Arthur is no Uther. We both know him, Meliodas, we know his foster father well." Ban was jogging to keep up. "We sent our sons after him, but I think we both know what that will come to."
"Tristan will do his duty in the end," Meliodas said gruffly. He swung open the door of the currently occupied audience hall. "He'll weep about, write up some sad poetry, play his harp, but he'll handle it." He gave Ban a look that all but ordered him to drop it without words.
Ban obeyed the order, ever the subordinate. He'd do what was needed in the end as well, even if he complained about it afterwards.
In the audience hall, King Lot was pacing around the table like a rabid wolf, utter ire directed at the other King present, Galehaut, the half-giant called the Uncrowned King.
Galehaut was sitting, as he usually was. This close, the reality became clear. Galehaut was oversized, his limbs overlong, his head massive on a too-thin neck. He was barely over two-score years, but he was sickly and frail. He was holding a goblet of wine, and looking back at the agitated King Lot with bored antipathy.
"Listen, you mad cripple," Lot snarled, "you aren't to be High King. You don't have the spirit for it, or the body, or the loins."
Galehaut took a sip of wine. "I was under the impression, King Lot, that you lacked the wits to be King." His voice was high and soft, and intellectually accented. He was said to be the most educated human on the planet, aside from perhaps Queen Morgan herself.
"That was healed," Lot said angrily. "A miracle."
"I see no evidence of such a healing," Galehaut said mildly, "thou art still as lackwit as ever."
It was a miracle Lot didn't have his sword drawn already, Meliodas thought. Perhaps the fact they were in the Governor's palace was staying his hand. Governor Leondegrin himself was sitting in the corner, watching the two kings argue with a miserable expression.
Meliodas swaggered in, his voice booming. "Gentlemen, please. We are allies, not foes."
"For now, yes," Galehaut replied, turning in his chair. Slowly, he forced himself painfully upright, leaning on a pair of canes. "How long can that last, I ask? We are all desirous of being High King, and none will relinquish that desire so easily. I myself have vowed to wear no crown but for that of the High Kingship."
"The King of Nothing should not be the High King," sneered Lot. "I myself am King of Two Kingdoms, you know."
"I am King of Nothing, yes," Galehaut said, "and nothing in this world is very much indeed. There are many with nothing, many knights with not but their arms and armor and the great mounts they ride. I am King of the Lost and Broken. We are hungry for everything Chaos took from us."
Meliodas watched Galehaut carefully. The man would be tall enough for his head to touch the ceiling, if he wasn't so bent over. Scoliosis, Gawain would call it. A crooked spine on the brink of collapse. It was so easy to underestimate the man this close, where all his weaknesses were so clear. Meliodas refused to fall for that trap. "I have much experience leading armies, under High King Uther and on my own. For this moment, I am perfect to be High King, I firmly believe this. Beyond that, I have little strong claim."
"Are you suggesting a split of duties?" Lot asked, jumping on the idea surprisingly quickly. "I don't believe that is proper. There can only be one High King."
"Perhaps we don't need a High King anymore," Meliodas said mildly, "King Uther ultimately led to nothing but trouble, no doubt King Arthur will be much the same way." He could feel Ban's eyes burning into his back. "A wizard's pet is dangerous, and most be handled swiftly. But after that, the situation must be stabilized."
"And what of the others?" Galehaut asked. "Rience and Owain and the King of the Hundred Knights and others of that ilk."
"They can join us, a clear and strong alliance, or they can hang," Meliodas said immediately. "We are, at present, strong, and willing to talk without trying to kill each other. That gives a bit of an edge. Once Arthur is dead, that gives us a strong opening to push. We will take control of the armies and from there springboard into a full invasion of the Chaoslands, taking the fight once again to Vortigern's fortress."
"My daughter!" Leondegrin managed at last. "She is with King Arthur, fool girl. Please, bring no harm to her."
"We have no intention to," Meliodas assured him, "we are men of chivalry, after all." He hoped he could hold to that, but Myrddin tended to be dangerous to women. Ultimately, he'd try his best to hold no blame for it.
"I am amenable to this," Lot said languidly. He seemed to calm at last, leaning into a chair. "Shall we sign? Some formal paper or such?"
"I'm impressed you are able to sign your name," Galehaut sniffed. He limped up to Meliodas. His pale eyes seemed to examine Meliodas' face, as if seeking out deception. "I am a good judge of men, King Meliodas. I don't believe you are deceptive or dishonorable." The crippled giant sighed softly. "Very well, I agree to this, for now."
"I will have my wife write up something formal tonight," Meliodas said stiffly. "I'll go to her immediately."
"Pray do." Lot rose to his feet. He left the room with a sneer. "You know where to find me. I grow weary of this miserable city. I'll be out by the standing stones with my camp."
"I shall remain within the walls," Galehaut said. He sat back down, he was breathing a little heavily. "There are comforts here that have helped me greatly."
"My physician would like to take a look at you as well, King Galehaut," Leondegrin said suddenly. "She may know some surgeries that could help."
"I can fight if I need to, but I cannot decline such a kind offer, Lord Governor," Galehaut replied, smiling at the other man.
"I'll leave you to that private matter," Meliodas said, and left the room when Galehaut acknowledged that with a polite nod.
The moment he was out of earshot of the room, Ban grabbed his arm. "I wasn't aware we planned to kill Arthur," he hissed.
"He has given us no choice, Ban." Meliodas pulled away from him. He looked the other man right in the eye. "We can't suffer a man so touched by the wizard to get so close to power. You know this."
"But Arthur," Ban hissed, "he is a friend. He is dear to my sons, and to yours. We know him to be true."
"Do we?" Meliodas snarled back. "Or was that just another illusion?"
"For years? With no hints? We aren't so foolish, and we have been burned before."
Meliodas tore his eyes away from Ban. "I know what needs to be done, Ban. And you know I am never wrong. Accept it, and follow me."
"Very well," said Ban.
[Space Marine 2 very soon]
"Either I am growing poetic, or I am going mad," Meliodas said. He still carried the black sword at his hip, the gift from the Queen of Shadows herself seemed to shudder with malign energy. Scathach had assured him it was safe, the power it contained was shackled completely, that it was a weapon designed for the singular purpose to kill esoteric threats. Secace was its true name, which Meliodas was never allowed to speak out loud, that Scathach had never said out loud, but both of them had known.
"Meliodas," a soft voice interrupted his musings. King Ban was standing a bit aways from him, watching. "You should get out of the rain, you know. I think there is something wrong with it."
Meliodas hadn't even realized he'd been standing directly into the rain. The stuff did indeed sizzle on his armor, and brown spots were rising on his surcoat and cloak. "Oh yes, you are right. Acidic, I think. They say there are worlds in the universe where the rain becomes so acidic from pollution that it melts flesh and scours the face of the planet of detail."
"This may be no natural phenomenon," Ban said nervously, "it may be an attack in and of itself."
Meliodas laughed. "If it were an attack, I'd be dead already, Ban." Still he walked out of the rain. He shook himself clean like a dog. "So. How goes the meeting?"
"They started without us. King Galehaut and King Lot are an inch away from killing each other, and they were the only other two who agreed to come. The others are off in their camps, attending to their own matters." Ban was quiet for a moment. "Seems the only thing we agree on is to deal with Arthur, and we are hardly in agreement on the method there. Who is going to be High King after this, Meliodas? Can we really afford to settle that by violence?"
'Me, of course." Meliodas gave his old friend a cold look. "Are you really suggesting simply handing the kingship to the child, out of a need for least resistance?"
"You and I both know it is Myrddin in control of that faction now. Yet despite being under the sway of the old wizard, they are far more united than us. The power of having a single figurehead to rally under." Ban seemed to be weighing his words. "Perhaps, once Myrddin is removed, we can continue onward with Arthur as King, even if just in name."
"It can't happen. Anything the wizard touches is poisoned. We both know this. It was his influence and magics that ruined the last High King."
"Arthur is no Uther. We both know him, Meliodas, we know his foster father well." Ban was jogging to keep up. "We sent our sons after him, but I think we both know what that will come to."
"Tristan will do his duty in the end," Meliodas said gruffly. He swung open the door of the currently occupied audience hall. "He'll weep about, write up some sad poetry, play his harp, but he'll handle it." He gave Ban a look that all but ordered him to drop it without words.
Ban obeyed the order, ever the subordinate. He'd do what was needed in the end as well, even if he complained about it afterwards.
In the audience hall, King Lot was pacing around the table like a rabid wolf, utter ire directed at the other King present, Galehaut, the half-giant called the Uncrowned King.
Galehaut was sitting, as he usually was. This close, the reality became clear. Galehaut was oversized, his limbs overlong, his head massive on a too-thin neck. He was barely over two-score years, but he was sickly and frail. He was holding a goblet of wine, and looking back at the agitated King Lot with bored antipathy.
"Listen, you mad cripple," Lot snarled, "you aren't to be High King. You don't have the spirit for it, or the body, or the loins."
Galehaut took a sip of wine. "I was under the impression, King Lot, that you lacked the wits to be King." His voice was high and soft, and intellectually accented. He was said to be the most educated human on the planet, aside from perhaps Queen Morgan herself.
"That was healed," Lot said angrily. "A miracle."
"I see no evidence of such a healing," Galehaut said mildly, "thou art still as lackwit as ever."
It was a miracle Lot didn't have his sword drawn already, Meliodas thought. Perhaps the fact they were in the Governor's palace was staying his hand. Governor Leondegrin himself was sitting in the corner, watching the two kings argue with a miserable expression.
Meliodas swaggered in, his voice booming. "Gentlemen, please. We are allies, not foes."
"For now, yes," Galehaut replied, turning in his chair. Slowly, he forced himself painfully upright, leaning on a pair of canes. "How long can that last, I ask? We are all desirous of being High King, and none will relinquish that desire so easily. I myself have vowed to wear no crown but for that of the High Kingship."
"The King of Nothing should not be the High King," sneered Lot. "I myself am King of Two Kingdoms, you know."
"I am King of Nothing, yes," Galehaut said, "and nothing in this world is very much indeed. There are many with nothing, many knights with not but their arms and armor and the great mounts they ride. I am King of the Lost and Broken. We are hungry for everything Chaos took from us."
Meliodas watched Galehaut carefully. The man would be tall enough for his head to touch the ceiling, if he wasn't so bent over. Scoliosis, Gawain would call it. A crooked spine on the brink of collapse. It was so easy to underestimate the man this close, where all his weaknesses were so clear. Meliodas refused to fall for that trap. "I have much experience leading armies, under High King Uther and on my own. For this moment, I am perfect to be High King, I firmly believe this. Beyond that, I have little strong claim."
"Are you suggesting a split of duties?" Lot asked, jumping on the idea surprisingly quickly. "I don't believe that is proper. There can only be one High King."
"Perhaps we don't need a High King anymore," Meliodas said mildly, "King Uther ultimately led to nothing but trouble, no doubt King Arthur will be much the same way." He could feel Ban's eyes burning into his back. "A wizard's pet is dangerous, and most be handled swiftly. But after that, the situation must be stabilized."
"And what of the others?" Galehaut asked. "Rience and Owain and the King of the Hundred Knights and others of that ilk."
"They can join us, a clear and strong alliance, or they can hang," Meliodas said immediately. "We are, at present, strong, and willing to talk without trying to kill each other. That gives a bit of an edge. Once Arthur is dead, that gives us a strong opening to push. We will take control of the armies and from there springboard into a full invasion of the Chaoslands, taking the fight once again to Vortigern's fortress."
"My daughter!" Leondegrin managed at last. "She is with King Arthur, fool girl. Please, bring no harm to her."
"We have no intention to," Meliodas assured him, "we are men of chivalry, after all." He hoped he could hold to that, but Myrddin tended to be dangerous to women. Ultimately, he'd try his best to hold no blame for it.
"I am amenable to this," Lot said languidly. He seemed to calm at last, leaning into a chair. "Shall we sign? Some formal paper or such?"
"I'm impressed you are able to sign your name," Galehaut sniffed. He limped up to Meliodas. His pale eyes seemed to examine Meliodas' face, as if seeking out deception. "I am a good judge of men, King Meliodas. I don't believe you are deceptive or dishonorable." The crippled giant sighed softly. "Very well, I agree to this, for now."
"I will have my wife write up something formal tonight," Meliodas said stiffly. "I'll go to her immediately."
"Pray do." Lot rose to his feet. He left the room with a sneer. "You know where to find me. I grow weary of this miserable city. I'll be out by the standing stones with my camp."
"I shall remain within the walls," Galehaut said. He sat back down, he was breathing a little heavily. "There are comforts here that have helped me greatly."
"My physician would like to take a look at you as well, King Galehaut," Leondegrin said suddenly. "She may know some surgeries that could help."
"I can fight if I need to, but I cannot decline such a kind offer, Lord Governor," Galehaut replied, smiling at the other man.
"I'll leave you to that private matter," Meliodas said, and left the room when Galehaut acknowledged that with a polite nod.
The moment he was out of earshot of the room, Ban grabbed his arm. "I wasn't aware we planned to kill Arthur," he hissed.
"He has given us no choice, Ban." Meliodas pulled away from him. He looked the other man right in the eye. "We can't suffer a man so touched by the wizard to get so close to power. You know this."
"But Arthur," Ban hissed, "he is a friend. He is dear to my sons, and to yours. We know him to be true."
"Do we?" Meliodas snarled back. "Or was that just another illusion?"
"For years? With no hints? We aren't so foolish, and we have been burned before."
Meliodas tore his eyes away from Ban. "I know what needs to be done, Ban. And you know I am never wrong. Accept it, and follow me."
"Very well," said Ban.
[Space Marine 2 very soon]
For some reason, I get this vibe between Meliodas and Ban.
View: https://youtu.be/kja6mfw5HxY?si=u0xmgx1tsV1hw33B
Icipall
Don't worry, we can fanfix that!
- Location
- Cold snow fields of Finland
A Daemon sword?
You know less than you think.
Hah!
This will not end well for you.
Yes.
bookwyrm
Doom of Public Libraries
- Location
- Wichita, Kansas
Love the like like season 1 Tony Soprano feel to Meliodas' rise, offering to run everything through a joint council instead of the headache of one don above all, while already being forced to play the leading voice of an arbitrator. In other circumstances, perhaps Meliodas as like Dux Bellorum of the Council of Kings and uncrowned High King could have worked out as a reasonably effective rule over the loyalist realms with his steady and firm soldier's statecraft and his painfully careful allegiance to the Code Chivalric. And then again perhaps it ends just like Tony and Uther, with Meliodas' worst qualities exasperated by the isolation of power and the poisoned chalice that is both the crown metaphorically and also the literal cursed light-eating sword, his reign's recovery of a couple burnt-out kingdoms like Armorica and his grand vision for further military campaigns overturned by paranoia, bitter resentment at being treated a bastard king, and a wiley old free-lance mercenary's fundamental disdain and distrust of more courtly warlords and chieftains.
I could just see like, season six of the Meliodas show with all the headless crowns set atop the unclaimed swords of the original anti-Arthur council and arrayed in a half-circle around the lonely forms of Meliodas lost in thought and Ban miserably freezing at the other end of the hall as like the one other occuped chair.
I could just see like, season six of the Meliodas show with all the headless crowns set atop the unclaimed swords of the original anti-Arthur council and arrayed in a half-circle around the lonely forms of Meliodas lost in thought and Ban miserably freezing at the other end of the hall as like the one other occuped chair.
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MysticKnightJoe
Defender of Holy Terra
- Location
- Fighting the Forces of Evil Across the Cosmos
See you are making me greatly desire a Prime-Time Arthurian TV show and that simply isn't fair, sir.
GilliamYaeger
M'crazy.
A group of great leaders sitting at the same table as supposed equals, with one at the head to act as the final say as High King, first amongst equals?
I do believe we're seeing the genesis of the Round Table.
The Queen of Shadows Part 1
MysticKnightJoe
Defender of Holy Terra
- Location
- Fighting the Forces of Evil Across the Cosmos
"What a rotten business, me lad," said King Coel with an expression of sorrowful dignity. "Ol' bloody-handed Macbeth, come to such a foul end. I did warn King Duncan, you know, but that blighted idiot was always so pleased with that mercenary on his coast, warding off raiders." The older man ran a finger over his neck. "I did say, such a man had the blood-stink about him, the eyes of a berserk. Ambition as well, that most pernicious of poisons."
Arthur nodded, taking a sip of his mead. "I must agree, King Coel."
Coel was a large man of about fifty, so fat it looked as if he wouldn't be able to pull himself free of his chair, his sword little more than decoration. Looks, Arthur knew, could be deceiving. King Coel was famed for his wisdom and goodness, and also his startling swiftness with sword and spear.
"Infected by the necromantic energies of the Elder Gods. Better than Chaos at our doorstep, I suppose."
"Chaos is already at our doorstep," Arthur pointed out. "The Elder Gods are more…below our feet."
"Buried like the corpses they are," Coel sniffed. He took a massive swig of his own mead, drops of it flooding through his beard. "Few years back, there was tell of a giant hound with ears red as blood. Elder God Hound, so the peasants said. A wise man doesn't listen much to peasants, but I saw the beast's footprints."
"One of Arawn's pets," Avaliet's smooth voice floated into his brain. "he always did dote on his hounds, the old lunatic."
"Not so different from a human, then," Arthur thought back. The bone dagger at his side quivered a little. "But pray be silent while I speak with Kings. Some might find it suspect if I sit unspeaking for too long."
To his great relief, the alien ghost's voice quieted immediately. At Myrddin's advice, he hadn't destroyed the altar, hadn't crushed the stones. The three witches weren't exactly apologetic, but they seemed intrigued by him now; the death of their champion had caused them to immediately shift tact. Dagonet, to Arthur's surprise, had been rather amenable to the situation. The jester had curled up in his box and hadn't climbed out except to eat and drink, but otherwise seemed in decent spirits.
"This world is strange indeed," Arthur said neutrally. He was quite happy that Cait Palug hadn't shown its face for some time now.
"Aye, best keep that hidden as well as we can. Hope the damned Tuatha know that, however many remain." Coel sighed deeply. "Wretched business, I must stress."
"I wish to know more of this," said Arthur.
King Coel gave him a wary look from over the rim of his cup. "Ignorance is a blessing from the God-Emperor lad, understand that."
"A strange form of blessing, as it as often as not leads to death," Arthur mused.
"Aye, and just as often knowledge kills. There are things man was not meant to know."
"And wisdom is knowing what one should and what one shouldn't know," Arthur pointed out with a sly grin.
"I suppose there is no point warning you against visiting the Queen of Shadows?" Coel scowls. "So many folk pass through to see her. Sir Sagramore was the last, though I could hardly stop him. Poor bastard was bordering on madness, berserk fits near taking him over. He collapsed in the sparring yard after training for near on a week. My daughter nursed him back to health, and the ungrateful lout ran off northwards without a look back."
Coel tugged at his beard. "Drag the fellow back here so I can tan his hide and drag him to a chapel with her, and I'll give you my finest horse, and perhaps one of my other daughters as well. Emperor knows I have enough of them mooning around the house."
"I will keep that in mind." Arthur remembered Sagramore, a fine man. Bedwyr had mentioned him a few times how he had fought alongside him, but their relationship had grown bitter and strained.
The two Kings started to leave the sitting room. Coel seemed to be trying to remember something. "Oh yes, do be careful when you go north. Queen Scathach has a student of the most frightful reputation now. They say he is a berserk like none that has ever been seen on any of the isles. A feral and cruel animal, who bears a beastly name."
"Oh?" Arthur asked.
"They call him the Hound of Culann."
Arthur's party had swelled a bit. Several of Macbeth's former retainers had opted to join his band, switching allegiance the moment a man proved stronger, barely seeming to be aware of Gwen's contributions. Still, they could be guided better, Arthur thought.
Cei and Balin were practicing together, fighting with long daggers like his duel with Macbeth. They were both stripped to the waist, soaked in sweat as they practiced under sight of the warband and Coel's men.
"She is the most unladylike figure," Coel muttered, looking at Cei. His eyes drifted down for a moment at her lean and muscular form. "Well suited for the work, I suppose. I've never disapproved of women becoming knights," he added this quickly, as if worried he might offend Arthur, Cei, or a few of the other women in the respective battle groups.
Arthur only laughed. "I assumed not, good King Coel. Our world has changed in some regards, and you aren't ever mentioned as an especially conservative man."
"Hah! I'll leave the new thinking to you youngsters." Coel clapped him on the back. "I'll stay my old-fashioned self, but I'll keep that to myself, and let younger folk sort the rest out." He looked past Cei, at the powerful form of Sir Balin. "That one I disapprove of more."
"Sir Balin?" Arthur asked. "He has been loyal and true the whole time he has been alongside me."
"He is a mad dog. Like the Hound of Culann, but worse, at least the Hound is leashed and being given his medicine. Mark my words, King Arthur, a dog like Sir Balin will bite eventually."
Arthur was quiet suddenly. He looked at Balin, who slashed out with the training dagger, Cei only barely managing to dodge. Arthur considered King Coel's words. His heart felt heavy. "We can figure it out," Arthur said at last.
Coel gave him an appraising look, a rather annoying one. "You are a good judge of character, and used to relying on that. But still, best not be blind to a man's faults."
"I'm not blind, sir," Arthur replied mildly. On the field, Balin dealt Cei a blow that sent her to the ground, catching herself. She glared up at Balin with a heated ferocity, but took his offered hand immediately. "I just believe I can be a guiding hand for those who are lost. Humanity is not lost to the dark. Not forevermore."
"Perhaps. But no one man is more important than the entire world, the entire galaxy. Don't get distracted trying to save a rabid animal, King Arthur."
King Arthur saw Gwen, seated on the steps to his car, watching the sparring match. "If I allow one to fall, I might as well allow two, and then three, and then four, and then five. Eventually, well, I'd be cutting corners on essential goodness, taking shortcuts. I cannot allow myself, as High King, to do that."
'And that is why you walk to Dun Scaith now? The Queen of Shadows seems a strange mentor for a King like yourself." There was no judgment in King Coel's voice, just a grim curiosity. "Broken men like Sir Sagramore and the Hound go there in the hopes of controlling the chaos, the berserk, within. What could you be planning to learn?"
Arthur looked away from Gwen, before she could see him staring. "I intend to learn how best to fight our enemies there."
[Apologies for the wait on this one! For a brief review of Space Marine 2: It is very good, but I do hope the next game doesn't do the same "First you fight xenos, but then you fight the true enemy Chaos" narrative again]
Arthur nodded, taking a sip of his mead. "I must agree, King Coel."
Coel was a large man of about fifty, so fat it looked as if he wouldn't be able to pull himself free of his chair, his sword little more than decoration. Looks, Arthur knew, could be deceiving. King Coel was famed for his wisdom and goodness, and also his startling swiftness with sword and spear.
"Infected by the necromantic energies of the Elder Gods. Better than Chaos at our doorstep, I suppose."
"Chaos is already at our doorstep," Arthur pointed out. "The Elder Gods are more…below our feet."
"Buried like the corpses they are," Coel sniffed. He took a massive swig of his own mead, drops of it flooding through his beard. "Few years back, there was tell of a giant hound with ears red as blood. Elder God Hound, so the peasants said. A wise man doesn't listen much to peasants, but I saw the beast's footprints."
"One of Arawn's pets," Avaliet's smooth voice floated into his brain. "he always did dote on his hounds, the old lunatic."
"Not so different from a human, then," Arthur thought back. The bone dagger at his side quivered a little. "But pray be silent while I speak with Kings. Some might find it suspect if I sit unspeaking for too long."
To his great relief, the alien ghost's voice quieted immediately. At Myrddin's advice, he hadn't destroyed the altar, hadn't crushed the stones. The three witches weren't exactly apologetic, but they seemed intrigued by him now; the death of their champion had caused them to immediately shift tact. Dagonet, to Arthur's surprise, had been rather amenable to the situation. The jester had curled up in his box and hadn't climbed out except to eat and drink, but otherwise seemed in decent spirits.
"This world is strange indeed," Arthur said neutrally. He was quite happy that Cait Palug hadn't shown its face for some time now.
"Aye, best keep that hidden as well as we can. Hope the damned Tuatha know that, however many remain." Coel sighed deeply. "Wretched business, I must stress."
"I wish to know more of this," said Arthur.
King Coel gave him a wary look from over the rim of his cup. "Ignorance is a blessing from the God-Emperor lad, understand that."
"A strange form of blessing, as it as often as not leads to death," Arthur mused.
"Aye, and just as often knowledge kills. There are things man was not meant to know."
"And wisdom is knowing what one should and what one shouldn't know," Arthur pointed out with a sly grin.
"I suppose there is no point warning you against visiting the Queen of Shadows?" Coel scowls. "So many folk pass through to see her. Sir Sagramore was the last, though I could hardly stop him. Poor bastard was bordering on madness, berserk fits near taking him over. He collapsed in the sparring yard after training for near on a week. My daughter nursed him back to health, and the ungrateful lout ran off northwards without a look back."
Coel tugged at his beard. "Drag the fellow back here so I can tan his hide and drag him to a chapel with her, and I'll give you my finest horse, and perhaps one of my other daughters as well. Emperor knows I have enough of them mooning around the house."
"I will keep that in mind." Arthur remembered Sagramore, a fine man. Bedwyr had mentioned him a few times how he had fought alongside him, but their relationship had grown bitter and strained.
The two Kings started to leave the sitting room. Coel seemed to be trying to remember something. "Oh yes, do be careful when you go north. Queen Scathach has a student of the most frightful reputation now. They say he is a berserk like none that has ever been seen on any of the isles. A feral and cruel animal, who bears a beastly name."
"Oh?" Arthur asked.
"They call him the Hound of Culann."
*******************
Arthur's party had swelled a bit. Several of Macbeth's former retainers had opted to join his band, switching allegiance the moment a man proved stronger, barely seeming to be aware of Gwen's contributions. Still, they could be guided better, Arthur thought.
Cei and Balin were practicing together, fighting with long daggers like his duel with Macbeth. They were both stripped to the waist, soaked in sweat as they practiced under sight of the warband and Coel's men.
"She is the most unladylike figure," Coel muttered, looking at Cei. His eyes drifted down for a moment at her lean and muscular form. "Well suited for the work, I suppose. I've never disapproved of women becoming knights," he added this quickly, as if worried he might offend Arthur, Cei, or a few of the other women in the respective battle groups.
Arthur only laughed. "I assumed not, good King Coel. Our world has changed in some regards, and you aren't ever mentioned as an especially conservative man."
"Hah! I'll leave the new thinking to you youngsters." Coel clapped him on the back. "I'll stay my old-fashioned self, but I'll keep that to myself, and let younger folk sort the rest out." He looked past Cei, at the powerful form of Sir Balin. "That one I disapprove of more."
"Sir Balin?" Arthur asked. "He has been loyal and true the whole time he has been alongside me."
"He is a mad dog. Like the Hound of Culann, but worse, at least the Hound is leashed and being given his medicine. Mark my words, King Arthur, a dog like Sir Balin will bite eventually."
Arthur was quiet suddenly. He looked at Balin, who slashed out with the training dagger, Cei only barely managing to dodge. Arthur considered King Coel's words. His heart felt heavy. "We can figure it out," Arthur said at last.
Coel gave him an appraising look, a rather annoying one. "You are a good judge of character, and used to relying on that. But still, best not be blind to a man's faults."
"I'm not blind, sir," Arthur replied mildly. On the field, Balin dealt Cei a blow that sent her to the ground, catching herself. She glared up at Balin with a heated ferocity, but took his offered hand immediately. "I just believe I can be a guiding hand for those who are lost. Humanity is not lost to the dark. Not forevermore."
"Perhaps. But no one man is more important than the entire world, the entire galaxy. Don't get distracted trying to save a rabid animal, King Arthur."
King Arthur saw Gwen, seated on the steps to his car, watching the sparring match. "If I allow one to fall, I might as well allow two, and then three, and then four, and then five. Eventually, well, I'd be cutting corners on essential goodness, taking shortcuts. I cannot allow myself, as High King, to do that."
'And that is why you walk to Dun Scaith now? The Queen of Shadows seems a strange mentor for a King like yourself." There was no judgment in King Coel's voice, just a grim curiosity. "Broken men like Sir Sagramore and the Hound go there in the hopes of controlling the chaos, the berserk, within. What could you be planning to learn?"
Arthur looked away from Gwen, before she could see him staring. "I intend to learn how best to fight our enemies there."
[Apologies for the wait on this one! For a brief review of Space Marine 2: It is very good, but I do hope the next game doesn't do the same "First you fight xenos, but then you fight the true enemy Chaos" narrative again]
bookwyrm
Doom of Public Libraries
- Location
- Wichita, Kansas
Does this mean that, eventually, a desperate Vortigern will call into the collapsing maelstrom the real enemy of all things human, to spite Arthur mid-liberation of Avalon with the fell assault of the Sassenach limey bastards er I mean the Orks