Really glad to see this back in some form. A little conflicted cause of how much I loved the characters of Dark Prince and a bit saddened to not see how it all went down, especially the arc we were on. On the other hand though I'm super excited at the chance to see the universe further fleshed out and to see where this goes.
[X] The Ladies of the Lake
Don't want to read too much from the last quest, but the Ladies of the Lake intrigue me more then the others cause their motives and mode of operations seemed a bit less straightforward then the other groups.
So does our boy Mordred still exist in this version? And since it's been a while, were the Knights always originally more than the Round Table? Or is the Lore diverging there?
[X] The Unseelie Empire
Multiversal butchers led by a narcissistic king. A highly stratified caste society, the ageless True Fae sit at the top and command legions of specially bred soldiers – Goblins, Trolls, Ogres, Pixies and more. They see humanity as little more than playthings and delight in needless cruelty.
Oh, wow, I still re-read Dark Prince of Camelot every now and then. It's nice to see another quest in the same setting. Shame we don't still get to play as Mordred, though.
So does our boy Mordred still exist in this version? And since it's been a while, were the Knights always originally more than the Round Table? Or is the Lore diverging there?
Generally, you can assume that the broad strokes of Prince hold true for Knight. If things that have been retconned pop up and y'all misinterpret them, I'll mention that they were retconned and aren't relevant any more.
For example: The Architects have been replaced with the Terracotta Men, so no conspiracy there. But the Knights being an organization rather than a group of 6? Weird. Boys being Knights as no big deal? Weird.
Alaska looks like she wants to say more, but thankfully the three of you are interrupted by the door opening. This time it's not Hawley who enters but an older woman, dirty blonde hair streaked with grey. One eye, clouded and blind, sits amongst a nest of old scars. The uniform she wears resembles Hawley's, but lacks the hat and is far more ornamented.
June stiffens at the sight of her and snaps into a salute, eyes staring straight ahead. It only takes you and Alaska a moment to get the hint and copy him. The woman examines the three of you for a moment and then waves her hand, signaling you to be at ease. "Thank you," she says, and she sounds weary, as if every syllable is a herculean effort. "Alaska Alton. June de Hailong. Macaulay Perth. Welcome to the Chivalry."
You shuffle from foot to foot, unsure of what to say. The woman takes a moment to look out the window at the inside of the Spire before speaking again. "I am Knight- Legate Zamir."
That gets you attention. The Knight-Legate sits at the head of the Chivalry. Though technically she shares leadership of the order with the Knight-Consul and Knight-Augur, her domain of primacy is war – and in a queendom under eternal siege, war is everything. She must of course answer to the Eleven Regents, but the Knight-Legate is the most powerful individual in Camelot. And now she stands not five feet from you, looking for all the world like any aging woman you might see on the street. She walks to the far wall and begins to fiddle with a computer, activating a projector with a few taps of her fingers. "As you can imagine, I don't normally give orientation. But I was nearby, and I try to meet all the rookies eventually." She looks up and gestures to the desks in front of her. "Sit. I'm a busy woman."
As the three of you scramble to take seats, Zamir pulls up a painting of a beautiful, raven haired woman, her eyes a striking violet.
"Your introduction to the Chivalry will be extensive," she explains once all of you are at attention. "As newly-made Knights, there is much for you to learn. But you have all had stressful days, and I imagine you are very tired." Her eye seems to linger on you as she speaks, but the next moment she glances casually away. "Your true instruction will begin tomorrow, but there are things that it is imperative you know now, before you sleep. Your Heraldries have changed you, mentally as well as physically. Your dreams are no longer the random firings of neurons…they are a doorway to a much deeper collective unconscious, a web of magic that stretches across time and space. With practice and training, you will learn to control this ability. But until then…" She looks at each of you in turn, making sure she holds your attention. "Until then, the doorway doesn't lock, so to speak. As easily as you can go out, other things can come in."
"Come in?" Alaska squeaks, shifting uncomfortably in her seat.
Zamir nods. "The power of the Spire is great, and will protect you from most of the common pests. But there are things which can circumvent even its defenses." She gestures towards the screen. "Chief amongst them is the Whispering Woman."
She pauses, and in the silence you can't quite suppress a laugh. Zamir turns to you, her expression hard. "Is there something you find amusing, Perth?"
From the way she looks and sounds, you're guessing that you really shouldn't have – but you have to at least defend yourself. "I don't…" you pause, getting a grip on your words. "It's just, the Whispering Woman? Like in the rhyme?"
"The very same," Zamir says, crossing her arms.
You glance over at Alaska, who gives a tiny shrug. "But she's…just a fairy tale."
"I'm aware of the belief," Zamir says dryly. "Hence the briefing. The Whispering Woman is most assuredly not a fairy tale. She is very real, and she is incredibly dangerous." She gestures towards the picture again. "She most consistently appears as a young woman matching this description, but she is a shapeshifter, capable of assuming almost any form…cats and birds seem to be a favorite. The best way to identify her is by color scheme. White black and violet. Check skin, eyes, hair, clothing, fur, feathers, whatever it may be. If you can't find a color other than white, black or violet, then do not engage. Whatever it is."
The seriousness of her tone makes you suddenly nervous, and your disbelief tastes sour in your mouth. "What will she do?"
"Talk to you," Zamir says. "She will know things about you, personal things, and she will use that as bait. She will offer you things. Knowledge. Power. She will propose deals. You must not take them." She looks at each of you again in turn. "I cannot stress this enough. The Whispering Woman is one of Camelot's most dangerous enemies. Give her power over you and she will turn you into a weapon, wield you against the Chivalry, and discard you when you are no longer useful. If she visits you, report immediately to a superior. If you have reason to believe that she visited another Knight, report immediately to a superior. If we discover you hid a visit from us, and we will, you'll face court-martial so fast your head will spin."
The three of you are silent for a time, processing that. It is June who recovers first. "If we are visited, and we tell you, what then?" He asks. "Is there any way to prove that we didn't listen to her?"
Zamir nods. "An excellent question. You'll be quarantined for a time, while we examine you. It isn't perfect, but if you're honest and work with us, we can ensure you're not punished for an event that's out of your control." Her eyes are on you now, boring into you with a cold intensity, and the thing within you shudders and retreats, racing through your veins to the safety of your heart. Then Zamir's eyes flicker over to Alaska. "Alton. You have a question."
Alaska sputters, and you'd bet your last dollar that her Heraldry is reacting much as yours did. "Me? No. Ma'am. Crystal clear. I-"
"Out with it," Zamir growls.
Alaska's face turns as red as her hair, then redder. "Is it true that she has to give you what she promises? That's what…all the stories say." She looks away, as if ashamed to have asked the question.
Zamir merely nods her head. "That's part of the deal she offers," she says, and her voice is quiet, serious. "But if you've heard those stories, you know what happens to arrogant little boy or girl who thinks they can get one over on her."
Pain. Suffering. Death. A wish twisted by irony until it's more punishment than reward. Stories of the Whispering Woman had been common, in your childhood. You and your friends had swapped them like trading cards, when the night had come, seeing who would be the first to leave or turns the lights on, shaking. You shiver, and choose to blame it on the flimsy hospital gown. The idea that the Whispering Woman might be – is – real throws the memories of those nights into a harsher light.
"I can tell that you're all taking this seriously," Zamir says, and there's a gentleness to her tone that wasn't there before – or maybe it's just the weariness again, sanding away the sharp edge of authority. "It isn't my intent to scare you. Although a little fear is necessary, if you want to be effective in our line of work." She shakes her head. "We just want you to be prepared. In case the worst happens."
That night, you dream of the Whispering Woman.
*
She appears to you in the form of a woman, similar to the picture Zamir showed you but older, with the beginning of crow's feet at the corners of piercing violet eyes. She sits on a throne of bleached white bone, and the land around her is scorched and burned, ashes stretching as far as the eye can see. The night sky above is black and empty, devoid of stars – but something huge and circular hangs in the sky, illuminated by a faint silver light. The woman smiles when she sees you. Her lips are violet, her skin pale ivory.
"I couldn't see you," she says. Her voice is an orchestra, low and sensuous, a melody that stirs something deep in your mind, a dream only mostly forgotten. "You were lost to me, and I was worried."
You stumble backwards and fall onto your ass, the impact throwing ash into the air around you. The ground is still warm to the touch. Grief flashes across the woman's face for the briefest instant before it is replaced by a tranquil blankness. "She has broken you," she says.
You scramble away from her, regaining your feet, and hold one ash-covered hand up as if to ward her off. "Don't talk," you tell her, and to your surprise you sound far more confident than you feel. "I won't listen to you."
"You think I don't know that?" Amusement dances along the words, or perhaps it's rage, only barely restrained. "She got what she always wanted, don't you see?" She stands and throws her arms out, spinning in place. Her throne is gone and now there is only blasted wasteland. "She put your fire out, fed upon it to fuel her own, and while you were weak and empty they filled your head with fear."
She vanishes. You look left, then right, and then realize that she is behind you, her face at your shoulder, her lips at your ear. "I know what they told you about me," she whispers. You feel the fear surge in your gut like bile and you reach for your Heraldry – for the strength that filled you in the hospital, and made you angry and powerful. But the only thing that greets you is an aching emptiness, like a tiny piece of your heart has been excised from your body. You whirl to face her, and she is gone. "They told you that I was dangerous," she says. Her voice drips with mockery and seems to come from everywhere at once. "They told you that I would use you."
You whirl again and suddenly she stands in front of you. She reaches out and her fingertips brush your cheek, cold as stone at night. "I would never use you," she says, "and you loved me for my danger, once." You pull back from her touch, but the instant her fingertips leave your face she vanishes once again. "Now look at you."
"What do you want from me?" You shout to the night. Your voice echoes across the endless plains, as if you are in the bottom of a great chasm. "I won't give you what you want."
The ashes beneath your feet twist and shift, and suddenly you are falling, falling, falling. The woman's voice reaches your ears, the barest whisper above the rushing wind, but no matter how you twist and turn you can't find her. "Of course not," it says, full of a raw and terrible truth. "A prince is not a sword, to be drawn and swung at will."
"What are you talking about?" You strain your eyes to see what you're falling towards, but nothing greets you except an endless pit, devoid of even a mote of light.
"Understanding will find you," she says. "When you find what you have lost and shed these…silken chains around your mind. And when you once again know yourself, it will be you who seeks me, and not the other way around."
You awake with a start in sweat-soaked sheets.
The room around you is quiet, still. Hawley had led you here, after Zamir had dismissed you, up the elevator to an even higher floor, and then through twisting, winding hallways until you reached your assigned room. Your meager possessions had been waiting for you, clothes and a backpack folded neatly on a bed, but other than that the room had been empty, spartan. You would have time to personalize it later, you had been promised. Every Knight had a home in the Spire. But before you could put much thought into it you had slept, the electric energy of manifestation having seeped from your bones and left only exhaustion in its wake.
The room is dark – no windows, no lights, not even a glow from under the door. And yet despite the darkness, you find that you can actually see fairly well. Unusually well. Zamir had said that the Heraldry had changed you physically as well as mentally. There are countless legends of Knights being more than human, though you can't remember one that mentions night vision specifically.
You run a hand through your hair, and it comes away slick with sweat. Every inch of you is dripping, and your heart pounds against your ribcage, frantic. The dream…it had seemed so real in the moment. The woman's face flashes in your mind's eye. Her touch echoes on your cheek. It all feels so eerily familiar, a sense of déjà vu that pervades your body, mind and soul.
She had acted like she knew you. She had said that you would seek her out, some day, and your heart seizes at the mere memory of the words. There is truth to them, you know, a painful truth that tastes like bile on your tongue.
The Whispering Woman sounds suspiciously similar to Morgana. Also, given that we seem to have Mordred's power, and the Whispering Woman calls us a prince, I can't help but wonder if we really are him and someone wiped our memories.
By the sound of it, the Spire's ruling authorities have (in some way) messed with our mind -- and we were somehow associated with Morgana, before that.
Do we really want those same authorities to learn that we know (at least part of) what they did? That seems likely to put us under a great deal of scrutiny and supervision for a fair while.
I'd say that, until the understanding that Morgana promised would reach us does so, we should just be trying to gather information (and, I suppose, power and training so we can take revenge on [whoever won the last vote]
By the sound of it, the Spire's ruling authorities have (in some way) messed with our mind -- and we were somehow associated with Morgana, before that.
Do we really want those same authorities to learn that we know (at least part of) what they did? That seems likely to put us under a great deal of scrutiny and supervision for a fair while.
I'd say that, until the understanding that Morgana promised would reach us does so, we should just be trying to gather information (and, I suppose, power and training so we can take revenge on [whoever won the last vote]
Don't really know what to think at this time. Both obviously don't trust the other but which is true and what is fake? Then there is how our character will react to our choice.
Don't really know what to think at this time. Both obviously don't trust the other but which is true and what is fake? Then there is how our character will react to our choice.
