- Location
- United States
Rule 4 "Don't Be Disruptive" - 25 Points + 3 Day Threadban
Careful, pointing out that it's a bad vote will get you called a "total ass." Isn't that right, @Chaoswilldevour ?
Dark Prince of Camelot
- Thread starter Gally
- Start date
- Original
- Location
- Sydney
Careful, pointing out that it's a bad vote will get you called a "total ass." Isn't that right, @Chaoswilldevour ?
No, acting like an ass, saying I should "feel bad" for my vote being bad, will get you called that.
Gally
Got the whole word talking King Kiba
Okay, stop.
@Chaoswilldevour Your insult was inappropriate and uncalled for. There's nothing wrong with differences in opinion.
@Spartan Altego This isn't the first time I've had to address your issues with other questers. Your most recent post was made days after the initial argument without a response from Chaos.
If there's more behavior like this I'll start banning people. This is a make-believe game on the internet. It's not worth getting upset over.
Way to ensure I don't bother with the rest of what I'm sure was a very compelling argument on why my stance is faulty. All that wasted effort.
Careful, pointing out that it's a bad vote will get you called a "total ass." Isn't that right, @Chaoswilldevour ?
I hate seeing shit like this in the quest. I hate dealing with it. This isn't the first time I've had to do so. Staff has had to step in during one of my inactive periods. That's unacceptable.
@Chaoswilldevour Your insult was inappropriate and uncalled for. There's nothing wrong with differences in opinion.
@Spartan Altego This isn't the first time I've had to address your issues with other questers. Your most recent post was made days after the initial argument without a response from Chaos.
If there's more behavior like this I'll start banning people. This is a make-believe game on the internet. It's not worth getting upset over.
Last edited:
Warning: Heed These Words Of Wisdom
Acatalepsy
Firewall Proxy
- Location
- The Diamond Age
heed these words of wisdom
Rule 3 is "Be Civil" - attack the argument, not the poster. Rule 4 is "don't be disruptive" - if you feel that someone else has violated the rules, report them rather than engaging in tit for tat snipes that disrupt the thread.
Nobody likes dealing with a quest thread that has turned into pointless bickering over who called who what names. So don't do it.
Nobody likes dealing with a quest thread that has turned into pointless bickering over who called who what names. So don't do it.
more specifically
@Spartan Altego, you've been warned about being unnecessarily hostile previously. Since that didn't seem to work, you get a three day threadban and 25 points. Please don't do it again.
Last edited:
- Location
- USA
"Will O'Oak on fauxblr says:
Continuing my liveblog review of Magical Knight Artura's second season (yes, I know it's on its fourth season now. I'm catching up.)
Episode three has goblins and a new kid at school. I've been trying to avoid spoilers, but I couldn't avoid knowing that Morgan is Mordred. Which turns his interactions with her in Home Ec (and have I mentioned my extremely mixed feelings about that? It's wonderful that the warrior queen gets to like feminine things, but does she have to be legendarily bad at them?) into adorable 'how do I interact with my reincarnated mother' time instead of 'yet another boy in love with Annabelle time.
Thank mercy.
Is he the first person to comfort her about her terrible baking on screen, or am I forgetting someone? Anyway, I love it.
(Edit: Did he take a brownie and hide it in his backpack? He diiiid.)"
Continuing my liveblog review of Magical Knight Artura's second season (yes, I know it's on its fourth season now. I'm catching up.)
Episode three has goblins and a new kid at school. I've been trying to avoid spoilers, but I couldn't avoid knowing that Morgan is Mordred. Which turns his interactions with her in Home Ec (and have I mentioned my extremely mixed feelings about that? It's wonderful that the warrior queen gets to like feminine things, but does she have to be legendarily bad at them?) into adorable 'how do I interact with my reincarnated mother' time instead of 'yet another boy in love with Annabelle time.
Thank mercy.
Is he the first person to comfort her about her terrible baking on screen, or am I forgetting someone? Anyway, I love it.
(Edit: Did he take a brownie and hide it in his backpack? He diiiid.)"
- Location
- USA
[x] Matthew, you are asking me, a man standing trial and facing possible execution, for advice on messing with your friend's brain. Does this sound sane to you?
-[x] Gemma isn't just your friend. She is theirs, too. If you think this is truly a good idea, why come to me in secret?
-[] I will pass down the knowledge if you all believe there is no other way. But not to you as you are now.
I really do not want to tell him how to do this.
This is a Bad Idea. Messing with Gemma's head without her consent --
they're (legitimately) pissed about the disguise spell, and now he wants to do this?
has she even been to a therapist, Matthew? Have you given her the chance? how about you suggest that first
-[x] Gemma isn't just your friend. She is theirs, too. If you think this is truly a good idea, why come to me in secret?
-[] I will pass down the knowledge if you all believe there is no other way. But not to you as you are now.
I really do not want to tell him how to do this.
This is a Bad Idea. Messing with Gemma's head without her consent --
they're (legitimately) pissed about the disguise spell, and now he wants to do this?
has she even been to a therapist, Matthew? Have you given her the chance? how about you suggest that first
Scify
It always starts with a lighthouse.
Okay, I don't think this is a good idea either, but nowhere does Matthew say or even imply that he wants to do this without her consent. I know most of us don't really like him that much, but jumping straight to the assumption that he's planning to go in and mess with her head without even asking her is a reach, at best.
Quoted for reference:
- Location
- USA
You're right -- I'm overreacting to the 'fix' and some of the discussion.
And the fact that none of the others are involved in this conversation.
And the way he hasn't suggested that Gemma's even tried more conventional methods -- there are obvious issues with therapists when you're a magical girl, but they fall well short of the issues with mind control. (For one thing, Gemma can just magic out at a sufficiently trustworthy therapist.)
But yes, he hasn't *actually* proposed to not ask Gemma's opinion.
He's just being ... *really concerning*.
- Location
- Newcastle Upon Tyne
Disregarding the disturbing idea of teenagers executing a person they put on trial for a second, what do they actually know about Mordred? Other than a few glimpses into their past lives, the only information they definitely have are the legends of the Knights of the Round Table and considering we don't know for sure whether those legends are even remotely like our own, it's going to be impossible to tell what those legends accuracy is.
If they are the same as ours, some of the more removed members are going to take them with a pinch of salt, considering they've been shown to have gotten several very important details wrong even without taking past lives into account. (I.E. The Knight's gender).
If they are carrying out this dream trial, how much are you willing to bet that they're going to take advantage of the situation and try to gain some more information about Camelot, biased though it may be?
If they are the same as ours, some of the more removed members are going to take them with a pinch of salt, considering they've been shown to have gotten several very important details wrong even without taking past lives into account. (I.E. The Knight's gender).
If they are carrying out this dream trial, how much are you willing to bet that they're going to take advantage of the situation and try to gain some more information about Camelot, biased though it may be?
- Location
- USA
Oooh, good point.
I think their legends are more accurate, tho.
I think their legends are more accurate, tho.
Political Animals
Gally
Got the whole word talking King Kiba
You watch the Breakfast Club while you gather your thoughts, turning over words in your head. This isn't a situation where you can afford to speak to hastily – you're very acutely aware that your trial has only been temporarily suspended, rather than resolved. Matthew is a vote not to kill you. Whatever your answer to his rambling, you need to make it…delicately.
A familiar discomfort turns in your stomach. That attitude reminds you of the worst parts of your childhood, learning to navigate Camelot's insipid nobility. If there was one thing you shared with your mother, it was a distaste for the subtle art of politics. To command, to rule – such acts came naturally to you. To speak honeyed words, to hide your true thoughts behind careful etiquette...at best, they were annoyances. When you had struck out from your home and into the many realms of the Forces of Darkness, Morgana had been the one to handle the most grating aspects of negotiation.
"Matthew," you say, hesitant, "have you considered who you're talking to here? I'm facing execution for doing almost exactly what you're suggesting right now."
"This wouldn't be anything like that," Matthew protested, chewing on his lip.
"I know. It's complicated. I'm just saying, I might not be the best person to ask about this. Gemma's not just your friend." You nod in the direction of the Breakfast Club. "She's theirs too. They're going to have opinions, and frankly, they're in a better position to give advice about Gemma than I am."
"I just…needed to know if it's possible," Matthew said. "If I go to everyone about this, I need to be sure. " He shakes his head. "It feels like it never stops. I still have to run that prediction program, and we had the ritual we were going to do before…I'm so tired."
You nod, the small gesture magnified by the silence. "There are things I know that might help. If the group as a whole decides that your plan is the way to go, I'll do what I can. I…I want to help Gemma too."
Matthew sags in relief. "Thank you. I know it's a tall order, but…it doesn't need to last long. Just a few months. I think this thing with Tylwyth…it might be our blaze of glory." He shakes his head. "Look, I don't know what happened with you and Gemma, but I know there's a lot of history. And I know first hand that history makes things complicated."
"So you believe me?" You ask. "About none of this being my plan?"
"Personally? I don't know," Matthew admits. "But you helped Annabelle, and that…that's everything."
The certainty in his voice, the devotion, gives you pause. You want to ask him why it means so much to him, what exact qualities make Annabelle the center of the universe. But before you can respond the world drops out from under you and you are sitting in a throne.
It is a hot summer day in Camelot, and the entirety of the Court is assembled inside the castle's massive yard. The noble colors and insignias of all the Queendom's houses flutter proudly in the sunlight, but the atmosphere is dark, subdued.
Your throne stands on a tall raised platform overlooking the yard. It is a simple chair, iron and dark stone. Imposing, but not ornate. Your crown is similarly fashioned, a simple circlet of jet-black metal, and your clothing is stiff and formal. Three servants had helped you into your pants and doublet this morning, in preparation for the trial – it has been two weeks since Gala's birthday, and still you cannot move anything below the neck.
Your mother is seated to your left. Her own throne is marble and gold, finely crafted, the back writhing and twisting as if flame. Her crown, gold and diamond, rests atop her hair as if she was born wearing it. She wears pants and a doublet beneath her heavy golden cloak, and her deep blue eyes are solemn, judging. Merlin stands at her left in robes of gold and sapphire, and behind her are Ladies Percila and Gawain, Heraldries expressed.
Your mother rises, her attention on her husband. The illustrious King Gwynn kneels in the dirt far beneath her, his hands restrained by heavy shackles. The fae-forged metal driven into the backs of his hands prevent him from weaving magic, though you doubt he would attempt to free himself even if he could cast. His face is downcast, his eyes locked on the ground beneath him. He is a man broken.
"The testimony has been heard," your mother says. She does not raise her voice, but it sweeps across the yard as if it were a shout, effortlessly reaching every ear. "The defendant has been found guilty of adultery, and thus high treason against the crown. The punishment is death by burning."
There is not a sound from the court as your mother descends the steps leading down to the yard. Scores of attendants pile wood on the pyre, while a few more lead Gwynn to his place. You watch them scurry back and forth impassively.
"Death by burning," Lady Gawain whispers, the distaste evident in her voice. "It's barbaric. At least give him the dignity of a quick death."
"The burning of adulterers was one of the few punishments shared by all the Old Kingdoms," Lady Percila replies, just as quiet. "It is a tradition we inherit from our fathers and grandfathers, and it is tradition the nobility clings to."
Gawain scoffs. "She is Queen. She is sovereign."
"She wields power through them."
"Her power is in her soul, her voice. She could tell the sun not to rise and it would stay beyond the horizon. She could end this farce with a word. With a gesture."
"Yes," Merlin says, his voice quiet and sad. "And what would it cost her, I wonder?"
The attendants put the last of the wood into place and fall to their knees, awaiting their Queen. Your mother raises one hand high above her head, held in a loose fist. The barest expression of her power brings heat without light, a shimmer that sweeps across the yard and raises the temperature twenty degrees. What was moments ago an already hot summer day becomes scorching - but it is nothing compared to the inferno your mother holds in her hand, haze pulsing like a steady heartbeat. Her crown dips, catching the sun and throwing her face into shadow, and she stands frozen for a moment, for two. Then she sweeps her arm wide and the haze snaps, the wood in front of her catching suddenly alight. Gwynn tilts his head up to the sky as the smoke begins to rise.
You are so focused on the scene that it takes you a moment to recognize the motion in the periphery of your vision. Men armored in steel leap out from behind the colorful nobility, brandishing spears and swords. Something in the corner of your vision blurs, moving so quickly that even you can't follow it properly.
A figure now stands on the pyre next to Gwynn, a woman with her face obscured by a long hooded cloak. Her arm casts the cloak free and it soars into the sky, buoyed by the rising summer wind. Hair as red as the fire below it cascades past her shoulders.
She is beautiful, you know, though you are young and know little of women. She is dangerous, you know, though you are young and know little of war. She bears no armor and wears no sword, but neither does she sweat in the heat of the flames. Rather she stands above them, untouched, one hand on Gwynn's shoulder as if clinging to him. She stares your mother down and her power rolls across the yard with an intensity that would drown a lesser woman.
Your heartbeat is heavy in your chest. Your breath catches in your throat. From far, far away you recognize the concentrated power of more Heraldries being expressed, but this fact barely reaches you. You can see only her – those fierce blue eyes, that wild red hair. You can hear only the screech of Caledfwlch as it shatters beneath her touch. You can feel only rage, white hot under your skin, each heartbeat pushing molten blood through your veins.
You stand.
From obsidian clutch I draw my blade. Caledfwlch, Caledfwlch, CALEDFWLCH.
Power explodes out of you, darkness like smoke winding across your body, solidifying into the armor that is your birthright. The excess billows off you, an inky blackness darker than a starless sky. For a half a heartbeat, all eyes in the yard are upon you – all save the eyes of your mother, and the eyes of Lady Lorelei Lake.
Then, like dam breaking beneath the inexorable press of water, the stillness breaks. Darkness sweeps out from you, drinking the light of the yard. Armored men clutch at their chests and heads , then crumple and die beneath the sheer force of your presence. You leap from the platform and hit the ground with an earth-shaking impact. Rage blurs your vision, driving away any semblance of rational thought, and the fear that thought would bring. You charge forward.
The graveyard of the dreaming drowned. Riptide, Riptide, RIPTIDE.
Lorelei's power floods the yard, and you slow from the weight of it. Every step feels like you're dragging your legs through heavy mud, and even breathing becomes difficult, the air itself dense and uncooperative. You flare your power, smoky darkness rolling off of you, and earn yourself the slightest relief from the oppressiveness of Lorelei's Heraldry. But it's not enough.
Your mother whispers a word and alights like a dying star. Her power pushes aside the resistance and you can move again, the force of your stride cracking the ground beneath you. Now a boy, not much older than you, stands between you and Lorelei. He wears expensive armor and clutches a sword in both hands, held out before him. His eyes are wide with adrenaline and fear and a passionate zealotry and he stands firm even as you draw closer, darkness swirling hungrily across your blade.
You recognize him, you realize. Andrew Cirencester, the first-born son of a minor noble house from the south. He was married not along ago – he had a child on the way. If this fact causes him to question the wisdom of his current actions, he ignores it, raising his sword as if to fight you. You throw your free hand out and meet his blade head on, the cutting edge barely even tickling through Caledfwlch, and swing your own sword up to separate his head from his shoulders.
Something knocks your sword aside at the last moment, and then catches you in the chest. You stumble backwards and find yourself face to face with Lady Gaheria, esteemed Knight of the Round Table, and your cousin.
Gaheria's armor is a mosaic of multicolored steel, and she bears a slender spear in one hand. Her white hair tumbles down to the small of her back, and she pushes Andrew aside with one hand as she circles you. "Bravery is commendable, boy, but not stupidity," she says, eyes never leaving yours. "The Queen has mortal forces that need to be dealt with. Go!"
You've forgotten Andrew by the time he turns around – you have eyes only for your cousin. "What are you doing?" You shout, spreading your arms. "You'd turn your back on your Queen? On your family?"
"Mordred, I know this is difficult for you," Gaheria says, slipping into a loose stance and twirling her spear with practiced precision. "The picture is much more complicated than you think."
You're too frustrated to do anything but scream in response, and you hurl your sword in your cousin's direction. Your blade pinwheels through the air, trailing viscous darkness behind it, then buries itself in Gaheria's skull. Her body shatters into rainbow glass that is gone before it hits the ground, and the real Gaheria leaps at you from an oblique angle. You're forced to throw yourself to the side to avoid her spear thrust, sword reforming in your hand. You smack her spear aside once, twice, a thousand thousand hours in the practice yard coalescing into instantaneous action.
Gaheria blurs forward, and with a flash of multicolored light is flanked by two doubles. Her doubles cross their spears and jab downwards, trapping your sword, but you release and reform it in your hand just in time to block the real Gaheria's blow.
"Yield!" You shout, slamming your sword into Gaheria's side. The blow sends your cousin stumbling but doesn't break her armor, and she steadies herself with her spear before counterattacking. "Yield, Gaheria!"
"You're angry!" Gaheria yells between blows. "You should be! But Artura isn't fit to run Camelot anymore! She hasn't been for a long time!"
"So you ally with traitors and attack with Heraldries and steel?" You ask, grunting as she scores a solid hit on your leg. Battle rages all around you, steel against steel, magic against magic, but you and Gaheria are an island amidst the chaos.
"I don't want to fight Artura! But nothing can change while she lives! She's immovable, Mordred, she'll drive this Queendom into the ground before she relents!"
"She! Is! Your! Queen!" You roar, sword flashing through the air. Gaheria takes a step back, then another, just barely warding off the force of your assault. "She gave you everything and you turn your back on her!"
There's another flash of light, but you sweep your hand through the double before it can truly form. Gaheria leaps forward, trying to take advantage of your distraction, and you catch her by the throat, twirling your sword in your hand. "Mordred!" She gasps.
You ram your sword through her chest.
Gaheria looks surprised at the pain, staring down at the sword between her breasts as if unable to piece together what's happening.. You pull your blade from her chest, slick with blood, and drop her dying body to the ground. She tries to say something, but dies with the words still half formed on her lips.
You feel the power of the round table surge within her corpse. It bursts out of her mouth and eyes in an explosion of light, coalescing into a wispy, ethereal smoke that hangs unnaturally in the air. From far across the battlefield you see your mother turn, reaching out her hand as if to embrace an old lover.
The smoky energy takes off like an arrow, zipping through the war that rages across the yard directly towards your mother. It darts around battling soldiers and terrified nobility until it reaches your mother's outstretched hand and then –
And then it zooms past her. Your mother's eyes widen as it avoids her arm completely, sailing up the now extinguished pyre until it comes to rest directly in front of Lady Lorelei herself. The red haired Knight inhales through her nose, absorbing the power into herself, and her power surges with renewed intensity.
The world falls away beneath you.
You shout as your back hits the ground, blinking rapidly in the sudden darkness. To your right, someone groans, and you roll onto your side to see Ginny clutching at her head. "Does it have to be so sudden?" She mutters.
You don't say anything aloud, but you inwardly echo the sentiment. As disorientating as your shared dreams with Annabelle could be, at least they had some warning before the scene shifted. Being yanked and pulled between all-too-real memory and whatever strange mental buffer zone Matthew constructed is keeping you on the perpetual back foot.
The rest of the Breakfast Club doesn't seem to be faring any better. They're collectively groaning and muttering curses, rubbing at their heads or backs.
"Well that was…different," Annabelle says. She's already on her feet, though she doesn't look particularly steady. "Is everyone okay?"
"I just need a minute," Piper says, pushing herself up to a seated position. "That was, um…"
"Really fucking weird," Bailey finishes. She hugs her knees under her chin and glowers at you. "Not really sure what we're supposed to be learning here, though."
"We won't learn anything from the individual memories," Matthew says. "Whoever's messing with Mordred's mind, it has something to do with Lorelei, and Lucy. But we won't know how it all relates until we can draw connections between multiple memories."
"Whatever."
"Look, let's just take a breather," Annabelle says. "We need to pace ourselves here." She spares you a hesitant glance, then gently lowers herself to the ground next to Gavin. The pink haired boy is silent, staring up at the pitch-black sky with a look of worried contemplation on his face. You suppose he did just stare down his own kind of near death experience – that would be enough to rattle just about anyone.
You exhale slowly, closing your eyes and trying to center yourself. Of all the memories the Breakfast Club could have seen, you suppose that one wasn't too bad. What if they stumbled on something more personal – a scene between you and Gala, or your crippling? Would you be able to keep your composure? You get to your feet, seeking space and solitude. There's a tree not far from where the group landed, so you stagger over to it and lean heavily against the trunk.
To your surprise, Piper detaches from the group to approach you. "Hey," she says.
"Uh…hi."
Piper rubs at her arm, looking about as uncomfortable as you feel. She glances around at the rest of the Breakfast Club, and after confirming that they're busy amongst themselves, she looks back to you. "I'm sorry we're seeing all this. It can't be easy."
"No, not really."
She nods, biting her lip. "That…that conversation that I…that Percila had with Gawain. About the burning."
Honestly, you'd pretty much forgotten about that conversation. The rest of the day's events had kind of eclipsed everything that happened before Lorelei's dramatic reveal. You shrug, inviting Piper to continue.
"I don't know. I just didn't expect to disagree with her. Percila, I mean." Piper shakes her head. "That whole thing was insane. Why go through it when she could've just snapped her fingers and made it all go away?"
"I…don't know." You could fill a whole castle with the things you don't know about your mother. She had been the sun in so many ways – not least of which was that she was something to be admired and feared from afar.
"Merlin asked what it would cost her, to do that," Piper says. "But it sounded more like a rhetorical question, you know? Like there was something that justified her decision. I just…fuck, I mean, you knew them. What do you think he meant? What possible cost could be too high for even someone like that to pay?"
[] What do you say?
A familiar discomfort turns in your stomach. That attitude reminds you of the worst parts of your childhood, learning to navigate Camelot's insipid nobility. If there was one thing you shared with your mother, it was a distaste for the subtle art of politics. To command, to rule – such acts came naturally to you. To speak honeyed words, to hide your true thoughts behind careful etiquette...at best, they were annoyances. When you had struck out from your home and into the many realms of the Forces of Darkness, Morgana had been the one to handle the most grating aspects of negotiation.
"Matthew," you say, hesitant, "have you considered who you're talking to here? I'm facing execution for doing almost exactly what you're suggesting right now."
"This wouldn't be anything like that," Matthew protested, chewing on his lip.
"I know. It's complicated. I'm just saying, I might not be the best person to ask about this. Gemma's not just your friend." You nod in the direction of the Breakfast Club. "She's theirs too. They're going to have opinions, and frankly, they're in a better position to give advice about Gemma than I am."
"I just…needed to know if it's possible," Matthew said. "If I go to everyone about this, I need to be sure. " He shakes his head. "It feels like it never stops. I still have to run that prediction program, and we had the ritual we were going to do before…I'm so tired."
You nod, the small gesture magnified by the silence. "There are things I know that might help. If the group as a whole decides that your plan is the way to go, I'll do what I can. I…I want to help Gemma too."
Matthew sags in relief. "Thank you. I know it's a tall order, but…it doesn't need to last long. Just a few months. I think this thing with Tylwyth…it might be our blaze of glory." He shakes his head. "Look, I don't know what happened with you and Gemma, but I know there's a lot of history. And I know first hand that history makes things complicated."
"So you believe me?" You ask. "About none of this being my plan?"
"Personally? I don't know," Matthew admits. "But you helped Annabelle, and that…that's everything."
The certainty in his voice, the devotion, gives you pause. You want to ask him why it means so much to him, what exact qualities make Annabelle the center of the universe. But before you can respond the world drops out from under you and you are sitting in a throne.
It is a hot summer day in Camelot, and the entirety of the Court is assembled inside the castle's massive yard. The noble colors and insignias of all the Queendom's houses flutter proudly in the sunlight, but the atmosphere is dark, subdued.
Your throne stands on a tall raised platform overlooking the yard. It is a simple chair, iron and dark stone. Imposing, but not ornate. Your crown is similarly fashioned, a simple circlet of jet-black metal, and your clothing is stiff and formal. Three servants had helped you into your pants and doublet this morning, in preparation for the trial – it has been two weeks since Gala's birthday, and still you cannot move anything below the neck.
Your mother is seated to your left. Her own throne is marble and gold, finely crafted, the back writhing and twisting as if flame. Her crown, gold and diamond, rests atop her hair as if she was born wearing it. She wears pants and a doublet beneath her heavy golden cloak, and her deep blue eyes are solemn, judging. Merlin stands at her left in robes of gold and sapphire, and behind her are Ladies Percila and Gawain, Heraldries expressed.
Your mother rises, her attention on her husband. The illustrious King Gwynn kneels in the dirt far beneath her, his hands restrained by heavy shackles. The fae-forged metal driven into the backs of his hands prevent him from weaving magic, though you doubt he would attempt to free himself even if he could cast. His face is downcast, his eyes locked on the ground beneath him. He is a man broken.
"The testimony has been heard," your mother says. She does not raise her voice, but it sweeps across the yard as if it were a shout, effortlessly reaching every ear. "The defendant has been found guilty of adultery, and thus high treason against the crown. The punishment is death by burning."
There is not a sound from the court as your mother descends the steps leading down to the yard. Scores of attendants pile wood on the pyre, while a few more lead Gwynn to his place. You watch them scurry back and forth impassively.
"Death by burning," Lady Gawain whispers, the distaste evident in her voice. "It's barbaric. At least give him the dignity of a quick death."
"The burning of adulterers was one of the few punishments shared by all the Old Kingdoms," Lady Percila replies, just as quiet. "It is a tradition we inherit from our fathers and grandfathers, and it is tradition the nobility clings to."
Gawain scoffs. "She is Queen. She is sovereign."
"She wields power through them."
"Her power is in her soul, her voice. She could tell the sun not to rise and it would stay beyond the horizon. She could end this farce with a word. With a gesture."
"Yes," Merlin says, his voice quiet and sad. "And what would it cost her, I wonder?"
The attendants put the last of the wood into place and fall to their knees, awaiting their Queen. Your mother raises one hand high above her head, held in a loose fist. The barest expression of her power brings heat without light, a shimmer that sweeps across the yard and raises the temperature twenty degrees. What was moments ago an already hot summer day becomes scorching - but it is nothing compared to the inferno your mother holds in her hand, haze pulsing like a steady heartbeat. Her crown dips, catching the sun and throwing her face into shadow, and she stands frozen for a moment, for two. Then she sweeps her arm wide and the haze snaps, the wood in front of her catching suddenly alight. Gwynn tilts his head up to the sky as the smoke begins to rise.
You are so focused on the scene that it takes you a moment to recognize the motion in the periphery of your vision. Men armored in steel leap out from behind the colorful nobility, brandishing spears and swords. Something in the corner of your vision blurs, moving so quickly that even you can't follow it properly.
A figure now stands on the pyre next to Gwynn, a woman with her face obscured by a long hooded cloak. Her arm casts the cloak free and it soars into the sky, buoyed by the rising summer wind. Hair as red as the fire below it cascades past her shoulders.
She is beautiful, you know, though you are young and know little of women. She is dangerous, you know, though you are young and know little of war. She bears no armor and wears no sword, but neither does she sweat in the heat of the flames. Rather she stands above them, untouched, one hand on Gwynn's shoulder as if clinging to him. She stares your mother down and her power rolls across the yard with an intensity that would drown a lesser woman.
Your heartbeat is heavy in your chest. Your breath catches in your throat. From far, far away you recognize the concentrated power of more Heraldries being expressed, but this fact barely reaches you. You can see only her – those fierce blue eyes, that wild red hair. You can hear only the screech of Caledfwlch as it shatters beneath her touch. You can feel only rage, white hot under your skin, each heartbeat pushing molten blood through your veins.
You stand.
From obsidian clutch I draw my blade. Caledfwlch, Caledfwlch, CALEDFWLCH.
Power explodes out of you, darkness like smoke winding across your body, solidifying into the armor that is your birthright. The excess billows off you, an inky blackness darker than a starless sky. For a half a heartbeat, all eyes in the yard are upon you – all save the eyes of your mother, and the eyes of Lady Lorelei Lake.
Then, like dam breaking beneath the inexorable press of water, the stillness breaks. Darkness sweeps out from you, drinking the light of the yard. Armored men clutch at their chests and heads , then crumple and die beneath the sheer force of your presence. You leap from the platform and hit the ground with an earth-shaking impact. Rage blurs your vision, driving away any semblance of rational thought, and the fear that thought would bring. You charge forward.
The graveyard of the dreaming drowned. Riptide, Riptide, RIPTIDE.
Lorelei's power floods the yard, and you slow from the weight of it. Every step feels like you're dragging your legs through heavy mud, and even breathing becomes difficult, the air itself dense and uncooperative. You flare your power, smoky darkness rolling off of you, and earn yourself the slightest relief from the oppressiveness of Lorelei's Heraldry. But it's not enough.
Your mother whispers a word and alights like a dying star. Her power pushes aside the resistance and you can move again, the force of your stride cracking the ground beneath you. Now a boy, not much older than you, stands between you and Lorelei. He wears expensive armor and clutches a sword in both hands, held out before him. His eyes are wide with adrenaline and fear and a passionate zealotry and he stands firm even as you draw closer, darkness swirling hungrily across your blade.
You recognize him, you realize. Andrew Cirencester, the first-born son of a minor noble house from the south. He was married not along ago – he had a child on the way. If this fact causes him to question the wisdom of his current actions, he ignores it, raising his sword as if to fight you. You throw your free hand out and meet his blade head on, the cutting edge barely even tickling through Caledfwlch, and swing your own sword up to separate his head from his shoulders.
Something knocks your sword aside at the last moment, and then catches you in the chest. You stumble backwards and find yourself face to face with Lady Gaheria, esteemed Knight of the Round Table, and your cousin.
Gaheria's armor is a mosaic of multicolored steel, and she bears a slender spear in one hand. Her white hair tumbles down to the small of her back, and she pushes Andrew aside with one hand as she circles you. "Bravery is commendable, boy, but not stupidity," she says, eyes never leaving yours. "The Queen has mortal forces that need to be dealt with. Go!"
You've forgotten Andrew by the time he turns around – you have eyes only for your cousin. "What are you doing?" You shout, spreading your arms. "You'd turn your back on your Queen? On your family?"
"Mordred, I know this is difficult for you," Gaheria says, slipping into a loose stance and twirling her spear with practiced precision. "The picture is much more complicated than you think."
You're too frustrated to do anything but scream in response, and you hurl your sword in your cousin's direction. Your blade pinwheels through the air, trailing viscous darkness behind it, then buries itself in Gaheria's skull. Her body shatters into rainbow glass that is gone before it hits the ground, and the real Gaheria leaps at you from an oblique angle. You're forced to throw yourself to the side to avoid her spear thrust, sword reforming in your hand. You smack her spear aside once, twice, a thousand thousand hours in the practice yard coalescing into instantaneous action.
Gaheria blurs forward, and with a flash of multicolored light is flanked by two doubles. Her doubles cross their spears and jab downwards, trapping your sword, but you release and reform it in your hand just in time to block the real Gaheria's blow.
"Yield!" You shout, slamming your sword into Gaheria's side. The blow sends your cousin stumbling but doesn't break her armor, and she steadies herself with her spear before counterattacking. "Yield, Gaheria!"
"You're angry!" Gaheria yells between blows. "You should be! But Artura isn't fit to run Camelot anymore! She hasn't been for a long time!"
"So you ally with traitors and attack with Heraldries and steel?" You ask, grunting as she scores a solid hit on your leg. Battle rages all around you, steel against steel, magic against magic, but you and Gaheria are an island amidst the chaos.
"I don't want to fight Artura! But nothing can change while she lives! She's immovable, Mordred, she'll drive this Queendom into the ground before she relents!"
"She! Is! Your! Queen!" You roar, sword flashing through the air. Gaheria takes a step back, then another, just barely warding off the force of your assault. "She gave you everything and you turn your back on her!"
There's another flash of light, but you sweep your hand through the double before it can truly form. Gaheria leaps forward, trying to take advantage of your distraction, and you catch her by the throat, twirling your sword in your hand. "Mordred!" She gasps.
You ram your sword through her chest.
Gaheria looks surprised at the pain, staring down at the sword between her breasts as if unable to piece together what's happening.. You pull your blade from her chest, slick with blood, and drop her dying body to the ground. She tries to say something, but dies with the words still half formed on her lips.
You feel the power of the round table surge within her corpse. It bursts out of her mouth and eyes in an explosion of light, coalescing into a wispy, ethereal smoke that hangs unnaturally in the air. From far across the battlefield you see your mother turn, reaching out her hand as if to embrace an old lover.
The smoky energy takes off like an arrow, zipping through the war that rages across the yard directly towards your mother. It darts around battling soldiers and terrified nobility until it reaches your mother's outstretched hand and then –
And then it zooms past her. Your mother's eyes widen as it avoids her arm completely, sailing up the now extinguished pyre until it comes to rest directly in front of Lady Lorelei herself. The red haired Knight inhales through her nose, absorbing the power into herself, and her power surges with renewed intensity.
The world falls away beneath you.
You shout as your back hits the ground, blinking rapidly in the sudden darkness. To your right, someone groans, and you roll onto your side to see Ginny clutching at her head. "Does it have to be so sudden?" She mutters.
You don't say anything aloud, but you inwardly echo the sentiment. As disorientating as your shared dreams with Annabelle could be, at least they had some warning before the scene shifted. Being yanked and pulled between all-too-real memory and whatever strange mental buffer zone Matthew constructed is keeping you on the perpetual back foot.
The rest of the Breakfast Club doesn't seem to be faring any better. They're collectively groaning and muttering curses, rubbing at their heads or backs.
"Well that was…different," Annabelle says. She's already on her feet, though she doesn't look particularly steady. "Is everyone okay?"
"I just need a minute," Piper says, pushing herself up to a seated position. "That was, um…"
"Really fucking weird," Bailey finishes. She hugs her knees under her chin and glowers at you. "Not really sure what we're supposed to be learning here, though."
"We won't learn anything from the individual memories," Matthew says. "Whoever's messing with Mordred's mind, it has something to do with Lorelei, and Lucy. But we won't know how it all relates until we can draw connections between multiple memories."
"Whatever."
"Look, let's just take a breather," Annabelle says. "We need to pace ourselves here." She spares you a hesitant glance, then gently lowers herself to the ground next to Gavin. The pink haired boy is silent, staring up at the pitch-black sky with a look of worried contemplation on his face. You suppose he did just stare down his own kind of near death experience – that would be enough to rattle just about anyone.
You exhale slowly, closing your eyes and trying to center yourself. Of all the memories the Breakfast Club could have seen, you suppose that one wasn't too bad. What if they stumbled on something more personal – a scene between you and Gala, or your crippling? Would you be able to keep your composure? You get to your feet, seeking space and solitude. There's a tree not far from where the group landed, so you stagger over to it and lean heavily against the trunk.
To your surprise, Piper detaches from the group to approach you. "Hey," she says.
"Uh…hi."
Piper rubs at her arm, looking about as uncomfortable as you feel. She glances around at the rest of the Breakfast Club, and after confirming that they're busy amongst themselves, she looks back to you. "I'm sorry we're seeing all this. It can't be easy."
"No, not really."
She nods, biting her lip. "That…that conversation that I…that Percila had with Gawain. About the burning."
Honestly, you'd pretty much forgotten about that conversation. The rest of the day's events had kind of eclipsed everything that happened before Lorelei's dramatic reveal. You shrug, inviting Piper to continue.
"I don't know. I just didn't expect to disagree with her. Percila, I mean." Piper shakes her head. "That whole thing was insane. Why go through it when she could've just snapped her fingers and made it all go away?"
"I…don't know." You could fill a whole castle with the things you don't know about your mother. She had been the sun in so many ways – not least of which was that she was something to be admired and feared from afar.
"Merlin asked what it would cost her, to do that," Piper says. "But it sounded more like a rhetorical question, you know? Like there was something that justified her decision. I just…fuck, I mean, you knew them. What do you think he meant? What possible cost could be too high for even someone like that to pay?"
[] What do you say?
Last edited:
Spectrum
Tell me a secret~
- Location
- Behind you~
Initial inclination is something like...
[] Talk about the price she had to pay to stay in power. Even as a monarch, her authority was only meaningful if people were willing to follow her. She was already facing many rebellions and hostile powers. Alienating the traditionalists among her own power base in the nobility would have destabilized her rule further.
But refine that a bit/clean up the language.
[] Talk about the price she had to pay to stay in power. Even as a monarch, her authority was only meaningful if people were willing to follow her. She was already facing many rebellions and hostile powers. Alienating the traditionalists among her own power base in the nobility would have destabilized her rule further.
But refine that a bit/clean up the language.
GilliamYaeger
M'crazy.
I'd start it off with something like "Politics," you spit. "Thank the Almighty that you've never had to dip your feet into that particular mire."
What gives her the right to rule? Power? Yes, people respect and fear power, but it can't be just power.
She was already spending a lot of legitimacy by just killing Gwynn. You heard what they said,
She was already spending a lot of legitimacy by just killing Gwynn. You heard what they said,
What does it say when she tosses aside generations of tradition as she kills the man that most of the nobility saw as the one who gave her the right to rule? What precedent does she set in doing so? People can't trust in the safety of the rules if they felt that the Queen didn't care about them. That she'd cut right through them to get what she wanted. If you feel like you'll die under the Queen's rule, dying going against the Queen's rule at least means your kids have a chance.
Last edited:
- Location
- United States
[X] "It would mean that she would ignore tradition and law whenever she disagreed with it, making them lose their importance. Why should people care about laws and justice if the Queen doesn't?"
Last edited:
[X] To be a ruler, you need to have followers. And you can't get people to follow you if they can't feel safe or else they'll rebel or flee until you have no one to rule over. People need to have some measure of consistency, some way of saying, 'if I follow the rules this, this, and this will happen.' Artura became Queen by marrying Gwynn. He was the one the nobility respected, who felt that he respected tradition. He was the go between between the Court and Artura. Killing Gwynn was bad enough by itself, but if she flouted centuries of tradition in doing so, what does that say to the nobility? What's stopping her from just killing them if they got in the way without Gwynn to smooth things over, the same way she killed Gwynn?
SaltyWaffles
I am dissapoint, son
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Does Mordred know all of this?
I suppose we could answer her with:
[] As powerful as she was, even she couldn't afford to piss off too many of the wrong people. Piper saw it herself in the memory: she was already facing rebellion. You can't make a successful kingdom through the sheer power of one individual. And, ultimately, her personal power wasn't enough to save Camelot.
[X] Camellia
I like Camellia's vote, though I feel that it leaves out the point that she couldn't just bulldoze through all of her problems with her personal might. In the end, her personal power wasn't enough to save Camelot, after all.
@Camellia : Thoughts?
Last edited:
DarkLight140
Credit to Team
- Location
- Lost in my thoughts
I think people have cut to the core of this pretty quickly. We can probably explain the main issue in a few sentences... maybe in a way that reflects Mordred's current situation? We do want to end this sequence with enough of our mental visitors on Mordred's side that they vote not to kill him.
[x] No one knew her or understood her. What they did understand was that she had devastating power. But who would obey a power that isn't predictable, which might turn on them at any time? No one trusts what they don't understand. Better to kill it before it decides to kill you, just in case. Those were the stakes.
Or, if we want to say something which ties this less to current interpersonal events, and more to passing off Mordred's ultimate rebellion, maybe something like... "Gaheria was right about one thing; Artura wasn't fit to rule. But most people will take something bad in ways they're used to over something new, so if she wanted to remain in power she had to be something her subjects were used to. It kept the momentum of society on her side."
I guess we could slap that on the end of another vote without it clashing, too, seeing how most votes are going.
[x] No one knew her or understood her. What they did understand was that she had devastating power. But who would obey a power that isn't predictable, which might turn on them at any time? No one trusts what they don't understand. Better to kill it before it decides to kill you, just in case. Those were the stakes.
Or, if we want to say something which ties this less to current interpersonal events, and more to passing off Mordred's ultimate rebellion, maybe something like... "Gaheria was right about one thing; Artura wasn't fit to rule. But most people will take something bad in ways they're used to over something new, so if she wanted to remain in power she had to be something her subjects were used to. It kept the momentum of society on her side."
I guess we could slap that on the end of another vote without it clashing, too, seeing how most votes are going.
Last edited:
That's addressed in the 'you can't get people to follow you if they can't feel safe or else they'll rebel or flee until you have no one to rule over' bit.
Last edited:
GilliamYaeger
M'crazy.
[x] What gives one the right to rule? Power? Yes, people respect and fear power, but it can't be just power. To be a ruler, you need to have followers. And you can't get people to follow you if they can't feel safe or else they'll rebel or flee until you have no one to rule over. People need to have some measure of consistency, some way of saying, 'if I follow the rules this, this, and this will happen.' Artura became Queen by marrying Gwynn. He was the one the nobility respected, who felt that he respected tradition. He was the one whose father was a living King, which gave him a lot more weight politically than Artura's dead one. He was the go between between the Court and Artura. Killing Gwynn was bad enough by itself, but if she flouted centuries of tradition in doing so, what does that say to the nobility? What's stopping her from just killing them if they got in the way without Gwynn to smooth things over, the same way she killed Gwynn? Artura was no diplomat. She had no silver tongue to smooth things over with like her husband. She was a hero of the people and a peerless knight, yes, but she had made a lot of enemies in court, and a lot of them favoured Gwynn over her. In many ways, tradition was one of the last things she could use to maintain her grip on the throne.
Edited your vote a bit Camellia.
Edited your vote a bit Camellia.
Last edited:
- Location
- USA
[x] What gives one the right to rule? Power? Yes, people respect and fear power, but it can't be just power. To be a ruler, you need to have followers. And you can't get people to follow you if they can't feel safe or else they'll rebel or flee until you have no one to rule over. People need to have some measure of consistency, some way of saying, 'if I follow the rules this, this, and this will happen.' Artura became Queen by marrying Gwynn. He was the one the nobility respected, who felt that he respected tradition. He was the one whose father was a living King, which gave him a lot more weight politically than Artura's dead one. He was the go between between the Court and Artura. Killing Gwynn was bad enough by itself, but if she flouted centuries of tradition in doing so, what does that say to the nobility? What's stopping her from just killing them if they got in the way without Gwynn to smooth things over, the same way she killed Gwynn? Artura was no diplomat. She had no silver tongue to smooth things over with like her husband. She was a hero of the people and a peerless knight, yes, but she had made a lot of enemies in court, and a lot of them favoured Gwynn over her. In many ways, tradition was one of the last things she could use to maintain her grip on the throne.
This is an actually good bit. We might also want to include the part where she was kinda locked into this course of action with no real good answer. She had to kill Gwynn. The way the truth came to light it prevented any possibility of covering it up, and it would erode Artura's position to not kill him.
Beyond little details like that though, She was Queen first. Anything else She was came after that. The personal feelings of Artura the person were nothing in the face of the Duty Queen Artura needed to perform.
This is an actually good bit. We might also want to include the part where she was kinda locked into this course of action with no real good answer. She had to kill Gwynn. The way the truth came to light it prevented any possibility of covering it up, and it would erode Artura's position to not kill him.
Beyond little details like that though, She was Queen first. Anything else She was came after that. The personal feelings of Artura the person were nothing in the face of the Duty Queen Artura needed to perform.
JoshieWoshie
Mister Doge
[X] To be a ruler, you need to have followers. And you can't get people to follow you if they can't feel safe or else they'll rebel or flee until you have no one to rule over. People need to have some measure of consistency, some way of saying, 'if I follow the rules this, this, and this will happen.' Artura became Queen by marrying Gwynn. He was the one the nobility respected, who felt that he respected tradition. He was the go between between the Court and Artura. Killing Gwynn was bad enough by itself, but if she flouted centuries of tradition in doing so, what does that say to the nobility? What's stopping her from just killing them if they got in the way without Gwynn to smooth things over, the same way she killed Gwynn?
GilliamYaeger
M'crazy.
You make a very good point.
[x] What gives one the right to rule? Power? Yes, people respect and fear power, but it can't be just power. To be a ruler, you need to have followers. And you can't get people to follow you if they can't feel safe or else they'll rebel or flee until you have no one to rule over. People need to have some measure of consistency, some way of saying, 'if I follow the rules this, this, and this will happen.' Artura became Queen by marrying Gwynn. He was the one the nobility respected, who felt that he respected tradition. He was the one whose father was a living King, which gave him a lot more weight politically than Artura's dead one. He was the go between between the Court and Artura. Killing Gwynn was bad enough by itself, but if she flouted centuries of tradition in doing so, what does that say to the nobility? What's stopping her from just killing them if they got in the way without Gwynn to smooth things over, the same way she killed Gwynn? Or sparing those who needed to die out of favouritism? Artura was no diplomat. She had no silver tongue to smooth things over with like her husband. She was a hero of the people and a peerless knight, yes, but she had made a lot of enemies in court, and a lot of them favoured Gwynn over her. In many ways, tradition was one of the last things she could use to maintain her grip on the throne. And losing the throne was something unacceptable to her. Artura was Queen first. Anything else she was, a hero, a woman, or even a mother, came before that. And so, she had to kill Gwynn, in the way that tradition dictated. The way the truth came to light removed any possibility of covering it up, and her duty to be the Queen forbade any other action. And that, Piper, was the cost she could not pay. In order to spare Gwynn, a man who had betrayed her trust in the worst of ways, she would have had to give up everything she was.
Last edited:
This looks nice, if a little long, but I've got a few nitpicks.
I like it though. I like how it answers the question asked, of what price was to high to pay; being Queen.
This line sort of implies that Artura's claim has weight. I doubt Piper has the historical knowledge that lets her understand just how little weight Artura carried on her own.
It might be better to say that they considered Gwynn to be the true king who granted Artura the title of Queen by association.
I think the word here is after.
This feels backwards. Gwynn had to die, the way the truth came to light removed any possibility of covering it up and the crime had generations of precedent in how to perform the execution. Being Queen instead of her duty to be the Queen? Her duty sounds like she does not want to be queen.
I like it though. I like how it answers the question asked, of what price was to high to pay; being Queen.