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| The Trial of Arthur's Murderer | |
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| Topic Started: Mar 10 2015, 11:42 PM (122 Views) | |
| Helena Serieux | Mar 10 2015, 11:42 PM Post #1 |
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Methuselah
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- Note, this is still very much a work in process. I'll get a thread up with spoilers for discussion if people want and I'd honestly like to know what you think. It's split into two parts, of which only the first is finished. Which is a little surprising, as I only began to write it yesterday! --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- “You stand before the knights of King Arthur in judgement of your deeds” the voice was firm despite the aged body that issued it. “Do you understand your crimes?” The prisoner stood still in the chamber, head bowed and eyes closed beneath the matted screen of hair. Only the motion of toes digging into the thick fabric of the rug showed semblance of life within the captive. A long moment passed and the two of the judges shared an awkward glance before one spoke. “Lady, do you-“ “I heard.” She croaked out, her voice rough with disuse. Anger flared in her breast, quickening her blood. She knew the voice. Sir Bors was a stalwart knight, found in the depths of battle or the depths of drink. He was loud, uncouth and guileless. He had never liked her and, she was sure, already had his verdict set in mind. His placement as a judge was condemnation. Knights chose amongst themselves three of their number to sit as judges. In most cases, knights were so few that the first knight present would summon two more and automatically form the triumvirate needed. That was not the case this time. She had spent weeks imprisoned, eating little more than a thin gruel that sapped her strength and left her teeth loose in their sockets, and giving plenty of time for all knights to heed the call. His place as a judge meant the knights were decided of her guilt and he was in place to ensure her punishment was fitting. Her anger brought with it her sense of self. She had lived with her wrath so long that as her captivity had stolen it away, she had found herself lacking. Her wasted muscles burned in protest as she straightened, dull eyes sparking once more from her sunken cheeks as she met Sir Bors’ gaze. His once-familiar brown eyes stared balefully at her. He had grown a heavy beard of brown streaked with silver and above it she could see his cheeks go ruddy as his anger grew. It had ever been his tell, as long as she had known him and likely before. She held his gaze, spearing his anger with her own but knew it could not last. She could feel the trembles building in her thighs. Anger drove her, gave her strength but it could not sustain her. The prolonged captivity had ensured that and she knew that when her limbs failed her it would be read as a sign of her guilt and acceptance of her shame. The fire within raged at the thought, demanding action. And it was right, she knew. She had one final chance to bring the truth to the world and to do so, she had to find some way to attack. Bors lips parted and he spoke with thunder. “You heard. You bitch-devil. You dare stand there and glare. Dare breath when our King cannot. We should gut you where you stand, fling your entrails from the windows and make you watch as the vermin feast on them. We sho-“ “Bors.” Peredur spoke with calm authority and cut his fellow knight's tirade short. Peredur. Noble, idealistic, naïve Peredur. How often had she belittled him in front of his peers, mocking his quiet nature and propensity to over ponder matters. If she had a single choice of judge, Peredur would have been her it. He could think, he could recognise the truth. “That’s enough. Her guilt does not mean you are have ceased to be a knight. You stand as judge in her final hours. Comport yourself, man" Rage filled her at his ignorance and her words flew from her lips. “Did you love Arthur so little you cast aside his laws now? Tell me, did you just whip out your cocks and piss on his corpse as-“ Pain exploded from her cheek and she felt a curiously weightlessness within her. Said curiosity was solved a split-second later as she collided with the stone wall behind her and collapsed to the floor. Her body betrayed her, her chest heaving in breaths as she spat blood and teeth to the floor. “You traitorous witch!” Still reeling from the dual blows, she stared stupidly up at the knight as he raised his foot over her. Three hands and a wrist-stump grabbed at him, pulling him back. Bedwyr, her mind recognised the third judge. She groped for information of him but her thoughts refused coherence. Sir Bors curses and rage gave her time to bow her head and suck painful lungfuls of air in. The agony eased to just a dull roar and she struggled to her feet, leaning heavily against the stone wall. “Arthur”, she gasped, “believed in justice. He believed in trials for all. If you have forgotten that, you have forgotten him.” The effort of the words and the reverberating pain of the blows sapped her strength, she found herself sliding down the wall. “I’ve got your justice right he-“ “Enough, Bors.”Peredur, hope surged within her as-yet-unbroken form. “She is right, much as it sickens me to say. The king believed in something greater, something for all no matter how guilty we know they are. She stands trial tomorrow. Merlin, see to her injuries, get her fed and in the name of the Lord, get her washed. Morgause, your trial begins at daybreak." The blonde knight turned to the guardsman stood at the door. “Guard, stay with her. If she fights, kill her. If she tries to escape kill her. Otherwise have no other contact unless the Merlin bids you otherwise.” She laid her head on her arm and closed her eyes. Barely five minutes had passed, yet her reserves were gone and her body thrummed with pain. She had bought herself time. She had the afternoon, evening and night to marshal herself, run through her thoughts and form the best presentation she could. First, though, she knew she must submit to the rest her body demanded. The scuff of feet pulled her from her thoughts. With an effort of will, she opened her eyes. Merlin squatted before her, the pose incongruous on the old man. His brilliant blue eyes narrowed in speculation. He spoke in a whisper, too quiet for the guard to hear. “Morgause, what tricks have you got left, eh?” Edited by Helena Serieux, Mar 11 2015, 03:04 PM.
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Merits: Well Traveled, Refined, Natural Leader, Occult Library, Manor, True Love![]() Flaws: Vengeance, Driving Goal, Infamous Sire, Sire's Resentment, Vengeful Childe/Jilted Paramour | |
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1:39 AM Jul 11