Darcsen’s Dream Journal Entry 9

A continuation of our descent into madness


0

Date unknown, Location: Battlement atop the wall surround Camelot, Time since Awakening: 0 hours

Smoke. Screams. A city on fire and on the verge of being invaded. I find myself in a new body, Medraut, the Scion of Mordred. Memories flash through my head. Mother, hiding us in the forest. Learning the skills of my father's holy blade. Learning the history of my city, Camelot, my legacy. Learning how witches manipulate, cheat, steal, as they are today.

I stand from my kneeling position, Caliburn grasped in my fist. I see my companions around me, Auken, not yet wearing his amulet, Seravin, looking paler, leaner, hungrier, Chicago, glancing around wearily, and Nanfoodle, guileless and ever curious. We are atop the walls of Camelot, knights guarding on either side, a select few farther off atop another battlement. Introductions are brief, for in the distance we spy a horde of Pict barbarians, clad in whatever armaments they could scrounge up, ladders being carried for a siege.

"I suggest you hand over that blade." A voice, familiar. Brenda. Behind us on a broom, uttering the words I have learned to fear and loathe from her kind, both through my time as Korth and the memories I have anew. She reaches out her hand, expecting Caliburn. Instead she gets a chakram, cutting deep, followed by a flying kick from Chicago. Wood clatters against stone. I look around, barbarians scaling the walls, pulling knights from them like grapes from a vine. Rage courses through my veins, I leap to defend my city, my people. My sword draws blood, holy fire burning along its blade as I sweep it through the Picts.

Brenda is not dissuaded from her goal. She charges on her broom, growing claws and growling like the beast she hides within. My armor. The scales, not strong enough, my shield not fast enough. My blood fills the air as I continue bearing on the barbarians. Seravin shouts with success as Brenda crumples behind me, an arrow in her throat. Timmy dons his amulet and leaps to assist me, defending the wall, Nanfoodle helping us all with spells, Seravin and Chicago taking another portion.

The ground rumbles beneath our feet. I look, and in the distance a giant approaches, tall enough to overlook us fifteen feet in the air. More ladders clatter against the walls. The knights continue fighting, losing ground. The four with unique crests manage some damage, but it is too little, too late. The giant reaches us, an enormous sword cutting one knight in half. The large eye in its head turns on another, a Lady Knight with a crest of a blackened heart. She barely holds under a mental assault.

More crunching of metal, more blood spilling along the stonework. The barbarians have broken through! They start scattering into the city, but I cannot stop them, my oath calling me towards the giant. Chicago manages a heroic maneuver, kicking the giant in its enormous eye, causing it to slip and fall to the ground outside. Not amused, it stands and turns the eye on him. He flails under the mental assault and nearly crumples to the ground. Its enormous blade turns on Seravin, who only just manages to avoid being bisected, instead accepting an enormous cut.

The four crested knights begin tearing into the remaining barbarians. Taking some inspiration from them I leap atop a Pict still on the ladder, riding him down as I would a sled. I call for the giant's attention before feeling an enormous impact in my back and begin losing consciousness. The last I hear is, "Protect the King!"

I am brought back shortly after, not much having changed, though I am now surrounded by the knights. I take Caliburn in my hand, my wrath feeding its flames once again and leap up, stabbing the giant through the knee. It drops, its mouth opening in a feral scream of pain. The Knight with silver flames as his crest takes his blade and finishes the beast. Cackling and screeches are heard in the distance, the sounds of the green hags from the dream before.

I and the knights introduce ourselves as we prepare for another assault. The only survivors, Sir Bors the Younger, Sir Lionel the Silverflame, Lady Vel the Blackhearted, and Draco Tiberius. Bors and Lionel both seemed eager and enthusiastic at my return, Lady Vel less so. Draco did not seem to care one way or another, but seemed just as shifty as Seravin before he informed us he was a vampire. Nanfoodle helped us all with a spell, a spot of green appearing that healed us as we walked through it.

FWOOM!

Six green hags appear before us in a burst of light and sound. We charge out from the gate, not wanting to get pinned at the wall. Chicago and Timmy start taking the hags out. Suddenly a burst of blood. Socks! The goblin appears behind one of the hags, again with his blade through its chest. Lady Vel does…something. She calls out in tongues none of us understand, ripping something out of one of the hags. A scream, familiar to the young witches when they were in my head. When I look there is nothing but a desiccated husk of a green hag on the ground…


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