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Author Topic: Legion of Camelot
Candlelight
A forever cadet!
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A beautiful drawing of Avalon and it's magical inhabitants, in this case, Mysa, Tinya and possibly, Lu's older sister in a happy momemt before so much tragedy struck their lives:

 -
posted by Irenkesabo

[ June 18, 2010, 08:33 AM: Message edited by: Candle ]

--------------------
'In the twinkling of an eye'
I'll be dancing in the sky!

Come, join me!

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Karie
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Ok, so I'm re-reading this again [Love]

But I do have a question. Around chapter 100 there is mention of a conversation between Imra and Ayla, now is that something you are still going to bring up? Or am I in need of some new glasses cause I cant actually find the conversation anywhere. Or is this a reference to something that was brought up in one of the Legions comics, and I just dont have that particular issue?

By the way... awesome pictures Candle [Big Grin]

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Candlelight
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Saihlough is just a click away:

http://gi105.photobucket.com/groups/m228/CV1ARFWWH1/headsSpring22212223221.gif
posted by Irenkesabo

--------------------
'In the twinkling of an eye'
I'll be dancing in the sky!

Come, join me!

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Kent Shakespeare
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quote:
Originally posted by Karie:
Ok, so I'm re-reading this again [Love]

But I do have a question. Around chapter 100 there is mention of a conversation between Imra and Ayla, now is that something you are still going to bring up? Or am I in need of some new glasses cause I cant actually find the conversation anywhere. Or is this a reference to something that was brought up in one of the Legions comics, and I just dont have that particular issue?

By the way... awesome pictures Candle [Big Grin]

I sometimes only hint at things that happened 'off-camera.' One of these includes one or more conversations Imra had with Ayla while Ayla seemed to be Garth (remember, Salu's magics made her look like Garth, and think she was him); the implication being that Imra, overjoyed at Garth seeming to be back from the grave, and may have said more than was appropriate, thinking she had the opportunity to say to Garth what had been unsaid.

As a result, Imra and Ayla both had a bit of dealing with the after-the-fact awkwardness of said situation, including Ayla having a much better idea than anyone else of Imra's true feeling for Garth (and the memory of having had those feelings directed at her).

I try to strike a balance between telling too much and not enough; I prefer to leave Imra's words for Garth unspoken at present.

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Kent Shakespeare
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More great stuff, Candy! Glad you're so inspired. [Hug]

I've been on the road, but will add more sections soon.

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Karie
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Ah... that is what you were doing.

Kee 'em coming!

Well, when you have some free time ofcourse [Big Grin]

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Kent Shakespeare
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Three Hundred and Ninety-six

“The hag was right about one thing. You and Mordru are conspiring against me, aren’t you, Thora? You hold no trust nor respect in me, your liege. You have offered nothing but ill counsel on this entire trip,” Rokk charged.

The barge upon Glastonbury lake was now approaching, and the priestess would soon take leave of him. There was no longer opportunity for any nocturnal backstabbing or spellcraft, so Rokk felt safe making time to have words.

“I have no love for you, my liege. But I do not work against you. My only contact with Mordru has been to help him in his quest to find the real Mysa. I thought that our quest as well. If I am less cordial than other priestesses, perhaps my experiences with the ways of men have left me so.”

“The hag blames you for Mysa’s disappearance. I’m not convinced she was wrong.”

A feigned expression of hurt appeared on Thora’s face. “My liege! You do me a wrong! She was my friend, a fellow priestess!”

“Know this,” Rokk said with all the intensity he could muster. ‘If Azura did not trust and value you so, I would have no problem seeing you donjoned for questioning. You know things you do not say; of that I am certain. That I cannot place trust in what you do say, I am also certain. I have been glad to be an ally of Avalon and its Priestesses under Azura and Kiwa. I do not believe that good will could possibly continue if you ever become Lady of the Lake, my ‘lady.’”

Then mayhap a new king is in order, she thought, but did not say. But the barge was now almost within earshot and more than she feared the king, she feared her reputation among the other priestesses.

“I… swear upon the great mother goddess Ceridwen and the crone Cailleach, taker of life, that you shall have naught to fear from me. I pledge by the gods of all Britain that no harm shall come to you by my hand. So may I perish!” With the last, she slashed her arm, and let her blood cover the knife blade, first one side, then the other. She wrapped the bloody blade in a cloth and presented it to the king, before tending to her own wound.

Rokk knew enough of Avalon to take the vow seriously, and Thora already regretted vowing so much, made just on the account of the approaching priestesses. Mordru will just have to handle the whelp-king without me.

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Kent Shakespeare
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Three Hundred and Ninety-seven

He awoke with a start, and found his limbs numb from disuse.

The rattle of surprise that escaped his throat must have been louder than the raspy cough it sounded like. Maidens rushed to his aid and surrounded him, checking his wounds and asking him a deluge of questions his still-struggling voice could not keep up with. They forced their elixirs and salves into and onto him, and to their credit the spasming pains of his brokenly awakened flesh soon ebbed. He was almost afloat inside of a calm, cool, herbally fragrant coating and massaging.

It was night; of that he was certain. The cool air, the maidens entering by candlelight, the harmony of the unseen insect choir outside… he was safe, and he could resume his slumber…

Morning came with lances of sunlight piercing his hut. He could slowly make out the structure; it was newly, hastily built. Or perhaps it was deliberately built to allow airs to more readily weave through his sick-bed chamber. The many openings in the hut were covered with un-dyed embroidered cloth of patterns he had seen before – he was in the care of the Priestesses of Avalon. The realization both pleased him and scared him – he had spent far too many lifetimes trapped in Avalon as it was, and he preferred to spend little enough time there. But Avalon held the Cauldron of the Gods, the artifact that would speed his remedy. And probably had already.

He rested easily that morning, and the maidens came early to offer a thin fast-breaking soup to tame the hunger that roared within his innards. He had presumed to have slept but weeks, as it seemed like no more than late spring, but he had seen the Priestesses apply such a regiment of foodstuffs before – he must have slept far longer than he’d believed.

“H-how long?” he managed at last. The maiden, who almost looked Khundish, just smiled shyly and retreated from the hut without a word.

Later that morning, a familiar face appeared at the entry to his hut.

“Brother Jan! Verily it is good to see you!”

“Not half as good as it is to see you awakened at last, my friend. Welcome back to the land of the living, Sentanta Mac Kell.”

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Kent Shakespeare
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Three Hundred and Ninety-eight

“Beren ages. The Druids will be ready for a fresh leader,” Errol pled.

Norack entertained the idea. After nearly nine months since the young Druid had freed a Circle initiate, he was still not trusting of the man – there was too much knowing of Rokk’s court the man had been unable to reveal.

Norack had initially considered Errol to be an unwitting spy for the crown – perhaps bespelled, even. But more and more the likelihood that this Errol really was an unobservant, well-meaning oaf seemed credible.

“You have helped us on many simple tasks, young Errol. It is time for you to prove your worth, if you really wish to be a priest in the Circle of the New Moon.”

“What would you have me do? I am most willing.”

Norack stood and paced. “Beren’s best hope is the lad from the North Isle… Rowan.” Seeing the young Druid’s confusion, he restated. “L’ile, he is known at court.

“Some say he is dead, since not long after the Glorious Day of Darkness – the very day so many like you have seen quite correctly as a sign from the gods to ally with the Circle. Some say he has returned, but remains in hiding. Find him. Either bring him here as a recruit, or make certain he cannot succeed Beren at all.”

Norack handed the man a bundle of cloth, Unwrapping it, Errol found a crystalline dagger.

“It will prevent Rowan from hiding from you,” Norack continued. “The very last survivor of Mona crafted it with his dying breath.” Norack grabbed the hand with which Errol held the blade. “Honour him. Honour us. Honour yourself--”

“Honour Mona,” Errol interrupted with a rueful smile.

Holding the blade, he could well hear the voices of those martyred Druids who were slaughtered by Romans on that isle so many generations ago.

Errol well recalled his conversations with L’ile. As fellow young Druids, he was privy to many things the rest of the court was not – yet never once had his friend and peer told him his real name. The hurt was lessened by the importance of his mission – and he rode northeast for Perilous Forest.

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Kent Shakespeare
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Three Hundred and Ninety-nine

Laoraighll tossed and turned, weaving in and out of consciousness. It pained her forbear to see her in such agony, and it seemed even worst those fleeting moments where she achieved awareness of self and her company.

“She fares far better now than when ere she first arrived,” Jan assured him. “I have faith she will recover in the coming months.”

“What ails her? Why hast the Cauldron not been sent for?”

“Since the Khund war, a strange dog plague has afflicted all the land. Few hounds have survived. We fear that just as you two were affected by the Khunds dog-blood war-paint, so too do you succumb to the pox.”

“All the lands?” MacKell was sickened to again be a prisoner here in Avalon, if this plague again made all the lands beyond his reach. When – if – he could again roam the world, he would no longer be content merely to remain in Britain.; he knew well how wide the world truly is.

“Aye. And the Grail… the Cauldron… is missing. A Josephite brother named Pelles has taken it on some unknown quest.”

“And he shall return it yet? Certain art thou that he is no thief, or bespelled by some fiend?”

“He is son of King Pellam, father of Queen Imra, and an elder among the Brethren for many a year,” Jan replied. “No-one has found the reason for his departure. Genni searches for him.”

MacKell sat in silence as he contemplated his exile in the mystical realm of Avalon. Seven islands, four holy orders, and the cave in which he was once a prisoner; this was his world, for as long as the plague ran its course.

Jan realized his need for solitude, and left the Ulster knight, who was gently squeezing the hand of his ailing kinswoman.

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Kent Shakespeare
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Four Hundred

King Urien looked up expectantly at the portal, hoping his messenger had returned from Londinium with good news. He disliked relying on High King Rokk to solve his feud with the upstart, young and inexperienced King Domangart of Dalraida, but did not want to shatter the peace for which his liege had worked so hard with rash retaliation.

As he sat in his gardens, enjoying the ebbing September summer day, he looked out over the mountains that marked his northern border. Rhyged was a land of green mountains, in which his people had eked every fertile acre of every valley possible into farmland. The harvests were proceeding nicely, and he had no wish to pull the young men away to fight the Scots – not when both nations should be reading their men for a winter war against the Franks.

The portal failed to produce a messenger, no matter how many times he looked toward it. Frustrated, he left the garden to walk the orchard path down to the village.

As he walked, he heard the sound of a harp. Was a Druid, a bard, visiting? Or had some noble chosen, like him, to appreciate the beauty of his lands and escape the walls whilst the weathers still allowed?

He left the path to seek out the harper. He was not surprised to see that the player was a woman; the music had a feminine flair to it. She wore flowing white robes, and her head was turned downward toward the harp. He saw not her face but her rich, thick head of red hair, with few but well-placed braids and ribbons. It reminded him of-

“Hello, my love,” the woman said. It was a voice that paralysed him, a voice he knew and missed.

No words found voice within him. It was struggle enough to remind his heart to beat.

“No words of greeting?” Even if Urien was not already captivated, the sultry melody of her voice would have ensnared him anew.

Could it be a trick? No, as soon as she turned her head, he knew her – she was still as young and beautiful as he remembered, those dozen years ago.

“I-I greet you, my love, my lady,” he finally managed. “You are most welcome in my kingdom. O-Our son is a fine lad, already a great knight,” he told her.

She nodded as she set down her harp. She seemed to float, not walk, toward him, and embraced him in what felt like a wind of silk. “I am gratified. Perchance we should have another.”

“Mayhap we should wed,” he said. “Y-you are the king’s own-” Her fingers to his lips stopped the thought.

“Were we not already wed, beneath a sky of the brightest stars? Come, my love. Let us… reacquaint where we shall not be bothered.”

The woman found Urien too easy a sport to fully enjoy. But he was a useful pawn in what must come next.

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Kent Shakespeare
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Four Hundred and One

Mysa brushed her stark white hair in the mirror, reprimanding herself for sleeping away the prior day. There was much to be done, and she could not afford to nap like the old woman she seemed to be whilst others did her work for her.

Aivillagh’s queries had led to the same result; a smattering of impersonators had been reported over the past seven months.

Apparently it took a full year for the charlatans of Britain to realize she’d even been missing.

Tenzil had disliked being tricked into traveling to Exeter on what had turned out not to be King Rokk’s orders. But Accolon had proved to be right – the loyal beefeater had become convinced that Mysa was Mysa after all. He too recalled the scornful words that her half-brother had shouted at her, and felt responsible for being a less-than-convincing intermediary when Mysa attempted to contact Rokk at Sir Brandius’ villa those weeks ago.

Coming down to Duke Aivillagh’s parlour for fast-breaking, Mysa learned that Apollo (it was still hard not to think of him as Dyrk) had returned late last night.

Presently he was telling her allies of his talks with the court.

“King Rokk had ridden north to encourage conscripts for the Frankish war,” he was telling things they had already heard. “I met with Queen Imra and Azura, the Lady of the Lake. Both were truly aghast at the idea that the court or Avalon were failing to uphold the Olde Ways.”

Accolon was overcome with dread. “I hope you did not accuse-”

“No, no, no.” Apollo grinned. “Queen Imra hopes to build better bonds with the more tolerant of Christians, and has proposed that Brother Jan start a sect on the Isle of Heath.”

“Blasphemy!” Aivillagh blurted.

Mysa liked Jan, but felt the proposal to be an intrusion. “Did you dissuade her?”

“Aye, I think I have. Azura pledged to keep a stricter eye on Thora, and to call all the nobles who adhere to the Olde Ways to gather at Avalon, that we may redress allegiances to one another.”

“Verily, it has been too long!” Aivillagh was in his glee. “In the olden days, nobles did this each year. But then the Romans-

“But I am lecturing. Continue, Apollo.”

“Both Imra and Azura are concerned with Rokk. Imra, whose gifts of the mind magicks offer a unique view of the situation, believes Rokk himself wrestles with something within him. She knows not what to do about him.”

“I know how she feels,” Mysa shivered, and told the group her own fears and suspicions – and her proposed remedy.

“But what of Mordru?” Accolon chimed in.

“Azura wants to meet with you, my Lady Mysa, ere she accuses her aide of any wrong-doing. If it is pleasing to you, I can arrange-”

The conversation was interrupted by the sound of combat. Rushing out to the square behind the others as quickly as her aged bones would allow, Mysa arrived to find Aivillagh’s Northman Sugyn pinning Sir Garth. Accolon had rushed into the fray as well, and intercepted Garth’s would-be savior – Carolus!

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Kent Shakespeare
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Four Hundred and Two

MacKell walked the six islands like a caged beast pacing at the bars, looking for any gap through which his head was wide enough to escape the bars.

He had long since caught up on old news – he and the others had been successful in besting the great serpent Jormangund, and he was quite pleased. Death would have been a satisfactory price to pay, but imprisonment seemed far worse a fate.

Pleased he was of the eviction of the Nuhorran/Macedonian occupiers. He would have liked to have aided the effort – and to aid the coming war. Yet here he was a prisoner again.

He walked all the isles. And re-walked them. He discovered the remnants of an encampment on the Isle of Heath, overlooking the Brethren Isle. None knew whose camp it was, or where its originator had gone. MacKell’s enhanced senses told him a woman had stayed there, but Thora denied any Priestess could have, and none would accuse a Teacher of a false denial.

He helped with the harvest and the fishing, but these too brought little relief from his sense of enclosure. He helped tend to Laoraighll, who little by little did seem to be improving.

The harvest season ebbed and news came in from outer Britain that even many young pups who had previously avoided the plague were now whimpering and bloating. MacKell grimaced. He would find no freedom before winter; that much was clear.

Each time he walked the isles, he walked closer and closer to the seventh isle, the one every voice admonished him not to venture to. Some islands were connected by short bridges, some by marshy paths, and some by stepping-stones. In other places, one could wade through shallow waters from one isle to another. The Forbidden Isle, a hill almost always cloaked in mists, abutted none of the others. It always seemed a quarter-mile away from the three northernmost islands, and the same rocky peninsula on that distant isle seemed to always point towards the viewer, no matter where in the archipelago one stood.

Frustrated and feeling cornered, MacKell picked up his spear, the ancient, magickal Spear of Victory, one of the very treasures Laoraighll had first brought to court. In a fit of anger, he hurled the spear at the mysterious isle before him.

He watched it make landfall, onto a stony black beach none but he could see with clarity. In the channel between that shore and the place where he stood, the waves of presently grew rougher; the clash of the fiercest of these waves clashed into a frothy seam that slowly reached from the shore in front of the spear to the one in front of his feet. Out of the froth slowly rose a stony causeway, a land-bridge of interlocking hexagonal stones not unlike those which the British knights had seen on the Ulster shore. This new causeway was wide enough for a man to walk upon, so he did.

If the Forbidden Isle welcomes me, who am I to refuse?

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Kent Shakespeare
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Four Hundred and Three

Rokk was annoyed by yet another Mysa sighting – this time by a vital vassal king of a vital northern kingdom. He had settled the feud with the Scots – for now – and acquired recruits from all the northern lands. Even battered Lothian was eager to contribute, if only to vent its ire at being so helpless before Jormangund. If Pharoxx’s naval preparations were ready, Rokk could well attack Neustria before Yule.

Rokk permitted himself a brief rest in Rhyged, and hoped to ride with the first of the southbound armies. But he hoped not to hear of its king belabouring about his visions of his own sister.

“My father has a single weakness – for my mother,” Ywaine explained. “None but her sorcery can distract him from duty and kingdom.”

Rokk liked the young knight – more of a fighter at 10, and now 12, than he had been at his first battle at 14. “You really think it is her? Your mother?”

“I would know not. I have no memories of her. But I do known that father believes it to be her. Your sister, Mysa.”

“She would have been very young to be mother to you,” the king said.

“As so you say, my liege. I approve not of her, nor the witchery she is said to hold to her heart.”

“My sister was a Priestess of Avalon. In their own way, they are as pious as we Christians.”

“So you say. But it seems very ungodly to me. If you mind not me saying, my king.”

Rokk nodded. “This world carries more to it than any single philosophy, I have found, no matter what the priests may say.”

Ywaine’s father joined them presently “I regret, my liege, that your sister could not join us for our evening meal. She misses your company dearly.”

“I am certain she does,” Rokk said diplomatically. Either King Urien’s Mysa was a fraud or a phantasm – and Rokk had his fill of both.

Pity the next false ‘Mysa’ I chance upon.

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Four Hundred and Four

Taliesin would have rather attended to his students, but more and more the fears Cador gave voice to could not be avoided.

While he and the other Teachers preferred to let the rest of Avalon tend to their own affairs, Azura’s grip on the Priestesses was waning, none could deny. Mysa had vanished, and treachery by a Priestess was likely. The camp that the Ulster knight found suggested someone was keeping something secret – but what, here, of all places? This was Avalon, not some tawdry Frankish court!

To make matters worse, the answers that had been found ailed his heart as well. Young Zoe had confirmed that the spirit of the Bear-King dwelt in the high king’s heart – but which truly held sway? Sorcery had brought the great serpent to Britain, yet no trace of Medb could be found. Against the avalanche of ill omens, even Cador’s claim that dear Imra, beloved pupil of all the Teachers, was in league with the zealots of the one-god could not lightly be dismissed.

The Teachers had listened, and had taken their time to reach a consensus. Cador, who never was one for the full deliberative process, had left for Cornwall in frustration. And now that his peers needed him, he was not here.

But just as the Teachers approached a point of action…

A causeway suddenly opened to the Forbidden Island. An unprecedented event in all the centuries since Avalon was severed from the outer world.

Was it a good omen, or an ill one? It was enough to put the Teachers back into more weeks of deliberations, but even Taliesin was approaching the point of shouting “enough!”

But still the Teachers talked. And talked. And talked.

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