Avalon: Isle of Mists (freestyle Arthurian RPG)

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Aquayanna
 

Avalon: Isle of Mists (freestyle Arthurian RPG)

Unread postby Aquayanna » Sun Jun 08, 2003 6:31 pm

"Moerwin!" I awoke to the sound of my mother's angry voice and a sharp slap. I rolled over with a groan. "Stop thrashing about like an angry cat! I canst but sleep!"

I opened my eyes to gold slits. "I had another dream, Mother."

She pulled the bearskin off of her face. "The Sight?"

I shook my head. "I cannot tell..." I closed my eyes. "There was a skull dripping black bile that hung over a gold goblet in the Great Hall...and it laughed." I opened my eyes again. "It had no teeth."

My mother bit her lips, which were full and red and which young men wrote poems to. Mother was a great beauty, and she promised I would be, too, someday.

I was still waiting.

She sighed. "It sounds like the Sight well enough." She rolled over and groped for the flint. "You remember to tell your aunt in a fortnight. Viviane shall tell you the meaning of it."

"Aye, Mother." She lit the candle by the bedside, and the room was filled with a wan, golden light. "Are we getting up so soon?" I complained, curling up again under the bearskin.

"Aye!" Mother pulled the skin away and the cold hit me like I had been slapped again. "You've awoken me now, so we might as well rise." She nodded to the window as she splashed water from the baisin onto her face. "The moon's aye set and the sky's light. We have much to do today, Moerwin. Up and get dressed."

I grumbled, but rolled shivering out of bed and gropped on the floor for my wool kirtle. Pulling it over my head, I joined my mother at the baisin. "Ay, Moerwin!" she snapped. "You could put on a clean kirtle! You wore that one yesterday and the day before."

"We shall only pack them all," I said with dignity. "Why should I put on a clean one when I would have one less to wear at Glastonbury?"

Mother rolled her eyes, but let it drop. "At least put on a different overgown," she muttered.

I smiled sweetly. "Yes, Mother." I went obligingly to my press and slipped on one of my older overdresses, the blue one. "Shall I put out what I want Tirna to pack?"

"Yes. When you finish, would you go down and wake Kathe and ask her to put the porridge on?"

"Yes, Mother." She went out, twisting her red hair up into a rough braid. I sighed. Even half asleep and with her hair mussed up, Mother was gorgeous. I fingered my own dark aubern hair that somehow always seemed to look messy, no matter how many times a day I brushed it. With a shrug, I turned back to my trunk and started pulling out clothing. I chose a change of three shifts, plus my best-wear slip with Chammise lace and a red ribbon on the border, and all six of my good kirtles, eight overgowns and my best dress, the forest-green velvet gown that Mother and Tirna had sewn for me that winter out of the velvet that Papa had brought back from the war with the Saxons. Throwing the pile on the bad, I left the room and went down to the kitchens, where Kathe was asleep by the fire.

I shook her gently. "Kathe! Mother says to start the porridge."

The old woman mumbled something and looked up at me, bleary-eyed. "Milday Morgause?"

I smiled gently and shook my head. Kathe was getting old. She often mistook me for Mother now. "No, Kathe. It's Moerwin. Mother says you're to start the porridge."

After I had set the old woman to rights, I wandered out into the Great Hall, where a few servents dozed by the fire and my father's greyhound, Ferrize, was curled up under his chair. I sat at my own place, to the right of the tables head and down three places, so there was room for my brothers, and waited for breakfast.

* * *

Dinner was always a large affair, especially on the day before a big event. Tomorrow we set out for Glastonbury for the corronation of the young High King Pendragon, and the Great Hall was in chaos, servents running about with things to pack, scullery maids with food and wine, my father banging on the table for more ale and my three brothers engaged in an arguement about which of them will be knighted first under the High King -- even little Gareth, who is hardly five years old.

I picked at my roast boar, vaugely bored. I was impatient for the next day to come, and to be off to Glastonbury, I, who had never been beyond the villiage outside the castle gates.

At the head of the table, my father banged again on the table with his goblet. "More ale!" he bellowed, beard wagging. I watched the goblet bang up and down absently. It had been a gift from the Saxon ambassador who had come pleading for his people to be spared. It was a fine bit of craftsmanship, with images of battle molded around the bowl of the cup. Something about it stirred my memory beyond the simple fact that I saw it every day when my father drank from it, but I shrugged it off.

"Moerwin," my mother said loudly, cutting into my thoughts. She had come up behind me without my noticing, which was hardly surprising, considering the noise. "Have you checked to see that your mare is ready for tomorrow?"

"Aye, Mother," I answered with a sigh. She had asked me this twice already. "Kasiel's fine."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ragor, one of my father's valets, pouring more ale into his goblet. There was something about the way his eyes gleamed that made my stomach clench. Suddenly, the memory of my dream flashed into my mind...the skull...the bile...the goblet...

"PAPA!" I screamed, throwing myself across the room and striking the goblet from his hands. I landed sprawled on the floor, covered in ale, on top of a very surprised Ragor.

My father looked down at me with a vauge recognition, as though only just remembering he had a daughter. "Moerwin?" he snapped. "What in the hells do ye think ye're doing, girl?"

I looked at up with him with as much dignity as I could, soaked in ale as I was, and met his eyes. "Your ale was poisoned, milord."

There was a stifled gasp from under me. I repressed a smirk. I hoped this terrified Ragor good and well. I remembered that time last week when tried to throw me down and have his way with me. Let this be my revenge.

My father glared down at me. His temper was well-known. "Are ye mad?" he thundered.

"Milord," my mother interjected smoothly, crossing to him. "Moerwin is, after all, my daughter. And she does have the Sight."

My father snorted at that, but he did calm down. He looked down at me. "Well? Stand up and brush yeself off."

"Milday," Tirna whispered, rushing forward from the silent crowd of onlookers. She helped me up and I straightened my skirts.

Ragor tried his best to slink away unoticed, but my father pinned him in place with one powerful arm. "Well?" he snapped. "Speak for yeself, man! Does my daughter speak the truth?"

"Aye, that she does, milord!" one of the servingmen called out. "I sees him meself in th' kitchens, putting something strange in ye ale, milord, if ye dun mind me sayin' so, milord."

My father turned back to Ragor, purple with rage. "Take him out to the yard and set the dogs on him!" he ordered several of his guards. They grabbed him by the arms and shouldered him out the door, with much of the household following, not prepared to pass up this entertainment.

He studied me for a moment, then smiled gruffly. "I thank ye, Moerwin," he said roughly, ruffling my hair. "When we get to Glastonbury, I shall buy ye a jewel to hang 'round that pretty neck of yours."

I grinned happily. "Thank you, Papa!"

He shrugged, but I saw the corners of his mouth twitch. "Now off with ye, and change that soiled dress."

I skipped up the steps and up to my chambers.

My father looked after me, grimly. "I think," he said quietly to my mother, "that it's high time we sent that girl to your sister. A child with the Sight has no place here."

"Aye, milord," my mother agreed. "Aye. When we get to Glastonbury, I'll speak with her."

"Aye." My father nodded. "When we get to Glastonbury..."



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Capntastic
Aa, cracked glass!
 
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Re: Avalon: Isle of Mists (freestyle Arthurian RPG)

Unread postby Capntastic » Mon Jun 09, 2003 1:14 am

(This seems spiffy enough, but it is best to post a notice in the OOC forum to gather others to let them know about the RP, let them show you their characters for approval, and pretty much set the whole thing up)


Aquayanna
 

Re: Avalon: Isle of Mists (freestyle Arthurian RPG)

Unread postby Aquayanna » Mon Jun 09, 2003 8:37 pm

(ooooooh, is THAT how it works around here? Okai, no prop. Thank you! *skips off*)


LostDreamer
 

Re: Avalon: Isle of Mists (freestyle Arthurian RPG)

Unread postby LostDreamer » Wed Jun 11, 2003 4:46 pm

: The waters sing a strange song this eve ... let me see what has transpired so quickly. Oh, yes ... she has changed the stars once more.:
reaching into the roots framing her floating night stand, the Lady of the Lake pulls out a small book. Using the tip of a bone she writes down the new knowledge with the bubbles around her wrist. A small fish of light swims beside her head and asks "Who is this you speak of in your writings? You have not told me what has been transpiring lately and truthfully I am quite perturbed by it all...."
"Clam yourself the time is right. You see, Linger, my niece is coming to learn more of her skills. We shall see how far her limits are tomorrow. Would you be a dear and bring me my globe, I will need to follow them throughout the day tomorrow."
Viviane's companion swims away and leaves the mistress alone in her abode of roots.
:How these old roots have groaned tonight. This old tree has been through so much. The land above must be churning with so much more. It will have to wait though...:

Edited by: [url=http://pub30.ezboard.com/brpgww60462.showUserPublicProfile?gid=lostdreamer@rpgww60462>LostDreamer</A] at: 6/11/03 4:49 pm


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