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A King Foretold (Applepoisoneer- MellowYellow)

Applepoisoneer

Applepoisoneer

Supernova
Joined
Jan 2, 2016
Location
In the deep, dark woods. Where no one can hear you
Once upon a time, in a castle of dark repute, a long and thoughtful shadow rested in a throne of stone. Before it was a large spherical crystal supported by black, wooden claws. The shadow lifted a long, slender hand to rub entwining circles with the tips of its fingers in the air near the crystal ball. The crystal sprang to life, bathing the shadow in a luminous green that glinted in the yellow, slitted eyes. What was once a shapleless figure became a woman of sharp features, wound in heavy black velvet cloak and satin robes beneath. The robes themselves, which were frayed at the sleeves from hand-working, were accented with royal purple.

Upon her head was a leather cowl with a widow's peak point that divided her face into a rather pleasant heart-shape. The cowl's leather stripping wound it's way up into two points, like horns or the pointed ears of a bat. The whole thing closed around the back, guarding silver-touched raven locks that no mortal had seen in what was apt to be several decades.

Her thin eyebrows knit in concentration as she studied the new shapes growing to life in the inner crystal; shapes obscured by heavy green mist. She saw a man... a young man of sleek frame... She saw him do something very peculiar, though after giving it a little thought, she knew precisely what it meant. She saw him... pull a sword from an enormous flat rock. And it was then, she knew, she would finally have her King.
 
The boy who would be king, or rather the teenager that would be king, certainly did not have the appearance one would imagine. Some would call him handsome with his fair and unblemished complexion, overlaid on a trim body that had no unneeded fat. But ultimately the willowy young blond was a peasant, and that alone was enough to keep most everyone else away from anything close to power.

Still the young man unflatteringly known as 'Wart' had his own dreams. He longed to e a knight and thus had found himself becoming a squire, and with his diligence and natural talent it seemed unquestionable that he had knightly potential... If only the man he was squiring for wasn't a total dillhole just on the lookout for cheap labour.

But Wart was determined anyway. And so he found himself, dressed in a silky red coat and a golden scarf, mending horseshoes in the chill of the old stables. He'd taken up a seat on the hay, grumbling as he examined the steel material through the few glimmers of light shining in through the old windows of the place. "Every day with this... I'm not a bloody stablehand, I'm a squire..." he murmured in mounting vexation.
 
With a swirl of black feathers and loose hay, a very large crow who'd been sitting in the rafters, swept down and plucked the horseshoe the boy had been mending and swept it out from the stables.

Although the horseshoe was quite heavy, the crow flew with it caught up in it's talons, keeping low to the ground, perhaps five or six feet in the air. It flew in odd circles like a thing possessed, occasionally slipping back through the wide door meant for horses, only to turn on a dime and fly into the open again.
 
"What the-" The huge black bird had swept the shoe out of his hand in a flash and took off with it, the sight enough to make the blond growl in furstration. A lazier man might have let bygones be bygones, but Wart knew he couldn't risk that. He had his ambitions to strive for, and in addition he knew that his knight wouldn't take a lost horseshoe all that well. Had a minor temper like that.

He jumped sharply to his feet and landed neatly on the hay. "Get back here you bloody stupid bird!" he called, racing out of the stables after the broad-winged bird. He gained quite a pace in his motions, following the airborne beast through the cramped and winding streets of the stony city, heedless of the icy chill in the air. He never lost sight of the bird, even as he was ducking and weaving past the various other peasants on the streets.
 
The bird swept through the city and out into the forest, where it slowed it's pace to a nearly idle flap. Every so often, it turned it's beak to the boy, seeming to ensure that he still followed. The crow let out a few kaws that rang through the dark forest. Finally, it came to rest on a low, gnarled branch of a tree, where he waited for the boy to approach.

A green glow bathed the tree and seemed to pulse through it like a viable heart beat. A glittering point of green flame, the same hue as the light enveloping the tree, appeared at it's trunk and pulsed along with it. The pinpoint grew and grew until it was a column of flame. A stately woman in black robes emerged from the column, and it vanished.

She was very tall, perhaps a head taller than the average man of the age. Her skin held an odd resda-green hugh, like fresh grape leaves. Her features were sharp and well defined, and she wore the most peculiar headdress. Her lips, which were rouged into a burgundy hue, curled into a knowing smile.

The crow very intentionally dropped the horseshoe into her waiting hand. She toyed with it in her slender fingers and held it out to the lad. "Were you missing this, my dear boy?" Her voice was a melodious contralto of perfect diction.
 
Even as the bird flew from the confines of the old city and into the outer reaches of snowy woodland, the young blond did not tarry in his pursuit. Nay, if anything he put even more pep in his step and worked to keep pace. Even as sweat beaded Wart's brow and his huffing breaths became white misty clouds, he did not allow the bird to ever slip too far out of sight. However what happened next seemed to stimy his pursuit.

The teen skidded to a halt, left looking up at an imposing yet darkly beautiful woman. Even the horns of her helm did not really detract from how good she looked. "Ah... yes, I... that bird stole it from me. I should... probably get it back to the stables before anyone knows that it's gone missing."

Something about this was... worrying. Dark women in forests rarely entailed good things...
 
"Of course. We wouldn't wish to worry your masters of its safe return, would we? " She offered the horeshoe to the young man on the tips of her fingers, letting it swing a little as she did.

"You surely must cherish your lot as a stable boy to have followed my lofty pet so far from your keep." She bent slightly at the waist in the mockery of a bow. "I admire your commitment to those beasts of burden." Something in her tone implied that she was not speaking of horses.
 
Whoever this woman was, it was enough to give him some worried vibes as he reached to take the horseshoe from her grasp. Once he had it he felt some ease, as he could at least run back the way he came with the shoe in hand, but something about this other figure was oddly... enthralling. As if he felt compelled to hang around and here just what it was the darkly beautiful woman had to say.

"I'm Arthur," he began "But most people just call me 'Wart.' And I'm not a stableboy, I'm a squire," he corrected. "But yes, sometimes it feels like there isn't much of a difference." Not that this was enough to dissuade the blond from this path in life. He wanted to be a knight, sorely so, because it was his best shot at clawing upward in the world.
 
"A Squire?" She uttered, pretending that she never knew. "I see. T'is a pity to waste the burning flames of ambition shooing flies from horses. " She seemed to ponder the prospect, though this was all part of the script she'd established, the bait she would lay. "But perhaps you could be more." She left the phrase to dangle, to entice him completely.
 
Arthur grumbled in a faint frustration. "Don't remind me," he replied, giving a brief sigh. He knew well enough that he was wasting a lot of his time on simple menial labour that wouldn't benefit him, but in the end he felt that it was his only option. Couldn't find any other knights to serve under at this stage, even if he were to spend the time seeking them out. And work elsewhere wasn't too easy to find.

However the mysterious woman's remark did intrigue him a bit. "What do you mean?" Arthur asked. He was interested but not wholly hooked. "I don't much know if I'm looking to become a witch's familiar."
 
The woman's lips curled into a mischievous grin for just a moment, before it softened again into an inviting smile. "As much as I would adore your familiarity, I think perhaps you are more suited to the role of King. Wouldn't you agree?"

She knew he would not at first. She knew he would protest, as she had already seen some of what could happen. However, if the seed were planted, and tended just so, it would flower into a lordly tree.
 
"Pff... what?" Arthur said, giving her an incredulous look at the mere suggestion. The land had been kingless for some time, a place in turmoil as they waited for an answer to the only true test of regality- whether or not someone could pluck fabled Excalibur from its moorings. "Me, a king? Come on now. I'm just... me. I could hardly wear a crown," he replied, folding his arms over his slim chest.
 
"Is that so?" She asked, raising an eyebrow and lifting her hand to the level of her face. Stirring the air with her finger, the woman conjured a galaxy-like swirl of green embers around her out-stretched finger.

A highly ornate crown of gold appeared atop Wart's head. It was very real, perfectly solid, and even a little heavy. The gold was embossed with what looked like thistles and inlaid here and there with a few gems, mostly emeralds.

The woman looked on him with the kind of admiring fondness a mother might give a child who has grown or a teacher whos student has surpassed expectations. "Well, I think it suits you." She purred.
 
The spectacle of magic was enough to make his eyes widen in shock, but he didn't flee like most would when faced with the supernatural. After a moment he felt the weight of gold as it came to rest on his brow. It was certainly ornate and was far more detailed than he would have expected. This, certainly, was no mere illusion and it made Arthur's excitement grow all the stronger as a result.

"Oh uh..." he murmured, reaching his free hand up and letting his slightly calloused fingers brush the gems encrusted into the crown. "This is... very impressive. But what exactly makes you think that I'm 'King' material?" he asked finally.
 
"The path is more simple than you may realize. And much more near at hand." She took a few stepss forward, though under her robe she appeared to float. She bent slightly at the waist and leaned in, smiling her most invitingly. "And all you need do, is trust in me. Consider me a... a fairy godmother, if you must. But I will guide you to your destiny." She extended her thin green hand, adorned with a heavy ring bearing a large oval cut of onyx.
 
It seemed that the offer had him intrigued. The plain truth of the matter was that he would have ditched squiring wholesale if he had a decent alternative, and becoming royal seemed an... acceptable alternative. Arthur gave his 'fairy godmother' a modest smile and gripped her hand in his own, able to feel a strange warmth radiate from the contact. Some would call it queer. He was too busy to think much on anything.

"So," Arthur began once the contact broke. "Does my fairy godmother have a name? And how am I going to reach this destiny of mine?" He was eager, but had a cleverness not seen in most his age. Enough that he wanted to know the cause as well as the effect.
 
As he grew, he would almost certainly be as tall as she, but for the time, she stood a head taller. She lifted her hand, partially covered by her robes and touched the side of his face. The look in her eyes was an odd mixture of affection and hunger, as though she were looking at him with one eye and looking toward the future with the other.

"For now, you must continue to placate your temporary masters. Learn all you can of them and their ways. You will need all the knowledge you can gather when we have reached the end. And until that time, you may call me Maeven. Take this."

She withdrew the hand from her face and sank it into a part of her robe under her cloak. When it returned, she had produced what looked like a ceramic coin with a dragon inked in black on the front of it. There was a hole in the top where a string or something could be threaded through.

"Consider this a beacon. Blow onto the coin, and either my emissary or I will appear to you." She gestured at the bird.
 
He watched her carefully and then blinked once the sorceress retrieved something rather ornate and set it in his hands. Ceramic? Seemed to be what Arthur believed it to be. It'd probably be worth a lot of coin, but then again something told him that this was one of a kind and that it wouldn't be in his best interests to simply sell it off. If he did then it was doubtful he'd be able to meet up with her again.

No, he needed this. He couldn't just let this go.

"Okay then um... I'm sure we'll meet again in that case Maeven," he tol her, slipping the coin into one of the crude pockets of his red robe. He deliberately chose the one with the best stitching, just as a precaution. He gave her a quick bow and then made back the way he came, following his footprints in the snow "Thanks again! B-but I really need to get this horseshoe back to the stables!"
 
The imposing figure of the woman merely nodded, bobbing her horned helm as she did. She gave a short, curt wave as the young man passed between the trees and disappeared from sight. She had hoped for a little more of a favorable reaction, but at least he hadn't run screaming from her. It was a good first step, all things considered.
 
And so, over the next few days, 'Wart' went about his routine as if nothing much had changed. And to the untrained eye it was as if nothing much had changed. Certainly none of the knights paid him enough mind to think anything was up. But all the while he worked to do as his 'fairy godmother' willed, taking notes of his superiors. He didn't know WHY, per se, but if that was what Maeven wanted...

And he did this until he felt like he had enough to go on. It was a dark and cold night, moonlight illuminating the stable. He hesitated for some time. Even knowing he was alone, performing magic like this was a risk. But he was curious and felt he had done enough work for her. So after gatherng his nerves he gave the coin a light blow in his hands.
 
Green dust flew from the surface of the ceramic disc where there had been none before. It coalesced into a column and the woman appeared with her staff in hand. The ball atop it bathed the immediate area in a green glow as bright as any candle.

"I wondered when you might call upon me." She hummed. Her eyes shone a brilliant yellow, like a stalking jungle cat. "I trust you have learned well of your masters? Their habits, their weaknesses?"
 
Even though he had been expecting it, her abrupt appearance was still rather unnerving. Magic was something he had no knowledge of, beyond the rather simple fact that it was dangerous. "I... yes, I did," Arthus said, reaching into his red robe and taking out two rolls of yellowed paper each with extensive notes written on them. Part of his education had, thankfully, included literacy, but his handwriting was a bit on the shaky side.

"So... why did you want me to make these?" he asked as he held both scrolls out.
 
The woman ran her eyes along the scrolls as he produced them. "You will be in need of this information very soon. There will be a tourney in London town in three month's time. It is there that the next leg of your journey will begin." She leaned in close. All the humor left her eyes and her lips formed a hard line. "Steel yourself. To be king, you will be forced to dirty your hands."
 
A tourney? Arthur seemed a little skeptical, and that mild worry became evident on his face. He had taken some rudimentary lessons on how to use weapons. Mainly a shortsword and shield, coupled with a few hours a week spent practicing with a bow... but he doubted that would be enough. "I'm not really at that kind of level of skill... do you expect me to cheat?" Arthur asked, pointing to the scrolls in her hands.
 
"Cheating isn't quite the word I would have used." Maeven told him, the humar returning in a heavy trickle to her face. She had not foreseen how high his morals might be, but hoped he might be convinced.

"All you need do is take the place of your knight before the tourney. I shall do the rest. And after you've won..." She extended the staff toward him with the ball at the top facing outward, as if she meant to prod him with it. But instead, a green film, like frost on glass, overtook the surface of the crystal. And in it, Arthur could see a sword jutting out of an immense stone. While it was overgrown with weeds, it looked to be situated between two graves in a church yard. "Your first feat to prove you are a king."
 
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