asgardeventide | Fourth Triskele [Accidental Video -> Text]

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Fourth Triskele [Accidental Video -> Text]

[The bracelet begins recording small bare feet hurriedly pacing the halls of the house where the king of Camelot (not you, Uther) and his fellow Albionites reside. The feet hurry first to the bed of Morgana, and the boy peers over it as he has made a habit of doing since the lady has departed from the house. Finding it empty he hurries next to the door of the knight Lancelot and raises his hand to knock, but after a moment hesitates and instead bends down to try and see if there is light at the crack below the door or some semblance of the movement of feet. He cannot tell.

Lastly he finds himself before the door to Arthur and Merlin's room and for a long moment he stares at it, frowning, but alas he does not even kneel to check for the light or the movement of feet. The king of Camelot would not have time for such things.

Quietly he paces away and goes to sit outside on the step. Only then can it be seen that he holds a crude toy bird in each hand, messily stitched together by himself as his people had taught him.

Not knowing that he's been recorded, he decides to send a text]

[Text]

Does anyone wish to play?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[half of a pale face shows on the screen, one ice blue eye, a nose, most of a mouth. the rest is obscured by a fall of silver-blond hair and the edge of the bracelet's view]

What would you wish to play?

[Mordred responds in kind with video, shyly holding up the birds]

My people used to pretend that they spoke...and had quests.

Is that so? I used to speak with birds. Fetch still understands me well enough, I think.

[he turns the bracelet just enough to show a large, sleek raven on his shoulder]

Perhaps you could show me how to play.

[Mordred's eyes widen in awe at the creature]

I can show you...

[A hesitation]

Will he join us?

[The noble bird, he means]

If he's of a mind to. He's not tame, you see, we're simply friends.

[the raven chuckles and wipes his beak, and ushahin looks amused]

But likely I can convince him.

[convince with food, but food is quite convincing]

In my world...such a bird is an omen of great magic.

[It would sound so very odd to him to bribe an omen of magic with food]

...Can I meet you somewhere?

In my world, my little brothers are my eyes, and they let me see things far from home.

[and fetch quite proud of it too, preening his feathers]

Would the castle suit?

[Mordred half-smiles before nodding]

Yes. I know the way.

Very well. I shall meet you there in time.

[the video cuts and ushahin goes about getting ready. mordred will likely beat him to the castle, as the loki welcome hall is about as far as one can be from the center of the city. the raven, however, will beat them both, circling the castle until he finds mordred and then making himself comfortable in a nearby tree.

getting a full look at ushahin in the daylight, it's obvious that there's something wrong with half of his face, covered by the fall of his hair, and his shoulders are just a bit crooked. his step is light, but in this cold, not perfectly even. he wears the style of hooded cloak mordred would find familiar, just grey and in heavy wool]

Ah, I see Fetch has found you.

[Mordred had hurried to the castle with the toy birds tucked in close to himself under his cloak, and he had been distracted with the large black wings until this new acquaintance appeared. An almost inhumanly alert and observant child, Mordred most definitely does not miss the obvious signs that something is...off...about this person, but still he approach in small steps]

How did Fetch come by his name?

[there's not really a sense of threat about him--he walks like a man whose bones ache in the cold, which is true enough. though his hair hangs in front of his face, mordred might notice behind it a dark eye, set a bit lower than the other, pupil so dilated it appears black. something definitely happened to this one, and it was not good.

he smiles at the question.]

It was given to him by-- [it takes him a moment, trying to think of a good word for tanaros blacksword, before he settles] --my friend, Tanaros. He found my little brother here in the moon garden, wing broken and no nest in sight, and took him in. Tanaros nursed and kept him until he was strong again, and then let him join his brethren.

[Mordred's eyes watch him closely, a distant stare. He's not one to ask of strangers until the moment they are truly no longer strangers or until destiny sees fit to teach him, but always his eyes do watch.]

Your little brother. You are family. You and the raven.

[he certainly notices the attention, but pays it no particular mind. he's spent many, many years in the company of madlings, and mordred's not showing him any particular pity or disgust]

So I have named him, and his brethren. I acknowledge no family but that I have chosen.

[he takes a small pouch from beneath his cloak. his right hand is whole, a hand made perfect, somehow finer than a normal hand. the left is a ruin, fingers twisted and knuckled from being crushed and healed poorly. when he opens the bag, there's a subtle smell of raw meat. he turns and addresses the raven]

Come, little brother, I have your bribe.

[it's enough to bring fetch out of the tree to settle on his shoulder, though the bird doesn't take his eyes off mordred except to take the small gobbet of meat from ushahin's ruined fingers]

You may try to feed him, child, although he is wary of strangers.

[Mordred's eyes shift to follow the path of the bird before settling on them both as one. He offers a timid nod of his head]

Would you teach me what way is best?

[He looks a little uncertain about the meat, coming from a people who teach against the devouring of the hunting of animals, but in this case, to feed a creature of nobility, Mordred is believes it is permitted.]

[he notices the uncertainty. but ravens are carrion-eaters, the ravens of darkhaven especially so. it's simply their nature]

It's his preferred food. Hold it between your fingers, like this.

[he demonstrates, holding the end of the bit of meat and leaving most of it for the raven to grab. fetch takes it, sharp beak neatly avoiding ushahin's fingers]

Here.

[he offers the pouch to mordred, letting him have his pick of meat]

[A studious gaze takes in the technique then a shy hand reaches for a piece of meat to try and imitate the same. Holding it out as best he can, he looks to Fetch expectantly]

[fetch makes a chuckling sound that somehow manages a distinct well? sort of tone, and ushahin looks amused as he extends an arm toward mordred's hand. the raven never takes his eyes off of the boy as he walks down ushahin's arm, settling himself before delicately plucking the meat from mordred's fingers. he stays there, tilting his head and looking expectant, because gosh, there's still meat left]

[Mordred smiles and reaches for another scrap of meat for the bird, holding it out to him more bravely now]

Has he ever bitten you?

No, he has not. But I have not given him cause.

[while still wary of the stranger, the raven certainly won't turn down food, especially while ushahin is indicating there's no danger. he makes pleased little raven sounds as he takes the meat from mordred]

....

[And finally, when his fingers are empty of meat, he dares to ask]

...Then what has happened to your hand?

Ah, that was the work of Men, child.

[once the meat is gone, fetch wipes his beak on ushahin's cloak and takes off for the tree again, to watch the conversation from afar]

When I was young, perhaps close to your age, I was set upon by the other children of my village.

[his hair is still over the ruined half of his face, but he is watching mordred through his black eye as well. he holds up his healed hand, bending and flexing his perfect fingers. there's something about it that's just a bit finer than human. if mordred's seen the elves, that fineness might be familiar.]

My Lord fixed this one for me.

Edited 2013-01-19 15:52 (UTC)

[Mordred's expression falls a little, watching the perfect hand then looking to the one that was destroyed. He's witnessed similar traces of cruelty left in men and women of his world before]

Why would they attack you? What was your crime?

I'm a halfbreed. In Urulat, where I am from, there are more races than just men like you. My father was a man, the mother who bore me an Ellyl. They are something like the elves of this place, I think. It is not something that is done, so there are no others like me.

And men fear what is different, after all.

[there's no bitterness or anger in his voice or face. he's simply stating facts, as though he does not mind being as he is]

[That is a fear in men that Mordred understands all too well. Quietly he reaches down and takes a hold of the cuff of his left sleeve, then tugging at it he pulls it up until he reveals a large jagged scar across his upper arm. It is nothing in comparison to this man's wounds, but it is Mordred's own small mark of what his people suffer for being different.]

The men in my world fear us as well....my people.

Ah, so I see.

[he nods, looking at the scar without leaning or reaching to touch. there's no horror or pity in his expression, only the acknowledgement that they are alike in this, difference in injury not withstanding]

What people are those, child?

Fourth Triskele [Accidental Video -> Text]

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