asgardeventide | 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

[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?

I am a Druid

[He says the word with a quiet touch of pride. He takes ownership of his identity, it is deeply rooted in him and impossible to be removed, but he is not one who stands at the gates of Camelot and decries the king's slaughter. His is a more subtle and solemn pride.]

[it's a kind of pride ushahin recognizes, and he inclines his head in acknowledgement of it]

I do not think there are Druids in Urulat. Will you tell me of your people?

[Mordred's lips press together. There is not much he can say about the Druids. While there is much to tell and while they are more ancient a than the lineages of Camelot and her neighboring kingdoms, much about them must be secret. Much about him must be secret. But his large blue eyes turn up and his mouth quirks a bit]

We are of the Old Religion...we do not kill or fight.... and we live in the forests and the caves.

Ah, I see. Not an easy life, then, but a good one? My Mother's people are not like Druids, but we lived in the forests and the caves as well, away from the places of Men.

I've not thought about it.

[He shifts a little]

What are your father's people?

There would be little pride in it if you did not find it good.

Ah, that is the Mother who raised me, not the one who bore me. My father's people are Men, and lived in a city, and the mother who bore me was an Ellyl, who lived in a different city. The Mother who raised me was of the Were. It is perhaps confusing.

Why are you of so many different people?

Because I was unwanted, child. And perhaps, in the greater story, so that I may be who I am now. Someone had to be.

Fourth Triskele [Accidental Video -> Text]

Re: Action

Action

Re: Action

Action

Re: Action

Action

Re: Action

Action

Re: Action

Action

Re: Action

Action

Re: Action

Action

Re: Action

Action