Source of Rage (Mordred)
|Source of Rage (Mordred)|
|Date of Cutscene:||18 May 2014|
|Synopsis:||Mordred's dreams are awful.|
|Cast of Characters:||12|
Rest may come easy when exhausted, but the images don't have to be easy.
It was a day like any other. Camelot was abuzz; the Knights of the Round Table formed two neat lines leading to the throne room, along with countless women and children, whose sole purpose in being there seemed to be to cheer and throw flowers at whoever would pass the halls on that day. This happened often; everytime one of the Knights would return from an important quest, the others would welcome him and throw a celebration.
Finally the Knight arrived; armored head to toe in dazzling silver and white, with some accents of red, their face concealed, Mordred stepped through the greeting lines, cheered by the commonfolks, saluted by her peers. It was, to her, and most knights, what one might consider a routine day out. A large creature threatened a nearby village, and she dispatched it for them. She enjoyed doing these things; she wanted to impress the king. She wanted to be his best knight. She did everything by the rules of chivalry, not once faltering, a boast that not even Lancelot or Gawain could have made. She was, truly, the White Knight so many legends would come to talk of later.
As she kneeled before the king, Arturia Pendragon, she took every word of stoic praise out of his mouth and silently admired him for it. But then the sky grew dark, and the shadows in the room took form.
Morgan appeared, amidst a murder of red crows. The Knights rushed into the room, drawing holy blade after holy blade. The king rose to demand what this intrusion meant, and Morgan pointed at Mordred.
"Insolent, ungrateful child. You were to murder your father, not fall for him. Do you think I went through all this trouble conceiving you with him, that you would betray your mother like this? Do your deed, doll!"
Before Mordred could say or do anything, Arturia was upon Morgan, swinging Excalibur through her. Invulnerable to magic, there was nothing Morgan could have done to her anyhow. The woman laughed, and dissipated into shadows.
Mordred did not, that day, attack the king. She took her helmet off, revealing herself to him; an exact, if a year younger, copy, save for the hair style, slightly different. She pleaded for acceptance. She begged the king recognize her as his heir and son, for she would never, ever betray him.
The king said no, shunning her before the other Knights.
It is on that day that Camelot's forces were split in two, and not long after that it burned to the ground under Mordred's rage. Every oath, every vow, every act of good, acting as nothing but more fuel for the fire.