Mordred VS Arthur
Dec 15, 2015 21:44:50 GMT -6
Post by Vincent on Dec 15, 2015 21:44:50 GMT -6
Just a short scene I wrote for fun.
Mordred stood there shakily as he clutched Clarent with all his remaining strength. All around him was a charred battlefield laden with the bodies of his allies and enemies alike. Two armies of unmatched strength had brought each other to an end. Before him stood the object of his hatred, the cause of all this pain and suffering. A traitorous coward and his father, Arthur. There he stood in all his self-righteous glory atop the bodies of countless fallen, so that he would stand taller than he. “Face me you Bastard!” Mordred shouted. Regardless of the battle’s end Camelot was simply no more, it had been brought down from within.
Arthur looked down upon his delusional son from his hilltop of the dead. Excalibur was buried into the body of a traitorous knight and in his hands was his lance. He felt numb, emotionally and physically. His eyes were glazed as though he saw nothing. There was a distant voice shouting challenges of battle at him but he could scarcely hear them. His mind was shattered and he simply walked down the bodies like stairs, prying Excalibur from a body as he went. He had no words for Mordred, merely sadness and judgement. Within arm’s reach Arthur stopped walking and looked at Mordred with empty eyes. His blade rose at the ready as he prepared for the final battle.
“Welcome to Hell Father,” Mordred raised his arms in presentation. “All of this, done in YOUR name. Does it please you? Are you happy that I have finally become what you saw of me? Your monster. Your shame that you pretended was not there. This is NOT my legacy but yours father! I could never be king! You let this happen to your land.” He dropped his arms and raised Clarent. “Just so you know, I do not hate, nor pity you. You were simply a blight that needed to be removed.”
Was he saying something? Arthur waited for the first blow but Mordred simply stood there. There were motions he recognized and he was prompted to look about the battlefield. His legacy? His legacy was a smoldering field of the dead and a kingdom turned ash. A land for a new lord. “You are correct. I failed to stop this, I failed to stop you. But my legacy shall live on, through others. Through all I have touched and rescued, I will be the hero they refer to, to give their children courage to face the world, but you? You are nothing more than the treacherous knight. The monster spoken of in whisper, forgotten as your influence fades, a joke.”
His words pierced Mordred like arrows. “A terrible joke I am.” Mordred would hear no more of the insults and took the first swing. His blade, the sword in the stone, came down with the force of a mallet. His techniques were wild and fierce but terrifyingly calculated. Despite his immense exhaustion he fought on as though he were beginning a new day.
It took everything in him to repel Mordred’s fury. The blades clashed and sent reverberations through Arthur’s body. The attacks came again and again forcing him back while allowing no openings. Mordred thrust Clarent intending for a final blow but Arthur saw his opportunity; with redirection Mordred’s sword was sent plunging into the hill of dead. Arthur sought to capitalize and swung again.
All he could do to avoid death was to abandon his blade. Mordred leaped back and fell over a corpse, but he would not allow this to halt him. Upon Arthur’s advance he rolled away and grabbed the blade of another knight. As the two warriors clashed Excalibur proved its power shattering the lesser blade in a single swing.
Arthur had destroyed Mordred’s proxy sword and sent shards flying, even scratching his face with the shrapnel. Stepping in closer he stood in Mordred’s ground and aimed to bring him low. Despite his best efforts Mordred was caught unable to save himself. Raising his left arm he absorbed the blow, allowing his thick gauntlets to be rent and his arm rendered useless. The blade bit deep and he could hear the cracking of bones, and the severing of muscle caused his arm to go limp.
Not yet! Not yet! He could not let himself fall yet. Mordred cried out in pain despite his efforts to remain calm. In desperation he lashed out with his fist and struck his father in the face before rushing to retrieve Clarent. The blade felt heavier in one hand, but it was still manageable. He ripped it out of a body with a jerk and faced Arthur, who stood distant from him.
“It is over Mordred.” Arthur shook his head solemnly, stepping forward he closed the gap and brought Excalibur upon Mordred, and Mordred would swing the strikes away, repeatedly, and the dance would go on, neither giving ground nor taking it.
After an eternity of battle blood loss began to take hold of Mordred as his movements became lazier and he stumbled about his own feet. Not yet, he continued to chide himself, demanding more of his body than any other could withstand. He knew it was over. He never intended to survive the battle if it was not ended quickly and now it was at its end.
Arthur saw his opening. Mordred swung wide and missed. With a swift lunge he plunged his blade into Mordred’s body. His son jerked and fell back crumpling to the ground, Excalibur deep within his chest.
Mordred was struck dumb as blood filled his lungs and began to dribble from his mouth. By miracle, no, his will alone he lived. With all that remained of his power he rammed Clarent through Arthur’s gut before fading away.
Arthur’s body instinctively jerked away and he stood there holding his bleeding body. He was ended and he knew it.
Mordred stood there shakily as he clutched Clarent with all his remaining strength. All around him was a charred battlefield laden with the bodies of his allies and enemies alike. Two armies of unmatched strength had brought each other to an end. Before him stood the object of his hatred, the cause of all this pain and suffering. A traitorous coward and his father, Arthur. There he stood in all his self-righteous glory atop the bodies of countless fallen, so that he would stand taller than he. “Face me you Bastard!” Mordred shouted. Regardless of the battle’s end Camelot was simply no more, it had been brought down from within.
Arthur looked down upon his delusional son from his hilltop of the dead. Excalibur was buried into the body of a traitorous knight and in his hands was his lance. He felt numb, emotionally and physically. His eyes were glazed as though he saw nothing. There was a distant voice shouting challenges of battle at him but he could scarcely hear them. His mind was shattered and he simply walked down the bodies like stairs, prying Excalibur from a body as he went. He had no words for Mordred, merely sadness and judgement. Within arm’s reach Arthur stopped walking and looked at Mordred with empty eyes. His blade rose at the ready as he prepared for the final battle.
“Welcome to Hell Father,” Mordred raised his arms in presentation. “All of this, done in YOUR name. Does it please you? Are you happy that I have finally become what you saw of me? Your monster. Your shame that you pretended was not there. This is NOT my legacy but yours father! I could never be king! You let this happen to your land.” He dropped his arms and raised Clarent. “Just so you know, I do not hate, nor pity you. You were simply a blight that needed to be removed.”
Was he saying something? Arthur waited for the first blow but Mordred simply stood there. There were motions he recognized and he was prompted to look about the battlefield. His legacy? His legacy was a smoldering field of the dead and a kingdom turned ash. A land for a new lord. “You are correct. I failed to stop this, I failed to stop you. But my legacy shall live on, through others. Through all I have touched and rescued, I will be the hero they refer to, to give their children courage to face the world, but you? You are nothing more than the treacherous knight. The monster spoken of in whisper, forgotten as your influence fades, a joke.”
His words pierced Mordred like arrows. “A terrible joke I am.” Mordred would hear no more of the insults and took the first swing. His blade, the sword in the stone, came down with the force of a mallet. His techniques were wild and fierce but terrifyingly calculated. Despite his immense exhaustion he fought on as though he were beginning a new day.
It took everything in him to repel Mordred’s fury. The blades clashed and sent reverberations through Arthur’s body. The attacks came again and again forcing him back while allowing no openings. Mordred thrust Clarent intending for a final blow but Arthur saw his opportunity; with redirection Mordred’s sword was sent plunging into the hill of dead. Arthur sought to capitalize and swung again.
All he could do to avoid death was to abandon his blade. Mordred leaped back and fell over a corpse, but he would not allow this to halt him. Upon Arthur’s advance he rolled away and grabbed the blade of another knight. As the two warriors clashed Excalibur proved its power shattering the lesser blade in a single swing.
Arthur had destroyed Mordred’s proxy sword and sent shards flying, even scratching his face with the shrapnel. Stepping in closer he stood in Mordred’s ground and aimed to bring him low. Despite his best efforts Mordred was caught unable to save himself. Raising his left arm he absorbed the blow, allowing his thick gauntlets to be rent and his arm rendered useless. The blade bit deep and he could hear the cracking of bones, and the severing of muscle caused his arm to go limp.
Not yet! Not yet! He could not let himself fall yet. Mordred cried out in pain despite his efforts to remain calm. In desperation he lashed out with his fist and struck his father in the face before rushing to retrieve Clarent. The blade felt heavier in one hand, but it was still manageable. He ripped it out of a body with a jerk and faced Arthur, who stood distant from him.
“It is over Mordred.” Arthur shook his head solemnly, stepping forward he closed the gap and brought Excalibur upon Mordred, and Mordred would swing the strikes away, repeatedly, and the dance would go on, neither giving ground nor taking it.
After an eternity of battle blood loss began to take hold of Mordred as his movements became lazier and he stumbled about his own feet. Not yet, he continued to chide himself, demanding more of his body than any other could withstand. He knew it was over. He never intended to survive the battle if it was not ended quickly and now it was at its end.
Arthur saw his opening. Mordred swung wide and missed. With a swift lunge he plunged his blade into Mordred’s body. His son jerked and fell back crumpling to the ground, Excalibur deep within his chest.
Mordred was struck dumb as blood filled his lungs and began to dribble from his mouth. By miracle, no, his will alone he lived. With all that remained of his power he rammed Clarent through Arthur’s gut before fading away.
Arthur’s body instinctively jerked away and he stood there holding his bleeding body. He was ended and he knew it.