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DCEUAU with some Elseworlds on the side
Nov. 21st, 2017 09:18 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
unblistered[ The seers warned it was only a matter of time. A great enemy was coming, and even the kindest of estimates made clear that they would have no chance of facing such a foe when he came to their gates. The king knew what he faced, knew the danger that hung over his people, his world. He had some hope, as his knights faced the first scouting parties, the strange winged creatures with eyes like a soulless pit and mouths like the maw of hell itself, but his hopes were soon dashed; their numbers were too great for such tactics. He put out a call, far and wide, offered the great wealth of his kingdom and the chance to face the greatest foe one might ever cross blades with.
Some came. Some came reluctantly. And again, his hopes rose high until the day when they faced the great Wolf himself, a massive inhuman creature unlike anything he had ever seen. He and his warriors survived this battle, but he knew they would never survive the war.
It was then that he turned to his magician, the wise man known as Merlin. Merlin knew his magics would be of limited help, but he had heard a tale told to him over a fire as a boy, of a hero that slept untouched, waiting to be recalled to life in times of great need.
His strength was unparalleled, his skin deflecting arrows like so many flies, his eyes full of fire and his heart pure and good. It took the work of two nights, unsleeping, for him to scry the destination of this hero's grave, a small village to the south of Lexford: a lake where local legend said that the spirit of a fallen knight wept for his beloved's death on especially foggy evenings. But there is nothing ephemeral about the man that Merlin's scrying finds deep at the bottom of the lake, preserved and untouched by the water or the hand of time. Even his armor is unrusted, and shines strangely in the light as they drag him from the grave. But, the question becomes, how to wake him.
A question answered by Merlin through a glance at a relic recently unearthed at the castle, a strange box that had been found during the laying of a new wing's foundations. Lightning, he said, would be needed to awaken the box, placed on the hero's breast. But even though the plan was his own, seeing the man for himself made Merlin hesitant. Was it right to ask such of a man who'd given his life for the people's freedom? Was it right to ask a hero to once again take up the sword?
Was it right, he asked softly, to ask him to live without his lady love, with whom he had rested all this time?
But, Merlin noted, he was not the king. And thus, wisdom given, he leaves the whole of it to his king. For good... or for ill. ]
Some came. Some came reluctantly. And again, his hopes rose high until the day when they faced the great Wolf himself, a massive inhuman creature unlike anything he had ever seen. He and his warriors survived this battle, but he knew they would never survive the war.
It was then that he turned to his magician, the wise man known as Merlin. Merlin knew his magics would be of limited help, but he had heard a tale told to him over a fire as a boy, of a hero that slept untouched, waiting to be recalled to life in times of great need.
His strength was unparalleled, his skin deflecting arrows like so many flies, his eyes full of fire and his heart pure and good. It took the work of two nights, unsleeping, for him to scry the destination of this hero's grave, a small village to the south of Lexford: a lake where local legend said that the spirit of a fallen knight wept for his beloved's death on especially foggy evenings. But there is nothing ephemeral about the man that Merlin's scrying finds deep at the bottom of the lake, preserved and untouched by the water or the hand of time. Even his armor is unrusted, and shines strangely in the light as they drag him from the grave. But, the question becomes, how to wake him.
A question answered by Merlin through a glance at a relic recently unearthed at the castle, a strange box that had been found during the laying of a new wing's foundations. Lightning, he said, would be needed to awaken the box, placed on the hero's breast. But even though the plan was his own, seeing the man for himself made Merlin hesitant. Was it right to ask such of a man who'd given his life for the people's freedom? Was it right to ask a hero to once again take up the sword?
Was it right, he asked softly, to ask him to live without his lady love, with whom he had rested all this time?
But, Merlin noted, he was not the king. And thus, wisdom given, he leaves the whole of it to his king. For good... or for ill. ]
