Pendragon: The Witch-Queen Awakened

RESPONSES:

Kurt_Steiner: I'm sorry you feel that way. I thought I had provided some tantalizing hints for possible future cameos without spoiling too much for the future. As for Eva Green, I suppose you are aware that she too played Morgana, albeit in that ill-fated Camelot miniseries on cable. She may yet pop up later on as a different character.

ShadowGamer42: Poor Katie McGrath... somebody on the internet doesn't think she's attractive. But in all seriousness, Lady M.'s not all doom and gloom you know. You'll see a very different side of her in the next update, I think. Thanks for reading!

tormos: Indeed. That stuff is truly the darkest of the black arts. Maybe sometime in the future I'll include the entirety of that image so you can see the full extent of its horrors.

Ciccillo Rre: No worries mate. Both of my other AAR topics (Saxon England and Jerusalem) are very popular on the forums as well. I look forward to reading your work when it's ready.

Mr. Capiatlist: Thanks, Mr. C.! Always a pleasure to have you on board.

Clophiroth: Thanks, I'm glad you're enjoying it.

mdman: Thanks very much and welcome to the forums!

Eber: Thank you sir! Glad to have you with us!

Herbert West: Well the vanilla game still doesn't let you play pagans. But yeah, see Mr. Capiatlist's second response above. He outlines pretty succinctly how I tried to use the other traits to highlight Morgana's rather tempestuous relationship with the church.

loki100: No kidding. We'll have to wait and see who the next unlucky victim of Morgana's wrath will be. Thanks for reading!

Haha, well considering there's no actual in-game mechanism for Morgana's magic, I'm basically just finding magical excuses for the odd things that happen in game. Whether some other form of magic yet survives in the world remains to be seen.

That's actually very tempting, but I think I'll wait on trying that for now. I've just barely gotten Paradox's two official XPs and there's lots of new features to tinker with.

Thanks, Archduke. I'll try to do my best to oblige.

CHAPTER TWO: CHECK MATE​

Excerpts from the Grimoire of Morgana Pendragon

1 May 1067

After much bloody constraint, Demetia is mine once again.

Their lord thought himself better than he was. He claimed to be a mighty prince, Lord of all Deheubarth, or “the Southern Parts.” The arrogant swine actually dared claim suzerainty over all the remaining lords of southern Cambria. I showed him just how mistaken he really was.

It has come as something of a surprise to me to learn just how much power the Cult of the Dying God has gained in these lands. I long for the times when the Roman Bishops spent their days cowering behind the walls of their sanctuary for fear of the Huns, instead of constantly meddling in the affairs of their betters as it seems they are now permitted to do. Truth be told, I would not object to their religion were it not for the unceasing determination of their priests to try and stamp out the old beliefs.

And yet these old fools are such hypocrites. They object to trial by ordeal or combat, unless it is on their terms. They object to wars of conquest, unless you have a legitimate claim, in which case they find it perfectly acceptable. It is really quite distasteful. Therefore I have had to recruit a chancellor, whose sole purpose will be to deal with these prattling fools and their petty whims.

They tell me this young man is one of the brightest protégés of the Christian bishop, but that in the end he proved unwilling to take their vows. Who better to deal with these zealots of the cross than one who has experienced their follies firsthand?

Thus, as I prepared my warriors to retake Demetia, my new minion informed that I must first present evidence of a legitimate claim like I did here in Venedotia. It would seem that sheer might alone is no longer enough to enforce my will. One must now strike from the shadows, outfoxing the enemy before striking the death blow. I was not averse to such subterfuge in my former life, indeed one might say I excelled at it, however spinning my pretty webs amidst the constant whinging of these hooded fools has already grown tiresome.

Fortunately, at least my fine young chancery thrall appears to have a good head on his shoulders. It was only a matter of days before he had produced a fine forgery illustrating how the true Pendragon claim applies as much to Demetia as Venedotia. The original documents establishing my family claims have long since perished, of course. Confound that impudent wizard!

The requisite parchment then required only the smallest of incantations to ensure that those who look upon it, if they be foolish or weak-willed, will instantly believe its claims. Therefore with scroll in hand (and a blade in the other), I set forth at the head of my proud warband to claim what was rightfully mine. Then we would see whether the other southern lords would come to die for their so-called master.


The self-named “Prince of Deheubarth” proved no fool. He had reinforced his timber palisade at Dinefwr with a bulwark of rough stone, lining this new barricade with his archers. He believed his fortress to be impregnable. As if such things truly matter to a practitioner of the forgotten arts.

I ordered my captain to surround their stronghold and lay siege. We would strike once our enemies were sufficiently weakened by hunger and sickness. The perfect opportunity came several months into the siege, when the defenders unsuccessfully attempted to sally forth from their defenses. While the half-starved soldiers of Deheubarth rode straight into the jaws of death (in the form of my eagerly awaiting troops), I approached the fortress of Dinefwr from the opposite side, which was now stripped bare of its garrison while the pathetic vermin tried desperately to escape.

My power is not what it once was, but I had sufficiently regained enough of my former potency to attempt one of my favorite incantations. The correct combination of a series of ritualistic gestures and the chanting of certain key words of power with one particularly deadly reagent produced the desired effect, namely a massive explosion and a gaping maw torn through their meager stone wall. It seems my skills are not as rusty as I had thought. It was then a matter of ease to send my remaining warriors through the breach to hack the last of the defenders to pieces.


The packed earth of Dinefwr’s streets became muddy with rivulets of blood, but all that truly mattered was that the lands of Demetia were safely in my hands. I never found out what happened to the erstwhile Lord of Deheubarth. As I predicted, none of his supposed vassals came to join his battle. Presumably there are now bits of him scattered across the whole of the cantref.

My fine young chancellor informed me that the locals now refer to this particular region as “Dyfed.” I really don’t care. I refuse to sound like some ill-favored, low-born provincial, so I shall continue to use the old civilized names thank you very much! If the people have difficulty understanding me, then they can learn. If they refuse to learn, then they can suffer. And that’s all there is to it. The old Britain is returning, and there is nothing anyone can do about it; they can either accept it or be crushed in its wake.



24 May 1067

For the past fortnight, I have found myself compelled to devote my energies to a more delicate matter. I cannot afford to drag my feet in this regard. I must find a husband.

I do not anticipate that there are any mortals now living in this ruined world who are worthy to mate with me, but that does not mean I shall be exempted from such a necessity.

Although the deep magic of Merlin’s slumber of centuries has rejuvenated my body and restored its natural youth and vigor, not even I possess the secrets of immortality. While I may yet uncover much hidden knowledge over the next several decades, the chances of my discovering such a coveted secret are remote at best, especially given how much has been forgotten and lost over the centuries. Fancy trying to learn the forbidden magicks of eternal life in a world that seems itself to have been wholly stripped of its magic! A world without Avalon.

There is so much that I have yet to accomplish, and it will we take me far longer than a mere human lifetime to achieve it all. With all of this in mind, I have devised an alternative solution to the problem of mortality. It is said that many of the ancient sorceresses and priestesses among the Druids were able to achieve a form of immortality through their children. By their mystical artifice, they were able to implant shards of their very souls within the hearts of their offspring, so that at some future date, when they had long since passed from the world of flesh, they might enter it again as newborn babes in a rebirth blossomed from the line of their very own descendants!

I was on the verge of perfecting this forgotten art when I was ensorcelled by that meddling conjurer Merlin. It will take a great deal of preparation and study to recover my lost research, but at least it should be possible. It’s certainly a better alternative than searching aimlessly and endlessly for the lost fountain of youth until death should at last coil its bony grasp around my throat.


There is only one problem. In order to produce heirs to perform this mystic rite, I require a man. No ordinary male will do. He must be fair of features, for I do not wish to reenter the world bearing the countenance of a common swineherd. Not only that, but he must be strong of sinew and keen of intellect. In short, he must be a perfect match for one as perfectly-formed as I. And this time around, I refuse to settle for one as ill-made as Urien of Rheged. He must also be of truly noble descent, for I refuse to dilute the pure blood of the royal Pendragon line with the impure humors flowing in the veins of lesser sires. His countenance must reflect that noble aspect that comes from a long pedigree of kings. The luster in his eye must gleam brighter than the jewels in his father’s crown.

I set my chancellor to the task of researching the lineage of the highest courts in the world in the hope that he might find a noble youth among their number who was fit to be bonded to a Queen as mighty as I. His report was less than encouraging.

The Saxon king had many fine, strapping sons, but he himself was cut down in battle by interlopers from across the sea, and the few of his heirs who escaped were stripped of their birthright and scattered to the winds. By contrast, the victorious invader is a mere Dux by birth and is apparently bastard-born at that, and from a long line of degenerates and pirates. Entirely unsuitable.

The king of the Picts in distant Caledonia is a recent widower, but he already has many children from his first wife who would all have to be removed in order for my heirs to inherit. What’s more, from what I have heard of him, he seems to be a big-headed, small-minded boor who would refuse to allow a house greater than his fathers’ to supersede his own and take its place. And Caledonia is far too cold and wet for me to ever consider staying there long. It seems to be even more of a backwater now than it was in my own time.

My chancellor tells me that there are yet descendants of old Niall Noígíallach who cling to life in a distant corner of Hibernia, but I did not fancy such prospects five hundred years ago and I certainly don’t now. Besides, I would look terrible as a redhead.

The Northmen in distant Thule are strong and brave, but also savage, bloodthirsty and stupid. None of their number would be fit to be more than a pawn in my hands. It would be better to be ravaged by time and forgotten by the centuries than to be unequally yoked with such crudity, thence to return as naught but a witless shadow of my former self.

I admit I had despaired of ever finding a worthy match, until as I was scrying one evening I caught a glimpse of a male that stirred… something… within me. Something I had forgotten was even there.

He is tall and handsome, well-built, with a strong jaw and a keen eye. He looks to be sharp-witted, silver-tongued and good with a blade. He’s quite young by all accounts, at least two, maybe three years younger than this rejuvenated body. But that’s good, actually. He’d give me several more years of suitable companionship before time and care turn his beard to silver.

And he’s of the most regal lineage! Sprung from the mighty loins of Cerdic, my brother’s old enemy, this lad is the very last heir in the male line of that proud Saxon king. Arthur never did truly understand the Saxons. He thought they were a plague, a great enemy to be driven from the land. What he failed to comprehend was that the Saxons are like iron ore, which is rough and rocky in its natural form but in the right hands can be smelted and tempered, purged of its dross, mingled with other ores into a strong alloy and forged into the finest weapon wielded by mortal hands.

So shall it be with this comely youth.

But one thing remains. My many years of study and strife have formed something of a steely aspect within me. I am not ignorant of my true nature. My countenance is hard, my disposition stony, my temper like the hottest flame. For a time, I forgot what it meant to play the soft, tender maid: demure, fair-tempered and enchanting. To become thus again would be more bewitching than any spell I might otherwise devise, and now, thanks to unwitting old Merlin, such things are once again within my grasp.

And so I am going to do this the old-fashioned way.

For a time, I shall set aside the cowl of the witch and take up again the gown of the maiden. I shall paint my eyes and adorn my hair. I shall turn this wry scowl into a coy smile. In short, I shall enchant this young lord with a far different kind of sorcery.

And so last week I had my chancellor dispatch a formal invitation to attend my court... to Eadgar. That is his name, obviously very Saxon. A little coarse on the palette, but I believe I can overlook it.

He said yes. And he arrives today.

RESPONSES:

Lanlier: Welcome to the AAR! It's great to have a long-time reader on board. And I'm sure your depiction of Eadgar is nothing to sneeze at. I'll have to check it out sometime when I have a minute. After all, "fate is inexorable."

Mr. Capiatlist: Blasphemy? Sure sounds like Lady Morgana to me. Thanks for reading.

d345f: Is it bad that I can't tell whether that was meant to be tongue-in-cheek or not?

cyrileom: It's possible. It being 1066, there sure are an awful lot of people who have died in that manner, and I don't foresee an end to the trend anytime soon. Though I wouldn't say Morgana likes killing for its own sake alone. Killing is a means to an end for her. She only kills those that oppose her or stand in her way. It just so happens that there have been an awful lot of people who have fallen into that category recently.

loki100: Her and me both! Thanks for reading.

Kurt_Steiner: So it would seem... Just keep reading and see what transpires.

Herbert West: So far I've just been using screenshots from Merlin, a wonderful BBC fantasy series. I'll probably be using other things later on down the line.

Thanks mate. My goal is to have another update ready in the next few days.