Young Writers Society

Jenna: How old is Arthur, and what is his rank at this point? Are we going with the legend where Merlin raises Arthur, or what?

Name: Morgan le Fey

Class: um...Arthur's half/sister, whatever that means. High.

Age: 19

Appearance: Tall, with extremely beautiful features which she can govern into any expression she chooses at any time. Black hair, and strange eyes. (according to legend, I'm not makin this up, Jenna) One of her eyes is purple and the other is green. She uses her beauty to get her men to follow her without question and exact obedience from her servants.

Clothing: Generally she wears long, flowing dresses in dark colors: dark blue, black, or dark purple. She goes for comfort over fashion, so loose clothing is her preference, but anything she wears looks beautiful because of her own extreme beauty.

Family: Arthur, future king, is her half/brother from a king who died. Her own father was the king, but nobody really knows who her mother is, and she is scorned by most of the court because of her questionable heritage. Some believe that her mother was a fairy who bewitched the king.

Education: Spotty. She learned all she knows from excessive reading of books, but never had any tutors. As a result she knows much about history, and pretty much everything there is to know about magic. As a child, she convinced Merlin to teach her all he knows about magic. Even then she was eager to learn, extremely clever and ambitious.

Magical Abilities: unknown to all, including herself. She's considered to be a witch, but no-one has ever seen her do any magic. She is still learning the extent of her own skills, and some of them are out of the ordinary because of her fairy blood. She has yet to try actual spells.

Talents: acting, getting other people to do what she wants, remembering everything that goes on around her, and coming up with plots and plans about everything. Also magic.

Weaknesses: Ambition, and hatred for Arthur, her half/brother. She wants the throne, so when she hears of his claim to the throne, she's furious. She'll do anything to hurt Arthur.

Relationship with other characters: Tricked Merlin to teach her about magic when she was young, so Merlin considers her a mistake now. He regrets having taught her anything, because she is showing signs of wickedness. She has never spoken or been in contact with Arthur, but hates him with a passion. She has never been to Camelot, so she doesn't know anybody at court there. She has heard of Althea, simply because she studies magic so much and knows the king of the nymphs.

Other stuff: she was raised in Camelot, but as soon as she turned fifteen she retreated to her castle in the north that she inherited from her father. It was the only thing her father ever did for her, and she lives there, gathering people around her and plotting against Arthur.


Whew, that was long! Sorry! If anybody has any objections to anythign I've said here, let me know and I'll edit.

~Mademoiselle Kool

Just curious--motherflippinflapjacks posted as a nymph, and you said there are no humanoid magical creatures. Perhaps she should try again with a different character?

Also: looks like Guinevere's age might be a problem. I'm going to bump her up to 15.

Since Guinevere is now fifteen, Arthur is probably between sixteen and eigteen. He's been raised by Merlin, but just as an apprentice: he knows nothing of his talent/future.

Awesome profile, Ms. Kool. I love the details.

Maybe Althea could be raised as a nymph, instead of a true one? It would make things easier. As it is, it might be hard for her to be included with the other characters.

Camelot DT is here.

Merlin sat, wedged betwen two roots of the giant oak tree he was leaning against. The wind blew his long, white, messy hair around his head gently as the branches of the great oak swayed. A little sparow landed on the root next to him, chirped once, and fell silent.

"Hello." Merlin answered, extrending a finger for the bird to hop on to. It chirped again, four times.

"You don't say..."

"Twirp, Chirp, Tweet, Chirp."

"Huh. Odd..."


And so went his day. Talking to a sparrow, and leaning against the tree he lived in...in the middle of a forest. And slightly mad.

Senna walked over to Merlin's place, he was leaning on a tree talking to a sparrow.

"Aw, you were next in line to hear the good news." She said careful not to scare him.

"Hello Senna," he didn't look at her,

"Merlin," She smiled, "So, what did he tell you?" she was careful on how she talked to him to keep from saying anything to anger him.

*Hope this works*

Morgan le Fey paced the secluded room in the top of her tower, that looked out over her land. Her castle was placed just where she liked it - in the most remote corner of the entire kingdom. And there she sat, day after day, like a spider in her web, waiting for information, or a clue to what was going on in the outside world.

Her long hair was knotted and hung down her back in black, neglected elf-knots, her pale skin was grimy and her clothes were the same now as they had been several days ago. Still, her natural beauty shone through, unable to hide behind dirt and neglect.

"My lady?" A young soldier stood in the doorway. Morgan turned abruptly and surveyed him. Impressionable, and no doubt impressed by rank and beauty. She put a content, sleepy smile on her face and schooled her voice to a seductive purr.

"Yes? What is it?"

The soldier gulped. "You said to tell you when a new flock of doves moved into the nesting area on the southwest wall. Well - there's seventeen doves there now, and they look like they'll be staying awhile."

Morgan didn't have to fake the contented smile on her face now. "Very good." She flipped the soldier a coin. "Very, very good."

The soldier hesitated, was about to withdraw. Morgan chuckled a little and, in long, languid strides, came across the room. As she approached, the soldier was clearly trying to hold his legs in a stiff position, keeping them from stepping backwards, away from her.

"You're probably wondering, aren't you? All afire with curiosity as to why in the world I'd want to know about a flock of doves." Morgan shook her head. "I know. It seems strange. But I'm not at liberty to tell you right now. I'm sorry. Just report back to me when there are exactly twenty-one doves in that nesting place."

The soldier bowed. Morgan hesitated, considering whether or not to speak more to him. Then she sighed and flicked her wrist impatiently.

"You may go."

As soon as the soldier had vacated the room, Morgan returned to the small window. Staring out, she shook her head. So small a portion of the land was hers. So small. When would she get was was rightfully hers?

***

Well? I'm thinking that when Merlin starts to 'wake up' sort of, she'll notice and come down from the North to check it out.

Izlude stood on a high rise a top a cliff. Three stone slabes line the edge with a flower placed a top each on. Stiiting down he took out a bottle of ale and took a sip. Then he pourd a bit on one of the slabes, "Drink up dad."

Putting the bottle down he began mving his arms. Two trees next to the graves began to sway. It's branches bedding to his will. Leaves falling and blowing around resting slowly to the ground. When he was done the trees and leaves made a large heart above the graves.

"I have an easy guard duty job for a Lady, and the pay is good. i'm getting closer, so wait here and I'll return when ever I can."

Eleanor Fawkes

"Where is Peters?" The Fencing instructor demanded after he had taken the register. We all remained silent even though I knew as well as the others that he was back at the dorm, pretending to be ill.

"Well?" The instructor demanded.

"I think he's ill sir," A small voice whispered. That was James Briggs, formerly known to us as Mouse.

"Ill is he?" The instructor repeated, clearly making a mental note to check up on him later. "Alright then. Let's begin. Find a partner and run through the Eagle formations I taught you yesterday." There was a loud chorus of 'yes sir' as we began to pick out partners. I ended up with Nick and we went together to collect our practice swords before we began the formations. First, I stepped left, drawing my sword in one fluid motion and Nick mimiced the action.

Morgan looked at the doves, twenty-one of them, separated into seven groups of three. She hadn't washed in twenty-one days, but the discomfort of her greasy hair and filthy skin was eclipsed by the satisfaction of knowing that her first experiment with magic was underway.

Opening her large, old book of dark spells, she used a long, dirty fingernail to peruse the page. Ah, here it was. Temporary transformation.

Her lips curled into a bitter smile as she read through the spell. Merlin would be horrified if he saw her now, if he was even capable of conscious thought. When she had left him, he had been on the edge of sanity, and she took perverse satisfaction in the knowledge that she, Morgan le Fey, had been part of his slipping away from the sane world.

He had always been reluctant to share his magical knowledge. Selfish old man. He had liked being the all-knowledgable wizard who everyone feared and nobody understood. He wanted to keep it to himself. But she had tricked him. She had tricked him and he had showed her what he knew, taught her.

She had tried a spell one day, a spell just like this one, a spell of transformation. Merlin had caught her and dismantled the spell before she could finish it. Cowardly old man. He was afraid that she would be more powerful than he.

Morgan took a stone basin from the windowsill. Scratching three small symbols into the base of it, she muttered the spell as she put it together.

"Blood of three white doves, three hairs from three black goats, three bristles from a spotted boar, and twenty-one yolks from the egg of a robin," she said, her low, throaty voice full of glee and excitement.

Stirring the murky poison one hundred and twenty-one times, she wondered, almost against her will...where was Merlin? What was he up to? Still as crazy as she had left him? Dead, perhaps? Her eyes opened at that possibility. No, the great Merlin wouldn't die. He had begun muttering and raving about swords and kings and destiny, and he was too stubborn to die before he'd seen all his prophecies come true.

****

Okay, there it is. I sort of planted a little 'sword and stone' seed for Merlin, if that's okay.

*Aha! I knew i had heard that before! sokool, you got/are geting these ideas from 'Sword of the rightful king', yes? Tis a great book*


Merlin finally glanced up at Senna. "Just news." he said plesently. He pushed himself up and brushed himself off, letting the sparrow flutter off at his unspoken command.

"Any good news?" Senna asked.

"Just news." he said again, shrugging. "Nothing special."


*I'll try to post again in homeroom tomorrow, but i cant be sure. I may not be able to get on at all this weekend, unless the hotel we're staying at has internet. so please include me! I shall return on Sunday!*

Like I said, here I am!

Name and title:
Ryder of Camelot

Class:
Middling, he is no peasant, but he has no land of his own. His position as King’s messenger gives him authority despite this.

Age:
28

Appearance:
He is most often seen in riding gear, since his profession of a messenger requires this. He has brown, unwavering eyes that show a wealth of information. He is tall and lithe, but not particularly muscular. He has close-cropped brown hair, and shaves regularly.

Clothing:
Messenger gear? Erm, he wears mainly leather, but also a crest on the back of his cloak that shows he is one of the King’s messengers.

Family:
Reynard Goldion: Ryder’s mother died a year ago and his father is seriously ill. Ryder regularly sends home money to pay the physician’s bills. He is in Camelot partly to visit him.

Education:
Being a King’s messenger, he is not meant to be able to read. Even so, he was a quick learner and became proficient quickly.

Magical abilities:
None.

Talents:
An analyser. His reading prowess allows him to skim through letters cluttered with upper-class fluff, and extract any useful information. Very quick-witted, but not intelligent.

Weaknesses:
His father. If anyone threatened him he would abandon everything to try and save him. He is neither strong nor aggressive. He can be rather sarcastic and is weary of pompous Lords. His personality often leads people into believing he couldn’t care less about them. This is true on the surface.

Other stuff:
Ryder enjoys the company of others, even though he appears to be enduring it. It often gives him a chance to complain about his job, as if he has to disguise his love for it. His knowledge of the geography of the land is extensive, but he has the bare minimum knowledge on any other subjects. When in the company of higher class people, he usually puts his sarcastic personality temporarily out of the way.

He is not a leader of men (or women ), in fact he prefers to let others take control since it give him more to complain about and less to take the blame for! He prefers to help Lady Claire nudge things from the side.

He accepts his dependence on Lady Claire with resignation, but he realises he is lucky to be in debt to someone who shapes the future so carefully. He is happy to serve such a clever, but dangerous, woman and he sometimes gets so caught up in the excitement of a situation that he forgets his own position.

Relationship to other characters:
Casual informant for Lady Claire.
Has taken a message to Merlin (and Morgan le Faye) before, but does not believe in magic.
Often visits the young squires (who he pretends to endure ) due to the fact he often takes messages through Camelot.

[s](Character waiting approval...)[/s]

1

High Roads and Low Roads

The tall messenger sat back easily in his saddle as he trotted along the highway. The road was worn relatively smooth by constant use, and as long as he avoided the ruts made by horse-drawn carriages, he was in for a comfortable ride.

The sun shone eagerly from the sky and Ryder basked in its gentle warmth. He held the reigns in one hand and toyed with the cylinder chained around his neck. It was a message holder, made of hollowed oak, strong, dependable and standard issue.

With that holder, Ryder had never lost a message.

As he trotted along, he calmly observed the forest on either side of the road. The leafy fortress leered at him maliciously. Ryder did not like this stretch of road. The highway was nice, but here the forest closed in around it, like a noose strangling the road. Within this danger area, he planned to ride as quickly as he could.

“Halt!”

Ryder tensed and whipped his head round to see who had hailed him. Behind, a mounted patrol was galloping to catch him. Rolling his eyes, Ryder tugged on the reigns and his horse stopped.

“Who is it that stops a messenger of the King?” Ryder’s voice was nasal, but rang out clearly over the small distance left between them. He folded his arms and waited for a reply. The soldiers looked amongst themselves and spoke quietly before the man in charge spoke up.

“My name is Walter. Walter Skitt, son of—”

“Yes, yes,” Ryder spoke irritably, “I haven’t got all day. My name is Ryder Goldion, what business do you have with me?”

A faint redness crept onto Walter’s face and he bit back a retort. He had a job to do and was not going to spoil it with loose emotions. From his saddle bag, he pulled a rolled parchment before opening it. Ryder watched, now interested, as the man scanned it before speaking again.

“You are indeed one of the King’s messengers.”

“Congratulations, sergeant, did you read that or maybe catch a glimpse of the crest emblazoned on my back? May I leave now? I have important business in Camelot,” Ryder sighed as the armoured man shook his head.

“We’ve been looking for you, I have something important you should see.” His hand dipped once again into his saddlebag and the other men stared at Ryder menacingly. Ryder frowned. This was unusual; they couldn’t have known where he was. He’d taken precautions—

“Here.”

Ryder took the parchment and looked at it. The word ‘wanted’ stared back at him, just above the words ‘Ryder Goldion’. He swallowed, but his throat felt as dry as the paper he held.

“There must be some mistake. I- I- I am no outlaw!” he glanced up at Walter and his men. They had all dismounted and wore malevolent sneers. A cold hand grabbed at his heart, and Ryder realised what he had just revealed.

“A messenger of the King is not meant to be able to read,” one of the soldiers rumbled and the others jeered.

“But- but anyone could have told you what it was! It was obvious,” Ryder’s voice leapt up an octave in panic. His excuse only brought on more laughter.

“Now you really are a marked man!” Walter chuckled to himself at the success of his trick, before pointing at Ryder, “Seize him!”

His heart racing, Ryder dug his heels desperately into the horse’s flanks. She sprang forwards but had barely begun to trot before an armoured fist dragged him off her back. He landed with a painful thump on the ground. Another fist hauled him to his feet just in time to see his horse bolting up the highway. Laughing delightedly, Walter and his men moved in front of him to block him from racing after her.

“Poor effort, Ryder,” Walter walked up to him and wrenched the message holder from his neck. Ryder looked at him in horror.

“That message—”

“Is mine now,” Walter finished, “and so are you.”

Looking about frantically, Ryder put four fingers in his mouth and whistled shrilly but loudly. The soldiers drew their swords and looked about warily.

“Careful, he might have friends here,” Walter reminded them, “who’s coming to save you then, messenger?”

Ryder’s dark eyes sparkled and he pointed to the direction of his horse.

“Why them over there!” he whispered, his eyes wide.

In unison, Walter and his men turned and stared up the highway. Frowns lurched onto their faces. It was empty.

They turned back to Ryder and swore loudly. The tall messenger had gone.

“After him!” Walter screeched, his confidence blown away, “he’s running down to the forest!”

The soldiers vaulted onto their horses and charged after the lone figure scrambling towards the safety of the trees. Walter snarled before joining the chase.

“That man is a dead man.”

Senna said goodbye to Merlin and mounted her horse to go for a quiet ride in the woods. She sighed, she loved the woods, they were so amazing, but her thoughts were interupted with yelling.

"What now?" She demanded, she raced towards the noise and a man shot out of the woods at a dead run. She rolled her eyes, he didn't look like someone who would be an outlaw so she pushed her horse towards him blocking his way.

"Will you please move, I'm trying to escape here." THe man quickly said.

"From what?" Senna asked looking him over. Suddenly several guards ran out of the woods.

"KILL HIM!" One yelled,

"Will you move now?" The man demanded,

Senna stuck out her hand. "Get on," he looked at her confussed for minute then he took her hand and swung on. "Hold on, if you want to stay on." She spun Nightmare, her horse, around and raced towards one of her hide outs.

[/i]'Lets get out of here as fast as we can.' She told the horse, he took off faster. He was one of the fastest horses Senna had ever breed and she loved him. She let out a shrill wistle and a hawk flew down next to them keeping up with them. 'Where being followed, deal with them.'[i] She wispered to it. It took off and Nightmare picked up speed to get up a hill. He dashed through an opening and then to the hide out. As he stopped Senna jumped off and quickly loosened the cinch to the saddle to give him more breathing air. THe man got off and she took the saddle off letting Nightmare free to cool down. She walked to the cave a small bird flew over and landed on her shoulder.

"Lady Claire!" It was one of Bayard's younger spies. She'd forgotten his name, but he was out of breath and still had his cloak on. Business was urgent.

"Ryder's been arrested! He's on the run. I just got wind of it. The king's men chased him into the forest."

"We have to catch up to him," Claire said. "I can talk to the soldiers, but that may not slow them down. He could stay here until things are sorted out." Ryder was important: she was not going to let go of him.

The spy nodded, and left towards the stable.

Izlude joined her at the top of the staircase. He was never far away while on guard, and Claire was glad. She had reason to suspect his magical abilities were greater than he let on, and the forest seemed like an especially good place to have him around.

"You think we'll be able to find him, lady?" Izlude asked.

"If we're lucky. He can't have gone far."

Izlude nodded. "There are beasts in this forest. I doubt he'd want to go too deep. But neither should you, if you'll pardon me saying so."

"I'm not going alone. You will be here to protect me, should need be."

"And the squire? Fawkes? What about dinner?"

"It's barely afternoon. We'll be back in time."

At the stable, two horses had been readied and were waiting, stomping their feet against the hay. Claire swung herself onto the closest's back, and Izlude followed suit. They took off, in the direction of the woods.

Eleanor Fawkes

We practiced fencing for a further two hours before the instructor called a break and the squires dispersed. I crossed the field to the small, water fountain and drank deeply of the cool, refreshing liquid. Being outsie it was slightly warmed by the beating sun but that mattered little. When I was finished, I cupped my hands and splashed the water across my warm, sweat streaked brow.

After that, the instructor had us fence a further hour before we were released and sent to a neighbouring field for an hour of archery.

"You are distracted today," Nicholas noted as I missed the centre of the target a second time.

"Just a stomach ache," I replied. He nodded for I was often troubled by these achesand pains and he had long ago decided that I was of a weak disposition. Fortunately, he kept this quiet so that I did not lose face with the other boys which also meant that a more inteligent, less naive squire had no chance to discover my secret.

After the archery we ate a bland, huried lunch before our jousting lesson and then we were granted an hour of private study. I speant mine in the lush, pleasant gardens, reading books on quantum physics and mathematics but when that was over, the evenings belonged to us. I stood and was about to enter the building when a man approached me.

"Samuel Fawkes." It was a statement rather than a question and I was curious as to how a complete stranger knew my name. There again, I had seen him before. He had watched several of our lessons in fact.

"Yes, my Lord?" I responded politely when I found that I could not distinguish his rank.

"You are requested to attend diner with Lady Claire of Camelot an hour from now. It is suggested that you dress appropriately." With that, he turned and strode away. I watched him go with aprehension and curiosity before hurrying inside to follow his instructions. A squire did not ask questions and they certainly did not disobey direct or indirect orders so I changed into some navy pants and my finest pale blue shirt (which was not really all that fine) before running a comb through my short, blonde hair and lacing up my better pair of boots. It did briefly cross my mind that I should inform the kitchens of my absense at the evening meal but there was no time and fortunately, I passed Nicholas on my way to Lady Claire's quarters and explained everything to him.