Post by DornKoon on Nov 22, 2024 9:58:54 GMT
He had not been sure what to expect, and perhaps that was for the best, as the unknown, even if frightening, needed to be faced. As their blades met, Clarent seemed to flash and burn each time it clashed against the representation of Excalibur. The sword was crying out for combat, and Rupert could feel the hunger in the steel. But-- he quickly found himself pushed back, forced onto the defensive as the knight in the distorted guise of King Arthur continued his barrage.
It was- a lot.
Each blow is more than the crossing of blades, but so much more.
What did he want? Did he know what he was? Rupert gritted his teeth, blocking a tremendously powerful blow.
"Wo cares what I am wen I know wo E am? I am, and was, Mordred, as I am Rupert." He replied, pushing the blade back. "I am member of Excalebur. I was Equestrian to er Royal Majesty Queen Elizabet II. I was Best Man at Brian's wedding and am God-Fater to hes daugter." Each statement was combined with another attack from the blade. "I refuse to be a pawn en my moter's games." He attempted to push back and go on the offensive. Visions and memories flashed through his mind: his killing of Arthur, followed by his death, which caused the scar on his chest to ache and burn—the wound upon the soul. "I want--" A heavy blow caused him to stumble backwards, but he was able to keep at his feet. What did he want? As he spoke, his words were softer, pained, but confident. "To atone, to be better."
It was- a lot.
Each blow is more than the crossing of blades, but so much more.
What did he want? Did he know what he was? Rupert gritted his teeth, blocking a tremendously powerful blow.
"Wo cares what I am wen I know wo E am? I am, and was, Mordred, as I am Rupert." He replied, pushing the blade back. "I am member of Excalebur. I was Equestrian to er Royal Majesty Queen Elizabet II. I was Best Man at Brian's wedding and am God-Fater to hes daugter." Each statement was combined with another attack from the blade. "I refuse to be a pawn en my moter's games." He attempted to push back and go on the offensive. Visions and memories flashed through his mind: his killing of Arthur, followed by his death, which caused the scar on his chest to ache and burn—the wound upon the soul. "I want--" A heavy blow caused him to stumble backwards, but he was able to keep at his feet. What did he want? As he spoke, his words were softer, pained, but confident. "To atone, to be better."
