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Jul. 12th, 2007

karlofcamelot

Karl's arrival

[ooc: posting this right away because Ari & I are not often online at the same time, and a post with threaded comments seems like the best way to go].

Who: Karl and later, Dave.
When: Just before, during and just after Morgan's spell
Where: starts on-set in NZ, then in the cell
What: Who knows? Poor Karl doesn't have a clue, not yet anyway.
Notes: No warnings to start with. Cut for length.

Karl's in a bad mood, and that doesn't help his concentration. It just seems to be one of those days where nothing goes right. They've already had to halt shooting for half an hour because the generator packed up and all the lights went out, then Danielle twisted her ankle in the mud so all the Guinevere scenes scheduled for today were put on hold. Because of the rain they gave up on the outdoor scenes and moved to the studio instead.  Karl has a headache, and is having difficulty focussing on his lines.

He's currently sprawled on the floor in a corner of a Wellington studio that's been done out to look like a cell. There's straw on the floor, a couple of low pallet beds, walls made of plywood and resin, pretending to be damp stone. The illusion is broken by one wall of the cell being open, in fact missing completely; where cameras and other crew are standing.   Lucy, who's playing the part of Morgan le Fay, is leaning over Karl with a malicious looking sneer on her face. "Sweet Gawain," she says. "You will betray Arthur."

"No, never!" Karl replies. "He is my liege, my lord, my..."

Someone in another part of the studio drops something, there's a loud bang and Karl flinches, and swears. Someone calls "cut!". He gets up, kicks at the straw. "Goddammit. Can we do that again?"


Jul. 11th, 2007

camelotaristos

In The Tower Of Morgan Le Fey

The mirror clouded up with white smoke that swirled against the glass, as if pressing to get out. There were hundreds of mirrors, all encased in stone frames, all spiraling down the walls of the tower of the sorceress. Morgan, the Fey, stood in the center of the highest room of her tower of sorcery, gazing deeply into the shimmer of a red stone set deep in a silver ring. Candlelight flickered dimly, and the fog of her hundreds of scrying mirrors caught the dim light, refracting it around the room. It was like standing within a diamond. Outside her tower, a storm raged; rain battered against the glass and thunder rolled at irregular intervals.

It was a good night for a spell.

From the other side of the only window of the tall tower, lightening cracked, bright as the noonday sun. The hot, white flash filled the tower, and within the red jewel upon Morgan's finger, something bright leapt up, like a sudden flame. The smoke behind the mirrors suddenly rolled back, pulling away to reveal images. For each of the hundred mirrors, there was a distant land, a kingdom, in which there was a great knight. Great knights, with mighty powers, to fight for Morgan, and to call her their queen. She had not her brother Arthur's means, to establish a court, to raise a table, to fly bright banners that sent splinters into the heart of all who defied him... but she was a sorceress, and did not give up easily.

She would bring them all, one by one, to her tower, and her castle, and there she would weave a spell over them, and teach each of them to swear fealty to her, and enchant them, as she had enchanted many men and knights, to love her, to wish her to be their queen. She would be, she thought, a glorious queen, a fair queen, not like her brother, not like her stepfather. In place of the dark king and his dark court, puppets of the wizard Merlin, who tolerated no magic but his own, there would be a castle fairer than Camelot, and the dragon pennant would burn in a fire of cleansing -- in its place would fly the secret symbols that welcomed one of Morgan's kind to another. The fey would no longer be hunted and persecuted like game, sport for Arthur's knights, killed without mercy upon many battlefields and in many forests, and the wild creatures would not hide from the bright sheen of sun on steel; Morgan would bring an age best befitting those of her kind -- humans, of course, would linger, but no longer would they, a weak people whose only strength was brutality and numbers, rule England. England would be a free place, without the laws that strangled both witch and sorcerer from one corner of the land to the other.

She saw all this in the sudden brightness of lightening, the red flash of fire -- before her lay a vision of the future and the ramparts of Camelot laid low, her half-brother slain and Merlin stripped of power and in disgrace, and all of her people, both Fair, and Dark, triumphant, raising her Faerie pennant high, victory over their oppressors. She saw the churches of Arthur's reign empty, cold mausoleums to his defeated god and their defeated religion, as derelict as the dead Roman towns with their dead Roman temples to dead Roman gods. In the blaze of light she saw the forests thick and wild again that no human might pass through them without fear. She saw a country, from coast to coast, from cliffs to sea, wild and green and alive, where the foxes could speak and the birds told her stories of foreign lands, and Morgan loved it all, with passion greater than that she'd suffered for any lover. She lowered the ring, and turned to the wall. Images of strange countries rolled past the mirrors, some familiar, some so strange, she had never seen their like. She passed her eyes over them, seeking one with a face; some would be drawn to her spell, now she sought a great knight of power, who would hear her calling, and draw to her, and want to come in. And she would call him, and when the lightening struck again, he
would come...


She settled on a face, a man with dark eyes, who wore as knights should, a helm and a breastplate, and reached her hand out towards him, when something happened that she had not expected and could not stop. The lightening cracked out again, this time striking the tower itself, and before she had finished choosing her knight, the white flame coursed down the sides of her tower. The thunder crack was so monstrously loud it shook the very foundations of her castle, and at once, several mirrors shattered, along with the glass in the window, smoke rolling through the room as rain suddenly swept through in a monstrous sweep, extinguishing the candles, as Morgan, blinded by the light and smoke and sound, cried aloud the words of binding, heedless to what mirrors had broken and where her spells were passing.

Energy surged and roiled, magic coiled around all the tower, and around the sorceress, who, under the great weight of so much power, could only cry aloud the words of binding once more, and fling her arms away from her. The magic recoiled like ripples in a pond, powerful energy bursting away from her and her tower, across her castle, through the earth, shaking the fields of her serfs and causing tremors in the nearby keeps on her fiefdom. The tremor was so great they felt it in Camelot; in the far-off city, the king rose from his chair at the head of his table, as what seemed like a mighty shout broke open the doors of the castle hall, and the great knight Lancelot pushed himself before the queen in the path of the great tremor, as many more knights drew their swords before the quaking thunder, as if to cut the blows before they could sunder the earth.

And in the wake of it all, as Morgan the mighty, who lay upon the shattered remains of many mirrors, lifted her head to look out the broken window of her tower, one by one, with lights that glimmers like stars, the rooms of her dungeon began to fill.

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