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ciathyzareposts · 4 years

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Camelot: What Makes Us Unique

This particular Camelot character has probably never existed before or since.

Back in 2004, I was meeting a friend at a bar in Boston. I opened the door to look in for him, saw that he wasn’t there, and backed out, elbowing in the stomach the man behind me. I turned around and saw that it was the governor of Massachusetts. Since then, I’ve liked to think that I’m the only person to have ever elbowed Mitt Romney in the stomach while he was walking into a bar. I’m sure plenty of people have elbowed him in the stomach on other occasions.

This is the kind of story I like, because it’s an assemblage of circumstances that has probably never occurred to anyone else. I look for those in life. I may not be the world record holder in any sport or hobby, but there’s a decent chance that by the end of my life, I will have published more blog articles on CRPGs than anyone else alive. If that turns out not to be true, I’ll only need one other modest qualifier (“than any other Mainer”) to make it true. I guarantee that I’m the only person in the world to have my particular combination of jobs (if you include CRPG blogging as one of them). I don’t hold the record for the number of airline miles flown between 2010 and 2018, but I’ve got to be within the top 10%, and when you’re in the top 10%, you only need one or two additional circumstances to make yourself unique. It’s possible that I’m the record-holder out of Bangor, Maine, for instance.

My enthusiasm for unique experiences filters into CRPGs and probably explains why I like open-world sandbox games so much. I don’t like the idea that I’ve reached the end of a game in the exact same position and circumstances as everyone else who has ever played the game. When you can’t even name your character, this is particularly infuriating. Look at my recent review of Deadly Towers, for instance. How do you really know it was me playing that game? I could have taken those screen shots from anyone. At least Dragon Warrior displayed the first four letters of “Chester.”

These issues got me thinking about the peculiar trade-off that exists between player and character. Think of a game like Pac-Man. When a champion like Billy Mitchell achieves a perfect score, we don’t say, “Wow, you created a great character there. You put a lot into him.” The very statement is absurd; every player’s Pac-Man is the same as everyone else’s. Instead, all praise goes to the hands and eyes of the player himself. In contrast, when we watch the ways that various players have won the Mulmaster Beholder Corps battle in Curse of the Azure Bonds, we look for clues in the characters–their levels, their spells, their weapons, their movements. We’re aware that there’s a player behind it all, of course–perhaps a very intelligent and strategic one. But his success is slightly diffused by the imposition of the characters. We are aware that his strategy only “works” because of the allowances of the game. Perhaps most important, we are aware that we could have done the same thing, whereas no studying of his technique is likely to make most of us like Billy Mitchell.

It is for these reasons that I don’t think it’s really possible to be “good at” a game like Skyrim. Experienced, sure. Patient, definitely. But “good”–what does that even mean? Early in its existence, some players proudly posted images on Reddit of their characters clad in leather armor and wielding pick-axes (possibly the worst weapon in the game) killing dragons. I thought it was silly. Either the game has enough flexibility to allow you to do such a thing or it doesn’t. It says nothing about your skill as a player that you were able to do it except that you were willing to use the game’s resources to grind, or enchant that pick-axe, or improve that armor, or carry and drink a hundred potions, or whatever you did to make it possible.

I just bought Irene the Myst 25th anniversary collection for Christmas. That is a “good at” game. A player that possesses the strength of puzzle-solving to blaze his way to the end without any spoilers is an impressive player. But his end-game screenshot is the same as everyone else and the “character” of the game is essentially invisible, a no-one, a ghost.

In many modern games, “uniqueness” extends quite literally to the character’s appearance.

In case it’s not clear, I’m not particularly interested in being “good at” CRPGs. I don’t play them for competitive reasons. I play them to enjoy the strategy, tactics, world-building, plots, and sense of character development. I like a challenge, but only a modest one–a temporary bump in a game that, because of its very nature (particularly because of reloading), you’re almost certain to eventually overcome.

Many people prize the opposite. I suppose even I do, in different circumstances. The value of most competitive games is that everyone’s playing the same game under the same circumstances, with no real imposition of “character” between the player and the performance. A king in chess isn’t a “character”; he’s just a piece. You don’t give him a name, and he doesn’t acquire new abilities as he defeats pawns and levels up. When he moves to take a rook, there are no probabilities associated with the encounter. When he wins, all glory goes to the player who moves him.

When my king reaches the end of a game, on the other hand, I want him to be my king–a unique character that no other player has won with. I want my endgame screenshots to look different from everyone else’s. And in those screenshots you should be able to tell something about how I played the game. Was I careful or daring? Did I rely on brains or brawn? Did I favor equipment or skills? What role-playing choices did I make along the way?

To me, some of the worst RPGs are closer to chess. Your “character” is just a gambit that you’ve moving across the screen, offering you no sense of connection or identity. These are essentially arcade games with a few nods to RPG mechanics. We’ve seen a million of them: Caverns of Freitag, Gateway to Apshai, Sword of Kadash, Sword of Fargoal. Even worse is when the game offers RPG-style inventory and leveling, but at fixed intervals along a linear plot, so that “character development” is just an illusion and everyone does reach the end the same as everyone else.

The best RPGs, however, offer plenty of opportunities to make your character your own:

Name

Selection of race, sex, alignment, and class

Attributes

Skills and talents

Inventories, especially those with multiple slots

NPC interaction, dialogue, and role-playing choices

Choice of what order in which to do quests and side-quests

Ability to grind, or not (only meaningful without artificially low level caps)

Customization of character appearance

Statistics, achievements, and trophies

The multiplication of these various factors means that many modern RPGs feature characters as unique as the humans who create them, finally achieving some of the sense of ownership and identification that tabletop RPGs allowed from the outset.

Every player may have had to do exactly what I did to win Ultima IV, but at least my name and the number of turns are unique.

Camelot is an early game, and thus not as advanced in the originality of its characters. But of the single-player PLATO games, it comes the furthest. When I play it, I do not feel as if I am feeding so many characters into a meat grinder, as I did with The Dungeon, The Game of Dungeons, and Orthanc. Its allowances for stealth, magic, and multiple fighting styles, paired with the strategic nature by which you must explore dungeon exploration, create as close to a unique experience as anything we’re going to get for many years. If nothing else, the combination of items in the 13 inventory slots likely creates characters for each player that no one else has ever played.

I’ve put about 12 hours into the game since the last Camelot entry and I’ve gotten a lot more powerful–enough to take on dungeon Level 5 with relative ease–but it’s still slightly frustrating how long its’ taking to finish the game, much more so because I keep dying and resetting my score back to -99,999. But I recognize that it was designed for different players in different circumstances.

There was an interesting moment the other night where creator Josh Tabin happened to be logged into the system at a moment that I got stuck. I had teleported into a section of Level 4 that offered only one exit: a downward chute. Unfortunately, I had taken a Potion of Levitation upon beginning the expedition (you always want to use Scrolls of Protection, Potions of Cepacol, and Potions of Levitation at the outset of each expedition if you have them). It turns out that Levitation stops you from using chutes, even deliberately. The condition doesn’t wear off until you return to town. There were no other exits from the area, and I was out of Scrolls of Recall. The only solution I could come up with is to wait until the turn of every hour, when the dungeon levels respawn, and kill everything in the half-dozen rooms I had access to, hoping to get a Scroll of Recall at some point. But since Josh was there, I informed him of my trouble and he opened a secret door for me, then spent some time patching the game so that even if you’re under the effect of levitation, you can manually choose to take a chute.

Other things about the game since I last wrote:

As I previously mentioned, the game occasionally gives you a specific monster to kill before it will let you level up. It’s very erratic. I had a period from roughly Level 10 to 20 where I got a quest every level. Then I didn’t get any at all between Levels 20 and 29.

A “Palantir” tells you at what level you can find the object of your quest. If you’re already on that level, it tells you the specific coordinates. Of course, if the hour turns while you’re still seeking the quest creature, everything resets.

As you move downward, enemies get harder but rewards get better. Some of the magic item rewards are awesome. I’ve had a couple of Wands of Fire that completely clear out rooms in one turn. The problem is how frequently they require recharging and the expense thereof. The game’s economy is still excellent. I make a lot of tough choices between leveling up, recharging, and purchasing new items.

It turns out that items don’t have a fixed number of charges but rather a small probability of running out within any given use. High intelligence seems to lower this chance.

Some of the best items that you can find increase your attributes. Manuals and tomes increase them permanently by one point while various potions increase them temporarily for several points. I have maxed out my strength, intelligence, and constitution with these items, and I must be close on the other two.

A Manual of Bodily Health raises my constitution.

Scrolls of Taming, Orbs of Entrapment, and Wands of Charming all work on different creatures. I’ve learned that when I lose a companion (or one leaves), I want to head down to the lowest dungeon level on which I can survive to start hunting for another. About six hours into this session, I was able to charm a succubus, and it’s remained with me ever since–an extremely powerful ally.

I probably mentioned this earlier, but there are special rooms on each level that the creator calls “stud rooms.” They feature enemies 2-3 levels harder than the normal ones on the same level, but with rewards 2-3 times greater. Any new expedition needs to begin with clearly the stud rooms that you know you can clear.

In one of the “stud rooms.” Seven green dragons are a little much for me. The Scroll of Identification gives grim odds.

There’s a magic item called a “Tardis” that resets the dungeon in between the normal hourly resets. It allows you to quickly hit the stud rooms multiple times in a row until it runs out of magic. It’s incredibly useful but back in the day when there were multiple players hitting the dungeon at the same time, it must have been very annoying for some of them.

The two players on the leaderboard who have won the game both have Level 60 characters, so I assume that’s the game’s level cap. Thus, I’m halfway there. I probably won’t have much more to say about Camelot until I win, so hopefully I can get it done this week while I also wrap up Challenge of the Five Realms. I’ll say this for Camelot: it’s the first PLATO game that I’ve enjoyed lingering with, rather than blasting through it just to document its historical value.

Time so far: 40 hours

source http://reposts.ciathyza.com/camelot-what-makes-us-unique/

#retro games #dos games #retro #crpg #adventure #amiga #oldcomputers #8bit #16bit #blog #repost

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aion-rsa · 3 years

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Who Will Be Doctor Who’s Next Showrunner?

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When big changes come to Doctor Who it’s the Doctor who grabs all the headlines. That, after all, is showbusiness: children don’t ask for bedsheets bedecked with the faces of the show’s writing or production team. It’s the showrunner – much more than anyone else, including the actor playing the lead role – upon whom the fate and fortunes of the show rest. They decide everything from the look, feel and tone of the seasons, to the thrust and arc of the narrative, to who writes, directs and stars – from the smallest bit-part to the Doctor themselves. The buck stops with them, in other words, and a showrunner can very much make or break an era.

So while speculation rages about who will take on the mantle of the 14th Doctor, it’s Chris Chibnall‘s replacement as showrunner who will ultimately carry the weight of the universe on their back. Realistically, a candidate needs not just writing but also producing experience (Chibnall had co- and executive producer credits on Torchwood, Camelot, Law & Order:UK, Broadchurch and more before landing Doctor Who). Because the UK TV industry has significant work to do on widening access for writers and producers of colour, that requirement frustratingly narrows the field for such jobs at present. But let’s have a look at a few options; some shoo-ins for the top spot, some just wildcards, but all of them with something real to offer.

Pete McTighe

Pete McTighe has the experience and qualities you’d want in a prospective Doctor Who showrunner: he’s been a long-time admirer of the show since the Classic days; he’s written for the show (Series 11’s ‘Kerblam’ and Series 12’s ‘Praxeus’); he’s helmed trailers for the Classic series’ Blu-ray sets; and, perhaps most crucially of all, he has hands-on experience of calling the shots. McTighe’s prison-drama Wentworth (pictured above) first aired in 2013 and has since racked up award after award in its native Australia (McTighe is British). It’s also been something of a critical darling worldwide, routinely praised for a realism and a grittiness that cleaves close to the best HBO dramas. BBC mystery thriller Pact concluded in June and Wentworth‘s final season airs later this month, meaning that McTighe now has a hole in his schedule. Might he be about to fill that jail-shaped gap with a police box? Quite apposite too, perhaps, that McTighe was able to take a show like Prisoner: Cell Block H (as it was known in the UK), a beloved old soap opera from the 1970s/80s, with rickety, wobbly sets and a low-budget aesthetic, and transform it into a lean, mean, emotionally-satisfying, rollicking thrill-ride with contemporary sensibilities. The man has form.

Sarah Dollard

Another Australian connection, this time in the form of bone fide antipodean Sarah Dollard, who wrote ‘Face the Raven‘ and ‘Thin Ice‘ during Peter Capaldi’s tenure. Prior work commitments prevented Dollard from writing for Jodie Whittaker’s Doctor, something she lamented at the time.

For those of the ‘Doctor Who has become too political’ persuasion, Dollard’s thoughts on the writing process for ‘Thin Ice’ should serve as both a rebuke and reassurance: “There was no way to write about a woman of colour going into the past on Earth without acknowledging how the colour of her skin would have impacted how people reacted to her there. Obviously, it also had to be entertaining and true to the tone of the show, so I tried to make it an intrinsic part of the story, rather than just add-on.”

Dollard cut her teeth on Australian soap opera Neighbours, and wasn’t long before she was writing for sci-fi and fantasy favourites including Merlin, Primeval, Being Human, Doctor Who, A Discovery of Witches (pictured above) and, most recently, an adaptation of the award-winning Young Adult horror fantasy Cuckoo Song (yet to air on Netflix). Availability could be an issue in whether Dollard could return to Doctor Who as its showrunner, given her busy schedule and writer-producer role on Netflix big-hitter Bridgerton.

Toby Whithouse

There was a time when Toby Whithouse was the heir apparent to Steven Moffat. At least in the eyes of Whovians. In 2015 he said this about speculation that he might be taking over the show post-Moffat: “No-one at the BBC has ever had this conversation with me. No-one has asked me, no-one has approached me about if Steven leaves, when Steven leaves. These are conversations that happen purely among fans, not on any official level.”

Still, he has the pedigree. Not only did Whithouse create Being Human for BBC Three (also one of Sarah Dollard’s first UK writing jobs), but he also wrote for the first three of modern Doctors, notably the episodes ‘School Reunion’, ‘The God Complex’ and ‘Under the Lake/Before the Flood’, showing terrific range, and a deft and respectful approach to the show’s mythos and history. Recently, Whithouse has written for the BBC’s new sci-fi series Noughts and Crosses (pictured above) but seems to have drifted away from Doctor Who. Acknowledging that this is just another conversation happening “purely among fans”, might the allure of the big chair tempt him back?

Kate Herron

Kate Herron may be a reasonably fresh face in the entertainment industry, but already she’s proven herself capable of taking on the sort of awesome responsibility that would make even a grizzled veteran wince. There can be few franchises heavier with expectation than Marvel (along with, perhaps, Doctor Who and Star Trek), and few characters as beloved as Tom Hiddleston’s Loki. Kudos to Herron then, for dazzling Kevin Feige with her talent and vision, earning directorial control of the first season of Loki and carrying it out to general acclaim.

Plenty have said that Loki was some of the best Doctor Who we’ve seen in years. It’s hard not to see where they’re coming from when considering the way Loki balances humour, heart, and sci-fi, whilst dabbling with time and dealing with multiple variants of its main character.

Herron recently announced that she wouldn’t be returning for Loki Season 2: ‘I’m really happy to watch it as a fan next season, but I just think I’m proud of what we did here and I’ve given it my all. I’m working on some other stuff yet to be announced.’ It’s this enigmatic ‘other stuff’ that has sent the Doctor Who rumour mill into over-drive. Might Herron be trading one time-wimey extravaganza for another? Might there be a further clue in this other snippet from a recent interview? Time will tell.

Doctor Who: Why Jo Martin’s Ruth Should Be The Next Doctor

By Amanda-Rae Prescott

Doctor Who Season 14 Wish-List: What We’d Like to See

By Den of Geek Staff

Mark Gatiss

In some sense, Mark Gatiss is Doctor Who. At the very least the show is encoded in his DNA. Very few people have done so much in, and for, the Whoniverse, and Gatiss has pretty much done it all. He’s written novels set in the Classic Who Universe; he’s acted in the modern iteration of the show (‘The Lazarus Experiment’, ‘The Wedding of River Song’, ‘Twice Upon a Time’); he’s written for the show (most notably ‘The Unquiet Dead’); he’s narrated documentary segments about the show; and he wrote the acclaimed 50th anniversary stand-alone about the early days of the show at the BBC, ‘An Adventure in Space and Time‘. He’s even been both the Doctor and the Master, albeit in Big Finish form. About the only aspect of Doctor Who Gatiss hasn’t embraced is being in charge. Given how prolific Gatiss is outside of Doctor Who, and how the Sherlock and Dracula (pictured above) co-creator gravitated away from the show in recent years, it’s unlikely – though of course not impossible – that he’d take over from Chris Chibnall.

J. Michael Straczynski

Now, Twitter is neither a negotiating table, nor often a particularly accurate representation of objective reality. Still, there’s no reason to suspect that J. Michael Straczynski’s recent enthusiastic offer to replace Chris Chibnall is anything less than sincere. Less tangible is the real-world prospect of the job ever being offered to him. Not because he couldn’t rise to the challenge – the man is a sci-fi behemoth, his work straddling the mediums of the graphic novel, TV and cinema, and encompassing damn near everything from Murder She Wrote to Marvel, DC to World War Z, and Ghostbusters to Babylon 5 (pictured above)– but down to the BBC preferring to hand the reins of its flagship family sci-fi show to someone UK-based. It doesn’t stop us wondering, though, how the man behind the deliciously cluttered, cultured and brilliant Babylon 5 would transform the Whoniverse.

Vinay Patel

For Series 11, Chris Chibnall wanted a range of fresh, representative voices that would better reflect the diversity of the show’s audience, and open up new avenues of dramatic possibilities. Vinay Patel is one of that influx of new writers who excelled himself by turning in arguably two of the Whittaker era’s best-regarded episodes. ‘Demons of the Punjab’ (pictured above) shone a light on a part of post-colonial history never before illuminated by Doctor Who, and did so with heart and conviction. ‘Fugitive of the Judoon’ proved that Patel could handle a more whacky, twisty-turny, lore-filled story.

Patel started as a corporate film-maker, but wasn’t satisfied with his lot, so poured his talents into an MA in writing for stage and broadcast media, an inspired choice that led him to the theatre, and then on to the BAFTA-nominated drama Murdered by My Father. His writing is intensely personal and political, barbed but with heart, intersecting notions of power, family, history and belonging.

Whether or not Vinay Patel has a realistic shot at the top spot – he’s still relatively untested in TV (but then so was Kate Herron before Loki) – it’s a shame that a show so committed to representation on-screen has so few prospective showrunners from a BAME background. Wherever Patel’s talents are next channelled, though, it’s obvious he has a blindingly bright future ahead of him.

Reece Shearsmith & Steve Pemberton

An unlikely prospect, we’re forced to admit, but a delicious one. The pair are, of course, no strangers to the Whoniverse. Steve Pemberton played Strackman Lux in the fan-favourite Tennant-two-parter ‘Silence in the Library/Forest of the Dead’. Reece Shearsmith featured in Season 9 episode ‘Sleep No More‘, written by Shearsmith’s old friend and fellow League of Gentlemen star and co-creator Mark Gatiss. Shearsmith also portrayed Patrick Troughton and the Second Doctor in ‘An Adventure in Space and Time’.

However, it’s Shearsmith and Pemberton’s astonishing work on the raven-black comedy-drama anthology series Inside No. 9 (pictured above) that makes them such a tantalising prospect for the top spot. They’ve proven that they can play around with places, times, and tones like true artists, offering up silent, screwball comedy one week, then cruelly funny farce the next, followed by something so truly beautiful and heart-breaking it’ll make your soul flat-line the next. They’d be wildcards, certainly, but quite possibly a cross between a game-changer and a Godsend for Doctor Who.

Sally Wainwright

Sally Wainwright, like many of the candidates on this list, began her career writing for a soap opera, in her case the long-running and much-beloved BBC Radio 4 show The Archers. She was soon poached by the bosses of UK TV soap Emmerdale, but swiftly sacked when she said in a newspaper interview that Emmerdale“was shit, because the script editors re-wrote everything” and went on to Coronation Street.

Sci-fi fans can be sniffy about soap operas, as if sci-fi writers emerge from a cocoon fully-fledged and ready to write about far-off galaxies and alien races, but that’s tosh. If it weren’t for soaps, Paul Abbott, Jimmy McGovern, Sarah Phelps and countless other of the UK’s best screenwriters wouldn’t have had their starts. Step forward Sally Wainwright, who now stands as a behemoth in the UK TV landscape, having helmed arguably two of the most important and popular shows of recent years, Last Tango in Halifax and the astonishing Happy Valley. Her talent has now gone global. She’s currently in charge of HBO-BBC co-production Gentleman Jack, and is working with Sandra Bullock on a new TV series.

Sally Wainwright’s output and vision is supreme; her writing is raw and electric, real and illuminating, her characters so lived-in and realised that you could take them from the screen and put them in your living room and mistake them for your own family. Wainwright is probably too busy to take on the job of showrunner, but what a boon for Doctor Who her helmship would be.

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Doctor Who Series 13 will air on BBC One and BBC America this autumn.

The post Who Will Be Doctor Who’s Next Showrunner? appeared first on Den of Geek.

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miraculousmultifan · 4 years

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This is my husband, Arlin

Author: miraculousmultifan

Fandom: Merlin

Pairing: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon

Rating: T

Word Count: 1765

Summary: “Halt! You, there. Have you seen Prince Arthur?” A group of bandits stepped out from behind the trees, surrounding Merlin. Merlin looked up from where he had been bent over and stopped, regarding each of the bandits carefully.

“Me?” Merlin asked, stalling for more time to review his options. He had no idea what these men wanted with Arthur, but it couldn’t be pleasant. Maybe he could pretend he didn’t know who Arthur was? No, that would never work. What if...

“Yes, you! Who else would we be talking to? I won’t ask again, have you seen Prince Arthur?” The assumed leader of the bandits scowled and stalked closer slowly.

“No! I’m out on a camping trip with…” Think, Merlin, think. “My husband.” Perfect!

*** Merlin and Arthur go out hunting until bandits show up looking for the prince. Merlin does some quick, albeit a bit bold, thinking to try to get them out of the situation.

Link: AO3

“Arthur, don’t you think we should at least bring a couple of the knights with us. You never know what could happen on a hunt,” Merlin said with a shrug.

Arthur dismissed him with a wave of his hand and kept walking. He had given Merlin the task of carrying all their camping supplies as well as the weapons that Arthur would inevitably use to get them dinner. “We’ll be fine, Merlin. Don’t be such a spoilsport.”

Merlin rolled his eyes and hiked the bag higher up his shoulder. Ungrateful prat. “We’ve been walking for a while… Maybe we should set up camp before it gets too dark?”

Slowly, with a smile plastered on his face, Arthur turned back to Merlin. “Of course, Merlin. That sounds like a wonderful idea. I will take the crossbow and hunt for our dinner, and you will set up our camp and wait for me. Maybe this time, I’ll actually be able to kill something!” He made a shooing motion at Merlin, gesturing to a clearing partially hidden in the trees. “Go on. Off with you.”

Merlin sighed. That was not exactly what he wanted to happen but at least he doesn’t have to follow after Arthur like a puppy anymore. He walked towards the clearing, grumbling loud enough for Arthur to hear it. It was all for show, of course. Arthur could never know that Merlin preferred this outcome.

Unfortunately, it didn’t take Merlin as long as he thought it would to fully set up their camp. He figured Arthur would probably be gone for a while, so napping seemed like a viable waiting option. Of course, it couldn’t last long.

Merlin woke up, spluttering, wiping cold water from his eyes. “What was that for?!”

“Sleeping on the job, Merlin!” Arthur replied smugly. “Who knows what could have happened with you just napping away peacefully? Maybe some bandits steal all our supplies? Ever think about that, you idiot?”

Merlin groaned and picked his head up to look around. “Well, it looks like everything’s here, so no harm done, right?” He looked up at Arthur and put on his most charming smile. Arthur raised an unimpressed eyebrow. It was intimidating, though not as powerful as Gaius’s.

“You got lucky. And as payment,” Arthur paused dramatically to drop his waterskin on Merlin’s face, “you can get me more water when you collect the firewood.”

Merlin thumped his head back against the ground. Perfect. Usually, when they go on these hunting trips, Arthur treats him more like a friend than a servant. He lets himself be vulnerable. It certainly didn’t look that way this time. Someone must have pissed in Arthur’s oatmeal, and it certainly wasn’t Merlin.

There wasn’t much use in arguing, especially when Arthur was acting like a toddler having a tantrum, so Merlin picked up the waterskin from the ground and trudged into the forest. Once he got a considerable ways away, he started looking around for suitable logs for the fire, complaining to himself.

“Halt! You, there. Have you seen Prince Arthur?” A group of bandits stepped out from behind the trees, surrounding Merlin. Merlin looked up from where he had been bent over and stopped, regarding each of the bandits carefully.

“Yes, you! Who else would we be talking to? I won’t ask again, are you with Prince Arthur?” The assumed leader of the bandits scowled and stalked closer slowly.

“No! I’m out on a camping trip with…” Think, Merlin, think. “My husband.” Perfect! They’ll be on their way soon enough.

“Maybe your husband has seen him. Will you take us to him?” Damn it. He was definitely not asking.

“Could you walk several paces behind me? He gets jumpy with new people. I’d like to explain what you want before you confront him.” Arthur had better deal with it. They’re married whether he likes it or not.

“Fine. Lead us.”

Merlin walked briskly towards where they had made camp, checking over his shoulder every now and again to check the distance. Once he was close enough to the camp, he noticed Arthur striding towards him.

“Merlin, where have you been? It does not take that long to collect firewood. You really are incompetent, aren’t you?” Arthur frowned.

Merlin snuck another look behind him before running up close to Arthur and dropping the firewood to the side.

“Arthur, do you trust me?” Merlin whispered, looking into Arthur’s eyes. They shifted quickly to concern before Arthur covered it up with a steely gaze.

“Of course I do,” Arthur said softly, searching Merlin’s eyes for anything that would tell him what was going on. Merlin made his decision.

Before he could blink, Merlin gingerly took Arthur’s face in his hands and pulled him into a sweet kiss. Arthur froze for a moment, shocked, and then relaxed. He placed his hand on Merlin’s hip and pressed him closer, eyes falling shut. Merlin hummed, wrapping a hand around the back of Arthur’s neck, pulling them impossibly closer. Arthur let his other hand trail down Merlin’s back to grab his ass. Merlin moaned into Arthur’s mouth and clutched his shoulder, almost forgetting what brought them to this moment.

“So this is your husband, then?”

Almost.

Merlin pulled his head back and looked over to where the bandits had emerged into the clearing. He couldn’t bring himself to move any further away from Arthur, so he didn’t, leaving one hand holding Arthur’s neck and the other lying on his chest.

“Right, yes, sorry. This is my husband, Arlin,” Merlin said, smiling a bit shakily. Arthur looked up to see who Merlin was addressing and tensed. Merlin rubbed his neck soothingly, then explained. “Arlin, these lovely men stopped me while I was collecting our firewood to ask if I had seen Prince Arthur. I told them I hadn’t but they insisted they ask you too.” Merlin attempted a smile at Arthur, but his brows were too furrowed.

Arthur tightened his grip on Merlin’s waist and, with some effort, tore his eyes away from Merlin to say, “I’m sorry, I haven’t seen him.” Merlin relaxed in his arms and leaned further against his chest. Turning his head back to the bandits, Merlin smiled at them, hoping that would be the end of it, and he and Arthur could get back to their long-awaited kissing.

“Perhaps your husband hasn’t seen the prince… because he is the prince.” The leader of the bandits said, switching his scowl between Arthur and Merlin.

Merlin threw his head back and laughed, startling everyone, including himself. “I’m sorry, it’s just… You think I could land someone like the prince? He is way out of my league. No offense, Arlin, honey. You’re beautiful too.” Merlin laughed again. “Honestly. Me! And the prince?! Yeah, I don’t think so.”

Arthur hid a snort in Merlin’s hair and murmured into his ear, “Really laying it on thick, aren’t you, Merlin?” Merlin yelped when Arthur punctuated his comment with a slap to Merlin’s ass.

He turned to the bandits, stroking his thumb delicately along Merlin’s stomach, and said, “Yeah, you know, it’s funny actually. I do get that a lot. It must be the hair.”

The leader narrowed his eyes. “How are we to know you aren’t lying to us? You are much too healthy and well-fed to be peasants.”

Arthur turned to look at Merlin and then back to bandits. “I’m a knight of Camelot. I serve under Prince Arthur, but I am not him.”

The bandits didn’t seem convinced. “Why are you out here with your husband instead of protecting Camelot?”

Merlin giggles and Arthur goes red, clutching Merlin’s waist tighter. “That was all me! You see, today is our wedding anniversary. It took a bit of convincing, but I went to the prince and pleaded with him to let my dear Arlin take the day off. Arlin planned this trip to the woods all by himself. Isn’t he romantic?” Merlin sighed, looking at Arthur gently. Arthur shot him a glare to which Merlin just winked.

“I am not romantic! I just thought I’d do something thoughtful for once. You could learn a thing or two from me. I’m still waiting on those flowers, by the way.”

“Again with the flowers? That was one time. I would get you a whole field of flowers if you really wanted me to,” Merlin teased, stroking Arthur’s cheek.

Arthur smiled, leaning into Merlin’s hand, his eyes fond. “I know you would. I would do anything for you too, you know.” His meaning was clear. Arthur was not pretending. Merlin blushed and leaned in to capture Arthur’s lips into another kiss. Arthur smiled into the kiss, pulling Merlin close to him.

The bandits looked anywhere other than at the two men, feeling very uncomfortable all of a sudden. One of the bandits turned to their companion to say, “A prince would never be this sickeningly affectionate. I’m convinced.”

Merlin moved to kiss the underside of Arthur’s jaw while Arthur let out a low moan. Pulling away, Arthur turned to the bandits.

“As lovely as it was talking to you gentlemen, I’m sure you have more pressing matters to attend to. If you don’t mind, I would like to spend my anniversary making out with my husband, among… other things.” Arthur grinned, shooting the bandit closest to him a smarmy wink from which they visibly recoil. “Why don’t you go on your merry way. I hope you find Prince Arthur.”

Merlin grinned at them and threw a little wave before Arthur brought him back into another searing kiss.

By the time they pulled away from each other, the sun was already beginning to set, and the bandits were long gone. Arthur rested his forehead against Merlin’s and looked him in the eyes.

“So… Out of your league, huh?” Arthur smirked, kneading Merlin’s ass.

Merlin laughed and smacked Arthur’s shoulder, turning a lovely shade of red. “You prat! You’re insufferable.”

Arthur’s gaze softened. “Yeah, but you love me.”

Merlin beamed back at him. “I really do.” He paused, feeling up Arthur’s chest. “So, what were those ‘other things’ you mentioned earlier, sire.”

Arthur’s eyes darkened and he pushed a smug Merlin into their tent. He really knew how to push all the right buttons.

#merlin #merthur #merthur fic #arthur #arthur pendragon #fanfiction #my fic

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finestswordsmanfandral · 7 years

Text

I Remember Darkness | Solo

March 2017

Fandral was numb. He shut his eyes as the blast of the Bifrost overtook him, and he rocketed through space. The feeling was so familiar - the creature used these channels all the time as it slipped through the Nine Realms. Within seconds, he was pulled into the golden observatory. He wanted to smile when he saw Heimdall, but the watcher wouldn't look at him. When Fandral looked away, he saw the streaks of red still covering the ground. He turned his head to Thor.

The Prince stood tall and strong, half-carrying Fandral. He stepped in front, hiding him from Heimdall. He leaned further into Thor, as they walked towards the rainbow bridge.

Halfway down, he could see a carriage charging towards them. The two men stopped and waited. The cart of guards slowed to a halt in front of them, and Thor continued forward. He helped Fandral in, and again no one would look at him. Thor gave directions to take them to the castle.

All eyes were on them as they went through the city. Unlike the soldiers and his friends, the townsfolk watched in awe. Perhaps it was because they were in the presence of royalty, or maybe they were gawking at the return of their long-lost swordsman. Either way, Fandral wanted to be invisible from them. He recognized the guards, and they looked terribly sad. He trained them - all of them - as the former Captain.

Fandral had let everyone down. As the golden gate of the palace drew nearer, he felt guilt rising higher into his throat until it touched his teeth. The words hung in his mouth - he had to wait to give the greatest apology to the Allfather.

Thor opted to take him up through a secret route, to avoid all those wandering about the castle. He remembered roaming the corridors as kids, hiding from the guards who were supposed to be watching them. He clung to the memory, as it was the first good one he had in months. Anything was better than thinking about the horrors he had committed.

They walked on spiralled steps, and a soft glow from the exit trailed into the stairway. They were right next to the throne room, where Odin would undoubtedly be waiting. Thor pressed his hand against Fandral’s chest and he stopped.

“No matter what happens,” He started, “I am on your side.”

Fandral glanced towards the exit. He wished that was more comforting.

He continued walking forward, past Thor and into the throne room. It was empty of guards, and completely silent. He saw a hand move to the armrest of the golden seat and he stopped. Thor placed a hand on his back and he was forced to walk, against his better judgement. They circled around to the steps. He took one step down and without looking at the Allfather, he knelt down and bowed before his King.

“I am relieved to see you alive,” Odin said quietly, still with authority.

“Thank you, Allfather.”

Fandral kept his head down. His head was pounding with feelings and half-formed sentences, and he feared they would all pour out at once. He saw Thor standing on the top step.

“Father, I wish to advocate for Fandral. If you will let me, I can recount the events that occurred on Midgard.”

“No,” Odin said. “I wish to speak with Fandral alone. Leave us.”

Somehow, sending Thor away was relieving. There was a short protest, but Thor was smart and exited the room. Once he heard the giant doors shut, he lifted his head.

Worry and concern was plastered on the Allfathers face.

“It was wrong of me to give you that sword. I knew it was cursed, and I saw what it was doing to you long before your trial on Midgard. Tell me, what has happened to it?”

-- --

I think I know someone who can break this curse. She’s from a place called the Dark Dimension, I believe she is married to one of your allies. If she cannot break it, surely her husband can. I should not return to Asgard, so I will make myself useful elsewhere.

-- --

“Loki has brought it to the Dark Dimension. I believe he is keeping it there until the Princess's husband is released from Midgardian prison. If he tries to use the sword for himself, he will suffer the same fate I did. Even with all his antics, he likes to be in control of his own actions…”

Odin nodded, the worry turning to irritation. He was pensive for an uncomfortable amount of time.

“Tell me all that happened. What do you remember?”

Fandral was quiet and looked to the ground. “I remember darkness.”

The moment I saw the sword, it called to me. I was standing before the Black Knight, with him lying beneath my boot. He said something to me...their blood is on your hands too. He meant the people Wanda killed, but he knew not who he was speaking with. I killed him the first moment I held the sword in my hand, and that was when the transfer begun.

For two months, the sword hung on my wall, and I was weaker. I had nightmares of the wars we fought, and screams echoed throughout my sleep. I started drinking more to keep the thoughts away. I was not aware that all the souls of the people I had killed were transferring slowly into the sword. The second time I used the sword was on Midgard, the day of my trial. I remember feeling something boiling up inside me - and then my consciousness erupted. I couldn’t think, I couldn’t breathe, and I couldn’t feel myself anymore.

The transfer wasn’t yet complete, but it was enough for that...creature to take control. It was called the Bloodwraith. It fed on souls and craved death. It tried to suffocate me in my own body, but my spirit wouldn’t quit. I was trapped in a cognitive world with no escape. It was black; a void with no walls or floor. Tight shackles bound my wrists and ankles, and I dragged them around aimlessly.

Sometimes the monster would let me hear what my body was doing to the outside world. I could hear the destruction and was helpless to do anything. Then...I was visited by the two previous owners of the ebony blade. Their spirits could pass through the sword, but not for long. They would give me updates on the monster and what he was doing, and give me information on how to stop it. It was all useless to me, because I had no way of getting out to tell anyone.

That is, until Loki pressed his staff to my chest. Something about it blocked the creature from my body...it was powerful, and gave me control for only a moment. I told Thor about Camelot, and that it was on Midgard. After that, we traveled through Yggdrasil until we found a rift that lead us to the old Midgardian kingdom.

-- --

“Allfather...I...I need to tell you something that you cannot tell Thor or anyone else.”

Odin had been quietly listening, silently reacting to Fandral’s account. He nodded once more.

“The sword...I had a violent reaction to the curse. It caused my soul to shatter into pieces. The piece that remained was trapped in that cognitive world. The creature visited me and we fought and...that fragment of myself died. And I fear that I may have lost something important, but I cannot say for sure. Even after all of the torment and solitude I faced, I will not be the same.”

The Allfather bowed his head. Fandral waited for some kind of response as Odin thought.

“The Nine Realms want your head for the crimes your...facade committed. Three realms have laws protecting you, as you were very clearly under the control of another force. It is against my better judgement to imprison you, as you are one of my greatest warriors, but…”

Fandral interrupted, “Allfather, I will accept any punishment for my crimes. Even if it was not truly me...I cannot live with absolvement. Just…”

He took in a heavy breath.

“I will do anything you ask...but I can’t bear to be in chains again.”

-- --

Present [August 2017]

Fandral was in a private cell. It took a while for the other inmates to stop mocking him and leave him be. Frigga sent him books, Thor would often visit. Hogun and Volstagg would come down occasionally...Volstagg had taken over his duties the moment he left. Hogun was usually on Vanaheim, trying to clean up the mess the Bloodwraith made.

Nearly a year had passed since Thor’s wedding. Three days past that was the day he lost control of himself...the anniversary was coming quickly. His life was long enough to where he could eventually forget everything that happened. Though his life went by so fast, the memories were still fresh. Months felt like days, though days felt like an eternity.

He was resting on his bedroll on the ground when he saw two guards walk up to the plasma wall. They lowered the force field. One of the guards pulled a scroll and unrolled it, then began reading:

“Sir Fandral the Dashing, you are hereby pardoned for your crimes on seven of eight worlds, and your prison sentence has been lifted. By the Allfather’s orders, you are to remain on Asgard until you have proven the right to travel off world. You are allowed to help rebuild Vanaheim, so long as you are accompanied by Hogun the Grim plus one other of Odin’s Court. You are allowed to return to your post as Captain of the Royal Guard, under the watch of Volstagg the Valiant. You are required to be accompanied by any of Odin’s Court or guards to the marketplace. Your weaponry privileges are still revoked until you are declared stable by the healers. Under no circumstances is Prince Thor able to override any of these rules declared. Changes and alterations to this decree may only be done by the Allfather himself,” The guard stated. He lowered the scroll. “Welcome back, Sir.”

Odin promised to talk with the leaders of the other seven worlds, and he imagined the only one he didn’t go to was Midgard.

Fandral got up to his feet and walked over to the guards. They looked happy - a much better demeanor than when he first arrived months ago. He shook each of their hands, and shortly after he was escorted across the castle to his chambers. It would be slow going to earn the trust of everyone once more. With the help of his friends, he was sure he could work through his guilt.

He stepped into his room and the guards left him alone. He didn’t need to be watched like a hawk in the palace, which was nice. He touched his bed, which had been made for him while he was away. His clothes were hung nicely in his closet and…frankly, everything seemed too perfect and unfamiliar.

Fandral took off his prison clothes and tossed them on a chair. Just one thing being out of place made him feel better instantly. He quietly walked into the bathroom, turning the hot water on in the tub. The place steamed and he bathed away the grime the prison showers couldn’t quite take care of.

After soaking for over an hour, he stepped out of the tub. He wrapped a towel around his waist and went back into his bedroom. He ran a hand through his hair and walked over to the mirror. He stared at his reflection and sighed.

Just off center of his heart was a stab wound that went fully through his chest - he could turn far enough to see the exit wound. Near his hip, a second wound was visible. They were red and swollen, like they hadn’t quite healed right. He touched his chest, and there was a deep pain. He wondered when he would need to tell somebody, but what was happening was difficult to explain, even to the magical healers. Even Fandral didn’t fully understand…

He threw on a shirt and pants and laid down on his bed. He shut his eyes, and almost instantly, he fell into a dreamless sleep.

#i remember darkness #solo #i wrote this when i was super emo like a month ago lmao #but ya this is the start of his next arc tbh #Apparently im only happy when my muses are in pain

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