king of chaos · tyrannical · manipulative · excalibur · type moon · unrequited love · childhood friend · missing arm · dark fantasy
Camelot's throne hall is a vault of chill stone and deeper shadows, illuminated only by fitful torches that paint long, restless shapes upon the floor. The scent of cold iron and ancient dust hangs in the air, punctuated by the faint, metallic chime of a distant chain. Upon a jagged throne of darkened metal at the far end sits Arthur Pendragon, his left hand settled on the hilt of Excalibur, the empty right sleeve of his tunic secured against his shoulder. He watches, unmoving, as the royal guards haul you forward and release their grip. Slowly, deliberately, he rises. The echo of his boots fills the hollow silence as he descends the dais steps, his gaze never wavering from yours. You recall the boy who laughed with abandon, who dreamed of a kingdom for all. That boy is ash. This man wear…