Open RP



"Yeh brought war to the moors," the raven uttered, tone careful. "Yeh’ve made magic an enemy throughout the lands. Soldiers shewed up on our doorstep lookin’ to burn the forests. I warned yeh not to let yer anger get the better of yeh. You didn’t listen. "

"I didn’t do any of that! Those were my people, not me. Never me. I never once brought magic against the farmers, or to king and his men. I stayed out of it, only used it to protect myself— just like you told me to. And yet…" The boy gazed around at the smoldering remains, eyes blazing. "Someone did this. And your Mistress let them. She didn’t help me. Even though I listened to her rules…"

(Source: king-mordred)

posted 2 weeks ago with 5 notes - reblog via - source


 She stood up when he did, letting the drape fall back to it’s position of origin. She had never known a child to be so against eating three meals a day, but she figured that was Morgause’s doing.

She often wondered where she went wrong with that child. Where the spite and malice came from in her. She knew her daughter well, and could only pity her. Could only pity her hate.

Mordred, she often noted, looked nothing like his supposed father, and when Morgause danced around Igraine’s questions of whether or not he was Lot’s son, it became plain what sin she had done. And for that, she pitied the boy. She saw the shade of Gorlois’ hair, his nose, his shoulders, the passive expressions were him, too…but he was Uther as well. The shape of his eyes, and the curl to his hair, his jawline , and the angry expressions were him. She only wanted the world for this boy, because through that, she saw less and less of Uther, and more of her lost love. But, she noted, the shade of his eyes were all his mother, and that would be the tipping point. So why not give him the love he deserved?

" Have I told you the one about the man who trapped Death in sack?" She asked, extending her hand for him to take if he wished.

It was with weary eyes that the boy watched the woman extend a hand. It was an offering, something not out of duty or as an order, as his mother’s were, but out of the simple want to hold his hand, as the mother’s of other children, the children in the villages, did. Mordred had never been offered that, and he had never taken it from this woman before.

This woman with such feminine hands. A thin hand, with thin skin. A woman’s soft hand. A warm hand. A kind hand. So much unlike his own calloused yet soft one, so different from his mother’s cold, firm hand.

That was another reason that the child did not object to being left with the woman while his mother was off doing what she deemed necessary. The woman always had a kind word for him, a warm hand, but she never forced herself on him. It was always his choice, always his decision whether or not he took her hand and her kindness, her stories and her games. It was always his choice if he ate, if he accompanied her through the long, dark corridors, or into the library. He knew that she would leave him be if he so wished it, for he had wished it the first few days of arriving in her company and she had been good to her word. It was one of the first choices he had ever truly been given.

He slipped his hand into hers slowly, rewarding the curious woman with the barest wisps of a smile. “I do not believe that you have, though I would quite like to hear it.”

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{ Alright, so I will be back from Hiatus next week (probably) and I would appreciate if you guys would let me know if you still want to continue our threads. I understand if you don’t, since I have been gone for a while and the muse might have left you. Anyways, if you do want to continue them, want to plan or start a new thread, shoot me a message or like this post, whatever you want, just let me know please. }

posted 2 weeks ago with 7 notes - reblog via - source


 Her hand extended to touch him then, very softly, ” Well then, let us come out from behind the drapes, find a suitable spot, and i shall tell you one.” Her fingers, very gently, pushed his dark  hair from his eyes, before taking her hand back. ’ Come on then.” her smile soft.

He allowed her gentle touch then, something so soft that it made him want to weep. How could she treat him with such kindness, after all that she had been through? His mother had told stories of her and her husband, many stories to warn the boy of allowing others to rule over him. Did she not want revenge? Did her hand not tremble at the thought of touching his mother’s child? A reminder of his mother? Did that not bother her? If it did, she certainly did not show it. 

When she pulled away, the boy slowly got to his feet, stepping out into the chilly warmth of the chamber he had chosen to hide in. “Which story will you tell me tonight?”

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          With a nod and a smile, Bran welcomed the other to their
          camp. Though it wasn’t a lot, if would be enough to help
          the other man warm during this cold night. There was a
          warm fire and food to eat, though not a lot. Still, he seemed
          friendly enough, and Bran wasn’t about to turn an injured
          man away.  


     ”Did you need help addressing the wound?”

Mordred bowed his head in thanks as he followed the other man into the camp, one hand on the hilt of his blade warily while the other pressed into his side, staunching the flow of blood ever so slightly, though he could still feel it trickling down his thigh. “Thank you, sir. I doubt I would have found anyone else kind enough to offer me shelter on a night like this.”

The warmth of a fire and the shelter that the other man offered was plenty enough, and quite a stretch to accept, but the offer of help with his wound threw Mordred off. He was first struck with suspicion, for no man had ever offerd him help without meaning to turn on him in the end— and yet this man had offerd Mordred heat, shelter, and food, a companion on a cold night. If he meant to hurt Mordred, he already had plenty of oppertunities, and Mordred’s injury slowed him enough for the other to easily take care of him had he wanted to.

"I— that would be much appreciated. I believe I might have to cauterize it."

posted 2 weeks ago with 2 notes - reblog via - source


" You did well though, and that is the point of the game, one to hide, the other to seek." her smile brightened as he made his way toward her. His caution was something she admired, for caution meant survival. But she spurned it, too, for he was too cautious at times." Do you want to play again? Or have a story before supper?" she waited with motherly patience for him to fully come to her. She would not grab at him like she’d seen her daughter do.

The boy considered his options for a moment, lips pressed together in thought. She had beaten him by finding him, which indicated that he had need of practice. And yet… his stomach growled softly, a barely audible sound, but the pain in his gut was more noticeable. He hadn’t broken fast that morning, nor had be under the noonday sun. He hadn’t felt the need to, and he was always told not to if he did not have to. It strengthened his endurance. His decisions, however, were starting to catch up with him, and not in a way that he was overly fond of. “I would not protest a story” he answered softly, stopping on his knees in front of her, easily within reach, his dark eyes softening in the candlelight. 

posted 2 weeks ago with 11 notes - reblog via - source
send me a ღ for a kiss from my muse

(Source: brittsmemes)

posted 2 weeks ago with 3,747 notes - reblog via - source


 She lifted the drapes with a soft chuckle on her lips,” Surprised?’ she spoke soft,” It was a very good spot, Mordred- I almost didn’t find you.” she squatted down to be eye level with him,” You alright?” her smile faded slightly, ” Come here,” Her other arm extended slightly,” I hope I have not given you too much of a fright.”

Apparently, not a good enough spot to avoid being found all together. Almost was not good enough. Almost left room for mistakes that could be fatal, that could lead to defeat.

The boy shook his head as his hiding spot was illuminated by the candlelight when his drape was lifted, dark hair cascading into his eyes as he gazed at her outstretched arms warily, wondering if it were another part of the game. But she was too serious, and… she certainly was not his mother, to trick him in an attempt to teach him. No, the woman taking care of him certainly was much more forward than his mother ever was, and a deal more kind as well. Still, it was with uncertainty that the boy pushed off the wall, creeping towards her slowly. “You have not frightened me. I was merely surprised that you found me.”

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One day I shall prove my loyalty to you and the King.

(Source: kingmakings)

posted 2 weeks ago with 1,458 notes - reblog via - source


"N’aww, you squeak like a kitten."


His words were teasing of course, releasing his light hold on the tailors shoulders, one hand raising immediately to plunge into dark curly locks and ruffle them affectionately. Seeing Mordred trying to stop his smile grow only made Oliver’s own cheeky grin spread, as if trying to encourage him to express himself.

"Well, I could go to the pub and drink a few pints. Or some other mundane thing; it’s not every day I get some completely free time, so I decided the best use of it would be with you. Not my fault that you happen to be working, too. Buuuuuuuut, if you don’t want me here….”

"I do not!" The indignant tone in the tailor’s voice was enough to further his blush. His smile cracked through his calm exterior, and with the twinkle of amusement in Oliver’s eyes, the tailor gave in with a sigh and grinned.

"You just surprised me. That’s all." His fingers moved over the material in front of him, folding and pressing a sleeve into place before picking up the needle once more. His hands hovered, however, over the work he had to do as the news of Oliver’s freedom was offered. Freedom. That certainly wasn’t something he got every day. And Oliver had come to him, with his spare time, instead of going to the pub or out with his teammates.

"I never said that your company was not welcome." The needle dropped into it’s holder, the thread following, before the jacket was folded up and slipped under the counter to be finished later. When Oliver didn’t have free time, and wasn’t hovering in the tailor’s shop like an energetic puppy wanting to play. "Did you have something in mind, or did you just come to distract me?"

posted 2 weeks ago with 5 notes - reblog via - source
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