Lucy's Humble Abode -> La bibliothèque (à 16h10)
Interagir avec: Beaucoup de gens
Il y avait beaucoup à faire à l'appartement de Dorothy, et tout l'étage des appartements (y compris le propre de Lucy). Il s'agissait de vérifier chaque coin, chaque fissure et chaque crevasse, chaque trou de souris et chaque placard, pour commencer, pour un signe d'obscurité. Lucy a engagé Aravis pour vérifier sa kitchenette et sa chambre, et elle hésitait dans l'ensemble à permettre à Alice d'aller n'importe où près des pantoufles rouges rubis et de l'obscurité dans l'ensemble, donc...
Brushed passé, pour le moment, et après les plaisanteries a montré la chambre de Dorothy d'abord avec les marques sombres sur les murs que la police a considéré comme suspect. Elle lui tendit lentement les chaussures qu'après cela, le sourire poli se transformant en quelque chose de beaucoup plus sinistre. Les officiers eux-mêmes sont partis à l'heure du déjeuner, laissant du ruban jaune à travers le cadre de la porte et un garde posté en bas (mais vraiment, sans corps, il y avait peu de raison de garder quelqu'un à l'écart). Lucy a pris un siège arrière dans toute la procédure comme elle avait déjà appris ce qu'elle allait apprendre de la chambre de Dorothy – qu'elle était partie – et s'est tournée vers son téléphone.
Lucy était une technophobe, mais elle a parfois reconnu son utilité. Dans des moments comme ceux-ci, il est venu en main, parce que bien qu'elle avait déjà laissé trois messages sur le répondeur de Merlin tout au long de la matinée pour ajouter à la liste massive d'appels hebdomadaires qu'elle avait essayé auparavant, il valait la peine d'essayer de le faire décrocher.
Pas de réponse.
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Avec le recul, ce n'était pas la meilleure idée de Lucy – ne pas laisser la bibliothèque quelques minutes avant le début de la réunion communautaire qu'elle avait demandée. Pourtant, personne ne l'avait appelée ponctuelle : elle n'était pas Alice ou The Hatter, ni aucun des autres qui avaient grandi avec Etiquette inextricablement liée au concept d'être à l'heure. On peut supposer qu'elle arriverait avec qui d'autre avait fini par fouiner autour de son appartement et d'utiliser toutes ses tasses propres.
(Elle avait des mots spéciaux pour ceux qui buvaient du café et tournaient leur nez vers le haut au thé).
Quoi qu'il en soit, elle est arrivée à la bibliothèque à visage rouge et à bout de souffle, un sac à linge lourd a coulé sur son épaule, réaménagé pour porter la plupart de ce dont elle avait besoin à la maison d'Aravis plus tard. Les clés jonchant sur sa ceinture ainsi que ses lourdes traces ont brisé le silence habituel d'un tel bâtiment d'une manière qui a presque ressenti, bien, sacro-religieuse. Elle a jeté un regard apologétique sur ceux qui essayaient de « lire » alors qu'elle se dépêchait de se diriger vers la zone prévue pour des réunions de groupe près du bureau principal : cliniques de marche, cours de recherche d'emploi, etc.
"Désolé, je suis si en retard tout le monde; je ne peux pas m'excuser assez," dit-elle rapidement, nudgeant l'épaule de Peter alors qu'elle se précipitait devant lui et, dans un incroyable exploit de multitâches, tirant un regard apologétique sur le Hatter, qui se profilait comme une grande ombre sombre près de quelques étagères à l'arrière, Starbucks dans la main. Elle a déposé son sac débordant derrière un fauteuil pratique et a creusé à travers lui pour trouver son carnet qui tenait tous les problèmes auxquels sont actuellement confrontés les gens (au moins son peuple) de Mystvale. Pendant tout ce temps, elle a énuméré une foule d'excuses, « Mais, bien, je suppose qu'il faut s'y attendre, étant donné que mon voisin a disparu et que la police était autour – avec tous les autres qui ont répondu au cri de l'aide-slash-appel aux armes. Je suis tellement reconnaissante que vous pensez tous tellement de moi – ou Dorothy, je suppose, parce que c'est elle qui... » 
J'ai jeté le seau.
"qui est la vraie victime ici. Mais qu'est-ce que je dis? Merci à tous d'être venus, jusqu'ici. Je vous dois un verre à un moment donné." Elle a élucidé sa gorge, brièvement. « Je suppose que le premier point à l'ordre du jour, au risque de ressembler à un politicien épouvantable, est le fait que notre problème des personnes disparues s'aggrave rapidement. Je pense que nous savons tous qu'il n'y a pas assez d'entre nous pour risquer de perdre, de peur que nous ne soyons obligés de retourner chez nous les mains vides. »
Même elle a gagné un moment à la callosité d'utiliser leur monde perdu comme un élan, mais le fait était que peu, s'il en était, voulaient rester à la périphérie de Seattle, Washington, Terre pour toujours. « Pendant que j'attends les traînards plus tard que je ne le suis, j'invite tous les points ou questions ou... désaccords. Nous devons résoudre cela dès que possible, et la seule façon de le faire est de discuter. »
"Promise me that after my death they won't declare me the greatest king that ever was and will ever be. That sort of talk starts riots."


 •  N A M E 
Arthur Pendragon
 •  S T O R Y 
King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table; Arthurian Legend
 •  B I R T H P L A C E 
Albion
 •  M A G I C 
No – however, due to the circumstances of Arthur's birth (in that he was conceived and brought into this world with the magic of the Old Religion) he had an innate resistance to magic. That is not to say that magic would never be able to harm him, as it had in the past, but he could shrug off the smaller things and had some amount of fortitude when it came to magics that alter the mind: incorruptibility.
 •  A G E 
Thirty-Six at Time of Disappearance
 •  R O M A N T I C I N T E R E S T S 
Historically, Arthur was only vaguely interested in the concept of romance. He was no stranger to trysts – the defiler of royalty from foreign lands; two princesses and one prince respectively – but when it came to something concrete, something special, there did not seem to be room in his heart. He remained unwed, heirless, and seemed content to spend time usually reserved for lovers with the people of Camelot and his own Knights of the Round Table.
As for his preferences, he had always been tight-lipped about it. When prodded too far, he snapped, "It won't ever come of anything." A commoner, then, his knights assumed. Something taboo.
 •  A T T I R E 
Arthur was a handsome king––golden hair, brown eyes and boyish good looks––and one who looked as if he could be a knight himself from the amount of time he spent working on his skill with the sword. He would don his dragon-engraved armor in battle and trips outside the boundaries of Camelot, of which he took rather often, but when attending to the duties of the king he would be wearing rich velvets and silks on his tunics: red and gold.
Excalibur was his only accessory. Many fakes were made in its likeness, the ancient futhorc runes in the correct order and all, but only the real deal managed to produce the faint sheen of dragon's fire in the reflection of the enchanted blade.



 •  H E R O ' S N A T U R E 
Be just, Uther had said. Be wise. Be strong. That is what makes a good king.
Arthur was all of these – lawful, expecting nothing of the people he did not expect from himself; wise with sense beyond his years and the know-how to tap into the sheer knowledge his advisors possessed; and strong, with a vision for the future of Camelot that he struck towards with every treaty, every piece of new legislation, and every action. His people near-deified the young king, though that was not surprising after Uther's reign when the new king sought peace and prosperity in place of punishment and retribution. Arthur was, perhaps, somewhat headstrong and stubborn when it came to his goals for his kingdom, a 'he knew best' situation, but nobody else stepped forward to make the decisions for him.
But, he was also a kind king, and that is something Uther did not think was necessary. Arthur was the type to feed stray kittens with milk from the kitchens, or sneak out of the castle to play with the peasant children, or forge his father's signature (in later years) to stop the hunts for magic in the outlying villages when it was only the innocent being brought in. It was something Uther thought was weak, in fact, when as a child Arthur used to turn his head away from the executions of magic users. Death was the ultimate cruelty in Arthur's mind, more so than enslavement or torture which had a chance of uprising or escape. He formed these ideas independently, and while he agreed in his heart that magic was dangerous, wild, and unpredictable – perhaps even that it was an abomination as his father dictated – he knew that his first act in power was going to be to fix that.
Ambition runs like a lion rampant in the Pendragon blood. Arthur had no small ideas. Similarly, he pursued them doggedly until they were achieved, which is what happened in the end. Magic brought under the law – fair laws this time, unbiased by his own negative perceptions of magic, which was something Uther could never do.
Training with the knights skewed his personality somewhat. He believed in clichéd ideals of chivalry and duty––especially duty. A somewhat morbid idea inherited from one of his tutors was the suggestion that the greatest honor would be dying for a cause one believes in, whether it be a kingdom, a king or a true love. A younger, more melancholy Arthur was undeniably obsessed with the idea of a self-sacrifice that would have songs written about him, especially because he wasn't enamored with the idea of living at the time thanks to his father. Even when he became slightly less melodramatic, he gave more than he accepted in return – to his people, to the Knights of the Round Table, and to his friends.
He also spoke of his future death rather often.
Arthur was not all fairy-tale princes. He was, as mentioned previously, as stubborn as an ox. He would play devil's advocate just to ensure that someone he was arguing with believed wholeheartedly in what they were presenting before accepting defeat. He could be a right git sometimes – moody, a temper that is easily stoked even if he apologized for outbursts afterwards. He was a total womanizer, though refused to find a queen to secure the Pendragon lineage. He was not celibate, so the people could not ponder that option, but they assumed some tale of star-crossed lovers while the truth is all the more tragic.
But, as with all long-lost and legendary kings, the negative traits are glossed over.
 •  R E N O W N E D S K I L L S 
Does kingship count as a skill? Kingliness? Ruling, perhaps––that's something that Arthur is renowned for all over: the art of diplomacy, of connecting with the commoners and noblemen alike, of judging situations fairly. He was well-liked, enough so that people miss him even ten years after he was presumed dead––enough so that the rare few still seek out answers to where he disappeared to. His swordsmanship was above-average but what made him so fearsome in battle was his leadership, his command.
 •  F A T A L F L A W 
Self-sacrificial: for all of his skill and worth as a human being – a king – Arthur never hesitated to put his life at risk, often when another could have put their own at risk instead. He was immovable when he insisted it should be him instead of one of the other knights, something that threw Camelot into chaos (such as when he was poisoned and his knights had to head out on a quest to save him) on several occasions.
 •  O N C E U P O N A T I M E 
Arthur Pendragon, the Crown Prince of Camelot and heir to the tyranny of his father, King Uther. Arthur was born in the before times; before the purge of all so-called heretical magic users. His mother, Queen Ygraine's death was the flip of the switch that set Uther to begin his crusade against all the witches and warlocks of Albion. By the time Arthur was two years old, the streets of Camelot had ran red with blood and magic moved from something practiced by someone in each and every hamlet to something dealt in shady dungeons and dark alleys.
The population of magic users in Camelot was decimated – worse than decimated. Many who could fled to other lands like Bellgarde rather than risk beheading for their birth-right or their lives' research. But time ticked on in the castle. Arthur grew up. He didn't know a childhood filled with magic that his father did, with a Court Wizard who performed small entertaining spells. They had an alchemist, but magic was strictly prohibited. The king passed on his will that even those of royal blood had to follow the same laws as those beneath them and that was the reporting of any neighbor casting spells and the alienation of those suspected of such treason.
When he was much younger, perhaps five or six, Arthur wondered what his father would do if his only son had magic. Perhaps he would reinstate it, make it legal. When the question was asked, he received a typical answer: "I'd behead you. Magic is an abomination." There it was again –– duty. Swiftly, Arthur learned his. He was to follow in Uther's footsteps in maintaining peace in Camelot by whatever means necessary.
So he learned to distrust magic users (which was made easier by the assassination attempts on his and his father's lives), to bad-mouth them. To stare stiffly on as they were burnt at the stake or executed by any other method. He stopped turning his head at the blood or the gore – it didn't please him, not by any means, but under the Pendragon name it was a show of solidarity he had to take part in. Arthur was ten. He had no confidants then, before he trained with the knights.
As a young teen he was trained by the knights. He would never become one, as much as he hoped, because he was the Crown Prince. Instead he was introduced as the one who would lead them in the future. As his bond with the knights of Camelot grew – through hazing and great personal struggle as the adult knights did not make it easy for him – he won their favour from the inside; their loyalty. He would be a good king, or so was the general consensus. He didn't have his father's temperament.
Somebody kills his father.
Somebody kills his father with magic.
Arthur mourns the loss of a father and despite seeing his enemies in every corner, and he picks up the crown. His seventeenth birthday came swiftly after. Thoughts of magical assassins haunted him. He sent knights out to hunt them down for regicide, but they found nothing, and after two years, he called off the search but chased down every rumor as soon as it arises.
Despite believing magic to be bad and corrupt, the root cause behind three of his assassination attempts as the Crown Prince and, of course, his father's death, Arthur took away the death penalty for it. It was one of his first acts as king. Only if someone was murdered by magic or harmed by it would it result in a hanging; simple practice resulted in fines and imprisonment, sometimes in the stocks and sometimes in the cells. It was better to pay up than to die, and the plots against Arthur's life near disappeared overnight. The law took over, and with the advice of Merlin, The Tower was set up within Camelot's walls so as to provide a legal means to teach and practice magic. Outwith this location, the punishments remained the same.
To maintain the peace and the pleasant state of his kingdom, Arthur set out what remained of his father's knights to guard the borders and watch for magic with ill-intent. Convincing himself not to become complacent even with The Tower serving as an academy for magic within Camelot, he set up an organisation of his most trusted friends and companions: the Knights of the Round Table. They were not just his own personal guard; they were warriors of his kingdom that he could entrust his life to who would set out on quests such as for the Holy Grail in the years to come.
Prosperity for over a decade with only a few hiccups, further attempts on his life for miscellaneous reasons and evil kings in Albion and old magic and the like – but what good tale wouldn't have those? Eleven years ago, before the Cataclysm had ever happened, small events happened in Albion: earthquakes, missing people, the like. Arthur sent the Knights of the Round Table and other key figures away, some on diplomatic missions, some on hunts for mythical beasts or relics of great power... Wild goose chases. They were out of Albion when it disappeared, and the void claimed everything therein.
Some suggest Arthur knew it was going to happen in advance.

 •  A N E W C H A P T E R 
Oft it occurs that great men do not get their "happy ending". Albion is gone. Camelot is gone. And with those, like a whisper on the wind, goes King Arthur.