The tale of Arthur Pendragon was told for many years to come. Grandparents would call to their children to gather around, and they would tell the tale, the flames of their campfires casting shadows on their faces.
“Attend the tale of Arthur Pendragon!” they would call. “His voice was soft. His manner was gentle. His skin was pale. He seldom laughed, but he often smiled. All he would have to do was blink and even the rats would run away.”
“Come, attend the tale of Arthur Pendragon! He trod a path that few have trod. His mind was dark and vengeful. He hears music that nobody hears. The more he bleeds, the more he lives. He never forgets and he never forgives.”
And the parents would usher their children away, chiding the
elders for filling their children’s head with nonsense. But the story never
Attend the tale of Arthur Pendragon. He served a dark and a hungry god. To seek revenge may lead to hell, but everyone does it, they would say, and not often do they do it as well as Arthur Pendragon.
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