02-01-2018, 02:08 PM
The King of Knights pushed back the lid of the stone chest, as the ornately carved slab of stone fell onto the ground with a quiet thud. The stone crate bore the seal of her kingship much like the one she had opened before. This time from within shone the chest plate and plate leggings of her armour, shining in their silvery greatness.
Relics of a shining King of justice, whom had once ruled without a flaw. As she donned upon herself the glinting armour with its cobalt etchings, the memory struck her. It crashed down upon and through her mental walls as if she had never forgotten.
She could feel as Clarent ran her through, severing whatever link connected her to those among the living as her body and soul alike, plummeted among those whom had died upon that horrific battlefield.
With a glance down, the knight touched upon the armour, her fingers examining the cold steel with curiousity. The feeling of Clarent interred within her gut so lifelike, that she couldn’t help but to wonder how it wasn’t still there.
She had died.
Clarent had ran her through, much alike to the spear she had buried within Mordred. They had slain one another in single strikes.
Yet the steel displayed no signs of ever enduring as much as a scratch upon it’s brilliant surface. It radiated with the power of the divine, reserved only to the just and righteous to benefit from.
As the King picked the final piece, her plated leggings and the dress-like cape that came with them, Artoria couldn’t help but wonder. So why was she alive?
Was she alive?
It was possible that this was naught but an afterlife. For heaven, it was oddly quiet. Awfully empty. In her mind, she came to the conclusion that this could not be heaven. After all, for it to be heaven, it should’ve been less...empty.
Yet much alike heaven, this couldn’t be hell either. It was much too pleasant for it to be hell. Of course, the thought did cross her mind, that she was intended to regret her life, or otherwise be tortured by the memories returned to her.
Yet she had made the decisions as she had, to the best of her ability as a King. Was Artoria proud of every single decision she had ever made, would she always make the exact same decisions again?
Nay.
But there was little use in agonizing over that which had come to pass, rather than seeking to learn from the mistake and searching for a future still hidden from sight.
So it wasn’t heaven, nor could it be hell… Purgatory was the only place she could fathom this blankness representing. And mayhap her soul was now judged. Her memories shown to her in a new light, her armour passed down to her for reasons beyond her knowing.
In the distance, a gate-like shape caught her eye. Had it been there the entire time? Artoria couldn’t tell.
Regardless, it was clear that King of Britain, the Great King of Knights, her deeds and misdeeds as well as her dreams and dreads had been weighed.
And as a result, this gate had been presented before her, a passage to whatever judgement awaited her.
Relics of a shining King of justice, whom had once ruled without a flaw. As she donned upon herself the glinting armour with its cobalt etchings, the memory struck her. It crashed down upon and through her mental walls as if she had never forgotten.
She could feel as Clarent ran her through, severing whatever link connected her to those among the living as her body and soul alike, plummeted among those whom had died upon that horrific battlefield.
With a glance down, the knight touched upon the armour, her fingers examining the cold steel with curiousity. The feeling of Clarent interred within her gut so lifelike, that she couldn’t help but to wonder how it wasn’t still there.
She had died.
Clarent had ran her through, much alike to the spear she had buried within Mordred. They had slain one another in single strikes.
Yet the steel displayed no signs of ever enduring as much as a scratch upon it’s brilliant surface. It radiated with the power of the divine, reserved only to the just and righteous to benefit from.
As the King picked the final piece, her plated leggings and the dress-like cape that came with them, Artoria couldn’t help but wonder. So why was she alive?
Was she alive?
It was possible that this was naught but an afterlife. For heaven, it was oddly quiet. Awfully empty. In her mind, she came to the conclusion that this could not be heaven. After all, for it to be heaven, it should’ve been less...empty.
Yet much alike heaven, this couldn’t be hell either. It was much too pleasant for it to be hell. Of course, the thought did cross her mind, that she was intended to regret her life, or otherwise be tortured by the memories returned to her.
Yet she had made the decisions as she had, to the best of her ability as a King. Was Artoria proud of every single decision she had ever made, would she always make the exact same decisions again?
Nay.
But there was little use in agonizing over that which had come to pass, rather than seeking to learn from the mistake and searching for a future still hidden from sight.
So it wasn’t heaven, nor could it be hell… Purgatory was the only place she could fathom this blankness representing. And mayhap her soul was now judged. Her memories shown to her in a new light, her armour passed down to her for reasons beyond her knowing.
In the distance, a gate-like shape caught her eye. Had it been there the entire time? Artoria couldn’t tell.
Regardless, it was clear that King of Britain, the Great King of Knights, her deeds and misdeeds as well as her dreams and dreads had been weighed.
And as a result, this gate had been presented before her, a passage to whatever judgement awaited her.
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