A Civil War in Britain

May 11, 2009
By Sam Wetzler BRONZE, Prairie Village, Kansas
Sam Wetzler BRONZE, Prairie Village, Kansas
2 articles 0 photos 0 comments

As Morgause viewed the joyous wedding in her scrying bowl, her mind was flaming with a boiling anger. All of her diabolical plans to usurp the throne of Britain were completely ruined. Gawaine was two nice and loyal to take the throne, and Agravaine and the twins were just flat out too stupid. “BUT WAIT” she exclaimed. What about Mordrid, Morgause could mold young Mordrid into the most cunning and intelligent (and evil) man Britain has ever seen. It was a sure fire way to the throne of Britain. Her plan was once again back on track. All of Britain would soon be hers.

“Smack!” the arrow hit the straw filled target with an insurmountable amount of force. A group of men and women graciously applauded the twenty-five year old man’s wonderful shot, and in return the prince courteously thanked their compliments. The group decided to call it quits after a long day of archery the group decided to call it quits. As they made their way through the castle, on their way to the royal tavern in the keep, the young prince showed the upmost respect for every by passer. This young man seemed too good and kind to be true, but as most things do Mordrid had a dark side, a very dark side indeed.

It was the eve of a monumental battle. It was ten years to the day of when Mordrid’s four brothers were “mysteriously” found dead (at the hands of Morgause). The absence of the brothers had allowed Mordrid to take the throne of the Orkneys, to Morgause’s delight. Ten years of harsh politics and an abundance blood shed led to a decisive split within the Kingdom of Britain. One half siding with the “rightful” king Arthur, and the other half siding with the likable but evil Mordrid.

Both men were preparing for battle, Mordrid with the aged and weathered Morgause, and Arthur with the elderly, feeble, and bed-ridden Merlinnus. Morgause’s advice was to crush the enemy; on the other hand, Merlinnus had more strategic and insightful advice. After the men were done chatting, they go and address their legions, and then attempt to receive a good night’s sleep.

The stage was set for the grimmest day in the history of Britain.

Arrows were flying, swords were clashing, and blood was spewing. It was a chaotic scene ridden with death. It would have been a miracle for two men two recognize each other, but as two men barked out orders, they suddenly caught each other’s eye. As the battle raged the two stood in silence, staring deep into each other’s soul. As they stare at each other they each very well know that in minutes they will be engaging in the most prominent duel in the history of Britain.

It was time, the much older, but still very strong and broad, Arhtur made the first move. Charging at Mordrid at an immense speed while on his horse. Mordrid reacted and charged right back. As the two met each other they leapt off of their horses and swung their swords. The clash of the metal created a deafening sound.

For what seemed like hours the two traded blows, but as Arhtur lifted up his sword once again, three arrows struck him, one after another. Arthur fell down to his knees in pain. As Arthur writhed upon the ground, Mordrid walked over to behead the old King. Mordrid raised his sword, but at the apex of his swing a blinding light flared in the south sky, stunning Mordrid. Obviously, the work of Merlinnus. This gave Arthur a petite window of opportunity, just enough time for one jab. As Mordrid stood their dazed, Arthur plunged his sword straight into Mordrid’s heart. Right then and there Mordrid dropped dead.

Even though the battle had not ended, when Mordrid breathed his last breath the fate of Mordrid’s army was decided. The battle raged on for only a couple of hours, and the army of the north was quickly defeated.

Finally order was restored, and Britain could reside in peace for many years to come.

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