Information



Sir Camelot
Legacy Name: Sir Camelot


The Common Experiment #7463
Owner: HPY

Age: 13 years, 8 months, 3 weeks

Born: June 30th, 2010

Adopted: 13 years, 8 months, 3 weeks ago

Adopted: June 30th, 2010


Pet Spotlight Winner
March 22nd, 2020

Statistics


  • Level: 3
     
  • Strength: 10
     
  • Defense: 10
     
  • Speed: 10
     
  • Health: 10
     
  • HP: 10/10
     
  • Intelligence: 1
     
  • Books Read: 1
  • Food Eaten: 0
  • Job: Cleaning Crew



When you are offered the gift of magic that can change lives irreversibly, you do not squander it by taking shortcuts.

Melvin was not the son of one of the Knights of the Round Table. He could not even claim the intrigue of being a love child to the more amorous among their number. He was an orphaned peasant boy who knew only one way of life.

Melvin was the royal potato peeler.

He stood at his station from dawn until dusk, reducing lumpy brown rounds to less offensive white blobs that would soon be made palatable by spices and a drizzle of butter. From his position he could see directly into the courtyard where the knights-in-training ran their daily drills in all but the worst weather.

How he yearned to join their ranks! When the nobles moved to the winter court and he was left on the skeleton crew, he would spend hours risking his neck on the icy cobblestones to take a chance at tilting the much-battered dummy. When he struggled to fall asleep at night, he would daydream about the most suitable name for the steed he would ride into battle. He was even in the habit of collecting any scraps of metal that the blacksmith neglected, hoping to someday save up enough gold to have the blacksmith make him a real plate of armor.

He didn't let age deter him in the least, despite the fact that even noble boys were not allowed to be pages until seven years of age. What he lacked in height and upper body strength, he made up for in heart.

It was for this reason that Merlin was drawn to him.

Melvin was halfway done with a spud that looked remarkably like Sir Gawain's nose when a tall shadow fell over his light. Knife and spud fell from his hands. The meanest hermit in the most remote corner of the land knew of Merlin without need for introductions. The great wizard had a reputation for magic and prophecy that was well earned.

"Come, my child. You have a good heart and an untainted will. You are just the sort of apprentice I require."

How could he say no to the glory of being the first Wizard Knight in the land? There could be no threat that would stand up to his might. He would be seated at the king's own right hand, above even the queen in his affections. He would earn such glory that the dirt on his hands that had often earned him mockery would be forever forgotten.

Learning the Latin names of plants and studying the phases of the moon was not at all what he had expected when he agreed to study magic. His stumpy legs often caused him to stumble on the uneven floors of the tower, sending potion ingredients flying. He very nearly took out the roof when a bottle of condensed Dragon Rage was sent flying into the air by the corner of an unseen rug. Merlin caught the bottle just in time, urging his pupil to greater caution for the third time in an hour.

Clumsiness gradually gave way to the grace of a suppler body and the hard knocks of gained experience. Ten long years found the boy still in Merlin's service, barely trusted with the simplest intermediate spells. His attitude toward hours of memorization never changed, despite the great reserves of knowledge he had built.

"But Merlin, surely magic doesn't need all this blather and bother. Why must we worry ourselves over the difference between henbane and wolfbane when you could take up that wand and transform half the trees in Camelot into fair maidens?"

"Ah, but what sort of a life would they lead, my young apprentice? Would they lament my having robbed them of the gentle caress of sun on their leaves and the sweet nectar of rain caressing their roots? Would I then have an army of fair-haired maidens clawing their branched fingers at my windows and plotting to murder me in my sleep? You have the raw talent for greatness but you are too rash. There are no shortcuts in magic or in life. Respect the Laws of Magic, do as I tell you, and I will give you the desire of your heart. You do wish to learn the ways of a knight, do you not?"

"Oh, Merlin! More than anything!"

Discipline of the body is no less tedious than discipline of the mind. On the new cycle of the moon, I have set up for you to begin lessons with Bergrand. He may not hold a seat at the king's table any longer, but I assure you he has all the skills and qualities the best knights possess.

Bergrand proved to be a man of middling years with a little less hair and a little more belly than one would expect from Camelot's cream of the crop. What he lacked in beauty, he more than made up for in stubborn insistence on perfect strikes and counter-strikes.

"Keep that blade down boy. That's a good way to get a look at your own guts and you won't so much as give your opponent a rattle of the teeth to remember you by. What, moving that foot in the wrong place again? Are you a spider, that you have such trouble placing your legs? I want a tree, not a spider! Trees stand strong and firm. Spiders get smashed beneath a careless boot."

Another year saw Melvin barely able to hold his own against Bergrand's thirteen-year-old son. No matter what tricks he tried, he was always outdone. No matter how much he begged Merlin for more complicated spell work, the old wizard insisted that he was not ready.

He remained the good and loyal student on the surface while dark plots began to weave their pattern in his heart. Perhaps Bergrand was not so far off with his spidery description. Melvin waited impatiently for the next journey to call Merlin away.

It came in the form of a summons from the king. Merlin would be gone for a few days, journeying with Arthur to the lake where Excalibur had been offered by the pale hand of the Lady of the Lake.

The spell he sought to master was one Merlin himself had only successfully completed twice. Melvin had the ingredients. He had the means to create a Circle of Power. He even had the ideal night when a full moon dominated the earth.

What he didn't have was the experience to relocate energy for a spell gone horribly wrong.

It started as a painful buzz in his ears. He could feel his skin becoming insubstantial, like wax falling from the overwhelmed candle. He could not curse or cry or pray. All he could do was keep the chain of the spell anchored at his core and hope that somehow, he would find the will and energy to maintain the spell until its conclusion came.

His vision was reduced to a gray haze. Through the gauzy curtain, he saw a chubby rat snuffling along the stones, chittering in victory as it fell on the crust of bread that had fallen from the table when he supped.

Merlin had been tolerant of some rules, but the one that he had branded into Melvin's head was this:

Magic must never be used to take a life, even at the cost of your own.

Melvin knew what he was about to do was very wrong, but he could not resist. A basic levitation spell was child's work. The outraged rat flew across the room, landing in the palm of his hand. Its squeals abruptly died away as its life energy flowed through Melvin and gave him the burst of vitality he needed to complete the transformation spell.

Gone were his scrawny limbs and pasty skin. His muscles were bulging, his height was impressive and the angles of his jaw would break any maiden's heart. He had the body of a true knight at last!

A clap of thunder and a terrible white light made his elation short lived.

Treachery! Deceit! Dishonesty!

Each word was a hammer blow on his ears...and on his heart.

"Thou hast violated the most sacred Law of Magic. Thou hast forfeited thy own life, which will be taken by the Eternal in the way She sees fit. Since Transformation was thy undoing, let the tainted form be transformed until thy lesson is learned.

All of Merlin's gentle patience and calm tolerance was gone from the terrible face that seemed to grow and fill the room. Melvin felt new sensations spreading over his skin, painful prickles and twinges that ended after a few agonizing seconds.

He opened his mouth to apologize and beg for mercy, but too late! A bellow unlike that heard from any human throat was all he could manage.

He was truly hideous, a cross between the beasts of the far-away desert and the mossy hides of the tree crawlers the king kept in his menagerie of rare and unusual creatures. There could be no truer beast of burden, for the castle staff quickly discovered how he could take heavy crates on his back without ever once kneeling and how he was good for pulling a load that four horses would struggle to move. He shied away from no task that was put to him. Taking the easy way out had landed him i this predicament. Surely hard work would end his suffering?

He mourned more than any save the king when the news spread that Merlin was dead. He believed himself truly lost in that moment, yet he continued to work from the crack of dawn until well after the sun had set, clinging to the slender hope that if he could pull a load just a little heavier than the last or be the one to put the final shove on a foundation stone, somehow the spell would reach its limit and he would be free.

The years continued to pass and gray hairs peppered the fiery beard of the king. His queen proved fickle, leaving him with a cruel letter and the favor her dear Sir Lancelot had given her right under the king's nose. Those gray hairs turned white on the day Arthur learned how he had been betrayed.

To add to the king's burden was the war begun by the son that had long been a burden and a shame on the royal name. King Arthur was an old man, yet he took to the field of battle, determined not to let his beloved people see him as weak.

The treacherous prince was slain but not before delivering a fatal blow of his own. King Arthur whispered snatches of song from his rosy-cheeked days. His knights use every art of healing that they knew, full well knowing their efforts would never be enough. They resolved to set out on the journey of all journeys. They must find the Grail and put it to the lips of their king or die in the attempt.

Melvin accompanied their party. At first they mocked this ugly beast of burden that trotted at their heels like a dog but where horses could fall and break a limb or shy at some passing shadow and throw their rider, Melvin always stayed true and steady. When the men sought paths with less wet or better footing, he chose the hardest path. He rejected all their offers of small comforts, foraging on whatever tough weeds came into his path. One by one, the knights grew weary and gave in to despair but not Melvin. He could not know that the Lady of the Lake was slowing time for his benefit and to preserve the breath of the failing king.

The valley that would lead to his journey's end was fraught with peril. Massive creatures left over from prehistoric times prowled the ledges above, kept at bay only by the spires of rock below. Evidence of rock slides was everywhere. Melvin was very careful of his footing, sensing that one way or another, his long journey was nearing its end.

There was no cask of gold in the dead tree shaped somewhat like a cross. This tree bore a single fruit in the shape of a simple wooden box.

When its fruit was plucked, the tree shriveled up until it was barely a twig and sunk back into the earth.

Temptation was strong. Melvin wanted so badly to open that box and see what was inside. If it truly contained all their hopes, perhaps it would be enough to remove his curse and restore him to the knightly body he had enjoyed so briefly. Perhaps...

Whenever such thoughts popped into his head, it seemed that the screams of the wild cats and the howls of the wolves grew closer. A shudder that had nothing to do with cold would pass over him and he would double his pace.

He found King Arthur in the same pitiful state. Those few knights that had remained always by his side recognized the ugly creature's gift for what it was. The king's own squire held the cup to his lips.

Arthur woke as if from a dream. He gently pushed aside the hands that would grasp his shoulders to welcome him back to the living, for he no longer quite belonged in their world. He placed a soothing hand on the brow of the young knight who had appeared quite mysteriously in their midst. He bent low to whisper a few words as other men began to search in vain for the Heroic Beast.

"Your place at my table in the Land of Promise is well earned, Sir Camelot."

Taking Sir Camelot by the hand, King Arthur departed the royal pavilion and walked into the wild mists, soon vanishing from the sight of men, though never from their hearts.

credits, pet page by HPY

Story by Pureflowerhuman version of Sit Camelot by_aerija-dbmkaur sm
background /pngtree.com
knights image found here meetup.com

Pet Treasure


Winning with a Sword

30HP Healing Potion

70HP Healing Potion

Battered Shield

Gold Helmet

Unadorned Silver Sword

Classic Hero Sword

Double Lance

Forgotten Magic

Chunk of Magic Crystal

Sorceress Wand

Rainbow Magic Wand

Orange Glowing Wand

Magic Wand

Arid Magic Wand

Sourcerror

How to Use a Shield

Book of Magic I

Autumn and Magic

Ye Olde Medieval Book

Signed Old Wizard Biography

Powers of the Mage

A Knights Tail

101 Ways to Bribe the Old Wizard

Useless Spells

Gourd Witch Household Spells

Potions III

Potions II

Potions I

Pet Friends


Laidy

Dreakor

Saraphyne

Yuanzhi

Shainor

Fireball