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[ Wrath is volunteering - Color: Red ]

It seemed, once again, that Wrath had a decision to make. And, like usual, it was not an easy one. The last few hours...hell, days even (and quite probably beyond though he could not remember), had been a blur of tumultuous activities, each one more disturbing than the last, and not just for the most obvious of reasons. While a war raged on around them all, Wrath found himself in an internal battle all of his own, and each moment that he experienced played it's part in shaping who he was now becoming.

Maybe with his memories, it would be different. Maybe he would know himself as being a good man, a better man, a more honorable and loyal one who did the right thing without question, one who would fight for the King and not for some witch woman in red. But she had ensnared him, somehow, gotten into his head and now, his insides felt like they had been torn asunder. Was he one of the corrupted, one of those who would be weeded out over time and destroyed? If he were to stand now, to offer himself up as great knight, would that be repentance for the awful choices he had made? Lancelot spoke of purification, so maybe that would be true.

But he also spoke of sacrifice, a heavy word with heavy meaning. Wrath's gaze flicked over towards Na'ima for just the briefest of moments, wondering what she would say to him, how she would feel if what it meant to be a great knight was to throw ones life away.

But did it have to be that way?

Did it?

Already the typically slow cogs in Wrath's brain were beginning to turn, realization taking shape. Na'ima's sudden nudge and nod towards Lancelot only helped to make his decision clearer. Becoming a great knight, if he was so chosen, did not need to change who he was. He was red. Combative, challenging, with great pride in his strength, armed or non. He possessed the basic skills required, even if he no longer followed the knights code to the letter in his heart.

But so what? It's not like he would be the first or only knight enticed by power. There were a few, recently dead or subdued, that certainly came to mind.

He could say the words. He did not have to mean them.

And so, the large, lumbering knight of the red faction stepped up, when it was clear that he had a chance to do so, and he spoke, his voice a deep rumbling boom from a barrel of a chest.

"Lancelot. It is not for me to say whether I am worthy or not of such a title of Great Knight, but for you to decide. All I can tell you is that I honor the ideals of my faction, that of red, and also that of the Knight's code. That I am strong, and capable, and loyal to a fault, and will do whatever it takes to lend aid in this coming battle. But even just that you may consider me is the greatest honor." His lips pulled up into a smile, something that looked oh so sincere. "I do so pledge my obedience, whatever your choice may be."

He stepped back, then, back to Na'ima's side, and gave her a quick look, a single eyebrow raised, a silent question.

Was that good?

[Arrakis is BLUE and volunteering!]

There were many, dozens, hundreds, innumerable questions that Arrakis had for Lancelot as the whole lot of them made their escape from the tunnels. He didn't have the time to ask any of them, of course, but that didn't stop his mind from racing. The horses certainly did take him aback, but he pressed onward, finding himself on the back of one of them like he'd been doing it his whole life. He didn't grab at or try to direct the horse, getting the feeling that it could take care of that very well itself, thank you very much. Instead, he held on as the horse--once everyone else was horseback--sprang into motion.

He closed his eyes as the wind whipped past his face. Arrakis was somehow not surprised that these horses were able to move impossibly fast, much faster than a normal horse. He held on as tight as he was physically able, ignoring the ache that welled up in his thighs and back before too long. Bareback riding was no joke, that was for sure. His shoulders began to ache shortly after with the tension of holding himself atop the horse without hurting it or being unseated. Sparing a glance back at Camelot made his stomach sink and flop over. That kind of darkness... He could go the rest of his life, never feel it again, and be quite happy. That they were leaving it behind only buoyed his spirits.

It was in this sort of limbo that he was content to let himself drift, for the first time enjoying the luxury of not having to think too terribly much about something, to not have to consider a hundred thousand possibly outcomes of what he was about to say or do. To not have the specter of death looming imminently over him. Oh, he knew that there was no way it was this easy, that there wasn't any more danger. Of course there would be. But Arrakis was going to hold onto this brief respite with both hands.

Of course, it was indeed a brief respite. Arrakis did not miss the somber mood or setting when the horses and their riders arrived at their destination. Silent, he watched and listened as Lancelot made his way through the group of them.

...Oh. That... answered why the Great King had never appeared to help them, and perhaps why the taint had been able to so easily enter Camelot in the first place. Especially if the King's adviser was missing... Arrakis' shoulders slumped and he felt that sense of disquiet enter him again. But... surely it wasn't hopeless, right? That was why Lancelot had brought them all here?

New knights. Seven of them were going to become new knights. Arrakis wondered what would become of Lancelot, but wasn't sure that part of it was really any of his business. Lancelot had more information than they did on just about everything, after all. He would have to simply trust that the more senior knight knew what he was doing. Their survival depended on him knowing what he was doing.

As for what Arrakis was doing, and was going to do, he took in Lancelot's following words with a heavy heart. His mind echoed back to the great hall in Camelot, where a knight he had barely known had nominated him. Just like then, Arrakis hardly felt worthy of such an honour. Who was he that thought he might take up the mantle of a Great Knight? He could barely handle being a regular knight, he reflected, resting a hand on Hadyn as he thought to how easily she had been taken from him.

...But then again... A new sentiment welled up. Before he knew it, he was sliding off of the horse that had carried him such a long distance. Others volunteered themselves and Arrakis found himself doing the same, dropping to one knee in front of Lancelot when it was his turn. He took a deep breath.

"To be honest, I'm not sure what--if anything--makes me more qualified than any other knight here. But I do know that I will give everything I have, everything I am, to make sure that what's happened to the kingdom never, ever, happens again." He would give his life to protect Camelot. And if he never got to rest, it would be worth it a thousand times over to make sure to the best of his ability that no other person would have to see what he and the others had seen. To protect the kingdom would be the least he could do. Getting to his feet and giving Lancelot a deep, respectful nod, he felt as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders as he turned around.

He could do this, he could. If even he wasn't chosen, he'd do his best to serve Camelot and he'd be damned if he let himself waver again.

[ Ridon is volunteering for Violet ]

A sacrifice for protecting Camelot. Could he do it? Could he really do that? The young boy, fifteen summers of age who'd in a life he could not remember had hidden himself away out of fear. He had, in the life he could remember, hidden who he was because it was easier, and had focused on healing those in need. He was by all rights a coward who denied who he was simply because it was too hard to do the opposite.

Yet at the same time, Ridon was not that young boy anymore. He'd ventured out in the wilds to retrieve artifacts to help Camelot, facing terrible goats, dysentery, and giant monsters made of fire to get his prize. He'd put his hand into the pool, seen a memory he'd forgotten, and pulled out his weapon. A weapon of protection. A weapon of hope. He'd faced a mirror and seen his own death and come to terms with that death. He would die anyway, why not in a noble manor, to secure hope for those around him.

That was the key, wasn't it? That was what the Violet Knights stood for. Hope. Hope and fluidity. The ability to become anything and everything that was necessary to secure that hope.

He wasn't the most honorable of knights, or the most decorated, or even the most courageous. But he had hope. He had hope Mordred was alive. He had hope that Camelot could be safe. He had hope that the new Great Knights - whoever they were, even if he was not a part of them - would save Camelot. He had hope that one day he'd atone for his mistakes, for those he lost or let die. For Primrose. For himself.

Without hope, what reason was there to fight? Without hope, there wasn't a reason to live. To win. If he could be that hope, then sacrificing himself for it... There wasn't any question of it. There would never be any question of it.

Ridon took a deep breath, more nervous than he'd ever been in his known life and watched the others step forward. Some proclaimed their love for their Great Knight, their commendations, their oaths. He wondered how Lancelot would choose. He wondered if those asking for the Violet Great Knight position were more suited for it than he. Age wise, strength, courage? Most likely. He'd never know if he did not try, did not put himself out there. It terrified him, but the thought of never doing it and watching Camelot fall? That was a worse fear.

He stepped forward, and kneeled, Ryhorn resting on his bent knee. He could do this. He could do this for hope, for everyone behind him, and those who pledged themselves for the chance at greatness. He was hope. He was a Violet Knight and wielder of Ryhorn the Heater Shield. He'd seen his death and come to terms with it.

And even if he did not get chosen? Then he would use his abilities to ensure the Great Knights had a chance to make their sacrifice. To give them hope, he'd give his life to protect them.

"Sir La-Lancelot..." he started. Ridon cleared his throat and began again. "Sir Lancelot, I am no-not the most de-decorated of kn-knights, nor the most cour-courageous. I've not cut down hun-hundreds of monst-sters in the arena, nor acq-acquired a full set of armor. I stu-stutter when I speak.

"Yet I have hope." He looked up at the Great Knight, the nervousness fluttering away. "I've hope Camelot will survive, that Sir Mordred can be saved, that Morgana can be beaten. I have hope that those who become Great Knights - even if I am not one of them - will be successful. I've healed others, to give them hope of their survival. I've seen my death and come to terms with it. If I am to die, I would rather die bringing hope to Camelot, be sacrificing myself as a Great Knight or sacrificing myself to protect the Great Knights so they may succeed, than to die any other way.

"Without hope, we are nothing. Without hope, there is no reason to continue fighting this fight. I want to embody that hope, to be the hope for others when they have none. For this reason, I volunteer myself as the Great Knight of the Violet Knights, to uphold hope and fluidity and open myself to those who need it most. I will sacrifice myself to be the hope that Camelot needs, and to save it from the darkness." He finished, the truth of his words echoing in his ears. He'd not stuttered once, but pretty much felt that was a one time thing of being confident when speaking.

He would be hope, regardless of his position.

[Damien is Volunteering! - Going for Gold]

This... could not be. It was a tiring journey, one that led Damien and the other knights away from the castle. away from Mordred wherever he truly was. Everything felt like a play, the scenes passing by quickly enough for him to forget what the plot was about. The young knight was only able to hang on and try to endure. The harrowing journey was to the forest, lush and green, with a peaceful nature all its own. and at the end of the road were five lumps in the ground tended with care of the great knight. Basic math and logic could surmise whom they were to get such treatment and Damien sunk to his knees in the soft grass underfoot. In one of those graves, lay the foundation of his sense of justice. It was a heartbreaking concept to gather, holding back unshed emotions he listened on to what Lancelot had to say. Self sacrifice was what made up a knight on top of its code, but the concept never seemed heavier. A new set needed to be chosen, to uphold the cause that was instilled to them.

However it made Damien wonder as to who, and what end, as Lancelot did not seem to want to continue in his role, from his own point of view. The former set of seven wasn't sacrificed as far as he could tell. But with matters getting dire as the sun and moon travel across the land, so did their choices, including his own.

It took a few minutes for the lad to gather himself, but soon enough, he began to stand on shaky, weary feet and move closer to the circle etched in the ground and took to a knee.. "Our Land is ravaged, and the place we called a safehaven is almost lost. I may be young, a fawn in knighthood and lacking in many areas, but I can at least say that I do not want us to fall and be snuffed out." he panted, looking at Lancelot in the eye. "I wish to fight for what my mentor's virtue stood for, to learn from his mistakes and bring and end to this. No matter the cost."

He was quite thankful to be taken away from the corridors of shadows and knowledge and doom.

Ignatius could have felt the corruption seeping from Camelot like a heavy weight upon his soul. He didn't know how it had seeped in so thoroughly, but all he knew is that he wanted to be away from it. It was weighing on his mind, making it harder to smile and harder to show the optimism.

Needless to say, Ignatius was quite happy to mount one of these strange not-quite-horses and head down to wherever Lancelot was leading them to.

Soon, he found out it was a sanctuary, but it was a sanctuary full of bad news. The Great King was dead. Great Knight Merlin was missing. All the other Great Knights were dead or not Great Knights at all. Lancelot was looking for new Great Knights. He was looking for new heroes, to take up the mantle of Great Knight, to stand strong and take back Camelot... And sacrifice their lives for the cause.

Ignatius was instantly conflicted.

He wanted to be the hero. He wanted to step forward and take the fall for everyone, allowing the others to live. They would praise his name through the eons, as the hero who sealed away the evil in Camelot, allowing all the others who were remaining to continue to live there without harm.

At the same time, though, the thought of sacrificing himself, even for the greater good, was utterly terrifying. He didn't want to have his life end. He would never know what would happen afterwards. All his thoughts and being wouldn't be there anymore. How could any of them accept that so easily? The idea of dying nearly made Ignatius physically ill.

Perhaps, it was because Ignatius still had hope for the future.

Ignatius wanted to be there to help rebuild when this was all over, because he knew it would eventually be. They would win, even when all hope was seemingly lost to the dark skies above. By the Great King, they would win this fight against the horsemen, against the sidhe, and against the corruption and terror they wrought.

Ignatius observed that Arrakis had offered himself. Perhaps he felt he would best serve them as a Great Knight, sacrificing himself to seal the corruption away.

Ignatius couldn't make that choice.

[Johan is volunteering for White.]

Johan, with the welcome assistance of Yuki, emerged out of the tunnels following Lancelot. The sight of the countless white horses waiting for them gave him pause. One made eye contact with him, and seemed to understand that he was injured. It trotted up to him, and instead of just kneeling, crouched fully upon the ground. Swallowing back nervousness, Johan swung a leg over the white steed's back, and made his seating as stable as possible. The horse surged to its hooves, balancing him expertly. Johan refrained from patting its neck, something in the bearing of the horse telling him that any such gesture, meant for an animal, would be demeaning. Instead he whispered a thank you, and held tight to its mane as it carried him away.

Like many others, he looked back toward Camelot, and a feeling of foreboding rose in him. Outwardly, little had changed. But it felt as though something once bright and clean had succumbed to a creeping sickness. Was there no place left in the world that was safe now?

Through the hours they spent riding, Johan conserved his strength, bent over his wounds. In a haze of exhaustion, he didn't realize it at first when the horses stopped. He finally came awake when his steed crouched on the ground once more. Once it knew Johan had his footing, it flowed out from underneath him, and cantered into the mist among the others. Johan leaned on Tempest and watched them go.

When he'd taken in the sight of the beautiful lake, and the now vanished horses, Johan searched the faces of those Knights he could see around him. Very few were unscathed physically or mentally. Haunted eyes, armor stained with blood and the muck of the dungeons, or tears cleaning tracks down dirt-smudged faces. He'd seen some of those faces in Camelot at the beginning of this. Laughing, talking, locked in frivolous arguments, or bright with delight over some new piece of armor obtained.

And then Lancelot addressed them, drawing the Knights' attention to the five mounds in the clearing. When he'd delivered the news of the King's death, Johan placed a hand to his head, hiding his grief. He had convinced himself that Mordred's conversation with Lancelot back in Camelot had just been another lie! Why couldn't that have been a lie? His eyes ached with unshed tears.

However, when Lancelot mentioned the King's legacy, Johan looked up, searching the Great Knight's face to see if he'd meant what or rather who he meant by using that word. To Johan's knowledge, Arthur hadn't been sent to Camelot's dungeon with the rest of the Order of the Silver Chickens. He was still alive then? Was the corruption in Camelot the destruction humans must face? Johan had made his vows as a Knight at the beginning of this. He had made a vow to Arthur to protect him no matter what. It seemed he had one last vow to make.

He watched with a kind of horrified pride as those he considered his comrades made their own petition, Estel, Riley, Shun, the one who'd cried over Mordred's casket, Yuki, and the lady Knight in red from the cottage. And then it came to him, shivering from exhaustion, one eye bandaged, one hand pressed to a wound in his abdomen, the other clinging to Tempest for support.

"I must not falter." he whispered, and stepped forward. Kneeling came easily, he simply had to stop struggling to keep standing.

"A Knight must destroy the darkness. A Knight must show no pity towards the darkness. A Knight must sacrifice himself for his King at all costs. A White Knight pledges kindness and sincerity, an open heart, and understanding to those around them." he began, hands held out to Lancelot in supplication. "I am incredibly ill-suited to the White. My reasons for choosing it are gone with my memories. I find most people to be frivolous or outright illogical in their actions. I believed that if only I could become strong enough, I could do my part in driving back the darkness, and ignore those around me who I found annoying. I can only hope that the man I was before saw better in himself, or perhaps that he hoped to teach me what I've finally learned. In following the pledge of the White, I've come to rely on these brave Knights around me. They have shown me kindness. They are my strength. I am not a kind man. Please let this be my kindness to them in return."

[Haze is Volunteering | Black gaia_crown ] *click the crown*

The wind was soft against his cheek, tickling against his face as he was placed on a horse unknowingly. Haze's mind had succumbed to the darkness, but the farther he got away from the castle the more the curse's grasp began to fade. Silver eyes flickered open, seeing scenery rush by him as fast as it came into view. Why was he moving? More importantly how was he moving? The white haired knight would immediately sit up. Almost falling off of the steed that was underneath him. Carrying to the destination where Lancelot lead. He winced slightly at the pain still in his head, but he couldn't pay much mind to it as he attempted to keep himself from being practically bucked off of the mysterious horse-looking creature. Trees and mist surrounded him, his head on a swivel as Haze attempted to get barrings on where he was. Just as the man snapped his head around he felt the horse haunch up. Throwing him off no matter how sturdy his grip was.

The young male flew to the ground, feeling the air being knocked from his lungs again. Just how many times was he going to have that happen to him? Soon enough he may just have to ask for a new pair of lungs. Eyes adjusting to the new scene the knight watched as the horse disappeared. And Lancelot rise up not to far away. There was a crowd growing around him. Listening intently as he began to speak. Began to remorse, beginning to speak of the future.

Now from the circle we must create seven.

Haze almost didn't want to believe what he was hearing. But it was undoubtedly true, driving into his mind deeper as he watched people began to volunteer themselves to become a Great Knight. The more the thought lingered in his mind, the more questions flickered in his mind. Was he worthy? Would he be able to lead? Would people even follow him? They all perplexed him, causing him to continue to sit on the ground, chewing at his lip unconsciously as his hand moved and pulled up his scarf. A familiar comforting scent wafted into his nose. That's right, he had already found his hope. He already knew the answer in his heart. What he just needed now was the ability to speak it. Burring his face deeper against his scarf he closed his eyes for a moment. Even with the treachery he had just caused, the madness he had succumbed to, he was still alive none the less. And so there must have been another path that was going to be his end route.

Flickering his eyes back open the white haired male would attempt to stand. Taking the first step forward he'd feel the butterflies kick in his stomach, the next his breath hitched. No. He wouldn't allow for himself to sit aside out any longer. He didn't need these emotions, the same ones that had driven him mad. This was atonement from his sins, this was his cleansing. The black clothed male would walk up to the Great White Knight, his expression stoic, but his eyes soft with determination. Haze knelt down before Lancelot, just as others had before him. And after bowing his head he'd look up to the white-knight. Pressing his lips together, seething out a drawn out breath all before opening his mouth to speak. And just as he prepared the words in his mind, nothing came out of his throat. There were no words. No matter how hard Haze tried to speak his vocal cords had been strained to almost the point of exhaustion. There hadn't been enough time for them to heal if just a little bit.

The black knight began to retreat back into his own mind, maybe this was a sign he couldn't be worthy. But just as he was about to reach up for his scarf to pull it over his face, to hide from embarrassment.. he stopped. A driving force kicking him in the back of his mind again. This was his resolve. Attempting to clear his throat Haze opened his mouth once more, letting every other muscle in his body relax. His silver eyes gazed at Lancelot with tenacity, with a fire fervently burning in them now. "I, Haze, under the order of the B-black Knight. Pledge my s-service, my loyalty, m-my hope to freeing Camelot... n-no... to freeing the land of this darkness." his words weren't flawless, but they had flowed out stronger than any of his words ever had before. As if some force was pushing his vocal chords to move past their disadvantage.

"I have seen the darkness, I h-have lived the darkness, I have s-suffered the darkness. B-but I no longer wish to be in its g-grasps. The people of this land, t-they need not suffer. If I can u-use my wisdom to g-guide them to a better life. If I may sacrifice my strengths... and my weaknesses, to create a path for them... then I wish my life to no l-longer be my own. It is for Camelot, for the people, and for all of the K-knights who shall come after me."

His breaths were growing steadier by the moment, his heart and his feelings flowing through his words "Through my body, through my soul, I shall c-create hope. Along side my fellow Knights. If you should c-choose my humbling being. I shall stand as a bridge with the Great Knights. A b-bridge to a future with no chaos, but strength in wisdom. Learning from the past, from each new obstacle, so that we may become the pillars of a New Camelot." with those words Haze reached his hand up, pressing it across his heart and bowing his head. No matter the outcome, no matter who was chosen, he knew that he would stand by the others, even as just as simple Knight. He would build himself to be a beacon of wisdom.

"Perhaps." He mused thoughtfully. "But there is comfort in a cycle. It may not find itself at an end, but that may be why it's so heavily relied upon. Comfort is, in my opinion, one of the most important things we have left."

He wrapped his arms tightly around her, even as she intertwined their fingers. "I don't think I disagree with you. Instead, it's more complicated - I still feel like there is glory in being a part of the cycle. And I am a man born for glory." His words were no longer pained, and they held a tone of resignation - because something had been lost. "There will always be those willing to follow and offer their lives. Just as you said. Just as we see here, right now." He watched them, one by one, continue to place their lives at Lancelot's feet. "And if they die, they will have a good death. If they live, they live knowing they were not afraid. There is comfort, in a cycle. Even if there is no point to it."

His smile finally blossomed, but only when he looked at her. "But I believe my destiny lies with you. Perhaps we have a cycle of our own, Mildred Morris." It was the first time he'd said her new name, and his smile grew at the sound. "Or perhaps you are right again. We have yet to achieve something far greater than allegiance to the king. In our own time."