Morvran/Sanddef (Sanvran)

Victor Frankenstein used corpses. Merlin used blood and fingernails.

Merlin is Frankenstein on a budget and Frankenstein is budget Merlin.

Gargantua, artificial grandson of Lancelot and Guinevere.

A post of mine from several months ago about the Perlesvaus self-rearranging forest just wandered across my dash again and made me think about it some more, so I wanted to talk about it a bit.

Perlesvaus, for those who don’t know, is a 13th-century French Arthurian romance. It’s intended to be a continuation of Chretien de Troyes’s Perceval, but it’s mostly known for being completely batshit when it’s known at all. (There’s an old book on Arthurian texts that dedicates a chapter to Perlesvaus and repeatedly speculates that the anonymous author had Something Wrong With Him. This is the longest scholarly treatment of Perlesvaus I’ve been able to find & read.)

Anyway, there’s an odd worldbuilding detail in the text. See, it’s a Thing in chivalric romances that the questing knights happen upon castles & lords & damsels & such that are unfamiliar to them and have to be explained. You know, “this is the Castle of Such-and-Such, where the local custom is as follows. It’s ruled by Lady So-and-So, whose character I shall now describe to you.”

This is a genre convention that largely goes unquestioned, but it’s a bit odd if you think about it. All these knights are at least minor nobility. They don’t know the other nobles in their region? They don’t know what castles are where? Don’t they have, like, diplomatic relations with these people or at least attend the same tournaments? Even if they’re all fully committed to the knight-errant lifestyle and don’t really engage in courtly diplomacy, you’d think they would share information with each other and get the lay of the land. But instead, to use TTRPG terminology, it’s like they’re all on a hexcrawl that was randomly generated just for them to have these adventures.

The author of Perlesvaus decides to address this. In what’s kind of a throwaway paragraph late in the text, he explains that God moves things around so knights always have new quests to do (and, presumably, is also making sure they always arrive at the right narratively-significant moment). So the reason they’re always encountering people & places they have no knowledge of is because those people & places really weren’t there yesterday. They didn’t know about the Castle of Such-and-Such because it’s normally a thousand miles away and the forest path they followed to get there used to lead somewhere else.

And I think that would be a really interesting thing to stick into a novel or a TTRPG or something. When a knight rides into the forest with the intent of Going On A Quest, at some point they go around a bend in the path, cross an invisible barrier, and wind up in the Forest of Narrative. This is a vast forest with no set geography, filled with winding paths and populated almost entirely with questing knights, damsels in search of questing knights, friendly hermits, strange creatures, and allegorical set-pieces. Then, at the narratively-appropriate time, they cross back over the invisible barrier back into the regular world, and find themselves wherever the Narrative has decided they need to be. This could be a different country, a different continent, or a different world entirely.

Whether anyone involved is actually aware that this is how it works is… optional, really. Though if it’s not a Known Phenomenon, the people whose jobs it is to handle trade & diplomacy & god forbid, maps, are going to end up tearing their hair out in frustration.

Sir Kay is what happens when the Planeteers put together their rings without Ma-Ti

Kwame: Earth!

Wheeler: Fire!

Linka: Wind!

Gi: Water!

Kwame: Uh, didn’t we forget someone?

It is too late. They watch in confusion as a figure in antiquated armor rises from the ground.

Kay: With your powers combined, I am Sir Kay!

Linka: Who are you?

Kay: I am one who may endure Fire and Water like no other and grow as tall as the treetops.

Gi: We were trying to summon Captain Planet. Not that we’re not glad to see you. Um. Will you still fight with us?

Kay: Yes, but I will complain constantly and bully the younger ones.

Kwame: Heart. We forgot Heart. HOW ON EARTH DID WE FORGET HEART?!?

A few hours later…

Wheeler: Has it ever occurred to you that you’re a jerk?

Kay: Has it ever occurred to you that you’re me?

“The Elder Knight” by Dorothy L. Sayers

Note: the speaker is Galahad; the elder knight is Lancelot. This poem is one of my favorites. It’s unusual in that its version of Galahad is really, really spiteful, and the ending is unforgettable.   I.

I have met you foot to foot, I have fought you face to face,

I have held my own against you and lost no inch of place,

    And you shall never see

    How you have broken me.

You sheathed your sword in the dawn, and you smiled with careless eyes,

Saying "Merrily struck, my son, I think you may have your prize."

    Nor saw how each hard breath

    Was painfully snatched from death.

I held my head like a rock; I offered to joust again,

Though I shook, and my palsied hand could hardly cling to the rein;

    Did you curse my insolence

    And over-confidence?

You have ridden, lusty and fresh, to the morrow's tournament;

I am buffeted, beaten, sick at the heart and spent.—

    Yet, as God my speed be

    I will fight you again if need be.

               II.

A white cloud running under the moon

   And three stars over the poplar-trees,

Night deepens into her lambent noon;

   God holds the world between His knees;

Yesterday it was washed with the rain,

But now it is clean and clear again.

Your hands were strong to buffet me,

   But, when my plume was in the dust,

Most kind for comfort verily;

   Success rides blown with restless lust;

Herein is all the peace of heaven:

To know we have failed and are forgiven.

The brown, rain-scented garden beds

   Are waiting for the next year's roses;

The poplars wag mysterious heads,

   For the pleasant secret each discloses

To his neighbour, makes them nod, and nod—

So safe is the world on the knees of God.

             III.

I have the road before me; never again

   Will I be angry at the practised thrust

That flicked my fingers from the lordly rein

   To scratch and scrabble among the rolling dust.

I never will be angry — though your spear

   Bit through the pauldron, shattered the camail,

Before I crossed a steed, through many a year

   Battle on battle taught you how to fail.

Can you remember how the morning star

   Winked through the chapel window, when the day

Called you from vigil to delights of war

   With such loud jollity, you could not pray?

Pray now, Lord Lancelot; your hands are hard

   With the rough hilts; great power is in your eyes,

Great confidence; you are not newly scarred,

   And conquer gravely now without surprise.

Pray now, my master; you have still the joy

   Of work done perfectly; remember not

The dizzying bliss that smote you when, a boy,

   You faced some better man, Lord Lancelot.

Pray now — and look not on my radiant face,

   Breaking victorious from the bloody grips—

Too young to speak in quiet prayer or praise

   For the strong laughter bubbling to my lips.

Angry? because I scarce know how to stand,

   Gasping and reeling against the gates of death,

While, with the shaft yet whole within your hand,

   You smile at me with undisordered breath?

Not I — not I that have the dawn and dew,

   Wind, and the golden shore, and silver foam —

I that here pass and bid good-bye to you —

   For I ride forward — you are going home.

Truly I am your debtor for this hour

   Of rough and tumble — debtor for some good tricks

Of tourney-craft; — yet see how, flower on flower,

   The hedgerows blossom! How the perfumes mix

Of field and forest! — I must hasten on —

   The clover scent blows like a flag unfurled;

When you are dead, or aged and alone,

   I shall be foremost knight in all the world —

My world, not yours, beneath the morning's gold,

   My hazardous world, where skies and seas are blue;

Here is my hand. Maybe, when I am old,

   I shall remember you, and pray for you.

You mean to tell me that you don't?

A lot of the time when I see people talk about aromanticism they bring up the way a lot of us tend to think that romance is just exaggerated in fiction and are surprised that people feel that way in real life and not just in the movies and that's honestly kind of funny, imagine just going about your life and one day finding out that most people's high school years were actually like disney channel and you're the exception

When you realize that Tristan, Iseult, Dinadan, Palamedes, and Mark are basically the stock cast of a sitcom…

A few variants of Guinevere's name and my thoughts on them:

Velivera--sounds like you'd put it in a soap, but still mellifluous.

Jennifer--the name of half the women of my mother's generation; sounds less epic than it might once have because it's used too frequently.

Guanhamara--pretty, if a little difficult; reminds me of the character from Chronicles of the Red King.

Gwenhwyfar--the Welsh option, one of the classics.

Vanora--sounds like a pretty normal fantasy name; does not sound like Guinevere.

Ginevra--also sounds fairly normal; a little more recognizable.

Guendoloena--and her less assuming relative Gwendolen; this is also Merlin's wife's name (Geoffrey of Monmouth thought it was a good wife name, apparently).

Gaynour--I like the sound, but it would be mocked mercilessly in a modern middle school.

Guilalmier--I like it. Not as classic, maybe, but charming enough.

Wenneuereia--"Can you spell that one more time, please?" I had to check Wikipedia for the spelling of this one.

Ntzenebra--from The Old Knight, the only surviving Arthurian romance in Greek. Very cool.

G(ui/we)n(n)(i)ev(i)(e)r(e)--the closest thing we have to a standard formula of the name is this. You can add some letters or you can take away some letters, and the vibes will change, but it will still be the same in essence and pretty recognizable, unlike...

Winlogee--the coup de grâce. My feelings on this one are complicated, but I feel it can speak for itself.

Let's give a good round of appreciation for Camelot's answer to the Flash: Bedivere

Other translations of Culhwch and Olwen read:

For Comparison, here are Guinevere's servants, Ysgyrdaf and Ysgudydd:

Apparently, these two aren't as fast as Arthur and Bedivere...

Still fighting with the html to adjust lettering sizes but the Medieval Literature list is now two pages long :^)

I've added an updated Parzival, Iwein, Erec, Iban, Wigalois, Wigamur, Jaufre, Tristano Riccardiano, an additional translation of The Mabinogion by Sinoed Davies, & more!

Griflet-centric Reincarnation AU following Mort Artu canon

Griflet remembers bits and pieces of his past life, mostly from Camlann, so he starts doing surface-level research on Arthuriana. Since he's the one to throw the sword in the lake in Mort Artu but Bedivere is best known for it, he becomes convinced that he's the reincarnation of Sir Bedivere.

There are two outcomes which immediately come to mind. One is that he runs into other Arthurian reincarnations. In this case, he might vastly confuse everyone, particularly if Bedivere shows up too. They might even think he's an imposter. However, they might remember who he actually was and have a laugh about the whole thing.

The other is that he never tells anyone, or only tells the people he's closest to, because he doesn't think anyone will believe him. He goes about the rest of his life secretly thinking he's Bedivere. It impacts nothing substantial, though from time to time he makes references which confuse the people around him and he's always kind of worried something will happen to his hand.