Half Pint

MxF

That makes no sense but go off sis

MxF

And yes Italy is european but gladiators was a roman thing. With the Papacy giving Francia 'to call' themselves the Holy Roman Empire was hoping theyd be savage and try and conquer europe as the next empire, that didnt occur.

@Srpv

Rome was Italy and the Holy Roman Empire was what would become Germany and much of central Europe. Both are European. Gladiators did not exist within the Holy Roman Empire.

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

Got a new Black Knight post up! And with this one I think I should say that I'm going to retire my Mr. Terrific character, I think I overextending a bit with him at the start and I'm not really sure where to go with him that would properly develop the character. I'll leave the posts up for now, but if anyone wants to redo him or take over the character I'm happy to delete them so they can have a fresh start. For the moment I'm going to focus on Black Knight and get him over to America so he can hopefully start interacting with other characters. I've got a few ideas for other character's like Etrigan or maybe Nova, but for the time being I'll focus on Duncan and not spread myself too thin.

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

Volume 1 - Beggar Knight

Gazing Into the Abyss

---

A cool wind blew through the sands as Duncan sat on the perimeter of the camp, cradling the rifle in his arms as he peered off into the distance. It was quiet, nothing but the shifting sands dared to make noise. Occasionally a nervous murmur would break from the lips of one of the younger men, only to be met with a short reply or none at all. Duncan looked over the small defense force that had amassed. They all looked nervous, even Omar didn't seem himself, the towering giant's jokes becoming fewer and less confident the more the night dragged on. Mehdi was as cool headed as ever, but Duncan's keen eye could see even the desert sniper's hand shaking slightly. Mehdi had explained every confrontation with the Ghul resulted in less and less of the tribe coming back alive. They had never defeated them in a fight, only managed to hold them off long enough to run away. This time there would be no running away. It was a fight to the death, and Duncan had been dead to the world long enough, he wasn't going to let it happen again.

Still though, his unwavering resolve was being tested. His fight with Omar was one thing, but it had been literally centuries since he had been involved in mass combat like this. He felt a coursing of anxiety through his veins, and looking over the camp he couldn't help but feel a sense of déjà vu. His eyes glanced over to the entrance to a tent, where a small boy was peeking out through the doorway and caught eyes with Duncan. Suddenly he was a million miles away, his mind tracing a path of memories back to his adolescence.

Memory 2

Duncan stood in line next to men twice his size, their armor clanking softly in the early morning light. The air was thick with the scent of iron, sweat and tobacco, a tangible reminder of the battle that lay ahead. He could barely keep his hands steady as the quartermaster approached, his movements practiced, almost indifferent, as he handed out gear to the soldiers.

When it was Duncan’s turn, the quartermaster frowned slightly, his eyes dropping down, taking in the boy’s slight frame before handing him a kettle helmet that seemed comically large in the boys hands. Duncan struggled to put it on, the heavy metal slipping down over his eyes. He tried to adjust it, but the weight of it made his neck ache.

“Better than nothing,” the quartermaster muttered, already moving down the line.

Duncan’s heart pounded in his chest as he looked around at the other soldiers, men who had seen countless battles, their faces hardened by experience. He could see the tension in their jaws, the way their hands gripped their weapons tightly. Despite their silence, the fear was palpable, hanging over the camp like a storm cloud.

Duncan took a deep breath, tightening his grip on the small shortsword that felt too big for his hands. The fort was bathed in golden sunlight, but it did little to warm the cold fear Duncan felt in his heart. He had left home to forge a new life for himself, one fighting for valour and for chivalry. How had he managed to end up here? Next to these men? Fighting not for his ideals, but for survival.

The weight of the helmet and the gravity of the situation pressed down on him, making him feel every bit the child he was. The voices of the men around him faded into a dull murmur as he fought to keep his composure. He didn’t want to be here, didn’t want to face what was coming, but he knew he had no choice.

A voice broke through the deafening silence in Duncan's head. The leader of the mercenary band, a grizzled veteran with a voice like gravel, sitting tall on his horse. His scarred face looked over his men, glancing over at the young recruit with a mixture of pity and indifference.

"Listen up!” he bellowed, his voice cutting through the air like a bird of prey. “This is it. We march now, and not all of you will come back. But if you want to survive, keep your wits about you and do as you’re told. You all know the drill by now, kill the red and blue ones, protect the green ones."

The men around Duncan shifted uneasily, some clutching their weapons tighter, others muttering prayers under their breath. Duncan swallowed hard, trying to ignore the knot of fear tightening in his stomach. The leader wheeled his horse around, and with a curt nod to the banner bearer, the march began. The clattering of armor and weapons filled the air as the mercenaries fell into step, the sound echoing in Duncan’s ears like the pounding of a drum. He was just a boy, surrounded by men who had seen more battles than he could imagine, but there was no turning back now.

The leader’s voice rang out again, calling for the formation to tighten as they approached the battlefield. Duncan adjusted his grip on the sword, feeling its unfamiliar weight in his hand. The ground beneath their feet trembled as the enemy came into view, a sea of soldiers armed and ready for blood. Duncan’s breath caught in his throat. The world around him seemed to slow, the sounds of the march fading as his focus narrowed to the line of soldiers ahead. At the front, on an almost glistening white steed sat the leader of their enemy. His red, blue and gold armour catching the boys eye as he watched the mercenary band merge next to the amassed army he was due to fight.

In that moment, Duncan felt the enormity of what he was about to face. The uncertainty, the fear, and the burden of his own past weighed heavily on him. But he had no choice but to push forward. He was no longer just a boy with dreams anymore, he was a warrior, and today he would have to prove it.

As the two forces drew closer, the leader raised his sword high, signaling the charge. Duncan braced himself, every muscle tensing as he prepared to enter the fray. The memory of his father’s betrayal flickered in the back of his mind, a reminder of the darkness that had led him to this moment.

And then, with a roar that shook the very earth, the battle began.

"Duncan! Duncan!" Mehdi shook him by the shoulders, trying to snap him out of his daze. Duncan blinked, still lost in the daze of his memory, when suddenly slap Mehdi's hand connected with his face.

"Get it together, man! The Ghul are here!"

Duncan nodded, rising to his feet and taking in the carnage around him as he angled the rifle against his shoulder. It was so much worse than he could have imagined.

The Ghul were monstrous, twisted beings, their forms a grotesque blend of man and beast. They towered over the defenders, their pale, leathery skin stretched tight over sinewy muscle and gaunt, skeletal frames. Their faces were grotesque, a sickening fusion of skull and rotting flesh, with hollow, glowing eyes that burned with an unnatural, sickly yellow light. With claws like scimitars, they tore through the camp's defenses, their movements unnervingly swift and agile for creatures of such size.

Some wore remnants of ancient armor, rusted and broken, a testament to battles fought in forgotten times. Others carried massive, curved swords, stained with the blood of countless victims. The air was filled with their guttural snarls and the screams of the dying. They attacked with a savage ferocity, as if driven by an insatiable hunger.

Mehdi was already in action, his rifle taking down one of the Ghul with a single, precise shot to the head. Omar was near him, clashing his scimitar against the steel of one of the Ghul's own swords and thrusting a large burning torch towards the monster. But for every one that fell, it seemed two more took its place. The camp was quickly becoming a slaughter, and Duncan knew they were outnumbered and outmatched.

Duncan's heart pounded in his chest as he aimed at the nearest Ghul, pulling the trigger and watching as the bullet struck its target, tearing through the creature's shoulder. But the Ghul barely flinched, its head snapping in Duncan's direction with a snarl that chilled him to the bone. It charged, covering the distance between them in a heartbeat, and Duncan only had time to duck and roll out of the way before it was upon him.

The rifle was useless now. He tossed it aside, drawing the mace from his belt and sliding out a circular shield from its harness on his back. Just as he managed to ready himself the Ghul was on him. Leaping towards the knight and slashing its claws. Duncan raised his shield, catching the blow, then swung his mace low, catching the creature by the ankles and sending it crashing to the ground. Without hesitation, he brought the mace down in a deadly arc, crushing the Ghul’s skull with a sickening crunch.

As the creature's lifeless body hit the sand, Duncan felt an unexpected surge of energy course through him. His heart pounded, but not just from the exertion of the fight, it was something else, something that sent a strange warmth through his limbs. He felt sharper, quicker, like his body was moving before his mind could fully register the threat. The creature had been powerful, but in those moments, Duncan had fought with a speed and strength that surprised even himself.

He didn’t have time to dwell on it. The camp was in chaos, and there were more Ghul descending on them, their monstrous forms tearing through the defenders with ruthless efficiency. But Duncan wasn’t slowing down. He moved from one enemy to the next, his strikes precise and brutal, his shield deflecting blows that should have shattered bone.

"Stand your ground!" he shouted, rallying the men around him. The air was thick with the smell of blood and smoke, the firelight flickering wildly in the chaos. Duncan slammed his shield into another Ghul, the impact reverberating through his arm. Before the creature could recover, he swung his mace, the force of the blow sending it crashing to the ground.

He was moving faster than he ever had before, reacting to the Ghul's attacks as though he could sense them coming. His muscles, though tired from the day's strain, felt oddly light, as if he had untapped reserves of strength deep within. Each swing of his mace carried more weight, more force than he would have thought possible.

What's more, his eyesight felt sharper, like a hawks. Even in the midst of the chaos, Duncan’s eyes caught something in the distance, a dark pit in the sands, yawning open like a mouth. He could see the Ghul clawing their way out of it, their grotesque forms emerging from the swirling sands. That had to be it, the source of the invasion. If they were going to end this, that was where the fight needed to be taken.

"Mehdi! Omar!" Duncan called out, his voice cutting through the din of battle. The two men looked to him, their eyes following as he pointed his mace toward the pit. “I’m taking the fight to them. It’s time to give these monsters a taste of their own medicine!”

A fierce grin spread across Duncan’s face, the first sign of life in him since this nightmare had begun. Mehdi, catching sight of the pit, returned the smile with a nod, his rifle already slung over his shoulder as he made his way to the camels. Untying three of them, Mehdi mounted one and swiftly guided the others toward Duncan and Omar. They quickly mounted up, determination etched on their faces.

With a kick of their heels, the three rode hard toward the pit, dodging and weaving as Ghul leapt at them from all sides. The creatures’ claws swiped at them, but the men moved too fast, the camels carrying them swiftly through the chaos.

Within moments, they reached the edge of the sinkhole. Duncan’s eyes met Mehdi’s and Omar’s one last time before they dismounted, their boots hitting the sand. Without hesitation, they leapt into the dark abyss, ready to take the fight directly to the heart of the invasion.

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

Volume 1 - Beggar Knight

The Desert's Shadow

---

The desert nights had grown familiar to Duncan. Two weeks had passed since his arrival at the camp, and in that time, he had come to understand the rhythms of the Bedouin way of life. The oppressive heat of the day and the biting chill of the night were now part of his existence, woven into the fabric of his daily routine.

He no longer felt like an outsider. The initial wariness from the tribe had given way to respect after his duel with Omar and the days spent training with Mehdi. Duncan had proven himself as a warrior, but more than that, he had shown the tribe that he could adapt and could learn their ways. The black robes he now wore had become a symbol of that acceptance, as well as his past. He had learned to ride a camel as the Bedouin did, to navigate by the stars in the vast desert, and even to partake in their communal rituals. The nights spent around the fire, listening to the elders' stories, had given him glimpses into the Bedouin soul; their connection to the land, their fierce independence, and their deep-seated traditions. Though the world beyond the desert was foreign to him, here, he felt a sense of belonging he hadn’t expected.

He felt comfortable. Almost too comfortable. Fleeting thoughts went through his mind of a peaceful life spent with the tribe. He'd wandered alone almost all his life; why not do it with a group of fellow wanderers?

And yet, amidst this feeling of serenity was an undercurrent of anxiety. Something unspoken, but ever present in the cautious glances exchanged between the people around him as the sun dipped below the horizon. Duncan had noticed it in his first few nights, and picked up on their expressions growing more worried and frantic as the days ticked on. Every time he asked Mehdi about it he was met with a non-answer or even ignored.

Duncan sat around a newly made fire near his tent with a few of the other tribespeople, adjusting the sights on his rifle as he listened to them chat around him. The sun was just beginning to set as he glanced upwards and saw Mehdi and Omar approach, beckoning him over to join them. He rose to his feet, slinging the rifle over his shoulder as he began to walk alongside them.

The air was cooler now as the three men walked toward the outskirts of the camp, the fading light casting long shadows across the dunes. Duncan could sense a shift in the mood, something heavier in Mehdi’s usual cool demeanor. Omar, too, was uncharacteristically quiet, his normally fierce gaze fixed ahead and his boisterous personality unusually quiet, as though watching for something Duncan could not see.

They reached a small rise overlooking the camp, a place where the wind swept freely across the desert, and the sounds of the tribe’s evening rituals were muted by the vastness around them. Mehdi stopped and turned to face Duncan, his expression serious. Omar remained a few steps behind, his hand resting on the hilt of his scimitar.

Mehdi began to speak, his voice low and steady. "Duncan, there's something we haven't told you. I must apologise, but we didn't want to put too much on you all at once, but it concerns your contract." He exchanged a glance with Omar, who gave a slight nod.

Duncan crossed his arms as Mehdi spoke, watching intently as he explained.

"You’ve noticed it, haven’t you?" Mehdi asked. "The way the tribe becomes restless as night falls, the way we keep our fires burning longer than usual."

Mehdi's words hung in the air. Duncan raised a hand to stroke his chin for a moment, letting the question linger for a moment. He nodded slowly, trying to piece together what Mehdi was getting at. "I've seen it." Duncan said. "I've seen it since I got to the camp. What have you not been telling me, Mehdi?"

Mehdi hesitated for a moment, his gaze sweeping over the darkening dunes. "There is more to your contract than just helping around the camp. There’s a reason Merlin sent you to us first. A reason tied to the desert, to the creatures that haunt it. Duncan, your end of the bargain involves more than just being found. You are here to help us fight the Ghul."

"Ghul?" Duncan repeated, his brow furrowing. "Another tribe? I will not shed innocent blood for you Mehdi."

Mehdi raised his hand to stop Duncan's speech. Omar shook his head, finally speaking up.
"They are not a tribe, Duncan, they are not even human."

"Not anymore." Continued Mehdi. "They are not human, but once they were. Cursed spirits twisted by dark magic, driven by an insatiable hunger for the living. They lurk in the desert, waiting for nightfall to hunt."

Duncan's hand moved instincitvely over to the handle of the mace the Sheikh had provided him, hanging off of his belt. "You’ve known about this, and you didn’t tell me?"

Mehdi nodded solemnly. "We had to be sure you were ready. The Ghul are no ordinary threat. They are drawn to blood and death, and since you’ve come here, we’ve seen signs that they’ve taken notice of you."

"Taken notice of me?" Duncan echoed, suspicion tinged with frustration. "Why would they care about me?"

Mehdi stopped for a moment, searching for the correct words. he exchanged glances with Omar once more. "As I said, they are drawn to blood and death." Mehdi Explained. "It’s like a beacon to them. They sense warriors, battles, they can smell death. And you, Duncan, have a history soaked in it."

Duncan frowned, the pieces slowly falling into place. His entire life had been marked by violence, by the sword. Now it seemed even here, in this new world, that shadow followed him. "So what do we do about it?" he asked, his voice steady, despite the storm of thoughts racing through his mind.

Mehdi exchanged a glance with Omar. "We fight," Omar said simply. "We’ve fought them before, and we’ll fight them again. But this time, we have you."

"Fire," Mehdi added. "The ghul fear it. And iron—iron can wound them. We’ll prepare the camp, strengthen our defenses. But we’ll need you, Duncan. Merlin sent you here for a reason. He believes you’re the one who can turn the tide."

Duncan took a deep breath, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. He hadn't chosen to come to the desert—fate had thrust him into this unfamiliar world after a millennium of slumber. The sands had been his awakening, but now they were to be his battleground. A part of him still reeled from the disorientation of it all, but another part, the part forged in the fires of battle long ago understood what needed to be done. Even if this was not the life he had expected or wanted to return to, it was the one he now faced.

"If Merlin believes I’m the one to fight these things," Duncan said slowly, the words feeling heavy on his tongue, "then I won’t run. I never have."

Mehdi placed a hand on Duncan’s shoulder, gratitude and determination in his eyes. "We’ll stand together, Duncan. You’re one of us now, and tonight, we’ll show the Ghul that this desert belongs to the living, not the dead."

Together, they turned and descended back into the camp. The fires were being stoked higher, and the tribespeople moved with purpose, reinforcing the perimeters, gathering weapons, and tending to the camels. A tense energy filled the air, the knowledge that nightfall would bring something far more dangerous than darkness.

As Duncan helped with the preparations, he couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of belonging amidst the uncertainty. These people had accepted him, fought beside him, and now they looked to him as a protector. He wasn’t just a relic of the past anymore; he was part of this fight, this moment.

The night would bring battle, but Duncan had faced countless nights like this before. And he would face this one the same way, as a knight ready to defend the living from the dark.

MxF

European only.

@Srpv

Gladiators are European, Italy is in Europe

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

With that Superman post up, I should probably note that I know Hulk is past the 2 week mark and I'm technically out with the character. But I intend to resume him when this introductory arc for Superman is finished. But he'll probably be on the bench for a bit.

For those who are also past the two week mark, most of you have given prior notice and I've made a note of it. As a result, you're all safe for a few more weeks. But by mid-September, I'm gonna have to start singling people out. Which I hate to do, but it's nessescary. Even if I'm on that list too, it's one of those things that has to be enforced.

Just try and keep it in mind in the future.

@Master Bruce

I'm back from my work trip now, and will definitely have a post up by the end of the week :)

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

Got another Black Knight post up and reading through the posts I missed now! Just as an FYI from this Saturday I'm going to Sri Lanka for a work trip and won't be back until the following Friday. I'm not sure how much free time I will have while I'm working over there, but I'll try to keep on top of reading everything and if I get a spare moment I'll try and get a post written up!

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

Volume 1 - Beggar Knight

Childhood Memories

---

The arid desert heat drew beads of sweat down Duncan's forehead. He had been awake for a few hours now, sitting outside the small tent the Bedouins had been gracious enough to provide him after the feast. He struggled to sleep the night before, he could only think it was a side effect of being asleep for a thousand years. He wondered if he'd ever have a good nights sleep with this much to catch up on.

He rolled a sleeve up and rubbed his wrist. Omar hadn't held back in their fight, that was certain, he felt like someone had been smashing his forearms with a hammer. He looked up at the sky, he had taken off his chainmail before the feast last night but even his tunic felt too hot in this weather. He wondered how the tribe managed to keep so cool in their long, flowing robes.

People had been beginning to wake up and start their day for a while now, all the while Duncan had been deep in thought, trying to remember as much as he could about his past, if anything at all. Everything still felt like a ghost to him. Faint shimmers of faces and voices appeared in his mind like lightning bolts if he thought hard enough. Nothing substantial though, nothing to grasp onto.

His trance was broken by the approaching Mehdi, that same knowing smile playing on his lips as he carried over a bundle of robes.

"Good morning, Duncan." He spoke. "I hope I am not disturbing you."

"Not at all, Mehdi." Duncan replied, rising to his feet and brushing sand from his legs. "Your people's hospitality has been great, but I really must be on my way, Merlin awaits me."

Mehdi shook his head.

"I'm afraid it's not so simple as that, my friend. Merlin did not just ask us to find you, but also to help you..." He searched for the word. "Acclimatise to the world as it is now. This camp is one thing, but the world beyond it is another." He handed over the stark black robes to Duncan. "Here, put these on. You must be baking in that old tunic."

Duncan nodded, retreating into his tent before emerging resplendent in the fine robes. He smiled at Mehdi, already feeling cooler as the robes worked to combat the heat of the oppressive sun. Mehdi allowed a small chuckle to escape his lips.

"We'll make a Bedouin of you yet, Duncan. Come, Merlin told us you are a great warrior. If you are to fulfill your end of the contract I shall have to teach you how to fire a Jezail."

Mehdi led Duncan to their camels and the two mounted their animals. They rode lazily under the sun for an hour or so, heading in the direction of a few boulders marring the horizon with their presence.

"Mehdi, much has been said about this 'contract' between your tribe and Merlin. What exactly is my end of the deal?"

Mehdi didn't turn to acknowledge his question. He smoothed his moustache against his face.

"All will be revealed later, my friend. For now, let us focus on the task at hand." Duncan nodded, albeit with a hint of suspicion coursing through his veins.

They arrived at the boulders and dismounted, Mehdi sliding two rifles from the saddle of his camel and pointing Duncan to the top of the boulders before moving over to the space far in front of them. He planted a few sticks into the ground and slid a few empty cans on top of the sticks to serve as targets.

Mehdi joined Duncan on top of the boulders, handing him one of the rifles and crouching next to him. Duncan inspected the weapon, not quite understanding what the contraption was.

"This was what you used to kill Ali yesterday. Is it some sort of wizard's staff? I have only seen Merlin conjure such explosions from thin air."

Mehdi smiled.

"A magic of sorts, my friend, but one that requires no wizard to cast. These are our rifles. Unfortunately they are not as advanced as the type you will see in the wider world, but they serve their purpose." He slid the ram rod out from underneath the rifles barrel and instructed Duncan to do the same. "We used these to fight the Ottomans during the second world war. Handy rifles made handier with our knowledge of the land." He unhooked a bag of powder and another of ammo from his belt and placed them inbetween the two. "We load the rifle with these small, metal balls and then fill it with gunpowder. The gun does the rest." He explained, demonstrating just what he had said before resting the rifle against his shoulder and aiming down at the targets he had set up. "Then you just point at your target and squeeze the trigger." In an instant there was a loud bang and the noise of a tin can being hit and flying off it's stick over in the distance.

Duncan almost jumped back at the noise, looking down at the rifle. He'd never been much of an archer, much preferring close-quarters combat, but this device surely could change the tide of many battles. He attempted to copy Mehdi, loading the rifle and firing, but missing completely.

"Keep trying, my friend. No one hits the can on his first try." Duncan nodded, loading the rifle again as he began to speak.

"Mehdi, I can only assume the reason you're teaching me this is because our contract involves bloodshed. I am capable and willing to fulfill my end of the deal if it is for a just and honourable cause, but my only request is a sword. Have you have any idea what happened to my Ebony Blade?"

Mehdi just shook his head. "Merlin had mentioned such an artefact. We combed the desert for days searching for it, but nothing was found. The desert has a funny way of getting such things lost."

Duncan cursed under his breath. "Perhaps it is for the best. Still, I should need a weapon I feel more comfortable with should we be facing danger."

"This can be arranged."

---

Mehdi had made sure to bring Duncan back well before nightfall. The knight had taken to the rifle rather quickly, all things considered. He was no crack shot, but he was managing to at least glance off the cans consistently by the end of their trip. Mehdi had given Duncan the rifle as a gift and promised to speak with the Sheik about arranging an appropriate weapon as soon as possible.

They dismounted as they neared the camp, leading their camels in and tying them outside a nearby tent as they made their way in for dinner. A group of children ran by laughing, play-fighting with some sticks. The sight pierced through Duncan like a blade. He felt a surge of emotion and enlightenment so harsh it almost knocked him off his feet. He could remember—remember something so far back it was like a dream.

Memory 1

Duncan’s vision blurred, and suddenly, he was no longer in the desert but in the lush highlands of Scotland, centuries ago. He was a boy again, no more than eight years old, his small hands clutching a rough-hewn stick as he faced off against his brother, who was a few years older.

The two of them stood on a grassy hill, the wind whipping through their unruly hair as they laughed and swung their makeshift swords. Duncan had taken the role of the villain, his face scrunched up in a mock scowl as he menaced his brother. "You’ll never defeat me, Sir Alasdair!" he cried, trying to deepen his voice to sound more menacing. His brother, playing the hero, grinned and raised his stick high.

"In the name of the King, I shall!" his brother declared, charging at Duncan. Their sticks clashed with a satisfying thwack, and they whirled around each other, giggling and shouting, lost in their game.

The sun began to set, casting a warm golden glow over the landscape, and for a moment, the world was nothing more than this small hill, their laughter, and the thrill of the battle.

"Duncan! Alasdair! Come in, it’s time for supper!" Their mother’s voice carried on the wind, breaking through their game. Duncan’s brother, Alasdair, lowered his stick and grinned at him.

"Looks like the good knight wins this time," he teased with a smile, before turning to run back toward their small cottage at the bottom of the hill.

Duncan laughed, chasing after his brother, the stick forgotten in the grass as he raced down the slope. As they neared the cottage they were met with the familiar sight of smoke curling from the chimney.

Their mother stood in the doorway, her hands on her hips and a smile on her face as she watched her sons approach. Her auburn hair was tied back in a braid.

"Wash up, both of you. Your father will be home soon," she said, ushering them inside. Duncan could feel a surge of excitement at the mention of his father returning. He had been gone longer than usual this time, maybe even a week. He chattered excitedly with his brother, wondering outloud if his father had brought them any trinkets or souvenirs on his travels.

Duncan’s father arrived just as they were sitting down to eat. He was a tall man, with broad shoulders and a rough-hewn face, his dark black hair flecked with grey. He carried an air of rugged strength about him, and Duncan admired him deeply, though he could never quite understand why his father was often away for days at a time. Their parents had never gone too deply into his fathers missions, just telling the boys that a knights duty took him away for days at a time.

"Been a long day on the road." His father said gruffly, patting Duncan on the head as he passed. Duncan noticed the tiredness in his father’s eyes, but also the way his mother’s smile faltered ever so slightly as she glanced at him.

To Duncan, it was a mystery why his mother sometimes seemed worried when his father came home, why she always asked if he was alright, and why his father would only respond with a quiet nod before changing the subject. The two boys were so excited to see him, why wasn't their mother?

The memory faded as quickly as it had come, leaving Duncan with a hollow ache in his chest. He had loved that small, simple life, and though the memory was bittersweet, it brought a smile to his face. He wondered what had become of his family, of Alasdair, and of the parents who had shaped him into the man he had become.

The memory faded as quickly as it had come, leaving Duncan standing beside Mehdi, who noticed the distant look in his eyes. They began to walk toward the large communal tent where dinner would soon be served. The scent of spiced meat and fresh bread filled the air, pulling Duncan back to the present.

Mehdi glanced over at him, his brow furrowing with concern. "You seemed far away just now, Duncan. Is everything alright?"

Duncan hesitated before offering a small smile. "Yes, just… remembering something from long ago. I'm fine."

They continued walking, the lively sounds of the camp around them contrasting sharply with the quiet, haunting echoes of Duncan's past. As they entered the tent, Duncan pushed the memories to the back of his mind, knowing that whatever lay ahead, he would need to stay focused on the present. But the images of the highlands, his family, and that simple, happy time lingered just beneath the surface. He hoped more of his memories would come back soon, he still felt so lost.

Amalgam - Hour of X

Orphan X

---

Laura was mentally beating herself up over the Herald fight. She didn't contribute a whole lot to toppling the big guy, her stealth based approach left too much time for her friends to get hurt when she could've been distracting the big guy in time for Marauder to get the helmet. It's not as if she couldn't recover from anything the big idiot threw her way.

No point in dwelling on it. Next time she'd be in guns blazing if she needed to. Time to move on.

She left her room and made her way to the living room. The news that Raven had been abducted was hitting the team hard. She was a valued member of the team and one Laura had leaned on when she'd first joined up. Not one to show her emotions on her sleeve, Laura kept her mouth shut as she made a coffee and sat on a chair near the couch to watch Gary and Gridlock play their game.