Disclaimer: I don't own PJO, that right belongs to Sir Rick
The sky was dark, the wind was howling, and the forest was cloaked by misty wisps of fog. Lanterns were lit throughout the forest, illuminating most of the shrubbery, giving off a somewhat eerie glow resembling the glowing eyes of certain monsters. Shadowy figures darted through the night, each one bringing one more light into the forest. To an outsider, it would seem like a city of lights, slowly emerging from the depths of the forest, a sight that would've made it into anyone's top ten things to see before I die list. After a while the forest was alight, lanterns hung on every third tree, the only part left shrouded in darkness was the center of the forest. At the center eight mysterious figures covered with black hooded cloaks stood in a circle formation where the light was the dimmest, each one holding a torn piece of cloth in their left hand, a ruby pommeled dagger on their right. Softly they began chanting,
"England yearns for peace"
All of the lanterns surrounding the forest blinked out.
"War and strife has torn the nation"
The next layer of lanterns disappeared completed.
"Chaos and anarchy threaten to destroy our people"
Most of the lights faded out.
"Whatever the cost, is what we will pay"
Every light then flickered and died.
"Bring to us a king who can change our fates!"
They then stabbed their daggers into the pieces of cloth they held, and subsequently plunged the dagger hilt deep into the earth that their feet. Instantly the ground where the daggers were embedded illuminated with brilliant white light, the light slowly expanding towards the other daggers until it created a shining circle with the daggers acting like makeshift barriers, preventing the light from escaping. The forest whispered softly, its voice causing their cloaks to flutter, the chirping of crickets bring a soothing aura to the eight. The anticipated moment is at hand, in which none of the eight could hold their excitement. The forest's whispering grew louder and louder, and then it stopped. The multiple streams of the forests froze, the crickets ceased their chirping, and the wind stood still. It seemed as if even nature was waiting with a baited breath unsure, but extremely excited of what was to come. Several tenses seconds passed, just when everyone started to relax and lower their guard, it happened. A whirling vortex of wind, ice, and fire spiraled out of the painfully bright hole-circle extending towards the heavens above. As if answering a call, like a servant would for their king, the dark sky flickered with light. A beam not unlike lightning struck down on the circle, blinding the observers for a brief moment. When sight was restored, it seemed as if the entire area went through a scenery change. The forest was gone, as if a giant picked it up like a science fair project and left. Instead where the circle should be, there was a sword which had impaled itself into a rock, in the middle of a vast clearing.
"It's not supposed to happen like that!" One of the hooded people said in shock. "It was supposed to give us a King, not some sword in a rock!"
"Calm down you idiot, maybe this is the way to the rightful king of England." Another hoodie guy said in exasperation. "Come let us take a closer look. As they did, they noticed a plaque right in front of the sword.
"Whoever should pull out this sword is the rightful king of the entirety of England"
Upon seeing these words, most of the hooded people visibly relaxed, and whispered to each other in excitement.
"It might not have worked the way we expected it to, but it still gave us the path to the rightful King of England. Come, we must spread the ne-" The conversing ended suddenly, for the sword in the stone shook violently, and started glowing a violent redish-purple light, which expanded outwards as mist towards the cloak people.
"You have not yet paid the price…"
Panicking, they all scattered into the clearing, only to find out that there was a barrier that halted their movements, and then, the mist took them. As the area was cleared of mist, there was no sign of the cultists anywhere, their legacy stuck in a seemingly harmless sword in the stone. At the moment when the cultists disappeared a band of travelers happened to chance upon the Sword in the Stone. Confused, because the forest that was on the map was not there, they went in for a closer look. They were unable to read the plaque however, due to their nonexistent education, but they knew in their hearts that this sword was significant somehow. Together, they decided to spread the word about The Sword in the Stone to all who would listen. More travelers came, bringing along a variety of people, including blacksmiths, knights, bandits, hermits, scholars, and young boys. The educated people who read the plaque for others to hear, made a discovery that all of England could not ignore. For a forest that would just disappear and for the Sword in the Stone to take its place bearing the words "Whoever should pull out this stone is the rightful king of the entirety of England," led most of the English to believe it was a gift from God. However, many tried to pull the sword unable to do so, to the disappointment of many, which led to the belief that the sword was a heist and left the area deserted. There were always those that would never give up, so every once in a while there would be someone who attempted to pull the sword from its resting spot once more. Out of these people, there was one who stood out the most. Dressed in clothes that would fit a king, he radiated charisma and oddly warmth, which drew in people to watch in baited breath as he attempted the feat which many deemed impossible. He pulled, once, twice, and a third time yet the sword would not budge. During this moment many of the spectators would swear that he glowed a faint yellow aura around this point. Disappointed, they left, including the frustrated man whom wore clothes befitting of a king.
Years past, and yet nobody was able to pull the sword from the stone, and eventually it became a forgotten relic, which none dare speak of anymore. The epitome of false hope, most people were told to avoid the area where it was, not knowing what was in the area. And yet, still, England was without a King. Rich noblemen amassed armies of knights, and pitted them against each other in contests of supremacy to prove their claim as England's King. England's economy slowly dropped as the nobles foolishly squandered their money on foolish King Contests, while the peasants could barely even stay alive. The people needed a king, and they needed one badly. As days past, people began to lose hope, and they lived their lives in despair. Crops failed, taxes left unpaid, England now resembled of a dump.
Somewhere in the country of England, a baby was born with eyes of intense sea green. His mother and father looked at him with pride. He's going to change the world, they thought in their heads.
On the opposite side of the country, another little boy was born. He had a wisp of sandy blonde hair, with the most brilliant blue eyes, as he looked up at the man, and his little child, who was going to raise him as his own. "Someday my boy," he whispered, "I believe you to change our little country for the better."
Medieval Corner:
(Disclaimer) Some legends in this story are made up for the sake of convenience, but most of the legends displayed in the story are corresponding to popular myth.
The Sword in the Stone: The cultists in this story never existed in the real world, in myth and in fact. One of the widely accepted Arthurian myths that covered the Sword of the Stone is as follows; As the King of England, Uther Pendragon laid in his deathbed, Merlin came and took a sword and magically planted it in an anvil. Uther's son was Arthur, and Merlin took him away to be raised by Sir Ector. Then he made it so only Arthur could pull out the sword, and waited for him to come of age.
P.S: Greek and Romans exist in this story. One has appeared already, cookies to whoever finds out the identity of the said Greek/Roman god/demigod.