—PROLOGUE I—

King Uther Pendragon stood atop the giant 500 ft tall stone wall that bordered the northern territories. Left bare to the elements of time had rendered most of it in ruins. Lining the defensive ruins were united the entire British armies. Knights, ironclad in glorious full-plated raiment stood in wait—lances, shields, sword and axe lay idly by as they awaited the arrival of their dreaded foes.

They did not have to wait long.

A rumbling in the ground alerted them of their coming and then in the distance, appearing from behind the mountains were titanic monsters that resembled elephants—only these beasts were a thousand times larger, as big as the mountains themselves and each one looked to house its own castle and tower on their backs. Great tusks swinging boulders on chains to-and-fro, reshaping the landscape as they carved their destructive track.

Uther stood with his younger brother Uryen, the King of Gorre, beside him. The two brothers wore armour in the style of their Roman ancestors, embroidered by gold and jewels; for Uryen, he had emblazed on his chest an ivory unicorn standing upon its hind legs. As for Uther, his crimson dragon motif decorated a spot of his armour in front of his heart, with its great winges outstretched over his shoulder and arm. But there was one brother missing. Uther gritted his teeth as he saw the great, grey-skinned Behemoths encroaching.

"We cannot win this war, brother," Uryen resigned. "Archimedes has already taken the North, my North. He's murdered the High-King and waltzed out of Camelot without a single scratch. His numbers have grown. He will decimate us!"

At first Uther was quiet, he did not seem to react beyond his stoic rage. For twenty years, Man and Mage had all lived in peace. The Druid shamans had divided their duties well and kingship went on smoothly for the most part. But something happened. Mages were meant to serve mankind and not rule it, and that seemed to rub some individuals the wrong way.

It began with murder…

"They killed Ambrosius, Uryen." Uther replied to him. He seemed even more angry as though just saying it hurt. "They killed our brother. They killed him like he was a louse and I will not stand for it now…I cannot, brother!"

All of this bloodshed began in the cold north, past Hadrian's Wall, in Uryen's kingdom. Violent protests against the destruction of an old pagan temples gave rise to rioting, a full-blown revolt was inevitable.

Sir Bedivere came up to them. He was also iron-clad in armour, baring his liege-lord Uther's colours. "My kings. Our scouting parties have revealed that Archimedes has hidden himself within the last Behemoth at the rear. He has his conspirators with him, performing the ritual that we're assuming keeps the creatures in their control." The great knight then offered Uther a beautiful sword, one that he was all too familiar with. Excalibur. "A final gift from an old friend."

Uther a solemn smile appeared as he nodded, accepting the weapon like itself was an old friend and moved to follow Bedivere to the front of the gathered army. He stopped short, taking the golden crown from his head and handing it to Uryen. "Hold the line, brother," he said. "Hold it steady."

The king and his personal knights rode their horses along the edge of the wall, anticipation for where the mammoths would strike through. They rode for a few minutes as the behemoths did the same until they reached where the wall passed Carlisle but it was too late. The beasts tore through the wall like paper, and the dark mages on board cast their destructive spells that disintegrated every knight not quick enough to fall behind their shields.

The knights got off their horses and went to work. With their shields enchanted to deflect spells, they started pushing offensives back at their casters. Uther stayed at the back, looking and waiting to see Archimedes' black tower standing brazenly on the back of the largest Behemoth marching behind the convoy.

A faint smile returned to Uther's bearded face as he took his kite shield from his horse and advanced.

One of the monsters stopped at the wall for just a few seconds, enough time for the fortress on its back to expel eighty bear-skinned berserkers from its confines and onto the wall itself.

The Berserkers were tough and ruthless. Armed with axes and swords and hammers, and completely unafraid of death they descended upon his thirty knights like ants. They were hulking masses of muscle and rage, as big as two of his knights put together and, in the end, it did indeed take two to bring just one down.

Sir Bedivere led the remaining knights onwards, slaying as many of them as they could while Uther made his approach. With his shield in one hand, one-handed axe in the other, he moved with swift footing. When a berserker charged at him, Uther dodged and slashed at them with his axe sending them to Bedivere who finished the job.

Finally, the king got to the edge where the monstrous creature bulled through Hadrian's Wall. Uther abandoned his shield and after putting his axe onto his belt leaped off of the wall, catching the mesh on the underside of the creature with barely the skin of his teeth. Then, he began to climb.

It was like any other castle rooted on the land, save that this one appeared to be made entirely out of some sort of black stones that seemed almost to suck the light out of everything. Uther continued to climb until he made it inside.

It did not take him long to find the main hall where he found a hundred mages, draped in white ceremonial robes and seated in concentric circles around a singular figure. Archimedes.

Uther readied himself but no sooner did he draw his axe did he see it begin to burn, as did some of the outer layers of his armour. Uther growled and swung his weapon onto the floor beside him. He eyed the older man at the centre of the room, all dressed in white and gold and sporting a crown of stag antlers, anger and rage within himself boiling to a top. Ambrosius was a good man, a great king. The realm flourished with his rule—he was fair in his justice yet never fell short of compassion. He was also wise and considered closely the opinions of those closest to him.

Over-all, Archimedes murdered his beloved brother in cold blood. Without remorse, without honour and now sought to conquer their kingdoms and plunge the land that they had worked so hard to liberate into further chaos.

The king of the southern lands finally drew out the legendary sword bequeathed to him. At first it was just like any other sword—its blade shined with the distinct markings of Damascus Steel, and it was made to be held by two hands. Uther held it thusly and immediately he felt the surge of power envelope him. That was what Excalibur was…the Sword of Power…

Magic was surging from Archimedes' chanting voice like waves, setting alight more pieces of his armour. Luckily for Uther, the sword kept the effects of the magic at bay as he approached. He wondered if the dark mage felt fear, because if he did, he was good at hiding it. The mage's eyes were glowing a bright bluish-white hue, as Uther's did whenever he held Excalibur with two hands.

Once he had gotten past the circle of mages, standing over their leader, Uther held the sword over his shoulder. "It ends here!"

Suddenly the dark mage began to smirk. "It begins here!" his voice was crass and unpleasant. What had once been a strong and noble man, was reduced to a frail, yet malicious beast.

Final words by a mad man, Uther Pendragon thought. The King of the lands from Mercia to the sea would have felt some semblance of pity for him, were it not for the atrocities that bore his blood, and with the highest conviction, swung true the Sword of Power and liberated the dark mage's body from the tyranny of his head.

On que the magic holding all of Archimedes' war machines began to shatter and fail. The Behemoths were turning to stone and the castles were beginning to crumble.

Outside on the wall, Sir Bedivere and the other knights had just finished dispatching the berserkers, were left in awe as the enemy was reduced to rubble. The rebel mages inside had perished, trapped in the castle which had all but turned back to stone and rocks.

In the end they beheld their king and friend, Uther Pendragon, standing on the opposite side of the crumbled wall, Excalibur in one hand and the head of the despotic mage who was still wearing his horned crown in the other.

…

—KING ARTHUR—

…

AUTHOR'S NOTE: In the movie, I loved the prologue with Eric Bana's Uther. It was bad-ass and oozed epicness worthy of high-fantasy. The battle, the music, the visuals, everything just clicked together well.