This page presents a list of the characters in Le Morte D’Arthur that will be available for personal representation. The basic idea is that patrons who contribute to my work on Patreon (see the page at https://www.patreon.com/ChrisCrawford) will be given the opportunity to have themselves drawn as characters showing up in the storyworld. I’ll be making use of artists on Fiverr.com who draw a face from a photograph. Here are a few examples of their kind of work:
However, they’ll not simply make a drawing of your face; instead, they’ll transform your image from a 21st century civilized person to a 6th century semi-barbarian. Here are three of the first efforts in this direction:
My real goal is to get facial drawings in the style of Leonardo Da Vinci’s sketches or those of Greuze:
You will have veto power over your representation in Le Morte D’Arthur, but I cannot guarantee that the artist’s result will be quite as flattering as you might wish. After all, we’re not talking about making you look like a Hollywood star; we’re talking about making you look something like this:
Here’s how they treated my photo:
You will be able to choose your character, but priority goes in order of making your contribution commitment. Here is a list of the characters. For each one, I provide a short description and the number of times that the character’s image will appear in the storyworld.
I’m still working on this, so I expect to increase the number of iamges of Sagramore and Kaye. The yellow highlighting indicates “kinglets” — the people who in other versions of the Arthurian legends are called “knights”.
Here’s the list of links to the pages dedicated to each of these characters:
Mordred
Only people with a particularly wicked sense of humor will want to be Mordred. Mordred is the bad guy. He is the illegitimate son of Arthur and lusts after the throne. His primary purpose in life, then, is to unseat Arthur so that he can grab the throne. But he can’t do this in TOO underhanded a manner; he has to maintain some semblance of propriety. He’ll just have to declare a revolt against Arthur when he can recruit enough dissatisfied kinglets to his cause. That will take a while and a lot of effort.
Since Mordred is the bad guy, he is not going to be represented as a square-jawed, handsome devil. If anybody takes his role, their face will be drawn to look more sinister.
But if you rather like the idea of being the heavy, this is your golden opportunity! Moreover, you get as much screen exposure as Guenevere or Lancelot!
Here’s some representative text from the storyworld giving you an idea of Mordred’s personality:
"Old Yanikk died yesterday. The funeral is tomorrow. We will both go.”
Guenevere doesn’t leave you much wiggle-room, but you’re not averse to attending Yanikk’s funeral. You’ve known him for decades; he served in the army and threw a mean spear. He saved your life once when a Saxon was about to shove his seaxe into your back. Yanikk heaved a spear from 20 feet away and nailed that sucker. You asked him afterwards how he was sure he wouldn’t have hit you, to which he replied with a wicked grin "I wasn’t!”
Yanikk was a big, hulking fellow, quite intimidating on the battlefield. Sadly, he was a bit of a load for his horse, and was always the last guy in the line. When you all charged at the Saxons, his poor horse struggled to keep up with the others. But when it came down to hand-to-hand fighting, he’d just shove people out of his way with his shield. Any Saxon foolish enough to stand his ground would inevitably end up on the ground. They would stay well out of reach of his spear and try to get behind him the way that dogs attack a bear. That tactic might have worked if there weren’t other Britons to occupy them.
Yanikk had a big bushy beard that he knotted together at the bottom. He wore a badly-made leather cap, more like a helmet in shape but worthless in combat. It had a loose piece that flapped about when he was fighting. He never bothered washing the blood off it, so it had ugly black splotches.
You run into Lancelot and Sagramore at the funeral; the three of you share war stories about Yanikk. Each one of you has a great story to tell about Yanikk’s exploits; Lancelot mentions that Yanikk saved his life once in battle.
"You, too?" you exclaim. "He saved my life, too!”
"I’m not sure that what happened was quite what he planned; he tripped and fell onto two Saxons who were flanking me; that gave me the few seconds I needed to drive off some other guys; then I finished the two guys on the ground and helped Yanikk up.”
The three of you roar with laughter.
"Yeah, Yanikk was a good fellow. I’ll miss him. " Sagramore says.
Mordred appears. "So, one more of the old guard passes on. It’s a shame, isn’t it? I suppose that’s the way of things—the old give way to young, and life gets on just fine without them." Mordred’s voice has taken an icy tone, and he is staring at you coldly. Lancelot and Sagramore are agape at Mordred’s insolence."
Tristram
This is the youngest of the kinglets, having inherited his domain from his recently deceased father. Like any twenty-something, Tristram is still figuring out who he really is, and is uncertain about almost everything. He also lacks experience and has absolutely no sense of the trickier turns of political maneuvering. He wants to do “the right thing”, if only he can figure out what that is. He’s easily manipulated by other kinglets.
Here’s a short encounter in which Tristram shows up:
"Tristram shows up with a small entourage. "I've got a problem that I hope you can help me with" he explains.
You bring him into the hall and everybody sits down; Maben brings some beer and bread for everybody.
"This guy here is my problem" Tristram says, pointing out one of his men. "He tried to rape a young girl but her screams frightened him away. Ultimately, no harm was done, but I can't just let him go. I don't know what to do with him.”
"What do you want me to do, Tristram?” you ask.
"Tell me what I should do with this fellow. Judge him and impose a sentence.",
Bors
Bors is the second-youngest of the kinglets. He has little combat experience; this encounter describes how Bors behaves as his troop, accompanied by Arthur, approaches a Saxon hamlet:
Your little group is travelling through a thick forest. You cross a creek and climb a short but steep rise; from the top you can see parts of a narrow valley. You wait for all the men to reach the top, then announce, "Saxon territory”.
The group is silent; the men are obviously cowed by the presence of the enemy. Actually, there probably aren't any Saxons within miles of this point. This valley is too small to support a village big enough to be able to erect the stockade necessary for a proper defense.
Bors speaks up: "Do you see that herd of deer grazing at the far end of the valley? They're about half a mile to our southeast. They're all head down, eating grass. None of them are looking around. No Saxons anywhere near there.”
You turn in your saddle to look at Bors in some surprise. This young fellow is smart. Yes, deer are skittish, and they wouldn't be grazing so peacefully if they could smell anybody. It won't be long before they catch your scent and start raising their heads, looking about nervously. You make a mental note: Bors is hunting-smart. He and his people are all hunters because they don't have good lands for farming.
You decide to test him. "How do you think we should proceed?”
He doesn't hesitate. "We don't want to go near those deer; they'll smell us and move away, alerting anybody else to our presence. We certainly can't go right through the valley. We want to stay on the crest of this ridge and follow it up to the end of the valley.”
"Good answer. You take the lead.”
Bors is unfazed. Now that he's thinking like a hunter instead of a soldier, his confidence has returned. He leads the troop up the ridgeline, with you behind him and his men stretched out behind you. You watch him closely. He's alert and watchful, his head snapping back and forth from right to left as he monitors his surroundings. Several times he stops and cranes to examine something more closely.
He stops and motions you to come beside him, then points. "See that big elm on the other side of the valley? Look to the trees behind and to its left; do you see motion among them?”
You stare. Dochyell deeinvey, the kid has good eyes. You can barely make out the trees he's referring to, much less anything between them. This is embarrassing.
"Yes!" he hisses."There definitely are people in there!" He cups his hands to his ears and slowly sweeps his head back and forth in the general direction of the target. "I can hear human voices.”
"Good", you whisper. "Now, how do you propose we approach them? If we continue along the ridgeline, we'll lose sight of them where it descends behind that parallel ridge. Do you think we should cross to the parallel ridge?" Your tone of voice makes it clear that you are asking the question as a teacher would ask a student.
Bors grasps your meaning. "We should continue on this course for another hundred yards, then descend to the saddle between the two ridges. I can dismount and walk to the top of that ridge and check their position from a hiding place. I can decide our course from there.”
You nod your head approvingly. "Good plan. Proceed.”
Bors leads the troop as he proposed, then climbs the little rise. You watch him closely as he scouts the situation. After just a moment, he clambers back down the slope.
"I see our approach path, but at some point we'll probably be seen and you'll have to make a snap judgement as to whether we should attack or retreat. Do I have your permission to proceed?”
You like the sound of this young fellow; he's handling the situation better than some of the older kinglets would. You nod encouragingly. Bors walks down the line of men, whispering the plan to each one. You can see each man stiffen when he realizes that we'll probably be going into combat in a few minutes. With everybody briefed, Bors runs back to the head of the column, mounts his horse, and moves forward.
After only a hundred yards, you lose the cover of the small rise; you're still among the trees but you can occasionally make out men moving around just a few hundred yards away. You're still circling around, remaining in the forest and avoiding the open ground between you and the Saxons. It won't be long now.
Bors halts and motions for you to come up to him. "You can see how close we are now. Should we form up in parallel and charge from here or stay in line and get as close as we can before charging?"
Galahad
Galahad is ridiculously virtuous; it’s difficult to imagine how a man this serious about virtue could have survived so long. Maybe it’s because he’s such a good fighter. He truly cares about his men and caters to their needs assiduously. Once an enemy is beaten, Galahad displays astounding mercy. He takes no privileges of his rank and lives, eats, and shivers just like they do. Here’s a scene from the storyworld:
The villagers slaughter a sheep and serve up a feast in gratitude for saving them. Everybody has a roaring good time and then you all retire to different homes to sleep; you notice a young woman leading a gallant away with a big smile on her face; he'll be getting a special reward tonight, and boasting about it to his envious comrades tomorrow.
You wake up the next morning after a sound slumber and wander outside. Off in the meadow you espy Galahad sitting alone. Curious, you approach and sit down in the grass beside him. He plucks a blade of grass and contemplates it at length, turning it over in his hand.
"I killed six men yesterday." he says quietly.
"You did well" you reply.
Galahad's eyes fix on you sharply, then he looks back at the grass. "One of them was laughing uproariously, as if it were some sort of game. I slashed his neck with my sword.” He drops the blade of grass and holds his hand forward, fingers down. A passing butterfly alights on the back of his hand and stands quietly.
Gawaine
Gawaine is one of the old hands; he, Lancelot, Arthur, and Kaye comprise the core team of the domain. They have fought together for decades. His loyalty is unquestionable. Here’s Gawain a a celebratory feast:
Mordred's insolence in offering a toast shocked everybody. As a young kinglet, he should have waited for the senior kinglets to offer their toasts. As the next most senior kinglet after Kaye, it is Gawaine's turn to propose a toast. He stands, looking rather uncomfortable. It's obvious that Gawaine doesn't like being the center of attention. A lion on the battlefield, Gawaine is a quivering mouse at the drinking table. He looks around the table nervously, then looks at you. You smile and nod encouragingly.
He takes a deep breath. "Well..." but is interrupted when somebody burps loudly. The assembled worthies all guffaw, and Gawaine again looks abashed. The laughing fades, and Gawaine raises his cup.
"I would like to toast Galahad, the purest and most virtuous of us. I stand in awe of Galahad's goodness. I have never once seen him lose his temper; even in battle he demonstrates his good will towards all. I once saw him cut down a Saxon warrior from his horse, dismount, and walk over to the badly wounded man lying on the ground. He knelt down beside the Saxon, smiled reassuringly at him, and gently cut the man's throat to end his suffering. I have never seen such an act of charity in the middle of a ferocious fight.”
"On another occasion, we were riding home after beating back a Saxon raid. They had burned a little hamlet; a small group of survivors were straggling down a trail to find refuge. It was cold and raining. There was an old man among them, wearing only a torn tunic, shivering mightily. Galahad stopped, cut his cloak in half with his sword, and gave the half to the old man. How many of us, faced with a twenty-mile ride home in the cold rain, would have been so generous?”
"I went to visit Galahad at his home once. I couldn't find the place and had to ask for directions at a farmstead. It turned out that I had already passed Galahad's hall and failed to recognize it because it looks like a regular farmer's barn. It has no decorations, nothing special to mark it as a kinglet's hall. It's plain and simple, no better than a peasant's home. Galahad and his wife Aderyn sleep in a side stall just like everybody else. Aderyn does most of the cooking for the entire household. The clothes Galahad and Aderyn wear are no better than the clothing of everybody else in the household.”
"I could not live up to the standards of virtue that Galahad lives by. He is a paragon of virtue. I raise my cup to Galahad!"
Brennus
Kaye
Kaye is Arthur’s older half-brother; they were raised together. Kaye lacks the heart of a soldier; his inclinations run toward the epicurean. He would much rather stay home, eating good food and sleeping in a proper bed. He was a decent soldier in earlier days, but with age he has gained too much weight and slowed down. He’s quite a burden to any horse condemned to carry him. He believes that, after decades of fighting, he deserves to end his days in relative comfort. Here’s an example of Kaye’s behavior:
You get up an hour before sunrise and kick everybody awake. The katerfaks are in their saddles in ten minutes, munching on their bread for breakfast. But Kaye's men mill about uselessly. Kaye himself insists on eating his breakfast sitting by the fire -- he needs to warm his body, he says. His other men join him. You pace and fume. The katerfaks dismount but remain by their mounts; they're ready for anything.
Kaye eventually yields to your demands and gathers his things. Somehow he manages to stretch the task of rolling up his blanket and stowing his bag into five minutes. His men are only a little faster. Kaye is so fat that he requires help from his men to climb onto his horse. You are shaking your head in dismay. The column finally begins moving shortly before sunrise.
The first hour goes well, and your hopes rise. You've already reached the top of the ridge and are ready to start the trip down the ridge and up the valley to the village. Looking back, you are startled to see that Kaye's men aren't in line; they spread out while climbing the ridge, each man plotting his own best course. Some of his men are a hundred yards to the north of you. You shake your head in dismay; these idiots are certain to ruin everything.
Somebody shouts; you can't see the source, but two of Kaye's men who are further north turn and trot towards you. Reaching you, they announce that they saw half a dozen Saxons.
"Did they see you?" you ask, dreading the answer you expect.
"Yes, Arthur, they all took off running! We sure scared them!”
"And you didn't chase them down and kill them all?!?!?" you ask, barely restraining your anger.
"Uh, no, Arthur. There were six of them and only two of us.”
Again you struggle to keep from exploding. Two armed, mounted men are afraid of six men on foot armed with little more than knives.
The Greek
Rhiannon
Sagramore
Sagramore is an experienced fighter and performs well in a fight. His most striking trait is his unsociability. He runs his domain as if it were a machine, and has little patience with the inevitable foibles of his people. He’s not mean or vicious, but neither is he understanding or caring. Here’s Sagramore presenting a complaint to Arthur:
Sagramore comes to complain about Kaye. "His people keep trespassing into my lands, bringing their sheep and cattle to graze. I've warned them but they just keep coming.”
"Is this happening along that empty stretch of the border between the Afen River and the Empty Lands?" you ask.
"Exactly. Most of the border follows the Afen River, but where the river turns north, the border continues east to the Empty Lands.”
"That border isn't marked; there's no way for people to know where it is. No wonder there's confusion.”
"You have to fix this mess, Arthur.”
"I could move the border to follow the Afen River, but that would transfer some of your land to Kaye. Is that what you want?”
"There's a smaller branch heading southeast from the Afen; the locals call it "Semnit". You could move the border to there.”
"Yes, I know that river. That change would transfer a lot more of Kaye's land to you.”
"It's the only way to have a clear border. If you transfer my land to Kaye, then he has to defend that finger of land from Saxon incursions. You know he won't do that. The Saxons will sneak through his lands to raid my people. It wouldn't be fair to his people."
Uptar
Aneirin
Argentius
Jodoc
Maldwin
Siarl
Brocchus
Duless
Illtud
Judikael
Litullus
Maben
Macsen
Mared
Mugal
Padrig