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Waking up is a gradual process for you. The sudden raid by the Wyvern in the darkest part of the night, followed by the most harrowing events ever inflicted on your brief life, is hard to digest. A few hours of tortured sleep isn't enough to wash away the impact it had on you mentally and physically, but you must awaken. Your once-dead but now-living body can't take another minute of idleness. And besides, there's a feast to attend tonight.
Ugh, you fell asleep wearing sweaty gym clothes. Water soaks part of it; the ice pin created this morning has long since melted away. The smell of sweat, blood, and smoke makes a bouquet that roils the stomach. The servants need to prepare a bath, and you are about to call out to them when a voice suddenly makes itself known.
"Hail, gatherer of honor! Tis time to declare thy proud title to all in Avalon." A voice like stone grinding against iron rings in your ear. You jump out of your rough bed with a start, spear ready to defend, only to realize who the intruder in your room is.
Dread Agreste, Herald of Camelot, has deemed it time to show himself. He stands in the middle of the bedroom like a statue, not even batting an eye at your armed state. The last time you saw him was... was... counting the days; it's been 12 days since your fateful arrival in Avalon. Or rather, it's been 11 days since you became King of Camelot and took power. You've been keeping track of the days assiduously.
What is this about your title? It is a puzzling statement from the stone man; he moves out of your line of sight to reveal what lies directly behind him. On the battered round table rests a brass rotary phone so well polished that it sparkles in the sunlight. It is an incongruous token of technology in this archaic white castle.
"Are you telling me to make a phone call? To who?!"
"Did you not hear me the first time? Hm, recall your first night on the twin isles of Logres. Do ye not recall the strange messages during the night when ye rested on the stones of Avalon? They had sent their welcome to thee. And now, it is time to add thy illustrious name to the rolls. It is time to declare proudly who you are to thy fellow Lost Children gone widdershin."
With a wave of his slate gray hand, the brass telephone resting on the table floats off and towards where you stand. Your mind races as you take in this unexpected turn of events.
"Tell me, Herald. Why now? Why, after so many days since my arrival in Avalon?" You ask the Herald and dread the answer when you see a smile spread on the craggy face of the Spriggan, but smiles can be faked. From your experience reading people, the thing to look out for is the eyes. And the eyes of the Herald are radiating with pleasure.
