Who: Nimueh What: Plotting the demise of the House of Pendragon (namely Arthur) When: Wednesday afternoon Where: The Isle of the Blessed Warnings: Dark magic paired with murderous intentions?
There had been a time where Nimueh, like Merlin, had had hopes for Arthur. A hope that he could break free of the mold that his father had cast for him. He had the Old Religion, the Old Magic in his blood, after all. He had been born from it, whether he wanted to accept it or not. But Uther's prejudices had been too deeply ingrained in the young prince's mind and the two of them could never be allies. And the fact of the matter was that if Arthur couldn't be brought to her side, well, then she'd just have to get rid of him.
In the depths of a cave on the Isle of the Blessed, Nimueh stood before a basin, watching the images that played across the ripples of water within it. Arthur in the body of his host, Merlin in the body of his. It didn't matter to her that Merlin's host was the brother of hers nor that Arthur's was a distant relation as well. Sally, for all her promise, had been weak, and she fully planned to take advantage of the young woman's absence.
An illness, she mused, decidedly of the fatal sort, would be the best route to take. Summoning a wraith would be too obvious. They might suspect that she was responsible for it, but there would be no way to directly tie it to her. She had already gathered together a selection of herbs, all that was left to do was to mix them together and cast the enchantment.
Nimueh did this with care, knowing perfectly well that even the slightest mistake could have far reaching effects. As soon as the herbs had been grounded into a fine powder, she poured it into the Cup of Life and proceeded to murmur the necessary incantation. A satisfied smirk played on her lips as she then dumped the powder in the basin, causing the image of Arthur within to swirl, mixing with the toxic concoction as it sank to the bottom.