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| June 2008 | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Mar 23 2010, 07:18 PM (3,695 Views) | |
| golden_trillium | Mar 29 2010, 10:13 PM Post #226 |
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Author: Lancelot Date: Mon Jun 23, 2008 6:37 pm Lancelot Bors grumped at Lancelot, something about not being put out of action yet. Lancelot rolled his eyes dramatically, and turned his back on the other Sarmatian. "No style. None at all," he spoke seemingly to himself, but smiled at Saorise with all the charm he could muster when he noticed she was looking at him.
Lancelot spoke to Dagonet quietly, and turned to go - but stopped and cocked a thick eyebrow at the redhead laying next to Dagonet. "And so I manage to survive, day after annoying day, while certain Roman commanders allow Woad lovelies to take advantage of their kindness - if you call that 'nice,' I'd rather be known as a complete and utter bastard." He winked at her once more, and then, slinging his leathers over his shoulder and easily hefting his swords, turned and left the infirmary. As he exited, his thoughts were on Saoirse briefly. He'd known her for a time, yes, but he didn't really know her. Oh, not in the biblical sense as Arthur would say - what in the fuck did that really mean, anyway? - but he found her face stayed in his memory longer than he expected. Perhaps he'd have to discuss some things with her later - considering the person he usually spoke to was incapacitated and being a complete ass. Really. Lancelot frowned as his thoughts turned yet again to Arthur and the reasons behind the other man's injury. You weren't there, ap Ban. You didn't do your job; you left him to the fates, and the gods know that the fates are not kind to those in service of Mars. Or Mithras. Or whomever rules this bloody, forsaken land. Had Arthur seen Darya again? What in the world would he say to her - what would the woman think of Lancelot for allowing his commander to be hurt? And what would Arthur have to say about the damnable Optio - The other man's large hand barely covered his wound; Lancelot could still see the blood seeping through the makeshift bandage he'd made out of his own tunic as they rode as fast as they were able back to Badon - the Saxons defeated, another good knight lost in the name of victory. Another day of surviving for Lancelot - alone. Without much but his steel and a now cold bed to fill his thoughts. Perhaps Saoirse would know of a girl he could use to forget about Ar-
The fuck? Lancelot instantly transformed from normal every day - if exhausted and wavering - man to Sarmatian cavalryman, Arthur Castus' second and dangerous 'eejit' to be around at the panicked sound in the centurion's voice. He dropped the trousers he'd been carrying on top of an abandoned wine barrel - he figured no one would steal pants - and slid his double blades onto his back in one fluid motion. That's better. He approached the blustery Roman and tapped his shoulder. "What's all the kerfuffle, my fine friend? Lost someone important, have we?" |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 29 2010, 10:14 PM Post #227 |
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Author: golden_trillium Date: Mon Jun 23, 2008 6:48 pm Tristan
Tristan didn’t like this at all. He was uneasy, and he could sense that Barbattus, who had joined them in the hut, leaving Mordred to watch the prisoner, was, too. The air of the camp was oppressive in the strange emptiness of it, in the unexplained and unexplainable presence of one dead and four tied-up Woads. No one from the fort had done this- and Tristan doubted that Merlin had, either. So that meant there was some other enemy out there, someone as yet unknown, and yet the Optio, far from really appreciating this, seemed merely to be gloating over the fact that he now had several prisoners at his mercy. Tristan could practically taste the smugness of the man, the delight in his own superior position, and it was not pleasing to him- they should be more cautious, and they should probably get away. But that didn’t mean Tristan would not obey- in fact, the sooner they took care of things here, the sooner they would leave. And a Woad life was nothing to Tristan. His face expressionless, his movements efficient and deadly, the scout sliced the blade of his knife across the throat of the man in front of him, impassively ignoring the gurgling noise he made, the muffled surprised gasps of the others, and the flow of hot blood over his hands. It didn’t signify- death was nothing, and the death of a Woad even less. One more in revenge for Percival. That was the only way worth thinking about it. The body of the dead Woad slumped sideways to the hut’s dirt floor, and Tristan kicked a trailing foot away from him and cut the gag off the next man, his movements mechanical, but his eyes burning and all within him tense with alertness. Something would happen- it just had to. |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 29 2010, 10:16 PM Post #228 |
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Author: linnet Date: Mon Jun 23, 2008 8:06 pm Mother Lavinia
“You’re right. There aren’t any rich ladies around here,” Lavinia acknowledged. “But of there were, that’s how they’d walk. So if you ever get rich, you’ll know what to do.” Lavinia talked to the little girl as if they were old acquaintances. Being with the child drained the sourness right out of the nun. The old woman was cautiously surprised that Fleur seemed to be comfortable with her. Based on experience, she’d have expected the youngster to shy away and seek a quick escape from her company. Lavinia realized as soon as she’d said it that the chances of Fleur ever becoming rich were next to nothing. Orphans like Fleur and her sister, who had no one to take them in, were lucky to even survive, let alone live happy lives – not that Lavinia equated happy with rich. The trusting look on the child’s precious face made the nun doubly determined to arrange the best possible circumstances for the girls. Just as soon as she and Fleur did the inventory task at hand. Once in her office, Lavinia retrieved a small ledger and writing quill. She also grabbed a smooth flatly rounded stone from her desktop. The stone fit easily in one’s palm and she used it to hold papers in place.
Lavinia chuckled. “Pretty much, Fleur,” she answered. It was true. Although she had a bare bones room in the Roman quarters, the head of the infirmary spent little time there. Most nights she would catch what sleep she could in one of the empty patient rooms. All her important papers and documents, her books and records were here in her office, her true retreat from the chaos that the infirmary could become. “Now we’re ready for the inventory,” Lavinia said. She and Fleur walked the short distance to Lavinia’s private storage room, where she had earlier gotten the distilled spirits for Bors. The door that she opened let in enough light to see the shelves stacked with supplies. “See that bottom shelf, Fleur?” She pointed to an area just inches above the wooden floor. “I can get down there, but I’m not sure my creaky old bones would ever get me back up. If you crawl down on that shelf and count out for me how many rolls of bandages there are, we can have this inventory all finished properly.” Lavinia didn’t know if Fleur would be willing to tackle the chore or not. She thought that she’d better lay the hazards on the line right up front before sending the child on the mission. “Take this rock with you. I think there might be some spiders down there. You can squash them with the rock.” Lavinia wasn’t above carrying the rock herself for that very purpose when rummaging around in dark closets. |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 29 2010, 10:17 PM Post #229 |
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Author: lady ione Date: Mon Jun 23, 2008 8:18 pm Vanora
Vanora raised an eyebrow at the news of a new soldier at the fort, though the circumstances surrounding the loss of the new soldier's old outfit at the hands of the Saxon's made her feel for him. She took two mugs and filled them with ale and handed them to the waiting wench before turning back to Gawain and Neeve. She waited to see Neeve's reaction to the fact that this soldier knew a bit of skills a medicus would have....which to Vanora was a bit strange, but this Brendyn fellow had appearently done a good job setting Gawain's arm. "Can't wait to meet this Brendyn." That was all she said as she returned to what he was telling Neeve. Vanora could only give a knowing nod. It was true, whether other healers wanted to believe it or not, but the nun's had little love for the Sarmatians. It was rare that a knight would even consider going to the infirmary unless they had no other choice.... Vanora was surprised that Bors had gone there, but then, his leg had not looked that great. She remained quiet while Gawain talked to Neeve, nodding every once in a while, and smiling. After all of the bad things that had happened, she relished the conversation....
Vanora had to chuckle a bit concerning the healer's reply. Lavina was not known for her bedside manners, and she had heard that the nun could be a bit brusque at times. She cocked her head to one side and said, "Doesn't hurt to have a second opinion, Gawain...at least if it bothers you at all.'' Vanora liked Neeve simply because she was a thorough healer, one who made sure things were done right the first time....plus all eight of her children liked Neeve as well.... At that moment, a noise across the tavern room broke her thoughts, and followed Neeve's gaze to where young Galahad was appearently drunk and lying on the floor with Alina trying to assisst the knight. Vanora shook her head wondering what Gawain would do as the two were friends. What Gawain did next sort of surprised the red head, and she looked from Gawain to Neeve...
Turning her gaze from the scene and back to Neeve and Gawain, Vanora nodded, "Oh by all means before it all gets cold...stew is reheatable though and so is the bread...." Canting a gaze over to the area where Galahad, Alina, and now Kolya were, Vanora muttered, 'Wonder how in the hell I am going to take care of this?' Out loud she said, "Best not be late for your appointment Neeve. Thank you for the conversation both of you. Best I have had all day so far..." She gave them both a smile, and watched as they prepared to leave.... |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 29 2010, 10:20 PM Post #230 |
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Author: golden_trillium Date: Mon Jun 23, 2008 9:05 pm Linnesse
“Yes, that sounds good,” Linnesse agreed, turning her face toward Derfel’s shoulder and resting her forehead against him momentarily, taking a deep breath of the scent of him as though she drew strength from it, too. Actually, she did- and she always had. Her arm slipped around his waist, holding him close to her, and she took another deep breath. They could do this- they had to. And she would do her best to get through to Linnette somehow- to help her. She had to remember that her sister was not herself right now- not at all her usual confident, implacable self. “I’m glad you’re here, love. And thank you for agreeing to share, too- I think it will work out for the best,” she murmured, her lips nearly against his neck as she spoke. As she fell silent, though, a shout and some sort of commotion came dimly from the courtyard, and Linnesse tensed and looked up at Derfel anxiously to see what he thought of it. It wasn’t another attack- was it? Linnesse wasn’t sure what to think- and she knew even less what to think when Galahad, making his lurching way out the door, followed closely by the pleading Alina, was suddenly confronted by another man in the tavern doorway- and punched him, full in the face. Linnesse jumped and her arm tightened spasmodically around Derfel’s waist. So now they were to have an attack and a barfight, too? Maybe Linnette had a point. Quintus
“The Woad bitch- the little one. Killed one of my men!” Quintus snarled the words at the First Knight, only half-turning toward him before shouting an order to the handful of men who had gathered- none of them including the two who had been on guard at the dungeon entrance. Where the hell were they? Had the devil girl managed to kill them, too…and make their bodies disappear? “Look for her- search in pairs, she’s dangerous. And where the fuck are the entrance guards?” Quintus got nothing but blank looks from the men- no one seemed to have seen them. When Quintus snarled an impatient encouragement, though, they began to spread out into their search pattern- well, at least until some of them were distracted by the sudden development of a fight on the tavern steps. Had all hell broken loose today? Quintus nearly ground his teeth with frustration, but saw a possible solution to the problem when he recognized the man who had just taken a swing as Galahad. “If you could keep your man from killing anyone, I’d be obliged, Lancelot,” he suggested to the First Knight, his tone as courteous as he could manage under the circumstances. The Sarmatians normally fell totally outside his scope of authority, so it wasn’t quite an order- but if Lancelot could handle that, then Quintus could concentrate on finding the Woad creature without dodging punches and flying bodies. And where the fuck were those men??? Linnette The bar holding the wall hanging was stuck in its brackets. Linnette, having already thrown her clothes into a bag, was now standing on the bed, Gedeon’s saddlebags- of which she could not help but be aware- at her feet, tugging on the bar to try to get it out of its holders, and the thing wouldn’t budge. Of course, it didn’t help that she couldn’t really use her hands as well as she should be able to. The bar was just supposed to lift out of the brackets, though it was a tight fit so that it would be hard to knock loose accidentally, but Linnette had had to stop using her left hand to push up on it after the first try- it was too painful. So there she was, pushing up on the five-feet-long bar with one hand and the other elbow, awkwardly hitched up there to try to provide some extra motive force- and the bar wasn’t going anywhere. She blew out an exasperated breath, blew an errant strand of hair out of her eyes, and took a step backward on the bed, staring at the hanging in frustration. It was a beautiful tapestry, the only thing of value that she had taken for her use from the Villa Rosarum after they had freed it from Rufus- but right now she just wanted it off her wall, and it wasn’t cooperating. At her wits’ end, she stepped forward again and once more, with one hand and her shoulder, this time, tried to push the bar free, without success. |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 29 2010, 10:21 PM Post #231 |
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Author: lady ione Date: Mon Jun 23, 2008 9:23 pm Brendyn Brendyn was really beginning to hate the day. To be honest, he was praying for some excitment, and it came in the sound of a voice shouting that a prisoner had escaped! What the hell had happened? Brendyn did not hesitate,but cast a glance at the servant who looked alarmed. The young soldier dropped the scrub brush and raced out toward the courtyard not far off. Okay, so he smelled like shit, but if no one responded, he'd be needed... Ahead,he saw Quintus and Lancelot. Bren kept his distance, but was now close enough to address them, "sir I heard you call out an alarm. What are your orders?" |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 30 2010, 09:51 PM Post #232 |
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Author: linnet Date: Mon Jun 23, 2008 9:23 pm Juna Nolan and the wild-looking woman and the selected men moved off, back the way they had all come. Juna felt a touch of hope when Merlin didn’t go with them. Instead he hurried back toward her. Maybe the trouble wasn’t as serious as she’d dreaded. Something Nolan could take care of without Merlin putting himself in danger. But as soon as she was able to clearly see his face, her short-lived hope crumbled. Worry filled his eyes, and he was frowning at her. His body was tensed, impatient. She met his eyes and held the contact, her own expression questioning for understanding of what was happening.
The implications didn’t really register with Juna, other than confusion as to why only four men should cause such seeming panic. Even if Neeria was leading them to the village, why couldn’t Nolan’s warriors kill all five and be done with it? But as soon as she thought that, she realized the Romans would look for and avenge those that they killed. The cycle of death would go on. And in their current weakened state, the Woads could conceivably be wiped out completely. “And what will you do?” Juna asked. She didn’t mean how would the situation be met? She meant where would he be? She needed to be reassured that he would stay out of harm, but she knew better than to expect that. She looked at him with sadness and concern. “Don’t let it start,” she said quietly, and moved to lay her forehead gently against his shoulder for a moment. Her words were softly beseeching, both to Merlin, and to the gods who wouldn’t give him respite. |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 30 2010, 09:55 PM Post #233 |
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Author: sabor ice Date: Tue Jun 24, 2008 2:05 am Ash Ash waited at the mouth of the cell as Eala disappeared back inside a moment. His breathing was slightly erratic, shuddering sounds escaping his lips. Only when the girl looked away to collect something did he allow himself a moment to unravel, his features contorting into a mask of agony. The scuffle with the burly soldier had been a brief, unscathed enterprise, yet his re-opened flank wound had not sat in agreement with the strain it had caused him. He was otherwise composed, nothing in his demeanor signifying even a hint of vulnerability. Ash was a seasoned warrior who had no time or patience for weakness. He managed a smirk when Eala revealed the contents of the doll, some sort of knife. Clever, little Eala. Without preamble, the Woad grabbed onto the girl's hand and toted her in the direction he had come.
They had managed to spring back toward the shadows of the wall behind the dungeons before Ash noticed Eala lagging behind. He whirled around, brow puckered in questioning of her sudden reluctance. He slapped his thigh, before throwing her an irritated gesture of his hand. "What are you doing?" he questioned, tossing her a suffering look. Had he not explained inside that they had to hurry? A call to arms in the distance made the man's head snap up in attention, and he growled under his breath. Someone had already discovered Eala had escaped. They were searching, and they were close. It would only be a matter of time before he and the girl were discovered. This delay would be detrimental to their escape if he did not act quickly. "Come!" Ash exclaimed in a hushed tone, ignoring Eala's incoherent protests as he took a firm hold of one of her wrists and forcibly dragged her along toward the side gate. Milan
Milan saw nothing promising of the run-down cottage. Unlike Mari, he could not picture what was beyond his own eyes. He thought logically. He did not dream of the future, of things that could be, not like she could. She carried with her unfailing hope and determination - attributes Milan admired of her even more because he could never truly seem to grasp them himself. Not to mention beyond a roof, a floor, four walls, and a door, Milan could make no sense of what a home was to look like. He had never had a place to call his own, and he certainly had never had a life to share with someone. Everything seemed so surreal. He gave a soft groan as she threw herself into him, fervently wrapping her arms about his waist and peering up at him with soulful brown eyes. He lightly wrapped his arms around her slight form, chuckling softly at her seemingly uncontainable enthusiasm. It pleased Milan to see her smiling, and he would have no part in destroying her excitement with negativity. Nothing made him happier than knowing she was happy. The only problem was that this entire notion about fixing up the cottage for them to live in seemed utterly unattainable on their own. It took time and skill to achieve such things. Time he had, but skill? The young man had never picked up a hammer in his life. He wanted to ask her how they were to go about this, but quickly pressed his lips into a pensive line when he noticed the eagerness for his approval written across her pretty face. How could he possibly be pessimistic when she looked at him like that? He blew out a defeated sigh through his nostrils and nodded once, flashing her an encouraging smile. Removing one hand from her back, he gestured with it palm up to a damaged corner of the room; his other arm wrapped around her shoulders. "Tell...m..me," Milan requested, hoping to fuel her optimism by allowing her to detail to him how the room would someday look. Cáel
Oh, he was in mourning alright, just not for the reasons that were expected of him. Some poor woman had died from Gods knew what, and yet Cáel acted mortally wounded. Such offending news left him feeling a bit sorry for himself, pathetically dragging his carcass in the direction of the infirmary alongside Darya. He did not see the damp Earth below his feet. Instead he saw coins as big as saucers, disappearing one by one as he moved forward. For a moment he considered the hallucination, pausing in mid-step just to see if the saucer-sized coin would remain for the taking should he not step there. It vanished anyway, and the man very nearly choked out a sob, until he remembered he was not without company. Cáel composed himself and wallowed onward, his features somber. He looked a sorry remnant of the man he had been just earlier in the tavern, brow creased with worry lines and eyes distant. There was a commotion of sorts - soldiers yelling and scurrying about - but he paid no mind. The man was pre-occupied doing damage control should he discover the children were deceased as well. He was not in the mood for being an intellectual, and thankfully his current female companion spoke only briefly. "Fleur...and Cassidy..." he replied dismally, glowering. He paused on the steps of the infirmary, turning toward the dark-haired woman. He took one of three finely engraved rings from his hand and placed it in her palm. Even in the course of probable failure, he could not afford to tarnish his false image as a good, generous man, especially if he were to remain longer than planned at this fort. Trust was necessary. "A gift for your troubles. Now, I must go on alone," Cáel told Darya, a weak attempt at a smile playing across his lips. With that, he disappeared inside of the infirmary. Fleur
Fleur really was the perfect student. She listened attentively and took direction well, voiced her curiosities, but never questioned reason. She toddled after Lavinia into another room, filled with shelves stocked high. The little girl's eyes bugged staring all the way up toward the top shelf. Her concentration broke when Lavinia skirted by her, hefting her ledger and paper weight. Fleur glanced between the woman and the bottom shelf as she explained the task at hand. She willingly took the small rock offered by the healer, molding it around in her little hands as she listened to what it's use was. All eagerness to help flooded from the girl's face. Fleur went wide-eyed at Lavinia's suggestion to use the rock to rid offending spiders from the premise of the bottom shelf. "Squash them?!" the blonde gasped, clearly mortified by the very idea. She pouted, disappointed that Lavinia thought so little of the eight-legged creatures. "Poor little things. What'd they ever do to you?" She huffed audibly, handing the rock back to the old healer, before sinking to her hands and knees on the floor. There was no mindfulness of her new dress the way the tyke flopped onto her belly for better view of the bottom shelf. She rested the ball of her chin against one forearm, gesturing with a finger on her other hand to the product she silently counted. Some time later, the girl climbed to her feet and lifted her face proudly at her accomplishment. "Thirty!" she declared. Truthfully, it may have been more, but Fleur knew how to count no higher. "Did I do good, 'Vinia?" Alina
Alina froze. Her lips parted but no words escaped as she stared incredulously at Kolya, who was now standing opposite Galahad between them. Her jaw almost creaked at his implication. His over-confidence was disgusting, and his impeccable timing was beginning to gnaw viciously at her nerves. It was utterly amazing how with but a word or smile Kolya could bring out the worst in Alina. She firmly believed his bravado was aimed simply to irritate her. Palpable tension was rolling off the younger knight's shoulders in waves by this point. The woman gave a start when Galahad unceremoniously lunged for the other man. Kolya caught him when he missed, and for a brief moment it seemed as if the drunkenness might've finally overwhelmed Galahad to a point of relative defenselessness. Alina bravely stepped outside after them, determined to place herself between them to halt anymore foolish advantages, when Galahad abruptly exploded. The healer ducked back in the nick of time, palm against a post, watching with a mortified expression as the two men began to brawl. This wasn't happening. Why was this happening? This wasn't what she had wanted. She had to look away, unable to speculate the brutal scene unraveling before her. She wrapped her arms about her body shaking with dry sobs, as she attempted to hold herself together. The sounds of punches landing and agonized groans was enough to make her feel physically ill. They were acting like savage animals unleashed, and for what? No good would come of this. It was a hopeless situation. "I'm not worth it...please...it's not worth it..." Alina pleaded quietly, shaking her head sadly. |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 30 2010, 09:57 PM Post #234 |
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Author: golden_trillium Date: Tue Jun 24, 2008 7:38 am Merlin
"I don't want to," Merlin murmurred softly, bringing up his hands to lay on Juna's back and comfort her. She was worried- terribly worried, and with reason. His people were in a vulnerable position- but with the luck of the Gods they could get out of it. He hoped. "I'm going to take a smaller group and follow Nolan's- it's possible they just want to negotiate. We'll find out." Merlin kept his tone firm, trying to be reassuring. He was taking all the necessary steps to keep everyone safe- he was doing all he could. And no one knew what the four riders wanted, yet. With such a small group, it was clearly not an all-out attack- yet. Merlin took a step backwards so that he could look into Juna's eyes, and slid his hands to her shoulders in a stern, rather paternal gesture. "You should get to safety," he told her, in a voice that brooked no argument. |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 30 2010, 09:58 PM Post #235 |
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Author: Lancelot Date: Tue Jun 24, 2008 7:43 am Lancelot The first knight grinned; his teeth flashing white through the grit on his face. He touched his jacket pocket to make sure his 'new' dirk was there - not that he'd use a knife on fucking Galahad, but....well, only if he had to. Perhaps just to clonk the pup on the head with. He laughed to himself as he watched the young knight brawl with the older one. Galahad stood no chance.
Lancelot had no idea how the centurion knew his name - he'd never spoken to him - but then again, he was the First Knight. He nodded and bowed deeply to the Roman - his face was still stretched in a grin - and without a word, turned to the tavern and the scene going on there. "Galahad! Pretending you can win a match again!" he shouted as he approached where the two men were scuffling. He took note of the girl that was usually with Galahad hiding behind a post; her expression was pure misery and for a moment, Lancelot felt a flash of anger as he wondered just who else in this shit hole was having a bad day. Or a bad life, as his case may be. "Lady - you'd best move," he murmured, touching her arm. "Don't get in the way of flailing idiotic Sarmatians - they'll take you down just as fast as you can say - Pup! Stop!" He sighed, his hand held out, and put himself in the way of the others, his body tense and ready for whatever he'd have to do to stop the fight. The older Sarmatian....Kolya, it was, seemed to be handling himself easily, but Galahad was drunk and unless you were Lancelot, it wasn't easy to fight while in your cups. "Galahad - what in the bloody fuck are you doing - " Despite his exhaustion and anger and worry about Arthur Arthur Arthur bloody Arthur - always and forever Arthur and everything else, Lancelot found his smile did not go away. There was not much better than a good brawl for clearing the head, even if one did not start it. One could try and finish it, after all. |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 30 2010, 10:00 PM Post #236 |
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Author: Elessars Girl Date: Tue Jun 24, 2008 7:52 am Arthur Eyla seemed to look at Arthur as if he were a prized stallion to be had if only for riding at her pleasure. He had felt that way before – recently with one other who strived to possess the Roman. And for a moment, Arthur truly wished that he had no injury to deal with if only to teach the harlot a lesson on possession. His green eyes ticked beyond Eyla to the table where Lancelot had possessed Arthur last….what would it have felt like to reverse that moment with Eyla….the ever so willing woman now holding Arthur’s hand. Would it free Arthur from the memory? Did he truly wish to forget? No. Never. Once again my thoughts have fallen to what was before. Why must he continue to torment me so? God and duty must come first and foremost in my life. Not love and certainly not possession. I must repent for my sins, not commit further acts of heresy….with either of them.
Unhappy. That was an understatement. No, Eyla persisted because she obviously enjoyed the ‘game’. That was clear enough for Arthur. His emerald eyes easily held her dark gaze as Arthur scrutinized her further…he noted how long her lashes were that perfectly framed her eyes….regarded her tiny fingers as they languidly toyed with a long strand of her curly dark hair…remembered tasting the sweetness of her full lips as she began to speak again. Oh Arthur had not forgotten their one night of shared ‘want’. He had not forgotten any detail of how it had felt to touch her….especially in retribution for having found them together. But that was in the past and Arthur had forgiven them both…hadn’t he? A throb in the steady dull pain in the Commander’s side diverted him yet again….distracted him from troublesome thoughts on possession. And the term ‘unhappy’ was most definitely too frivolous a word to describe how Arthur felt.
And there it was…a flash of vulnerability…albeit fleeting as it wisped across her delicate features. And in that moment Arthur found Eyla far more beautiful than when she was occupied with her games of seduction. She had turned her gaze towards the fire and Arthur now saw a flickering of orange reflected in her dark eyes. A small and genuine smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he watched her for a moment longer unimpeded. Eyla’s skin was golden in color, a complete contrast to theirs, but nearly as soft as Darya’s to the touch. But the moment Arthur realized that he was comparing his lover(s) to the seductress before him…he silently chided himself for it and audibly sighed. “I have no doubt that you could pleasure me well, Eyla….but only for a price, hm? And perhaps at a cost beyond my means,” Arthur murmured; his expression softened with his words and his emerald gaze turned towards the hearth as well. The cost he referred to was not coin, but something intangible and something Arthur was unwilling to pay. However, Arthur gave Eyla’s fingers a small squeeze in silent gratitude for the distraction of her presence and wordplay. If…if….Arthur had allowed himself to accept what Eyla offered, he knew that he’d spend hours…days….in the chapel prostrated before the altar in penitence for his sins. “What is it that you aspire to become, Eyla?” Arthur asked out of genuine curiosity; his green eyes drawn to a dark ringlet of her hair where it lay over her generous bosom. “Obviously not a chambermaid,” He added dryly and allowed a small smile that did not reach his eyes. |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 30 2010, 10:01 PM Post #237 |
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Author: TwistOfShadows Date: Tue Jun 24, 2008 8:30 am Nolan and Ceinwyn The sun had risen in the East this morning, and the horizon tinged with a paler gray. It was not a pleasant day; it was bleak in this area of the woodland. Nolan maneuvered himself silently through the trees, finding safe footing upon sturdy branches. The leaves whispered around him, eavesdropping, and there was a biting wind in the air. It bit hard against his blue cheeks, and stung at his fingertips. The Woad watched as his small army dropped from their branches, and started covering their people’s tracks. Indeed, their path was not obvious, but he would risk nothing. They had lost far too many warriors already, and Nolan was not prepared to lose more. There would be another battle, surely, and his people needed time to recover their strengths…and heal their wounds. The green-eyed warrior climbed down from his tree, swinging from a higher branch and landing with a thump. His bloodied hands rested upon his daggers, and he looked through the foliage. His eyes glared through it, seeking the slightest flash of colour, the briefest hint of movement in the undergrowth. Nolan did not trust the Romans…and he trusted the Sarmatians less. They were more adept at disguise, and did not appear quite so dazzling in the dull woodland…and they fought for nothing. This was their bigger threat. They did not fear death… Nolan turned back to his army, momentarily content with their surroundings. His booted feet trudged through the undergrowth, but he barely made a sound. There was a quiet snap of twig, and a pebble that had become dislodged... Another strong wind blew, causing a ripple of movement above them. Nolan paused to watch it, his jaw tightening into a hard and aggressive line. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a smear of blood upon a group of fern leaves. It dribbled down the plant, and Nolan reached outwards sharply, snatching the leaves from their stalks. They would leave nothing to suggest their whereabouts…nothing… Ceinwyn moved as silently as he, but she watched Nolan carefully, barely concentrating on the task in hand. The Woad woman did not trust him to keep her closeby. She expected to be abandoned, and then murdered. Oh, how easy it would be! Nolan could simply claim that she had been a ’loss’ and surely Merlin would not question him? Ceinwyn pressed her dirty hands against a dry tree trunk, and looked through the trees. Her eyes burnt with a fiery luster, and the wind caught at her matted hair, whipping it outwards around her face. She appeared quite foreboding, almost maddened, and she was reeling with intent and purpose. Her bright auburn hair was now dry and matted with mud and blood; she appeared stealthy and disguised amongst the brown and green foliage… The party moved onwards, climbing back into the trees to keep a weather eye for horses. Indeed, Nolan expected to catch the enemy far sooner than they did. It was relief that they had not discovered their tracks…and yet, something worried the warrior. Surely they moved quicker on horses? Woads were fast and skilled at moving through the trees, but on horseback? The enemy was at an advantage. What had distracted them? Nolan frowned darkly, growing ever more cautious of their surroundings. This was strange. With an impatient gesture of his hand, he called the party closer together. And then they found them. There was a clearing not far ahead, where Nolan had witnessed the rescue party remaining to offer aid for the returning Woads. It was a small area, opening outwards and surrounded by thick trees and bushes…and it usually had a lookout. Nolan slowed his pace through the trees, gesturing for the others to follow his lead. The warrior sought out any movement; any sign of a Woad keeping watch…but there was none. Nolan’s jaw hardened visibly, and he gritted his teeth. Something was not right, not right at all… And then he heard it. It was the quiet chink of bridles and saddlery, and a murmur of low voices in the clearing. Nolan did not recognize the tongue as his own…it lacked the complexity of the Woad dialect. The Woad slowed his pace, dropping lower in the trees but not onto the ground. He gestured for his party to separate around the clearing, and then approached it himself. He climbed down one branch in his tree, enough to see clearly towards the hut without being spotted… There was a group of horses, and two riders. Nolan’s eyes glared through the leaves, and he lifted one hand to a branch, bracing himself for a clearer look. Neeria. He recognized her dark hair, her coltish and petulant air…and she rode alone. A traitor. If she was a hostage, she would not be trusted on her own horse. That was certain. Nolan glanced further upwards, spying the Roman sat beside her. He was a tall man, but not truly a threat. The other two empty horses suggested other riders in the hut…but who? Nolan climbed higher for a moment, ready to scan the surrounding ground…and then he saw it. A beheaded Woad lying dead on the ground. The warrior’s fingers clenched harder around the branch, and he growled a low breath in his throat… Murderers… On the trees either side of him, the Woads drew their bows and arrows slowly from their shoulders. They were readying themselves for an ambush, and Nolan nodded a silent approval. Would they approach them now? Would they kill Neeria and her companion first? Nolan knew what he preferred, but then he also remembered Merlin’s orders. He had to offer the choice of speech, negotiation. Muttering a low growl of discontent, Nolan gestured for ten Woads to follow him onto the ground…they dropped silently into the undergrowth, ducking low and out of sight. Nolan lifted his hand to his comrades in the trees, and then gave his consent. Within a matter of seconds, eight arrows had been fired towards the pair at the hut. He heard the whistle of wood, the thump of arrowhead…one landed cleanly at the feet of the Roman’s horse, barely missing a fatal blow in the horse’s side… The attack had begun. Without hesitation, Nolan and his party rushed forwards into the clearing. It took merely seconds to surround the Roman’s horse…and as for Neeria? Nolan turned his attention towards the treacherous bitch. Steering clear of her horse, he grabbed her sharply by her foot…and dragged her from her horse. It was a harsh and aggressive movement, and one charged with hatred and impatience. Nolan was a strong warrior, strong and far bigger than the Woad woman… |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 30 2010, 10:03 PM Post #238 |
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Author: golden_trillium Date: Tue Jun 24, 2008 8:57 am Quintus The First Knight bowed, a rather ironic grin on his face, and dashed off to see about the fight- now there was a man who loved a scrap. Quintus knew well Lancelot’s reputation for getting into trouble, but here, it would probably come in handy. As Lancelot dashed off and various soldiers raced this way and that, searching and organizing the search and spreading the alarm, another figure approached the Centurion- or actually, his smell rather preceded him. It was the new man, Brendyn, and by the looks looks and odor of things, he had been assigned to a rather unpleasant job this day. No matter- no sign of the girl had turned up yet, and if Brendyn could search, that was all that mattered.
Bloody educated talk! Quintus nearly scoffed at the clipped, precise phrases the man used, even in a madhouse like this, but instead he merely growled out an explanation of the uproar and instructions. “Bloody Woad banned escaped- the little one.” He held up his hand illustratively, indicating the girl’s approximate height from the ground. “Look for her, but be careful- she’s killed one already. Where the bloody fuck have you been???!!” That last was aimed not at Brendyn, but at the two prison entrance guards, who now emerged from an alleyway, looking rather confused. The jogged over to Quintus and snapped to attention, and one of the men began to stammer out an explanation- one which made no sense. “Sir, there was this girl, you see, and…” “Of course there was a bloody girl!” Quintus roared. “She was a prisoner, damn it! She escaped, and you two useless…” “No, no, sir, not that girl at all, sir, another one, one what I’ve seen around the fort, she said her sister was being attacked and we had to help, so we went with her and there was no…” “Enough! We’ll sort this out later- you two get the hell back to your posts and stay there! You haven’t heard the last of this!” Quintus really didn’t want to hear more stories about bloody mysterious girls right now, though at the back of his mind the thought began to nag him, persistently and disturbingly- what if it was not a coincidence? What if the Woad prisoner- God forbid- had had help? |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 30 2010, 10:04 PM Post #239 |
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Author: Elessars Girl Date: Tue Jun 24, 2008 9:20 am Derfel
Derfel welcomed Linnesse’s embrace and gave her another affectionate kiss on the crown of her head while she pressed even tighter against him. Gods, how sweet her hair smelled. Derfel could not imagine the pain he’d suffer should he lose Linnesse as Linnette had lost Gedeon. The death of his father (even before his own eyes) could not compare, even though it still ached deep within Derfel’s heart. Gedeon’s death had also left a terrible hurt on the young knight….but if something should happen to Linnesse…well, Derfel simply would not survive it. Recent times had brought on far too much pain and loss. Surely things could get no worse.
A small sigh of acceptance escaped him as Derfel slowly rubbed a hand over Linnesse’s back. “It has to, luv,” He murmured against the side of her head until a few shouts from outside broke the relative lull in the noises within the tavern. Derfel’s gaze immediately snapped towards the door. He saw Galahad fling open the door with Alina on his heels….and then someone hit the Sarmatian?? Derfel’s mouth gaped open in surprise. He felt Linnesse flinch in his arms and immediately tightened his hold on her in support. Someone was clearly shouting in the courtyard, but Derfel could not see beyond Galahad and his supposed assailant. “I’d best have a look, luv…something’s going on out there…” Derfel said rather tensely and began to release his hold on Linnesse. He was torn though, not wanting to leave his lover unattended and unprotected should it be real danger outside that door. However, what if this was more than a mere squabble among drunken men? Derfel’s concerned gaze briefly ticked to Lucius in hopes that he’d have his friend’s support if need be. |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 30 2010, 10:06 PM Post #240 |
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Author: TwistOfShadows Date: Tue Jun 24, 2008 10:23 am Eyla Oh, but Artorius was the prized stallion! He was the most noble and richest man in the fortress, and that appealed to Eyla. The whore was not born for lowly men; she was blessed with an exotic beauty that captured attention, and won affection as quickly as she disregarded it. It was true, the Roman Commander was not like other men, and Eyla found it both infuriating and amusing. He was a male with a conscience, and that eluded the young woman. Surely a conscience made life quite boring? Surely the binds of religion meant that Artorius had never sought pleasure in his life? It was a shame, because he was handsome man. The Roman could have kept her as his regular harlot, and Eyla would have pushed his body into the sweetest plethora of pleasure! He would have wanted for no other woman…but then, Eyla did have a tendency to grow bored and impatient. The whore was used to getting what she sought, because no-one denied the beautiful. Hers was a life of comfort and amusement…what more did she want? Nothing. She did not seek status like most women, nor did she seek protection. She found solace in her quiet happiness, and she was content with it… Yes, she was content with her games of flirtation and seduction. She did not care about those that judged her, because they were dull…and clearly in dire need of an adept prostitute… The woman was not truly vulnerable, but she had her moments. Eyla had suffered for her mother’s talent for thievery, but she did not talk about it. She did not dwell on it, because she had no patience for self-pity. Her mother had stolen an expensive bracelet from her Roman Lady, and placed the blame upon Eyla. Oh the woman had been beaten and raped for it…but she had learned from it. The harlot did not trust others, and she kept herself happy. She needed no-one else. And where was her mother now? Probably still stealing the same trinkets, and blaming other fragile chambermaids. Eyla did not resent her, but was rather amused by it. Did her mother make as much coin as she? Eyla highly doubted it… Eyla felt Arthur’s eyes on her beautiful profile, and smiled lazily. Her lips slipped into the most feline and pretty smile, and she parted her mouth for his pleasure. Her bottom lip was stained rouged, and soft to touch and kiss. Her long eyelashes appeared thick from this angle, brushing delicately against her cheekbones. The woman’s skin was shadowed from the fire, but it bestowed a certain grace and enigma. The golden bangle on her arm glittered vehemently against her tanned skin, almost stealing attention away from her feminine features…almost… She noticed his smile, but did not fully understand it. She assumed it was due to her beauty, but no…it was her fragility that attracted him. Eyla would never understand it. Weakness was not truly attractive, was it?
The Roman’s words were full of meaning, and Eyla recognized the weight of their truth. She did not fully understand what troubled him, but she knew it plagued his conscience. Turning slowly to look at him, she continued to smile. It was a gentle and understanding thing, and could almost be confused with affection. Her dark eyes seemed quite soft now, no longer piercing or mischievous in perusal. No, Eyla seemed less threatening now, and it seemed to suit Arthur’s mood better. Her dark hair curled beautifully over her shoulders, and she continued to twist it around her fingers. Oh, but Eyla could appear so delicate. She would stand helpless against the physical wrath of any man…but her spirit was evident in her eyes. A talent for survival… When he squeezed her small fingers, Eyla stroked her thumb over the strong line of his knuckles. Arthur could afford her, but she did not speak it. The Roman knew his wealth, and he knew her worth…
Oh, but it was a strange question, and Eyla laughed gently. She noticed his green eyes drawn to her bosom…and arched her back subtly. It seemed the Roman was more admiring of her beauty when they spoke of silly things…but Eyla would humour him. For now. She shook her head, and felt her hair shift delectably around her shoulders. What did she aspire to be? Eyla aspired to be herself, and only that. She was not foolish enough to have dreams… “Aspirations are for people who have the power to excel in specific talents…” Eyla’s eyes glittered as she spoke, and she smiled softly at him. Eyla had specific talents, but she was not sure they suited any aspiration. Breathing a gentle laugh from her lips, she continued. “I have never aspired to be anything other than myself…and it suits me well. I’m never disappointed…” Eyla was not lying; she enjoyed her life and being a wanton harlot. She did not have much patience for dignity…or the traditional female skills for sewing…or pottery…or cleaning. The woman wrinkled her nose at the though, and crossed her legs again. A wide smile marked her coltish mouth, and it was genuinely amused. “But no, I am not well suited to honest work. It does not…disagree with me, Artorius, despite your gorgeous efforts…” Eyla winked one eye at him, and tickled his fingers playfully. “And what of your aspirations, Artorius? Did you truly wish to become such a somber and serious Commander?” The harlot feigned a stressed frown, before bursting out laughing…. |
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