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| June 2008 | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Mar 23 2010, 07:18 PM (3,709 Views) | |
| golden_trillium | Mar 24 2010, 07:54 PM Post #16 |
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Author: Starbelle Date: Mon Jun 02, 2008 7:44 pm Jols
"You're welcome, Dagonet. Its nothing less than what you would do for me, were our positions reversed." The squire replied nodding
Looking down at Dag and seeing the seriousness in the other Sarmatian's face, Jols felt his face go hot at the unexpected compliment that he just received from him. Feeling speechless for a few moments, the squire just sat there on the bench until something came to him. "I thank you for that compliment, my friend." He said in quiet understanding. Then remembering something that the First Knight said to him during their previous conversation struck him as funny sending Jols into laughter for a few moments, causing his brown eyes to sparkle like stars in the nighttime sky. "Lancelot missed out on a perfect opportunity. If he thought I was being too chatty during our conversation before, he missed seeing me completely speechless." The squire said, laughter still in his voice at the thought. |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 24 2010, 07:55 PM Post #17 |
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Author: sabor ice Date: Mon Jun 02, 2008 10:09 pm Milan
In fact Milan had seen ghosts, too many in fact. Mostly in dreams. They haunted him, only they weren't ghosts really. Just memories. Skin-crawling memories. Only as of late they hadn't been as pointed. Instead he'd mostly dream of Mari, but sometimes those were also too heinous for words. He could never tell her about them. She would fear him or hate him. He would never risk to lose her that way. Her face nuzzled against his palm thrust him back into reality. As he peered down into her innocent face, his brow furrowed pensively and his clear eyes clouded over, appearing darker than usual. His fingers curled inward and he withdrew his hand completely as worry ceased and another emotion unexpectedly set in - anger. He couldn't comprehend her obliviousness. Was she really so unaware of the danger she quite possibly could've been in had he not found her? What if that man had been like Mordred? What if he had hurt her or worse? It was not safe to be so naive, so trusting - he would know. How could Mari have been so careless? All of the things he wanted so badly to say to her, to make her understand, washed over him like waves of acid. Anger soon simmered to pure suffering. Did she not realize how much she meant to him? What would he do without his Mari? He sighed sharply in frustration and did not meet her gaze, as he tugged the towel off her head and slapped it to her chest. He gave a jut of his thumb behind him toward the bath and turned aside, folding his arms across his chest. His eyes were distant now, brimmed with tears of anguish; his forehead smoothed, but his mouth remained fixed into a permanent frown. |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 24 2010, 07:56 PM Post #18 |
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Author: lady ione Date: Tue Jun 03, 2008 8:11 am Adian He stood by the window of his quarters, and stared out into the rainy afternoon. His turned for a moment to where Fiona was still asleep. She had been a good friend, but now he had done some thinking....things were still not safe for her at the fort. No one would understand why a woad would be so friendly and so against fighting. And there were some who just plain did not like woads. Adian had no liking for them, especially now that they had taken Thorn and their child from his life. He hated them, but Fiona had seemed different, and that was what he liked. This made him feel torn between liking and not liking her. She was a friend, but she was still the enemy. Not wanting to disturb her, Adian quietly moved to where his cloak hung on a peg by the door, and making sure his tunic was laced up and loosly tied, placed the cloak over his shoulders, and quietly stepped out of the room closing the door behind him. The cold damp air hit him....he felt numb at the loss of Thorn, so much so that even Fiona had not been able to comfort him that much. The days that seemed to have that certain warmth and brightness about them now seemed darker and more depressing... Fiona. His thoughts went back to her for a moment. Somehow, he had to think of a place where she'd be safe, and she'd be accepted. Back with her own kind? Or was there some place else? Adian began to walk slowly down the corridor, deep in thought... |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 24 2010, 07:57 PM Post #19 |
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Author: Kay Date: Tue Jun 03, 2008 8:18 am Guinevere
Mona ducked away behind one of the buildings before Guinevere had chance to reply to her outburst. The Woad princess was less than happy at being spoken to in such a manner, but she would have to let the matter lie for now; they had more important things to contend with. She set off toward the stables, her keen eyes darting around her constantly, although she was somewhat hampered by her disguise.Guinevere kept to the shadows, sliding stealthily along the sides of outbuildings and down gloomy alleyways. All the while, her senses were on alert; she felt an unease, something she couldn't quite put her finger on, but she knew for certain that it wasn't the inhabitants of the fortress that were the cause of her foreboding. Sometimes an enemy can come from a surprising source. |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 24 2010, 07:58 PM Post #20 |
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Author: golden_trillium Date: Tue Jun 03, 2008 8:44 am Tristan
Tristan gave a snort of half-amused agreement to that statement as he led Tirgatao out into the aisle alongside Barbattus and the prisoner. He had prepared everything with as much efficiency as possible- though he didn't skimp on anything either- and now all his weapons were in place, his saddlebags holding all the necessities for what he hoped to all the Gods would be a brief trip. But he was prepared to be out longer, if necessary. One had to always be prepared for everything- not being ready was what got men killed. And he had hardly taken his eyes off the Woad at all. She seemed almost to grow in his mind, a spider-like creature even under the warmer clothing she now wore, grotesque, in a way- not quite human. Now, he looked down on her with a slight curl of his lip that was almost disgust, the raised his eyes to Barbattus- though he still kept Neeria in his sights, eying her surreptitiously even though he appeared to be focused elsewhere. "I'll watch her," her offered huskily, making a small gesture towards the horses to indicate that he meant while Barbattus readied his own beast. "I might even help her mount," he added, looking back at Neeria now a now-unmistakeable sneer of derision in his soft voice. The woman almost certainly did not know how to ride. She was a Woad, and Woads had no appreciation for horses, not like civilized, real people. She would sit in the saddle like a sack of grain, and maybe be scared enough to wet herself about it, too. Damned blue barbarians- and she was planning treachery, Tristan just knew it. Linnette Well, that was done. Linnette set down her quill, put the cover neatly on her ink bottle, and leaned forward to blow the ledger page dry, having recorded everything that she needed to. The accounting was done for the day, and now it was time to turn herself to the exhausting task of- apparently- moving herself out of her room and into a new one. It was daunting, almost impossible-seeming- but now, in a calmer state than she had been when she had fruitlessly hit at the stone wall, Linnette found that focusing on the work to be done was a steadying, almost comforting influence. If she could think hard enough about the small, mechanical aspects to the task, she could avoid the larger implications of it- the part about Gedeon being gone. As she stood up and left the office, she repeated the small things to herself over and over, holding onto them fast with her mind. I need to find Jols, or else Amadeus's clerk. One of them, and then I need to ask them if there are any quarters available. That's what I need to do. Find one of them. Where are they likely to be at this hour? Thinking over the hypothetical details of a squire's or a clerk's schedule, Linnette shut the office door behind her, crossed the stairwell, and came into the kitchen. The smells of cooking food smote her in the face like a blow. She could pick out the scent of venison in the stew, rich and so thick it seemed to clog her nostrils, and cabbage and some other vegetables, the same as they always were, but somehow singularly unpleasant now, sticking to the back of her throat and cloying at her lungs. Her stomach rebelled, churning hollowly, but the main effect seemed to be on her legs, which felt sudddenly like water, unable to support her. She clutched at the corner of the big kitchen table, focusing her eyes for a moment on the flagstones of the floor, then blinked, pushed off the table and made herself go on, out through the rest of the kitchen activity and into the tavern proper. Her vision seemed to narrow as she walked, her brain becoming fuzzy and gray around the edges, and it was only dimly that she saw the bar loom up in front of her, just past the doorway from kitchen to tavern. She recognized it, though, for the sturdy support that it was, and let herself nearly fall against it, resting her forehead on the hard wooden surface with a wave of relief. A deep breath...then another. The gray around the edges of her vision began to recede...but her insides still felt as weak and insubstantial as liquid, and she edged towards one of the bar stools, hoping to get it under her while she finished recovering herself. |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 24 2010, 07:58 PM Post #21 |
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Author: Darya Date: Tue Jun 03, 2008 9:26 am Darya Darya kept watching the stranger (Cáel) even when he moved to one of the free tables and ordered something from one of the serving maids. His mere appearance had sparked her interest. It was dark, yet not intimidating or scaring… How very intriguing. However, the door to the tavern was then pushed open twice…and the woman’s gaze shifted towards the building’s entrance. First another man entered. A soldier obviously (Titrus). And some time later, a blonde woman (Catherine) followed, who pretty soon approached the soldier. Darya smirked slightly at the scene that followed and asked herself just how long it would take the blonde until she had twisted him around her little finger in an ever so sweet way. The Sarmatian did not know the other female, but that woman had this ‘golden glow’ about her that sooner or later hardly any man could resist… Still smirking to herself, the dark-haired glanced back at the mysterious stranger…just in time to see him saluting her with his mug. Darya cocked an eyebrow…but then mimicked his gesture with her own mug. Then she sipped some more tea and tipped her head to the other side, wondering what might have brought the stranger to this place. From the corner of her dark eyes, the Sarmatian then caught sight of yet another movement not too far away…and she noticed Linnette entering from the kitchen. A small frown creased her brow. The redhead did not look that well…which was no surprise of course, but still… Anything but well actually. Should she care? Despite the…tension…between them? Darya shot a glance towards Drake. The Roman had been with Linnette at Arthur’s room…and maybe he had been waiting for Linnesse’s sister here anyway. Had he noticed Linnette, too? Sighing quietly, Darya then glanced into her mug for a moment before drinking yet some more of the hot tea…and then her gaze returned to the pale stranger again, suddenly asking herself which of the two colours of his hair was the real one…and how and why it was two-coloured now… Yet a small part of her kept Linnette’s sorry appearance in mind…just in case no one would react… |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 24 2010, 08:00 PM Post #22 |
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Author: LadyCastus Date: Tue Jun 03, 2008 12:28 pm Malcus Barbattus and Neeria Malcus slid his hand down Falco's long lean flank. What a magnificent beast. Malcus felt inclined to give the stable boy a couple of extra coins because he'd taken such good care of the captain's horse. Now the giant warhorse stood well-armed and ready to ride out. Malcus was checking Falco's rear right leg while still keeping an eye on the prisoner when Tristan called out.
Malcus nodded his thanks to Tristan while he concentrated on Falco. Upon hearing his voice, Neeria looked down the long aisle of stalls again as the scout made his way toward her with his giant horse. Nervously, the small woad pulled at the sleeves of her cowl and tunic that hung low past her hands. She was hungry, the bread and soup that she and Eala had shared earlier, long gone. Her stomach growled - the only sound in the barn except for the slow methodical 'clop, clop' of Tristan's horse as he led the animal down the aisle. Neeria's dark eyes widened at the beast. She'd never been too fond of horses, not used to them at all. The creature looked at her with one black eye and shook his healthy mane as Tristan approached. The scout stared at the woman as he neared, the hatred clear on his face. Neeria concentrated on the tattooes on his cheeks. She wondered what they meant. Tristan's wet hair had dried some and wild strands of hair stuck out from his braids, making him look wild and untamed. His thin lips were pursed into a scowl and his eyebrows were knitted together. The scout stopped, standing close enough to her that Neeria had to look up at him. His golden eyes were like molten lava burning into her. He was so close to her, that Neeria could smell him. He had the familiar smell of her home. Tristan smelled like the rain and like the dirt of the earth - all things familiar and comforting to the fatigued woad. Neeria closed her eyes and took in a deep breath of him, then reopened her eyes and defied his stare.
Neeria whispered so Malcus would not hear her, "You help me yet again," she slowed her tongue to say his name just right, "Tristan? I am grateful to you once more." She nervously added quickly, "Perhaps your hatred for me is not as strong as you think, Sarmatian." "ere's a lady" the stable boy said as he approached the two. The boy was holding the reigns of a gray mare with a black mane dressed with blanket, saddle and bridle bit. "er name is Sitra. She ain't much good but she ain't so bad 'eever. She'll get 'er there in one piece I s'pose. Not so sure 'bout the way back 'tho" he chuckled. Malcus laughed as his brought Falco to join the others. "Well done son," he said, slipping the boy those coins he so rightly deserved. Tack her up and tie her off to Falco," Barbattus said, still chuckling. "Oy, captain!" the boy said cheerily, eyeing his coins like they were candy. "Go ahead and help the lady mount up, Tristan," the captain said tipping his head toward Neeria, "this should be fun." |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 24 2010, 08:04 PM Post #23 |
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Author: Pinkie Date: Tue Jun 03, 2008 3:53 pm Saoirse
Saoirse had not truly expected him to answer her question and so when he did her ears were pricked. She cast a curious look towards him. Of course if he had have answered that he could bring the dead back to life she would have run a mile screaming obscenities back at him just as Lini had taught her to do with anyone who claimed to be involved in such black arts. The red head narrowed her blue eyes, her head cocking to the side with a puzzled look upon her pale features. Such a look made her look incredibly young - incredibly innocent, but also incredibly capable of seeing through a farce should she be presented with one. "Hmph." she responded to him. Something had changed in him when she asked about his family. Oh Saoirse knew she was not the only person on the run from her family! She knew that half the world was trying to break the ties that bound them to a family they loved but did not like. But Lucius gave her a smile, a charming smile that, whilst genuine, was not filled with any mirth. It was a suitable expression for his face she thought. His earlier outrage had been too Roman for her tastes.
Topic changed. Awkward situation deflected. And Saoirse remained oblivious. She found his transition flawless and so was not in the least suspicious about his story. She was, in fact, amused and bewildered at how Romans thought. "You Romans an' yer army. Yer whole legion is yer family an' ye'd die fer anytime right?" she smirked, shaking her head as she looked away from him, glancing down at her clothes, brushing the dust away from the edges of her skirt to get rid of any evidecen that she had been sitting on the ground at all. She puffed out her cheeks, a wry smile on her fine red lips when she looked up at Lucius, figuring out if she should tell him the truth or lie. It would be an obvious lie for the depths of her eyes made it impossible to give a convincing lie. She shrugged, her wry smile turning impish. It looked a peculiar expression considering the drying tears on her cheeks. Saoirse walked towards the door, pausing in front of Lucius and bit her bottom lip. She shook her head at him, knowing he would know she was lying but not attempting to hide the fact that she was being dishonest. "Nope - no family whats'ever." she lied. As she passed him she pressed her hand to the side of his body just a little above his hip, her troubled blue eyes peering out into the infirmary ward. "Yer not a bad man ye know. Fer a Roman." she added with a smile, walking out ahead of him and straightening her shoulders. Inside she was shaking, terrified of facing Dagonet, uncertain if she could keep herself composed. She took a few steps and turned quickly, wiping her face frantically. Her eyes lifted to Lucius as she stood almost on his toes, looking up at him but not really seeing him - "Do I still look a terrible mess? Will he know I was cryin'?" the red head asked in a hushed whisper. Catherine If Catherine was able to be a little more clinical about her profession she might have found incredible amusement in how men reacted to her. She knew she was different to the other whores at Badon Hill. She kept herself impeccably clean - not something every man, married or not, had ever experienced. She knew that she drew the eye as a swan in flight against the night sky might - something completely out of the ordinary, something that shone with an internal glow that the eye was inevitably drawn to. But she was not clinical in her approach to her job. She was really quite involved in what she did and the effect she had on people. It was usually in how they reacted to her that she decided what type of 'whore' that each man would want her to be. This man was ... adorable. He was shy. He was unable to keep his eyes on her or off of her, looking at the table, at his soup and glancing fleetingly at her face. Catherine had a half smile upon her pretty lips, her little finger idly curling a tendril of golden hair around the length of it before loosing the strands and then winding again.
The blonde wondered what was going through his mind. For despite the fact that he claimed there was nothing on his mind there most certainly was as his eyes became fixated on her creamy bosom. Catherine waited with a patient but obviously saucy smile upon her lips for him to refocus - and when he did, he did that tiresome thing that all men did when confronted with her sitting in front of them. An obvious whore - an obvious but unusual whore. They treated her like a lady. Catherine breathed a sweet laugh, shaking her head as she looked down at the table. She shook her head. "No.. no, my Lord." she intoned with a level of respect in her voice and a twinkle of playfulness in her green eyes. All earlier troubling thoughts about that extra coin had flitted from her mind as she focussed on this man, on what she could do for him and what he could do for her. Catherine did not seek pleasure as such, for she had received that from Tristan earlier - instead she was out for knowledge. Maybe he had served on the continent? Her little finger moved inwards, the tendrils twisting slowly away from her skin and falling back against her smooth shoulder. The tip of her finger touched her bottom lip and softly tugged it downwards. Her eyes did not leave the man's face as she crossed her legs beneath the table, allowing the tip of her foot to brush against his shin as she did so. There was not a flicker of recognition on her face that they had made contact. "Your soup... It's getting cold." she smiled, gesturing to his bowl, knowing that her presence was a painful distraction, certain that he would be nestled between her legs before the sun fell, and knowing that her husky voice was quiet, secretive, as if what she had just said was somethign that only the two of them could share. Intimate. Suggestive. "You don't mind me sitting at your table do you? I can move..." Catherine purred, pointing over her shoulder with a lazy gesture to the tables behind them and then over towards the seat next to him on the bench as her little finger slid in between her lips now, the fingernail braced against the flat top of her teeth. Galahad
Galahad scoffed at his friend's comment, giving Gawain a suffering look. Why was he always so .... so .... so flirtatious with the old hag?! It was like he was trying to get into her drawers or something! What good came of being pal-like with the battle-axe? It wasn't like it ever worked anyways. The young knight said nothing however, following Gawain out into the cold and wet, giving a token shudder and muttered curse at the weather as he shrugged into his dark cloak -
He didn't like the sounds of this. Galahad's brow furrowed and he tilted his head to the side, trying to see GAwain's face though the fair-haired knight looked away. His lips pursed in worry and he tensed his jaw, nodding his head to the other Sarmatian's initial request to go to teh tavern. "Do us both good to get in out of this pissy rain." he muttered irritably, sniffing as he was about to make his way into the rain. Gawain's concerned look stopped him. Galahad sighed dramatically and rolled his blue eyes - "Oh for the love of the gods, Gawain... What do you think?" he asked sulkily, "It'll leave a nice big scar on my stomach to go with the rest of them won't it? It's not like I've never had worse. Or you for that matter. It's just a scratch -- " he finally conceded, realising he was being snippy with Gawain when he was just tryign to be ... a friend. Galahad licked his lips, frowning as he nodded towards the rain. "Come on - let's get in out of this and get some food into us. We could both use it. And you have to tell me what was going on with you and that tasty whore earlier - the blonde?" the young Sarmatian asked, grinning over his shoulder as he rushed out into the rain and darted across in the direction of the tavern. Drake Drake dragged his eyes away from the blonde when the door to the back room opened. No one appeared immediately and granted this was not hte first time he had thought Linnette was coming back out and she wasn't in the past half-hour or so. Not wanting to appear obvious, Drake looked away. He had finished his dinner and had a full tankard of ale sitting in front of him untouched. It seemed a waste but he couldn't sit there in the tavern with nothing in front of him. Drake tried not to imbibe too much alcohol because he knew the evils of it. He knew how far into a bottle, or keg rather, that he could drink himself and he knew how tempting and easy it was to become lost in said keg. His green eyes flickered towards a face, feeling eyes upon him. He noticed Darya and saw her worried eyes flickering between him and the bar. He frowned, casting a mere curious eye towards what had her concerned. And before he could even register what he was looking at Drake was reacting. He was on his feet and around his table, walking calmly but with long strides, to Linnette's side. He was not obvious as he put a hand on her elbow, the other around her front with a hand to her hip as he directed her to the bar stool that she had been seeking. His jaw was tense and he gestured for the wench behind the bar to give him attention. "Stew." he said gruffly, slipping a coin from nowhere onto the counter, already looking away from her and down to Linnette. He moved the hand from her hip but kept the one on her elbow a moment longer. Once she was steady Drake placed his hand onto the back of her neck, his whole arm tense as his finger made contact with the soft, warm skin at the back of her neck. "C'mon. Sit up. Take a breath." he said quietly, glancing over his shoulder to give Darya a nod of his head to let her know that everything was ok. Even though he wasn't sure things were ok - not yet. Linnette was not in a good way at all. |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 24 2010, 08:07 PM Post #24 |
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Author: golden_trillium Date: Tue Jun 03, 2008 4:59 pm Tristan
Damn woman! Tristan’s teeth clenched together, his eyes blazing with white-hot fury as he dropped Tirgatao’s reigns and took a threatening step towards the Woad, wanting nothing more than to choke the life out of her for that cocky statement. He knew, perhaps, in some corner of his mind, that he shouldn’t be letting her get to him like this, but damn it! He did hate her, and he was not helping her! How dare she stand there, slyly presuming that he really sympathized with her? It was part of her tricks- her wizard master’s tricks, too! Hardly hearing the exchange between Barbattus and the stable boy, just barely registering the arrival of the additional horses, Tristan closed his fingers around Neeria’s skinny throat and pushed her up against the stall partition behind her with a rough jerk. The nearness of their bodies reminded him uncomfortably of his closeness with the whore only a short time ago, for a completely different purpose, and he squeezed harder, the better to blot that memory out. “You know nothing about me,” he hissed fiercely, his fingers digging into her neck. There was fear in her eyes now, he fancied, and he dug his fingers harder, taking a fierce joy in the hard, panicked beat of her pulse under his hands- until the more rational part of him, the part that thought he ought to stand stoically by and not let her see the effects of her taunts, took over and made his fingers unclench, made them release her and stand back, letting her step away from the partition.
That statement might have been interpreted as an order, a command to help the captive mount- but Tristan, incensed and still seeing blood before his eyes, chose not to take it that way and stood back, crossing his arms before him, his jaw clenched so tight it felt like a stone. Let her mount by herself, then, if any help, however mockingly offered, was taken as sympathy. She could get her own thrice-damned self up on that horse, or be dragged behind it- he didn’t care. He just didn’t want to touch her again- or, he feared, he might do something he would regret. Or maybe not. Linnette
Linnette breathed in deep, sucking the air deliberately down her throat as she concentrated on getting herself together again. She was no longer standing- the wooden surface of the bar stool was underneath her, though she couldn’t exactly remember sitting down. She couldn’t remember seeing Drake, either, and yet he was beside her now, his voice a soft, soothing rumble and his hand on the back of her neck, its warmth soaking into her. She took another long breath, raising her head and rolling it back a little against his fingers, her eyes half closed. Her stomach seemed to have settled, though, and her head felt real again, no longer stuffed and clouded and gray. She blinked her eyes the rest of the way open- and found her vision normal, though she felt drained, almost not-quite-there. “I’m…I’m all right,” she assured Drake in a voice little more than a whisper, turning to him and meeting his eyes, and once again seeing the worry that had been there so often today. He really shouldn’t worry about her so much, she thought distractedly…he should smile more. That thought came to her seemingly out of the gray delirium she had almost slipped into, suddenly formed in her head without having anything to do with anything. One of the bar girls, on the other side of the counter, set down a bowl of stew across from Linnette, her head ducked a little bit so that she could search Linnette’s face. She, too, looked worried- and Linnette experienced another pang at how much inconvenience she had been causing everyone today. She couldn’t be like this- she needed to pull herself together. She had too much to do. “What’s this?” Linnette asked softly, confusedly, as she realized belatedly that the barmaid had not just been setting down that bowl to relieve herself of the burden for a moment- she was now pushing it across the counter to Linnette. It was for her, apparently- and she hadn’t asked for it. Linnette glanced questioningly to Drake, then back to the stew- the smell was sending a hollow stab down into her stomach again, but she didn’t think she could eat- her mouth was as dry as a bone and tasted funny. “No…” she whispered, pushing it away, averting her eyes, and shaking her head. “I’m not hungry.” That wasn’t precisely true, though it wasn’t exactly untrue, either…truthfully, Linnette was not sure what she felt about that bowl of stew, which still seemed to sit there looking expectantly up at her, even though she had just made a go of refusing it. |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 24 2010, 08:08 PM Post #25 |
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Author: LadyCastus Date: Tue Jun 03, 2008 6:57 pm Neeria and Malcus Barbattus
He moved like a flash. Before she knew it, Tristan closed the gap between them and grabbed Neeria by her neck. Her eyes bulged in their sockets as the scout tightened his grip, pinning the small woman to the stable wall. The woad’s eyes began to water and she panicked as the scout squeezed his long fingers even tighter around her throat. Neeria’s tongue suddenly hung limply from her mouth as she tried to scream; only no sound would come from her body. The chords in her neck stretched and her face turned a violent deep red color which, just as quickly, suddenly turned blue. Because of the lack of food and water, Neeria grew weak quickly, her consciousness fading fast. The woad looked at Tristan, her dark eyes pleading for mercy. But the scout seemed almost gleeful while choking her. With all of her strength, Neeria grabbed the scout’s wrist and dug her fingernails into his flesh, trying to get him to release his grip. But Tristan was very strong, his wrists as hard as rock. Just when Neeria thought it useless to continue struggling and right when the room swam from her vision, Tristan let her go. The woad slumped to the floor, hand to her throat, gasping for air. She knew the Roman was not aware what Tristan had done to her but she would not call out. Neeria looked up at Tristan with beseeching eyes. All that met her gaze in return was hatred. The pressure of the past 24 hours came crashing down on the woman like boulders. She felt rage, sadness and despair. She was furious. “Why?” she whispered angrily to Tristan, regaining her strength. “I have told you that my fight is not with you! I could have killed you on that road and you know it. One day you will remember that, scout.” She would never dignify him by using his name ever again. “If hatred is what you want, then that is what you will get,” Neeria spat at him, angry tears threatening to spill from her dark eyes. The woad gathered her wits about her and used the partition wall to stand up. Her short legs wobbled as she struggled to her feet. She glared at Tristan once more and walked around the partition. “How do I get onto this foul, smelly creature?” she asked the stable boy indignantly. Neeria looked at Tristan once more, throwing daggers into his flesh with her eyes. |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 24 2010, 08:09 PM Post #26 |
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Author: linnet Date: Tue Jun 03, 2008 8:22 pm Gawain
Gawain grinned apologetically at the youngest knight whose answer to his question had been irritated and cantankerous enough to satisfy him for now that Galahad’s body was healing properly. A short quiet answer, even if it claimed all was fine, would have worried him. Their routine of ‘are you alright?’ ‘yes, I’m fine, dammit’ had been going on so long it might seem pointless to anyone else. But outside of holding the other man down and letting a medicus render an opinion on the spot, asking was the best way to get an answer. The answer, though, didn’t come from the words spoken in reply, but from knowing how to read each other for signs and clues hidden behind the words.
The scraggly knight frowned, not knowing what Galahad was talking about. What tasty whore? But quickly he understood. He let out his breath loudly and shook his head. Catherine certainly wasn’t something he had any desire to talk to Galahad about, and his brief conversations with her were no one’s business but their own. Apparently seeing them together had whetted Galahad’s curiosity and imagination, resulting in the first grin Gawain had seen from him today. He didn’t like the grin, for all it implied, but he knew that Galahad was only reacting as anyone might. So he sprinted to catch up with the younger knight, and said nothing as they hurried through the rain. When they entered the tavern, Gawain tried to brush some of the rain off his cloak while he looked around for an isolated table where he and Galahad could talk. He started to walk toward the far side. Nearly there, he saw Catherine straight ahead, sitting with a soldier. Without thought, a broad smile of friendly recognition lit the knight’s face and eyes. Then he stopped, His smile died as his gaze dropped to the floor. Of course. She was working, offering herself to the man in exchange for money and knowledge. It shouldn’t concern him, he knew, but he didn’t continue any farther. “Wait,” he said to Galahad who was looking at him quizzically. “Not that way. Let’s sit over here.” He turned to his right and claimed a small table close to the wall, where he took the seat facing away from the other tavern patrons. |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 24 2010, 08:10 PM Post #27 |
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Author: sabor ice Date: Tue Jun 03, 2008 11:50 pm Cáel The tavern was attracting quite the turn-out, most notably, the male population. A lovely feast for the eyes always seemed to improve the course of a meal, although handsome company was always better. Cáel inconspicuously surveyed potential suitors in between spoonfuls of stew; he dipped his bread into his bowl and ripped off a piece, chewing politely as his gaze momentarily stalled on the newest arrivals. Knights by the look of them. They nearly passed for brothers - that thought perversely excited Cáel for a moment or two, but then he decided against it. The one (Gawain) was a bit too hairy for his liking, and the other one (Galahad) just looked to be in a plain foul mood. There was a rather hunky piece of man over by the bar (Drake), but he seemed well pre-occupied with his female counter-part (Linnette). There were various other soldiers, but most of them were older and not exceptionally appealing. Cáel gave a petulant pout of his lips, clearing becoming disappointed by the depressing selection, and went back to finishing his meal. Perhaps Romanus? he thought wickedly, remembering the bright-eyed boy from the gate. He had had a certain charm about him after all. Business before pleasure, he ultimately decided with an internal groan. The Goth leaned over to collect his belongings over his shoulder, and it was only then he noticed the dark-haired beauty (Darya) still staring at him from across the room. Naturally, she was obviously not his type, however the man thought it only prudent to go and introduce himself. That was the polite thing to do, was it not? "Hello, pet," Cáel said, with a flash of his best charming smile as he came to stand across the table from Darya. He had spoken to her as if they were life-long friends - there was absolutely no implication in his tone to suggest he was being anything but platonic toward her. He oozed genuine friendliness. "I am called Gabriel...Gabe if you wish...And, you are?" |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 24 2010, 08:11 PM Post #28 |
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Author: golden_trillium Date: Wed Jun 04, 2008 6:23 am Tristan
Tristan stood impassively, arms crossed, a twitch of a mocking upturn at the corner of his mouth as he watched the Woad face the horse indignantly and demand instructions for getting on it. Ignorant devils, the Woads were! The stable boy glanced quickly to Barbattus, then to Tristan, for permission, and since it seemed to be granted, stepped forward a little nervously and indicated the stirrup. Most likely he had never been this close to a Woad before, and his curiosity showed in his wide eyes. "Here, La..." he cut off the title mid-syllable, probably in response to Tristan's ferocious glare. Lady indeed. Foul animal was more like it. "You put one foot here, then swing your other leg over. I can hold it for you." Once again glancing to the adult men uncertainly, he stepped forward and held the stirrup; Tristan could practically see the conflict on the lad's face, the warring impulses to treat Neeria like a woman, or like a prisoner, both of which she was, but which two conditions probably virtually never intersected in a person needing assistance to mount a horse. |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 24 2010, 08:13 PM Post #29 |
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Author: Pinkie Date: Wed Jun 04, 2008 10:32 am Drake Drake had no idea why he was pretending nothing was wrong. He knew that if it were him that he would not want people to be fussing over him. He knew that there was nothing worse than being reminded that you were mourning by the sorrowful, pitying looks you got from people. Perhaps Linnette was nothing like him deep down inside, or maybe she was just like him and would appreciate every little wave of his hand to dismiss people's attentions from her. She was steadying a little once she sat on the stool. Her head lolled backwards and the tendrils of hair at the very base of her head touched the back of his hand. It shouldn't have done, but it did send jolts of intense heat throughout his entire body. Such a stupid, tiny, insignificant contact between them but seemingly it was enough to stop his heart and clog his lungs so that he just stood there, his hand unmoving, watching her pale face rise from the counter and look around in confusion.
The stew arrived. Drake's hand moved down a fraction and he found enough control in his body to let himself take a breath inwards. He glanced at the bar-maid, gave her a chagrined shake of his head and waved his free hand, indicating for her to be gone. Linnette was looking at the stew, questionning it - "Thank you. She's fine." Drake told the woman behind the bar, gesturing for her to leave as Linnette looked up at him with troubled hazel eyes that were red about the rims from crying. The upset was already marking her - Drake wondered if he had ever seen her smile before... ? Would she ever smile again? When she denied her hunger Drake simply cocked an eyebrow and pushed the bowl closer to her. "Regardless - you need to eat." he told her in a quiet voice, keeping the 'drama' at a minimum, aware of the eyes that were on them from around the room. He felt his heart jump-start and cleared his throat. His hand still cupped the bowl of stew in front of Linnette, his other hand, the bandaged hand, resting at the very top of her back. His brow furrowed a little as he glanced back towards the room she had come from and his lips parted. The serving wench came back over, parting her lips to ask Linnette something but a firm, furious look from Drake made her smack her lips shut instead. She gave a small harumph and walked onwards. Drake watched her go until she was far enough away that she would not overhear. "Did you get what work you had to do completed?" he asked, distracted as he looked around the room with a slightly angry light to his green eyes, warning people to stop waiting for her to fall apart like they expected. |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 24 2010, 08:14 PM Post #30 |
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Author: LadyCastus Date: Wed Jun 04, 2008 10:43 am Neeria and Malcus Barbattus Malcus looked at Tristan first and then at the prisoner. He didn’t know what was going on between those two, but he knew there was something. Malcus was a keen observer of human nature and his instincts were sharp. He looked at the woad woman and really focused on her. He wondered what she was really up to. If Merlin were any kind of leader, he would have known long beforehand if he had a traitor in his midst. Merlin would have known she couldn’t be trusted and therefore would have killed this midget long ago. Barbattus reasoned that they were probably heading into a trap – a trap that had been arranged prior this bitch’s capture. Malcus loved his friend Arthur like a brother, but what better target than Arthur’s big heart of mercy? Merlin probably orchestrated the whole bloody thing, having the little creature attack Arthur under the pretense of trying to kill him. Of course Arthur would show her mercy! Then the little bitch would lead him right into a slaughter. Malcus narrowed his dark eyes at the woman, a storm now brewing on his face. Well, he didn’t trust her any more than Tristan did and would slice her throat at the first sign of trouble. He would see to it that she was dead before his own death if it came to that. The captain lifted a hand to his face and pinched his brow between his forefinger and thumb. But still, there something with her that just didn’t seem quite right. She didn’t seem like a … well, that was ridiculous. Of course she was a fighter and a damn good one if she had gotten that close to Arthur. She was in his saddle!! Bloody Christ, Arthur, why didn’t you kill her and be done with this? Then Malcus would be cuddling between the plump wench’s thighs again by nightfall. But it was not meant to be. Malcus was sworn to honor and duty came first. “You may hold her stirrup, but let her find her own way,” Malcus said to the stable boy. The boy blinked at the captain nervously and backed away as Neeria tried to lift her short leg (foot actually) to the stirrup. The woman’s legs were too short. There was no way she was going to be able to get her foot high enough to reach up to the shiny piece of metal footing. Neeria thought back to when she attacked Arthur. She’d had a running start then and Castus’ horse had reared, lowering its middle enough for her to jump and claw her way up. But now, the horse was still and straight and Neeria had no momentum. Feeling the men glaring at her, she refused to turn to them for help. The woman knew they were enjoying her discomfort. Neeria lowered her foot and struggled to pull up the too-big trousers that had slid down her waist, almost to her hips. Then she looked up at the horse not knowing what to do. “Having trouble are you, my lady?” Malcus sneered. Neeria glowered at him but did not reply. Instead, she looked at the stable boy. “Will you move it closer to the wall there?” The stable boy shot a nervous glance at Malcus who nodded his approval. The boy grabbed Sitra’s reigns and walked her to the wall. Neeria bent over and pulled the legs of the trousers up over her ankles and slid her foot through the slats of the stall wall, climbing up until she was high enough to get her foot into the stirrup. Pleased with herself, she grabbed the saddle with both hands to pull herself over. Now she had one foot in the stirrup and one still between the slats of the wall. Neeria pushed fom the stall wall, while pulling up on the saddle and with all of her might, flung her body over the horse. Now she was lying across the horse’s girth on her stomach. Neeria heard snickering behind her. The small woman flailed her legs, trying to turn herself around so that she was facing the right direction. Sitra stamped her rear legs and reared her head in disapproval of the struggling novice on her back. Finally facing the right direction, Neeria spread her legs and pushed herself up with her hands flat in the saddle, bringing her legs around the horse’s rear and up to her sides. The horse was so wide and Neeria’s legs so short, the woman was sitting in a precariously awkward position, spread-eagle to the world. She supposed she would get used to it. Sliding her butt forward in the saddle, Neeria looked at both men with a feeling of triumph. “I am ready,” she said defiantly. |
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