| Welcome to Na The Past. We hope you enjoy your visit. You're currently viewing our forum as a guest. This means you are limited to certain areas of the board and there are some features you can't use. If you join our community, you'll be able to access member-only sections, and use many member-only features such as customizing your profile, sending personal messages, and voting in polls. Registration is simple, fast, and completely free. Join our community! If you're already a member please log in to your account to access all of our features: |
| June 2008 | |
|---|---|
| Tweet Topic Started: Mar 23 2010, 07:18 PM (3,690 Views) | |
| golden_trillium | Apr 2 2010, 04:16 PM Post #301 |
![]()
|
Author: Starbelle Date: Sun Jun 29, 2008 1:58 pm Tatiana Feeling Adian's fingers in her hair, while she dressed made Tatiana pause slightly enjoying the shivery, butterflylike sensations that his ministrations awoke in her as he gently disentangled the strands then loosely braided, without tying her hair. Wow! That feels nice. I really liked that.
Reaching his quarters, he unlocked the door and allowed her to enter first. "Wow, Adian. This is a really nice place you have here. Thank you for sharing this with me." Tatiana said awe in her voice as she stepped over the threshold into his quarters, looking over her shoulder back at the carpenter, meeting his heather gray eyes with her green ones, bright with excitement at what she saw. Walking a bit further inside of the room until she stood in the center of his quarters, her back facing the door and Adian keeping her hands down at her sides, she allowed her eyes, however do the touching of the items as she turned her head to take in everything since he'd not yet given her his permission to touch anything as yet. "Is there anything that I can help you with food or otherwise?" She asked polietly after glancing at everything and noting the two beds that also stood in the room that helped give off a warm, comfortable homey-like feel to the interior of his quarters. |
![]() |
|
| golden_trillium | Apr 2 2010, 04:20 PM Post #302 |
![]()
|
Author: Unicorn Date: Sun Jun 29, 2008 2:15 pm Dagonet Dagonet watched Bors wincing while standing up. The tall man's muscles went tense and thigh from just seeing it. Normally he would stand by his friend ready to be of any help, and right now he could not even stand from his own bed. He hand squeezed briefly Saoirse's shoulder in quiet struggle and helplessness...
Injured Sarmatian nodded his head and tension in him loosened as he saw Bors standing on his own... being able to walk by himself, it brought some reliefe to him.
Dagonet looked into Bors's eyes as he spoke up and put hand upon his arm. This short words and touch of support was very meaningful to the injured knight. He know of what Bors was talking. Too much... He had enough pain and problems. He had enough of everything. But all he could to answer to his friend was the sad and very painful look... It would take time to gather his strenghts... It would take time to stand up... and be himself once again. He nodded slowly his head wordlessly, knowing that Bors understood everything about the situation. He was there to see Dagonet in his worst moments of life... he was there to drag him away from arms of death... He saw Dagonet dying in pain and yet stood by him and helped him to return. Bors was the one who ordered him to come back, he was the one to keep him alive. Dagonet was very greatful for that, but even so, that didn't change how he felt about this... About loosing his child...
Vanora came to them and stood by Bors's side, speaking before Dagonet oppened his mouth to answer to his friend. He gave Vanora a little, very weak smile...
"Good...." he said and motion with his head towards Bors's leg. "Don't let him walk too much with this and he has to be back here in two days." he informed her, knowing that Bors would not tell her all. He sent Bors don't argue with me look. He closed his eyes slowly, he should be sleeping... He felt very weak right now, tired with all the talking and guests. Slowly oppening eyes back he winced a little at the numb feeling in his side, and shifted a little in his bed. "I'll be fine.... I need only some rest" he murmured not even believing it himself, but he had to play strong, as always. "I'll take it easly, Bors" he assured him and tried a little very sad smile at him. |
![]() |
|
| golden_trillium | Apr 2 2010, 04:22 PM Post #303 |
![]()
|
Author: LadyCastus Date: Sun Jun 29, 2008 8:38 pm Malcus Barbattus and Neeria
Malcus looked at Scipio and shook his head just enough for the optio to see. Barbattus knew who the skinny blue man was but, he, Barbattus, was still not going to take orders from him. "Sorry mate, but we're not following you anywhere," Malcus glared at the tall man. Barbattus was far too wise to follow these woads into the woods. How could these blue demons be trusted? Especially that crazed, feral-looking one baring her teeth. "It would be best to send word to Merlin and have him come here and meet with us. We will be obliged to wait." Malcus narrowed his gaze onto Nolan, then turned his attention to the optio, hoping beyond hope that the man would agree and not try to flex his arrogance yet again. Hopefully Scipio would understand that Malcus wanted to give the impression that their party still, somehow, had the upper hand. Neeria saw Tristan emerge from the small hut and lower the blade from the man's throat. She sighed of relief. Nolan's bony fingers suddenly dug into Neeria's shoulder, but the warrior refused to cry out. She refused to let Nolan intimidate her, before hearing the facts. Neeria was Guinevere's finest, woe to Nolan that he should forget it. Neeria, alone, had almost bested Arthur Castus himself!
Neeria's dark eyes clouded over and she pulled back her lips, baring her teeth. She reached up, grabbing Nolan's hand, digging her ragged fingernails into him and scratching a long stretch of skin. "Release me, you fool! How dare you speak of losses when my own beloved Mikel's body is not even cold yet! Your hatred has blinded you. I have not betrayed Merlin and you'd better know it! The slave is no better or no worse than we are. You will leave him," she hissed. Neeria sank her nails into the man's hand even deeper. "It is you who forgets, Nolan," she growled. Neeria flexed her weary muscles, oblivious now to the pain in her wounded side, and released Nolan's bloody hand. Titrus
Bloody hell. All bloody hell had broken loose and apparently so had Eala. "Have you alerted the gates?" Titrus screamed at the centurion. Four soldiers were standing by, waiting for instructions. "You! You, you and you!" go to the main gate and alert the high patrol to keep watch over the wall. Then alert the mounted guard to send out a search party. Do it NOW!" "Oy, sir" the soldiers said in unison and scattered quickly. Barbattus would have his head. Titrus would be punished and what could he say? That he was with a whore when the prisoners escaped? He cringed at the thought. He suddenly got a headache. Maybe he could work this out, but he doubted it. Titrus looked back at Quintus who stood at 'attention' waiting for instructions or orders. "We will pay a high price with fat from our arses for this," Titrus growled at Quintus. Had Eala escaped on her own or did she have help? Then Titrus thought of the fallen guard. Did Eala kill him? Or her probable accomplice? If Eala killed a Roman guard, she would be executed on the spot. Titrus became angry with himself for being soft with her. Fool! "Move the man's body to the infirmary for proper rites," Titrus said. "I will notify his widow," Titrus said with a growl in his voice. Just then, Titrus saw Brendyn.
Titrus nodded as Brendyn took off. "Quintus, send 2 squads into the prison to double check all cells to make sure that they're locked and that no one else has escaped. Make them move in double time. Then notify the squad commanders that we're going on lock-down while we do a door to door search looking for the prisoner. I'm going to the wall and will be back here in a few minutes. See if the Sarmatians have finished fighting and are sober enough to help." |
![]() |
|
| golden_trillium | Apr 3 2010, 09:00 PM Post #304 |
![]()
|
Author: lady ione Date: Sun Jun 29, 2008 9:01 pm Brendyn The young soldier moved stealthily through the torch lit hall of the dungeons. He was unarmed as he found no need to carry a weapon where he had been a major portion of the day, but he could do hand to hand if needed. Voices cried out in the gloomy misery of the dungeons: misery of their own making. Brendyn braced his palms on the damp wall behind him as he leaned against it and moved closer to the other entrance/exit. In his mind, he tried to think logically about where, if one had escaped, would one go? Well, there certainly was not a whole lot of chaos down here...but up topside. Brendyn deduced that if he were the one to escape, why would he tarry down here? SHIT! Brendyn moved toward the exit way he found, and slowly went up the stairs as if hoping to catch the escapee if she tried this exit..... The wound under his shoulder was feeling better, but it still left him know that he had done some hard labor today, and now it was a dull ache. Nothing to worry about. He was now three steps from the top. Somewhere nearby, Brendyn thought he heard fighting of some sort... Woads were smart, and just perhaps... Leaving the dungeons, he moved off to continue the search. |
![]() |
|
| golden_trillium | Apr 3 2010, 09:03 PM Post #305 |
![]()
|
Author: Pinkie Date: Mon Jun 30, 2008 1:40 am Galahad and Kolya Galahad heard Lancelot's scream after him but he grit his teeth and ignored the words. Permission? He did not seek permission! This had nothing to do with Lancelot, or Gawain or anyone else except Kolya, Alina and himself. But right now Galahad didn't care that the whole fort was involved. He wasn't thinking about reputation and such frivolous things. His heart had been hurt, his dignity and pride had been severely dented. Kolya’s words sunk in... somewhere along the way they sunk in and it just drove teh rage even harder. Who was this man to speak of Alina as if they were lovers? As if they had sworn love to each other the way he had with her!? Who was ... had they? Had she told him that she loved him? Despaired, Galahad reacted, darting forward.. ... only to come a-cropper when Gawain stood directly in front of him. The curly haired knight gurgled when his momentum forced him into a full on collision with the blonde knight. The air was sucked from his lungs and no more replaced it. Galahad fell backwards and his two hands reached for his neck, despite teh pain in his arms from fighting. He lifted his knees up to his stomach, gasping for air and then rolled to his side. His eyes were bulging and seeing dots, painfully bright dots!
Gawain's knee pressed into his chets... Galahad looked up with pitifu blue eyes at his friend, pleading with him to just let him finish this but he already knew that he wasn't going to be allowed. The young Knight grimaced, flinching away as he waited for the punch that he knew he deserved. And it landed. Hard. Galahad's blurred vision faltered, but just before unconsciousness took severe hold, he thought he saw Alina, her hand to her chest, watching him. Watching Kolya? A moment later cold water fell down upon him, splashing into his open mouth. Galahad hacked, his body convulsing and he turned to the side, coughing and spluttering in semi-consciousness, the sound of distant laughter something his imagination had surely conjured. Kolya had had enough. He knew from the start that it had been an unfair fight, but if the little prick wanted it then he was willing to give it. But not indefinitely, and it seemed Galahad was not willing to admit when he was beaten. So the older Sarmatian became the bigger man and took a step back. His chest was aching, it throbbed with every breath. His lip was split and his knuckles bruised. He had received a punch in the stomach earlier too which would leave a hefty mark he reckoned. He spat blood to one side as he watched the blonde knight step in front of him, breaking up the fight. The dark one, Lancelot, had already screamed in frustration at the whole thing and was currently laughing. Kolya snorted in dark amusement, watching the dark haired male but soon the insane laughter was catching. He croaked a broken laugh and shook his head, eyes turned skywards as Gawain landed the final punch that put Galahad out of the game.
Oh what wasn't funny?! Kolya lifted a hand to his face and gave a sudden shout of protest when his already mucky, wet, sore body was assaulted once more - this time by water. Because he was standing and taller than the women who threw it, the water hit him about the chest and waist and legs rather than a dousing upon his head. Furious, he turned a fierce glare on the culprits, surprised to see two women, two bloody, fucking women standing with the mop bucket between them. His furious face was terrifying, his fierce blue eyes glinting hard and unforgiving, coupled with the large, flexing muscles of his arms he looked a right menace. However, after a short moment of looking at the two women - one a tiny blonde thing who looked almost as flattened as Galahad was right now, and the other a petulant looking thing with odd hair but slight, still... he broke out into a laugh. Throwing his head back, Kolya let out a loud and boisterous laugh, his maniac chuckle almost a match for Lancelot's as he looked across the saturated ground towards the First Knight. The laughter wasn't entirely genuine though. It had an edge to it, a suggestion of being unhinged. |
![]() |
|
| golden_trillium | Apr 3 2010, 09:04 PM Post #306 |
![]()
|
Author: sabor ice Date: Mon Jun 30, 2008 2:23 am Mordred Mordred sighed impatiently, giving a derisive snort when Nolan demanded his party to relinquish their weapons. His fingers flexed about the hilt of Dalmascas, aching to wield the fine blade again, to add to its impressive body count. But, he did not move. At such a time aggressiveness would be futile and detrimental to his health, he well noted. Neeria spoke up on Tristan's behalf - which admittedly surprised Mordred - but left him appalled and disbelieving at the same time. He knew little of Tristan - most probably did - but he was competent enough to view the Sarmatian as isolated, unfriendly, and deadly should the opportunity call for it. What part of the man's dangerous and enigmatic personality screamed rainbows and butterflies exactly? A fucking tea party maybe? Was this how the Woad bitch truly thought, that Tristan, or any of her enemy for that matter, might be her knight in shining armor? It was lunacy, and twisted as Mordred's thoughts may have been, he couldn't understand the woman's motives behind this ploy.
Oh, for fuck's sake! Barbattus was an idiot! A huge liability at his inability to shut his fucking mouth! He was going to get them all killed before Merlin even graced them with his traitorous presence! Sure the lot of them were surrounded by the blue devils, but Mordred was the one sitting helplessly in the middle of it with an enemy's weapon nearly up his ass - not that he expected such a notion to have ever occurred to the inept miscreant commander whose bark was far worse than his bite. He was up shit creek without a paddle alone, seemingly in a dangerous frame of mind that suggested mania. His impulses were exceptionally panicky.
It took everything in Mordred's power to not break his unfathomableness and outwardly groan. Obviously he had been hallucinatory believing the clever Optio might've had a few tricks up his sleeve. Mordred was not a man of faith, of God or of Man, and now he knew why. Scipio wasn't coming out of that hut. |
![]() |
|
| golden_trillium | Apr 3 2010, 09:07 PM Post #307 |
![]()
|
Author: Pinkie Date: Mon Jun 30, 2008 2:44 am Drake Drake had never figured out if he truly had loved Cecile. There had been an undeniable affection, but he questionned whether he had loved her or loved the idea of her. If she had betrayed him the way she had been accused of then she was not the woman that he loved... the woman that he loved would never have cuckolded him as Cecile had, she would never have given birth to another man's child and pretended that it was his... and yet he had enjoyed her, he had taken solace in her smile, in the darkness of her eyes and the soft touch of her hand upon his hard body. And she had sworn that she loved him. It had been the last coherent utterance from her beautiful, bloodied lips, when he had kissed her before walking out of his house forever. The Spaniard shuddered at the vivid memory. He could smell the smoke, the smell of burning flesh even now...
Her hand moved. Drake dipped his head a little, looking at her tiny hand covering her flat stomach. He felt bile rise in his throat - the baby. His lips parted just above her ear but he held his breath, held his words. That isn't what I meant... he thought. Linnette broke the embrace and turned to face him. Drake looked down at her, his hands falling to his side loosely, his shoulders pulled back, as ever his jaw giving an awkward twitch as the silence echoed between them.
No one had ever put it like that. No one had ever told him he didn't deserve the hurt and hardship of losing his family. And Drake took her words and used them as a balm to his guilty conscience -- perhaps she would mean that he didn't deserve to have been left with no choice but to kill his brother and wife, to lose his sons to infidelity and then death. Perhaps if she knew she might still say the same things. Perhaps.. The Spaniard blinked and in that split second things had changed. Linnette looked as if she would cry again, her bottom lip giving a tell-tale tremble and all of a sudden she had her arms about his waist, her cheek against his chest. Goosebumps whirled up and down his spine and arms as he instinctively ensconced her within the safe, warm confines of his body. His arms criss-crossed over her back and his hands held onto her - one upon her shoulder, the other on her hip, holding her securely but not tightly. She was crying, he cuold feel the heat of her tears against his chest, seeping through the new tunic he had put on. Finally Drake let go of the breath he was holding. He sighed raggedly and moved his hand from her shoulder to the back of her head, his fingers gently touching the auburn locks of hair in a means to comfort. She felt so very tiny, fragile in his arms. A stray thought flickered though his brain of how breakable she was physically, how easily crushed despite her tenacious spirit that raged and railed against the intense pain of losing a loved one. For the longest time he just held her, letting her cry against his chest. "Come on... Sit down and give orders. Women are good at that." he coaxed with a gentle but hopeful smile, looking down at Linnette but keepign a hand on the small of her back and the other one gently cupping the back of her head. Amadeus
Amadeus' chin lifted. He had won out on the weapons front then, had he? Tensing his sharp jaw, the Roman half turned to look at Tristan, sheathing his own weapon quietly whilst looking regretfully at the blade beneath the woad's neck. And as proof to the Optio that Tristan was as loyal as a Sarmatian ever could be, the Scout waited a moment to be told to remove the blade from his throat. However, as he was about to tell Tristan to get the other two woads, planning on taking one with him, Malcus outside the hut spoke up...
Amadeus snapped around to the front, even going so far as to take a step closer to the mouth of the hut. He glared hard at Malcus, all authority and strength as he silently warned Barbattus not to speak another word on anyone's behalf. And here he had thought the Sarmatian would be the problem! Tristan was proving quite a handy second-hand man to have about, following orders with an eerie, granted, but efficient silence. Barbattus was assuming a control of the situation that was not his to assume! "Captain!" Amadeus hissed, his grey eyes flickering beyond to where the woad leader was grappling with the woad traitor wench that they had brought with them. "Still your tongue. You are the muscle not the brains of this operation." he sneered viciously and turned back to Tristan. "We will take one each on our horses as a sign of good faith." Amadeus said loudly enough to be heard outside the hut by Nolan. Of course it was not so much good faith as an insurance policy... Amadeus intended to have a woad close by the gut should he get a bad feeling about any of this leading north business. And there were three woads left. One on Mordred's horse, one on Barbattus' and one on Tristan's... assuming the woad bitch was going to be dragged along in the muck behind them. If not then he would indeed suffer a woad upon his saddle. Insurance. |
![]() |
|
| golden_trillium | Apr 3 2010, 09:11 PM Post #308 |
![]()
|
Author: golden_trillium Date: Mon Jun 30, 2008 8:39 am Tristan and Merlin
Good faith? Tristan raised an eyebrow at the Optio, permitting himself to show a little skepticism. Surely it would be obvious to everyone that there was no "good faith" involved, only a desire to have prisoners at their mercy, and frankly, the proposition of getting three more Woads up on horses seemed to the scout to be much more trouble than it was worth. Look how much of a bother one had been! Tristan looked scornfully over to where Neeria was snapping argumentatively at the leader of the Woads, tugging at his restraining hand, with her fingernails digging into his skin. Spitfire, devil woman...but he ignored her and let her fellow tribesman deal with her. Instead, his eyes shifted over past Barbattus and back to the Optio, wondering if there was any way he could voice a suggestion so that it might be heeded, or even indeed what he should suggest. Negotiations weren't his place- he knew nothing of diplomacy. He was just the man they called in when they needed either scouting or quick, efficient killing done. But even he could see that Scipio's two goals of talk, and hiding behind prisoners, might not both be possible at once. "Sir..." he began in a low, barely-there voice, not even knowing what else he was going to say...but as luck would have it, he was saved from the trouble of going on. A movement caught his eye, one at the edge of the trees across from the hut's door, and another group of Woads emerged from the forest. This one was slightly smaller, and closer packed, than the first, but there was scarcely any need to notice the great mass of them. Looking at them, one's eye was drawn inexorably towards the man who stood front and center, face and chest painted blue, a fur around his shoulders making him look much larger than he really was, arms crossed and surveying the deserted camp as though he saw every detail of it without even having to look. Instantly the attention of all the Woads in the clearing turned towards him, attentively they awaited any word or gesture from him, and he stepped into the clearing with an easy confidence, his people at his back, his all-knowing eyes everywhere. There was no need for them to go to Merlin- Merlin the Magician had come to them. "Found them, I see," Merlin nodded easily to Nolan. His sharp gaze took in all the details of the happenings in the clearing- the four horses at its center, the traitor Neeria, the mounted Roman- who, he now recognized, was one they had captured before- the one on foot before the hut, and the two others lurking in its shadows- but his voice revealed no concern; he might have been chatting with Nolan at the fireside, for all his words betrayed. "What do they want?" he asked his lieutenant, supremely ignoring the enemy for now- or at least appearing to ignore them. Tristan knew very well that the Magician saw everything, almost as well as he himself did. Pressing his lips together in a thin line, the scout readjusted the knife a little closer to the neck of the Woad he held, in silent answer to the sudden hopeful tension that had sprung up in the man's body at the sight of his leader. This one wouldn't get away unexpectedly- that was at least one thing Tristan could be sure of. Quintus
"Aye, sir." Quintus answered gruffly as Titrus whirled off in the direction of the wall. Every soldier in the fort seemed to have been alerted by now- well, except for those involved in that thrice-damned brawl- and it wasn't hard to find the requisite squads to send down to the cells. The building-to-building search was already underway, but now it expanded, moving outward from the main courtyard into the smaller ones, the barracks and the houses of the craftsmen- and still no one shouted "found her", or pulled their hand back from some dark corner after being bitten. No one had seen even a hint of the girl's wispy blonde hair. Fuck it! Latest round of orders given, Quintus strode across the courtyard to the tavern entrance, where happily, the fight seemed to be dying down. When he was nearly there, a splash of water gushed over men and flagstones, and Quintus caught a glimpse from behind the men of two women holding a bucket between them. Not a bad idea, that- at least to get their attention. "Enough- get up," the Centurion growled as he went among the men, here yanking one to his feet, here kicking at one who ought to get himself up but was malingering. The young Sarmatian- Galahad- appeared to be out cold, and Quintus left him where he was after a brief, dispassionate look. "While you lot have been bloody killing each other, a prisoner's got out. So unless you're fucking dead, join the search." He hurried several men on their way with prods in the shoulder or the back, then turned to the Sarmatians, who were still hanging around, the older one laughing maniacally. "You too- but somebody help him," he pointed at the boy lying unconscious on the ground. He really couldn't stay here, Quintus supposed, tempting as it was to just leave him there. |
![]() |
|
| golden_trillium | Apr 3 2010, 09:12 PM Post #309 |
![]()
|
Author: Darya Date: Mon Jun 30, 2008 9:31 am Neeve So Neeve and Linnesse indeed did what they thought they could do to make an end to the ridiculous brawl in front of the tavern door. And the raven-haired woman could not help but look satisfied, perhaps a bit smug, at the now water-soaked men. She did not feel the least bit sorry for what she and Linnesse had just done. Her blue eyes assessed each of the more or less battered men…and narrowed slightly when they met another pair of piercing blue eyes, which belonged to the oldest of the men (Kolya). For a moment, he looked more than upset and Neeve pretty much expected him to snarl…bite…do something…but instead, he joined Lancelot’s laughter with his own. The healer just shook her head slightly… She was not amused. Definitely not amused. Especially as all she saw in the small crowd before her was work. Bruises, split lips, no doubt re-opened battle wounds…and perhaps some at least partially fractured bones. Galahad looked most miserable of them all and she already saw him back in the infirmary. “Are we done yet?”, the Briton growled at the Sarmatians and shot almost reproachful looks at Gawain for having joined the fight despite his injury and at Lancelot, who seemed to be overly amused by the situation which to Neeve was somewhat annoying. But before she could say anything else, a Roman officer – Centurion by the looks of his armour – approached them and she had no doubt that he was even less amused by the scenario than she was…
The raven-haired arched an eyebrow at the news of an escaped prisoner. This day was just getting better and better. And she had yet to get a bowl of soup to a no doubt very hungry Commander. Sniffing, Neeve then looked at Linnesse, who was sitting on the bench next to the door. She looked exhausted… “Are you alright?”, the healer asked the other woman and scrutinized the blonde while waiting for a reply. |
![]() |
|
| golden_trillium | Apr 3 2010, 09:14 PM Post #310 |
![]()
|
Author: golden_trillium Date: Mon Jun 30, 2008 11:27 am Linnette
That brought a laugh through her sadness, accompanied by visions of Vanora, ordering things as she wanted them in the tavern, of Mother Lavinia, ruling the infirmary with an iron fist, and even of Judith, back at the Villa, whom Linnette realized in that instant that she missed quite a lot. Linnette was nowhere near as redoubtable as any of those ladies, she was sure, but Drake's words invited the comparison. She broke the embrace and stepped back from him, wiping at her eyes with Vanora's borrowed handkerchief, which she had secured in her belt pouch, and laughing softly. "And men aren't?" she asked him, eying him up and down in a way that was almost, maybe, cheeky, or joking. The tension she had been carrying inside her had been released, albeit temporarily and partially, by the tears, and left a bit more ease of emotion in their wake. For now. "Well..." Linnette cast her eyes around the room as she propped herself against the small table, not really sitting on it, but not really standing on her own, either. Just leaning, resting a bit. "Perhaps take the things off the bed? The tapestry, and the blankets, and..." she gestured toward Gedeon's saddlebags without naming them, but Drake would understand what she meant. She had hoped to take care of those herself, and indeed, most of this herself, but she had realized now that her broken hand wouldn't stand for that. Light tasks only- unfortunately. "And then start moving them to the new room? I can pack the rest of the clothes.." she eyed the dresser somewhat wearily- it was Gedeon's clothes and miscellaneous oddments that were still in there. But they were all small, light things, and her body could manage them well enough, even if it was difficult for her mind. "And does the room have furniture?" she asked, a hint of a smile returning as she became aware that she was parroting the same question she had asked him not too long ago, the one that he had not answered. Linnesse
"Yes...yes, I'm fine," Linnesse assured Neeve in a rather breathless voice. She was still breathing hard with the effort of helping with the bucket, and furthermore, she had not liked the way that man from the brawl had been looking at her and Neeve- the same man, as she seemed to remember, who had come into her sickroom two mornings ago while Linnette was there and been chased of by Drake. Drake again...always showing up where Linnette was! Linnesse shook her head, clearing the odd memory for now, but vowing again to ask her sister about it as soon as she got a chance, and talk to Drake himself if necessary, or ask Derfel to do so. Drake might seem kind to Linnette, but Linnesse privately thought it unlikely that his motives, whatever exactly they were, were completely pure. But she would see to that soon, get it sorted out, make sure Linnette was all right and not taken advantage of. "It was just heavy," she now continued, placing a hand on the table in back of the bench she had fallen onto and levering herself up, feeling just a little unsteady on her feet, but not too bad. Just outside the entrance, a Centurion was bullying the erstwhile brawlers off to duties again- and he was saying something about a prisoner having escaped. So that was what all the rest of the fuss was about, then- well, at least it wasn't an attack. Still, her eyes went back nervously over to Derfel before she looked back at Neeve, just making sure he was still there. She didn't want to walk back to the knights' quarters alone. "It was a good idea," she affirmed to Neeve with a smile as the men began to disperse, many nursing bruises or cuts of one kind an another- though Galahad still lay on the ground, coughing slightly on the water, and Linnesse's face turned anxious as she waited a moment to see if he'd open his eyes. |
![]() |
|
| golden_trillium | Apr 3 2010, 09:15 PM Post #311 |
![]()
|
Author: Eledhwen Date: Mon Jun 30, 2008 11:57 am Bors Bors jumped a little as he sensed a warm, feminine presence beside him, and turned to smile down at his Vanora, surprised at how delighted he was to see her. She always had a way of making everything alright, of calming his spirits, of making him see that not everything had to be solved with a fight... Why did she love him - this young, beautiful, intelligent woman? He often wondered, but always put the thought from his head. It didn't do to question the Gods too much... they had a habit of taking things away if they thought you might be getting too happy, too complacent. Wasn't that what had happened to Dag after all?
Looking down at his friend again now as Vanora spoke his smile faded a little, to be replaced by a slight frown. Yeah, Dag had been too happy... a son he hadn't known exsisted turning up to claim his long lost father, only too die too young, too soon, before they had hardly time to get to know one another. A new daughter... snatched away by her mother and delivered the Gods knew where, and for what? What did Saoirse get out of that? Bors would never understand it, never. He shook his head slightly and turned back to his own fiery-haired love. No, it didn't do to be too happy.
Eyes widened as he shot a look of daggers towards his friend. Dagonet knew him too damn well - knew he wouldn't have bothered coming back, knew he wouldn't have told Vanora himself because she would have made him return. Now there was no getting out of it. "Yeah, fanks Dag," he mumbled, shuffling his feet as he put his arm round Vanora's slight shoulders. "Fanks a lot." He grinned then, more of a grimace, but he knew Dagonet would take it as it was meant - a small show of gratitude to get around Bors' stubborn streak without him losing face. Dagonet knew him very well indeed. "You sure you'll be alright mate?" he asked with concern before he left.
"Hmph," Bors muttered under his breath, knowing that the day Dagonet stopped worrying and took it easy would be the day the sea froze over. "Well... I'll be back in ta see ya soon alright?" He threw a last pondering look at Saoirse before smiling at Vanora and turning to the door, leaning heavily on the small woman's shoulder for support, although he would never admit it. |
![]() |
|
| golden_trillium | Apr 3 2010, 09:16 PM Post #312 |
![]()
|
Author: Unicorn Date: Mon Jun 30, 2008 1:27 pm Mirtha He had never felt such intense feelings.... such intense expirence. Mostly he had women only when he was drunk... Mostly. Ione wanted him the way he was and told him that she wanted to help him in his problem. Was it possible? Their love making was great. And he felt the need in him and in her also. It was perfect for him. Maybe she was the one finally to give him a chance. Morning came too fast... A loud yawn left him and Mirtha slowly turned to the side, blindly searching with his hand for Ione beside him. But there was only soft sheets under his rough hand. He oppened his eyes with a frown and saw an empty bed... Turning around with a grunt he looked at the window. "Shit...." he muttered seeing how late it was. Sun was high in the sky. He should be at the stables. He was naked still under the sheets and he looked over the place for his clothes. Once he stood up with difficulty... his muscles tired and thight, he dressed himself and streached a little before walking out of the room. "Ione?" he called for her, and smiled as he walked into the main room of the shop. "Good morning..." he greeted her. |
![]() |
|
| golden_trillium | Apr 3 2010, 09:17 PM Post #313 |
![]()
|
Author: Lancelot Date: Mon Jun 30, 2008 2:32 pm Lancelot Lancelot kept on laughing, his voice pitching higher and more insane sounding. He bent over, holding himself up with his good arm - the wounded one still throbbing painfully from where Galahad had punched him - and roared with mirth, tears streaming down his face. What a situation. What a fucking ridiculous life. What was the point in all this? Two days ago they had been fighting for their lives, berserker Saxons all around them, and now, here they were, brothers essentially, the only thing each one had left in the world, punching and kicking each other like little children.
Lancelot only laughed harder, finally managing to straighten up. He raised his bloodied fist and saluted Gawain mockingly with it. "If you don't know that, my lovely blondie," he sighed, wiping his face to remove the tears, "then you know nothing of me at all." He turned and stared at Kolya, who had begun to join in the laughter. Lancelot cocked an eyebrow, checked on Galahad, and smiled again as the inappropriate mirth bubbled up inside. And suddenly again, he was soaking wet. "What the FUCK," he spat, and turned to face the tavern doors, his clothing wet yet again, his hair smashed against his head and his cuts stinging like Arthur's damned devil were dancing in them. Neeve and one of the sisters - damn them! Lancelot snarled and took a step forward - by the gods but he was done with this day - but stopped when an officious sounding Roman fool stepped between them all.
A dark and dangerous smile appeared on the first knight's face, and he shoved his wet mop of hair back. He sauntered toward the Roman, and rested his hand on his hip. The damnable leathers began to slide off with the pressure - fuck! Nonetheless, he tilted his head. "Pray tell, who are you to order us about? We are the cavalry, friend, not servants that search for some little pissant Woad you happened to misplace. Our duty was finished when we rode back from the last mess, I'd wager." His smile sharpened. "Gawain - don't you think we can handle Galahad here?" Lancelot's heart was slamming in his chest, but not from fear. He was beyond finished with this mess. All he wanted to do was eat something, drink a very large amount of ale, and get a fucking. bath. How hard was that??? Apparently, the hardest thing in the whole fucking world. Lancelot had a momentary flash of Arthur - his face white, his wound open, Lancelot's hands the only things that stood between fate and Arthur healing. His fingers shook briefly, and he bit his lip so hard he tasted blood. Looking at Kolya, then Gawain, and then Galahad prone on the ground - he made up his mind. This was finished, here - now. |
![]() |
|
| golden_trillium | Apr 3 2010, 09:19 PM Post #314 |
![]()
|
Author: Pinkie Date: Mon Jun 30, 2008 3:21 pm Eala Eala let Ash take her hand and she followed him down the laneway and out towards the gate. Her smaller legs had a hard time keeping up with his long stride but she managed without complaint. Only once did she look back in regret at not having revenge for Donnchadh. Once outside the gate the two broke into an easy loping run, eating the distance between wall and trees easily, diving in amongst the trees. Immediately Eala felt better, she felt freer. She still had the knife-doll in her free hand as they moved swiftly. Now and then she looked up at Ash, flinching when she saw how pale he looked, how sick he looked. She had given up looking at the stiff, dried blood on his stomach. The wet forest floor proved no hindrance to the ten-year-old, despite her lack of footwear and the biting cold of the British winter. Eala was used to the outdoors - it was the dank, musty darkness of a dungeon that had a negative effect on her, not the wide open spaces of Nature. They got so far and Eala noticed something, something strange -- tracks. Horse tracks. Heading towards one of the camps that they used oftentimes. The little blonde stopped, pulling her hand out of Ash's gently and hunkered down, pressing a hand to the mark on the wet ground. If it had been raining the mark would have been washed away by now... so the marks were made when it had stopped raining. Today then. And woads did not travel by horse. "Nneh --" she uttered to get attention, pointing to the tracks and then narrowing her black eyes into the trees before looking up at Ash expectantly. In truth Ash had probably noticed the tracks a long time ago, his senses much more attuned to the earth from his longer years upon it than Eala's, but that she noticed the half hidden tracks at all was not something one might expect from a normal ten-year-old. No one would expect the savage light to be in the eys of a ten year old either, a murderous vendetta against Romans breeding deep inside her little body. Catherine Catherine dropped the coins onto the table and pouted at them. At a time when people were fearing for their lives she seemed to be making more money than ever. It was not something she would turn her nose up at though her body was starting to feel weary of making love at this moment in time. The day was young yet though. Arranging her hair once more and applying a light misting of perfume to her body, the blonde went to walk out of the house but came to a halt when Arland was on his way in. His bright eyes lit up to see her and Catherine smiled, a sultry smile. "Kitty! You're home! Oh you missed it Kitty! At the tavern- there was a massive brawl with some old soldier and a few of the Sarmatians! I was worried you'd be caught up in it somehow." he gave her a relieved smile and placed a hand on her upper arm. Catherine's face dropped and she put a hand to her neck worriedly. "Sarmatians? What Sarmatians? Was anyone hurt?" she asked with more alarm than she thought she might have only yesterday. Before she had found herself intrigued and endeared to one of the Sarmatians. Arland's eyes narrowed, his expression darkening. "Why? You're not involved with any of them are you?" Arland asked with a hint of scorn in his voice which made Catherine cock an eyebrow at him, her posture stiffening and her eyes misting over a little. What right did he have to disapprove of her associations with anyone? "I don't know which one it was - Lancelot was there but he was trying to stop it I think." Arland said, walking past Catherine and gesturing his hand dismissively. Once he got out of her way Catherine was gone. She walked out the door hearin Lancelot's name spoken and instinctively pulled up her hood before realising it wasn't raining. It was still cold though so she left it up, her brow furrowed as she trudged through the mucky streets, her skirts hitched above her ankles to stop it trailing in the muck, towards the fortress grounds. When she got there it was in chaos. Guards were running about the place and as she moved between them with wide, misty green eyes, she managed to pick up on teh fact that a prisoner had escaped. Bemused, Catherine continued avoiding the guards until she came to the main courtyard and there lay, in the muck, Galahad. The blonde blew out a breath of laughter through her nose, seeing Lancelot and her amusement only faded when she spotted Gawain amongst the lot, saturated with water and bleeding.. or was it someone else's blood? A breath caught in her throat and she had taken three quick strides forward before she stopped, grit her teeth and half-turned away, intending on walking around the men into the tavern. But inevitably she cast a look back towards the men who were being bundled up to go looking for the escaped prisoner. Her lips pulled outwards in a slight smile, a soft smile as she noted that he was not completely battere - unlike Galahad who was rather miserably curled up hacking and coughing on the ground. |
![]() |
|
| golden_trillium | Apr 3 2010, 09:21 PM Post #315 |
![]()
|
Author: TwistOfShadows Date: Mon Jun 30, 2008 4:41 pm Nolan Nolan did not expect a reaction from Neeria. Prior to her treachery, she had been one of Guinevere’s women, but not one of Nolan’s. He cared little for her feelings or status, because she was not his concern. Until now. Traitors were punished severely in Briton. Did Neeria strive to be forgiven, and welcomed back with loving arms? It was pathetic, and Nolan was quite blunt about his dislike. As his fingers deliberately twisted into her shoulder and caused her pain, Nolan did not feel an ounce of regret. He hoped he hurt her. And he did, clearly…her lips bore backwards and she reacted like the fierce bitch she was. The woman gripped his hand hard, and raked her nails into his skin. Oh it stung, but Nolan had suffered harsher wounds in his time. Was this her defense? Truly? The warrior’s jaw tensed and his teeth gritted. He glared down at the woman, daring her to further her disobedience…
She denied treachery? And she claimed him a fool? Oh, but Neeria was digging herself a deeper grave! Nolan’s eyes were hard, and his expression did not waver. She was an adept warrior, but she could be cut down easily. Her beloved was dead, so surely her loyalties must be stronger? She was aiding the very enemy that had murdered her kin, and now she sought to harm Nolan. The Woad’s eyes flickered down to his bloodied hand, and he blinked lazily, not caring. He was bored of her arguments, bored of her fickle nature. Let Merlin deal with her. Did she understand the politics of Briton at all? If she was truly Guinevere’s best, then she would not have argued so vehemently for a ridiculous cause… “I do not hate you Neeria. I pity you.” He spoke slowly, emphasizing each syllable with his dark and dangerous glare. “Merlin can deal with you. I have no patience for a Slave’s whore…”
Ah, the Roman was overruled again, and Nolan turned his attention back to the bickering men. Nolan’s dark eyes rested upon the leader, now showing himself. Did insult to status offend him? Clearly. Nolan was almost amused at the competition for the upper hand. Romans were fickle, petty, and these two were struggling. The Optio was not older, but he was…rude enough to be considered a leader. Nolan glanced to his comrades, and parted his lips to speak. But…Ceinwyn turned towards the woodland, following the gaze of their army. Another Woad party had entered the clearing, and Nolan fell back a stride. Merlin. Without hesitation, Nolan reached out and grabbed Neeria by the wrist, keeping her close. His bloodied hand throbbed, but he paid it little heed. Indeed, he was almost relieved at Merlin’s arrival. These Roman idiots were proving troublesome in negotiations.
“They want to talk with you, although apparently cannot decide who is in charge of their party.” Nolan spoke slowly, his dry lips quirking into an amused and mocking smile. It was a bitter thing, and brief. He glanced down at Neeria, and tightened his grip on her wrist. “Neeria claims that they come in peace…but we arrived to find two dead. It is a funny sort of peace, no? Although I am not surprised at the lying words of a traitor…” Nolan’s fingers gripped into her skin, warning her to hold her tongue. The Woad looked to his elder, and awaited response… |
![]() |
|
| Go to Next Page | |
| « Previous Topic · Vincit Omnia Veritas · Next Topic » |
| Theme: Zeta Original | Track Topic · E-mail Topic | 2:26 PM Jul 11 |







