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| June 2008 | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Mar 23 2010, 07:18 PM (3,688 Views) | |
| golden_trillium | Apr 3 2010, 09:23 PM Post #316 |
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Author: lady ione Date: Mon Jun 30, 2008 5:13 pm Ione She moved her eyes back to her work as the customer left her shop with two cloaks and a blanket. Ione stood there next to her beloved loom, and ran her hands over the strong wooden frame. So smooth and strong...like running her hands over Mirtha's toned chest, feeling the muscels twitch. As she thought, her mind went over the various herbs her mother had used to cure ailments of all sorts...surely there was one to help someone stop drinking. There were the bitter herbs that made wine sour...or so her father had read to her from the bible.... ...Her hands left the wooden frame of the loom and crossed over her chest, just staring out at the cold, damp day that was slowly fading. Ione had not minded that Mirtha had slept so long. He could sleep as long as he wanted to for all she cared. It was good to just have him there. Could he be the one to finally stay in her life, or would he leave her like all the rest had? Just promise her the moon, then leave? But that things seemed so right between she and Mirtha. So natural. Ione didn't want him to leave, and had even hoped beyond hope that he'd be the one to finally ask her to wed him during the Spring Festival...if there was one. As she made ready to sit down at her work, she heard rustling coming from the room, and a smile crossed her face. Ione's body then recalled to her the intenseness of their lovemaking: The feel of him entering her with such force that she had dug her nails into her shoulders, their breath falling on the others skin...the taste of him still on her lips. The young woman heard the door ope,a nd she turned to see Mitha enter the room. He was so wildly handsome in the dim light of the small shop...
"Oh, Mirtha!" Ione ran to him, letting him catch her in his arms. "Tis late afternoon, love, but tis a good afternoon to you none the less." Bringing her face up close to his, Ione brushed his lips with hers as she said, "I would have left you sleep all day if you'd have wished to." Ione had asked him a question before they got caught up in their love for each other: Did he want to stay with her in the shop? Or go back to the stables where it was cold? Ione could only hope that their need for each other had made his choice. Smiling as she looked into his eyes, Ione said, "Mirtha...I cannot tell you how happy you have made me." A new chapter was about to be written in her life, and Ione hoped that this time the ending would be one of eternal happiness. |
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| golden_trillium | Apr 3 2010, 09:24 PM Post #317 |
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Author: LadyCastus Date: Mon Jun 30, 2008 6:28 pm Neeria and Malcus Barbattus
Good faith? Malcus wanted to laugh. Good faith? With the woads? It was out of good faith that Arthur thought there was a solid peace treaty in order was it not? Fucking faith? The demons couldn't be trusted at all! "Yes, optio" Malcus said. The captain groaned inwardly. Arthur had sent this man to negotiate with Merlin, a war lord? Amadeus was so far out his league. But Malcus had tried to intervene and by the looks of it, even Tristan tried to get the optio's attention, so now Amadeus would be on his own. Malcus would let the optio dig his own grave and probably get them all killed, the pompous ass. There was movement in the woods and then suddenly, Merlin appeared. Malcus turned at looked at the magician. He was quite an impressive figure; painted blue, wrapped in furs, tall and muscular. He had chiseled features and penetrating eyes. Malcus could see how some would follow him. But to Barbattus, he was just another blue man who needed to be run through.
"You are a fool, Nolan!" Neeria hissed. Nolan suddenly grabbed her by the wrist, jerking her small body around. There was Merlin, standing in the clearing. Neeria's heart pounded wildly in her chest, the earth seemed to stand still, all was quiet when she laid eyes on the man who was most like her father.
The word 'traitor' rang in Neeria's ears. She was not a traitor and she must prove that to Merlin. Neeria sought Merlin's eyes, wanting to call out to him, but not daring to do so until he'd addressed her first. The woman snatched her wrist from Nolan and slightly pushed him away from her. Then she looked to her shan-ti, hoping he would grant her time to speak with him. |
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| golden_trillium | Apr 3 2010, 09:26 PM Post #318 |
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Author: linnet Date: Mon Jun 30, 2008 8:13 pm Gawain There was nothing funny about this. Lancelot’s laughter grated on Gawain’s nerves like a rough hewn board. And when Kolya joined in, it took every ounce of the blonde knight’s self-control to keep from re-starting the brawl, this time with Galahad on the sidelines.
Fuck you, Gawain hissed under his breath, the second time in minutes he’d responded to Lancelot with those words. The first time had been irritation; this time was real anger. He didn’t bother looking at the Dark Knight. He knew he would bristle at what he saw as much as at what he was hearing. How hard would the sonofabitch First Knight be laughing if it were Arthur laid out unconscious instead of Galahad? Was it really that easy for Lancelot to wash his hands of the situation, and sit there laughing? Maybe so. Lancelot didn’t have to see the look in Galahad’s eyes when he knew what was coming – silently begging Gawain to let him keep fighting. Lancelot didn’t have to feel like a prick for giving his best friend irresponsible shit for advice – the merits of fighting for your woman and giving the other man a message he would never forget. Lancelot didn’t have to regret hurting his best friend so he’d understand when enough was enough. The fact that Galahad wasn’t moving yet made Gawain very nervous, and the laughter was making him furious. Not seeing any useful help near the tavern, he knelt beside the fallen knight, making sure he was breathing at least. Suddenly water was splashing over both men from above, most of it hitting Galahad. Gawain looked back to see Neeve and Linnesse setting down the offending bucket.
She sounded disgusted, but Gawain was relieved to see her still here in case Galahad didn’t come around soon. “Yeah, we’re done,” he said seriously, at the same time that Galahad coughed and turned sideways, his body reacting to the shock of cold water. “Easy,” the blond knight said to his semi-conscious friend. He rested his hand on Galahad’s shoulder.
Now Gawain’s anger had a new target. He stood up and glared at the Roman officer. “Find your own damn prisoner,” he growled. “My orders come from Arthur Castus and his First Knight (he wisely chose not to say ‘and that asshole’) - only. This,” he said moving his eyes from the Roman’s face just enough to indicate Galahad, “is Sarmatian business. Not yours.” It was while he was snarling at the Roman that Gawain noticed Catherine. His attention veered from the officer. His disposition veered from angry to regretful. She took a few steps in the knight’s direction, then paused, almost smiling. Gawain returned her look, but his expression was sad, and a bit embarrassed. He wished he could talk to her, tell her how things had come to this. He tried to smile, and shook his head slowly to communicate he was sorry about the state of things she had to witness. Then he had to turn away, back to Galahad, who was still sputtering and coughing. “Will somebody help me get him to his room?” Gawain asked, looking first to Lancelot, then Kolya. He didn't want to deal with either of them right now, but he didn't think he could get Galahad up and someplace better than the mud without some help. |
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| golden_trillium | Apr 3 2010, 09:30 PM Post #319 |
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Author: golden_trillium Date: Mon Jun 30, 2008 8:57 pm Quintus
Quintus drew himself up and puffed out his barrel chest impressively, incensed by the way these two barbarians spoke to him. Normally, as it happened, he had great respect for the Sarmatians- no one was their equal on horseback- but there were times when they were too damned impressed with themselves for their own good. This was one of those times, and Quintus, his pride already smarting from the loss of the prisoner in the first place, decided abruptly to give the So-called First Knight, who apparently couldn't even keep his own pants from near falling down, a piece of his mind. "Oh, servants' work, is it? Where I come from, servants don't do things like that. That," he jabbed his finger over towards a neat sqaud of searchers, double-timing it through the courtyard on the way to the building they were about to thoroughly comb from top to bottom. "Is soldiering, but you bloody Sarmatians wouldn't know anything about that, because fucking cavalry are always too fucking good for the rest of us." Quintus's words were considerably more harsh than he would have used with Lancelot normally, but he scarcely cared. They weren't going to help him search. If it had been just Gawain, he might have been able to press the issue, but his rank was equal to that of the First Knight, so he held no leverage there except threats. And Lancelot wouldn't respond to threats. He and his men were Commander Castus's pets- they got anything they wanted, sooner or later. Bloody, stuck-up cavalry- all of the glory and none of the mud and muck. "See to your man, then, but he'd better piss sunshine when you're done with him." Quintus growled in the direction of Galahad, then siezed an errant soldier by the collar and thrust him in the direction of another forming search party. "Get on with it!" the Centurion barked, stomping away from the First Knight and his damned falling pants. A whore, a blonde woman, was hanging around the edges of the conversation curiously, and Quintus favored her with a glare, hoping she didn't hope to solicit custom here. Couldn't she see that the men were all busy? Merlin and Tristan
"Ah...I see." Merlin nodded knowingly and let himself meet Neeria's eyes. She had just jerked her hand away from Nolan's grip and stood there, fairly burning with desire to speak to him, he could tell- but he would hear from her later. He held up his hand in a small gesture, indicating her to be silent for now, and then, confident that with so many eyes watching, she could not escape the clearing, turned his attention to the Romans. Couldn't decide who was in charge, could they? The corner of Merlin's lip curled in a rather unpleasant smile as he advanced a step forward. "So...who am I to treat with? You? You?" His gaze lingered expectantly first on the man still mounted, then on the man outside the door of the hut. The Sarmatian scout in the doorway was a slave only, it was not him they would be talking to- but there was someone else inside the hut, as well, who might very well also be the spokesman- who knew? "And more importantly..." Merlin's voice hardened now, and there was no mistaking his great displeasure with the situation as he found it. "How am I to treat at all when your slave stands ready to send one of my people to the Gods?" Merlin could see the scout's muscles tightening in resistance to the term "slave", his teeth clenching, even from this distance, but it was only more amusing to him. They were slaves- they just never wanted to admit it. Merlin was, however, concerned with getting the bound man out of danger of that wicked blade. "And you have bound him, too? It does not seem like peace to me." He looked to the various Romans expectently, eyebrows raised, waiting for some explanation- whoever it would come from. |
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| golden_trillium | Apr 3 2010, 09:30 PM Post #320 |
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Author: lady ione Date: Mon Jun 30, 2008 10:11 pm Brendyn Arriving at the top of the stairs from the dungeons and not having had any luck in finding the prisoner down there...nor the accomplice if there had been one, Brendyn studied carefully the situation around the area. The fight seemed to have died down, so that might or might not have been a good place for distraction now, still there was enough going on that one could still use it for escape purposes....enough so that the little woad could escape. Everyone seemed so intent on the fight. His head turned from one side to the other wondering where he should check next... Shops, stables, quarters, the exits from the fort. Brendyn was far from looking like a soldier in the same clothes he had cleaned the latrines in, but there had been a call for help, and in or out of uniform, he'd do his best....though in a place like this, the little snip of a woad could be hiding almost anywhere, and with her injury, surely she could not have gone far. There was a set of vendor's shops near by the exit of the dungeons, perhaps she could have gone in there. |
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| golden_trillium | Apr 3 2010, 09:32 PM Post #321 |
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Author: sabor ice Date: Mon Jun 30, 2008 11:22 pm Mordred
Good faith? An ironic and devastatingly under-developed ploy. Had it not been in mere good faith the initial treaty for peace had been fortified? These Romans and their faith...did men like Arthur and Amadeus truly believe this was something to wager wars upon? An idea? There was no faith. There was no God. There was only Man. Flesh, bone, and blood. Bloodshed was the only alternative when words and good faith were meaningless. Men understood bloodshed, they pined for it. Mordred trusted the power of aggressive negotiation through the cold steel in his hand. It was re-assurance he could never accept of the enemy. It was real when the enemy's blasphemed words of so-called peace were petty and reliable. Amadeus may have been an impressive liar, but he was a poor negotiator, clearly in way over his head. The Optio was no longer in control of the situation. They were at the mercy of the enemy - even Mordred knew this - but Amadeus was much too arrogant to admit such flaw, such defeat. His self-righteousness was sure to get the rest of them killed, as long as Barbattus didn't beat him to it with his impulsive outbursts, that was. Mordred ignored the childish bantering occurring all around him, dark gaze swiveling toward a break in the trees where another Woad party - smaller than the first - now stood. Merlin was among them, easily recognizable even from a distance, standing brazenly proud in lead of his followers, an imposing foe to say the least. Mordred was not intimidated by the 'magician', despite his last encounter with the Woad leader and his people. He had been chewed up and spit out, and yet he had not crumbled. He was capable of hatred, but never submission to fear. The knight gave a defiant lift to his chin when Merlin briefly addressed him, but said nothing. Wordplay was the Optio's talent. Mordred's jaw visibly tightened, features hardened, his gaze flickering between Merlin and Amadeus, anxious to learn what would now develop of this meeting. Absentmindedly, his hand clutched the hilt of his sword tighter. Re-assurance. |
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