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| June 2008 | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Mar 23 2010, 07:18 PM (3,703 Views) | |
| golden_trillium | Mar 27 2010, 11:52 PM Post #106 |
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Author: linnet Date: Wed Jun 11, 2008 8:20 pm Mother Lavinia It was no surprise to Lavinia when the girl pulled away from her touch as she checked for fever. It was a foregone conclusion that children viewed her as a stern old nuisance. As a matter of fact, so did most adults. No one bothered to consider that she might have a charitable feeling now and then. Why would she have chosen to devote her efforts to healing if not for some sporadic empathy toward her fellow human beings?
Such defensiveness, Lavinia noted as she studied the waif. It was no wonder, though, being left without family, and feeling responsible for the little one. There must be someone who had been caring for the orphaned sisters, the nun thought. If not, then something had to be done. The girls couldn’t be left to fend for themselves. They wouldn’t be able to stay in the infirmary indefinitely. Long enough to find someplace better, of course. She would never send them out to live as beggars in the streets. They would be easy prey for the most corrupt purposes of lowlifes who forced orphaned children into crime and sin. The girl had turned away from the old woman, clearly signaling to be left alone. But Lavinia had to find out for certain whether there was anyone who would take responsibility for the sisters. If not, she was already forming a plan. “Someone must have brought you here when you were sick. Was it anyone you know who might be coming back?” she asked, speaking directly to the back of the blonde’s head. |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 27 2010, 11:53 PM Post #107 |
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AuthorTwistOfShadows Date: Wed Jun 11, 2008 8:44 pm Ceinwyn The woods were deeper here, deeper than she remembered. The larches and elders were a harsher green, coloured with the colder seasons, and the sky retained its dull grey luster. It glowered down brightly upon the trees, almost in disappointment. The undergrowth crept along the ground, twisting around gnarled tree trunks and clinging tightly to the brambled bushes that riddled this sacred place. This earthen and Woad territory. Indeed, it did not appear much, but it was Briton. The damp smell of leaf and mud, the occasional snap of twig in the darkness…it was Briton, and it was worth fighting for. Or alas, it had once been. A single figure sat among the trees. A woman. Her green eyes reflected the sinister luster of the foliage around her, a piercing and deeper green, and dirty red hair hung in matted curls around her pale face. She seemed dazed, concentrated…and yet she did not blink. She merely sat in the woodland, her knees covered in mud and scratched by the brambles she paid no heed to. The woman breathed hoarsely. Once. Twice. She counted those breaths, staring at the same patch of undergrowth. The same pattern of leaves. A limp hand moved into her lap, and she cradled it with the other. Stroking the fingers gently, each long and slender digit. There was a haunted expression upon her face, vacant but troubled…hopeless. “Briton is who we fight for…” She mumbled, her voice dry. “One by one, we all die…” Ceinwyn blinked. It was a heavy and tired movement. She could remember too much, and it troubled her mind, it poisoned her ability to reason. What good was sanity…in such a place? A mother had died, abandoning her, and she had betrayed her people by sleeping with a slave…what did it matter now? What bloodspill would resolve these deep and more difficult anxieties? None. A grim smile touched at the woman’s mouth, and she bared her teeth. In a mockery of feral intensity. She had been feared once, not long ago, but she would be again. It was not so late. The gods had kept her alive for a reason; they had spared her life after she had narrated her own destruction. The Woad’s head cocked sharply to the side, and her eyes grew lifeless once more. Her time would come…maybe now? Maybe tomorrow? Maybe by the next full Moon…? She knew not. |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 27 2010, 11:55 PM Post #108 |
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Author: sabor ice Date: Wed Jun 11, 2008 10:56 pm Cassidy
Oh, the defensiveness Cassidy exhibited really had little to nothing to do with Lavinia. She had been calloused toward Drake, rude to Linnette, horrendous to Catherine, and inexplicably savage toward her own sister, had she not? It had been universally proven on many different occasions that it mattered not whom it was nor what kind of person they were - Cassidy favored, and more pointedly, tolerated no one. She possessed a very defiant, opinionated, and angry soul - a seemingly explosive combination. She sat on the edge of the bed, still facing away from the healer. Her fingers curled stiffly into the dress at her thighs, tightening anxiously as the moments ticked by, until her knuckles inevitably strained white against her already pallid skin. Her back was poker straight, her jaw set in stone, teeth clamped and mouth tugged into a permanent grimace. Her blue eyes narrowed, but she did not glance again at the old woman even as she spoke. "Oh, him?" Cassidy snorted derisively, folding her arms over her chest - but the gesture seemed very self-soothing now rather than merely insolent. She whipped her head sharply to the side, her face completely out of Lavinia's view, eyes closed as a mocking smile graced her lips. The girl wasn't about to utter Drake's name, the soldier she had already declared to not need. "I told him to go away and he did." She shrugged one shoulder, her tone relatively apathetic as she added: "He stayed around for Fleur, I guess - she seemed to like him. Then again, Fleur's just a baby. What would she know?" Cáel
He grinned eagerly, nodding in agreement - on all accounts, of course. Cáel loved pretty things - he was not a rough-necked vagabond. Pretty jewelry, pretty trinkets, pretty men - and shiny money. He carried with him an impressive blade and although he knew how to wield the weapon, actually performing with it wan an entirely different story - he'd seen women with more skill of the sword. Surely the delectable little vixen opposite him was one of them. No, the Goth liked to stay with what he knew was safe, something he understood the ways of, something within his element, and that was jewelry and money. He abhorred violence and confrontation. Much too bothersome, in his opinion. His actual delicateness, masked behind strong features and an overwhelming sense of masculinity, probably would've been obscenely ironic to someone, had it been possible to see past his leather exterior, that is.
He seemed amused. "For your assistance, Lady, I am in your debt. Surely this old man would've been wandering for days otherwise," he mused self-indignantly, with a palm flat to his chest. Then, he gestured toward the door with one hand, stepping aside to allow Darya to lead the way. Once outside, he easily fell into step with her. He was not mocking her - heavens no - merely teasing. That was not to say what he had said wasn't partially true, though. If she could at least shove him in the direction he needed to go, he would discover and collect his new property sooner rather than later. Darya was unknowingly doing him a grand favor. "I've yet to know the littlest of the two, you know. She was born shortly before I left for Eburacum," the Goth explained, his tone apologetic. The lies continued to fall convincingly from his lips. He grinned then as he cast a curious glance toward the dark-haired woman. "What about you, love? Have you any kiddies about?" |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 27 2010, 11:57 PM Post #109 |
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Author: golden_trillium Date: Thu Jun 12, 2008 8:42 am Merlin Someone had turned aside from the march. Merlin could not tell who it was from this angle, but as he rounded the curve of the path they were using, he could see a lone figure, presumably someone who had been marching further forward in the column, sitting under a tree about twenty yards from the path. Sitting still, and alone, separated from others- looking dejected and depressed, though half-hidden by the tree she- Merlin somehow thought it was a she- was leaning against. The Woad leader shot a quick look at Juna, who was walking not too far away, and nodded his head toward the figure, indicating that he was going to go and see who it was and what was the matter. If whoever-it-was needed medical attention, Juna could provide that- or if their courage had merely failed them, Merlin would see that it came back. Or that punishment for laziness was properly administered- whatever was appropriate. The leaves scarcely crunched under the Woad leader's feet as he approached the seated figure- a morning and half an afternoon of rain had ensured that the ground was boggy and moist. Which was arguably good for ensuring that the Woads passed with as little notice as possible, but it made for an uncomfortable march. Merlin, however, was not dismayed. He had spent the morning thinking up plans as he walked, strategies for the coming spring and summer, when they would attack the Romans again. Winter was a bad time for war- but winter wasn't forever. And there would be no more truces, either. They must fight stealthily, even cautiously- the large attack of yesterday and the day before had been a disaster- but they must fight someway, somehow. They must struggle, not give up till the Romans were gone. Romans brought nothing but slavery and death; they were not of this land, and it was wrong to permit them there, even by temporary truce. But rashness was not a good thing either. That was what the last couple of days had taught Merlin, and he had spent the morning mulling over their lessons and deciding what to do next. It was in this determined, yet sensible frame of mind that Merlin now rounded the tree, to see Ceinwyn sitting on the ground at its feet, her head listing to one side, her eyes dull. She did not appear injured, but she did seem utterly drained and lifeless, bereft of all cause and courage. A state which Merlin intended to remedy- no stragglers or deserters dropped from his armies. "Ceinwyn! Get up- we have not much farther to go! The villlage and a good meal are close at hand." Merlin's voice was strong and encouraging, and he even held out a hand for Ceinwyn to take to assist her in standing up. If she refused, or gave him trouble, he might be sharper with her, but for now, he was all bluff, cheerful encouragement, cajoling her to her feet. Tristan The scout was tense as they rode across the courtyard, what with keeping a firm grip on the Woad woman and checking periodically over his shoulder for the figures in the shadows, and keeping his eyes open for anything else untoward as well. Fortunately, there seemed to be nothing else unusual. There was a supply wagon just inside the gates, having apparently just arrived, and Tristan was glad to see that- it meant more food, which, as he knew, was a concern. As they swept past the wagon and men, already speeding up for the canter across the open ground, though, Tristan got a glimpse of the dark-haired man who seemed to be the leader of the supply train- and got a jolt to his stomach that nearly made him gasp. He knew that man- Nadeem Sayed, who had lived with his tribe when Tristan was a child, though he had not been born Sarmatian, and who had caused him considerable trouble through the years. Actually, trouble was an understatement- Tristan hated Nadeem- they had once gotten along, but their rivalry went back years. It did give Tristan a stab of perverse pleasure to see his old rival entrusted with the rather menial job of ferrying supplies- but he also hoped very much that the group would not be staying at Badon long. Maybe they'd even be gone by the time Tristan got back. That might be nice. But they were out in the open now, and now that they had gotten out of Badon's gates without incident, Tristan's worries eased a bit, perhaps ironically. He always felt freer in the outdoors- and enclosed courtyards felt like "indoors" to him for all that they were open to the sky. It was walls that did it- walls that made him feel a bit suffocated and choked, always, even though he had learned to ignore it and go about his business normally. And besides being out in the open, Tristan could also be comforted by the fact that those two people in the archway, whoever they were and whatever they were about, could not possibly keep up with horses out here. They were relatively safe, at least from that maybe-threat. Not that Tristan didn't watch behind him, now, too, just as he watched all other ways- but Merlin, and the Woads, were the greatest concern now. He followed Scipio's lead in heading west from the gates of the fort- the direction the Woads were always found in, so that was logical. As they crossed the open, grassy ground, Tristan was content to hang near the middle of the group, letting the Optio lead the way, but as they neared the edge of the Woods, and Woad territory, Tristan brought his mount up alongside Scipio, and gave Neeria a soft but meaningful poke in the ribs. "Which way?" he asked gruffly, his beard scratching at her temple, then glanced over at the Optio, silently asking him to hear what the woman had to say and pass judgement on it. Tristan still didn't think for a second that the woman was truly a traitor to Merlin, just like that- but apparently everyone in authority trusted her, and they were stuck following her directions for now. |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 27 2010, 11:58 PM Post #110 |
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Author: TwistOfShadows Date: Thu Jun 12, 2008 9:17 am Ceinwyn Ceinwyn had lost her soul. Somewhere along the deep forestry and darkened path of religion and war, her sanity had been crumbled to dust. She had spirit once, there had been a coltish indignance that both angered and inspired her enemy. But now? Oh alas, she was a broken woman. Her dark eyes were shadowed with despair and confusion, and her young forehead was permanently marred with a frown. She did not appear the same Woad who had been taken captive last season, and she knew it. Her body was tired, her spirit wearied and injured. She had shared her body with the enemy, and she could still feel his dirty hands upon her skin. Indeed, she had half considered slicing this skin away from her very bone…just to exorcise the ghost of the filthy slave. Filthy, manipulative, overpowering slave. The Woad’s fingers twitched at the memory, and she almost gasped. Confused between past and present… Ceinwyn did not hear Merlin approach. He was silent, calculated, and indeed, she did not even remember leaving the path of her people. But she had. Her mind twisted and turned in its attempt to stay rational, but it faltered from time to time. She knew she wished to be alone, but she felt broken because she was alone. Ceinwyn did not trust herself…
Ceinwyn’s eyes snapped upwards sharply, and she visibly jolted. A confused look crossed her pretty features, as if Merlin spoke a foreign language. The Woad looked deep into her Elder’s face, and then she look to his proffered hand. It was a gnarled, aged and dry thing…but it was not that that frightened her. No…hands and fingers. She did not trust them, and yet she could not remember why…? There was no sense in her fear, it was ridiculously irrational. The Woad breathed a raspy breath from her lips, and smiled emptily. It was the smile of the faithless, the abandoned. “A good meal is useless when our army is incompetent and useless.” The words were spoken with a smile, but it was harsh and insulting. The Woad army had lost, had they not? Retreat? It was the action of cowardice, and Ceinwyn shuddered at the thought. They would all die soon. They would bathe in their own blood before the end…and the Gods would allow them to drown in it. Their broken British children. Ceinwyn moved to get to her feet, aware of Merlin’s order but she was reluctant to move. She was covered in nettle stings, and her skin visibly bled from bramble thorns. The woman appeared half mad. She spoke again. “The Gods laugh but I do not know why. They cackle like Crone Pagans on Samhain…” Ceinwyn’s head cocked sharply to the side, and she cracked her fingers loudly. “Rome still breathes….” |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 28 2010, 12:00 AM Post #111 |
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Author: Darya Date: Thu Jun 12, 2008 10:00 am Darya
Well, this one had manners. And a pleasant sense of humour. But he was still a stranger…and as for that, Darya decided to remain a bit cautious. The Sarmatian gave Gabriel an amused smile followed by a nod…and then made her way out of the tavern. Once outside, she was not surprised to notice that the weather was still ever so nasty. The dark-haired wrinkled her nose and adjusted the hood of her cloak to once more cover her long hair. Sighing, she then started to walk…even though she was not exactly sure where to go. Yes, the Sarmatian had offered to show Gabriel the right direction…but where on earth did he want to go anyway? He wanted to search for his family. Well, great…just that they could be literally everywhere… Just when the dark-haired wanted to ask the man for a hint of where he wanted to search first, he spoke again…
Darya blinked. As so long as she had not spoken to Arthur, the topic of children made her feel…awkward. The female cleared her throat and glanced up sideways at the man, who was walking beside her. “Uhm…no…no kids for me…”, she said…adding a yet in thought, “…and you have what? Two girls then? Do you think the older one will recognize you?” The Sarmatian found herself seriously wondering how such a reunion might be like. Did Gabriel really remember the kids? How long had he been gone anyway? And why did she care again? Because that’s a part of you…remember? “And where did you live…or work…back then? So that I can point you into the right direction…”, the dark Sarmatian finally added and met Gabriel’s gaze questioningly… |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 28 2010, 12:01 AM Post #112 |
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Author: golden_trillium Date: Thu Jun 12, 2008 10:46 am Merlin
"It will not breathe forever," Merlin responded grimly, eying Ceinwyn as she got to her feet- alone, without touching his proferred hand. Now that he got a good look at her as she rose, he could see that she was scratched all over by the various thorns and twigs of the forest- as though she had been wandering off the path for some time, and carelessly, too. A touch of apprehension began to gnaw at the edges of Merlin's mind- they were far from any Romans here, and a whole army didn't exactly move silently, but still, they couldn't afford to have anyone behave in an unnecessarily conspicuous manner. "Come, Ceinwyn, we must not give in to despair. The Gods will favor us again." He took a step backwards and gestured towards the moving column some ways off, indicating that they should catch up to it, but he did not take his eyes off Ceinwyn. She looked wild, unpredictable- lost, in her own despairing thoughts. |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 28 2010, 12:03 AM Post #113 |
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Author: TwistOfShadows Date: Thu Jun 12, 2008 11:23 am Ceinwyn
Those were confident words, and they rang in Ceinwyn’s ears like a song. The Roman Empire was comprised of greedy vicious Christians…and their slaves. They reaped the land like lusty whores, taking life and spilling blood wherever they trod. Merlin had taught her that. But to hear these words? Ceinwyn believed him, his predictions were enough to calm her anxieties. The Woad woman stood tall in the woodland, but her arms hung limply at her sides. Her form was thin, slender like a young animal…but her skin was filthy and scratched. She had once been quite an impressive sight, but now she was nothing. Dirtied, sullied, and with enough madness to confuse an entire army. She parted her lips to speak, but decided against it. Indeed, Ceinwyn did not speak much these days…only when necessary. But when she did? Oh, she had the sharpest, most vicious tongue!
Ceinwyn followed without question. Merlin was her leader, her Elder, and yet she did not feel close to him anymore. She felt isolated, alone, and untrusted. The Woad had half expected to be executed for her crimes, but she had been allowed to live on. A crueler punishment, to be sure. Breathing quietly, she walked beside Merlin. Her eyes watched the Woad beside her, but they were unreadable. She studied him. She studied the one creature she trusted. Oh yes, she would be magnificent again one day, she just yearned for the chance, the opportunity. A breath of wind blew her auburn hair back over her naked shoulders, and she lifted her face to it, breathing it in. The smell of Briton, the smell of Earth, Fire and Mud… For a mere moment, there was life in her eyes. Raging, free. “And what is your plan from then onwards?” She asked quietly. Her voice was gentle, but held the promise of intention, threat. The woman did not know the future, but there was something incredibly foreboding about it. Ceinwyn had not believed the Woad army could be defeated, but she felt the shame of it. It flowed through her veins like poison, and crushed her dignity. She rested one hand against the bone hilt of her dagger, and fingered its smoothness. It was comforting. She spoke again, whispering. “…Do not confuse my shame with weakness, I wish to be useful again. I have committed crimes, but allow me to show my worth…” They were brave words, but Ceinwyn cared not for the answer. She had nothing left to lose. Her spirit was already broken…and in urgent need of repair, of comfort. In her heart, she was already half-dead. |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 28 2010, 12:04 AM Post #114 |
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Author: golden_trillium Date: Thu Jun 12, 2008 1:55 pm Merlin
"I know all my people's worth," Merlin responded easily, though the sideways look he gave Ceinwyn as he walked was a little narrowed, a little concerned. Ceinwyn had been punished for her indiscretion a long time ago...but it seemed it was still weighing on her mind. Not always a bad thing, that which pushed one to do better, but she was useful; she was a warrior, and she had fought for them in the battle. "If you mean you wish to be a messenger again, it is possible; but I will decide that when the time comes," Merlin continued with a slightly stern look, deciding to get right to the point. Right now, at this moment, the fact was he had no use for messengers; he had nothing to say to the Romans as yet. If and when he did, he would consider Ceinwyn, but he was not sure whether he would use her or not. Maybe. But then again, maybe not. |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 28 2010, 12:05 AM Post #115 |
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Author: LadyCastus Date: Thu Jun 12, 2008 3:19 pm Malcus Barbattus and Neeria Neeria cringed as her crotch was repeatedly slammed into the hard leather knob of the saddle. Every time the horse landed, her private area was smashed as Tristan slid forward with the motion and pinned her momentarily against the damned thing. Even though she was not a very busty woman, Neeria longed for her leather breast straps, which were removed while she was in the infirmary, as her breasts swung vicariously up and down and around as they made their way across the countryside. And if those things weren’t bad enough, the woad felt nauseous and the pain in her side screamed. The woman tried to focus on her mission but it was impossible. She was probably riding to her death. But for Merlin she would gladly die. Tristan’s grip around her was tight which she was actually grateful for because she no longer had the sensation of falling. The Roman with the rat-like features rode in front with the Roman on the black horse very close by. The Roman from the prison rode just to Tristan’s left flank and slightly to his rear. Neeria pressed her head into Tristan again, trying to ease the pain between her legs. Malcus kept a close watch on the prisoner as they made their way. The captain stayed close to Tristan, watching his back, because he sure as balls didn’t want to ride with that bastard optio and his sidekick. Barbattus knew that if they were suddenly attacked, it would take Tristan a minute to kick the bitch off of his horse to protect himself. Tristan'd be better off using her worthless carcass as a protective shield. Malcus laughed at the thought. He stopped laughing though when he remembered that he’d eventually have to carry her on Falco. He rolled his eyes to the heavens. At least it had stopped raining.
Tristan’s whiskers brushed against Neeria’s ear, and the side of her face when he spoke to her. Her heart raced. Neeria knew Tristan was a scout, one of Arthur’s knights of the Roundtable. She would not fool him easily and she’d already experienced his violence. As she bounced in the saddle, she turned her face toward his, tilting her head upward so he could hear her. “We are heading toward the sun. When we get to ridge of the black rocks, we must turn so that the sun is on this side,” she yelled so that he could hear her, pointing to her left. "We will ride a short distance further until the trees divide and go this way,” she continued, pointing to her left side. “A short ride more into the trees and there will be the camp.” It was all true. She just hoped he believed her. ”What the hell is she babbling about?” Malcus said loudly. “Where is the heifer leading us?” |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 28 2010, 12:07 AM Post #116 |
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Author: Elessars Girl Date: Thu Jun 12, 2008 4:30 pm Arthur The Commander found sleep all too easily in his weakened state; the soft sounds of the wood crackling in the fireplace doing their part in lulling Arthur into slumber as well. And God mercifully allowed his servant to sleep dreamlessly for once; no dark nightmarish visions of bloody battlefields and death both past and future. Arthur never heard the door creak open and then click shut. He never heard the soft humming of her voice or the charming laugh or the rustle of the pleats in her linen skirts as she moved freely about his quarters. He did not readily sense her presence as she leaned over his sleeping form on the furs. …but Arthur must have caught her feminine scent or felt the movement as tiny fingers lifted at the corners of his untucked tunic. He slightly stirred; making a small nonsensical sound of contentment as he licked at his dry lips and languidly reached for her hand. In Arthur’s mind, Darya had returned to look in on him as Neeve would not be quite this stealthy in her attempt to examine his stitches. And Neeve had promised some sort of soup upon her return and the Commander did not smell any such things that would pass off as edible….but at the thought of food Arthur’s stomach made its empty self known with a low rumble. “Hmhmm…I am fine, Angel,” Arthur murmured with tenderness behind closed eyes; his index finger traced over the top of her hand and his mouth twisted up into a gentle smile as he did so. Since his return, the Roman had not the good fortune to have had a proper moment alone with his lover. Yet as his thick sword calloused fingers enclosed over her petite wrist and allowed her questing fingers to slide beneath his clothing, Arthur began to sense something was off….the scent was distinctly feminine and familiar…but not Darya’s scent? He half opened his green eyes still expecting Darya or perhaps even Neeve. But it was neither of them hovering over him. “Eyla,” Arthur spoke her name with a hint of surprise and the smile that had graced his weary features remained even as he took in her rather overly painted eyes and ruby red lips. However, his hand halted any further upward movements of Eyla’s fingers beneath his tunic. “What are you up to, hm?” Arthur asked evenly enough and then carefully removed her hand from beneath his clothing. Charming little Eyla….and what of my possessions has she hidden in my absence this time? |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 28 2010, 12:08 AM Post #117 |
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Author: TwistOfShadows Date: Thu Jun 12, 2008 5:04 pm Ceinwyn
Oh but Ceinwyn did not miss the snap of that comment! She caught his sideways look with one of her own, but it was not so confident nor intimidating. It was true, the Woad woman had been punished long ago, but young minds dwelt on failure. Ceinwyn’s duty was to her people, to her country, and she had lived and breathed it since the day she witnessed her mother’s death. And so to fail? It was a death of sorts, and Ceinwyn had taken it hard. She punished herself daily, but she also grew stronger, much wiser to the cause. She had learnt that people could not be trusted, and that emotion was misleading and dangerous. Ceinwyn would not falter again, but she would learn from her mistakes. The woman would, and could, prove a point, a purpose. Even if it meant going behind Merlin’s back to confirm it...
Ceinwyn knew those words, and an argument was useless. Merlin’s word was the most important, and her defiance would achieve nothing. The female nodded in stern agreement, but her insides twisted painfully. She felt sick. Once upon a time, the woman would have been trusted. Without question, without contemplation. And now? Ceinwyn approached the marching Woads, and she curled her top lip back in distaste. They were moving too slowly, and she found herself analyzing each of her brethren. Their thinning forms, their painted skins, the expressions of quiet defeat they wore. The woman turned to Merlin, but said nothing. She knew that certain members of their clan had been taken captive by the Romans, and she knew…with a passionate certainty…what Artorius and his slaves would be doing. Mocking them, abusing them…breaking their wills to dust… “Neeria and Eala will not survive this, you know? Their minds will be corrupted, as was mine…” Her words were bold, but she meant them. Ceinwyn’s voice was gentle, but there was a warning in it. A knowledge, an experience. A harsh wind bit into Ceinwyn’s cheeks, flushing them red, and she glared across her people. Indeed, they all knew of Ceinwyn’s…precarious state of mind. She had no friends, no family. She did not want them. She spoke again, her eyes darkened with the intensity of her words. “You know I know this. Better than anyone else, for I have suffered at their words and spite. And for Briton and myself, I shall see vengeance done…” Ceinwyn was no skilled swordswoman, nor was she particularly adept at close-hand combat…but she had a certain power to remain unharmed. It was luck, perhaps? The Gods looked down upon her, and found her amusing. The Woad was coltish, over-enthusiastic…but there was no denying her hatred for Rome and its slaves. Her grudges were blood deep, and her words were a dark and vehement promise. |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 28 2010, 12:09 AM Post #118 |
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Author: Starbelle Date: Thu Jun 12, 2008 5:13 pm Tatiana Walking into the smithy, a room that she used from time to time when the animals needed new shoes, Tatiana watched as Adian closed the door behind them feeling the heat of the fire behind them to warm her skin like a blanket on a cold winter's night, causing her to briefly shiver unconsciously in response to the temperature change. Finding a empty bench, she headed over to it and sat down. Glancing askance with a puzzled look at her smiling but now quiet counterpart, who still held the wet cat still inside his cloak. Adian is quite a mystery..not that that's a bad thing..but still it makes me wonder if I may have told him too much about me
"Thank you. I'm glad to hear that he has a warm place to stay." Tatiana replied already feeling an attachment to the grey cat, eventhough he wasn't hers to begin with. |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 28 2010, 12:11 AM Post #119 |
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Author: TwistOfShadows Date: Thu Jun 12, 2008 6:04 pm Eyla Eyla Attriabes had a talent for naughtiness. Oh yes, she craved those moments of delectable seduction, and she conjured them easily in her patrons. The woman was beautiful, and men knew it. It took a simple pout of her perfect lips, or a stray curl teasing its way between her cleavage, or simply…a whisper of a thrill in a stubborn man’s ear. She knew what to say, and she knew how to play. Every man had different tastes, a different type, and Eyla fancied that she knew them all. Some of her men had wanted a defiant woman, a woman who deserved to be put back in her place…and these men were ever so fun. She never pretended to overpower masculine aggression, infact, she quite liked a strong man to dominate her…but her games created the experience. Indeed, she was an experience. She was the fortress’ favourite, and she shunned competition with a sweet and condescending laugh. The woman lived far more comfortably than the tavern whores, and she had the intellect and spirit for survival. She did not look for nice men, she looked for the powerful and influential. After all, what fun were the fairytale types? Soft eyed and pretty-cheeked men were boring, and they didn’t pay half as much… But now? Oh it was a sight! Eyla Attriables was leant over Artorius Castus, a very influential man indeed, but it was not for pleasure’s sake. No, but it appeared that way. Her skirts had gathered around her thighs as she leant one knee onto his soft bed, and her dark, curly hair hung in rivets over her tanned shoulders. She was close, too close, but…she had perfectly pure intentions. It was strange. Eyla’s forehead was furrowed in a concerned frown, and her hands sought to remove his tunic…until… Artorius stirred, grunting beneath her…and Eyla’s dark eyes moved quickly to his face. Good gods, what in hell was she doing?! Before she could react, she felt Artorius’ fingers touch over her knuckles. His calloused fingertip stroked over her soft skin, and without knowing, Eyla sighed softly, her lips parting at the contact. It stirred a deep shiver in her spine, a sensation that was simply too perfect to disregard. Her eyes looked to his sleeping face, and she watched the smile melt onto his soft mouth. It was a handsome thing, a dreamy thing, and Eyla moved to speak. But was interrupted…
Angel? Interesting, she had not been called that before. Indeed, she was quite surprised at the sudden flirtation happening between them. It usually took a good hour of banter and cheeky innuendo to gain Artorius’ attention…and even then, he was a Christian. Eyla loved corrupting Christians, but Artorius was not willing to take the first step into damnation. Pity really…but now? Eyla found herself biting her lips…and then she gasped. The Roman wantonly slid her hand beneath his tunic, and Eyla’s fingers opened at the touch. She found herself craving the touch of him, and she felt the dewy heat of his skin. The lightest touch of his stomach hair. It was perfect, and the whore tilted her head forwards…her lips parted, her eyes fluttered closed, and a single dark curl fell onto Artorius’ chest. It was the perfect image of seduction…and Eyla yearned for more….
Eyla’s eyes shot open, and she met his eyes with a brief expression of surprise. Damn him, Damn him to his Christian Hell! The Roman had expected someone else, and Eyla quelled the swell of indignance and annoyance in her stomach. Her dark eyes remained a deep and liquid black, and the shadows from the fire danced upon her pretty cheekbones. The woman appeared in the midst of arousal, and another curl unwrapped itself from her neck…falling downwards between them. Well…waste not want not? Eyla moved closer to his face, and a small smile teased at her red lips. She was breath away from him, she could smell the musk upon his skin…and her eyes danced with intention. What was she up to? Lord knows…she’d forgotten the purer intention… “Artorius,” she purred. Her fingers remained beneath his tunic, but his hand had refused her any upward movement. Such a shame. However, Eyla began to circle the hard crevices of muscle on his tummy. She smoothed her soft fingertip over his skin, teasing, playing, asking for trouble. “You have a temperature, and such a predicament can only be solved by airing your skin…” She found the dip of the man’s bellybutton, and teased it with her fingertip. “…And you cannot air your skin…whilst fully dressed, can you? I am merely thinking of your wellbeing…because I care…” Her lips pouted coltishly, and her eyes sparkled mischievously. Eyla had a talent for wordplay, and she loved it. “Come now, what other intentions could I possibly have? Other than to ravish you while you sleep…?” It was a brave addition, and Eyla laughed softly. She arched an eyebrow, and pinched against the fabric of his tunic, almost impatiently… |
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| golden_trillium | Mar 28 2010, 12:12 AM Post #120 |
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Author: Lancelot Date: Thu Jun 12, 2008 6:05 pm Lancelot There was a stiffness to Lancelot's walk that not many would notice - none perhaps save Arthur - as he made his way out into the courtyard. And praise the gods balls but the rain was letting up. Lancelot's hair was beginning to dry, and despite the motion of his hands on it, slicking it back once more, it sprang up in riotous whorls that made him look like he'd been surprised by something. Surprised by my own ridiculous behavior. We are through - although, yes, I will always answer his call. Always. Sighing, the Sarmatian clomped his way back toward the infirmary, despite the 'promise' he'd made to Arthur about resting. He needed to see to Dag, and perhaps to get Neeve to check his stitching once more before he tried to clean the muck off his body in the baths. The muck and blood and gore that seemed to stain him - no matter how hard he scrubbed or doused his skin in ale and whores. Find another whore for the night "Fuck it," he muttered under his breath; Arthur was rapidly worming his way back into Lancelot's subconscious and truth be told, the first knight needed a damned break from thinking. Ale. Yes, ale and some hot food and clean clothing and body would do him just fine. And then he could truly ignore the anger and guilt and plain confusion that was eating at him until he and Arthur 'discussed' the Optio's wants - in regards to Lancelot, of course - that evening. His stomach began to ache as Lancelot pushed open the door to the hospital, and he shook off some of the excess water from his jacket and borrowed stack of leathers as he peered about in the gloom of the place. He shuddered involuntarily; he hated these places - especially when he was injured enough to have been left behind. Eburacum was a city he'd never seen - although some of the others had. He'd been on his deathbed with a fever brought on from an arrow wound - and one nothing as simple as the hole in his arm now. He bit his lip to dispell that unpleasant memory; he'd been so young and had had no desire to truly live. Yet he had. For some unknown reason, he'd lived to fight and love and hate and fuck another day - and here he was, examining his own choices - and gods, but where was everyone? "Hello?" He could hear noises from the rooms beyond the foyer, and without being invited, rounded the corner into the main body of the infirmary, hoping he'd find Dagonet immediately so he could get the hell out of this place. |
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