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June 2008
Topic Started: Mar 23 2010, 07:18 PM (3,703 Views)
golden_trillium

Admin
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?

Cassidy
 
"No. They're all dead. I take care of my sister. We're
fine. Thank you."


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

Admin
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

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Author: sabor ice
Date: Wed Jun 11, 2008 10:56 pm
Cassidy


Mother Lavinia
 
”Someone must have brought you here when you were sick.
Was it anyone you know who might be coming back?”


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

Darya
 
“Well, thank you for your invitation…but maybe it would
be more appropriate if you go to meet your family alone…
After all the time…but I’m sure we’ll see each other
again…and maybe you can show me some of that jewelry
you’re selling then…”


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.

Darya
 
“I will, however, leave the tavern now, too…and maybe
point you into the right direction, if necessary. It’s
quite possible that some things have changed and moved
since you left…”


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

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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

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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…

Merlin
 
"Ceinwyn! Get up- we have not much farther to go! The
villlage and a good meal are close at hand."


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

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Author: Darya
Date: Thu Jun 12, 2008 10:00 am

Darya


Cael
 
"For your assistance, Lady, I am in your debt. Surely
this old man would've been wandering for days
otherwise,"


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…

Cael
 
"I've yet to know the littlest of the two, you know. She
was born shortly before I left for Eburacum. What about
you, love? Have you any kiddies about?"


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

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Author: golden_trillium
Date: Thu Jun 12, 2008 10:46 am
Merlin


Ceinwyn
 
“A good meal is useless when our army is incompetent and
useless. The Gods laugh but I do not know why. They
cackle like Crone Pagans on Samhain…Rome still
breathes…”


"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

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Author: TwistOfShadows
Date: Thu Jun 12, 2008 11:23 am
Ceinwyn


Merlin
 
"It will not breathe forever,"


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!

Merlin
 
"Come, Ceinwyn, we must not give in to despair. The Gods
will favor us again."


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

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Author: golden_trillium
Date: Thu Jun 12, 2008 1:55 pm
Merlin


Ceinwyn
 
“And what is your plan from then onwards? Do not confuse
my shame with weakness; I wish to be useful again. I
have committed crimes, but allow me to show my worth…”


"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

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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
 
"Which way?"


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

Admin
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

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Author: TwistOfShadows
Date: Thu Jun 12, 2008 5:04 pm
Ceinwyn


Merlin
 
”I know all my people’s worth,”


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...

Merlin
 
"If you mean you wish to be a messenger again, it is
possible; but I will decide that when the time comes,"


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

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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

smith
 
'He's been camping out here for a long time now....kills
the rats and mice, ' 'I'll take good care of him....good
companion that one.'


"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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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…


Arthur
 
“Hmhmm…I am fine, Angel,”


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….

Arthur
 
“Eyla, What are you up to, hm?”


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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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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