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| July 2008 | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Apr 3 2010, 09:33 PM (2,357 Views) | |
| golden_trillium | Apr 3 2010, 09:33 PM Post #1 |
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Summary here |
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| golden_trillium | Apr 3 2010, 09:33 PM Post #2 |
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Author: Darya Date: Tue Jul 01, 2008 9:43 am Neeve Of course Lancelot had to curse. It would have surprised the raven-haired woman if he had not when the water hit him. Neeve cocked her head at him when he made an annoyed forward, no doubt not too happy about his involuntary shower. However, the healer was not afraid of the First Knight. She would face him if she had to…but the curly haired knight apparently decided to focus on his fellow knights and the just approaching Roman officer instead…
Finally an answer the Briton could approve. “You better be…”, she replied and gave Gawain a firm nod. She was quite confident that she could count on him sticking to his word. If not, she would have a serious word with him. By the Gods, Neeve respected and liked the Sarmatian knights…but sometimes they still acted like bloody children and she had always done what she could to hold a mirror up to them in those moments…and would certainly not stop that now. Then the healer turned slightly and focused on Linnesse while the knights started to argue with the Roman, who had just arrived. Woe betide them if they would start yet another brawl…this time, including Romans…
“At least it seems to have quieted their minds for now…”, Neeve replied and gave Linnesse a wry smile, “…thank you for the team work…” Then the Briton paused and eyed the other woman a bit closer. “Are you sure you are okay? Or do you need something?” |
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| golden_trillium | Apr 3 2010, 09:37 PM Post #3 |
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Author: Pinkie Date: Tue Jul 01, 2008 1:38 pm Kolya and Galahad
Tetchy little wench she was! Kolya was not in the mood for more fighting however and he lifted his hands in supplication. Despite the cold there was sweat beading on his forehead, staining his tanned skin pink as it mingled with a bit of blood from someone's elbow connecting with his forehead during the scrap. Kolya did not feel good. His chest was ridiculously tight and there was a sensation in his gut, an uncomfortable, unsettled feeling. Guilt, perhaps? Worry over where Alina was? And yet he laughed. There was little funny in the situation but perhaps that is what was so funny - and despite it all he couldn't help but guffaw loudly.
Kolya couldn't help the prideful smile from curling his split lips. He gave Lancelot an approving look though he knew that to a boy like him the approval of an aged, washed up Knight was hardly complimentary. He couldn't help it though! And when Gawain broke in with a similar tirade against the Roman, Kolya felt a swell inside his chest, a hearty rekindling of a feeling he had once known ... brotherhood. Hearing the dark-haired knight speak in such a manner and then the blonde one... knowing what loyalties tugged at their conscience as slaves of Rome... well, Kolya did admire the cheek they gave the Roman whilst defending Sarmatians too. And the Roman seemed to take it. The old Sarmatian took a step back away from Galahad, his hands lifted again, shaking his head with another snort of laughter. He knew he was the last person that should help the younger male along. Galahad would as sooner drown in the puddle of mop water than accept his help.
Kolya didn't even look towards Quintis. He had a knowing grin on his face, knowing that the 'insults' hurled would roll off the Knight's backs as any other insult would. They were focused on their own man and that was that. Glancing towards Quintis, the old Sarmatian shook his head and gave him a flinty glower before turning away, walking away stiffly whilst waving a hand over his shoulder. "I've served my time boy. Rome gives me no orders no more." he growled, hobbling off slowly, favouring his right leg, bleeding from his nose, forehead, cheek and feeling the throb of bruises everywhere. But he couldn't remember the last time he had felt more alive. Well... he could, with Alina, but for different reasons. Tilting his head, lifting his chin, the old Sarmatian made slow progress in leaving the scene of the battle and quietly, nay, silently, prayed that Galahad would be alright. There was too much respect in Kolya for these new knights... respect and pity and hope. Galahad did not feel good at all. Physically he was beat. He was aware of people talking above him but all he could actually take in were pained breaths and the scent of saturated muck beneath him, upon him. His eyes were shut and he had one arm wrapped about his stomach. He was also rather aware of the pain in his stomach and he knew instinctively, as only a fighting man could, that the wound had been reopened and would need attention. Soon. How could he ask for it though... ? how could he ask and face the questions on why Alina couldn't do it? How could he ask knowing that he had injured his brethern and that they would need care too? Petulant, repentant, Galahad twisted around until he was on his back, his knees hitched p and his head tilted backwards, his black curls saturated in the brown mud. He gave a pained groan and opened his eyes, looking up to Gawain. There was moisture in his eyes as he looked at his closest friend... "Sorry... didn't mean .." he murmured in a whisper before closing his eyes and gripping his stomach again as a racking pain riddled his insides. It was over as soon as it hit and he gasped a breath, letting his head fall back against as he let out a mirthless laugh, turning his head away from Gawain. "Made a right balls of that." the young knight told himself, knowing that Lancelot was involved and knowing he would have to cough up some sort of explanation to the first Knight. As much as Galahad despised Lancelot for his cocky, arrogant ways , he was still the first Knight and deserved the respect that went with it. Most of the time. Amadeus
Too little, too late.
The air seemed to change, the very air!! Amadeus gave a hesitant look back at Tristan, wondering if the scout had felt it too. He seemed the kind of creature to be perceptive to things like that. Overall there was an uneasy sense in most people and then there was an easing outside. Tristan was looking out in that direction and the Optio's head snapped to the side, tilting so that he could see beyond the door and there he saw him. A magician they called him! Amadeus had laughed at that, laughed at the uneducated, gullible beliefs of a people who should have been long since ridded of such superstitious nonsense. And yet when the Magician appeared in the clearing Amadeus felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and he suddenly felt very, very young. And very, very unprepared for this. There was insult enough in the Woad leader not addressing him directly, but hearing how he then spoke to the Magician about them was even worse, and it made Amadeus glare fiercely, his intimidation near forgotten , at Barbattus. Oh Arthur would hear of this!
Amadeus flexed his fingers and glanced around at Tristan. He gave a sharp gesture to the space of ground behind him, expecting the scout to understand that he wanted him to follow him upon his heels, and then lifted his chin as he stepped out of the hut, proud and dignified. Young, oh young of course, but capable. To appearances. That was something Amadeus was good at... appearances. His grey eyes swept over those outside, the strange feral blonde, Neeria the traitor, Mordred who he gave a nod of his head to, and then to Merlin. That prickle down his spine was almost painful when faced with the old male -- "I am in charge. My name is Amadeus Scipio, Optio of the Roman Legion at Badon Hill and I speak for Arthur Castus." the man said initially, his grey eyes drifting to Neeria as he gestured with a gloved hand towards her - "This woman has led us to this place and had made a promise to lead us to Merlin in exchange for her life. She is now yours to deal with as you see fit to deal with any traitor found amongst you. Now.." he took a deep breath, looking at Merlin levelly. "Are you Merlin?" he asked perfunctorily, knowing it was he but wanting to have confirmation. Wanting a few minutes to gather his brain and figure out how he was going to approach this. |
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| golden_trillium | Apr 4 2010, 07:13 PM Post #4 |
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Author: golden_trillium Date: Tue Jul 01, 2008 1:39 pm Linnesse
“I’m all right- just a bit tired,” Linnesse assured Neeve again, smiling as she pushed the bench she had been sitting on back into place under the table. She straightened it more carefully than she would even usually do, having an obscure sense of not wanting to contribute further to the considerable disorder caused by the brawl, then straightened her shoulders and brushed off her skirt, which was marked by a few small splashes of water from carrying the bucket. “I’d better get going- Derfel and I have to move rooms today, if you can believe it.” She shook her head ruefully, then shrugged; it was a lot of work, but it could not be helped, and it was for the best. And over just outside the tavern doors, Galahad was stirring and seemed to be talking- it looked like he would be all right, so she could leave the scene of destruction in good conscience. “I promise to take it easy, yes,” she added with a small laugh, as she moved off in the direction of Derfel, ready to join him and start the work of the rest of the afternoon. |
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| golden_trillium | Apr 4 2010, 07:35 PM Post #5 |
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Author: Pinkie Date: Tue Jul 01, 2008 2:28 pm Catherine Fighting was the proclivity of men. Catherine abided it as one might abide hair upon a man's cheek. It was not necessarily attractive, certainly not essential but it was not something that was entirely despicable either. So long as the fight was done away from her and the men were not fighting over her she was quite patient with the wiles of men. For some reason seeing Gawain's embarrassed smile was endearing and the whore gave a small laugh into her hand, shaking her head at him, dismissing his apology and embarrassment. It was rather disruptive to her normal nature to see that Gawain looked sad. Her hazy green eyes glanced down at the man he was settling beside and she understood - Galahad. His friend. Lancelot was there also - Catherine gave him the once over, eyes hooking on the too-loose trousers that were slung dangerously low on his narrow hips. She gave a lopsided smile at the sight, lifting a hand to gently swirl of strand of blonde hair about her finger. The blonde pursed her lips and was about to approach when she saw one of the officers glaring at her. Her eyebrows rose marginally and she lifted her chin slightly. He was not necessarily a handsome man, but nor was he displeasing to the eye either. With a breath of laughter, Catherine made a show of blowing the officer a kiss and turned around, walking into the tavern with a suggestive sway to her hips, glancing once over her shoulder to see Galahad stirring as he spoke to Gawain. Entering the tavern, the blonde took up a table just inside the room, looking out the window as things were pulled together. Drake A laugh! Drake's lips twitched but did not quite form a smile when he heard the happy sound from Linnette. He looked down at her as she extricated herself from his embrace and already he regretted the loss of her slight heat against his body. A handkerchief appeared in her hand and she softly dabbed at her tear-reddened eyes. One tear drop escaped her ministrations and lingered upon the dip at her nose and cheek, drawing Drake's eye to it unwillingly.
Drake barked a laugh as he was critically assessed from top to toe. He felt very undignified but he didn't care. His tunic was tattered, his boots dusty and cracked, his trousers were ancient, almost like a second skin at this rate, but he didn't care because there was not one suggestion in her hazel eyes that she disapproved of what she saw.
"Hrmph." Drake answered in response to her orders. He set to work even as she spoke, hefting the tapestry up into his sure hands and started to turn it on the wooden bar that it was nailed to. He turned and turned, easily rolling it into a neat but thick, long pole which he placed on the ground in front of his feet, glancing back at Linnette as she asked him that question again. His green eyes were uncharacteristically vibrant, twinkling with mild amusement at the repeat. When he stood and turned to face her the vibrancy was gone, replaced with his normal, stoic, unmoving, unfathomable facade. For some reason he was anxious about moving the saddlebags. They were a big thing for Linnette, he could understand that. And so he wanted her to be a little distracted as he touched them, knowing she would rather no-one else touch them but knowing she was unable to do it herself. Drake reached a hand back and shrugged his shoulder as he did so, glancing over his shoulder as he spoke, hefting the bags upwards. "There's a little. Bed, mattress, a chest of drawers - enough for one. You would do wise to bring that one along with you. Derfel and I can move it when he gets here..." -- and downwards, placing the bags next to the door quietly before sweeping back to the bed and folding back the blankets. "There's a wash-stand and a screen. All quite... bare." he intoned without emotion, folding the blankets once more before pulling them off the bed and draping them over his arm and then placed them on top of the saddlebags. Standing up straight, Drake looked over at Linnette through narrowed eyes and placed a hand on his hip, the other lifted to his jaw, rubbing his bearded cheek assessingly. "You be alright?" the question came unbidden to his lips. It was not in his nature to be so direct in his quetsionning of a person's well-being, but in this instance he felt like he had little in the way of choice. He did care. And as often as he told himself that he shouldn't, it would not change the fact that he did. The ambiguous time-frame of the question was deliberate - leaving it for her to answer that she was alright, or that she would be alright. Mari No, she wasn't tired, but Mari let her eyes slide shut and her lips rested in an easy smile as their dance slowed. Milan's hold on her tightened and she gave a soft sigh, letting her arms drape up around his neck and down his back loosely while she breathed in the earthy scent of him. The whole cottage was falling apart around them but she believed they would be able to make it work, to make it a palace with just a little effort.
She smiled. His murmured words against her ear made her shiver and her hands flexed against his back, fingers clutching his tunic. To think just in the present.. was she able to? The young woman took a deep breath and held it, dismissing all the future and past from her mind, concentrating on the here and now, on Milan's tightening arms about her body, on his hard body in front of her, the heat of him combining with the heat of her own body, the way is breath brushed against the top of her ear, the way her hair tickled her cheek where it was pressed to his chest... the here and now. Just now. Just now, just the two of them. The woman smiled again, opening her brown eyes to look up at Milan. Dazzled, Mari moved her hand from Milan's back, resting her wrist on the ball of his shoulder, her hand reaching in to brush the back of her fingers over his pale cheek. "Now is really good, Milan. Now is better than ... than anything ever before. I wish I knew yuo before though... before I left here. Where were you then? Years ago when I left here with my father." she pondered, narrowing her eyes at Milan. Suddenly a giggle erupted from her pretty lips - "I can't imagine you younger! What were you like?" she wondered, brushing the tip of her nose against his jaw, delibrately inhaling his scent. |
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| golden_trillium | Apr 4 2010, 07:39 PM Post #6 |
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Author: Lancelot Date: Tue Jul 01, 2008 5:41 pm Lancelot The first knight heard Gawain's statement of back up; he wasn't sure the blond man was doing it on purpose, but he didn't care. The fact that the Sarmatians stood together was all that mattered. They would be dead, otherwise. Rome had no love for her conscripts.
Lancelot cocked an eyebrow. "What is soldiering? Marching around like ants when mother calls for you to do so?" He spat to the side, but refused to get riled up by the officious fool of a Roman again. "Don't worry, Centurion, we'll be out of your way soon enough - and all of us will be fucking bleeding sunshine." He turned his back when the other man was obviously done with him, and tried to meet Gawain's gaze, but the knight was staring at a blonde woman that was about to go into the tavern. Lancelot tilted his head at the sight of the woman - most certainly a whore, but not one he'd seen much of. He looked at her, and then at Gawain again, and then back to the woman again. She stared unabashedly at Lancelot, and he allowed an arrogant smile to decorate his features, his hand on his hip surreptitously holding up his leathers. He half wondered if she'd be around later, when, after blowing a kiss to the silly centurion, she turned and sauntered into the tavern. Lancelot forced his attention back on the situation at hand. Kolya, still smiling maniacally, seemed ready to get all of this over with; he didn't speak to Lancelot, but had an interesting gleam in his eyes that made the knight want to question him further. Not now, though; Galahad needed to be seen to, and they all needed to get out of the courtyard before more unwanted attention fell upon them. Before Arthur heard about what had happened. Lancelot shook his head at the thought of the magical explanation he'd have to come up with in order to placate their commander. Not for the first time, he hoped that Arthur was asleep - althought this time for a different reason.
Lancelot's anger was rapidly dissolving, and exhaustion replaced it. He sighed and stepped over to where Gawain was next to the pup. "Aye," he said, his voice betraying his true tiredness and worry - worry that was always there, simmering beneath the surface - normally well hidden. Not this time, however. He was too worn out and too sick of everything to try and shove it away. His hands trembled again, and he clenched them into fists briefly, the split knuckles of the right one screaming at him as blood still flowed sluggishly. He leaned over just in time to hear Galahad speaking ostensibly to Gawain. The younger Sarmatian did not look good.
Lancelot, kneeling once again in the muck, turned dark and unreadable eyes on Gawain. "His wound must be looked at again, I'd wager." No words of remorse, no scolding, no taunting of the pup came from the first knight's mouth. Why? Why should he? Why waste the time - Galahad would learn his lesson, or he would die the next time. |
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| golden_trillium | Apr 4 2010, 07:41 PM Post #7 |
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Author: Elessars Girl Date: Tue Jul 01, 2008 7:35 pm Arthur As the door slowly opened, Arthur’s gaze flickered to Eyla – the harlot. No doubt whoever entered the Commander’s chambers would misinterpret her presence here…especially as Arthur noted her suggestive posture and the wicked smile that decorated her full lips as she smiled down at him. He gave Eyla a stern look of disapproval that would certainly be disregarded. Then weary green eyes turned their focus on the person who had entered the room….Darya. Arthur inwardly sighed at the look of surprise on his lover’s expression once the Sarmatian had pushed back the hood of her cloak. She expected someone other than Arthur’s chamber maid?
Arthur reached up and rubbed his thick fingers along his bottom lip while listening to Darya’s soft voice. He had regrettably been forced to send her from the room earlier when faced with pressing issues that required a meeting with his officers. However, Darya should not be made to feel that she was interrupting anything now. Although Eyla appeared to be quite enjoying the way her presence here seemed to startle the Sarmatian.
“Eyla….” Arthur growled in a low tone; obviously scolding the harlot for her ‘description’ of what the two had been engaged in prior to Darya’s arrival. Oh it had been innocent enough in Arthur’s opinion….but he was far too exhausted to play any further games with Eyla. And Darya did not deserve to be confronted with….perhaps she fears that I have discovered the truth.
“You are not interrupting anything at all, Darya,” Arthur added with an obviously more gentle tone than the one he’d just used moments ago with Eyla. “I believe the two of you already know one another,” He added while briefly gesturing towards Eyla; his tone carried a more sardonic edge as he spoke the latter as well. They know each other intimately, much to my disdain. Arthur then released a yawn and scrubbed a hand over his face. He was exhausted and knew that he should rest. His left hand moved to rest over his wounded side as he relaxed his posture once again. Arthur had no need to conceal his weakened physical state from Darya. The fire crackled in the small moment of silence between them and Arthur’s gaze drifted to the hearth. He admired the frequent bursts of orangey light as the flames danced over the wood as if they had boundless amounts of energy. God grant me a quick recovery….grant me renewed vigor and stamina. Arthur bent a leg and slumped down on the furs to find a more comfortable position on the bed. His eyelids felt incredibly heavy again and the Roman thought sleep would claim him again at any moment….but his curiosity at how Eyla and Darya would interact with one another in his presence kept the Roman awake…for now. |
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| golden_trillium | Apr 4 2010, 07:42 PM Post #8 |
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Author: golden_trillium Date: Tue Jul 01, 2008 8:05 pm Linnette
“Mmmhmm.” Linnette nodded in affirmation, tight-lipped, her eyes on the saddlebags which Drake had just set down by the door. Despite his little attempt at distraction, her gaze had followed them as they rose up from the bed and were deposited, at the entrance to the room, and her throat had tightened a little. They were all right, though- they were in good hands, and they looked better with her blankets stacked on top of them. Taking a breath, she raised her eyes to meet Drake’s and nodded again. Remembering back to his words…it looked like at least she would still be able to keep her- Gedeon’s- bed. She even felt a touch of ironic self-satisfaction that the bed that had come with this room- that had been here long before Gedeon took the room over, probably- would be leaving with her, and the soldier, or whoever, who came tomorrow to occupy it would find it gone and nothing to sleep on. A victory for her, even if it was a small one. “I’ll pack the rest of the clothes,” Linnette murmured as she stood up, suddenly feeling that she would rather do something, some light task, than just sit there. Drake had taken care of the things that would be difficult for her, the tapestry and the blankets- it was smaller stuff that was left here. She crossed to the dresser, passing right next to Drake, who stood near the doorway, and solemnly, her eyes cast downward, opened the drawer where Gedeon had kept most of his clothes. There his spares lay, neatly folded, just as if he would be returning and putting them on again. Linnette felt her eyes starting to mist over again- but she was interrupted from any such contemplation by a tap on the doorframe, and looked up to see, to her surprise, two uniformed and armored soldiers hovering there. “Lady? Sir?” The young soldier- he was barely out of boyhood- took in the scene of packing in a single sweep of his eyes, before he sketched a salute to Drake. Drake was responsible for training the new recruits, Linnette wondered- given this boy’s age, it was likely that he was very familiar with Drake Octavius. “Sorry to disturb you, Lady, but we have to search the room. A prisoner escaped- we’re searching everywhere.” The lad grimaced, as if to indicate that he knew the escaped whoever-it-was was unlikely to be here, but duty was duty and there was no getting out if it; his companion, behind him, nodded vigorously in agreement, eying Drake with a touch of nervousness. Linnette paused, mouth half open, no sound initially coming out. Search the room? It was such an unexpected request- it took her a moment to even understand it properly, lost in thought as she had been. |
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| golden_trillium | Apr 4 2010, 07:44 PM Post #9 |
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Author: linnet Date: Tue Jul 01, 2008 8:31 pm Gawain Gawain kept his eyes on Catherine only long enough to see her laugh lightly at him. He couldn’t read the laugh, but it didn’t make him feel particularly good. He turned his attention back to Galahad, missing Catherine’s appraisal of Lancelot, her kiss blown to the Roman officer, and her walking advertisement departure toward the tavern. He’d have had no trouble reading any of those gestures, had he seen them.
Gawain waited next to Galahad for the bickering with the Roman to end. He really wasn’t interested in Lancelot’s stinging words or in anything the Roman had to say. As far as the blonde knight was concerned the matter was settled. But when Kolya spoke, he looked hard for a moment at the older Sarmatian. It was beyond Gawain’s understanding why the man chose to be here at Badon, when he had earned his freedom. Kolya had won what Gawain and Galahad, Lancelot and the others yearned for every day. And he seemed miserable, bitter and empty, like someone’s cruel caricature of an aging knight. Kolya may have been a hated rival to his best friend, but to Gawain the older man was a disturbing presence, intriguing and frightening at the same time. Galahad stirred and slowly opened his eyes, meeting his friend’s concerned look. At first Gawain felt relieved that the younger man was conscious. But it quickly became clear that Galahad was hurting, seriously. He turned onto his back, holding his stomach. Blood from the Saxon inflicted wound was spreading in a circle on Galahad’s tunic.
Gawain gave his friend what he hoped was a reassuring smile, and kept his hand on Galahad’s shoulder. “It’s alright. You were doing fine – just didn’t know when to let it end,” he said quietly. Then Lancelot was kneeling at Galahad’s other side. Gawain nodded his thanks and let his eyes communicate his concern to the First Knight. As always, Lancelot could be infuriating, yet he would be there when the others needed him.
“The infirmary,” Gawain agreed, knowing Galahad would not be pleased. The bloodied long-haired knight slipped his good arm under Galahad and around his back to lift him up. “You look like you could use a stop there yourself,” he said to Lancelot as they started toward the hated medical building. |
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| golden_trillium | Apr 4 2010, 07:45 PM Post #10 |
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Author: sabor ice Date: Wed Jul 02, 2008 12:59 am Nadeem Nadeem assessed people, not situations, and the manic riot ensuing just outside the tavern, disturbing his peace of mind and dinner, had been cause for no difference. A drunken brawl perpetuated out of proportion was not something he found entertaining. He did not necessarily disapprove, but he also took no pleasure in such a mindless spectator sport. Had it been any one of his own men involved, Nadeem would've cast him aside the chaos and warned him to save his energy for the battlefield. Frivolities of life would come and go as the wind, but there would always be a battlefield. Live today, fight tomorrow - it was an admirable motto. A recognition of the probable cause managed to spark a glimmer of dark amusement within Nadeem's eyes. The cause that had initially ignited the rage of the young instigator appeared to have been a woman. A little sprite of a woman. He threw a glance over at his men, convened around a small table beside his, who each looked on the scene appraisingly. "What more proof than this do I need for a conviction?" Rajin chided his comrades in their native tongue, hand wavering between the direction of the brawl and then the retreating figure of the instigator's woman. "How can you still deny women will have nothing to do with the fall of the Romans and their empire?" "Hokum is what you base your crazy talk on. Not all of us are as gullible as you, Raj," Oded chimed in, his grin mirthless. "Perhaps he is just worried that the woman responsible for all this," Asi added, with a sweeping gesture of his hand toward the destruction left in the earlier brawl's wake. "will bewitch him into the descent of madness as well." Rajin hissed an insult in rebuke, causing mocking laughter to flood their corner of the room. Even Abaas, the most reserved of the men next to Nadeem, was unable to suppress a crooked smile at Rajin's expense. Temperamental Rajin quickly attempted to turn the tables, tongue-lashing the overly-sensitive Asi with a derogatory comment about the man's deceased mother and sisters. Asi inconspicuously slid his hand onto the table-top, his first two knuckles adorned with a custom curved blade, no more than three inches in length, hooked firmly between the digits. With lightning-like reflexes, he swiped at Rajin from across the table, just nicking the man's tanned skin on the underside of his chin. Rajin growled, nostrils flaring and eyes dangerous with contempt. A tankard slammed hard against their table, startling the men to attention, their fierce gazes flickering toward the owner of the offending object. "Enough," Nadeem ordered emphatically. Asi, although reluctant, was the first to back down, settling in his seat again and downing some ale. Rajin snorted derisively, angrily shoving away from the table. The others watched apathetically as the Arabian stalked away, nearly bowling over a woman (Catherine) on exit. They turned back to their table and engaged in a rowdy game of dice, but Nadeem considered the blonde woman a moment longer. He raised his empty tankard and waited for a wench to come and refill it, his intense unwavering dark gaze still fixated upon Catherine. "You must excuse Rajin," Nadeem called to her, his accent thicker than usual as he carefully pronounced his words in the Romans' language for her to understand. His tone suggested that he was disapproving of the other man's behavior, but not apologetic on his behalf. "He was raised without manners." |
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| golden_trillium | Apr 4 2010, 07:47 PM Post #11 |
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Author: Kay Date: Wed Jul 02, 2008 7:21 am Guinevere Guinevere pressed on through the forest, glancing back every few moments to see if Mona was keeping pace. Somewhere in the distance, she was aware of voices, and the movement of people and horses. Her heart was thudding against her ribs, both from the swiftness of her pace and from the mixture of fear and excitement that was flowing through her body. Would they be able to get Neeria away? Was she even still alive? Guinevere knew that, if her father were to think Neeria capable of betrayal, he would kill her himself; or the other Woads would. The Woad princess turned around again; she had lost sight of Mona. She stopped, glancing about anxiously; her breathing harsh and ragged. Where was that girl? Grace Grace looked in on her mother. The older woman was sitting up in bed, sewing. When she noticed her daughter, she looked up and smiled. "Are you feeling better now, Mother?" Grace enquired. "Yes; thank you, dear" came the reply. Grace had just finished bottling up a new batch of herbal hair tonic. She had noticed that their market stall was running low of this product; it was one of their more popular items. "Will you be alright if I take some supplies to the market?" Grace asked. "I'll be fine" her mother said. "You go, and don't worry" Grace nodded and returned to the living area of their hut; she loaded a dozen bottles into a basket and then, donning her cloak and pulling the hood over her head, she called out a farewell to her mother, before stepping into the outside world again. When she reached the market, the first thing that she noticed was Caroline, her sister, flirting with one of the other traders. Grace sighed and stepped over to their stall. She unloaded the bottles of tonic, and then sank down onto the little seat. It was a wonder their goods were still there, for Caroline was paying no heed to the stall. "Caroline" she called. Her sister turned around in surprise. "Grace! I thought you were looking after Mother" "I thought you were working on the stall!" Grace retorted. "Go back home and no arguements" Caroline opened her mouth to protest, but on seeing the look on her sisters' face, she thought better of it and scuttled away. The boy that the younger girl had been talking to, looked across angrily at Grace and moved back to his own stall. Grace sighed. She hated working in the market and yet here she was, for the second time that day. |
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| golden_trillium | Apr 4 2010, 07:48 PM Post #12 |
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Author: Darya Date: Wed Jul 02, 2008 12:32 pm Darya It took the dark Sarmatian a long, a very long moment to remember that Arthur had actually made Eyla his chambermaid. The why was beyond Darya’s knowledge…even though she had an idea. However, the first thing she could think of when seeing Eyla was 'harlot'. A man and a harlot on a bed. One did not need much of an imagination to picture what they would do there…normally. But Darya trusted Arthur…and she knew how serious his health state was. The idea which her surprise had briefly sent through her mind appeared silly to her the more she thought about it… The dark-haired shook as much of her darker thoughts off as possible and slowly approached the two persons on the bed while taking off her cloak so that the black-red dress was revealed…
We? Now that made the Sarmatian arch an eyebrow at both, Eyla and Arthur. Of course he was alone…he was supposed to be for he needs rest to recover…, she thought but the Roman’s quiet warning towards the harlot then helped a lot to put Darya a bit more at ease. And indeed the dark-haired kept moving until she reached the bed…and took a closer look at Arthur’s weary face. A part of her still wanted to have a word with Lancelot to find out how on earth a Saxon and a Woad had managed to get close enough to the Commander to injure him so severely. She knew how it felt to be stabbed by a sword…thus every fibre of her could relate to the pain her lover was feeling. And he did not deserve it… “Well, I guess that is way better than dealing with ill-mooded knights or Roman officers…”, the female Sarmatian stated wryly, leaving it open if she was addressing Eyla or Arthur as she did so…
Darya could not help but smile faintly at the Roman’s first sentence…the second, however, let that smile fade again. Yes, she knew Eyla…for the other woman had once caught her in a weak moment. No, the Sarmatian had not forgotten about what the exotic beauty had wanted to teach her…and to what she had even given in…to a certain limit. No, she had not forgotten…but buried deep in her mind. Her earlier encounter with Eyla had left Darya both…curious…but mostly feeling guilty. Guilty for what had almost happened. Though in fact, the other woman had just helped her to finally find some peace and sleep, had she not? If in a very special way… Lifting her chin slightly, the dark-haired sat down on the bed as well…but opposite Eyla, with Arthur resting between them. “Yes, we have met…”, she said and met Eyla’s dark gaze with her own for a moment before gently placing a hand onto Arthur’s thigh. “But what is even more important is how you are doing…”, the Sarmatian added and tilted her head a little as she studied her lover’s face, “…did you get some food by now?” And as if wondering if Eyla perhaps knew the answer, Darya briefly glanced at the woman opposite her from under her dark eyelashes…yet still mainly focused on Arthur… |
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| golden_trillium | Apr 4 2010, 07:50 PM Post #13 |
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Author: LadyCastus Date: Wed Jul 02, 2008 7:56 pm Mona Mona wiped her sweaty brow with the back of her hand as the two women pressed through the forest, running most of the way, trying to catch up with Neeria's party. They had managed to cover quite a bit of ground by taking short cuts where the horses could not go. Where was Neeria leading them? Mona wracked her brain. They weren't going in the direction of the village - they were headed for the camp. Nobody would be there - Merlin was on his way to the village. Realization slowly dawned on Mona. Neeria wasn't leading the Romans to Merlin! She was leading them to the camp and the camp would be deserted! Mona became furious, this was not going according to her plans at all. The women would be at the camp soon! She glanced over at Guinevere, who was running just ahead of her. Mona would have to act now if she was to get rid of her. This could be her only chance. Making up her mind, Mona stopped running right then and darted behind a tree. Her breathing was labored and her heart was pounding. Guinevere must have realized Mona was no longer behind her, because she stopped and looked around, walking back just a few steps to where'd they'd just been. When Guinevere was close enough, Mona sprang out from behind the tree. Guinevere must have sensed something and turned in Mona's direction, just as Mona gave her a crushing blow to the face. Mona took advantage of Guinevere's surprised reaction and grabbed the other woman by the hair at the root, pulling her to the ground and rolling with her. Mona threw punches at Guinevere's head and body. Her teeth were bared and her blue eyes afire. With intentions to kill Guinevere, Mona reached in her boot for her dagger, wanting to kill quickly. This will be easy, she smiled as she unsheathed the weapon. Neeria and Malcus Barbattus Neeria breathed a small sigh of relief when Merlin momentarily locked eyes with her and raised his hand. He had seen her and acknowledged her. Neeria knew she would be heard and that comforted her somewhat. She had no idea what the Romans wanted, but she didn’t care. She would be going home soon and that was all that mattered. Neeria glanced at Ceinwyn again who stood there with her hair wild and her eyes glazed over. Neeria hoped she would be able to talk to her friend soon. In the meantime, the man they called optio exited the hut and behind him, Neeria saw Tristan.
Neeria looked at Tristan. He was no more a slave than they all were. They were all slaves to the Roman Empire. Her gazed lingered on the scout a moment longer before she turned her attention back to Merlin. She wanted to talk with him but first things first. Despite herself, she had in fact, done what she told Arthur she would do. Inadvertently, she had led the Romans directly to Merlin. They believed she had betrayed her people. That was absurd. She glared at the optio as he spoke to Merlin, snarling at him when he called her a traitor.
The voice in Malcus’ head screamed and he willed it shut up. Scipio was antagonizing the man already. This wasn’t going to go well. Malcus didn’t dare open his mouth again, he’d see Scipio’s liver hanging from a tree before he tried to help him again. Barbattus looked at Mordred and wondered why the fuck he was still sitting on his horse. The captain looked at Merlin, waiting for the Magician’s reaction. Malcus had a lot of experience with these people and he knew that Merlin didn’t take kindly to Roman arrogance. Barbattus controlled his breathing and prepared for whatever Merlin would do or say next. |
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| golden_trillium | Apr 4 2010, 07:53 PM Post #14 |
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Author: linnet Date: Wed Jul 02, 2008 8:53 pm Juna Juna was well aware of the awe and respect that Merlin received from his own people. So it was no surprise to witness how the Woads reacted when he entered the camp’s clearing where Nolan’s party faced the Romans. But she would not have expected the intruders to be so noticeably affected by the power of his presence as well. Of course he was his most magnificent self in this tense encounter. Confident and intimidating, and completely in control.
As hard as it was to look at anything other than Merlin, Juna forced herself to take stock of the entire situation. She stood at a distance from him, as he’d instructed, but not too far. She also stood alone, separated from the warriors who had arrived with Merlin. Juna felt no fear because the Woads so clearly had the upper hand here. She noted three fit looking men from the fort – one on horseback, one standing near him, and the one Merlin referred to as a slave holding a knife to the neck of defiant looking Woad. There were three additional horses, and then there was Neeria. Juna watched the slip of a woman as Neeria struggled a little with Nolan. The older woman was trying to figure out what Neeria’s involvement was in this meeting. Neeria had turned her attention away from Nolan, and was now looking desperately at Merlin. He briefly acknowledged and dismissed her as he remained focused on the Romans, waiting for whichever man was their leader to respond. When the fourth man emerged from the hut and claimed to be in charge, Juna felt his apprehension and uncertainty even from where she stood.
He may have sounded like a nervous fool, but his words concerning Neeria sealed the female captive’s guilt in Juna’s mind. The woman warrior had betrayed Merlin. She had bargained his safety for her life, and then carried out her promised treachery. A loyal follower would have withstood torture and given their life before making such a wicked bargain. Neeria did not appear to have suffered torture, and was even dressed in Roman clothing. And Juna had no doubt that had the Romans not been intercepted at the campsite, Neeria would have taken them on to the village. When Merlin decided that his people would return to the village, Neeria had already been captured. She couldn’t have known that they had left the campsite. It didn’t matter to Juna that this group of Romans claimed to only have come to talk. Neeria had no right to agree to lead them to Merlin. And for actually carrying out that agreement, she should die. Juna did not have a violent nature, but how could she accept an act so dangerous to the person she loved? |
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| golden_trillium | Apr 4 2010, 07:55 PM Post #15 |
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Author: sabor ice Date: Thur Jul 03, 2008 12:54 am Ash Everything was a blur as the two of them escaped the iron claw of the Roman keep and darted through the trees. Ash's body ached in protest, but at the moment he paid no heed. Sheer ecstasy coursed through his veins as he precariously took in the familiar terrain beneath his feet, knowing his path by heart not mind. His speed increased to a point where his presence seemed ghostly, leaving the forest behind undisturbed in his wake. He had kept hold of Eala's hand, forcing the girl to keep his pace through the thicket. She became his shadow. At some stage he stopped, Eala with him. Beads of sweat adorned his skin despite the chill of winter, his body heaving from ragged breaths. His momentum lost, dizziness set in. He closed his eyes, placing a hand to his temple, trying to shake away the feeling. His mid-section felt to be on fire, the distinct tangy, rusted smell of blood evident as it carried in the wind. He pushed a slow, strained sigh through his nostrils, dark eyes trying to re-focus. It was then Ash noticed the tracks. Eala made an alerting noise behind him, and he turned to see she had discovered what he had discovered only moments ago. He could tell from her reaction, the suspiciousness in her black eyes, that the tracks had been made fairly recently. His gaze followed the prints - which had been identified specifically belonging to a horse, several horses in fact - leading away from the direction of the fort. Hunkering down, the Woad also placed a hand against the damp Earth, placing a finger then against his chin in thought, glancing in the direction the horsemen had gone. What business did these intruders have in the deep wood? And, then it donned on him. He lifted his face, eyes dark with contempt. "Neeria," he sneered, spitting at the ground as he stood and squared his shoulders. When Ash had left Neeria to Guinevere and Mona earlier that day, he recalled having seen her being led in the direction of the stables beforehand. She must've been leading the Romans to Merlin after all! He hadn't wanted to believe the whispers, the doubt, the disturbing report of Mona's, that one of Merlin's warriors could so blatantly betray them all at the drop of a hat, but the evidence against the woman was near overwhelming. To think he had agreed to help save Neeria, when all along she had planned such treachery against her people! Against Merlin! The irony made him erupt in laughter, dark and humorless laughter. He turned toward Eala then, his tone sinister, "It seems you might get a taste of revenge today after all." It was not a promise, just a possibility. Would their camp have been emptied by now? Or would their Woad brethren be expecting unwelcome company and a traitor? Ash grit his teeth, looking ahead, then looking to Eala. He gestured with a jut of his head for her to follow, and he sprinted off in the direction of the camp. Cassidy, Fleur, & Cáel Fleur bounded up to the bed she shared with Cassidy, giving a dramatic 'oomph' as her tiny form collided into it. She grinned cheekily up at her older sister, her blue eyes sparkling with mischievousness. Cassidy pounded one fist onto her hip, looking down at the girl unamused. She was about to part her lips and scold Fleur for making a nuisance of herself, when a dark shadow caught her attention. She threw back her head and narrowed her eyes at Cáel, nose wrinkling in suspicion, never taking her gaze off of the pale-skinned man as she reached out to grab Fleur by the upper arms. She ignored the little girl's protests and pulled her onto the bed in front of her, one arm draped over Fleur protectively. Cáel stood back a bit from the girls' bed, uneager to get too close to the rug rats as long as it was not necessary. He was not especially fond of children. The corner of his mouth twitched, trying to pull into a smile, but instead it turned into a nervous tick. The older girl was already glaring daggers at him. A defiant little spitfire by the looks of her, and a bit older than he had anticipated. The little one was friendly and willing enough, but the Goth was not convinced Cassidy would be the same. Perhaps this was going to prove more difficult than he had thought. Well, at least they weren't dead - a tad on the puny side maybe - but not dead. "You must be Fleur's sister. My name is - " the Goth began, but then was rudely cut off. "What do you want?" Cassidy snapped. Cáel could almost feel her flames. "Sissy, Gabe's my new friend!" Fleur chimed in. "Hush, Fleur," Cassidy told her. "She's quite right. We met at the door," Cáel interjected, sagging onto the spare cot beside the girls' and favoring the younger of the two with a warm smile. "Your little sister seemed at a loss as to where you were, so I thought it best to help her find you again." "See!" Fleur chided, twisting her head around to look up at Cassidy. "He's nice!" "Hm," the twelve year old murmured, considering. The man had a kind voice, but he was terribly queer in appearance, frightening almost. "Fine. I thank you for your help. Now you can go." Cáel chuckled lightly at her brusque dismissal, raising his hands palm-side out in defense. "Please, I have no intention of harming either you or your sister. But, if I may, I would like to give you both something," Cáel replied smoothly. "A present?!" Fleur gasped delightedly, wide-eyed. "What is it?" Cassidy inquired, eyeballing him dubiously. Cáel slid from the bed and knelt down on the floor, hand pressed to his thigh, trying to create the illusion for the older girl that she was in control of the situation. She seemed to unwind a bit at the gesture, watching him now more out of wariness, curiosity. The Goth glanced over his shoulder a moment, then looked back to the girls, giving a jut of his head in the direction of the door. "Why don't you go look in the first pouch of my belongings, Fleur? They're on the floor near the entrance," he offered, his grin dazzling. "You'll find your presents there, alright?" Fleur managed to squirm out of Cassidy's hold, wasting no time in clambering off of the bed and traipsing over to retrieve her treasure. Both Cassidy and Cáel watched after her a moment, before re-locking gazes, silently studying one another. |
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