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| July 2008 | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Apr 3 2010, 09:33 PM (2,358 Views) | |
| golden_trillium | Apr 10 2010, 02:30 PM Post #121 |
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Author: Unicorn Date: Thu Jul 24, 2008 3:20 pm Dagonet The big knight was aware of pain that his lover was now feeling but he could do nothing about it. She hissed and his eyes immidiately went to her face, worried. Their eyes have met only briefly as she bowed her head and took his rebuke silently with a mere sigh. Dagonet was not angry just.... or no! He was angry! Why the hell was he thinking about himself, while his woman was laying there with him bleeding! He was angry on himself and Saoirse! He was so focused on himself that he had not even noticed what was happening!
Dagonet looked at the passing nurse as she turned in their direction. His eyes were very stern, yet worried and somehow pleading the nurse to take care of Saoirse. The nurse frowned at this look and Dagonet remained silent... In fact he was praying in his mind for the woman to stay and help his lover as he wasn't able to do it himself.
Dagonet shifted his eyes to look at Saoirse as she looked at him obviously angry at him for what he had done. But he didn't care right now. Her health was more important than her feelings towards him...
He had not stopped her from standing up, but watched her closely with annoyance growing up in him. Her wound needed taking care of! Why does she always insists that she doesn't need any help? It was so careless!! But again... was it not the same what was he doing always himself?
She landed back by his side and admitted that she needed help after all. And besides the point he felt weak still so he allowed his head to roll to the side as he closed his eyes for a brief moment. Nervousness in him was slowly fading away, but still lingered on him. The moment she leaned over him Dagonet looked at her wordlessly watching for her reaction.
The tall Sarmatian shook his head slowly and swallowed hard while his hand went to her head and gently smoothed her cheek. He would never let anything happen to her.. and now he felt not able to help her. This was the worse. In the meantime nurse took suplies from the table nearby and started to work on the wound, murmuring something under her breath for a few seconds. Dagonet looked over Saoirse's head at the working woman and observed her work. She was quiet capable... His other hand went to Saoirse's hand and squeezed it gently, reassuringly. Ready to hear a hiss of pain from her, or to just sooth her away. In silence... He was never good at words... Especially in the moments of treating the wounds. Right now all he could do was watch. |
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| golden_trillium | Apr 10 2010, 02:33 PM Post #122 |
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Author: linnet Date: Thu Jul 24, 2008 9:21 pm Gawain Gawain watched Lavinia tromp away and decided he might as well follow her orders and try to make himself comfortable while he waited. There was an unoccupied bed next to Galahad’s, and a wooden bench wide enough for two or three people between the beds. The blond knight opted to sit his behind on the soft bed. Here he could keep watch over Galahad’s treatment and Lavinia’s face. Neither spectacle was very appealing. He could hardly stand seeing any more of Galahad’s hurt and hopelessness. Gawain could haul him here for the injuries to his body. But there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about the pain of Alina’s betrayal, and that pain was stamped all over Galahad’s face. His friend’s sad eyes seemed to plead with Gawain to fix everything. He couldn’t. Hell, he’s already made a worse mess of things with the words of fucking wisdom he’d spouted in the tavern. He couldn’t undo what had happened to Galahad. He couldn’t intercede to convince Alina to somehow make it all right. It was some relief to sit on the bed. Gawain’s knee that had gotten twisted was tightening up. He stretched his leg out and rubbed where a knot was forming. He really didn’t want Lavinia to do any nursing on him, so he kept massaging where it was sore so that she wouldn’t see him limping. He rubbed the back of his hand over the dried blood on his face and in his whiskers, trying to wipe it away. If the nun didn’t notice any blood, she wouldn’t try to poke at or, heaven forbid, stitch his cut cheek. For added measure he used his tongue to put a little spit onto his palm and wiped harder with that. But it just re-opened the cut, sending a new drizzle of blood toward his chin. He was pressing on it to stop the new bleeding when Lancelot spoke to him.
Gawain chuckled lightly and looked up at the Dark Knight. “You might as well concede now. She’s un-charmable. But keep trying if you like. Just have your coins ready to hand over,” he said with mock confidence. “Besides, you’re not exactly looking your most irresistible self.” As if any of them were.
The blonde knight stayed where he sat and watched Lancelot help Galahad get the damp tunic off. It was a nice gesture, but pure Lancelot. A kind act balanced by sharp, digging words. Gawain took one look at the bloody mess that was Galahad’s midsection, and his eyes searched anxiously for Lavinia to return. Lancelot moved to stand next to Gawain. He seemed restless and uncomfortable, squimily hitching up his pants.
“Maybe, once she’s done with Galahad,” Gawain replied. “My plan is to look like there’s nothing wrong with me, so she won’t even try. Won’t work for you though.” He cocked his head to look more carefully at Lancelot’s shiner. “Can you see anything out of that?” |
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| golden_trillium | Apr 10 2010, 02:37 PM Post #123 |
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Author: Kayla Date: Fri Jul 25, 2008 2:43 pm Fiona Fiona still wasn't sure what had even happened to the three knights. She comprehended that there had been a fight but as for the details and why the fight had even started, she was in the dark about those things and didn't necessarily have the courage to ask. She had her curious moments when she rarely thought before speaking or blurting out some ridiculous question and hoping for an answer to something she'd been wondering about for a while. She didn't expect this to go away any time soon but still, Galahad's initial reaction to her coming up to the knights had made her keep her mouth shut and just do what she had set out to do - help as much as she could. The words between the three men didn't reach her ears as she focused her attention on the nun Lavinia, who was giving her instructions before bustling off to get a few things, leaving Fiona to try and lend a hand to the curly-headed knight just a few steps in front of her. She asked permission once she got closer, just in case he wasn't willing to let her help with his tunic or with the wounds she had been told to clean. She was still hesitant around him, not sure what to expect, as if he might go off at any minute and simply watched as he shrugged and started pulling off the tunic himself. She winced at the hiss of pain that could be heard from underneath his shirt and was about to step forward to help him when he got stuck, until the Dark Knight stepped into her line of vision.
The woad cocked her head as Lancelot removed Galahad from his tunic, turning away and her gaze met with his when he addressed her briefly. Her eyebrow quirked a bit and her lips perked up into a tiny smile at his bow to her and her head nodded a bit in answer to what he'd said, her hair draping lazily across her collarbones and her eyes looking up at the knight until he moved away. Pushing a breath out from her mouth and sweeping her hand so that it pushed her dark locks away from her neck, her eyes ran over the knight in front of her, locking on the wound on his stomach for a moment. It reminded her of the wounds she'd seen on the men returning from battle and didn't faze her as much as it might have when she was younger and only training for battle, not actually in it and getting wounded. Rubbing a hand against her own stomach and the slash there that Galahad had caused during a battle - which was how she had met up with Brianna again and part of the sequence of events that had lead to her coming to live at the fort - she turned her body and moved over the the wash basin filled with water, the cloths to use right next to it. She picked up one of these and dipped it into the water, the coolness of it touching her fingers before she brought it up, wringing some of the excess water out of it. Fiona turned back to Galahad, her eyes searching his face for a minute and her head cocked to the side. "May I?" She once again asked for permission, still hesitant from before but gaining a bit more courage as the minutes passed. She knew that it was like Gawain had said - they were just tired. |
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| golden_trillium | Apr 10 2010, 02:39 PM Post #124 |
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Author: Starbelle Date: Fri Jul 25, 2008 7:02 pm Tatiana Feeling a shiver run through him in response to the changing of her hand placements then deepen the kiss that she'd started, Tatiana heard Adian's soft moan in reaction to the kiss that they'd just shared.
"Yes, Adian?" She replied shivering slightly when she felt his head lower and kiss at the skin of her neck where his hands had been just mere moments before. Tipping her head back slightly, she exposed more of the soft, vulnerable skin of her neck and throat to his lips, closing her eyes and sighing in response to the sensations that she felt running through her like lightning on a warm spring afternoon at his ministrations. Shifting her body slightly to get a bit closer to his much taller one, Tatiana opened her eyes half way, her green eyes becoming a darker hue with the sensations she felt running through her at his soft kisses. Her sighs changed slightly, turning into soft mewling gasps. |
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| golden_trillium | Apr 10 2010, 02:41 PM Post #125 |
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Author: lady ione Date: Fri Jul 25, 2008 8:50 pm Brendyn The music. The sound of the monks singing preparing for evening prayer. Brendyn opened his eyes which had filled with tears, and found himself prostrate on the floor before the alter. Unsure of how he got that way, Brendyn slowly got up into a kneeling position, and once again, taking the sides of his red cloak, he continued to pray. To ask God for guidance, and wisdom. He'd need it tonight at the wall. Oddly enough, Artorius Castus came to his mind: God, grant him healing for his body, rest, and peace. Give him wisdom to face the times to come and whatever they will hold... The prayer stopped for a moment, then he continued. I would also like to ask a blessing for Titrus, Malcus, Quintus, and all I will be dealing with. Help me to try to be what they want me to be. Given them wisdom and the grace to know deception from good... He reached around and took his sword from the scabbard at his side, and planted the tip into the soft floor in front of him. Brendyn's dark blue eyes looked up at the ceiling as he finished For those I served with and lost to battle. For those I failed to protect to save myself...For Gedeon, Antonius, Gaius...and the others. Help me to make them proud of me....I ask this in your name... As he rounded up his prayer, Brendyn felt tears flow down his cheeks as he gave a bit of time to silent meditation. It was almost time for him to go on duty. What would the night hold for him? |
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| golden_trillium | Apr 10 2010, 02:45 PM Post #126 |
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Author: Pinkie Date: Sat Jul 26, 2008 2:06 pm Catherine But this was so much more than spreading her legs. For Catherine it was all. It was a learning experience. It was an opportunity to speak with men in an intimate way whilst not becoming intimate with them, not in Catherine's eyes at least. The most intimate she had been with anyone had been that odd encounter with Gawain where he had given her back the coin... Ah, but the blonde could not think about such things now. It would do her no favours to be thinking of intimacy when this man wanted nothing more than the pleasure of her body. The woman's green eyes sparkled when he laughed at her request. Her sultry lips were beautiful in mirth and she knew it, pouting them just so, to give a fuller, more tempting appearance.
The explanation went a little bit beyond Catherine's comprehension. Oh she was by no means a silly little girl - Catherine was bright, intelligent, but only when it came to things of this plane. When speaking of things like faith, fate, luck and chance well... she was lost. It was not something physical that she could touch, something mythical that she could imagine... it was like love. It was something out of her realm of experience and so she simply smiled at Nadeem's explanation. Her stomach tensed at the noise from the men at the table with this dark stranger. They hooted and commented in their own tongue, a fascinating sound to the whore, but again she did not understand it and so she could only wonder if they spoke ill of her. Nadeem saved her from a blush as he looked up at her with a peaceful grin on his face. Catherine returned it, straightening her shoulders a little and giving an idle twist to a strand of blonde hair as he came to stand, offering her his arm.
Catherine gave one look over her shoulder, feeling the eyes of the men at the table following her and their obvious leader out. She had her arm looped through Nadeem's, her fingers gently laid upon his forearm and she tossed her head aloofly, giving him a smile. It only mattered that he was pleased with her in every way - not them. "Your men seem to disapprove of our budding friendship. Why would that be? Don't they want their leader to be pleased? Do they think me incapable?" Catherine whispered the last as they exitted the tavern and leaned in to say it close to his ear. His skin smelled spicy, a rich and exotic suggestion that was most definitely not from the island of Britain. It allured Catherine and she sighed, closing her eyes and breathing in the scent once more, allowing Nadeem to lead them wherever... Mari Mari had no idea what she had gotten herself into with Milan. As far as she was concerned he had grown up like every other child in Britain. Perhaps he had had a mean parent that he had run away from, perhaps a parent had been killed or had died or ... Why would she think that this beautiful young man was part of an obscure and sinister old religion that believed in demon gods? that believed that their boy had been marked by the demon god? To Mari that kind of thing just did not happen. And why would anyone, even a demon god, choose to sully someone as wonderful as Milan? No... no such things entered Mari's mind about what it was Milan was hiding from her. As his lips moved in silent pleading to unknown forces, Mari just watched, her brow furrowed in intense concern for her friend. Then the silent pleas became vocal and it was a language that Mari did not know. Her shoulders slumped and she stared at Milan in wonder and shock that he spoke another language - and the words were still unknown to her though she was certain he was repeating something over and over. Slowly, painfully slow, Milan seemed to calm himself and his eyes dropped to meet hers. Mari's eyebrows lifted, imploring Milan to explain. He reached a hand forward to touch her cheek and the young woman felt that beautiful surge of affection as if it were new to her. Her breath caught and she shut her eyes, tilting her face towards his hand, lifting her hand to cover his fingers on her other cheek as she sighed.
The words made sense, they made so much sense. It was as if he had said those words a thousand times before - it all just fit perfectly to hear Milan tell her this. Mari smiled, her eyes still shut and she nodded her head. Leaning in towards Milan, she blindly brushed her lips against skin, recognised the feel of his chin adn kissed upwards, finding his lips slowly. By no means was her curiosity or worry assuaged, not by a long shot, but she was not able to turn aside his admission in favour of finding out hsi dark secrets. "Promise me... " she whispered parting her lips from his after a long, slow kiss, her face still close enough to feel his warm breath against her mouth. "Promise me that you'll tell me before... before something happens, before it's too late?" Mari asked, opening her eyes slowly and sitting back on her heels, trailing her hands down Milan's front to his thighs. She wasn't sure she understood what she meant by 'before it's too late' - but she did want to know about him before she was dead, before he was dead, before it would be too late to tell her what it was he couldn't right now. Galahad The youngest Sarmatian was acutely aware of how pathetic he was right now. To everyone. But the truly petulant, childish, pathetic part of him didn't care - he didn't care what people thought about him getting stuck in his own tunic. He didn't care what they thought about him starting a fight with a man he had no chance against, or that he had inadvertently hurt his brothers-in-arms. He regretted doing it, of course, but he didn't care what people thought about him doing it. So as he sat there miserably wedged inside the stinky surroundings of his own tunic, the young knight just sighed, waiting for help.
Lancelot came to the rescue. Galahad's lip pulled up in a slight sneer at the dark knight's comment and he waved his hand once in dismissal of the man's opinion as he busied himself bundling his tunic up into his fist. He looked a sorry sight indeed... Blue eyes remained downcast as Fiona silently assessesd him, taking in the wound on his stomach. He paid no attention to her as her own hand moved to cover where he had hurt her before and he did not consider the irony of this about-turn either. No, no, no, no. Galahad was much too busy feeling sorry for himself to consider anything of that sort. It was only when Fiona came back to him, sodden cloth in hand that he even looked up at her. His eyes moved from her open and honest face to her damp fingers and back again. He sighed and looked down at his wound...
"Knock yourself out." Galahad gave a dismissive snort of mirthless amusement at her question and ungracefully threw himself back onto the bed, a lean but strong arm thrown over his eyes. His sinewy torso was laid bare for Fiona to do with as she pleased because he certainly didn't care. As soon as his eyes slid shut he could see Alina, he could see her and he cuold see Kolya before her, embracing her and ... Galahad groaned at the image and slid his arm down over the top of his head, pulling his black curls off his forehead, blue eyes staring forlorn at the ceiling. Pouting, Galahad looked over to where Lancelot and Gawain where and then turned to look over at Fiona. He tucked his chin to his collar-bone and looked down at what she was doing at his stomach. "You're not a healer - and you are most certainly not with him - " he gestured with a jut of his chin towards Gawain, "Why're you hanging around Fiona?" Galahad asked in a voice hoarse with recent upset. Kolya Masochistic came close... Kolya wasn't entirely prepared to lay down and take what came to him. He always pushed. It was his nature - it always had been, to just push people that little bit further, to press them on things that they would rather not face at all. It was hardly a Samaritan act but it was wholly Sarmatian. Why did he insist on approaching Alina? On touching her cheek when he had no intention on being the person to replace her lost lover? Knowing that he had destroyed her relationship Kolya still persisted in making her want him because ... because he wanted to be wanted. He wanted someone like Alina to want him, someone nice, someone decent and kind and human! Someone that would love him and want him when they didn't have to. Not like Mari. Once he got that love he would run a mile...
The Sarmatian withdrew his hand as she turned away from him. His forehead twitched into a frown and then smoothed just as quickly. He smacked his lips and took a step back to allow her some space but she was walking around him, heading for the steps -- "Alina!" Kolya snapped in exasperation at her running off. He whirled around following her movements and tsked in frustration when she went down the steps. He stalked forward as best he could given his injuries and looked down just in time to see her sprawl into the muck. Kolya was not dramatic. He didn't presume she had half-killed herself by falling and so he gave a snort of mirthless amusement, raking a hand back over his short hair as he looked heavenwards. It was then that she started to laugh. The Sarmatian looked down at the young woman, cocking an eyebrow in mild concern for her sanity.
Tsking, Kolya started down the steps slowly and sat down on the step behind Alina. He spread his knees apart so that she sat between his legs, sliding his feet down on to the steps on either side of her body. The old-knight placed his hand firmly on Alina's arm and moved her hand out of the way of her ankle, looking at the joint critically before placing her hand back there, sliding his hand up her arm and resting it at the nape of her neck. "And who would I say a word to this about, hm? You forget who it is you're talking to sweetheart." the Sarmatian told her matter-of-factly, smoothing a wayward strand of hair that hung in a twist against the top of her head. Gently closing his knees, Kolya suitably 'captured' Alina in a leggy embrace, tilting forward to rest his chin on top of her head. After a suitably long silence, Kolya glanced down his nose at what he could make out of Alina's face from his superior angle - "And you never did answer my question either..." he prompted. Saoirse Saoirse never liked getting her wounds looked at. Alot of it stemmed from her childhood and teenage years when she had been doing things she was not meant to be doing. When Diarmaid had taken her under his strong wing and had granted her that which she had pleaded for many years... to be trained the way the men were being trained. To learn to use a sword the way the men did, to learn to defend herself and so not be so dependant on a man, on any man. Of course that had resuletd in her body changing quite rapidly. Her muscles had firmed instead of rounding off plumply as would have been befitting a provincial princess. And the injuries sustained had been tell-tale also. Luckily the most skilled healer Saoirse had ever known had been her nurse, Lini, and since the old woman was 'in' on the relationship between Diarmaid and Saoirse she had tolerated the necessity to patch the red-head up now and then. With a necessary scolding for Diarmaid for allowing the princess to be injured at all. And so with one of Dagonet's hands on her cheek, the other squeezing her hand, Saoirse relented and allowed the nurse do what needed doing. She closed her eyes and almost looked to be sleepign save for the occassional twitch of her facial muscles and the odd hiss of breath. Once her eyes shot open and she shifted her narrow body away from the nurse, glaring at her viciously before settling back with a non-committed grumble about revenge. The wound was cleaned first - that was painful. The infection drew an annoyed tsk from the nurse which Saoirse blithely ignored. Then the stitches were next - not so sore as the cleaning but one misplaced stab had caused her to jump. And now it was being lathered with some sort of pungent unction that would draw out the infection. Saoirse glanced down at it and then up at Dagnoet, tilting her head back so her neck was strained and when she looked at her lover her was upside down. "Wha's say when she's done butcherin' me up tha' I get one of them screens -- " she gestured to the end of the room where a few high privacy screens lay against the wall -- ".. and wash some of the grime from yer skin?" she offered in a concilliatory tone of voice, hoping her gesture would be seen as an apology for upsetting him by not getting her own wound look at. The last thing she wanted was to upset him - he had enough to be upset about in his life without her adding to them. |
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| golden_trillium | Apr 11 2010, 03:32 PM Post #127 |
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Author: sabor ice Date: Sun Jul 27, 2008 3:33 am Milan
Milan didn't know what love was. It was an alien emotion he had never experienced growing up. He was starved of affection. The endearment sounded sweet to him though - promising, eternal. Whatever it was he felt for Mari seemed the closest thing to what he imagined love to be. He hadn't declared himself to her for anything in particular. He had done so just to hear himself say it, to recognize the sentiment for what it was, and because he never wanted the opportunity to pass him by for Mari to truly understand how much she meant to him. Not when he didn't know how much time left they had left. In a way, though, his admission had come with an attached great personal sorrow. Milan would tell her enough, but never everything. She would hate him, or worse, she would fear him - two things he could never live with. He wanted to be with her forever, but the consequences seemed inevitably fatal. His people would never leave them be. They were never going to let him go. They would never let her go either. Milan would leave Mari first. To protect her. Every time he looked at her, he was saying good-bye. The young man gave a subtle sad nod, before pulling her closer to him again. His blue eyes slid shut as the two of them engaged in another slow, passionate kiss, one hand sliding down her upper arm, the other winding about her neck, fingers intertwined with her dark locks there. He savored these sightless moments - where his eyes were closed and his mind blind to the world - connecting with the physical sense, and feeling nothing but the sweetness of her. A stray tear escaped the corner of his eye and down his cheek to their lips, mingling pain with pleasure. He drew her into his embrace then, kissing her neck before resting his lips against her shoulder. |
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| golden_trillium | Apr 11 2010, 03:33 PM Post #128 |
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Author: Unicorn Date: Sun Jul 27, 2008 1:53 pm Dagonet Saoirse was calm as the nurse worked on her wound. She seemed to be so... but there were moments when her body twitched and she hissed in pain, a frown or a shadow passed her face and Dagonet had to squeez her hand a little more firmly. He observed every nurse's move... But in the moments when Saoirse reacted to the overwhelming pain the tall knight looked at her face with worry and sympathy. Even if he knew it was all because of her doings. She should show this wound earlier. Dagonet knew he would do this more carefully. He would be more gently with his lover. He could not blame the woman for doing her job like that... but he did. Instead of being angry at himself for not being able to do it, Dagonet transfered it on the nurse. Just because she was not gentle enough for his lover.
Dagonet looked down at his lover and tried to smile slightly... when his eyes briefly went to the screen and back to Saoirse. He nodded his head, again wordlessly. He must have looked terrible. He was not shaved... his hair had grown to long and the beard was bothering him to much. Sarmatian cleared his throat and gathered his strenghts to speak. "I think I need a shave also..." he said running his hand over his head and touching his beard, before bringing his hand back to her cheek. Nurse was now bandaging the wound over Saoirse leg and he was glad that it was finally taken care of. When the job was done he sternly nodded at the woman and allowed her to walk away, without saying anything at all to her. He thanked her with his look, even if there was some hint of disaproval for the pain she caused his loved one. But he was happy that Saoirse's wound was taken care of. He looked back at his woman and shook his head. "Don't do anything like that ever again, love" |
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| golden_trillium | Apr 11 2010, 03:34 PM Post #129 |
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Author: TwistOfShadows Date: Sun Jul 27, 2008 2:04 pm Eyla Eyla walked. The harlot sauntered along the corridor, with a swish of skirts and a provocative sway of hips. The woman wore a sultry smirk, and she shook her hair about her shoulders. Raking one hand into the thick curls, her eyes grew darker, more suggestive. What had she witnessed within Arthur’s chamber? It was interesting, to be sure. Darya was far too paranoid, but it was a pleasant charade – Eyla and Artorius. He was a challenge, and an inspiration for Eyla’s seduction techniques. She enjoyed his rejections, because it would make his submission more…delectable. He would give in. Eyla knew it, and she was willing to push, to convince, to seduce. It was her skill, and there was nothing sweeter than surrender. Eyla emerged from the quarters into the courtyard, and she noted some commotion. There were more soldiers on duty, and nervous whisperings between them. The harlot heard the words ‘escaped prisoner’, but paid it no heed. She was no target, she was merely a woman…and she was not important enough to prey upon. No, Eyla was not affected by politics. She cared not for them. They bored her. In truth, she existed in her own little world. She did not believe in love, she did not yearn for affection. Coins were better than a broken heart, were they not? And Eyla grew bored very quickly and easily. The woman glanced uninterested towards the tavern, and carried on walking. She considered retiring for the evening, but that was…dull. Pouting her lips gently, she headed in the direction of the infirmary. Perhaps she could acquire the herbs to halt her seasoning? It was a tiresome affair, but the thought of bearing children was hideous. Eyla wrinkled her nose at the thought. She was far too selfish for that… Lifting her hands into her hair, she rearranged her curls around her face. She wanted to appear inviting, beautiful, and she did. Her eyes glittered, and her cheekbones bestowed a grace and perfection to her features. She entered the infirmary, her slippered feet barely making a sound upon the ground… |
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| golden_trillium | Apr 11 2010, 03:35 PM Post #130 |
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Author: LadyCastus Date: Sun Jul 27, 2008 4:13 pm Malcus Barbattus
Malcus, a seething mass of red, hot anger, clenched his dagger even harder, trying oh, so hard to resist unsheathing the deadly blade and slicing the optio's pasty throat. The captain mentally ran through every exercise of self control he knew. But he was losing the mind game battle and was just about to unleash the verbal hounds of hell when the unthinkable happened.
FUCK!!!! Malcus' inner voice screamed. The Woad leader had obviously run out of patience, before they'd even started. Malcus squeezed his eyes shut momentarily as the wave of anger slid down his spine. Arthur would be extremely disappointed. The captain clenched his jaw as tiny beads of sweat popped out on his forehead, despite the cool weather. What the hell was wrong with Scipio? He was so preoccupied with being in charge that he was fucking up the mission! Malcus scowled at Amadeus. Finding out the reason for Merlin's betrayal was crucial to Arthur and Malcus would be damned if he let Amadeus thwart the much-needed intelligence. Malcus and Merlin had crossed paths before. Maybe, hopefully, that would buy some time. "Very well, optio," Barbattus scoffed while swallowing the hefty amount of bullshit stuck in his throat, "Merlin," he said, addressing the magician, "of course the optio is in charge. But clearly we are outnumbered and I would be remiss not ensure the optio's safety while here in the hut. The optio is far too modest about his importance to this mission." Malcus glared at the optio, Now get ON with it, he mentally willed the other man. Barbattus looked out of the hut and spotted the snipers, aimed and poised to strike them at Merlin's command. Once again for the third time that day, Barbattus - not a particularly religious man - prayed for mercy. He turned his attention back to the other Roman but said no more. |
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| golden_trillium | Apr 11 2010, 03:37 PM Post #131 |
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Author: golden_trillium Date: Sun Jul 27, 2008 4:59 pm Merlin
Oh, now he tried to concede authority to his compatriot! Far too late. Merlin had seen what these four- or at least these two- were: a ragtag band plagued by internal quarrels and lacking the discipline that the Romans usually prized. There was nothing to be gained from bandying words with them, and they would be easily driven away. Merlin let his unpleasant smile stretch further as he eyed the two men predatorially from across the threshhold of the hut- which Barbattus seemed to understand could be a deathtrap if Merlin wished it. "There is no need to worry about safety so long as you go. Now." Another gesture, and bowstrings around the camp strained tighter- but at the same time, Merlin took a step backwards from the doorway, his go ahead beckon gracious, as though showing a seat to an honored guest. "I permit you safe passage back to your stone walls- though if you linger, you will find it otherwise. I have nothing further to say to either of you." Merlin lifted his chin on that last. His next words- should they be necessary- would be orders to his warriors to shoot. These men were fools if they did not take the opportunity to get out while they could. And for most of them, it would be no loss- but Merlin rather hoped that the Sarmatian scout would not end his days in a hail of arrows. That was one he would rather capture alive, so that he could pour out his suffering for the Gods- he would make a pleasing sacrifice indeed. The other three, though- they were cowards, and Merlin cared nothing for them. |
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| golden_trillium | Apr 11 2010, 03:38 PM Post #132 |
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Author: Lancelot Date: Sun Jul 27, 2008 5:52 pm Lancelot Lancelot crossed his arms over his chest, and eyed Gawain as the blonde knight sunk to a bed. He seemed to be favoring one of his knees, and Lancelot's gaze narrowed as he took in the countenance of his fellow knight.
Lancelot snorted at Gawain's over confidence. "It matters little what I look like, friend. I have charmed lesser women in worse states than this, so don't worry your head about that. What matters is here," he thumped his chest, and smiled, tightly and without humor. It was a scary sight. "I am fine - and I've had worse injuries perpetrated by more noble assailants," he sighed, and touched his swollen eye gingerly. "And no, I can't see a fucking thing. Thanks so very much, my sweet little brother Galahad." He breathed raggedly, and wondered again for the umpteenth time what in the bloody hell he was going to say to Arthur to make the other man think nothing of this ... incident. He would not know the truth of it, as one, he'd give Galahad the 'responsibility' speech when he found out what the fight was over, and two, he'd lay into Lancelot when he found out the first knight hadn't stopped it - instead, had instigated more, and had ended up getting hurt in the process. Fucking gods, but Lancelot was at a loss. And that was more aggravating than all his ridiculous wounds - arrow injury included - put together. Arthur. You'd best be in a receptive mood tonight - for I'm going to put on a show like you've never seen. Lancelot knew he was going to have to lie like a bastard, but perhaps he'd get lucky and manage to have Arthur too tired to read him like the Roman normally could. Yes. And perhaps pigs would fly out of the Optio's narrow arse. "I'm going to find the nun," he stated suddenly. "She needs to get this foolishness over - especially if she thinks she's going to be able to pin me down." He stepped away from Gawain and Galahad, the youngest knight seemingly being cared for by Fiona (Lancelot shook his head at that one; what was it with women and the wounded pup?). Moving toward the main office in the infirmary where he thought Lavinia might be, he stopped short as he got an eyefull - one eye, literally - of the person just coming into the large building. And just what was this specimen doing here??? "Eyla," he said gracefully, facing her. He rested one hand on his hip, cocking it - holding his trousers up, yes, but also to present as decent a picture as he could. He caught sight of the nun out of his good eye, and wanted to go to her - but here was an interesting conundrum. Arthur's....er, maidservant. And goodness, but she was still something to look at. Lancelot smiled broadly and ambled a bit closer. "My love, what brings you in here? Surely not retrieving something for our injured commander?" What does she know? |
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| golden_trillium | Apr 11 2010, 03:39 PM Post #133 |
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Author: linnet Date: Sun Jul 27, 2008 8:49 pm Gawain
Gawain puffed out a short breath of frustration, but managed to give Fiona a reassuring smile that he wouldn’t blow her cover story to Lavinia, if the old nun ever decided to come back. His frustration was with Galahad. On the one hand everything about the youngest knight seemed to cry out for help. He was the epitome of need. On the other hand, he pushed away the help that was offered, almost as if he preferred being pitiable. Fiona had already made it clear she wanted to help. Why couldn’t Galahad just accept it without being petulant?
From where he sat on the side of the bed, Gawain stared up at the First Knight, his eyebrows pulled together in an expression of total befuddlement. There were times when Lancelot seemed to specialize in making everyone around him feel like shit. Like now. But Gawain was used to the sarcasm and the antagonistic attitude, so he ignored that and just absorbed what was said. Lesser women than Lavinia? She was in a class all to herself. Gawain didn’t want to even think about what Lancelot had charmed that was lesser than her. And did the Dark Knight really believe that she’d be won over by the heart that he so emphatically thumped? The same heart that couldn’t resist a few more verbal digs at Galahad? Gawain was beginning to optimistically think that Lancelot was going about his quest for a smile in the wrong way. But if there was a right way, the blond knight had no clue to it either. No matter, as long as she kept her sour face intact until they got out of here.
Gawain had been thinking along the same lines, and nodded in agreement with Lancelot’s decision. Fiona could only clean Galahad up a bit, not close the ugly hole that kept bleeding. The long-haired knight wanted the old healer to get on with taking care of his suffering friend. He watched Lancelot start off, only to see him stop upon encountering a familiar looking woman. A stunning woman. So much for the First Knight finding Lavinia, Gawain thought. He sighed and stood up. “I’ll be right back,” he promised Galahad and Fiona. He started lamely toward the door he assumed was the old woman’s office. His knee was stiffening up, and he wiped more fresh blood from his cheek with the back of his hand, then wiped the hand semi-clean on the side of his tunic. “I’ll find Lavinia,” he said to Lancelot as he walked by, giving Eyla a nod and almost shy smile in passing. |
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| golden_trillium | Apr 11 2010, 03:40 PM Post #134 |
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Author: sabor ice Date: Mon Jul 28, 2008 3:18 am Cassidy, Fleur, and Cáel Cáel peered down at the sleeping babe in his arms. She stirred momentarily in slumber, shifting her face against the nook of his shoulder and tucking a small balled up fist just beneath her chin, the other hand resting limply against his chest. Damp downy blonde locks were plastered against the sweaty half of her cherubic face. The Goth raised a hand to sweep the hair back into place, his claw-like digits moving then to lightly frame the outline of her jaw. To an onlooker the gesture might've appeared almost tender, but there was no affection there. Cáel assessed the child with pure, unadulterated malice. He marveled over Fleur's innocence, her undeniable fragility. Children were such weak, useless creatures. One simple jerk of his hand and he might've easily snapped her little neck. The masochistic side of him was almost tempted by the idea, but he had to be realistic. After all, what good would the little scab have been to him dead? "What are you doing?" came Cassidy's marginally alarmed voice. Cáel raised his head to meet the older sister's questioning gaze as she returned bed-side from the latrine. He idly dropped his hand away from Fleur's face and graced Cassidy with an endearing smile as she woodenly eased onto the edge of the cot across from him. He gestured to Fleur with a jut of his chin, pressing a finger to his lips and making a hushing sound. He oozed gentility, and it seemed to relatively calm the usual hostile Cassidy. She cocked her head to the side, assessing the two with a wondrous glint to her blue eyes. Cáel was beside himself with malicious optimism - the twelve year old was on the verge of responding to his efforts - and it was only a matter of time before he had her in the palm of his hand. All he had to do was wait out her stubborn pride. Perhaps another day or so, and he was positive she would be his. Trust was everything. "Do you have children?" Cassidy wondered. "I did. Once," he responded. "Once?" the blonde fished, arching a brow. "It was a long time ago," the Goth reminisced, with a sad smile. "What about your wife?" the girl asked. "She...died..." Cáel replied, his tone thick with false emotion. He managed a small smile. "I guess we have something in common, don't we?" "What's that?" Cassidy asked, strictly curious now. "We've both lost people that we loved. It'd hard sometimes, isn't it? To talk about?" Cassidy said nothing, but the look on her face was heartbreaking as she averted her gaze. "That's fine. We don't have to talk about it. It's much better to just think about the happy times. We'll get by with those, now won't we, dear? And, just think about how fortunate you are." "Fortunate?" "You still have your sister. I bet you love her very much, don't you now?" Cassidy lifted her face, watching the way the man gingerly touched Fleur's face the way he had before. A shiver ran down her spine at the sight, but she couldn't quite pin down the reason why. Her gaze went hazy, distant in thought a moment, until Cáel scooped up Fleur manageably into his arms and stood, breaking her concentration. The man lay the sleeping girl down on Cassidy's bed, turning toward Cassidy a moment and touching a hand to her cheek. The twelve year old flinched, but didn't recoil. "You're leaving?" Cassidy asked. "I'll be back," Cáel grinned. "I promised to take you and Fleur to see my horse in the morning, did I not? I never break my promises, Cassidy. Now, be a good girl and get some rest, hm?" Without preamble, the Goth turned and traipsed over to collect his belongings from where he had left them on the floor near the door. He slung the saddlebags over his shoulder, favoring a pretty woman nearby (Eyla) with a friendly wink, before meandering from the infirmary. |
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| golden_trillium | Apr 11 2010, 03:42 PM Post #135 |
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Author: Kayla Date: Mon Jul 28, 2008 4:29 pm Fiona Fiona wasn't particularly sure what it was that Galahad had against her. She hoped that it was like Gawain said, that they were just tired, but he had never told her to piss off before and she'd never had anything against him either, even after being wounded and put in the dungeon by the youngest knight. She knew that it was what happened in battle and he couldn't have taken a chance of her running around the fort freely, even though it was almost ironic how she was allowed to now. The young woman quietly looked Galahad up and down after Lancelot untangled him from amongst his tunic, her eyes immediately drawn to the bloody wound on his stomach. It didn't take long for her to reach for a cloth and wet it, before returning to the man in front of her and asking for permission again. She didn't know what caused her to, besides the fact that she wasn't wanting to do anything without making sure it was okay first. Maybe it was because of his initial reaction to her but whatever the case, she realized that maybe she was being a little too cautious. After all, Fiona knew Galahad - maybe not knew him in a deep down personal sense but she had spoken to him before and developed some sort of a relationship with him, although it wasn't clear what kind of relationship it really was.
The edges of Fiona's mouth tightened at his answer and the snort of amusement that he gave and she watched him throw himself against the bed, his torso and the wound bare to her so that she could get on with cleaning it. She didn't say anything in return, just leaned forward and placed a hand on the bed to steady herself, bringing the cool cloth to his stomach and meticulously began to clean the blood off of his body.
Fiona's head was bent down, her eyes studying the wound and her hand working in almost rhythmic motions to clean the blood up, her hair swinging in her face as she did so but she stopped for a moment when the knight spoke again, her head lifting up and her gaze moving to his face. The woad's eyes were opened in a bit of surprise that hit her from his question and she only briefly took her eyes off of him to look towards Gawain, who had given an audible breath of ... what was it? frustration? annoyance? She didn't miss the smile he gave to her and in that instant, she felt a slight sense of relief, knowing that at least someone was on her side here. She looked back towards Galahad, moving her hand again to continue working, taking care to avoid accidentally swiping at the actual wound, not wanting to add more insult to injury. "Isn't it obvious?," she questioned, her eyes now fully focused on his stomach. "I'm here to help. Why else would I stick around?" She shrugged, not knowing exactly what it was he wanted from her.
Fiona glanced up at him, flashing a quick smile and nodding her head as she watched him walk off before turning towards the basin and rinsing off the bloody cloth, getting it wet again so she could continue to clean Galahad up. "So ... what exactly happened?" She nodded down towards his injury, figuring that if he could ask her questions that she would take it upon herself to ask him a couple back. What was the harm, really? |
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