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| October 2008 | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: May 1 2010, 05:17 PM (3,216 Views) | |
| golden_trillium | May 5 2010, 05:56 PM Post #76 |
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Author: Starbelle Date: Fri Oct 10, 2008 5:42 pm Jols Hearing the bootfalls on the stable floor, Jols, glad that Karl was long gone, then turned his head to face Malcus when his name was called.
"As you wish, sir. I took the liberty of brushing him down and saddling him up for you. As far as just where Master Mirtha is, I'm not exactly sure, but you could check out either the tavern, infirmary, or wait until he shows up on his own from where ever it is that he might be." The squire replied polietly with a respectful nod towards the Captain. Since Malcus didn't ask Jols the question too, he didn't reply to the query even though he wanted to. Feeling Tyranus nuzzle him slightly, the squire grinned and shivered at the sensation then reached into his pocket and pulling out another sugar cube, allowed the black to take it from the center of his outstretched hand, making sure that his fingers were kept straight. |
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| golden_trillium | May 5 2010, 05:57 PM Post #77 |
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Author: Lancelot Date: Fri Oct 10, 2008 5:54 pm Lancelot Lancelot's body still trembled minutely; he chilled easily, despite his firey mood and temperament, but when he was angered, or aroused, or confused or hurt....
Lancelot's eye followed the hand that grasped at his tunic, over his fiercely beating heart. He was honestly surprised that it was not audible; his blood pounded through his arms and legs - he could feel his temples throbbing with every thump it made. And yet so broken and cold. Why so angry? Is he that forgetful? Or did he not ever understand me at all?
Cannot do this? When could he? Perhaps never would have been the right decision - Lancelot sighed roughly, the sound reminiscent of a hundred angry bees that had been trapped behind wrinkled and blurry glass. He flinched at the small pain that rose when Arthur's thumb brushed his bruised skin; the eye would look even worse in the next few days. But perhaps he'd be able to see out of it at some point soon - and then he could well and truly see Arthur and judge the mettle of him. See his truths. I gave all of myself to you - to YOU "When can you do 'this,' Arthur? In a few days, if Merlin doesn't send me back your head on a shield...or maybe later, when you've got a new babe sitting on your lap and I inconvenience you enough to dare to discuss what I thought I'd lost?" He spat a dark curse in his native tongue and waited until the other man had released him from the spell of his touch on Lancelot's face. The knight's good eye still burned, and he wiped at it, his fingers coming away wet. Gods damn me for my stupidity. And yet, he let the sadness and confusion that had filled him like tinder pour out in the form of angry, bitter, painfully warm tears.
The Roman turned his back on Lancelot and retrieved the leathers that had been thrown uncerimoniously to the bed. Lancelot's gaze did not linger on the pale flesh that Arthur suddenly bared; rather, he saw a few scars that he did not know on the other man's legs. I barely know you at all anymore. "Uther is long dead, Arthur," Lancelot's voice was pure weariness; he slumped to one of the chairs that sat waiting by the table and flung himself into it, wincing once as the arrow wound in his arm flared briefly. "You choose your own fate, as you so often tell me." He shut his mouth, and did not add to what could have become a tirade of impressive proportions. Arthur had successfully turned the subject off what Lancelot had just been discussing...openly, for the first time in months. Rubbing at his swollen face, Lancelot shut his good eye and held his head gently between his hands; his blood, still hot and swarming, had created a headache of epic size and he wanted to stop the flow of embarrassing tears before Arthur could say anything. It had only been a few that had a fallen, but he'd only cried once before in front of this man...and that had lead down a road he wasn't sure he was ready to give himself to again. I cannot do this now. A small groan slipped from the Sarmatian's mouth; hurt or fury or pain or all three the cause. He wasn't sure, and in truth he hadn't heard it. He scrubbed his hands through his dirty hair roughly, hoping that some of his violent blood would flow there and ease his headache. He opened his eye, and found his swollen one was obeying the order to open as well, although his vision on that side was blurry and watery. Triumph in one thing, at least. "I...what does she say about all this?" he asked, his tone wooden. If Arthur didn't want to speak of Lancelot's feelings - his life altering thoughts, by the gods - then he would keep his heart guarded, as Arthur had accused him of doing. He tried to gather the mental armour he wore about him, his long, sturdy fingers scrambling for the pieces of glass that made it up - but his mind only showed him broken bits of the shattered glass that he had allowed to be destroyed only moments before. His fingers - the ones only he could see - were bloody and torn. If I cannot reconstruct this shield...I am well and truly lost. He will be able to see inside me forever. Even if I cannot see into him. And I believe that would kill me, finally. |
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| golden_trillium | May 5 2010, 06:00 PM Post #78 |
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Author: Darya Date: Sat Oct 11, 2008 5:43 am Darya Darya then heard more people approaching and recognized Titrus and Captain Barbattus from the corner of her eyes. She returned both mens’ greetings with a nod of her own and then watched the lieutenant walk on towards his horse…
With that, Malcus had her attention and the dark Sarmatian was almost sure she was blushing slightly at the man’s compliments. The woman cleared her throat. “Thank you…Captain”, Darya replied and a corner of her mouth twitched slightly. Since her night sleep had not been that great, she had a hard time believing the Roman’s words…though it certainly felt good to hear them. She knew the Captain was big flirt…but his strategy was so very different from, say…Lancelot’s. “As for Karl…”, the dark-haired added and cast a glance into the direction the old Roman had walked into, “…I guess he is just his usual grumpy self. And it’s no secret that he’s not too fond of my people, is it?”, now Darya smirked slightly and shook her head, “However, I can deal with him…I think…” Then she paused and gently patted the dark equine nose that was once more searching for some sweets while listening to the short conversation between the Captain and Jols. She hadn’t seen Mirtha since the knights had returned from the battle against the Saxons. Hopefully he was alright. Not that she’d actually know the man very well…it was just a general concern. Hmpf…probably what they call maternal instinct…which maybe was some weird sort of protective instinct, the Sarmatian thought and grimaced slightly for a moment. She was not sure if she liked that idea… Blinking a few times, Darya tilted her head a little and looked at Malcus again. “And how are you this morning, Captain?”, she asked the Roman, remembering the little information she had gotten about yesterday’s mission in which – as far as she knew – the Captain had been involved as well… Neeve
Neeve cocked her head slightly when Neeria spoke and briefly furrowed her brow at the other woman’s last, grimly spoken words. She kept her expression neutral, yet she did not approve the obvious satisfaction in the Woad’s voice at the mention of having killed a Roman…or several… And she almost ended the Commander’s life, too… “I see…”, the healer just commented and took a closer look at the injury, which Neeria had now exposed to her. The Briton’s cool fingertips touched the skin about the cut very carefully. The flesh felt hot. And some pus was clearly visible, too. “It’s infected…”, Neeve explained and narrowed her eyes a little as she did so. Due to the infection and the pus, she could not stitch the wound…but she could clean it and apply some herbs to it that should work against the infection and maybe help the flesh to close by itself, too. Pondering which herbs she had with her that could do the job, Neeve pensively sucked her lower lip… “There is not much I can do because of already advanced infection…”, the raven-haired woman finally added and lifted her crystal-blue gaze to meet Neeria’s dark one, “…but I will clean the wound and I have a few herbs that – with a little luck – should help with the infection…” Then Neeve took a small clean cloth she had brought and soaked it with water from the bucket. “This might not feel too nice now…”, she warned before gently dubbing the cool wet material about and over the cut wound at the Woad’s side…
Again the healer’s eyes briefly shifted towards the prisoner’s dirty face. She hated talking about herself…but doing so would perhaps distract the other woman from the pain she was certainly feeling. “I’m Neeve…”, the tall woman replied before her focus was back on what her hand was doing, “…and I’m from this island…just like you…” Neeve sniffed and pursed her lips slightly as she finished cleaning the wound. “Can you sit up and hold your tunic up as well? That would make it easier for me to apply the salve and bandages…”, the Briton said and let the now bloody and dirty cloth fall into the bucket before she took the small bowl she had brought, “…I’m going to use Ramsons and Beggar’s Button…okay?” |
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| golden_trillium | May 5 2010, 06:01 PM Post #79 |
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Author: lady ione Date: Sat Oct 11, 2008 10:23 am Adian As he threw his cloak about his shoulders once again, he stood facing the door for a moment not looking at his room mate. Tatiana had accepted his apology, but what woman wouldn't considering the manner in which he had delivered it? The innocent way she always gave into his touches and kisses. Gods! If she knew what kind of man he really was, Adian highly doubted that she would give herself to him so freely. A serious thought crept into his mind that perhaps he was punishing her, and using her because he had lost Thorn too soon. Did he really love Tatiana, or was he playing her for a fool? Gods, she was so seductive though.... Adian turned her and smiled as Tatiana spoke....and she spoke a lot, sometimes leaving nothing to his imagination. Well, as long as she was willing to be close and be a friend, Adian really did not mind her being around. She was probably using him as well after a fallout with some guy...women always did.
Adian raised an eyebrow, and walked to her, and looked down into her green eyes, "I am always careful, my lady." He bent over to place a soft kiss on her cold lips, then walked back toward the door, and opened it. He treated her to a sly lusty look and a wink, "I will look forward to your little surprise with anticipation, Tati. Hopefully I can get away for dinner....maybe we can meet in the tavern." With that, he turned and headed out the door, closing it behind him. Work waited. Lots of work. Adian guessed by the calculations that it would take quite some time before it was all done.... |
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| golden_trillium | May 5 2010, 06:03 PM Post #80 |
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Author: Pinkie Date: Sat Oct 11, 2008 12:26 pm Saoirse
It was good. Saoirse glanced sideways at Tristan and nodded her head. She did feel uncomfortable - perhaps if it were just him and her she could blub out all that was wound up inside of her... perhaps not though. There was no one that would understand her silly feelings. No one as bizarrely inadequate with love like her. Except, perhaps... Lancelot. The thought amused her and Saoirse ended up ducking her head and coughing away a snort of laughter as Vanora spoke and a boy came running to talk to Tristan.
"Sounds good, Vanor..." she began, her accented voice trailing off as she was distracted by the boy talking to Tristan and also, now, the look in Linnette's eyes as she looked straight at her lovers daughter-in-law. The woman looked a little... well, Saoirse would have said 'unhinged' but it seemed an entirely too drastic a word for someone as refined as Linnette.
That was rather an odd question! Saoirse's mouth hung open for a bit, her expression frozen as she was about to dismiss the question entirely, answering truthfully that no, she knew no-one, but it was just so odd. Her head tilted to the side and her shoulders slumped, a quizzical look coming over her as she shook her head, breathing out a ragged breath. Who did Linnette want a drawing of? It was only when Saoirse posed the question to herself in her head that she realised, with a blanching of her rosy cheeks and a hollow look coming over her blue eyes. Her throat went dry and she felt her muscles go lax, almost turning her to jelly as she stared at Linnette for an age. In truth only a handful of seconds passed and Saoirse looked like she was just giving the question due regard before answering, hoarsely... "No." It was short but it was an answer. Saoirse swallowed to work some moisture into her throat, looking down away from the eyes of Linnette, feeling, once again, the gratitude that was so unfair to feel because Saoirse was greatful that it was her lover who had returned. Not that she wished ill on Linnette's husband, Dagonet's son... not that, not ever! But she could not deny that she was filled with a sickening amount of gratitude to have this time with Dagonet, to make up to him as best she could for hurting him in a way that Linnette would never hurt the one she loved. "No I don' know anyone tha' way skilled." Saoirse spoke, frowning at the wooden bar beneath her folded arms. Her troubled eyes lifted to Vanora, wishing the woman could prepare food quicker so she could remove herself from the reminder of what it was that the women of knights doomed themselves too. What good would a drawing do anyway? It would hold no warmth - it would not bristle as your fingers touched the mark of beard upon your loved ones cheek. There would only the scent of pen or ink on the paper and not the scent of leather and horse and sweat that was the aroma of men. And yet, Saoirse knew that if she found herself where Linnete was now that she would want something too. She would want to remember Dagonet's face forever. |
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| golden_trillium | May 5 2010, 06:04 PM Post #81 |
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Author: golden_trillium Date: Sat Oct 11, 2008 1:34 pm Tristan and Quintus Having made his escape from the tavern and the discomfiting company of three redheaded women, Tristan lost no time in making his way back to his room in the knights' quarters and gathering up his things. The hawk squawked in protest at his now quicker movements, but he set her firmly aside while he rounded everything up, and perched her back on his shoulder while he carried everything in a rather haphazard fashion out into the courtyard. In front of the stables, a sizeable group was gathering- Tristan spotted Captain Barbattus chatting easily with Darya, Jols wrangling the horses, Brendyn, looking ready to go somewhere, that man Karl, looking also ready to go but much more bad-tempered, and Centurion Quintus hurrying up from the other . It looked like a rather extensive operation was in the offing, whatever it was. Tristan bent to set his bundled things down next to the stable wall, intending to go in and get Tirgatao and bring him out- but the querulous squeak of the hawk made him hesitate. What was he going to do with her? With her wing broken, she could scarcely come with him- and what if he didn't come back? Who would chop meat and feed her then? His lips pressed into a thin, worried line, Tristan abruptly changed direction, from heading toward the stable doors to the opposite direction, towards where Darya and Captain Barbattus stood talking on the other side of stables' big doorway. As he approache, he caught the tail end of what Darya was saying to the other man.
Deal with him? Tristan tensed at that. Deal with who? And why? He would have to ask her about that- but first, the hawk. Tristan sketched a salute to Barbattus as he edged closer to Darya, not saying anything as yet, but clearly indicating that he had something to talk about. A couple of dozen paces away, Quintus set his own things down, took the reins of one of the horses Jols had brought out, and called out a cheerful enough greeting to Karl and Brendyn. "Got everything you need, lads?" The Centurion's eyes lingered on Karl with a bit of a warning in them, even now, before they had even started to go anywhere. He still didn't think Karl was a good choice for this mission, but since it seemd like his going was non-negotiable with the Captain- Quintus was going to do everything he damned well could to see that Karl didn't put a toe out of line. Otherwise it would be on his head, too, and the curfew he had already been assigned was all the punishment Quintus wanted for one day, thank you very much. Linnette
"Oh." It was all Linnette could say in answer; Saoirse's 'no', even though it was only one person's reply, seemed to crush her soul like a rock. Of course not- Linnette had been foolish even to think there might be an artist in the fort, much less someone who could take her memories, her mere descriptions, and make an accurate likeness of Gedeon. She would never have one! She had only her memories, and that was what she would always have- well, until they faded. And what if they did? Linnette liked to think that she remembered her parents accurately, but it had been three years since her father and almost ten since her mother- so who knew if her remembrances were accurate? How fuzzy had they become around the edges? What if one day, when she was old and gray-haired, she no longer remembered what Gedeon looked like at all? What if it didn't even take that long? Linnette took a deep, panicky breath, her good hand gripping the edge of the counter, her eyes darting wildly around the tavern, as if she might find some solution there...but there was none, only a sense of constriction- the very walls seemed to be closing in on her. And Saoirse- she looked so very uncomfortable, Linnette couldn't meet her eyes, could only skirt around them like she had something to be ashamed of. What if...what if... "Excuse me," Linnette muttered hurriedly, ducking her head and moving with rushed steps around the bar. She didn't even stop for her cloak, but nearly ran, once she was out in the open, past Saoirse, weaving through the tables and benches, all her attention focused on the exit- she just couldn't stay here any longer. |
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| golden_trillium | May 5 2010, 06:07 PM Post #82 |
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Author: Pinkie Date: Sat Oct 11, 2008 1:38 pm Eala It wasn't that she didn't care that Ash was embarrassed, Eala just didn't consider that he might be. She was acting like the child she was right now, hurting like a child and trying desperately to come to terms with things with only her child's perspective to go on. That and her muted view of the world. It was hard but she could do it with a little help. Ash was that help. Whether he willed it or not, he was the one that Eala trusted and nothing would change that. Even her faith in Merlin wavered that moment he slit Mona's throat, no matter how momentarily that wavering had been - her faith in Ash would not waver. Her view of Merlin now was somewhat altered. She still respected him - but where she had viewed him as an all-knowing, enigmatic leader of men, she now saw a very real and very strong human. Somehow seeing him bring another woad's life to an end the way he had made him more tangible to Eala. He feared the destruction Mona would cause in her maddened state and so he had killed her. Eala was now a little afraid of Merlin. She was coaxed away from the bloody mess that was Mona by Ash. She went willingly but not so much to reveal her face. Her body still shivered with sobs even as Ash came to kneel before her. The girl kept her face lowered and hershoulders shook with sad little hitches of awkward breaths. Fingers too small and too cold twisted together as Eala carefully avoided Ash's gave until he prompted her to look up. She did as she was bid, allowing him to tilt her tear stained face and her reddened eyes to meet his. There was a tender look to her eyes, a tragic weakness there as she tried to focus on Ash's lips to understand the words of comfort he offered.
The small blonde took a moment to process the words, her eyes drifting downwards to look at his bent knee. She sniffled and shrugged her shoulder upwards. The motion and innocence of it was only broken by the heart-wrenching image of tears pooling on her jaw and then being shaken loose as another childish hiccup of sorrow rattled her body. The girl's bottom lip protruded and she looked towards Ash again. He was right but ... "Ehhh ahh!" she noisily tried to voice her thoughts to Ash, tried to tell him what they had both just seen with their own eyes and whilst she couldn't find fault with Merlin for doing what he did, she still found it disconcerting. Her heart was thundering and she gestured wildly towards where tehy had come from before sinking onto her bottom in the middle of the forest directly in front of Ash, almost sitting between his knees, facing him. She sighed heavily and her breath rattled from her lips awkwardly, but not as heavily burdened as a moment ago. Eala's expression when she next looked up at Ash was one of immense uncertainty. Unsure of how close their bonds were, unsure of why Mona had been killed, unsure why Merlin had killed her - uncertain of her role in any of this. She looked back at her knee jutting out from beneath the long tunic the Romans had dressed her in and idly scratched at a scab on her kneecap. She sighed again and looked back at Ash. Black eyes narrowed. Eala lifted her hand and pointed to Ash and then to herself, indicating the two of them. She narrowed her eyes a little more, questionning whether he meant what he said - about the two of them being home. Did that mean she could go home with him? |
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| golden_trillium | May 5 2010, 06:08 PM Post #83 |
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Author: Elessars Girl Date: Sat Oct 11, 2008 1:44 pm Arthur
When can I do this? When I am stronger and you are not able to so easily hold sway over my heart. But one point Lancelot made brought a cold prick to Arthur’s skin - when you've got a new babe sitting on your lap. That image was unfathomable yet to Arthur….a child….his child. Arthur somehow ignored Lancelot’s further attempts at baiting him while completing the task of lacing up his leathers. He had to ignore the taunt, lest the Roman would never be able to walk away. As Commander of this outpost, Arthur knew that he must walk away from his personal affairs and do what was required to ensure the safety of them all. And despite Lancelot’s broken voice….despite the other man’s tears and despite the steady searing pain in Arthur’s chest. In this room…he could not avoid what was between them….in this room…he would pray for hours trying to understand. He turned from the bed to find Lancelot had taken up residence in one of the chairs; his posture stiff and disheveled and looking worse than he had in a very long time. Arthur found himself closely regarding the other man for a moment while still attempting to fully comprehend Lancelot’s anger and tears. He heard the other man’s words echoing again in his head - …dare to discuss what I thought I'd lost …and I would die rather than do wrong to you....and yet - I wonder what it will mean for me, in future. Lancelot groaned and Arthur’s instinct was to go to the other man as he had always done in the past. But that would lead down a path that Arthur was certain would only bring more pain…..I cannot do this now. And thus Arthur willed his own emotional armour plating to slide back into place again….protecting him for now. And he silently prayed that Lancelot would do the same.
“Very little….and I sense that Darya is as unsettled as I,” Arthur answered albeit hesitantly. He occupied his hands by tucking in his shirt while his gaze broke from Lancelot and searched the room for his boots. Arthur padded over to the dressing table that held his armour and toed on his boots which also awaited him there. “Lancelot, I must do what I can to salvage the failed meeting with Merlin,” Arthur changed the subject again in hopes of finding some middle ground for now. He picked up the first of his polished metal shin guards and began to dress for his ride as he continued. “And when I return,” Arthur paused as he made use of the small chair to prop up his foot and strap on his shin guard. His wounded side twinged with the movement which forced him to wince and suck in a breath. But he kept on with his work. “We will talk,” He said firmly while shifting to strap on the second shin guard. Arthur knew that he owed Lancelot that much. The Roman was not one for avoidance, no matter how painful…..and Lancelot was still the one person Arthur trusted the most in this life. He had to face worse things than Merlin’s wrath upon his return….becoming a father for starters. |
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| golden_trillium | May 5 2010, 06:10 PM Post #84 |
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Author: lady ione Date: Sat Oct 11, 2008 5:24 pm Brendyn Brendyn continued to hold Tyranus's reins while stroking the soft coat on the horse's neck. He was proud of the fact that he had trained the arab mix himself and had saved it form a sad end. Antonius saw no use for horses that could not be used in battle. He was not surprised that Tyranus had taken so fast to Darya and Jols and now, it seemed, to Captain Malcus when the horse began to take in scents and smells that would identify this man as one to be unafraid of...
Out of the coner of his eye, he caught sight of the knight, Tristan, whom he had talked with very, very briefly on the road to here. Not that the man had said much. The young soldier almost added something in regard to what Darya had said...like how rude Karl had been to the lovely Sarmatian, but then, she was right, since he had been here, and even on night watch, he had heard soldiers talk amongst themselves about the Sarmatian knights. Brendyn could not understand why they were so disliked as he had found nothing so far that would gain disrespect to any of them. They had been taken from their homeland and forced to serve Rome. He remained silent, keeping his respect for the Sarmatians and Arthur to himself. He had to hand it to the dark haired Sarmatian, She handled the encounter very well. Brendyn imagined that if it had been he, he'd have all off and decked the impertinant man, but, being a soldier, he'd have been severe;y reprimanded he figured...
While Tyranus was getting a good pampering from Darya, Brendyn's eyes fell with admiration on the hawk which rested on Tristan's shoulder. Fine looking bird, though it seemed to be injured. Keen eyes followed the scout's every footstep to where his horse no doubt awaited him, but a screech from the injured hawk brought the knight back to where Darya stood talking with the Captain, and stopped. There was something of a salute to Malcus, then Tristan turned his attention to Darya as if to speak with her. Taking his eyes respectfully from the conversation about to take place, Brendyn said something softly to his horse in his native language....
Tyranus's ears perked forward at the sound of Quintus's cheery voice, and turned his head to regard the human from which the new voice issued. Brendyn smiled at the cheery voice, "I have everything I need, sir, and my horse is prepared as well." Even then he made a mental list of all that he had packed: Dagger. sword, lance, extra clothing just in case, a small amount of medical supplied, and some food that Jols had been kind enough to pack. Yes, he had everything he needed. Brendyn considered this an important test for he and his horse, and his number one duty on this mission was to see that Arthur and the others were protected at all costs.... |
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| golden_trillium | May 5 2010, 06:11 PM Post #85 |
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Author: Lancelot Date: Sat Oct 11, 2008 5:53 pm Lancelot The Sarmatian scrubbed his hands through his hair once more, and the small groan he'd let escape seemed to echo in his ears. He wiped at his eyes, wincing at the pain that still radiated from the bruised one; although, when he opened and closed it a few times, it still obeyed him. His sight wasn't perfect - far from it, but he could now see Arthur and his surroundings with two eyes versus one blurred, pained, overtaxed and strained one. He wasn't sure if he preferred that or not. Arthur was good at manipulating Lancelot's emotions; one weakness that the knight absolutely hated and yet could not ignore. He tracked the Roman with his gaze - rubbing at the newly working eye with his dirty fingers that were not physically torn or bloody. And yet he could not find the strength to fully raise his mental armour about him - and by Hadrian's balls, that hurt. It cut to the bone - raw, as he'd said a moment ago, so elegantly descriptive and yet so easy for Arthur - his friend - to ignore. Lancelot shook his head and stood weakly, adjusting his sword belt so it was tighter and the untested weapon hung more comfortably against his leg. He crossed to Arthur's washstand as the Roman continued to dress, and picking up a clean piece of linen, wiped the remnants of the tears of embarrassment and hurt off his face. He dunked the cloth in water and did it again, pushing hard on his bruised skin to wake up, fool and to try and bring himself to a state of - You continued to construct a wall around yourself, Impenetrable. Penetrate was the key word there. Arthur chose to hold his heart and love in high regard, not allowing Lancelot to breach his own walls. Or had it been the other way 'round? Had Lancelot been the one to close himself off, to possess the Roman mentally and physically, his only way of knowing things ripping Arthur's loyalty and closeness from him?
"Hrm," Lancelot answered noncommitally. He wasn't sure what he believed now. He wasn't sure he should have opened his mouth at all. I am raw, broken before you The room seemed to strangely vibrate with their previously spoken words, as if the truth and pain of them could not pass into memory. Lancelot felt exhausted and vaguely hungry still, and yet, he could only see Arthur's narrowed eyes when the other man had asked him if the child Darya was carrying could possibly be his. He wiped his face with the cloth again and then once more, the cut on his cheek from either the scrap with Galahad or the battle opening and bleeding freshly, although sluggishly. He was suddenly ill at ease - not like he had felt comfortable before - and found himself watching Arthur as he completed his task of dressing. He stared at the large, calloused hands, and remembered what they had felt like on his skin, hot - always hot and dry, grasping, wanting. He dropped the linen on the floor and tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling as if he expected to see his accusations floating there. "If you do not return within the span of two days," he said, and finally looked at Arthur again. "I will find Merlin." He left the rest unsaid. One way or another - maybe not this season, maybe not next season either - he and the magician would have it done. And if Merlin took Arthur from him before they'd had a chance to settle their own truths - "Do not worry about your woman. I will do as I say. On that you have my word, commander." |
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| golden_trillium | May 5 2010, 06:13 PM Post #86 |
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Author: lady ione Date: Sat Oct 11, 2008 6:16 pm Vanora Well, it was great to hear that Dagonet would survive his wounds. Vanora missed seeing the tall knight in the tavern all the time talking with Bors, although Bors usually did most of the talking. It had been a long time since she had seen all of the knights gathered here in the tavern to tease, and or talk with the Romans. How long had it been since everyone had gathered to have a good talk, laugh and drink? Talking with Saoirse brought back fond memories as it seemed that everytime she was around, things just seemed livelier to her. Vanora kind of glanced over at Linnette whom she felt that she had upset in the worst way though she had tried to help, then turned to Saoirse as the Heibernian spoke....
Vanora nodded to a nearby wench who approached the group, "Can you go and prepare a good sized meal for Saoirse to take back to Dagonet?" "The wench eyed the other red head, then back to Vanora, "I'll be back shortly, miss." With that the wench disappeared into the kitchen. Vanora returned her attention to the boy who was talking to Tristan, as well as the sad look on Linnette's face. Usually, Linnette seemed so composed and in control of her emotions, but the emotional strain of losing her husband was beginning to show, though she tried to hide it...
Vanora frowned, but it was a question she had wondered about as well. She had heard that the Roman's were very skilled in art as well as fighting. She had heard soldiers from Rome talk of things called frescos painted on the walls of palaces, and statues carved in rememberance of a dead hero. To Vanora, all were heros in their own right, but she supposed that Rome would never consider wasting such talent on the brave Sarmatians. Vanora turned her brown eyes to Saoirse slightly and waited for an answer while she took some dirty dishes form another wench...
Vanora could hear in the other red head's voice that she was trying to help as well, but it seemed that they both had not done a good job of it. Vanora returned Saoirse's glance and gave a slight smile, and shortly the wench reappeared with a neatly packed bundle of food for the hungry knight, or at least Vanora assumed that he was hungry as no one had really come for food for him until now. The wench handed the packed food to the young woman and said, "I had packed three eggs scrambled, bread, some dried meat and some fruit and cheese." With a smile, the wench went off to wait on some customers nearby. With a sigh, Vanora turned to see Linnette's reaction, and the emotions that crossed the face tore at Vanora. All attempts to help Linnette had done no good. At Saoirse's 'no', Vanora guessed that the only other thing, the best one, were the memories. It seemed, suddenly, that Linnette became panicked, her eyes moving about the room frantically as if looking for answers that were not to be found....
Before Vanora knew what to do, Linnette bolted from the tavern leaving her cloak behind. Damn it! What else could possibly happen this week....first Woads, then sorrows. Sadly, Vanora turned her head to look at Saorise, "looks like it'll take a miracle of her God to set things to right for her....Poor thing." Vanora had always tried to give the best possible advice, but sometimes, like now, it fell short, and left her speechless. "Well, give my best to Dagonet, dear," she said with a sigh. |
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| golden_trillium | May 5 2010, 06:16 PM Post #87 |
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Author: golden_trillium Date: Sat Oct 11, 2008 6:32 pm Linnette Once she was outside, the cold hit her suddenly. She hadn't thought a bit about the temperature outside, in her hurry to get out of the tavern and out of Saoirse and Vanora's happily-partnered-yet-pitying presences, but once she was outdoors, and without her cloak, the wind, for all the fact that it was not particularly strong today, bit through her dress and underclothing, seeming to go straight for her skin. But she never thought to go back- at least not now. Drawing her arms in and hugging her shoulders as a way of holding in some warmth, Linnette set off on an aimless walk around the courtyard, not having any particular destination in mind, but feeling sure that she ought to have a destination. A group of people seemed to be assembling over by the stables. Horses, weapons, and armor were in evidence, and as Linnette watched, a Centurion, his red cloak fluttering behind him, joined the group from the direction of the barracks, while from the other direction, from the knights' quarters, the taller, thinner, and rather more sullen-looking figure of Tristan arrived, apparently having fetched his things very quickly since leaving the tavern. The wounded bird on his shoulder sqauwked in protest as he bent to set some of his things down. Linnette, arms still drawn around her, wandered closer to the group, curious, and thinking vividly of the day when she had said goodbye to Gedeon in similar circumstances, not knowing it would be the last time. He had leaned over to kiss her from his horse, tilting himself so far sideways that she had thought he might fall, but he, for himself, had been perfectly balanced. Sarmatians could do that sort of thing. Linnette sighed, reminiscently and frustratedly, and blinked back dampness from her eyes. How long would she remember that little incident? Were memories really forever? There was someone else, too, a girl, sitting on a bench not too far away, just under the eaves of the stables, but apart from the main group. She was dark-haired, slight-looking, and alone, and she had something in her lap- something which she made motions over, like she was writing. That was unusual. Linnette drew closer, now recognizing the girl as Mari, the rape victim from several days ago, whom she had seen brought into the infirmary but not had the opportunity or the reason to speak to, though a great part of her had wanted to offer comfort. And the thing in her lap was...Linnette's heart fairly leapt into her mouth as she realized that what Mari was doing was not writing...but... "Are you drawing?" Linnette blurted, rushing over to Mari and practically throwing herself onto the bench beside her, peering over the girl's shoulder to see what was on her paper- if it was indeed what she thought it might be. |
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| golden_trillium | May 5 2010, 06:17 PM Post #88 |
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Author: LadyCastus Date: Sat Oct 11, 2008 10:21 pm Malcus Barbattus, Titrus and Karl
"Now that I have seen the sunlight sparkle in your eyes, I am wonderful," Malcus said, softly clicking his heels, "today is sure to be most pleasant. As for Karl, the sun never shines for him. Don't take it personally though, my lady, he doesn't like anyone," Malcus chuckled slightly, locking eyes with the dark beauty. Then the captain became very serious. "But if he ever disrespects you or frightens you, I will beat him within an inch of his life. You have only to find me." Malcus looked at Darya for a moment, searching her face for any tell tale sign of fear. When he was satisfied there was none, apparently what she said was true that she was not frightened, the captain softened his demeanor again.
Malcus knitted his eyebrows and nodded his head. Where the hell was the stable master on the morning of such an important mission? "Jols, what would we do without you, eh? Let us hope that we never have to find out! I'll take Falco out as soon as they leave." With that, the captain gave the squire a hearty slap on the back, just as Brendyn's mount nuzzled up against the captain's rib. Malcus turned to the war horse and rubbed his velvet soft nose. "Okay, okay, good morning," Barbattus said, reaching inside his tunic and pulling out a treat. "Here you are." "Good morning, Brendyn," Malcus said, "That's a fine animal," he added while stroking the horses neck. Just then Quintus and Tristan entered the stable. The scout, as quiet and stoic as ever saluted, which Malcus returned. Quintus seemed no worse for the wear as he made his way over to growing group.
"Looks like it," Titrus answered. "Jols did an outstanding job outfitting the horses. They're all ready and antsy to ride out." The party was ready indeed. Where were Arthur, Amadeus and Mordred? Malcus didn't want to run into the optio, particularly while he was out of uniform. He'd busy himself somewhere else when the smarmy man arrived. Karl stood his distance away from the group, patting Brutus. They were acting like one big fucking happy family, he thought to himself and Karl didn't want any part of it. The Roman caught Quintus looking at him and Karl smirked back at him, rolling his eyes. "What the bloody hell are we waiting for?" Karl suddenly yelled out, seeming to momentarily halt all conversation. Malcus shot him a scalding look. Karl looked at Tristan. "Don't forget your apples," he laughed and spat on the ground. |
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| golden_trillium | May 5 2010, 06:18 PM Post #89 |
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Author: Darya Date: Sun Oct 12, 2008 1:42 am Darya
Darya could not help but breathe a small laugh at the Captain’s new flattering words to her and she shook her head in mild amusement. “Charmer…”, she said and glanced up at the tall man…just in time to notice him becoming dead serious all for sudden. Their gazes locked…and the Sarmatian nodded slowly at his remark about Karl. She sure hoped she would never have to get back to him because of the grumpy old Roman but could handle him herself instead, yet she welcomed Malcus' offer. “I will…promise…”, Darya replied just as serious as the Captain had addressed her… However, they were then distracted by the arrival of two more men: Centurion Quintus and Tristan. The dark-haired didn’t pay too much attention to the general greetings that were spoken between the soldiers, including Brendyn…but shifted her dark gaze on Tristan instead. The scout was approaching her and she could see in his eyes that something seemed to weigh on his mind. Darya could say that if she really knew one of the knights then it was the quiet scout. Despite the years they had been separated from one another. As far as she could tell, he still was a lot like he had been back then in their childhood…even though she was sure Rome had left its painful marks on him as well…
Now this made the Sarmatian roll her eyes and she shot a rather angry glance at Karl before focusing on Tristan although the scout most likely couldn’t care less about the old Roman’s words. Clearing her throat, Darya looked at those around her again. “Excuse me for a moment, gentlemen…”, she said and then gave Tristan a meaningful glance before walking a few steps away from the others, certain that her countryman would follow should her assumption about his intentions be correct… |
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| golden_trillium | May 5 2010, 06:20 PM Post #90 |
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Author: sabor ice Date: Sun Oct 12, 2008 4:06 am Cassidy & Fleur
He leaned toward her, and although it should've been instinctual for her to lean away simultaneously, Cassidy instead put on a stubborn bravado and didn't move a muscle. She didn't know why it was, but she felt the need to prove something to him, prove to him his intimidation tactics didn't affect her the same way they once might've. Shrewd blue eyes narrowed as she considered his words carefully. Pursing her lips, she cocked her head to the side as well - not to mock him, but just to meet him eye level - her blonde hair draping over one shoulder. "I'm just the messenger," she replied coolly. In all honesty, she had little opinion in the way of trust. She didn't really trust anybody - that much Drake probably had figured out by now. He could take her response however way he liked, though. She was interested in his reaction, however subtle - a twitch of his upper lip, a flash in his bottle green eyes. Something, anything that might help her garnish a better idea of him and what he might be thinking, since he wasn't one to strike up a conversation or anything. Just as Drake was attempting to figure Cassidy out, she was trying to do the same of him. Just then Fleur returned, the tip of her tongue sticking from the corner of her mouth as she skillfully crept stealthily up to the bed. The way Drake was currently hunkered forward over the mattress was much too great an opening for the adorable little misfit. She raised a foot onto the bed for leverage and pulled herself onto his back, latching herself onto him like a leech before he had the chance to react. Soft blonde tendrils fell into her playful blue eyes as she peered over his shoulder at the side of his rugged face mischievously. "Piggy-back ride, Drakey!" Fleur demanded gleefully. Cassidy cocked an eyebrow at her sister’s request of the soldier and looked toward the man rather expectantly. |
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