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October 2008
Topic Started: May 1 2010, 05:17 PM (3,214 Views)
golden_trillium

Admin
Author: Lancelot
Date: Sun Oct 12, 2008 4:59 pm
Lancelot


Lancelot lay down the cloth he'd been wiping his face with,
and slid his hands into the edge of his trousers - not a good
idea. Hastily hitching them up, he pretended to be tightening
the belt he wore his sword on, even though he'd done that just
a few moments before.

Clearing his throat, he looked up through both eyes - one
tired, one angry and watery red - and had to hold back a
bitter laugh at the sight of Arthur, dressed in his finery,
and himself -

a pathetic, skinny, dirty, smelly, fucking overused and
confused conscripted dog. And yet - he stood up straight, and
sucked in air. He was godsdamned Lancelot ap Ban, and he was
no man's puppy, despite the fact he'd shed tears for the other
man standing in front him, who was resplendent in his Roman
armour no matter the haunted exhaustion in his green eyes or
the stubble on his noble chin.

I am Lancelot. I am the second in command. No one will take
that from me.

Arthur
 
“On that matter you have my gratitude, lieutenant."


The use of the titles in their speaking to one another was not
lost on the Sarmatian. But...he shrugged in answer, and again
made sure he was standing tall and as strong as he could. He
watched Arthur make sure everything was in place, including
Uther's large broadsword Excalibur. Lancelot suddenly missed
the weight of his double blades - but they were getting more
rest than he had gotten, and deserved it perhaps more than he
did. They didn't become confused, or deny their owner their
duty.

Arthur
 
“Malcus returned with a captive….shall we see what we
might discover from her in regards to Merlin’s
location?”


"That same she devil I had the pleasure to pull off you a few
days previous? Or is this yet another precocious Woad woman?
Gods forfend - we have so few of those here," his tone was
like acid, and it burned his mouth accordingly. He sighed
heavily and once again was struck by the difference in their
appearances. He waited for Arthur to open the door, and found
himself strangely sickened by the sound and smell of the apple
the commander chose to eat. It had been almost two days since
he'd had anything; he knew he needed food, but he wasn't in
the mood. Maybe Vanora had some stew about - that was perhaps
the only thing he might stomach.

Arthur
 
“And while we walk….you will enlighten me with the
details on how you received such an injury last night,
hm? Come."


No, Arthur, I don't think so. The time has passed today for me
to feel comfortable admitting idiotic behaviors to you.

Not now.

Juice from the fruit trickled down Arthur's chin, and Lancelot
felt how dry his own lips were and just how empty his stomach
was. He stepped around the other man, and put his hand on the
door latch. He noted Arthur's smile - as small as it was -

but did not return the gesture.

His gut rumbled in anticipation and worry for the men that
rode out on this ridiculous 'peace' mission. He hated to admit
it, but he and Scipio seemed to agree on one thing - Woads
were not to be trusted.

Especially that black hearted magician. Lancelot flexed his
bent fingers and finally licked his cracked lips, the cut on
his face he'd reopened when he'd scrubbed at his tears finally
slowing to a halt.

"Let's get this over with."

That smile stayed with him, though, and he ruminated on it
over and over in his confused brain. How could Arthur possibly
be so blase about things - but he is the commander. Heaven
forbid he allow himself to have a moment of personal time.

I may not make that mistake again, either.
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golden_trillium

Admin
Author: LadyCastus
Date: Sun Oct 12, 2008 8:47 pm
Neeria


Neeria's head rolled around her shoulders as the woad
struggled to stay conscious. The pain was excrutiating and
because she'd been without food and was full of infection, she
was extremely weak. Neeria fought against the darkness that
swirled around her, threatening to consume her. She could hear
the healer's voice way off in the distance and she tried to
focus on that. The small woman struggled as bile rose in her
throat, no longer able to control the nausea caused by the
pain. Neeria swallowed hard and forced it back down, clinging
to Neeve's voice. The woad never felt the slaps against her
face and she began to mutter incoherently.

"mi..mi..mikel.."

Neeve
 
“Hey…hey…stay with me, Woad. Don’t you dare to die on me
now…”


Neeria suddenly felt light-headed, like she was floating, as
Neeve lifted her head, trying to get her to drink.

Neeve
 
“Come on…drink something…”


Neeria had barely parted her parched lips when she felt the
refreshing liquid soothe the dryness of her lips and throat.
She drank that way, slowly, at first, then greedily as the
cool water hit her stomach. She began to drink too quickly
however and started choking and coughing. Her lungs rattled
and ached from the cough. Neeria opened her eyes and looked at
Neeve who was watching her closely, presumably to make sure
she was conscious.

Neeria coughed a bit more and cleared her throat, taking the
water from Neeve and drinking it more slowly. When she was
sated, she grabbed Neeve's hand and put it to her cheek.

"Thank you, Neeve," she said and almost smiled.
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golden_trillium

Admin
Author: Pinkie
Date: Mon Oct 13, 2008 5:29 am
Saoirse


tavern maid
 
"I had packed three eggs scrambled, bread, some dried
meat and some fruit and cheese."


Saoirse reached for the bundle of food and nodded her
gratitude, but she was distracted by Linnette.

Again that ludicrous feeling of guilt!

Linnette murmured something about leaving and was gone in a
flash. Saoirse looked after her, her insides twisting
uncomfortably, so badly the red head thought she might keel
over. But it did not show on her face what agony was creating
turmoil inside of her as she watched her lover's
daughter-in-law flee. She couldn't help feel she had caused
that bout of upset.

Sighing, the Irish woman turned back to look at Vanora, her
blue eyes wary and slightly pinched.

Vanora
 
"looks like it'll take a miracle of her God to set
things to right for her....Poor thing. Well, give my
best to Dagonet, dear,"


Poor thing...

Saoirse nodded, bile rising in her throat as she gave Vanora a
kindly but tense smile and turned, stiff as a board, to walk
out teh door. She was holding her breath because she knew once
fresh air hit her brain that a flood of some sort of feeling
would over-take her. And it did.

Once outside the red head gulped in air and almost faltered in
her footsteps. She looked around sharply to ensure no one saw
her as she leaned her bottom against the side of the tavern
and just waited a moment to gather her head.

Poor thing...

Poor thing... is that what they were all doomed to be then? A
poor thing in the eyes of those who observed, in the eyes of
those who had not lost. Saoirse looked towards where Linnette
had gone and felt a pang of immense sorrow, a wrenching
feeling of sympathy and empathy for her.

Poor thing...

Saoirse grit her teeth and lowered her head, staring balefully
at the soggy ground in front of her booted toes. She knew that
some day that that would be her. She knew that someday she
would be the one running out of company and crying her heart
out because she was now a poor thing.... Something to be
pitied.

Sniffing hard, the Irish woman threw her head back, looking
composed though her insides were still doing uncomfortable
flips now and then. She gave one last look at Linnette and
turned to go back to the infirmary to see her lover, ebcause
she still had a lover. He may have been in incredible
emotional turmoil having lost his son but he lived yet. And
Saoirse would see that he recovered well enough to avenge his
son's death.

Saoirse poked her head into the infirmary and shifted the
bundle of food and bundle of fresh clothes in her arms. She
saw Dagonet asleep on the bed and gave a faint smile. He
looked peaceful at least... She moved forward and set the
clothes down on the end of the bed, the bundle of food up by
his elbow. She sat down in teh chair close to the bed and
sprawled her legs, peering at Dagonet intently.









Drake

Cassidy & Fleur
 
"I'm just the messenger,"

"Piggy-back ride, Drakey!"


She would make a damn good soldier, Drake thought as he peered
into her blue eyes, trying to figure her out, trying to
decipher what her response actually meant. He had precious
little time to ponder it before Fleur was on his back. He had
not been aware of her creeping towards him but nor was he
surprised when she did clamber onto his back. He straightened
up and glanced over his shoulder at her, his face almost
colliding with hers as she peered over at him. He cocked an
eyebrow at her and then looked back at Cassidy.

Now what did she expect him to do here?

Drake gave the older girl a wry smile and reached his bandaged
hand back to ruffle Fleur's hair before moving his green eyed
watch from Cassidy. He gripped Fleur's arm and deftly pulled
her down off his back with remarkable care but gruff manner,
and plonked her onto the bed again, a hand on her waist to
steady her as he looked at her little face.

"Not right now Fleur." he told her, cupping one large palm to
the side of her head, her soft blonde hair falling
contrastingly over his thick calloused fingers, getting caught
in the broken skin as he pulled his hand away. He glanced
around the infirmary, wondering why the girls were still here
when they were no longer ill and he looked back at Cassidy.

"Who is the woman who gave you the dresses?" he asked,
thinking that he might find her and see if she was willing to
take in two young girls. If she was fond enough of them to
dress them then she might have heart enough to take them in.
He would give her money for their care, of course... raising
two young girls was hardly cheap but Drake just wasn't
emotionally cut out for it. He could afford it though.









Kolya

Kolya woke in his own bed. Kolya woke without a hangover.
The Sarmatian did not feel very good though.

He ached.

The pain in his lungs had lessened so he presumed that meant
the disease that had killed a few in the fort was not going to
be the death of him. Ironic that he just kept on living when
the younger, stronger more worthy men around him kept on
dying.

Dull blue eyes stared at the cracked ceiling and he shifted
his leg, a bare knee popping out from beneath the itchy
blanket he was using. He tilted his head to the side, looking
at the empty bed where once a Sarmatian Knight had slept, and
recently where Mari had slept, and he cocked an eyebrow to see
her bed empty and obviously not slept in.

The Sarmatian had to hold back a surge of irrational anger at
this. It wasn't like he had ever made a formal claim on her
now, was it? It wasn't like he had any right to go find her
and demand to know jack-shit about where she was last night
and stuff like that. It wasn't as if she actually wanted him
to either. She didn't even want him to find the man that hurt
her and maim him on her behalf. Though Kolya had his ideas on
who that was - and those ideas were fully filled by the
presence of a scrawny, mute boy that Mari seemed to think
could do no wrong.

Harumphing the man threw the blankets off his naked body and
swung his legs over the side of the bed. He looked down at his
bruised knuckles and the grazed knees, reached a hand to his
swollen lip and sighed as his hand dropped down against his
knee.

He was filthy and he was sore. In more ways than one.
Not that Kolya wuold ever admit to being sore at heart, oh
gods no! But there was a part of him that he did not know
which did feel bad for what had happened the day before, the
hurt that he had been forced to delve out left right and
centre. For everyone's sake of course.

Why he had gone to Alina's room before coming to his own was
something he was not willing to think about. He didn't really
know why anyways - he just wanted to ... to ... not to
apologise, because he had done nothing wrong, but rather just
to...

"Fuck it," he murmured, scratching his head irritably. Scabby
flesh fell away and the Sarmatian murmured something about a
bang on the head as he got to his feet and pulled on a dirty
tunic and trousers. He gathered another small bundle - a clean
tunic at least, and headed for the baths, resolved not to
think of the last time he had been there with Alina. Not even
if it was to grin over it!









Galahad

He had dozed a little in front of the fire - but only for a
matter of minutes. When Galahad came to he found that his
brain hurt even more. Groaning, he forced himself to the wash
basin and plucked it out of it's holder, bringing it to the
bed. There he slumped into a miserable heap and sullenly
started to mop at his grazed hands and bruised cheeks, using
the shimmering water as a mirror to ensure he got all the
little bits of blood that had leaked into his beard.

Once that was done he got to his feet and gave a staggered
shuffle across to his clothes chest. He thumped down onto his
knees in front of it and started to pull and tug at clothes
inside, looking for something infinitely warm, and something
he could wear for a few days without having tochange out of!

The young knight tottered back to the bed with a bundle in his
arms which he tossed onto the bed. He sat on the edge of the
bed as he stripped himself, careful of his bandaged side.
Pulling off the tunic left his dark curly hair in an unruly
mop atop his head. He pulled on an undertunic and then a nice
padded doublet over it, belting it about his slim waist snugly
. The trousers were padded slightly too - leather on the
outside but lined with suede on the inside, creating a thick
barrier to the cold and rain. He hitched them over his hips
and gave a harumph as he had to poke a new hole in his belt
because they were too big on him.

Once more Galahad sat on the edge of the bed and this time he
started to don his boots.

All these actions were enough to take his mind from more
important matters like where Alina was and who she was with
and for how long and what Gawain was doing and probably most
importantly... whether Lancelot was out looking for him yet or
not. It would do no good to hide in his rooms all day though.
Galahad resolved he was going to go out and see to his horse,
wash the beast down to occupy his mind and give his body some
badly needed exercise. The best thing for aching body parts
was exercise to warm them up.

But when he was fully dressed, boots laced and hair patted
down neatly, he found it incredibly hard to find the energy to
stand. When he did so it was wavering. He walked across the
room and opened his door, sighing as the cold outside in the
corridor whistled into his room and made his fire flicker.
There was nothingfor it though.

Galahad ducked his head, reached back for his cloak and
wandered out into the corridor, heading to the courtyard and
from there to the stables.









Catherine

A little robin-redbreast was hopping along the window sill.
It's bright red plummage puffed out making the thing appear
twice the size it really was. Catherine sat at the table in
her little home with a spoon half-way to her mouth, her green
eyes intent on the little creature, fascinated at the delicacy
of it and the way the brown seemed to be so bright against the
wintry landscape outside.

"Is it true Catherine?" Arland's sharp tone bit through her
reverie. Catherine had not been aware he was there at all
until his high-pitched, accusing tone broke the spell of the
robin. She glanced up at his handsome face in mild
bewilderment. He looked angry, sounded angry... Catherine
presumed that he was indeed that. Angry. But why?

"Hmm?" she murmured, finally putting the spoonful of porridge
into her mouth. She looked down at teh bowl and mixed the
honey into it more thoroughly. She was used to Arland's
tantrums at this stage. He didn't agree with her lifestyle but
he knew that he could do nothing to stop her save going out
and making a fortune for himself then coming back to promise
her the world that she so dearly wanted.

"One of the pages at the fortress said they saw you with one
of the Knights yesterday... is it true?" he asked tersely.
Catherine took another mouthful of porridge and looked up at
Arland with sweet innocence. She shrugged her shoulder
non-chalantly and looked back to her bowl. Arland's hand
slammed down beside her bowl and hard, making Catherine squeek
and sit back. She looked up at Arland in surprise and alarm -
but such emotions quickly changed to indignant pride. The
blonde rose to her feet quickly and pointed a finger at
Arland.

"You stay right where you are mister." she ordered him, her
sing-song voice strong and resolute as she backed away,
glaring at him fiercely. "What right have you to know how I
see and who I do not, Arland? Hmm? Why do you ask such
questions when it only stirs in you this unjustified anger? Do
you expect me to tell you and then stand by while you throw my
mother's plates and bowls against the wall?" she snapped at
him.

The man looked physically struck as he recoiled, a hand to his
head, eyes pinched as he looked at Catherine's hand stuck out
in front of her as if to ward him off.

"What is this Catherine? Why ... " he asked, gesturing to her
hand. Catherine looked down and shrugged again, straightened
up and composed herself a bit better. She pulled the shoulder
of her nightdress up against her neck and held it there,
attempting to look aloof but her youth only made her look
awkward.

"I wouldn't hurt you. Never - I'm asking because those
Knights, Catherine... they're dangerous!" Arland said
exasperated, remaining where he was though Catherine could see
by the set of his feet that he wanted to come to her. He had
done that his whole life - cmoe to her when she was hurting or
he was hurting and they comforted each other. For her it was
purely platonic, not so for Arland.

The blonde snorted and rolled her eyes, looking towards the
ceiling, dismissing his concerns. She had been in the company
of three Knights the day before in fact. Tristan, Lancelot and
Gawain for a short time. Any one of the three might have been
the one that Arland spoke of - Catherine did not wish to rouse
his anger once more by asking which of the three it was he was
especially concerned about.

Tristan had been his usual, odd self - but not a rough man,
not ignorant of her comforts at all. Lancelot had held her
hard at the first but afterwards well... Catherine shook her
head to dismiss the rest of that botched encounter, biting her
bottom lip then as her head ducked and her cheeks reddened
when she thought of Gawain.

He would not hurt her. Not intentionally. Not physically.

Catherine glanced up at Arland and waved her hand at him
dismissively as she turned to walk towards her little room.

"Is it true?! You've not answered me!" Arland protested,
stomping after her, masochistic to a fault when it came to his
own heart. Catherine stopped but did not turn around. She
looked up at the ceiling, paused, and then carried on. Once
inside her room she sat on the edge of her bed and mentally
rebuked herself for the silly way she thought of Gawain - as
if he were some Knight in shining armour, honourable and ...
he probably did not think of her at all. It was only because
he had shown her a kindness that was not physical that
Catherine found herself stuck on him.

"Stupid.." she muttered to herself.

"I'm not stupid, Kitty. I'm just worried about you." Arland
said, his head leaning against the doorframe sorrowfully.

Catherine blinked slowly and wiped at her forehead tiredly.
"Not you Arland. Me."

"You're nto stupid. You're just ... reckless."

Catherine gave an amused chuckle and glanced up at Arland. The
charged atmosphere between them had tapered into nothing. She
rose to her feet and walked towards him, embracing him gently.
Arland dipped his head to breathe in the clean, warm scent of
sleep that still clung to the woman's presence. Catherine
rapped the back of his head in rebuke, but gently, before
withdrawing.

"Leave me to dress." she ordered him. The young male sighed
but nodded his head.

"I've to go to work anyway. Promise me you'll avoid the
knights, Catherine... please?"

Catherine looked at him and slowly shook her head, sadly
denying him his plea. The man sighed and shrugged one
shoulder, helpless.

Once alone, Catherine set about dressing for the day - a
lovely plush brown dress with a red corset rather like a
robin-redbreast,she mused, looking at herself in the
indistinct mirror on her bedside table. She braided her hair
in two thick plaits and wound them up on teh back of her head
in a neatly disorganised pile,a few tendrils stringing down
against her graceful neck left bare. A deliberate thing -
Catherine presumed men who saw her beautiful neck so bare
would purchase something for her to wear.

Dressed and perfumed, clean and pristine, Catherine donned her
cloak once more and headed out into the blustery British
winter, ducking her head as she made her way towards Badon
Hill fortress to see what was to be done with the day.
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golden_trillium

Admin
Author: sabor ice
Date: Mon Oct 13, 2008 7:58 am

Mordred


Mordred donned his thick leather gloves as he stepped from the
bathhouse; he lifted his face to the sky, taking in a
refreshing lungful of air as rain struck at his cheeks. The
icy drizzle left streaks down his rugged face like false
teardrops, almost giving off a strange vibe of vulnerability
in contradiction to his soulless dark eyes. The sun just
scarcely broke through the clouds, illuminating his profile in
a ray of brilliance, making him in that moment appear somehow
younger than his thirty years. He took on momentary
reminiscence of the fragile youth he might once have been,
face tilted toward the heavens in shy attempt to find solace
in its ashen sea of infinite grays. It was as if Mordred had
given over his entire being to the moment, casting away all
plans of vengeance, and claiming vindication of all hatred and
evils. He was, in that instant, almost indefinitely tangible.
Human even.

The half-decimated barracks were swarmed with soldiers and
carpenters and other workers. Mordred spotted the Optio
amongst them fairly quickly and approached with a brow
half-cocked. Exhibiting genial camaraderie with local urchins
and lower ranks was hardly the place he had expected to find a
man like Scipio sleuthing, but, for every day there was a
season. The Optio was a man of many, in a word, talents, and
surely his reasoning for being there was purely for self-gain.
Still, Mordred couldn't help but eye curiously between the
barracks lot and the Optio when the man approached him.

Amadeus
 
"Good news. Arthur is to take me with him to speak with
Merlin. He doesn't trust that other incompetent farce of
a Captain to accompany him. I'm of two minds on whether
or not you should come along, for you see..."


The knight followed Amadeus over to the dark doorway and
crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against its frame and
cocking his head to the side as he listened to the other man's
explanation of things. He snorted quietly at the mention of
Cicero's incompetence, stroking the stubble at his chin
thoughtfully and nodding idly in agreement there. Amadeus'
face lit up with boy-like enthusiasm as he continued, and
Mordred found himself intrigued to learn the source -

Amadeus
 
"Lancelot will be left in charge. It would be a good
opportunity for you to stir things here for that dog...
wouldn't you think?"


Mordred let out a raspy chuckle at the news, clearing his
throat as he glanced out over the barracks. So, the Commander
had asked his pussy-whipped First Knight to stay behind and
look after things in his absence then? Well, not asked -
ordered - since Lancelot was the resistant sop type. Pity
Mordred had to miss Lancelot's inevitable bitch tantrum in
response to the order - surely he was still vehemently stewing
over his keeper's departure, leaving him behind like the
contents of yesterday's chamber pot. Poor thing.

"Well," the knight began with eerie calm. Mordred brought a
hand to wipe away a droplet that had formed at the tip of his
curved nose and sniffed, looking back to the Optio with silent
eagerness. A devious smirk etched into the corner of his
mouth. "I think it best for somebody to stay behind and keep
the dog on his toes, don't you? After all, so many terrible
things could happen in the good Commander's absence..." He
added, tsking mockingly.
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golden_trillium

Admin
Author: golden_trillium
Date: Mon Oct 13, 2008 9:59 am
Quintus


Malcus
 
"Look men, make me proud on this mission and I'll
reconsider my previous order of punishment. Quintus,
Titrus is aware of some of the things that I'm about to
say and that I'm now making privy to you. I am sure that
this conversation will remain confidential. I don't
trust Scipio. On the last mission, he killed innocent
Woads. I know no Woad is completely innocent, but those
bastards weren't armed nor were they expecting us. They
were completely unaware. Scipio slaughtered them for no
reason. He made Tristan do it. That's not Arthur's way.
There is something about the Optio that disturbs me. I
can't put my finger on it. But like I said before, you
are to protect Arthur with your lives. If, God in heaven
forbid, something happens to the Commander you are to
abandon your positions immediately and head back to the
fortress for me to mobilize troops and the other
knights. You are to obey any orders given to you
according to Roman law, but Arthur, as you know, has
final say. Keep your eyes and ears open. I have chosen
the both of you because of trust. Is that clear? You
have your orders and may God be with you. I will
celebrate with you when you return."


"Aye, sir!" Quintus gave a smart salute in response to the
Captain's, but inside, he was wondering- wondering quite a
bit- at Barbattus's words. To admit to Quintus, a mere
Centurion, that he distrusted a man as highly placed as the
Optio? That was serious business- not something that Barbattus
would do without carefully considering it. It seemed like the
bad blood between Captain and Optio was even more severe than
the rumors of yesterday gave it credit for. The Woad-killing
part didn't really bother Quintus- Woad's weren't innocent, as
the Captain had rightly said- but the extent to which
Barbattus had made it clear that he disapproved of the Optio
did.

Quintus hadn't spent much time around the Optio, but he never
known bad of the man, really. He was aristocratic in bearing,
and strongly preferred the company of men of his class rather
to that of the common ones, but that was hardly a surprise;
beyond that, he seemed to be a fair man and a decent
tactician, from what little Quintus had seen. There wasn't
anything in the Centurion's experience to fully account for
the Captain's distrust of him, so Quintus just mentally
decided to keep it in his mind and watch things. He would obey
orders, he always did- but truth to tell, it was likely that a
large portion of his attention this mission would have to be
devoted to keeping Karl in line- the brute whom the Captain
had insisted on including. Quintus frowned as he turned away
from Barbattus and made his way back towards his horse. Now
that was a bad choice of man for this- but it seemed there was
nothing that would be done about it, so more work for Quintus
when they rode out. He might not have any time to worry about
the damned Optio, anyway.

"Least we might get rid of that curfew," Quintus muttered
under his breath for Titrus's ears only as he once more made a
small adjustment of the saddle blanket.












Linnette

Mari
 
"No! No- what I mean was, well...I was trying...not
really though, you see. I'm not very...well, trained
or...I don't even know if I'm doing it right...wh-why?"


"Because..." Linnette's answer was distracted, only
half-formed; she was trying desperately to crane her neck so
that she could see the images on the paper the girl had been
working on, but Mari clutched it to her chest most
frustratingly, letting Linnette only see the edges of it, a
smudge of the pencil here and there, nothing of the actual
image- and she was sure it had been an image.

"I..." Curse it! Would the girl not let her see? Linnette's
eyes lit on the pile of little paper scraps beside Mari, and
as Mari did not seem to be guarding those, she snatched them
up eagerly, riffling through them quickly, her eyes drinking
in every picture as they flashed by. A cart wheel, a hinge,
the tavern's weathervane...Linnette paused at a very realistic
sketch of a bird, her eyes growing wider with appreciation. It
was only then that she looked over at Mari and really noticed
the blush on her cheeks, fully realized that she had scared
the girl. And no wonder.

"I'm sorry." Linnette modulated her voice with an effort,
trying her utmost to push her growing excitement and sense of
urgency down. She scooted just a little bit backwards on the
bench, away from Mari, and held up one hand as if in
surrender, holding out the paper scraps with her other hand
for Mari to take. Linnette took a deep breath. An artist...an
artist in the fort...who could have predicted that there would
be one, and such an unexpected one, too? But maybe she didn't
draw people...

"I...er...forgive me, that was inexcusable," Linnette laughed
just a bit, then, thinking of how she must appear to Mari. As
an attacker, almost, come to snatch her paper scraps away!

"It's just that I...well, I..." How to explain all this? There
seemed no good place to start. "I was hoping to find someone
to draw something for me. But I didn't think there was any
such person in the fort, and then I saw you there, and
I...well..." Linnette laughed again and shrugged sheepishly.

"I'm sorry for scaring you like that," she concluded, with a
gentle, apologetic smile.
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golden_trillium

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Author: Darya
Date: Mon Oct 13, 2008 10:10 am
Darya


Darya was somewhat relieved when Bors assured her that his leg
was alright again. With a wry smirk she watched him walk into
the stables, surely to prepare his horse. Shaking her head
briefly, the dark-haired’s attention was back on Tristan…

Tristan
 
"Anyone gives you trouble, you let me know."


The woman tilted her head and let her dark gaze lock with the
scout’s. He was serious about this. Of course he was. He
always was. The man hardly made jokes… “I will…”, she
confirmed, her gaze never wavering as she looked at her
kinsman. The quiet knight knew her longest of all people here
at Badon Hill. He had known her as a child…and by the Gods, if
things had went different all those years ago, they would be
family by now.

If…

However, of the Sarmatians at the fortress, Darya of course
trusted Tristan the most.

Only now did Darya lower her gaze to the hawk on the scout’s
arm. The bird probably was his closest friend. Darya still
wondered how the animal had managed to get injured but then
Tristan spoke again…

Tristan
 
"Was wondering...could you feed her, maybe? While I'm
gone? Just once a day."


The woman smiled faintly and lifted a hand to cautiously brush
its back along the hawk’s breast feathers. The bird cocked its
head and seemed to eye her critically which let Darya’s smile
only widen a little. “Of course…”, she then replied and
brought her left arm next to Tristan’s to see if the hawk
would readily move onto it… The female Sarmatian gently
brushed her arm along the bird’s feet and claws…and the hawk
indeed made a step forward to sit on her arm. Darya could
clearly feel the animal’s claws dug into the drapery of her
dress and even slightly into her skin…yet it was bearable.
“She kinda likes me, hm?”, Darya asked and glanced at Tristan
again, “…how do we look together?”

It was a subtle attempt to ease her kinsman’s mind for Darya
was sure he wasn’t exactly happy about having to part from his
bird for a while.

“I’ll take good care of her, Tristan…promise…”, she added, all
serious again, “…she’ll have it dry and warm at night…and get
fresh air during the day…” Darya nodded slowly at the scout to
underline her words, hoping that he would be fine with her
accepting his offer…
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golden_trillium

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Author: Pinkie
Date: Mon Oct 13, 2008 10:31 am
Amadeus


No - butting shoulders with the common folk was not something
that Amadeus thought highly of. But this exercise would
benefit all. Out of the wreckage here today he wuold build
relationships, trusts and confidences of these men and they
would remember that when he proclaimed Arthur to be of a
traitorous mind, when it was declared that Arthur Castus was
to be sent to the gallows for crimes against Rome and oh the
glory that that would bring!

Here on the ashes of the past week's fights and skirmishes
would Amadeus build a future suitable for those of a like
mind... good, honest and loyal people like Mordred. Like
Linnette and Linnesse, and indeed, even men like Tristan. For
every secure home needed a watch-hound.

Mordred
 
"Well, I think it best for somebody to stay behind and
keep the dog on his toes, don't you? After all, so many
terrible things could happen in the good Commander's
absence..."


Amadeus' smirk was really rather handsome. He nodded his head
and chuckled, looking beyond Mordred towards the end of the
laneway that led to the courtyard. Across the way he could see
some movements abotu the stables and sniffed loudly, pleased
that Mordred had understood why it was that Amadeus would
leave him here. If only Wybert had not been so inconveniently
killed! It would be a perfect opportunity to set the demented
monk on Lancelot and kill him in his sleep while there was no
one to protect him.

Alas...

Looking back at Mordred, Amadeus raked a hand back through his
straight, black hair and gestured towards the stables.

"Hmm -- I think I should depart soon then. I dare not keep the
Commander waiting." Amadeus intoned with mock loyalty before
snorting and shaking his head. He went to move off but turned
to Mordred with a lifted finger, a querulous frown on his
brow.

"I would exercise due caution, Lord Mordred. I have set
certain wheels in motion that I would not like people to be
aware of just yet. I just need a little more time to arrange
certain matters. So... caution." he repeated sagely, walking
backwards a few steps as he departed.
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golden_trillium

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Author: Darya
Date: Mon Oct 13, 2008 10:44 am
Neeve


Neeria
 
"mi..mi..mikel.."


Neeve furrowed her brow at the Woad’s odd sounds. It could be
a name or something… The healer shook her head and felt the
other woman’s forehead. She was beginning to heat up. Neeve
could only hope that she had come in time for the fever to not
put an end to Neeria’s life. The Woad needed to eat…a soup of
some sort would be good. And why did she care for the
prisoner’s life anyway? Damn that healer codex her mother had
taught her…

However, the raven-haired woman nodded slowly as if
encouraging the Woad when the other woman finally started to
drink the water she was offering her. “Easy, easy…”, the
healer murmured when Neeria drank to quickly and choked on the
cool fluid, “…come on, sit up…makes it easier…”

The Briton’s lips parted again to say something else…but no
word came over them when Neeria suddenly grabbed her hand and
held it to her cheek…

Neeria
 
"Thank you, Neeve,"


Neeve blinked confusedly, trying to ignore the once more
rising uncomfortableness that seemed to embrace her whole body
all for sudden. The healer cleared her throat and slowly
withdrew her hand from Neeria’s. “I…we still have to do the
bandages…”, she then said, deliberately trying to not make the
situation even worse from her point of view, “…can you hold
your tunic up so that I can wrap the bandages around you?”
With that, the Briton attempted a wry smile…but it did not
quite reach her eyes…
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golden_trillium

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Author: golden_trillium
Date: Mon Oct 13, 2008 1:31 pm
Tristan


Darya
 
“Of course…she kinda likes me, hm? How do we look together? I’ll take good care of her,
Tristan…promise…she’ll have it dry and warm at night…and get fresh air during the day…”


"Mmhm." Tristan nodded in acknowledgement of that; his eyes
were downcast, not meeting Darya's, his hands busy stroking
the hawk's head again, then fussily and uneccesarily adjusting
a corner of the splint on her wing. He felt a reluctance to
leave the bird that was a feeling out of the past for him- a
feeling from boyhood, when he had been able to direct such
emotions as caring and missing towards another person. Darya
had known him, then. She might remember what he had been like.
But things were different, now. Tristan was different, made so
by servitude to the Romans, and he no longer allowed himself
feelings for people. He only hurt them.

"Just..." Tristan cleared his throat awkwardly, still not
looking up.

"Give her meat once a day- raw is best, but cooked will do.
You can take her in your room if you want, but you could
just..." Tristan gestured vaguely towards the stables,
suggesting that as a possible place to put the bird up. He
honestly hadn't thought that she would go so trustingly to
Darya, and to tell the perfectly honest truth, it hurt, just a
little bit and deep down, that she would. But he could only
suppose that her injury had made her trusting- cognizant of
how vulnerable she was and willing to turn to whoever might
possibly help her.

"And if a week goes by...take the splint off and she'll hunt."
And that would be it. The hawk would soar free, and Tristan,
if a week had gone by, would either be dead or under Merlin's
torture, uncaring of anything else but the pain. As Percival
had been. Tristan's throat felt thick; it was even harder to
talk than usual.

"That's all," he muttered, giving the hawk a last stroke and
half-turning away, ready to go to his horse once again- back
into whatever Merlin might now have prepared for them.
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golden_trillium

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Author: Pinkie
Date: Mon Oct 13, 2008 1:51 pm
Smith


Smith enjoyed the winter season. Not many who lived in the
wild did - but Smith was not like other people. His lean body
was laid almost flat to his horse's back as he galloped
through the forest, ever watchful eyes on the ground, on the
surroundings. He may like winter but he did not like it so
much for it to be the last thing he saw on this earth. The
wind whipped against his cheeks, staining them red and the
misty, chill rain that fell made his hair cling to his
reddened cheeks - giving him a rather wild look.

He had been injured during the fight at the fortress the night
before - a broken collarbone after a rather burly looking
soldier punched him right on the bone. It had been damn
painful but he had at least gotten away with his life. The
trek back to the camp had been arduous but once there he had
settled with a meal on his own. By the following morning he
was more than ready to mount his horse and return to find
Merlin.

Smith slowed his horse down, straightening in the saddle. He
gave a wince as his collar bone ached but made no other hint
to his discomfort. Sharp, brown eyes peered around the forest
and he discerned the presence of his fellow woads. Sounds and
smells that were not normally there in teh forest, even the
way animals nearby acted was enough evidence for Smith to know
he was near the group.

As he rode into the clearing he smiled. He looked around the
familiar faces and noted a certain tension amongst the people.
The woad's smile tensed and then started to slide as he guided
his horse in amongst the people. Once he saw Merlin, Smith
dismounted, leading his horse forward. He did not trust others
to hold his mount because most woads were not used to horses.

Smith walked up towards Merlin, scanning the people gathered.
He saw what their attention was on and gave a brief start.
Mona...dead... her throat cut in front of everyone. It could
only have been a duel or punishment and by the way people eyed
Merlin Smith could assume it to be the latter. The charismatic
woad lifted his eyes to scan the people for Kayley. It would
probably be an exageration to call her a 'friend' - but of all
the woad warriors she was the closest to being this to Smith.
He gave her a brief smile, the most tenderest of quirks to his
lips before turning away from her to attend to Merlin.

"Merlin... I've come from the village." Smith informed his
leader, sparing another smile of greeting for Guinevere.









Mari

Linnette
 
"Because.. I... I'm sorry. I...er...forgive me, that was
inexcusable, It's just that I...well, I... I was hoping
to find someone to draw something for me. But I didn't
think there was any such person in the fort, and then I
saw you there, and I...well.. I'm sorry for scaring you
like that,"


Mari didn't recognise Linnette at all. She didn't think anyone
would recognise her either - as the rape victim or anything
else besides. Her wide brown eyes watched the woman carefully
as she grasped the little sheafs of paper that Mari had
already scrawled on. Embarrassed the girl made a start for
them, to prevent Linnette seeing them but only gave a small
smack of her lips instead, sitting back and watching with a
worried, hesitant look about her face for the woman to comment
on them.

When she did look up again Mari ducked her eyes politely and
flexed her fingers around the corners of the page she held
against her chest. The other woman seemed to have gathered
herself now though - and sat back, apologising. Mari
hesitantly reached otu for the scraps of paper that she was
being handed and held them to her chest too, watching Linnette
cautiously. It was her nature to be polite to those older than
her and those of a better station than her. Linnette was both,
Mari presumed, and so she felt like she had been caught doing
something bad by teh way the woman had reacted to her drawing.

She waited with pent breath for the woman to rebuke her. The
last thing Mari expected was a request for a drawing. Her
mouth dropped openand she stared at the hazel-eyed woman for a
moment. She snapped her mouth shut and looked over her
shoulder, just in case the woman was talking to someone else-
then darted a look back to Linnette, eyes wide.

"Me?" she squeeked, "I can't draw. Not really - I mean I can
only do .. do .. do these. They're not even very good. They're
dull and lifeless. They're dead, my father always says they
are." she said in a shy voice, leaning the page with the crow
on it down to her lap where she straightened it with small
fingers. She glanced up to see the crow had fluttered off in
the commotion then looked back over at Linnette.

"You can have any of these if you'd like them but I'm really
sorry they're not better. I was just amusing myself while the
roof of the cottage was being fixed after it fell in a couple
of years ago..." Mari started to babble in her habitual
fashion but she soon shut herself up with a firm snap of her
teeth. She looked like she was sitting on hot coals, alert and
ready to do as she was bid. Despite everything that she had
been throguh Mari was still utterly biddable and painfully
self-sacrificing.

"What? ... I mean what did you want drawn?" she asked in a
small voice.
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golden_trillium

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Author: sabor ice
Date: Mon Oct 13, 2008 2:57 pm
Micah & Kayley


Micah couldn't remember the last time he had seen his fearless
leader physically take a life, let along one of their own. At
the time, it had left an unsettling feeling in the pit of his
stomach, a nauseous churning that hadn't let up until he had
turned away. By then his attention had diverted to Kayley and
the memory of Mona's slaying was distant. Even though the
blonde woman's corpse lay just feet away in a pool of bloody
mess, that was just how Micah was - able to forget, able to
push from thought things he didn't care to recall, however
fresh in his mind. What had happened with Mona was finished -
it no longer concerned him. All he cared about was Kayley and
how she was faired under such grim circumstances. But, she was
quiet now. Thinking, he supposed, or merely resting. He knew
she hadn't been close with the deceased, so it seemed
far-fetched to think she mourned. It maddened him not knowing
her thoughts, too!

"She's probably thinking what an annoying damn shadow you
are," Raedan harrumphed, crossing his arms over his chest and
turning his back on Micah as he stared off into the distance.

"Who cares about the damn broad? There's a million of them out
there! Why are we all just sitting around?! I want to see some
action! Where the hell did those Romans go? I call the
beak-faced one!" Garrett exclaimed impatiently, stalking back
and forth.

"Shh! Kayley is not just anyone. Micah loves her. I think
she's sweet," little Aeryn cooed as she sat beside Kayley,
doting upon her.

"Sweet, my ass!" Garrett growled. "That girl is just playing
him like she does all the others. Why is he wasting his damned
time?"

"I am getting rather tired of being jabbed and stabbed every
time the boy gets the notion in his head to protect the wench
in battle. Pretty inconsiderate of him, if you ask me," Raedan
chimed in bitterly, glancing over his shoulder at the others.
"Next time let her die if it means we can walk away in one
piece."

"You two are SO mean!" Aeryn cried out in horror. "Micah can
hear you, you know! Say you're sorry right now!"

"Hmpf!" Raedan and Garrett answered in unison, each turning
away.

Micah frowned and cleared his throat, resting his chin on his
knee. He wasn't agreeing nor disagreeing with any of his
hallucinations. They were all of them right in their own ways,
he supposed. Kayley didn't even know he was alive, not really.
But, he couldn't help but love her anyway. He frowned again as
he idly reached over to scratch the bandage on his left arm. A
slender hand reached out to stop him and he looked up to meet
Kayley's piercing blue eyes.

"Don't scratch," she told him, with a wry smile. And, in that
same moment she absentmindedly scratched a bandage of her own.

"You should talk," Micah chided her wistfully.

Merlin
 
"We go on. You, you, you...You will backtrack this
morning to the campsite and bury our brethren who fell
there, if you can. Be cautious; Castus may send out more
men. If you cannot reach the campsite safely, then
commend their souls to the Gods with a prayer and return
to us. As for the traitor..."


Kayley was on her feet before the order had even been given.
She shoved eagerly through a small group to be at the front as
Merlin began calling out individuals. Micah was right behind
her, as if being toted along by some magnetic pull. He glanced
questioningly at her with stitched brows and then looked
toward their leader just in time to be chosen as well...

"Now you've done it," Raedan scoffed.

"YES!" Garrett whooped and hollered from somewhere nearby.

"Oh my..." Aeryn hiccupped quietly behind Micah.

Kayley smiled enthusiastically and turned on her heel to go
back to where she had been sitting to collect her bow and
arrow and prepare. She was clearly much more thrilled about
going than Micah was, but he didn't complain. He would be able
to keep an eye on her this way. He caught sight of Smith first
as the man led his horse toward the group - and scoffed.
Kayley climbed to her feet, slinging her bow across her back;
her dark, wavy hair caught on the breeze as she turned and
immediately locked her blue gaze onto Smith. Micah looked
between she and Smith in that instant of silent
acknowledgement and sniffed petulantly, pretending to be
preparing for departure as he turned away then. Kayley didn't
seem to notice.
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golden_trillium

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Author: lady ione
Date: Mon Oct 13, 2008 7:56 pm
Vanora


A day that Vanora wanted to be different, turned out the same
as the other days. Suddenly she found herself wishing for some
gods to drop off a bag of happiness in the fort, but it was a
pipe dream. Her eyes lingered on the door a bit more then had
turned to the red head who was now holding the bag of food the
wench had brought to her. For a fleeting moment, her eyes met
Saoirse's and those eyes were met with a tense smile, then
Saoirse turned without a word and walked out of the tavern as
well.

All Vanora could do was just stare again at the door once
again. Well, she was glad that she was not a counselor at the
fort as she felt she'd have everyone depressed. Angrily, she
swiped up the bar towel she had set on the counter, and began
to wipe down the table again. She was so upset with herself
that she did not feel the tug on her dress. Looking down,
Vanora saw the sweet face of #4. The little one was looking up
inquisitively at her momma with big brown eyes

"Momma...Ith okay...I jtht wanna slith of bread...." She
smiled amidst brown curly hair.

Vanora smiled back down, but did not forget the feelings she
had of making two of her dearest friends sadder then they
already were. "I'll get you your breakfast, dear." She picked
up the little girl and held her close while carrying her to a
table nearby where she was met by a flood of the rest of the
children. It was good to have them about her, and she went off
to the kitchen to get them their breakfast....

As she entered the kitchen, Vanora looked up at the cook who
shot her a worried glance. Vanora offered a smile, "I am
alright, dear. Don't worry about me. Things are bound to get
better soon...though it does take a long time to grieve..."
She grabbed 8 small bowels and plopped two scoops of porridge
in each, three with honey, one with butter and cream, and the
rest plain. The cook dropped what she was doing and assisted
Vanora with all of the bowls, and they both brought them out
and set them before the children who ate them hungrily....
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golden_trillium

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Author: Kay
Date: Tue Oct 14, 2008 2:31 am
Guinevere


Guinevere heard her father give instructions for a group of
Woads to return to bury the dead warriors; not so for Mona
though; she was to be left for the beasts of the forest. It
was an undignified end for a woman who had once been a loyal
warrior.

Merlin
 
"Guinevere. We should arrive back at the village today."


Guinevere turned toward her father. He had spoken softly, no
longer using the harsh tone of the previous day. He seemed to
be studying her face; no doubt searching for a clue as to her
mood.

"Yes" she said, looking him straight in the eye. She would not
show any sign of emotion; how she was feeling was her own
private secret. "I will be pleased to get home"
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golden_trillium

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Author: Darya
Date: Tue Oct 14, 2008 10:22 am
Darya


Tristan
 
"Just... Give her meat once a day- raw is best, but
cooked will do. You can take her in your room if you
want, but you could just... And if a week goes by...take
the splint off and she'll hunt. That's all,"


Darya nodded slowly to confirm that she understood what
Tristan was saying, however, once the hawk was sitting on her
arm instead of his, the scout avoided her gaze. The woman
tilted her head to the other side and she licked her lips
stiffly. It wasn’t hard to tell that was hard for her kinsman
to part from the bird…from his loyal friend. The female
Sarmatian felt almost bad for a moment…yet he had asked her to
take care of the hawk, right?

“You’ll be back in no time…”, the dark-haired finally said
quietly, “…and she and I will be waiting for you, okay?” With
that, Darya gave Tristan a wry smile, trying to make this
temporary goodbye from his hawk a little easier. Of course she
would stay until the men had left the courtyard…thus the hawk
as well. And even though Tristan had hinted for the
possibility that he might not return, Darya refused to even
think about this… They would all return. They had to… Arthur.
Tristan. Bors. The other men going, too, of course…but those
three – in all truth – were the most important for her…seeing
the people gathering in the courtyard, ready to go. Of course
those thoughts would remain private.

When Tristan turned to prepare his horse, Darya made a step
forward to re-join the group by the stables doors, gently
caressing the hawk’s feathers as she did so…
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Author: LadyCastus
Date: Tue Oct 14, 2008 12:14 pm
Neeria


Neeria continued to gulp at the cool water that Neeve held to
her parched lips. The liquid spilled down the corners of her
mouth and down her filthy neck.

Neeve
 
“Easy, easy…come on, sit up…makes it easier…"


Neeria sat up and took another sip and wiped her mouth with
the back of her sleeve. She burped loudly and for the first
time, smiled.

Neeve
 
“I…we still have to do the bandages…can you hold your
tunic up so that I can wrap the bandages around you?”


Neeria scooched her small body across the nasty cell floor,
closer to the healer and raised up her tunic once again.
Whatever Neeve had applied to her side, began to cool the
infection and ease some of the pain already. As Neeve worked,
Neeria stared at her again, taking in her clean skin, short
dark hair and blue eyes. She smelled so good.

"Neeve?" Neeria said timidly, "would it be possible for me to
wash and to change clothes?"

The woad wasn't sure what to expect from this woman. The
healer was probably just performing her professional duties.
But to be rid of the horrible clothes she was wearing and to
be able to wash her hair was more precious than food at that
moment. Neeria searched Neeve's eyes for mercy.

"We are on opposites of the Wall, Neeve, but we are still
native sisters," Neeria said.
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