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| October 2008 | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: May 1 2010, 05:17 PM (3,214 Views) | |
| golden_trillium | May 6 2010, 05:39 PM Post #106 |
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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.
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.
"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.
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 | May 6 2010, 05:40 PM Post #107 |
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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.."
Neeria suddenly felt light-headed, like she was floating, as Neeve lifted her head, trying to get her to drink.
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 | May 6 2010, 05:45 PM Post #108 |
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Author: Pinkie Date: Mon Oct 13, 2008 5:29 am Saoirse
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.
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
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 | May 6 2010, 05:47 PM Post #109 |
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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.
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 -
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 | May 6 2010, 05:49 PM Post #110 |
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Author: golden_trillium Date: Mon Oct 13, 2008 9:59 am Quintus
"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
"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 | May 6 2010, 05:51 PM Post #111 |
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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…
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…
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 | May 6 2010, 05:52 PM Post #112 |
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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.
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 | May 7 2010, 09:48 PM Post #113 |
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Author: Darya Date: Mon Oct 13, 2008 10:44 am Neeve
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…
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 | May 7 2010, 09:49 PM Post #114 |
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Author: golden_trillium Date: Mon Oct 13, 2008 1:31 pm Tristan
"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 | May 7 2010, 09:51 PM Post #115 |
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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
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 | May 7 2010, 09:52 PM Post #116 |
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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.
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 | May 7 2010, 09:53 PM Post #117 |
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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 | May 7 2010, 09:54 PM Post #118 |
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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.
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 | May 7 2010, 09:55 PM Post #119 |
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Author: Darya Date: Tue Oct 14, 2008 10:22 am Darya
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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| golden_trillium | May 7 2010, 09:56 PM Post #120 |
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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.
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.
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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