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| November 2008 | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: May 16 2010, 03:48 AM (3,047 Views) | |
| golden_trillium | May 24 2010, 10:00 PM Post #166 |
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Author: TwistOfShadows Date: Tue Nov 18, 2008 2:05 pm Eyla Eyla wanted Gawain to react, she wanted him submit to her seductions. The whore had bedded several of the Sarmatian knights, and she knew their sad and pride-beaten duty to Rome. They spoke endlessly about it. Boring. However, it made them more aggressive, more possessive in the bedchamber. Eyla did not complain. Sometimes she wanted some strong man to pull her hair, to wrap each brown tendril around their fingers and tug as they took her. From behind. But...she also liked it gentle. Gentle but demanding. She imagined Artorius to be demanding, to be vehement and dutiful in his efforts. Oh, but Eyla could not deny her smile. Her fingers stroked at Gawain’s toned stomach, and yet she thought of another patron, another target. It was her way. She could never commit, and was not very loyal...but it suited her career. Who wanted a devoted prostitute? Eyla went where the coin bidded. She was easily persuaded with pretty trinkets, flirtatious compliments...so what did people expect? She gazed affectionately into Gawain’s pretty green eyes, but she did not care about his wellbeing. If he were to die tomorrow, she would not shed a tear. Infact, she’d be disappointed...because he was handsome. And stubborn. He started to move away, and Eyla’s smile widened. It teased open her lips...
“Oh, it should do alot more than just tickle you...” Eyla purred at him. The knight moved away from her, and Eyla laughed gently. Was this a game then? Did he reject her? Was he frightened of her? Eyla was not so frightening, and she was relentless in her pursuits. Gawain had peaked her interests, and he’d have to do alot more than just say ‘no.’ So, her fondling tickled him? Good. She quite fancied him squirming under her talented fingers...but she’d tickle him in more interesting places than his stomach...
Eyla watched the knight, watched him seek composure. He seemed nervous, almost unsure, and Eyla felt a moment of pity. It was brief, almost non-existant. It wasted her time. Did he seek a teacher in pleasure? And would he pay her well? Eyla’s dark brows lifted in amusement, and her eyes twinkled underneath thick lashes. He prefered women on their backs, and yet Eyla quite fancied being forced onto all-fours. It was more exciting, more memorable. She sought animalistic lust from the Sarmatian knights, not romantic courting and dignified manner. Eyla placed her hands upon her hips, and pouted over at him. “You are playing hard to get, Knight.” Her voice was spun like honey, but there was a demanding tone. She lifted her chin to the man, and felt several dark curls fall into her bosoms. She looked impressive, petulant but beautiful. Her dark eyes were sultry in the dim light of the stable, and she smirked over at him. “Let me tell you something about me, sweetheart. And listen carefully.” Eyla lifted a finger, and pointed it at him. She giggled playfully, and stepped towards him again. “My name is Eyla Attriabes, and I am the best and most beautiful woman in this fortress. I am also a whore, prostitute, wench...call me what you will, because it does not trouble me. Now, a sensible man would have my skirts up around my ears by now...so...” She paused, pouting. “Come over here, throw me against a wall...and make me whimper your name until I can’t speak for screaming...” Eyla dropped her finger, and grinned over at him. Her smile was mischievous, aroused... |
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| golden_trillium | May 24 2010, 11:49 PM Post #167 |
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Author: Unicorn Date: Tue Nov 18, 2008 3:13 pm Mirtha
Mirtha smiled widely at this. He liked that kind of people... They were saying what they felt and thought, without any fucking problems. Mirtha was that kind of man himself. When Karl stood up, Mirtha looked around, there were some people around. Maybe it was not the best thing to drink in front of everybody, but in fact, stablemaster didn't care right now. He had to many problems and thoughts already... What else worst could happen to him anyway?
Mirtha nodded only and went to the stable where his horse stayed. He felt a little guilty that he had not taken Tei for a ride for so long! He patted horses side and went to look in his eyes, smiling slightly. Horses always were the only ones who Mirtha gave his love and passion. He could not live without them... That was the truth. "Sorry, my friend. I'll take you out soon..." he whispered and soothed Tei, when he moved his head in impatient matter. Mirtha turned around and got one bottle from his secret place. The last one. "Fuck..." he murmured under his nose. He will have to get some more... He returned to Karl and showed him the bottle. He took a sip of it before geting himself comfortable on the stable floor.... in place, which wasn't seen from the entrence dierectly and metioned to Karl to grab the bottle from him. "Drink..." he only murmured. |
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| golden_trillium | May 24 2010, 11:51 PM Post #168 |
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Author: TwistOfShadows Date: Tue Nov 18, 2008 4:06 pm Guinevere Guinevere walked slowly, carefully, easing her footfall into the quietest places. The Woad princess had travelled these paths before, and she knew the safest passages through the woodlands of Briton. Her lithe form was crouched low in the undergrowth, and she held tight to her dagger. It was a small thing, bone, but chiselled into a sharp point, and it would be enough to cut one man’s throat...but no more than that. Gods, they were unprepared! There were enough Woads here to hold off a small Roman or Sarmatian party, but more than that? An army perhaps? Guinevere swallowed roughly at the thought. Her dark eyes were liquid black in the shadowed forest, and she blinked lazily ahead. Watching, waiting. A light breeze caught at her dark hair, shaking the bonds of her loose plait, but she paid it no heed. Her lips parted against the British wind, and she breathed it in. Deeply, drawing strength from it. There was movement ahead, she was sure of it. The familiar snap of twigs, and the slow but heavy footfall of horses. How many? Guinevere frowned darkly, and looked to Nolan over her shoulder. It could be animals. It could be...anything, and yet Guinevere’s jaw hardened at the prospect of meeting the enemy. They would take no chances. Guinevere took several more steps, and then turned sharply. Tristan. Beside her, and without any prior warning. Her black eyes alighted upon the form of the Sarmatian Scout, and Guinevere stopped. She met his gaze bravely, confidently, and rose slowly to her full height. How did he move so silently? So quickly? Guinevere frowned at the man, annoyed. She expelled a deep breath, a relieved one, and gestured for Nolan to stop beside her. Tristan would not attack them, surely? Not without the order of another, and certainly not an unarmed Woad woman? Guinevere smiled bitterly at the Sarmatian, loosening her grip on her dagger, and moving it away from sight.
Guinevere nodded brusquely at Tristan, and braved a glance behind him. Oh, he was not alone. The famously intelligent Optio was his companion, the man incapable of negotiation or courage. The Woad Princess wrinkled her nose. Coward. Why had he bothered to show his face? They had witnessed his fear, his weakness, and complete lack of understanding. Three Romans accompanied him, Jols, Bors....and Arthur. Arthur? Guinevere’s lips tightened into a thin line. Guinevere watched Arthur approach on Tristan’s side, and she recognised that slight smile of familiarity, of friendship? Guinevere was not so sure. She felt Nolan step closer to her, but paid him no heed. Arthur would not kill any of them without reason...and Guinevere would give him no reason. Oh, she was not frightened. Fear rarely touched Guinevere’s emotions, but she was wary of the Commander. She understood Arthur’s cause, and knew him to be merciful. He was annoyingly dignified for a Roman. But what did he want? To avenge the deaths from the fortress attack...or to heal the insult of the Optio?
Guinevere heard Nolan’s threat, but her expression did not change. Her dark eyes were levelled with Arthur’s intense gaze, and she watched him cautiously. Arthur was impressively calm, rational, peaceful and the Woad did not entirely trust it. Here he was, attired in his red cloak and atop Casti. Roman. The Woad Princess remembered riding in that saddle with him, pressed hard against his chest and...comfortable. It was undeniable, Artorius Castus left an impression. His green eyes were aflame with emerald ore, and his noble features commanded respect. Such a Roman, and yet...there was something British there. Guinevere lifted her chin defiantly, and smiled coldly at the Roman. She knew she’d set the signal fire for the Woads to attack, she knew she’d injured his people...and yet she showed no guilt. Arthur knew her better than that. The woman watched Arthur dismount, and she eyed him cautiously. So unpredictable, so noble. It made it difficult to simply attack and kill. Arthur walked slowly in her direction, and her chin remained high in defiance. She met his green eyes with her black gaze, and did not move. No, she did not step away, nor cower, nor appear frightened. Her jaw was hardened, and she merely looked back at him. The woman was small, yes...but vulnerable? No. She could be quicker, more malicious, than any man here...if she chose.
“That would be barbaric Nolan. And we are not savages...despite what they might think.” Guinevere answered coolly, loudly, but her eyes did not leave Arthur’s face. She gazed back at him, and a small smile played upon her mouth. Her dark hair was loosening from its bonds, falling down her toned back and shoulders. She brought her dagger back into sight, and placed it firmly back into its sheath. If Arthur came in peace, than Guinevere trusted his words. Her brethren outnumbered them easily, and should they decide to attack? It would be Roman deaths, not British. The woman looked at Arthur, and tipped her head to the side. There was a playful element to her actions, but her expression was cold and bitter. She respected him, she trusted the Roman...but their causes were not one and the same. They were enemies. She spoke softly, but there was strength there, undeniable defiance. “I would believe you are lost, Arthur. You are a long way from home hmm? Missing me already, I assume? Or merely seeking to heal the Optio’s insult?” Guinevere’s eyes were dark, intense, and she arched an eyebrow at the Roman. She stepped closer to Arthur. Her small form was dwarfed by him, and she lifted her chin higher. She spoke again, close to his ear, quietly. “We have dead to attend to. Are you sure you are willing to suffer Merlin’s anger?” The Roman was close, and she could smell him. Leather, musk, horses. It reminded her of Badon. Ceinwyn Ceinwyn watched Guinevere move ahead, and immeditely ducked out of sight. She saw Smith’s movements, his attempt at a distraction, and the Woad woman nodded to herself. It was a good plan, and would provide Guinevere with adequate cover until they found their enemy. Ceinwyn crouched down in the undergrowth, and continued to move forwards towards the noises, the strange movement. Would the Romans be foolish enough to return? Ceinwyn hoped so, she had not seen enough bloodshed in the last few days to sate her hatred. The woman’s eyes flashed green as she saw the Sarmatian scout enter the path, and the word ‘Peace’ galled her greatly. What peace? They were enemies, and should not dwell over formalities or fear! Guinevere knew Arthur, and Ceinwyn gritted her teeth. Ceinwyn and the Woad Princess had spoken in the dungeons of Badon Hill, and revealed treachery that was punishable by death. Ceinwyn herself had spat insults at Arthur, and he had reacted. Guinevere it seemed, was the only source of Arthur’s goodwill...and that suited Ceinwyn fine. She moved closer to the surrounding party, and stopped beside the horses. She looked up to the Optio through the foliage, her green eyes darkened by vehemence. This was the coward, no? Roman scum. A bitter and cold smile twisted Ceinwyn’s lips, and she remained hidden from sight. If the Optio should fall from his horse, Ceinwyn would be the first to slice his pretty Roman throat... |
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| golden_trillium | May 24 2010, 11:54 PM Post #169 |
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Author: lady ione Date: Tue Nov 18, 2008 7:17 pm Brendyn
Brendyn reined Tyranus in a bit more keeping in formation with the rest of the group, his eyes studying the tree branches, and moving over the brush. From what he had heard, woads hid almost anywhere and were very good at it. They were famous for sneak attacks as well, or at least Antonius had told him some time back. At one point, Titrus's horse snorted, and it made Brendyn jump a bit, but he smiled slightly, and went back to keeping a close eye on his surroundings. Under him, he could feel Tyrnaus shift anxiously, and let out a soft nicker. He had no doubt that they were being watched even as they had entered the forest... and even now. Up ahead of the group, he could see Arthur and Amadeus, and here and there were what were deserted huts. The one to watch, and Brendyn did so with a bit of admiration, was Tristan as the scout seemed so in tune with what was going on about the group that they couldn't see. There also seemed to be a close understanding between Tristan and Arthur to the point where all the Scout had to do was act out hand signals and the Commander understood. As Tristan seemed to indicate that they might be surrounded, Brendyn turned slowly in his saddle to look about him, before moving his eyes back to the scene ahead. He could not recall a closeness like that between Antonius and his men. Oh, he was close when training or dealing out punishment, but other than that... The group rode a bit further when suddenly, Tristan raised his hand for the group to stop, and Arthur pulled his horse up next to the Scout's. Two woads appeared in front of the group, and Brendyn could only marvel at how silently they had approached. One was the most unearthly looking woman he had ever laid his eyes on, and the other was a well built young man. When Brendyn saw the Commander's hand move from his sword, the young soldier did the same. He had said that this was a mission of peace, and Brendyn did not want to make any foolish moves. He had laid his hand on the hilt of his sword just in case, but then slowly removed both hands to lay resting on his saddle horn. It was a relaxed easy manner, but he could move swiftly if he had to. For a moment, he found it hard to keep himself from staring at the lovely woad...
Guinevere? So this wise yet striking young woman was Guinevere... He cut the thought short knowing that this was not the time for admiring women. He kept the thought from his mind as it was not the time to be foolish. She looked wise and intelligent and had an intelligence about her that Brendyn admired. It was obvious from the way the two had approached each other that they had spoken before. Watching Arthur dismount and moving to stand in front of his horse, Brendyn took the moment to look briefly from Quintus, to Jols and Titrus, then to Bors, who, until now, had been silent. Brendyn raised an eyebrow at the insolent young woad who spat on the ground, gazing at Arthur with what Brendyn could only guess was hate. Kill them? without giving a chance to come in peace? As he turned his attention back to Guinevere, he heard two words : the Optio's insult. In his mind, the young soldier recalled Malcus saying something about the "fucked up mission" that had happened yesterday. His eyes flashed to the Optio to see what the man's reaction would be. This was going to be interesting indeed. Brendyn was so intent though that when Titrus spoke to those around him, it startled him a bit...
Brendyn gave the Lieutenant a rather odd look. Me? Brandish a weapon and ruin the talks? What an odd notion... Did Titrus mistrust him that much? Brendyn only slowly nodded a reply. In all honesty, he was scared a bit knowing that at anytime, things could just go wrong, but he buried his anxiety and remained in control of his emotions. They could not blow this a second time. A horse behind us? The young soldier turned again in his saddle as he turned in the direction Titrus had turned. The bushes about the group seemed to be moving. He shivered inwardly with the notion that there could be woads even closer to the group than any of them cared to know. Slowly, Brendyn turned his eyes back toward the unfolding talks between Arthur and Guinevere and wondered what would happen next... |
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| golden_trillium | May 24 2010, 11:55 PM Post #170 |
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Author: LadyCastus Date: Tue Nov 18, 2008 8:50 pm Karl Karl heard other voices in the stables but he couldn't be bothered. He had one thing and one thing only on his mind and that was getting pissy drunk. He was glad he'd stumbled onto Mirtha because as a rule, Karl didn't like to drink alone. He even liked the stablemaster. Sort of, anyway. Mirtha knew how to drink and how to keep his mouth shut which is the way Karl liked it. The Roman reached in his saddle bag and pulled out another full flask of wine, some jerky and smiled. He patted Brutus on the the rump and rejoined Mirtha in a quiet, private place, away from peering, nosy eyes. The stablemaster had a large bottle and held it a few inches from Karl's face, staring at it lovingly. "Oh...yeah..." Karl growled and licked his lips. He kicked together a mound of hay and dropped his heavy frame down with a plop. Mirtha took a big sip from the bottle then got comfortable on the stable floor next to Karl. The Roman pulled out the bag of nuts from his purse and tossed them to Mirtha. He also pulled out a package of jerky, removed a piece with his teeth and then tossed the package to Mirtha as well. "Can't drink on a empty stomach now kin we?" he chortled.
"Don't mind if I do," Karl said as he reached over and took the bottle from Mirtha. Karl pulled hard on the bottle. He pursed his lips as the warm liquid ignited in his mouth and slid down his throat, leaving a fire trail as it went, warming up his insides. "Whoa!" Karl said, his eyes wide and tongue hanging out. "That's some good stuff!" Karl licked his lips and grinned widely, "You're alright with me, Mirtha," he said happily and took another sip before handing it back to his brand new friend. |
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| golden_trillium | May 24 2010, 11:55 PM Post #171 |
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Author: Starbelle Date: Tue Nov 18, 2008 9:23 pm Jols With Gypsi next to Quintus' mount, he edged his horse just a bit closer to the Centurian's horse, Jols then transferred the reins to one hand, in a not too loose or too tight grip and let the hand holding the reins rest next to the saddle on his horse's shoulder. Looking around, he glanced at the scenery, watching everything that went on as the Commander had dismounted from Casti and was talking to Guinevere. Patting Gypsi with his free hand, he waited calmly to see what would happen next as he trusted everyone in the peace party except for Scipio, but he'd never let onto that fact at all. Since from what he heard or could gather from both Scout and Barbattus, it was Scipio's fault that the whole thing went south to begin with. |
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| golden_trillium | May 24 2010, 11:56 PM Post #172 |
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Author: Eledhwen Date: Wed Nov 19, 2008 4:59 am Bors Even Bors could feel the tension in the atmosphere as they slowly drew up a short distance behind Arthur. The very air of the forest seemed to be holding its breath, and Bors grunted softly to himself as he stilled his fidgety steed. The Romans seemed on edge, and Bors couldn't help but smirk to himself. Not used to getting their lily-white hands dirty, they're prob'ly shittin' 'emselves... Glancing at Quintus, seeing the palor in his complexion, then down at his hands to see if they were shaking, Bors drew closer. Not that he would grieve if the whole poncey lot of them dropped down dead at the end of a Woad arrow, but it would be a bloody mess to have to clear up, so he would do his best to protect them if it came to it.
"Mmm..." Bors grumbled deep in his throat, and raised his head to sniff the air. "More than they're letting on anyway. I can smell 'em." He glanced at Brendyn - Nice lad... bit quiet... be interesting to see how he held up in a fight - then looked up ahead and squinted to better see the skinny Woad bint. "Shame she's not naked eh mate?" he grinned at Titrus without humour. "Give us sumfink to look at at least while we wait. We'll be 'ere for bloody hours while they piss about round each uvva. And it's all a load of crap anyway. If they've decided they're gonna kill us nuffink Arfa says'll make any difference." He had great faith in his commander's abilty to talk himself out of a situation, but he believed more in the abilty of the blue demons to be sadistic bastards, so he didn't really hold out much hope for this 'peaceful' mission. Like Brendyn, he slumped in his saddle as though at rest, but the slightest movement from the trees would have his sword in his hand before anyone could breathe. |
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| golden_trillium | May 24 2010, 11:58 PM Post #173 |
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Author: Pinkie Date: Wed Nov 19, 2008 6:34 am Amadeus Amadeus was never good with tracking or scouting. It was hardly a skill befitting a noble Roman. Not when there were trackers and scouts to be employed, the best of the best. Amadeus was good at being noble, he was good at being deceitful too - so that when he rode through the forest with a scout who had proven his worth he did not feel the need to pay much attention to their surrounds. It was rather disconcerting then for the man to be thrown into a situation that the others had felt and sense mounting but he had been ignorant too. Oh of couse he did not let that ignorance or surprise show on his handsome face! By God no ! The Optio remained impassive, a sharp frown marring his brow as Tristan announced the presence of woads and Arthur moved on. Amadeus kept close to him, his gloved fingers tight abotu the leather reins of his horse. When they rounded a tree and he spotted Tristan he felt the moisture leave his throat and turn to acid in his gut. A woman! A woman stood at the fore and Arthur slowed. Amadeus glanced at the Commander and found himself baffled by the look of familiarity on his face, glinting in his green eyes. What was tihs? Who was this?!
Traitorous!! Shameful familiarity with the enemy! Amadeus knew in an instant why it was that he would never have been able to negotiate this peace with Merlin - because he was not willing to lower himself to such a level as to be familiar with the beasts of Britains wilds! The grey-eyed male sat stiff in his saddle, looking fierce but not threatening as he looked over at the woman Arthur had called 'Guinevere'. If his memory served him fair then this was Merlin's daughter that Arthur was so damn familiar with. Merlin's daughter!! God... The Commander dismounted and Amadeus bit his tongue, literally, to prevent himself from issuing any warning to the man. Was he seeking a fight? Was he deliberately provoking these people,making it easy for them to attack so that the Romans might have a worthy cause to retaliate?
Amadeus had not heard what it was that the man had said to the blue whore - only heard her loud and pointed opinion about them not being barbarians. Amadeus glowered at that and tensed his jaw, looking to the side as she then spoke familiarily with Arthur. Oh he listened with an attentive ear for this was just the information that he would need to bring Arthur down - consortin with the enemy, broking deals that weakened Rome's influence... It was no wonder that these demons had never been tamed if this was the stance that was taken with them. The lilting voice that she used, her tone caustic and taunting brought Amadeus' focus back to her. And juts in time to meet her eyes as she spoke of his 'insult'. Amadeus lifted his chin arrogantly and rolled his tongue against the back of his teeth, watching her with a threatening gaze. He felt ridiculed by her statement though it was not overtly insulting to him. But she implied that he needed to bring Arthur out to make Merlin apologise to him? That insult was cutting. Amadeus' tight muscles affected his horse and the grey horse shifted uncomfortably. Amadues breathed a sharp warning down to the horse and it quietened, but looked about as tense as his master, nostrils flared and eyes rolling skywards. Another horse had come up behind them and Amadues turned to look sharply at a mounted woad. Oh what a novelty! He snapped his attention back to Guinevere and allowed Arthur to deal with the wretch for he knew that his methods to teach the whore a lesson would be better suited to a locked bedroom than an open forest. How he would love to quench the defiance in her dark eyes! How he would love to reduce her to an insulted, used, shell of a woman! How he would love to put her firmly in her rightful place as nothing but a receptacle for a man's carnal needs. To have her stand and speak on behalf of her people was a joke, it was an insult to the Roman patriarchal hierarchy. |
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| golden_trillium | May 25 2010, 12:00 AM Post #174 |
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Author: golden_trillium Date: Wed Nov 19, 2008 7:55 am Tristan
Nolan...Tristan stored away the name of Merlin's lieutenant in his mind for future reference, but then felt a stab of exasperation as Guinevere continued talking, now making sultry comments about Arthur missing her, now coming up close to him to whisper in his ear, while he stood there stoically, taking it. Arthur, standing solid as an armor-encased rock, was resistant to such blandishments...but not all men were, and this was exactly, precisely, why to Tristan's mind women had no place in negotiations like this. This should be a matter for men to settle, one way or another and if it could be settled; Guinevere had no business prancing distractingly about like that. Naked or not- Tristan's keen ears had caught Bors' soft, joking comment, though his horse stood a little way away from the rest of the group, even with the Optio's, but a good way to the side. The scout favored Guinevere with a glare as she whispered in the Commander's ear, irritated that he was no longer able to make out her words. Well, at least she didn't seem to want to kill them, yet, unlike the other fellow. That was something. There was a creak behind them, a few more horsey noises, and Tristan, sensing the approach of the Woad rider behind them, turned, just like several of the other men, to look. The man was there, all right- dark-haired, rather cocky-looking, and very well-armed- Tristan spotted the hilts of at least three swords on his person and saddle. He met the rider's eyes for a long moment, letting him know in no uncertain terms that he was watched, and known...but then Tristan turned back, to all appearances refocusing his attention to the front. The rider was a distraction. He had to be taken into account, yes, but he was clearly letting himself be seen, and it was important not to focus too much on him, not to forget that they were surrounded by others on foot as well. It was the positions of those that Tristan was now focused on identifying, even as he appeared to be merely listening for Arthur's reply to Guinevere. There was one off to his right, in the bush very near the Optio, that much Tristan thought he had established- but the others eluded him. He just knew they were there. |
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| golden_trillium | May 25 2010, 12:01 AM Post #175 |
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Author: Pinkie Date: Wed Nov 19, 2008 4:42 pm Mari
Mari was a great reader of people. Not an accurate one - but she did watch people very closely, she did notice the shrug but it did not quite translate to her as sheepish. She gave an encouraging smile as Linnette took a sip of wine and followed her movements likewise. The wine really was delicious and Mari was frowning down appreciatively into the cup, sucking her upper lip as Linnette made her explanation. The young woman looked up at the auburn-haired woman with her eyebrows raised and gave a simpering smile of acknowledgement, not for one moment thinking that there was some clandestine reason behind why Linnette vaguely referred to the origins of her wounded hand. Why would Mari think of such a thing? It was entirely out of her depth to think that people would keep secrets! She herself was useless at keeping secrets. The only one she would keep was ... was... well, it was not worth recalling to mind right now, not when she was beginning to feel safe and human and wanted. The young woman started to eat her food in earnest, politely, never taking more than she saw Linnette take from her own plate and in so doing she learned a little. She learned a little of etiquette - and waht better tutor than Linnette? It was over the clatter of voices that she continued to munch her lunch, glancing towards the women in question and watching with wide, wary eyes around Linnette. Mari carried on chewing her food, watching with a youth's interest at the fracas, but feeling secure
Mari almost choked on the piece of bread she was eating at Linnette's question. Her eyes were huge as she looked after the cropped haired woman, knowing that that must be who she was speaking about, and with her earlier presumption that the woman had been in an accident to have had her hair chopped so- Mari felt... awkward. "Well... well I think it's uhm..." her worried voice was too high-pitched to be natural and true. Her head whipped around to watch the woman as she left the tavern and she looked back at Linnette with an embarrassed flush to her cheeks. She blinked far too quickly. Her shoulders sagged and she fidgeted with her knife. "Well I think it's quite unique. It's very ... ahm... " she bit her bottom lip and looked up to the rafters to think of a polite way of saying that she didn't really like it but without insulting the poor unfortunate girl. "It's very unique." Mari said again, with a stiff nod of her head and pleased smile. "It certainly makes her stand out in a group. You would not be inclined to think she was like any other woman..." Saoirse It was unspeakable, the hurt relief that surged through Saoirse to feel Dagonet take her in his arms so assuredly. She fought tears! Tears of relief, tears of love and adoration, tears of sympathy and mourning and apology to Dagonet as he held her, crushing her to his broad chest. She was filled with the sense of him, the warmth and solidity of him, the smell emanating from his body mixed with the worn clothing upon his form, and the sure and certain aura that was strength. Dagonet was strength. The world and all it's demons would throw obstacles in his way to prevent his happiness but he was strength and he was able to push past it. She would stand by him in that struggle for happiness. She would struggle with him. His hands upon her cheeks forced her face back. The red head did not fight his insistence and tilted her head back to look up at him. Not for the first time she cursed his height that made him tower above her rather shorter stature.
She was nodding her head at his words, more to stop those threatening tears from spilling over onto his unshaven cheeks than to actually agree with what he said. Her own blue eyes shimmered with unshed tears and she clutched to the front of his tunic without realising that she did so, as if to keep him with her in the here and now, to keep him away from the hands of the gods who would take him from her. When he faltered on Gedeon's name Saoirse mouthed it - she dare not even whisper the name, but her lips formed the name of his dead son and she shivered, nodding her head at him, encouraging him to speak that which he could not whilst surrounded by those in the infirmary. "I love ye too. An' I grieve fer him too, love, I swear I do. I just can't help feelin' relieved tha' ... tha' ... I'm just so glad ye came back t'me." she admitted in a rushed whisper, tilting forwad to rest her forehead against his ever solid chest, still clutching two sturdy fistfuls of his tunic. The Irish woman gave a shuddering sigh and the tension seemed to ease from her body. Sniffing, Saoirse turned her head to the side and once more rested her cheek against her knight's chest, arms wrapped tight about his body, palms spread flat to his strong back, her eyes shut. "D'ye feel up t'this bath then?" she murmured after a while, her voice sounding sleepy. She had not moved from her tight embrace of him either - but remained stood in front of him, tightly ensconced in his embrace. |
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| golden_trillium | May 25 2010, 11:09 PM Post #176 |
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Author: Lancelot Date: Wed Nov 19, 2008 5:01 pm Lancelot Lancelot continued to meet Darya's gaze, despite the strange feeling that always came with lingering contact. Despite Arthur. Perhaps because of Arthur.
He didn't jerk away when she touched him; rather, he gave a deep sigh of acceptance annoyance? and merely bowed his head to her. "My lady," he said in farewell. He smiled broadly at the other woman - Tatisomething? and turned on his heel, leaving his mixed feelings and anger at the situation Arthur had put him in in regards to Darya buried - for now. Striding away toward the knight's quarters, Lancelot felt an evil humor well up in himself at the thought of waking the Saxon soldier. He hadn't seen hide nor hair of Derfel that morning, and while he should be glad of it, he thought it odd that Arthur's pet traitor to his own kind - Lancelot barked a short laugh at that - wasn't out and about, nor had he seen the riding party off. Strange, that. He pushed his way through a group of legionaries, ignoring their insults and calls of dog in Latin (he understood more than they knew, the bastards), and, keeping up his pace, he reentered his own 'home' building and walked quickly and with features pulled unconsciously into a frown. Arriving at the room that was assigned to the Saxon, Lancelot drew the blade from his boot, hesitating briefly, imagining sinking it into Derfel's arm - if only for fun and to see how the other man reacted. And then an image of the dagger buried in his own skin flashed past his mind's eye, and he lingered on it - a bit too long. No, Lancelot did not want to die - not without taking some well deserved vengeance on Arthur Castus first. And not without a lot of talking - especially from Lancelot's side - and not without a lot of explanation. He was bound and determined to see this through to the end...whatever that might mean for him or for he and Arthur as a unit. I only know I cannot live this way for much longer - he has taken my still beating heart and run away with it. Gods damn him and me. I will have this out. Raising the hand that held the dirk, Lancelot rapped sharply with the hilt on the door of Derfel's room. "Awaken, my lovely friend! Rise and answer the door - otherwise I shall be sharing your living quarters with you - and not in a pleasant way." He shut his mouth after singsonging the greeting, and waited. And waited some more. Lancelot knocked again, this time sparing Derfel the sweetness of his earlier tone. "Open up, knight - Arthur has orders for you and you will obey them." Nothing. Lancelot turned to the side, sheathed his dirk, and was about to put his shoulder to the door, when a passing page boy hustled by him. Snaking out a hand, the Sarmatian grabbed the boy by his collar and hauled him close to his face. "Boy! Where is the knight that resides here? Derfel? The giant, hulking blond that is even more of a dog than I?" The boy, frightened more by Lancelot's stench and bruised face than by his words, shook his head. "Nnnnnew home! By the tavern! With his lady!" With that, the page wrenched himself free from the First Knight's grip and wriggled down the hall, swearing to himself to stay away from that building for the rest of his term here. Lancelot coughed, and shivered once as the chill that pervaded everything in this place settled in his bones. Of bloody-fucking 'course. Swearing, he turned his back on the luckily unsplintered door, and hitching up his loose leathers one more time while no one could see the undignified manner in which he did it, he made his way back to the damnable courtyard and on the way to the correct place. Arthur - are you trying to make me look the fool? Lancelot knew, even as he walked along through the denizens of the fort, that Arthur probably hadn't known that Derfel had moved his rooms either. But it was nice to blame someone else for his lack of information for once. |
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| golden_trillium | May 25 2010, 11:10 PM Post #177 |
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Author: Pinkie Date: Wed Nov 19, 2008 5:02 pm Galahad
Galahad's eyes were beginning to sag shut as she spoke about her aunt. Her claim to have Sarmatian blood had been met with the briefest of disbelieving snorts. Well, perhaps not disbelieving, but it was dismissive nonetheless. The Sarmatians were not exactly known in Britain for their chastity. Of course there were some bastards running about the place that didn't simply belong to Bors. Other knights had fathered illegitimate children through the ages. This chatty whelp was just one of many. And her aunt. Who the hell was her aunt anyways? Tatiana? Perhaps he should have been surprised that she didn't know anything of Sarmatians. Perhaps he should have been amused or relieved that she did not hold the Romans in any higher regard than Romans. But all he was aware of was a sickening feeling that this little child was going to have a few hard lessons to learn if she thought it safe not only to proclaim her Sarmatian blood but also to so openly declare her ignorance of the divide between Romans and Sarmatians. Someone aughta take her in hand and .... By the end of her angry tirade the Sarmatian had actually dozed off asleep. He woke himself up rather abruptly when his foot slid off his knee and bopped to the ground. He gave an ungraceful snort and shot up like a bolt on his make-shift seat. He looked down at his boot on teh ground and his sock on the wall behind him before looking over at the girl and suddenly recalled she had been talking. "Take a breath would you?" he sniped at her grumpily, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. The broad expanse of his shoulders was bared as the tunic he wore pulled tight over the muscles there. Galahad shook his head, the tangled curls brushing against the backs of his hand and then tossed his head backwards to fix the girl with a steely blue gaze. "Careful how you flap your tongue hm?" he pointed a dirty-nailed finger at the girl, "If you live within these walls and are not claiming for the Romans then it makes you the enemy. Look at me and my brothers eh?" he said with biting sarcastic humour as he sat back, gesturing to his chest and then outwards, indicating the general fortress. "Hardly warriors - " he grumbled now, looking away from her sullenly, "Slaves." |
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| golden_trillium | May 25 2010, 11:11 PM Post #178 |
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Author: Starbelle Date: Wed Nov 19, 2008 6:44 pm Tayala
"Why?" Tayala asked curiously. "I suppose that that makes me the enemy, then hmm. I still think that you're a warrior, no matter what anyone says, and you're the second Sarmatian that I've met. The first one being Jols. That's quite very sad, as you really shouldn't think of yourself in those terms or in that way as I don't." She said crossing her arms in front of herself, stubbornly. While she'd been talking to him, she noticed that he'd fallen asleep during her chat with him, even if it was a one-sided conversation. Feeling more than slightly miffed and upset that someone would dare to do such a thing to her while she chatted, as even her friends didn't do that to her she paused slightly and after closing her mouth, walked up to the stall's opening and reaching inside, shook his arm to awaken him. "Hey, are you even listening to me? I don't think that that's very nice or considerate for you to do that to me as I'm trying to have a conversation with you." Tayala said sniffling slightly as a very upset, hurt and petulant tone crept into her voice at the thought of his going to sleep on her. "People, who have manners, don't usually do that during others' conversation. "I'll have to introduce you to my Aunt Tatiana, then, so that you know who she is as she's got the same mindset about you Sarmatians that I do as I learned it from her." Then glancing at his one bare foot with the odd-colored toe. "Do you need to go to the infirmary to have them check it out to make sure that its ok?" Tayala queried concerned at the color. Hearing the sounds of the other horses and animals making their own sounds inside of the stable, as they talked with each other. |
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| golden_trillium | May 25 2010, 11:12 PM Post #179 |
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Author: LadyCastus Date: Wed Nov 19, 2008 8:58 pm Neeria Neeria sneezed again and dug viciously in her head. She swept her dark, matted hair away from her eyes and continued to watch life at Badon go on around her. Her side twinged a bit and she touched it gently through her tunic. Whatever the healer had put on it seemed to be working well. The pain had subsided and the wound had even begun to itch - a good sign. Apparently Neeve had gotten all of the nasty infection. For that Neeria was grateful though she wasn't sure she should tell the tall dark-haired Briton. Neeria stole a glance at the other woman out the of the corner of her eye. Neeve looked straight ahead, stretching her long legs, keeping up with Vanora. Neeria's short little legs worked over time to stay with the two other women. They hadn't walked far when Vanora stopped in front of a small dwelling made of what Neeria thought to be mud and stone. The roof was made of thatch. There were clothes hanging over ropes in the front next to a small area which could have been a garden. The house wasn't much but there was something cooking inside. The smell wafted out into the front of the house and Neeria felt her stomach growl once again. The woad tipped her head back and sniffed in the air, much like a wolf, seemingly hypnotized by the smell of the food, whatever it was. There were children playing to the side of the house and Neeria recognized that they must have been brothers and sisters. Perhaps some of them were Vanora's children, Neeria thought, but surely not all of them. Neeria looked at the small house realizing that she'd lived most of her life in a tent or small hut. The woad turned and looked at Neeve, her dark eyes flashing with the wonderment of a child. "Is this her home?" she asked softly, full of curiousity. "Do all people here live in a place like this? Is this like your home?" |
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| golden_trillium | May 25 2010, 11:13 PM Post #180 |
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Author: lady ione Date: Wed Nov 19, 2008 9:06 pm Vanora Vanora had been watching Neeve's raport with her raven.... the same raport Tristan had with his hawk. When she was small, her father had often talked of immortals who had special ways with animals and birds, and Vanora always wished she had been blessed with that kind of gift. Unfortunately, horses didn't like her, and she really had not special ways with animals except for those "animals" that came into the tavern to get drunk of find a wench. Off to her side, Neeria had been quietly observing the surroundings as though she had never seen such things before. Odd behaviour, but as long as she was not causing trouble...
"Really, it is not a problem, Neeve," Vanora returned a warm smile to the healer. She had always liked Neeve for her straight forward attitude and honest nature. The tavern manager rarely saw Neeve as the healer was called on a lot to help in the infirmary, so Vanora enjoyed those times when she got to see her.
"Is this like our..." At first Vanora frowned, but then smiled at the curious young woman. "No, dear, this is the house my husband, myself and my children all live in. It is not fancy, or huge, but it is where we live." Vanora did not want to come out and say that Bors was her lover instead of her husband... well he was her lover, but husband sounded better. Outside, her children were playing some sort of game... all of her darling little bastards. Like curious little rabbits, all of the children stopped for a moment to see who their mother was bringing home. Their mother only smiled at them and they went back to playing. "And all of those are my darling children..." Vanora pointed to the group proudly. As they reached the small house, Vanora unlocked it and lifted the latch. The door creaked as it opened, and Vanora stepped inside, holding the door open for the other two. For there being so many in one house, it was remarkably clean except for a few clothes and toys lying about. "Sorry, the house is sort of a mess," Vanora smiled slightly. With a small gesture, she indicated four chairs near the hearth. "Please, take a seat, and I'll see if I can find those clothes. Shouldn't take long..." |
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