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| November 2008 | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: May 16 2010, 03:48 AM (3,044 Views) | |
| golden_trillium | May 26 2010, 10:16 PM Post #211 |
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Author: lady ione Date: Sun Nov 23, 2008 6:10 pm Brendyn
God above! Brendyn would have given real money to see Bors and Titrus shut up. He had hoped that they would have listened to the Centurion. He tried so hard to ignore what they were saying, but it was becoming annoying. Antonius would have never gone for such conversation on a diplomatic mission. Brendyn was sure Titrus had not meant an insult of any sort and was trying to remain in good spirits. Tyranus shifted his weight a bit but remained at attention the way Brendyn had trained him. Sometimes, the horse spooked, but not often. His eyes moved to Quintus as he shot Bors a severe look, and was glad that he was not on the receiving end of it. The last thing he needed was to go back to the fort in disgrace for doing something stupid on the mission... his first under the Command of one of the finest Rome had to offer. What would Arthur and the rest think of him if he messed up? Tyranus nodded his head up and down and pawed at the earth under him, then calmed again as Brendyn talked softly, almost a whisper, to the horse in his native language while stroking the horse's neck...
It was then that Brendyn heard Titrus giggling! A frown passed over his young face and prayed to God that the Lieutenant would not get openly reprimanded for that. Just then, he saw Amadeus's angry look as the Optio's gaze went to both Bors and Titrus, and Brendyn cringed inwardly Holy God! Give me wisdom and strength to make them proud of me on this mission, and give Arthur and Merlin wisdom to bring about peace... Instead of cringing further, he took the time to pray. Seemed as good a time as any to do so.About that time, Guinevere's voice broke his thoughts...
Befall the men? The young soldier adjusted himself in his saddle, and took up his reins in a firm but gentle hand. He took note that the hot headed woad next to Guinevere had whispered something in her ear, and he wondered what they were planning. A barbaque in their honor? He honestly wondered if Titrus was asking for trouble or just being cocky, but he chose to look forward awaiting Arthur's orders to ride. In all of his battles and missions, he could not recall ever seeing a more lovely enemy than Guinevere. Veronica was still embedded in his thoughts, but every once in a while, he allowed himself the pleasure of admiring the rest of God's handy work. The intimate closeness of the woad to the Commander sort of made Brendyn wonder, but perhaps there was a reason. It was not always a good thing to get that close to a known enemy, but perhaps this was some sort of test of trust between them. Was it good to build such trust with a known enemy? Maybe it was a check for hidden weapons? He, himself, kept a dagger in his boot for emergencies, and a sword at his side. Normally, he'd have brought along a lance as he was a Lanciarii, or skilled lancer, but he saw no need to bring it on a peaceful mission , so he had kept it behind in his quarters. Brendyn was feeling tense inside and a tingle went up his spine knowing that they were watched by both seen and unseen enemies...
As Arthur turned to face the men, Brendyn met the man's eyes with a neutral expression. He did not like the woads, but they had come on this mission as peace makers, and to show any sign of disrespect would be unheard of. So far, the woads, no matter how angry, had shown restraint from attacking them. Arthur, so far, had been everything Antonius had told him that he was, and above all a good negotiator something Brendyn had heard was the hardest part of being a Commander: knowing your enemy so that in a negotiation both sides would come out satisfied... or at least to a point. The way Arthur carried himself, and had stayed calm in the face of unknown danger was a good study for the young soldier. There were many things he knew he had to learn before he'd even get to that stage of calm and diplomacy. He wondered if he'd even be as good a Commander years from now that Arthur was... Time would tell, he supposed if he didn't die before then. When he offered to let the strikingly lovely woad to ride with him, Brendyn raised an eyebrow, but continued to watch for signs of riding on to Merlin's camp. Where was it, and how far was it from here? At one point, he and Quintus's eyes met, but very very briefly. He still recalled the first day he and Quintus met shortly after he had joined up with Arthur's men. The man was no nonsense, and he had decided that he liked the man. Quintus was someone he'd want to learn from, though he was sure Titrus and the rest had things he could learn from as well... Brendyn moved his eyes first to Guinevere, then to Amadeus and Arthur as he waited for the signal to move ahead to the camp. Vanora She left the two women and went off to her clothing trunk where she kept clothes, old and new alike and rummaged through it finally finding a few items that she knew would fit Neeria. She held up the dress, the tunic, and the old cloak that was still in very nice condition. Smiling to herself, she grabbed a set of her oldest daughter's boots and went out to where Neeria and Neeve waited. She lay the clothing down and set the boots on the floor before looking at Neeve then at Neeria, "These are in good condition as are the doe skinned boots. The dress is a heavy weave so it should keep you warm as will the boots and the cloak." The dress was a lovely shade of dark brown with a leather belt that went around the waist, and the tunic went underneath so as to give the dress slightly flaired sleeves. "I hope these will do for you, dear, as I have not use for them any more." |
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| golden_trillium | May 26 2010, 10:17 PM Post #212 |
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Author: Lancelot Date: Sun Nov 23, 2008 7:17 pm Lancelot Lancelot squinted as he yet again appeared in the courtyard; by the gods, but Derfel had better be where the page boy said he was. And again Lancelot wondered, if only briefly, just why the Saxon hadn't appeared as of yet this morning...or rather, afternoon. Thus, the squinting. Wind swirled through the fortress and despite the watery sun, the First Knight shuddered at the chill the breeze brought. He loathed and detested being cold. Loathed it, with every fiber of his being. And yet...he was always cold. Always cold, always always chilled, no matter the weather or the condition of his clothing. Unless his burning hands are on me, and mine own his. He spat a curse, and crossed the courtyard, approaching the tavern again, even as the wind lifted and pushed his messy dark hair out of his eyes. The bruised one smarted still; perhaps he shouldn't have given back the nun's offered poltice. But then Eyla had distracted him...whore...her obviousness sickening once Lancelot paid attention to it, but of course... and then Catherine. Gods above, but Lancelot was fucking chilled to the bone and not one person had managed to thaw it in forever. And ever and ever, Amen, as Arthur would say, oh so piously. Wake the damn traitor, and then to the baths. At least his belly was full - although the sloshing from his angry walking was beginning to make him feel a bit queasy. After a few more pointedly asked questions of various workers around the tavern area, Lancelot finally discovered what had better be Derfel and apparently his lady's abode. Shaking his head, Lancelot raised his booted foot and removed the dirk again. This time, the knock could have been heard across the Wall in Woad country. "Awake, Saxon! I have little time nor patience. Arthur has orders for you!" Lancelot rapped sharply again with the handle of the dirk, and swore to himself he'd wait just a few seconds before having the pleasure of getting to smash the door in. He'd only feel badly for Derfel's woman...although he felt badly for her at any rate. The Sarmatian had to grudgingly admit that Derfel was handy with a sword. And as far as he remembered, he and Dagonet's son, Gedeon, had been a good pair on the field. Lancelot tried to pay attention to who worked well together Arthur and I and who did not. Pity that the lad had had to die - if only that Lancelot would spare his father the pain of loss. And yet...Derfel's father had been the one to almost gut Arthur when Lancelot hadn't been there to do his duty. That tore at Lancelot like nothing he'd ever experienced...and despite his truth, he lashed out at Derfel because he could. Because that was easier than seeing Arthur bleeding dying in front of him - when Lancelot had done nothing to stop it. He bit his cheek, and knocked again with the dirk. |
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| golden_trillium | May 26 2010, 10:19 PM Post #213 |
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Author: Darya Date: Mon Nov 24, 2008 12:38 pm Darya
Pensively, Darya sipped some more of her tea but kept her dark eyes on Tatiana. For someone who had never had any ale before, she was holding up pretty well. However, the stable-hand’s reaction to the fact that Lancelot loved ale once more added to the female Sarmatian’s amusement. No doubt that if she told Tatiana that the knight used to fight with twin-blades, she would want to learn to do that as well or consider offering cleaning the weapons for him if necessary. Not that he would actually let her do that…but anyway… “All the knights love their ale…”, the dark-haired then mused with a wry smirk and tilted her head a little, “…but better don’t drink too much of it. Trust me, you would regret it later…” With that, she sniffed quietly and emptied her mug of tea. And if Tatiana had noticed, the girl actually did not only indeed order another mug of ale for herself but also another tea for Darya. “Thanks…”, the Sarmatian murmured and fed the last piece of meat to Tristan’s hawk before once more clasping the mug with both her hands, again welcoming the warmth. Slowly, her thumbs traced along the mug’s rim while the woman continued to listen to Tatiana’s further ideas and guesses regarding Lancelot…
“Every person is unique…”, Darya heard herself reply before her mind even had had the chance to process all of Tatiana’s words, “…and only Lancelot and his mood decide whose presence he tolerates or not.” The dark-haired sighed and shifted a little on her chair to straighten her back. Tatiana made her think about the First Knight more than she liked, especially since Darya herself had stopped trying to analyze her kinsman’s behavior and character a while ago. Not that she had given up on him…she still secretly processed every hint he gave her as it was part of her education and part of her nature. But those things the female Sarmatian kept to herself. “Look…”, she then added and met Tatiana’s gaze directly, “…don’t waste your time with Lancelot only. He is not the center of the world, Tatiana. And trust me, you will find it way easier to build a friendship with some of the other knights than with him. With Derfel, for example…Gawain, Galahad…or Bors. They are more approachable than Lancelot. Start easy…and build, so to speak.” With that, she gave the girl a wry smile and sipped some more tea. “Why don’t we change the subject for now, hm? How’s things in the stables? How do you get along with Mirtha and Jols?” …and Darya silently prayed that her strategy would work… Neeve Neeve moved towards the hearth but always watched Neeria from the corner of her eyes. Obviously the Woad had never seen a house before…especially not from the inside. Yet they damn well know how to set one on fire, she added in thought and wrinkled her nose slightly as she recalled the last attacks. Even the infirmary had been under attack. That building on fire would have caused even more lost lives, no doubt. They would not have managed to get all the injured and sick people out in time. The healer took a deep breath and forced herself to push those thoughts aside again. Arthur was risking his health and life right now to make sure peace would come over Badon once more. And even though the raven-haired woman was currently somewhat upset about the Commander due to her orders, she still trusted him. She did not trust the Woads though…and least of all Merlin.
Vanora’s return and her voice brought the healer back to the here and now and she turned slightly to see what Bors’ woman had brought. A corner of Neeve’s mouth twitched slightly. Vanora had brought a dress. Now that should be interesting. A Woad in a dress. “They are perfect, Vanora…”, the healer said quickly and shot a warning glance at Neeria. Something already told her that the Woad would not be happy with the clothes the tavern-manager was offering. Perhaps she would even start to argue again. Yet from Neeve’s point of view, Neeria should be grateful for any clothes she would get. “Don’t you think, Neeria?”, the Briton added firmly and for the first time actually used the Woad’s name…if in a rather warning manner… |
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| golden_trillium | May 26 2010, 10:20 PM Post #214 |
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Author: Elessars Girl Date: Mon Nov 24, 2008 12:41 pm Derfel Derfel had slept like the dead – thank the gods – dreamless and without the nightmares that had been haunting his slumber as of late. The young knight lay face down on the bed, blonde hair a tussle and arms folded rather oddly beneath his head. He was snoring and completely oblivious to the midday sun that flooded in through the tiny window and illuminated the golden highlights in his sandy hair. But there was a sound that had slowly begun to nag at his subconsiousness…something thumping on wood…and a voice called out in anger….father? It was only Lancelot, Arthur’s first and best knight, rapping at the outer door of the small apartment. But that was not readily apparent to Derfel whose head was still in a sleep induced fog. He rolled over with a groan and scrubbed a hand over his stubbled face. Derfel’s left arm ached, no doubt due to spending hours pinned beneath his head at an awkward angle. More thumping. “Fuck’s sake,” Derfel grumpily complained while attempting to push himself up into a sitting position on the small bed. And he finally allowed one eye to open, and then the other….both were a bit bloodshot and the room seemed a bit blurry….and the bright light streaming through the dirty window practically blinded him. “Shite!” Derfel cursed a bit louder this time at the realization that it had to be past midday by now. He was certainly shirking his duties by sleeping half the day away…sickly in bed or not. Thwap, thwap at the door. Derfel forced himself out of bed and stomped his way out from the tiny room and into the main common room towards the door. He luckily still wore a pair of brown linen trousers, but that was all. His bare feet padded across the cold floor and goose bumps lit up his chest and back despite the heated anger coursing through his veins at being so rudely awaken. So whoever it was on the other side of that door had the gods on their side that Derfel had not snatched up his blade on the way to greet them. “Who is the bloody dolt a bangin’ at me door?!!” Derfel growled loudly as he reached for the wooden latch and irritably yanked open the door. Obviously, whomever it was could have easily heard his cursing and he had no mind about that either. Linnesse would not be knocking like that…and certainly not her ill-tempered sister either. ….but Derfel’s already pasty colored skin went stark white as startled blue eyes met the obviously aggravated dark onyx orbs of ‘Lancelot’. Great. Bloody just great. “Ahh…” Derfel stammered at first, expression turning sheepish as he rubbed a hand over his stubbled throat and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. His stomach suddenly girgled rather ubnociously as well - it was certainly empty though so he doubted he was about to toss up anything on Lancelot right now…the young knight was quite an unruly sight to behold. And here stood his so called superior….yet not looking overly impressive either….Lancelot’s face seemed a bit damaged as Derfel forced himself to meet the other man’s gaze. “…morning?” Derfel added with a small smile. A shiver took the half naked blonde knight and he immediately wrapped both arms around his bare chest and waited for what was surely going to be a dressing down from Arthur’s second. Why else would Lancelot bother to be here? |
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| golden_trillium | May 26 2010, 10:21 PM Post #215 |
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Author: Pinkie Date: Mon Nov 24, 2008 12:52 pm Smith Smith was comfortable. Oh he was watchful and ever cautious, but he felt comfortable. The braided one turned to look at him intently. The young male should have felt intimidated but he knew that the braided one was a Sarmatian, one of the Roman slaves. He was never one to be of the opinion that the woad battle was not with the Sarmatians - it was. the Sarmatians fought on behalf of Rome, of course the battle was with them. A dark smiled crooked the woad's lips and he cocked his head to the side a little, looking beyond to where Guinevere stood talking with Arthur. He nodded to himself in satisfaction that the woman could and wuold handle it, and then took a brief scan of their surrounds. His ears were perked to any and all noises in the forest - it was second nature to Smith to be ever aware of the woodland creatures scurrying about close to them but unseen. Scáth, recognising other horses, gave an obnoxious dip of his head, pulling at the restrainted that Smith implaced on him to keep him in check. The dark-eyed woad clicked his tongue and murmured soothing noises to the beast whilst his eyes skimmed the forest. The Romans closest to him had started to whisper, making comments that Smith paid some attention to until he realised it was idle banter. Anyone would have thought that, given the circumstances that they were in, that they might talk about something.. important. But no - they spoke of idle things, nothing of import. The leader, Castus, dismounted and approached Guinevere. Smith sat up straight in his saddle at this, his hand reaching for the sword at his calf before he realised that they were just talking. He heaved a sigh of relief and looked at the other woads surrounding the Romans. Kayley he winked at and she gave him a wicked grin in response. She looked hungry, eager for this. Smith admired her bloodlust though he felt it not himself. His was a rational mind, his was ... the gods forbid he ever admit it or anyone should ever accuse him of it but ... his was a Roman mind. When things looked to be getting closer to a conclusion, Guinevere stepped forward and ut her hand into Arthur's. Smith frowned at this, cocking his head even moreso to see what transpired. Nolan looked irked and the look Smith gave him was questionning. He shook his head then, as if it did not matter, and gestured forward, then flinched and gestured behind him, towards the trail they had been on, looking to Nolan or Guinevere for direction on what they wanted him to do. He could go take care of teh bodies to bury himself, or he could go on ahead and warn Merlin that they brought Castus with them. |
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| golden_trillium | May 26 2010, 10:23 PM Post #216 |
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Author: Starbelle Date: Mon Nov 24, 2008 1:17 pm Tatiana
"Hmm..I guess you're right, Darya." Tatiana replied while she finished her first mug of of ale as she let the words that the dark-haired sink in before starting on her second one. "I'll work on making friends with the other knights, first, before trying to make friends with Lancelot." Watching while the serving girl came by and picked up the empty plate that had held the raw meat for the hawk and both the empty tea mug that had held Darya's tea and the mug that had held her first ale and other servers walked throughout the tavern getting orders and placing requested items at certain tables as people entered the tavern to sit down at empty tables. "Things at the stables are ok. Jols is one great guy to work with, I really enjoy working with him, he's one of my favorite people to work with. Mirtha, on the other hand, isn't exactly the greatest guys to work with, though, as he's got quite the temper on him and is always drinking. I really try to avoid him as much as I can whenever possible." She said with a shake of her head. "How long before Tristan's hawk will be able to fly again?" Tatiana asked putting any thoughts of Mirtha out of her head with her concern about the hawk. |
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| golden_trillium | May 26 2010, 10:25 PM Post #217 |
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Author: Pinkie Date: Mon Nov 24, 2008 1:47 pm Galahad
Galahad snorted at this disdainfully. He had a weary look about his young features, his short beard was still managing to look askew and his black curls were in humourous disarray atop his head, dangling over his pale forehead and carelessly brushing against the bridge of his nose. As if thinking it otherwise would make any bit of difference, Galahad thought to hismelf bitterly. He almost said it to her too, but in the end he decided he was too tired to argue with her about stuff she evidently knew nothing. His eyelids felt heavy, sandy against his eyes and he just let them rest... softly... quietly... a moment. His head jerked as he awoke with a snap, the little mite's hand on his arm to shake him awake. Galahad shrugged her touch away rather brusquely, not thinking of offending or hurting her, but wanting her to stop making his brain bounce around the inside of his skull more. He lifted his hand abruptly and placed the heel of his palm against his forehead, fingers clutching a fistful of curly black hair as he stared at his wrist, teh girl nattering her complaints at him.
The young Sarmatian was beginning to get used to her one-sided chit-chat. He wasn't even trying to cut in now - just turned to look at her around his wrist, keeping his hand clutched to his head as she rebuked him soundly. He cocked an eyebrow, his hand falling down between his knees as he peered up at the child in bewilderment. His irate disgruntlment was rapidly cooling to mere astonishment that this girl was ... giving out to him. Who the hell was she? Her thin arms crossed over her chest and she gave him a sniff. Galahad's head recoiled at the sound as if surprised and he opened his mouth, about to tell her that he had no manners, and to also to ask her snidely if it was Tatiana who had taught her to yabber the way she did, but alas - he made the mistake of taking a breath to speak. She was much more adept at this than he was...
What? Oh! His toe! Galahad blinked at Tayala dazedly then looked at his toe,.... then he reacted to her suggestion. Launching to his feet the young Sarmatian turned to face the girl and then tilted to the side a little as he put all his weight on one foot. The other he lifted up to keep his bare skin from touching the cold groudn - "Infirmary? It's just a black toe girl..." he said shortly, then looked down at the toe. The thing was throbbing, filled with blood - but he didn't want to go to the infirmary. Never again did he want to go there. If he was to bump into Alina right now it would tear him apart. Just as he was standing on one foot, an arm stretched out for balance, a surly, defeated look on his face, a familiar figure stalked past the stall behind Tayala. Galahad's head turned to watch the passage of Eyla and his expression softened somewhat. He didn't look defensive, nor did he look annoyed - he looked merely young and uncertain. Then he frowned. Sighing, the Sarmatian hopped on one foot to position himself just right so that when he bent his knees he just flopped back down onto the upturned barrel. He let his head loll backwards and bop, again, against the stall divider, his eyes were shut but he did not sleep now. "Will you get me the brushes you put away then? Help this wounded warrior out a bit instead of giving me a headache with your constant chatter." he mumbled but loud enough that she cuold hear. His toes curled under and a flash of pain crossed his youthful features as the throbbing in his toe was amplified, then lessened as he let the digit straighten. Catherine Yes she was willing, ever willing. For now she could forget the clink of coins that would come later. She would igore the niggling sound of her mother's voice warning her to receive payment, or at least know he could afford it, before letting him get too far ahead of himself, but she juts couldn't do it. She never could. It wasn't that Catherine didn't like to be paid well for her services - she just wished she could do what she did and the money would be in her pouch - without the intervening handing over of coins. It embarrassed her, humbled her - and without fail it made her feel wrong, so very, very wrong.
The blonde let her head loll backwards as the man pulled her in against him. She let her weight rest against his thigh, felt the heat of his arousal as he ground his hips against hers. Catherine smiled and her fingers curled around a fistful of his tunic. He granted her permission to undress him and she gave a saucy smile at that, fixing teh soldier with a sultry look as she pulled one side of his tunic up. She pulled the other up and placed both of her cool palms against the hard muscle of his stomach. He dipped his head to kiss the rise of her breasts and Catherine breathed out an audible groan of pleasure, her green eyes looked down at his dark red lips brushing the creamy softness of her breasts. He was pulling the laces of her bodice and Catherine rolled her hips against his thigh, gaspign another vehement groan of pleasure. Biting her bottom lip, the whore clamped her fingers to the buckle of Malcus' belt and started to undo it with knowledgeable fingers. "Let us not dally though, hmm? Your hard heat is driving me crazy..." she chuckled huskily as she glanced up at him. She had unbuckled his belt but left it just hanging open, and slowly slid her hand down the front of his pants, biting the edge of her bottom lip as her fingers sought the tip of his hard cock, her devious eyes looking up into his handsome face, a wry half-smile on her mouth as she watched his reaction. |
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| golden_trillium | May 26 2010, 10:27 PM Post #218 |
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Author: Starbelle Date: Mon Nov 24, 2008 3:28 pm Tayala
"Yes, I suppose, I could. Didn't realize that I was giving you a headache, but then again, you could've given yourself one when you bonked your head against the side of the stall, ya know." Tayala replied before stepping out of hearing range but her voice still floated back to the young Sarmatian on her way as she dodged a goat, a few chickens and a couple of cats as she headed over to the cabinet to retrieve the requested brushes. On her way back, she held tightly onto them as she narrowly avoided tripping over a canine puppy laying in the middle of the floor right in her path. "Silly dog, don't you know that you're right in the way being there?" She yelled at the dog after shaking her head in response. "Here you are, oh by the way...you never did tell me what your name was, which isn't fair as you already know my name, but I don't know yours, or I can always ask Jols what it is. I know he'll tell me, if you don't cause he always tells me things. He's nice." Tayala said while placing them on the counter of the stall. "Are you sure that you shouldn't go to the infirmary about that toe of yours, if only to have them check it out? I could always have my Aunt Tatiana take a look at it? Since she's a Healer and a good one at that." She said bring Tati's name into the conversation again and dusting the entire outfit of her tunic off as she was slightly covered from head to toe in straw, hay and feathers from the upset birds living inside the stable. |
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| golden_trillium | May 28 2010, 02:21 AM Post #219 |
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Author: TwistOfShadows Date: Mon Nov 24, 2008 3:51 pm Ceinwyn Ceinwyn looked out through the green undergrowth, and her eyes pierced the scene. Guinevere was negotiating with Arthur Castus, their enemy, and Ceinwyn wrinkled her nose at their familiarity. Gods, but they were close. They could breathe upon eachother’s mouths from that distrance, and Ceinwyn murmered a growl in the back of her throat. The Woad warrior blinked lazily, and held tight to her dagger hilt. Would there be a fight? Would one Roman act arrogantly, and dare offend the Woad people? Ceinwyn was holding her breath, and she desired battle. She desired Roman and Sarmatian bloodshed to calm her own anguish, her own guilt. The woman looked to where the Sarmatian scout sat upon his horse, and her jaw hardened visibly. Oh, she hated Sarmatians more! She wanted the slaves to suffer, and she made no secret of it. Her small fingers flexed around her dagger, and she reached up into her hair, seeking to pull it back from her face. The matted knots protested against her fingers, and she sighed. Ceinwyn would need to bathe...her hair was dank, matted and filthy...and her body was mottled with blue paint and mud... Moving silently, she reached down to the grass and rubbed one hand against the crisp snow. It was freezing against her fingers, but was also wet. She caressed the ground in slow movments, cleaning her palm...and yet not taking her eyes off the scene before her. She was growing bored, restless. Ceinwyn herself had conversed with Arthur in the past...and they had not understood eachother so well. No, she spat insults and he had nearly throttled her. Ceinwyn’s lips lifted into a slight smile, bitter, and she flared her nostrils... |
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| golden_trillium | May 28 2010, 02:22 AM Post #220 |
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Author: Eledhwen Date: Tue Nov 25, 2008 5:03 am Bors
Bors stiffled a snort of laughter at the Roman's insinuation, and relaxed his hand slightly on Sirius' reins as the gelding skittered, eager to be off. As the burly knight briefly met the frown of the Optio, Bors quenched the smirk which adorned his rugged face and stared balefully back, the picture of innocence. Always amused Bors to give the impression of subservience, when everyone but that skinny bastard knew the Sarmatians only ever really answered to Arthur. He sensed the horse behind them on the trail begin to get fidgetty, and glanced back over his shoulder, throwing the dark man... not much more than a boy really... a glowering look. Bors didn't trust any of these thieving bastards one little bit, despite Arthur's obvious need to be 'friends'. He harrumphed to himself and settled deeper into his saddle, scratching the almost healed wound on his thigh absently as he waited to follow his commander into Hell. |
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| golden_trillium | May 28 2010, 02:23 AM Post #221 |
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Author: Darya Date: Tue Nov 25, 2008 12:33 pm Darya
The female Sarmatian acknowledged Tatiana’s decision by raising her mug to her, giving the stable-hand a nod as she did so. Hopefully Tatiana would indeed stick to her words for Darya had no doubt that Lancelot would have no problem breaking the poor girl’s heart or playing with her as it pleased him. Blinking the thoughts away again, Darya brought the mug to her lips and sipped some of the new tea. And with a faint smile, the dark-haired sipped even more of the tea when it became obvious that her change of topic strategy indeed seemed to work. Tatiana reacted to her questions about her work at the stables…and Darya thanked the Gods for that. No more gushing about Lancelot for now…
Darya nodded pensively at Tatiana’s words…and frowned when she mentioned Mirtha’s constant drinking. That was news to her…but then, she didn’t really know the stablemaster well. She had had only one real conversation with him, after the last attack…and he had been sober back then. However, she had noticed a certain grumpiness about him. And he wasn’t a man of many words either. Though the latter was part of the nature of several people here at Badon. Herself included…normally at least. “Jols is a true sweetheart…if a bit edgy every now and then…”, the dark-haired mused and glanced into the mugs in her hand as she spoke, “…you can learn a lot from him when it comes to taking care of the horses and such… He was probably the first Briton I ever trusted…” Darya shook her head slightly as she recalled some of the funny memories regarding Arthur’s loyal squire. “As for Mirtha…he isn’t a bad guy, you know…”, she then added and lifted her dark gaze again to meet Tatiana’s, “…he’s just not exactly one of the cheery personalities around. But as far as I know, he’s good in what he’s doing…despite his weakness for ale… Give him a chance…” When Tatiana then suddenly addressed the topic of Tristan’s hawk, the female Sarmatian pursed her lips slightly and glanced at the bird by her side. It looked…satisfied. Or so she thought. Well, a filled stomach certainly made an animal feeling better as well…just like it did with humans. Darya sighed and slightly shrugged her shoulders. “To be honest…I don’t really know…”, she then replied, “…the injury is still quite fresh if I remember correctly. So it might take some more days…weeks maybe. I think she’ll know when the time is right…” A corner of the woman’s mouth twitched slightly. “Do you have any pets, Tatiana?”, Darya then asked…making sure the topic would not return to Lancelot again… |
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| golden_trillium | May 28 2010, 02:24 AM Post #222 |
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Author: Starbelle Date: Tue Nov 25, 2008 8:45 pm Tatiana
"Yes, I sure do. I've got a stallion, named Orion, that I earned for being the only girl to complete their apprenticeship under Master Cirith. Apparently, from what I heard from him, the other girls that had been there previously left. He's my baby and he's got his own stall at the stable." Tatiana replied sounding rather proud of herself for doing so. Taking another sip of her ale, she watched as a serving girl walked by their table, carrying a full tray of food and drinks for the table a few tables away. She saw customers come and go, conduct their business, order food along with drinks and then leave. "Darya, is there anything stronger than ale on the drink menu?" She asked curiously. "Don't worry, I'm not going to try it at least not yet as I'm still getting used to this stuff, but I'm just wondering about it." The stable-hand asked the dark haired wonderingly. |
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| golden_trillium | May 28 2010, 02:31 AM Post #223 |
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Author: Pinkie Date: Wed Nov 26, 2008 11:34 am Amadeus Part of Amadeus hated being second in Command. A part of him truly despised having to play a secondary role to Arthur Castus. But he knew that this was necessary. As his steely grey eyes swept over the men gathered he was sure to show favour to those that were not involved in the childish laughter. As his gaze swept by the unkempt, bullish Sarmatian knight that Arthur had brought along, he found himself looking into the face of innocence. It was not a hardy denial of what Amadeus knew to be true, it was a subtle hint that things were not as he thought they had been. He scowled at the burly knight and turned to regard Arthur who was turning himself, to address the group.
Courtesy and reverence! HA! It galled! Amadeus was given a stiff nod of approval from the Commander and he could not deny a surge of pride that he had done well by his 'superior'. He caught himself just before he made a fool of himself by smiling. Oh there was a certain charisma from Arthur Castus, a particular hardness that Amadeus was not able to deny - it made a man want to please him, it bid him do well in this man's eyes for it would serve you good later in life. It was hard for the Optio to ignore that charisma when he was trying his hardest to be the 'good guy' in the group. In another time, and another place, perhaps he might have been the perfect Optio for Arthur Castus. Perhaps he might have followed the Romano-British Commander into battle and fought ardently by his side for all that was good and holy in their homeland. But in this time and palce there was too much ambition in Amadeus Scipio. He would not, could not remain as second to Castus. Arthur turned back to Guinevere and the Optio goggled as the Commander offered to carry her upon his horse. He felt bile rise in his throat and a surge of hot anger turned his cheeks pink. He ground his teeth and ducked his head, feigning to tighten buckles and stirrup straps that needed no tightening or adjusting. What was the man thinking?! The brash and traitorous offer was enough to shove Amadeus' earlier thoughts of obediance and complicity far into the back of his mind - oh no! No this would never do! A Roman Commander who would suffer a woad whore to ride upon his horse?! It was abhorrent to the Optio and he had to remain crouched a long while to calm himself.
The woman extended a blue, thin arm to Arthur. Amadeus watched with his upper lip curlign into a sneer. He wished to reach across and snap that scrawny arm for he saw only a feeble woman. He did not presume women to be warriors no matter what he had heard and no matter what he had witnessed in that midnight attack at Badon. No - women were .... women, blast it! They were fair and slight and proper. They were pretty and they were willing when confronted with men like Amadeus Scipio. Women were not meant to be brash and confident and cocky like this. Women should be ... should be ...wel, they should be like Linnette. Or Linnesse, or Rowan, though the latter woman was a little too intelligent and conniving to be truly Eve-like to Amadeus. He shrugged one broad shoulder and glanced over his shoulder at the men, giving all of them a firm glare to remind them of the Commander's warning. He gave the men who had been 'behaved' a courteous nod of his head and then looked forward again, ready to ride at Arthur's back. Galahad
Galahad didn't mean to but he laughed. It was a sudden snort of amuesment and surprise that she was ... she was ... so spunky! It was a breath of fresh air and yet for some reason teh laugh stuck in his throat like a barb. It spluttered to a halt and he hacked a cough as if he had never laughed at all. He realised why it had stuck... in that moment, right then - with her big doe-eyes, her dark hair and the challenge in her tone - well, it put him in mind of a young Alina. And any reminders of Alina right now were not welcome. The young Knight pursed his lips and tipped his head forward, hunching his shoulders as he rested his elbows on his knees. She was walking away and her voice trailed back to him, brushing against his senses though he barely paid any attention at all to what she said. His heart was broken, essentially that was what was wrong with him. The injury on his stomach was festering - but the real problem that had his mood more foul than normal was that betrayal. And his inability to do anything about it.
She was back and continued to babble. Galahad sighed heavily and lifted his head to peer at her, watching her lips move but not truly hearing what she said, not entirely. Bits broke thruogh his self-pitying haze and he reached out a strong hand to grip one of the brushes taht she loomed over on teh stall divider. "Galahad." he told her succinctly, wondering at her obsession with Arthur's squire. She was only a child but perhaps she had a fancy for the old squire? It amused Galahad to consider it and he gave her a crooked smile that barely reached his blue eyes as he stood, brush in hand, one boot on, one boot off and put the bristles to the grey's flank. "And a bloody toe is the least of my concerns girl." he told her in a mumble, beginning to move teh brush against the horse's side swiftly, confidently. The beast gave a snort and extended her neck to snuffle at Tayala who stood at the stall door. The young Knight moved around, hobbling on one foot. His toe was turning a rather ugly shade but in truth there was little to be done for it. infirmary or no infirmary - it was just a bloody toe to go with his bloody bad mood. Maybe Eyla had been right. "How long have you and your aunt been here, girl? I don't remember a healer named Tatiana." he said with a dark frown, not looking at the child but focussing his full attention on the horse in front of him. He would have enjoyed this if he were alone - but oddly enough, he wasn't as annoyed about the girl's presence as some might have thought. Somewhere deep inside his surly, petulant mood-swings, Galahad didn't want to be alone. Saoirse Saoirse was a chased woman, a woman on the run. She had been since she was just 16 years old and she had fled the crushing marriage to a provincial King in Ireland. Her habits were that of a chased woman, her thoughts and mannerisms were all carefully honed to prevent people from getting to know her too well. Only Dagonet seemed to have ever penetrated that secret shell that she covered herself with. There were others that she came close to - people she could and would talk to, but none knew the full story of her shattered past, and no others would. Even people she termed as 'friends' at Badon knew nothing of her past, or her royal lineage. And she would keep it taht way. Dagonet knew - he had to know. Saoirse could not believe that he could love her truly if he did not know the full story of her past, and know it he did now. He knew her shames and her hurts and he loved her still. For the Irish woman, to be loved so unreservedly - it bound her to him in more ways than she could ever explain. His hurt was her hurt. His loss was her loss. He shared in her past and she shared in his present. He shared in her past so that she could share in his present. Even if taht present was so bitterly bleak with recent bereavement.
Saoirse was comforted by his words. She did not make a verbal response but nodded her head, brushing her fair face against his bristly tunic, keeping her eyes shut. It was silly to be so easily swayed. By him telling her that there was nothing wrong with it she wholly believed him. Perhaps because she wanted to?
Surrounded by the scent of horse and blood on him even now, Saoirse found this statement to be amusing. She gave a brief breath of amusement and turned her face to his chest, breathing in that scent that he complained of. She opened her blue eyes and looked up at him from beneath her fair eyelashes and she smiled. Her eyes were full of vitality and mischief, her nose still glued to the man's smelly tunic. She laughed again and lifted her two hands to his face. Her pale palms held his stubbled cheeks confidently and she stood on tippy-toes. Softly, the Irish woman brushed her lips against the Knights and smiled then, her cold nose against his chin, eyes shut. "I never said it was a bad thing, did I?" she murmured, then gave another small laugh knowing he would not aprpeciate that comment either. Taking his hand, the red head lead the knight into the darker rooms inside the bath-house. She did not hesitate to wander into the men's part of the baths and there she spied the bundle of clothes she had left there for them to chaneg into once they were out of the baths. "It's not quite how I envisioned undressin' ye once I got ye on me own but ... it'll do.." she smiled at him and pressed her hand to his shoulder, encouraging him to sit on one of the benches along the walls surroudning the baths. The water was warm, not hot, but warm enough to take the chill out of the air. |
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| golden_trillium | May 28 2010, 02:32 AM Post #224 |
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Author: LadyCastus Date: Wed Nov 26, 2008 12:19 pm Neeria Neeria continued to let the warmth of the fire in the small fireplace seep into her cold weary, bones. She tried to ignore the itching from her healing wound beneath her tunic. Home. This was someone's home, something Neeria had never truly experienced in all of her life. The woad dug in her filthy head again, scratching at her dry, dirty scalp. She sniffed deeply, pulling the gooey contents of her full nostrils back into her head, but also taking in another deep breath of the good smells coming out of Vanora's kitchen. Family . Vanora had a family. Mikal, Merlin, Guinevere, Mona, Smith, Nolan, Rosita, along with the others were Neeria's family. Weren't they? Mikal was dead now as was Sirus and Neeria wasn't so sure about Merlin and Guinevere anymore. What have I done? Neeria wasn't so sure anymore. She was confused. Everything that happened over the past few days was jumbled and blurred in the woad's mind. She'd made an honest attempt at killing Artorius. She could taste his blood on her tongue. His murder was in her heart. Of that she was sure. She'd been blinded by her rage over the death of her beloved husband. But she'd hesitated when she had the golden opportunity. She'd wanted to know why Mikal had to die. She'd wanted an answer from Arthur and that's when he'd overpowered her. It was that one hesitation that had now changed her life forever. She heard Vanora humming in the other room, looking for clothes. Neeria continued to stare at the fire, thinking. She'd told Arthur she would lead them Merlin's camp to save the rest of her people from being slaughtered, to give them a chance to get away. Sending Mona ahead to tell Merlin of her capture, she knew Merlin would leave the camp. But why did you give Arthur the information instead of accepting death as your destiny? Neeria squeezed her eyes shut at the question that kept hounding her subconscious, pulling at her heart. Am I really a traitor? The hairs on her arms stood up at the possibility. Neeria was trained by Guinevere herself and treated like her sister and she was favored by Merlin whom she loved like her own father. She dearly loved them both. Why then? she pushed herself to answer the question. Because I am weary. I'm tired of the fight. I don't want to fight anymore. The honesty of the answer forced Neeria's eyes open and she almost jumped from the clarity of it all. Yes, she did love Merlin and Guinevere, but perhaps Artorius was really who he said he was. Perhaps he really did seek peace. But the Romans killed your husband the inner voice reminded her and the Sarmatians side with the Romans But the Sarmatians were slaves. They were much like the woads. They did what they were commanded to do and hated who they were ordered to hate. Besides, Neeria had seen Mikal's knife on a Roman. She was sure it was he who'd killed her beloved. So much turmoil in her mind, so many thoughts and emotions swirling about. Neeria listened to the children playing with each other outside, the sounds wafting through the small window in the room. Innocence There was another side of life other than living in the woods. Vanora and even this healer woman, Neeve, lived a different existence. Was it wrong for Neeria to be curious about this existence? She just wasn't sure about anything anymore. Then, you are a traitor to your people the voice screamed at her. Neeria's eyes watered and she fought back the tears. Fortunately, for the sake of her sanity Neeria thought, Vanora came back into the room with clothes she'd found. Neeria pushed the thoughts away from her conscious, to be considered again another time.
a dress? Neeria couldn't recall ever having seen one up close before. The woad tilted her head to the side and looked at the garment, curiosity all over her face. She scrunched her nose up and tried to picture herself in it - a far cry from her leather breast straps, leather pants and slippers.
Neeria turned her sideways glance to Neeve and cast her glance to the ceiling. "I would like to try them, I think." she said, almost childlike. "Thank you for your kindness, Vanora. For the boots especially," she added, appreciation laced in her voice, knowing that her feet should stay nice and warm in the animal skinned boots. "What is that food you are cooking?" she asked Vanora bluntly, sniffing in the air. "I would like some of that!" she added as though it was the most natural thing in the world. |
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| golden_trillium | May 28 2010, 02:34 AM Post #225 |
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Author: Pinkie Date: Wed Nov 26, 2008 12:28 pm Mari
Mari didn't mean to be so optimistic. It was natural to her to try and see the best in people. It took quite alot of effort on her part to note the negative. That the woman had strange hair was unmistakable! It was quite odd, if Mari was to be especially cruel, but 'odd' only came to her after 'unique' and 'unfortunate' did. She couldn't help but wonder what had happened to the woman for her hair to end up like that. It must have been something recent if it had not grown. The young woman was about to ask Linnette if she knew but was finding it hard to ask without it sounding cruel. Linnette continued speaking then, about a man not liking it. The young woman's eyebrows lifted a moment and her wide,dark eyes peered over at Linnette in slight confusion. For herself?
Rapt, Mari continued to eat her lunch as Linnette explained about the widower. She cocked her head slightly at this statement, wondering why being a widower had been noteworthy, but disregarded it as Linnette continued, explaining that she was looking to find a woman for this man. Mari's smile was beaming! Beautiful! Her shoulders sagged and her elbows tucked into her stomach as she smiled across at Linnette. "That's so sweet of you! I wonder if he has any idea that he has someone so kind looking out for him." the young woman professed and sat forward quite suddenly, excited. Her hand reached across to Linnette's gently and she touched the back of her hand lightly - "You must show him to me. What kind of women wuold he like, do you think? That woman.... with the hair... she's ... well, she seems quite tough. Though that might just be her boyish... er...unique hairstyle more than anything...." she sat back and picked up a piece of bread, chewing it as she frowned in thought. Drake The two rabbit carcasses hung at his hip, slapping against his thigh as he walked across the courtyard. The Spaniard sniffed loudly, wiping the back of his hand against the underside of his nose. By God it was cold - but it was refreshing. His jaunt out into the forests around Badon had been profitable and soothing. He had caught some fish in a stream and had carefully wrapped them in the bundle on his saddle and he had gathered some branches and twigs for a fire in his hearth too. The wood he had gathered was dried, and if it was the wood he presumed it to be it would add a refreshing scent to his room when he did burn it. Golden cheeks were burned by the wind and a vitality burned in the man's bottle green eyes as he strode towards the tavern. His footfalls were light, as if a dancer lurked beneath his warrior bulk, and his red cloak streamed out behind him, the tattered edges almost black with mud and dirt. Pushing open the tavern door, Drake's nostrils were assailed by the scents of food and beer. His stomach growled and he strode inside, glancing around to see who was where. It was a relfex of his, a protective instinct that he had honed to a second nature after all his years as a bodyguard. He spotted Linnette but did not look at her overly long. In fact, when he spotted the back of her head he had almost turned and walked out again. That urge he could not explain. She was not to blame for his current attack of male needs and male wants - hardly! She was just an innocent bystander he had happened to slightly fall for. That she seemed in constant need of his protection and sheltering arms was hardly her fault either. It was more his fault for thinking he was the only one who could protect her. Even from herself. Guiltily the Spaniard lifted his wounded hand, the bandage looking even more pathetic now than before, and tucked his thumb behind his belt as he went straight to the bar. He hoped Linnette would not realise it was him... He had, after-all, a very unimpressive back to his head. A serving wench approached him as he unhooked the rabbit carcasses from his belt and placed them on the counter in front of him. He ordered an amphora of wine to take back to his room to warm at the fire and cook his rabbit for dinner. |
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