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| November 2008 | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: May 16 2010, 03:48 AM (3,041 Views) | |
| golden_trillium | May 28 2010, 01:12 PM Post #241 |
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Author: Starbelle Date: Sat Nov 29, 2008 9:34 pm Tayala
"Will you please stop calling yourself that, sir Knight." Tayala said mock exasperation tinging her tone slightly as she stomped a tiny booted foot down onto the stable floor to match her tone of voice, meanwhile not stopping once with her intricate braiding of his horse's mane nor glancing over at him eventhough the young girl could feel his eyes on her like a two sharp sword blades while she did so. "You're not a slave, at least not in my eyes you're not." She commented in a slight pique of anger at him. "I'm braiding her mane in the same reason like you brush her coat, to make her pretty and there's gotta be a place in Sarmatia that you were born in, isn't there? Cause I've never heard of the place that you just told me about, Galahad. Not in two million years." Tayala replied with a slight shake of her head, sending her curls dancing over her small shoulders with the motion while her tiny fingers practically flew over the gray horse's mane with a design that she had created in her mind. "By the way, my Aunt Tatiana is a good practical joker. She's told me about the pranks that she used to play when she was my age, before she started her Apprenticeship as a stable-hand. I bet that if I asked her too..she could still pull a good one off and get you to crack a smile if not a full-blown laugh at it. That's what you definetly need, sir Knight. When was the last time that you really laughed or cracked a smile, Galahad? Are you ticklish? That might work even better." Tayala said with a definete nod as if he was a puzzle that she had just found the solution to. |
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| golden_trillium | May 28 2010, 01:14 PM Post #242 |
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Author: LadyCastus Date: Sun Nov 30, 2008 12:27 am Malcus Barbattus Malcus' senses tingled as Catherine touched his throbbing desire. Goosebumps speckled his muscular biceps and the soft hairs on his forearms stood on end. His nostrils flared and his eyes hooded as the beauty deftly wiggled so that her skirt fell down low about her hips. Malcus stared at Catherine's flat stomach and the small juts of her hipbones on each side of her delicate, half exposed navel. The skirt hung precariously just above her body's vee and Malcus' cock twitched in anticipation of the goodies waiting for him just below the seam of the garment. The woman raised her hand to cup her breasts and beckoned for the captain to move closer. Malcus bathed in her smoky green eyes, his pulse accelerating as he took a step toward her. He involuntarily licked his lips, staring at her puckered nipples - stiff and hard - standing at attention from her pink aerolas which were a striking compliment to her creamy colored skin. Catherine's expression implied her satisfaction with Barbattus' endowment which only encouraged him even more to satisfy her.
Like a moth drawn to the flame, Malcus followed the woman over to his chest of drawers. Catherine slid herself on top of the chest and raised her leg. Malcus sucked in a breath and emitted a low growl, a sound of victory, a sound of male dominance. He smiled at Catherine then, as he stared at her gift to him. The captain walked over to her and slid his arm under the crook of her knee, pulling her butt to the very edge of the drawers. "Lay back," he said, his voice husky with desire. He pushed Catherine's other leg wider and watched her femininity blosom like a rose under his lustful gaze. He lowered his head to her heat and oh, so very slowly licked her slit from bottom to top, pausing a moment to suck on the hooded button peeking out from the wet folds of her pussy. Malcus smirked and raised his head then took his hand and guided his throbbing cock to her opening. With a moan, he pushed his hips forward and let out out a gush of air as her inner walls separated and conformed to accept his length and girth. Malcus grabbed one of Catherine's breasts as he found a rhythm, thrusting slowly and deeply into the woman beneath him. "Gods Catherine," he moaned, "you feel so good, my lady," he said with eyes closed, locking his hips to hers and grinding deep inside of her. Malcus buried his head in the crook of Catherine's neck as his pulse quickened as well as his pace. He began to buck his hips, knowing his release would come soon. But the captain was not a selfish lover. He wanted to please the woman as well. Before he exploded and spilled his seed, he asked her a question which would please him and send him over the edge. "Do I please the lady?" Malcus asked, locking his dark eyes onto her soft emeralds, and smiled at her wickedly. Nolan and Rosita Nolan's jaw tightened and clenced at the scene unfolding before his eyes but he didn't dare say anything further to Guinevere. His arm still smarted from where'd she'd pinched him. He'd deal with that later. Right now, the safety of Merlin, the princess and the others was his main priority. The cold air whipped the woad's hair about his head and he shivered slightly - his body responding to both the low temperature and the anger that surged through his body. His amber eyes threw daggers at the half Roman mutt as he placed his large hands around Guinevere's to help her mount the snorting beast. Nolan tried very hard to hide his disdain. He was convinced Merlin would not be pleased by the princess' actions. Her arrogance with Castus would anger their leader, of that he was sure. Perhaps Arthur truly did come seeking peace, but Guinevere's closeness to him would anger her father. Once Guinevere was seated properly on the beast and Smith was on his way, Nolan looked about the wood and made a sound with his mouth. Slowly, around him, the woods and bushes came alive as some of their party came forward and showed themselves. Some of them covered the rear of Arthur's party. Rosita gritted her teeth, and lowered her bow. The hunter came from her place in the bushes and dusted herself. She adjusted the quiver on her back and slung her arm through her bow, sliding it into place next to the quiver. Kayley joined Micah and the others. Rosita never took her eyes off Tristan and the Roman closest to him as she took her place next to Nolan again. She cast a glance at the official looking Roman next to Castus and rolled her eyes, turning her gaze to Guinevere and Arthur. Rosita nodded at the princess and turned, headed down the path the way they came. "We will walk so Smith has time to reach Merlin and bring him to us," she whispered to Nolan. Nolan stared straight ahead and nodded his head as they made their way, just as the sun peeked through a cloud. |
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| golden_trillium | May 28 2010, 01:15 PM Post #243 |
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Author: Darya Date: Sun Nov 30, 2008 4:07 am Neeve Neeve watched Neeria closely as the Woad seemed to inspect the dress and the boots Vanora had brought. And if the Woad knew what was good for her, she would not start another argument about them for the current non-arguing atmosphere was much more to her liking.
Good, no bitching about having to wear a dress despite Neeve being very sure that Neeria had never worn one before. Woads did not wear dresses. Surely it was pure curiousity that had Neeria react the way she was. Either that or finally some sort of comprehension for her situation. The healer listened to the exchange between the other two women in silence. However, Neeria’s blunt question about more food and Vanora’s indirect invitation for dinner made the Briton arch an eyebrow. 12 children, Vanora and Neeria…?! No way! There was no way on earth that she would get herself involved into such an event. Hopefully Derfel would have found her by then. Perhaps the knight would happily join the dinner party…Neeve certainly would not. First of all it was so not part of Arthur’s orders, thus she did not have to do it…and secondly, it would be against her nature. Crowded rooms were not her favourite place to be…let alone a room loaded with screaming romping children AND a Woad. However, the raven-haired kept those thoughts…plans…to herself and just gave Vanora a brief half-smile to confirm that she had heard the offer. Yet she might still have a word with the tavern-manager in private. It seemed the redhead had not realized yet that Neeria was still a prisoner. And one did not address a prisoner with 'If you wish to'… It did not matter what a prisoner wanted or not. And for an instant, Neeve even wondered if Vanora would still be so nice and kind to the Woad if she knew that Neeria had tried to kill Arthur only a very few days ago. And that Neeria had been a very active part of the recent attacks of that… “Why don’t you try the new clothes on, Neeria?”, the Briton then addressed the Woad, “…to see if they fit?” |
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| golden_trillium | May 28 2010, 01:17 PM Post #244 |
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Author: TwistOfShadows Date: Sun Nov 30, 2008 2:58 pm Guinevere Guinevere sat impressively atop Casti, her chin lifted defiantly. The woman’s lips were pouted petulantly, and she took a moment to survey the woodland. Her black gaze swept over their surroundings, the evergreen foliage and looming trees. Hard snow rested upon branches and leaves, and yet her people still hid adeptly. Ceinwyn dwelt not far away, and for a woman of such red hair, she remained invisible to the Romans and Sarmatians around them. Impressive. Guinevere’s eyes glittered, and she smiled proudly to herself. Yes, her people were more intelligent than the Roman party, and Guinevere was smug to admit it. Arthur had a capable mind, it was true, and he was driven by peace. Did that win wars? Truly? Guinevere doubted it. It was a bitter confession, but armies were ruthless. Could Arthur be merciless? Barbaric? No, she supposed...and she was grateful for it. Their Optio however, seemed to possess all the cowardly traits of a savage Roman. Guinevere had heard tales of what Roman masters did to their British captives, and yet she could not imagine Arthur being so cruel. It did not mean that she forgave Rome. No, she hated it with a passion. Her friendship and trust was reserved for only Arthur. His Roman companions could rot in their own Hell.
Guinevere glanced down at Arthur, and nodded. Yes, he should hope for the best. Guinevere’s trust was not easily gained, but Merlin’s? Arthur should pray to his barbaric Christian god that Merlin favoured peace today. Guinevere felt Arthur remove her foot from the stirrup, and she allowed him. The woman was in his charge now, no? She was his captive. Looking ahead as he mounted behind her, Guinevere’s fingers curled deeper into the front of the saddle. She felt the warmth of Casti’s withers against her fingertips, and felt Arthur’s legs capture her small body between them. Her small dress had lifted high around her blue thighs, and she felt the heat of Arthur’s muscles. It was a strange sensation, but she did not draw attention to it. The woman allowed him to settle behind her, and looked down at Nolan. Her eyes were dark, glittering in the dim light, and she nodded in compromise. Theirs was not a battle of power, but their methods differed. Guinevere had also had the privilege of living in Badon for a brief while, and learning Arthur’s character. Nolan had nothing to fear today. But tomorrow? Perhaps... Her eyes only lifted when Smith rode ahead. The thump of his horse’s hooves was enough to attract attention, and a slight smile lifted her full mouth.
“I knew there was some use for your cloak. Aside from marking you out as the enemy on the battlefield...” She spoke softly, gently. Guinevere felt Arthur’s mouth close to her ear, and her slight smile remained. The Roman covered her legs with his thick red cloak, and Guinevere felt his hand rest lightly on her stomach. Warmth? Yes. Guinevere could not deny the heat of his body, the gentle touch of his legs against hers. She was dwarfed by his height, his muscular build, but the woman was not intimidated. She tilted her head back onto Arthur’s chest, and watched Nolan and Rosita begin to lead their party onwards. Their path was small, overgrown and wild, and Guinevere glanced down as several small branches touched against Casti’s body. This was no place for a horse, not truly, but she was fascinated by their civilised obedience towards their Roman and Sarmatian masters. She admired Smith for this same trait, the ability to tame the wild. Guinevere was wild, beautiful and untamed, and she looked almost barbaric against Arthur’s body. Her hair was loose and dark around her face, and her skin was pale and mottled blue. What exactly did Arthur feel in that moment? The female warrior was curious. She turned her face slightly; her lips close to his jaw line. “You look well, Arthur. Why did you send that fool in your place? Your word is the only Roman word worth anything in this land...” Her dark eyes glanced over the Roman’s shoulder, and rested upon the Optio. She winked at the man, and pouted her coltish mouth at him, before looking back to Arthur. Her lips almost touched his jaw as she spoke, for his ears only... Ceinwyn Ceinwyn of Briton crouched low in the undergrowth. Her green eyes peered out through the leaves, and she lifted her fingers slowly to move a branch aside. Her movement was tiny, but it disturbed the snow upon the leaves above her head. Severeal snowflakes fell down onto her red hair, and flittered down to rest upon her eyelashes and small nose. She paid them no heed, but rather blinked lazily at the scene before her. Guinevere had mounted Arthur’s horse, and Ceinwyn did not know how to feel about it. The Woad Princess was intelligent, smart, but it seemed a brave and confident move. What if Arthur was playing with this peace? What if he had a hidden agenda that involved the death of Guinevere? Ceinwyn’s lips parted, and she breathed softly, contemplating. The Woads had no choice but to trust their Princess, and pray to the gods that Arthur was as merciful as Guinevere claimed. She glanced around to Arthur’s companions, and rescognised the Scout and the Roman who had been incharge of the previous negotiation. A failed negotiation. The others were of no interest to Ceinwyn, and she dismissed them as such... The woman heard the thundering of heavy hooves, and her eye brightened visibly. She reached down into her boot to retrieve a dagger...before realising the source of the sound. Smith. Not a Roman, nor a Slave. Smith. Their kindred. Ceinwyn’s eyes lifted to his impressive form, and she felt his eyes momentarily gaze upon her. It was like...thunder. Heavy, potent, intense. Dark eyes narrowed in her direction, and she glanced quickly away. She was almost...afraid of his eyes, and Ceinwyn frowned as she looked back to his retreating form. She could stand against the most fearsome enemy, male or no. But to be confronted with something handsome, someone who pleased visibly...well, the woman did not like it. It made her nervous, it clouded her mind and judgment. There was no point in dwelling on intimacy, it was weakness... The Woad watched the party begin to move, and she moved alongside them. Slowly, cautiously... |
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| golden_trillium | May 28 2010, 01:18 PM Post #245 |
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Author: Elessars Girl Date: Sun Nov 30, 2008 3:35 pm Arthur The wind whipped and whirled around them, the grey sky refused to give up her gloom and fresh snowfall was surely to come before they reached their destination – Merlin’s village. The time of day was difficult to tell for certain with such cloud cover, but Arthur assumed it was late afternoon by now. He briefly bit at his bottom chapped lip and silently calculated the odds that he could have his men safely back within the walls of the Keep before the moon would hang fat and full overhead in the middle of the night. Return ‘home’…return to what Arthur faced there – two Sarmatians and two very intense matters. His chest ached again and not entirely on account of his wounded side. A lone rider thundered by the group as Arthur settled into position on his mount with Guinevere nestled between his powerful horseman’s thighs. Intense green eyes followed the rider – a Woad – until the man was out of view. Surprising. Tristan had informed Arthur that a horse had accompanied Guinevere’s party, but the fact that one among the Woads seemed an accomplished horseman was unusual and ‘interesting’.
And so Lancelot also tells me prior to every battle. He allowed a small smile at the remark, but remained silent. Arthur was proud of his Roman heritage and wore the crimson cloak in honour of his rank and all that Rome stood for. It mattered not that such a cloak made him highly visible – but the enemy knew Artorius Castus no matter his manner of dress. Arthur noted Guinevere’s companion ‘Nolan’ as the man began to walk forward along their path. And thus the Commander gave his stallion a slight nudge with his heel and a click of his tongue and the white warhorse readily responded as commanded. Arthur trusted that his men would follow and so he gave no call out to those under his command. Not this time. The men knew what was expected of them. The path was obviously not intended for the passing of mounted men, but Casti moved through the brush confidently. And Guinevere seemed quite content in Arthur’s possession; the lady warrior had allowed his body to envelope hers in complete submission, and even now rested her head back against his breastplate…as if welcoming his attentions. But Arthur was no ordinary man and was not typically swayed by such acts….if that was indeed Guinevere’s intent. Not likely, she was as cunning as Arthur when it came to negotiating with the enemy. She turned to catch Arthur’s eye and her lips nearly brushed his in such close proximity. But Arthur did not tilt away from Guinevere.
Her warm breath reached his chilled lips as she spoke - tempting him to accept the heat simmering there. Was she purposely taunting him? Curiosity illuminated the depths of his green eyes as Arthur focused on Guinevere’s dark eyes. Long strands of her hair messily framed her pale face and the bitter wintry air surely had caused the tip of her nose to appear ruddy in pointed contrast to her dark lashes and eyes. Any other man would easily succumb to her beauty….any other man. But Arthur had a purpose here and that was peace with Merlin. He would not allow anything else to interfere with that mission. Period. “I regret that I was detained in meeting with your father,” Arthur spoke evenly and obviously comfortable with this close proximity to his ‘captive’. His hand even dared to press slightly more so on Guinevere’s abdomen. “The man is not a fool, only inexperienced in the ways of your people. Why don’t you tell me what happened yesterday, hm?” Arthur encouraged Guinevere to describe her views on the failed meeting as a way to show his own willingness to compromise. Peace was the objective here after all. And they had a little time…..green eyes momentarily ticked up ahead in observance of their path and surroundings. If Guinevere had hoped to completely distract Arthur during this ride…she would soon learn that was not so easy a task. Amadeus Scipio, Rome’s appointed Optio and second in command to Castus, held his head high and urged his mount onward to follow after Arthur at the Commander’s signal. But God help him, it was nearly impossible to keep his utter disgust concealed at watching Arthur carry that Woad bitch upon his horse! And she winked??? Amadeus was a master at keeping his true thoughts hidden and so he rode on appearing the exemplary Roman officer that he was – and ignoring the pretentious blue-stained woman…..Castus would pay for this ridiculous courtesy to her and these barbarians…all in good time. |
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| golden_trillium | May 28 2010, 01:19 PM Post #246 |
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Author: golden_trillium Date: Sun Nov 30, 2008 6:22 pm Linnesse Linnesse loosened the clasp of her cloak as she made her way down the corridor of the Kinghts’ quarters, heading- after a momentary false start- past the turn-off she would have made to get to the old room and on down the corridor to the very end, where the new apartment was. Her nose and ears were red and achy from the cold, even though she had not exactly been outside long- she had always been sensitive to the chill, and besides, she had walked a bit on the slow side- hurrying still tended to drain her strength, a last vestige of the fever illness that still clung to her, sapping her when she no longer expected it. Right now, though, she was thankfully not particularly tired, just cold. Cold, and wanting to see Derfel, for some reassurance that he was all right. Oh, not that she was seriously worried about him. He had an ordinary hangover, no more and no less, and if he had rested this morning he was likely all but cured already- but nevertheless, the thought of him possibly getting sick again and being all alone in their room with no one to help him with it, or even just his no-doubt aching head, made Linnesse’s tender heart flutter with sympathy. Even in such a trivial thing as this, she would have taken all of Derfel’s pain away if there was any way to do it, taken it from him and left him standing strong and tall, and smiled to do it. Now, though, she just quickened her steps towards their new apartment, then slowed down again when, as she drew closer, she detected voices from inside. A male voice, not Derfel’s, from behind the closed door…it sounded snappish and irritated, perhaps sarcastic, and was familiar to her, though she couldn’t immediately place it without seeing the associated face. Derfel’s voice followed, saying something with the inflection of a surprised question, though Linnesse didn’t quite catch the words around the intervening door. The blonde healer hesitated a moment, falling prey to a stab of uncertainty…ought she to go in? In the end, though, she decided- or firmly told herself- that Derfel was inside, and there was no indication of danger, and she should indeed go in, sarcasm originating from an unknown male notwithstanding. Needlessly adjusting her cloak on her shoulders, Linnesse stepped forward and tapped lightly on the door, by way of warning, and then pushed it open, peering around it with some trepidation before stepping just inside. “Derfel…I just wanted to see if you were feeling better,” she began, her eyes taking in her man’s visible condition with a quick sweep. Not as pale as he had been…good. Hair, rumpled. Not shaved. Dressed, his boots on his feet and coat over his arm, though his shirt sat askew on his shoulders, as if it had been pulled on hastily. Carrying his sword and daggers in the other hand…was something wrong after all? Linnesse’s eyebrows knitted with concern, and her gaze slid over to the other occupant of the room- Lancelot, as she now recognized, and readily associated with the voice. “Sir,” she dropped a quick, though flawlessly correct, curtsy in the First Knight’s direction, bowing her head as she did so, then raising it again, her eyes drawn with a healer’s unerring gaze to the impressive black eye that Lancelot sported- perhaps a legacy of that fight she had heard about yesterday? At any rate, it was purple and swollen enough to dominate his normally-handsome face, and looked extremely painful. “I could make you a poultice for that,” she blurted out eagerly, the impetus to healerly solutions- and the desire to experiment- overcoming even her natural reserve and shyness for a moment. Immediately, though, she felt a flush come to her cheeks and took a step back from him and closer to Derfel, dropping her gaze - maybe Lancelot wouldn’t appreciate having his injury pointed out in front of one of his men. Though frankly, Derfel would have had to be a lot more than hung over- more like unconscious- not to notice. Tristan and Quintus Tristan looked very much askance at Guinevere, perched before Arthur on his saddle, her tiny, insubstantial skirt hitched even higher by mounting. Oh, her thighs were mostly covered by Arthur’s cloak now, but everyone had seen them, momentarily, and now, the way she whispered with Arthur, her lips pouting and curving sensually…Tristan was disgusted by it. Beyond disgusted. It was not that he was immune to her attractiveness- he was not, and he had felt a deep, sinister twitch in his groin as he had watched her mount- but it did not truly arouse him, rather sickened him. She, like all the Woad females, seemed to wield their sexuality like blades, the way their skimpy leather clothing bared legs and stomachs and nearly, breasts- when they wore clothing at all, that was. Just look at that Centurion back there, his eyes drawn to Guinevere, no matter now many times he kept snapping them back- he did it quickly, subtly, but Tristan noticed, as he noticed everything. Guinevere’s very person exuded, to him, the same aura of corruption as did rotten meat. As did rich Romans, feasting in their villas and palaces. As did the Woad in the dungeon, Neeria, whose breasts had pressed unselfconsciously to his chest as she clutched at him and screamed his name. Damn women. And damn Woads. Well, Tristan was stronger than that. He ripped his eyes away from Guinevere- nothing would have induced him to admit that he had just stared at her far longer than the Centurion had!- his upper lip curled in a sneer, and once more opened his senses to their surroundings, ever shifting as the group moved cautiously forward. Woads to right and left…he had thought he had caught a glimpse of red hair not too far away, and tried to keep half an eye on that, while watching and listening for the rest of the group, too. One thing he was sure of by now- there were no more than a dozen of them, and that was counting the rider who had already gone on ahead. A very small group, indeed. No wonder Guinevere and Nolan hadn’t wanted to reveal their numbers. The other thing that Tristan could take some small comfort in- if comfort it was- was that the Woads did seem to be leading them by the correct way to the village, at least if Neeria had been telling the truth. There was the big rock she had mentioned- and they were following the course of the stream, though at some distance from it. For good or ill, it did seem to add up. Of course, that might only mean that some trap would be sprung on them near the village as opposed to far away from it. But Tristan supposed that if Guinevere and Nolan did intend diplomacy, that this was a good sign. If Merlin would stand for it. Tristan kept a wary watch around them as the group passed onto a rocky, pebbly portion of the path, every sense strainingly alert. |
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| golden_trillium | May 28 2010, 01:20 PM Post #247 |
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Author: Starbelle Date: Sun Nov 30, 2008 6:44 pm Jols Seeing the woad girl mount Casti with the Commander behind her didn't sit very well with him at all. The only thing that cheered the squire up at all was the look that Scipio gave her. Hopefully all will go well this time around especially after the last time they went on this mission Hearing all of the rustlings going on in the trees and the underbrush all around them, he wondered just how many woads were surrounding them. Keeping Gypsi close to Quintus' mount to keep the Centurian's horse calm, he kept looking around as well as straight ahead, trusting and hoping that there would be smooth sailing on the way to Merlin. |
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| golden_trillium | May 28 2010, 01:21 PM Post #248 |
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Author: LadyCastus Date: Sun Nov 30, 2008 8:28 pm Titrus Titrus had remained silent since the optio had given Bors and him the reprimanding look. Even though it was hard for him to admit, Titrus knew Scipio was right. The truth was, Titrus had gotten nervous and somewhat claustrophobic in the wood. The sight of the blue painted demons had sent icicles sliding down the Roman's back. His response to the tension was his nervous chatter with Bors. Of course, he now had his wits about him and cursed himself for getting spooked in the first place. He'd make it up to Quintus later when...no if...they made it out of the situation alive. The lieutenant watched Arthur, like the others, in utter shock as the commander became friendly with the enemy. Titrus watched the scene before him uncomfortably but hid his true feelings under a stoic Roman mask of indifference. His confidence in Arthur's leadership told him that Commander Castus was smart and knew how best to interact with the woads - much like Captain Barbattus. But the thought of touching skin so intimately with one of the blue witches of the magician made Titrus' own skin crawl. The Roman looked over at Bors again but he didn't dare speak. The look on Bors face seemed to say it all anyway. They'd have more to talk about in the warm tavern, with a wench poised on Titrus's knee and a tankard of warm spiced wine in his hand. As the party moved forward, Titrus squeezed his knees, urging Adolphus ahead. He looked over his left shoulder at the new soldier, Brendyn, to make sure he was moving with them. "What's wrong, Brendyn?" the lieutenant asked. Brendyn's brows were furrowed as though something troubled him. |
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| golden_trillium | May 28 2010, 01:22 PM Post #249 |
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Author: golden_trillium Date: Sun Nov 30, 2008 9:07 pm Linnette
That statement, made in a confidential whisper, leaning across the table, almost stopped Linnette’s heart. Lovely eyes! Mari thought so? Linnette, who had heard so clearly the reluctance, the searching for a compliment, in Mari’s assessment of Neeve, heard no such thing in her statement about Drake- whether or not it was there. She just heard honest, straightforward truth, a truth which she found herself only too happy to agree with, though she had never thought such a thing of her own accord before. His eyes were lovely, weren’t they? Sharp and stern, but…a beautiful color, really! Linnette shivered a little as she called up the mental image of said eyes looking intensely at her, then laughed- giggled- in delight at her own silliness. Being closeted with Mari like this, heads together over their own private jokes and remarks, could make the rest of the world seem far away, no longer worrying…but the girl’s next words were more sobering.
“I don’t have any idea.” Linnette shook her head, back to seriousness now, her brows knitted together in the middle of her forehead as she reflected on that. Had she ever even asked Drake about his wife? She had meant to, or wondered if it would be all right to, several times, but things always seemed to get awkward at the wrong moment, and she never had brought up the topic. The only things she knew about Drake’s wife were that she had borne him three sons, that Drake had found her hands attractive, and that she was dead. Not really much to go on. “She died a long time ago- she didn’t live here,” Linnette added by way of some explanation to Mari, as she snuck a glance over her shoulder back at the counter where Drake stood, drawn, somehow, to look at him, even though she still didn’t really want to be noticed. They were…well, they were talking about him, and it wasn’t polite. Even though she- they- had the best of intentions at heart, Linnette certainly didn’t want it known to Drake that they had had this discussion. Or that she had it in her mind to set him up with a woman at all. With any luck, it would happen with a minimum of her input and he would never know. “He needs someone happy, though,” she continued in a much more subdued voice, turning back to Mari and once more sipping at the wine. It seemed insipid to her then in that mouthful, lacking the strength it should. Of course, it did- she had watered it down by half- but it hadn’t bothered her in the slightest before now. “Someone who can…cheer him up a little,” Linnette made a vague, impatient gesture with one hand, and swallowed hard against the sudden renewed tightening of her throat. Happy…cheerful, not moping forever and ever over something that could never again be. |
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| golden_trillium | May 28 2010, 01:23 PM Post #250 |
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Author: Starbelle Date: Sun Nov 30, 2008 9:17 pm Tatiana
"I did when I was younger, yes. I'd go out with my father and cousins and help them bring back the spoils from the hunt. I haven't as yet, but when I get some free time from the stables, I'll prolly go out with Orion along with my bow and arrows and see if I've remembered what my father taught me in regards to hunting. Its been quite a while since I've hunted there's a good possibility that my first time back out there will be like being out there for the first time all over again." She said to her friend. "How about you, Darya, do you hunt?" Tati asked her curiously after taking another sip of her ale. Feeling the door open again, letting the cold wind inside the tavern, blow the auburn curls off of her shoulder with the entrance she just thought that it was another customer again, so eventhough she glanced over to see who it was and seeing that it was a male patron, she paid him no mind. "The tavern is such a popular place to be at, Darya." The stable-hand told the dark-haired. "It sure it is a warm place to be in, though, especially since its cold but nice outside." |
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| golden_trillium | May 28 2010, 01:24 PM Post #251 |
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Author: golden_trillium Date: Sun Nov 30, 2008 9:26 pm Merlin A knock at the door of the hut. Merlin was surprised. His group had just arrived at the village less than an hour past, and he had taken some time to make sure that all was in order- that the largest group had arrived safely the previous day and that the wounded were being cared for- and then had retreated with Juna to his own hut to return his things to their places- and, now, hers as well, as she was to share with him from now on. He had expected some privacy for a little while, before Juna would no doubt be compelled to go back out and make her miraculous rounds of the wounded again- but now the knock came, and Merlin paused curiously in the act of hanging a bag on a hook next to the door. Juna, who was spreading a blanket out on the pine-bough bed, looked over her shoulder at him and merely shrugged- she didn't know, either. Well, it was no doubt important. Merlin made sure the bad wouldn't fall, then went over and opened the door- and was even more surprised to see Smith there, the reins of his horse in his hand and the sometimes-inconvenient beast nosing curiously over his shoulder. "Smith...back so soon?" Merlin inquired politely, though with obvious confusion and desire for an explanation in his tone. He had expected that arranging the burials would take a while, what with the hard ground...but, he realized suddenly, maybe they hadn't been able to. Maybe the Romans had infested the old camp, preventing the proper burial of the fallen by their pestilential presence...Merlin could feel anger for it boiling up inside him even before the fact was confirmed, even though he knew that a proper burial was not worth the live of more of his warriors. The Gods would see to the fallen...but not to be able to care for them galled nonetheless. "The Romans?" Merlin questioned darkly, now taking a step sideways and out of the doorway so that he could see the rest of the party. Smith appeared to be alone, however...there was no one else in the group that had gone with him in evidence outside the hut. Smith had ridden on ahead? Why? "Are they coming?" Merlin asked in sudden alarm, his hand going to the hilt of the knife at his belt- though all his other weapons were inside the hut. If they had to evacuate the village, too...Merlin prayed fervently to the Gods that it would not be necessary, even as he was already beginning to formulate the plans for doing so, his mind, as ever, racing ahead. |
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| golden_trillium | May 28 2010, 01:26 PM Post #252 |
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Author: lady ione Date: Sun Nov 30, 2008 9:52 pm Brendyn He had pretty much remained vigil and alert to any strange movements about them, and had all but ignored the rest of Bors and Titrus's conversation, remaining only attentive to the scene between the Roman Commander and the unearthly beautiful woad woman, Guinevere. Brendyn had seen the Optio turn to see who had giggled, and had briefly met his gaze, returning his nod, before the Optio turned back toward the conversation between Arthur and Guinevere. So far, so good as far as the Peace Mission went, and that made Brendyn feel a bit more at ease.... though not totally off guard. Even in a relaxed mode, Brendyn was every bit the soldier he had been trained to be. His deep blue eyes watched as Arthur helped the woad woman onto his saddle, then positioned himself behind her. Brendyn cocked his head slightly at the bravery and wisdom of the young woman now seated in front of Arthur. He had to keep reminding himself that she was a woad and an enemy, but he also had to admire her intelligence and poise... almost to a regal bearing....
Tyranus pawed gently at the earth as if anxious to get moving. Brendyn always admired animals as they had keener senses then humans, and he was sure the midnight black horse could sense what was around him without seeing them... the enemy. He thought it kind of Arthur to cover the woad with his cloak. Though and enemy, surely she was freezing in that get up she was wearing. Guinevere was truly a lovely woman, but then it was a deadly kind of allure as well, one that had probably cost men their lives in the past or so Brendyn guessed. After the woad on the horse raced past them, Tyranus left out a small nicker and nudged Brendyn's leg with his nose then turned back to look forward, ears perked and moving to detect sounds. Brendyn, too, brought his eyes forward and left them rest on the male woad who had been standing earlier next to Guinevere (Nolan), then the rest of the woads as the came out from their hiding places making Brendyn ever more alert and conscious of the fact that there were woads to the back of them as well. His eyes followed one of the women who carried a bow (Rosita) and came to stand next to the woad male (Nolan). The woad with the bow seemed to fix her gaze on Tristan and the Optio then she and the other woad turned to walk down the path with out a word, but a glance... Then Arthur gave the silent signal to begin moving forward. Brendyn's eyes moved from Titrus to Bors, Jols, then Quintus and the rest as he urged Tyranus forward with a gentle motion of the reins he held in one hand. His other hand, then one bearing the two slightly crooked fingers, rested on his upper leg which was partially covered with his red cloak. He glanced down at the stoney partially snow covered path. The horse seemed to be doing well in traversing it, and Brendy gave the black arab mix a good pat on the beck to let him know that he had done well. Possibly an extra bucket of oats when they returned. If they returned. No matter how beguiling Guinevere looked, they were woads and known killers, and it still made him a bit tense though he still refused to show it. Next to him, Titrus was very quiet now and the young soldier wondered what was going through his mind... though he could only guess, but surely Titrus and Bors had been in more encounters with the woads then he had himself. His eyes met Titrus's as the Leiutenant asked...
"Nothing, sir....I...." Brendyn was about to reply when Tyranus suddenly lurched to one side almost falling, whinning as if in pain. He looked worriedly to the Lieutenant, and tried to comfort his beloved horse. Frowning, Brendyn stroked the animal's soft pelt and looked down over the side of his saddle at the clump of stones that had been partially covered by snow. He began to feel the horse begin to limp as if not wanting to place weight on the front left hoof. He looked up urgently at Titrus, Quintus, Bors and Jols, then looked back to Titrus, "Sir, I think Tyranus is injured, or something. I will have to stop here and take care of it... No doubt, it is a stone he picked up." Stopping Tyranus, Brendyn dismounted knowing there was no time to lose, and like the experienced horseman he was, felt along the animal's side to check for any other injuries such as pulled muscles, all the while talking to the horse softly and in his native Cornish tongue. Slowly and steadily, he began to feel down the injured leg to check for broken bones and such, then lifted the left hoof so that the bottom faced Brendyn. He sighed as he saw the good sized stone wedged tightly in the hoof. Brendyn looked up at the back of the Commander and his woad guest as well as the back of the Optio, then back at the slightly damaged hoof, the stone very clearly jutting out from the center of the hoof. Bracing himself, Tyranus leaned a bit on the Breton as Brendyn reached into his boot and drew out a small dagger he kept there for emergencies such as this. If he did not remove the stone as tight as it was, Tyranus would have a damaged hoof... "Easy boy... we'll have it out in no time.." Brendyn whispered... |
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