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| December 2008 | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: May 28 2010, 01:27 PM (2,125 Views) | |
| golden_trillium | May 30 2010, 02:54 PM Post #46 |
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Author: golden_trillium Date: Tue Dec 09, 2008 4:23 pm Quintus and Tristan
“Aye, sir,” Quintus answered, his voice reflecting its usual military precision- but not its normal volume at all. Even speaking loudly in the presence of these savages- and in their present mood- would seem to be a very poor idea, and Quintus found himself very nearly holding his breath as he dismounted, moving much more slowly and deliberately than he normally would have, his eyes warily on the Woads that were visible the whole time. The woman who had threatened Brendyn- she looked like she could snap someone’s neck, and all jokes about women’s nakedness seemed totally irrelevant now. She wasn’t naked- and she was a killer. So was that man Nolan, for that matter- and was that white foam at the corners of his mouth? Quintus’s descent to the ground, snow and a couple of sticks crunching under his boots, seemed unnaturally loud and conspicuous to him, and he held up his hands, shoulder-height and open-palmed, as soon as they left the reins, in a gesture that he hoped would indicate to the Woads he meant no harm. Well, no arrow thumped into his guts, no one shouted…so he continued the few steps over to Brendyn’s mount, ducked around it, and edged up to the soldier’s side, speaking to him out of the corner of his mouth and keeping his attention firmly on the Woads. “Easy, Bren…need a hand?” A short nod over towards the horse…though Quintus knew that if the problem was serious, they might need to refer it to Jols or someone else more knowledgeable than himself. Well, at least the beast was standing quietly- that was something. Quintus just hoped that his own mount would wait peacefully for him to return, too- but with Jols right there, he knew that the squire would take care of anything untoward, horse-wise.
Over to the side of the group, Tristan scoffed silently to himself at Guinevere’s words. They dripped with bitterness and discontent, but Tristan was glad that they were at least somewhat true- she wasn’t going much of anywhere without Arthur’s leave right now, and that was to the good. She said something else to Arthur then, something much quieter, though Tristan could make out the chiding tone even if he could not distinguish the words. Woad bitch. The scout scowled at the blue markings on her scantily-clothed skin, then turned back to give the other Woads in the immediate vicinity a dark look. A light tug on the reins, and he edged Tirgatao closer to Brendyn by just a little bit- guarding his side from the Woads in the woods while he and the Centurion sorted out the horse’s hoof. And then hopefully they would be on their way. It was damn cold out here- Tristan could barely feel the tops of his ears anymore. Linnesse She was right- the infirmary was much warmer. Linnesse exhaled on a brisk note as she stamped a little snow off her shoes in the infirmary’s doorway, then once more reached up to loosen her cloak at the neck as she crossed the big ward. She smiled or gave small waves of greeting to a few patients and staff members, but continued on her way across the main room into one of the supply rooms, where the things she would need for Lancelot’s poultice were kept. She would make that up right away- and then whenever he came for it, or whether it was Derfel who actually did, it would be ready. Oh- and there was one other thing she had to do… “Marcus!” Linnesse got the attention of a messenger boy who was (conveniently ) warming his hands by the fire before going outdoors again, on some other errand. “Ione, the weaver, has told me that she has some blankets to deliver to the infirmary…could you go and fetch them when you could, please? She’s ill and can’t go herself.” Linnesse favored Marcus with a motherly smile and her thanks when he nodded his assent, and then continued on into the supply room, satisfied that the task would be done. Marcus was a good lad, she had discovered- reliable in his errands, and not too cheeky- though sometimes so. As she entered the supply room, leaving Marcus blowing on his hands and then pulling his mittens back on, Linnesse turned her thoughts to the herbs she would put in the poultice- things that would reduce swelling, reduce pain, speed healing…she had the list made up in her head and now began to gather the ingredients, concentrating on making the perfect poultice- and not thinking about the fact that the man she was making it for might be a threat. Was he? Linnesse shivered, almost dropping a garlic bulb, as she remembered Darya with the knife- or even further back, to Rufus with his fists. Rufus…and Drake, looming over Cassidy and Fleur’s bed earlier today…Ione losing her child today, the blood on the sheets…the garlic bulb dropped from her grasp, and Linnesse blew out an exasperated breath and bent to retrieve it from under the table. She’d better get a grip on herself or she wouldn’t get this poultice made at all. And Lancelot…well, she’d be careful, just as she had decided back at the room. If she met him in the infirmary, there was nothing to worry about. Linnesse settled the garlic bulb back on the table and began to chop it in pieces, making each cut as tiny, each piece as precise, as she could, and letting the finicky monotony of the task push more disturbing thoughts out of her head. |
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| golden_trillium | May 31 2010, 03:05 PM Post #47 |
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Author: TwistOfShadows Date: Tue Dec 09, 2008 4:40 pm Isabella
The guard looked at the Saxon and the Sarmatian, and fought against laughing aloud. Indeed, this place seemed inhabited by barbarians, and neither man appeared to take a pride in his appearance. Ghastly! This was not acceptable within the Roman Empire, and certainly not under the inspection of the Lady Aracelli. The Roman’s dark eyes stared out from an ornate helmet, and he tightened his fingers on his sword hilt. They had ridden for days, weeks, and for this welcome? It was not warm, and their manners were severely lacking. The guard half considered seeking out another...barbarian. He glanced over the Sarmatian’s shoulders, looking for anyone...but there was no-one. It was entirely irritating! Where was Arthur Castus and why was he not available for an immediate reception of guests? The Guard shook his head, and spoke. “The Lady Aracelli is the noble daughter of one of the most powerful families in Rome, currently dwelling in Jerusalem. Follow me, gentlemen.” The Guard turned, and walked back towards the courtyard...trusting that they would follow... The Lady Isabella Aracelli sat straight-backed upon her mount, and her dark eyes assessed her surroundings. Basic, and blunt. She blinked lazily through her thick eyelashes, and began to remove her gloves carefully. What had her father been thinking? There was dull, thick and square stone everywhere, and the buildings were horrific. There was no distinction between the wealthy quarters...and the lowly. It seemed offensive to her pretty eyes, and she pouted her lips impatiently. She glanced at a poor washer woman scuttling past, and straightened her shoulders defensively. The woman stared, and Isabella immediately felt uncomfortable. It was terribly rude to stare, and moreso because she was probably born in a barn. Isabella had had little contact with servants, and only her Ladies-in-Waiting were allowed to look so overtly in her direction. The Lady turned her head, and her jewelled headdress chinked delicately. There must be someone here who knew the logistics of this barbaric citadel, and could explain why it appeared so...ugly. There was possibly richer living quarters out of sight, out of reach from these peasants? Isabella prayed it was so. She did not wish to write to her father, reporting such negativities after her first day... And Lord alive, she must dwell here! Here! Isabella looked to the returning form of her guard, and she lifted her chin arrogantly. His brightly golden armour was a comfort. It reminded her of home...and yet, he was accompanied by two of the shabbiest-looking men she had ever seen. Surely this was not Arthur? Her dark eyes slipped down both their forms, and she tutted her tongue loudly. These were slaves, or poor men...or whatever. She did not care to deal with them, and she turned an annoyed glare to her guard. Their mission was of severe importance, and they did not have time to waste. Isabella did not speak immediately, but rather slid her remaining glove from her long and elegant fingers. This whole fortress was a bloody catastrophe, and now she was being forced to deal with savages. Perhaps they were both Sarmatian? Her father had spoken impressively of Arthur’s cavalry...but she had expected smarter men. Surely not these...wretches...? “Gentlemen.” She cleared her throat, and spoke sweetly to her audience. Lifting her jewelled fingers, she brushed a dark curl from her cheek and forced a smile. It was tight, cold, and she looked both men up and down with disdain. “I must have an immediate reception with Arthur Castus. My father, the Lord Aracelli, has sent important documents for his eyes only, and I am to dwell here until ordered otherwise. It would be within your best interests...” She paused, shrugging her shoulders awkwardly. “It would be beneficial to us both, if you do as I tell you...” Isabella placed her hand back upon her horse’s rein, and felt the warm leather against her fingertips. Her slippered feet poked out from the hem of her pearly dress, and she appeared...out of place. Her elaborate presence was foreign, exotic, and she could not disguise the foreign accent in her speech... |
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| golden_trillium | May 31 2010, 03:07 PM Post #48 |
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Author: lady ione Date: Tue Dec 09, 2008 6:41 pm Brendyn Even under the tenseness of the situation, Brendyn did not waver in fear, and stood his ground in what he had said knowing that he was surrounded by woads who would love to have killed every single one of them, because of his move to see to his horse. As he stood his ground, his jaw stung from the good hit the female woad had placed there, and his anger was concealed well under the calm facade that he wore now. He could feel the anger fading slowly as it had never solved anything. Anger only brought more anger and then more. This was a mission of peace, and Brendyn had not forgotten that. Even as the woads shouted their accusations and insults his way, Brendyn made no other move to egg the fight on. It was Arthur's command that he not do so, and he obeyed. It was in this time that Brendyn got to finally face the woad on the back of Arthur's horse, and he thought.... well what the hell did he think? That she'd understand that his horse was in pain and needed tending to? Odd thing was that IF he had made a move of attack on the woads, three of them would have been dead before they knew it... but they were all still alive and standing. Antonius had trained him well in defense and attack, and he was very capable of killing if he needed to. This was a mission of peace and therefore, bloodshed was not needed. Why would the woads accuse him of attack then? None of them were bleeding severely, or lying dead on the ground. That would not have been a sign of peace. Brendyn stood rubbing at his sore jawline while the lovely though thorny rose in the saddle spoke.....
An idiot? Inches of having my throat cut? Brendyn dared to cast a glance at the lovely enemy seated on his Commander's horse looking like she was so superior to everyone else. Her tongue was sharper than the look in her eyes. Brendyn could take an insult like the best of them, but the cuff on the jaw aded injury to the insult and that infuriated him deep down. To be openly humiliated in front of those he was under the command of. He shivered inwardly as he thought of what Malcus would do if he found out about this. No doubt it'd be 5 more days of latrine duty. Guinevere's last statement spoken aloud was a rather odd one. Did she think he'd be that dumb to go on this mission alone surrounded by people who could not be trusted? He would have had to be out of his mind to do that, and Brendyn saw that Arthur was as true to all of the tales Antonius had told he and the other men at Aesica. Arthur was very brave, noble, and every bit the diplomat he had heard tell.... and merciful. Even now, Brendyn held Arthur's fierce gaze like the trained soldier he was after having given the man his own account of why he had done what he had done. The young soldier was still hoping for someone to speak out on his behalf, but only Arthur had. He had wanted to make the Roman proud,as well as the rest of the men, on this first mission with him. His eyes still held Arthur's ignoring those about them. Arthur was the only one Brendyn needed to pay heed to. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tristan and Bors move in a bit as if to guard as well as the Optio, but his full attention was on the Commander who had lowered his gaze as he spoke his piece. Brendyn held the gaze steady, trying to forget that he had mud and grim on his uniform and a sort of red mark on his jaw. After the report, and Arthur's assessing gaze to Tyranus, the Commander gave a single nod though Brendyn could not tell what the man was thinking. Perhaps after serving under him for a bit, Brendyn would know how to read Arthur's expressions, but right now, he could not tell. After Arthur turned to say something to Guinevere, he turned back to the young soldier...
Brendyn nodded in response to Arthur, "Aye sir." Then, his eyes moved to Quintus who had remained silent thus far, and was dismounting his own horse while Tristan had moved into guard them. In his mind, he recalled the first time he had met Quintus, and then Arthur and the knights... Then Malcus and Titrus. He had made up his mind a long time ago, that these men were ones he'd want to serve under. All of them so far different from the tyranical training of Antonius and his men. These men had views on things that Brendyn had never been taught, but had always been taught to see and kill the enemy as they could not be trusted. His first lesson was learned here: that there was no need to kill the moment one saw the enemy. Though this scene had been tense, Brendyn had kept it in his mind that this was a peaceful mission and that he was not to draw a weapon against any of the enemy unless things went wrong. In a sense, he had spared his attacker's life and that of the male woad... in truth, he could have killed them both. That was not how peace was achieved. In his mind, he said a short prayer of thanks , and safety thus far as Arthur asked the Centurion to aid Brendyn in tending to his horse who stood next to him. "Yes sir, I could use some assistance," Brendyn almost whispered to the Centurion. As Quintus approached, Brendyn felt his temper ease up a bit, and he took a small exhale of breath. Next to him, Tyranus studied the approaching man, and sort of sniffed the air for any scent of danger while the man ducked around to the other side of the horse, and had edged to his master's side. The woad's attack on Brendyn had left the horse slightly shaken, but now began to calm down a bit. Focusing on what he had to do, Brendyn eyed the surrounding woads while he slowly retrieved his dagger. He whispered to Quintus, "Just talk to Tyranus and allow him to lean on you a bit while I fight with the stone." He bent down and took up the hoof again, checking the angle of the stone's wedge. "Easy boy... no one is going to harm you.... steady." He bent his knees a bit, resting the hoof between them and began to work at the stone. It was wedged in the hoof pretty tight, but after a few well placed digs and nudges, it came loose, and fell to the ground.... |
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| golden_trillium | May 31 2010, 03:08 PM Post #49 |
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Author: golden_trillium Date: Tue Dec 09, 2008 7:59 pm Quintus
Talk to the horse? Quintus arched an eyebrow at that and tried not to sigh. He got asked to talk to the horse, while there were three Sarmatians who knew ten times bloody more about horses than he did right there? He didn't even know what to say to a horse, beyond "good boy" and "whoa". But he went gamely to the horse's- Tyrannus's? what an odd name for a horse- head and took the bridle, then unpressed his lips from their thin line and tried to do some soothing while Bren worked on the hoof and everyone else started to wheel mounts around, ready to get back on the road. The Sarmatian scout was eying him and Brendyn rather piercingly from off to their left...what the hell was his problem? "Easy lad...'sall right," Quintus muttered darkly, making an attempt at stroking the horse's neck and feeling strangely embarrassed about doing so. It wasn't in his nature, having to make tender noises to an animal while seemingly half the fort's compliment of Sarmatians and God-knew-how-many Woads looked on. But fortunately, it was only a brief time before Brendyn had the stone out and Quintus could give the horse a last self-conscious pat and step away from the ignominious duty. "Mount up...and for fuck's sake put that dagger away," the Centurion muttered as he snow-crunched his way back past Brendyn and around to his own mount. |
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| golden_trillium | May 31 2010, 03:10 PM Post #50 |
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Author: lady ione Date: Tue Dec 09, 2008 9:20 pm Brendyn
Tyranus nudged his head against the Centurion's body while Brendyn worked at the stone until it came loose. As it plopped onto the snowy ground, the horse bent it's head down to inspect the infernal stone, then raised his head a bit more to nudge Brendyn's hand as the young man inspected the hoof after the stone was released making sure there was no further injury. Satisfied that there was no further damage, Brendyn lowered the hoof to the ground and arose to pat the black horse's soft neck. He'd never have forgiven himself had something serious happened to a horse he had trained personally, and that had led him through many battles and missions. The black arab mix turned his head once again to nudge at Quintus's hand in a friendly manner, greatful that he had lent comfort while the stone was removed. Brendyn nodded to Quintus as the man stepped away from Tyranus after a last pat, his eyes also catching the group as they made ready to move on...
Nodding to the officer, Brendyn looked about at the woads who remained staring at he and the horse, then slowly sheathed his dagger into his boot, "Aye sir, and thank you." Moving to the saddle, Brendyn placed his foot into the stirrup and mounted Tyranus who was obviously glad that he could carry his master again. The horse's ears perked forward, head held proudly, and stood just as if nothing had happened, though he did test his one hoof before placing weight on it. Brendyn nodded to Titrus, Bors and Tristan as well as Quintus and Jols acknowledging that he was ready to move on... Ione How long she had prayed and cried over her son's grave, Ione had no idea. The coldness of the late afternoon bit through her cloak reminding her that she should not stay out long. There were other days when she could come and visit him. Bowing her head to finish the prayer, she turned to the nun who had prayed with her, "Sister, do you know where the knight Accolan is buried? I would like to visit his grave before I return to the shop." The winter wind played through some of the loose strands of hair that had strayed from under her hood. The nun looked at her and nodded, "He is not far from here, Ione, but we must not be long, for the night will approach soon enough." Ione nodded and followed Sister Margaret to the place where her first true love lie. It was a lovely spot overlooking the snow covered moors, and marked with his sword. It was true that she had fallen in love many times, but Accolan was the first to really treat her as a friend and a lady.... And oh! The talks they use to have! Ione looked from the grave to the nun and back, then stepped forward and placed the few fronds of heather on the grave, letting her tears fall as she did so. Gods above she had loved him! And the more she thought back to those times: the laughter and adventures they had shared... how he had saved her life and then she had saved his years later.... There were no words she could say that would fit the moment, and Accolan had told her that sometimes all two people needed to do was to remain silent and let the moment speak for itself, and so it did. Visiting his grave was closure for her, and now she had to let him go along with Ian. Ione knelt down in the snow and placed a kiss on the hilt of the sword, then arose the her feet, before nodding to the nun, "Thank you, Sister, for coming here with me to show me where they are buried." She brushed tears from her dark eyes as she continued, "I would like to go back to the shop now, I need rest." The nun nodded, and led Ione back to the fort, and to the shop where she saw a young man waiting for her. The weaver looked from the young man to the nun and back, "Why are you here?" "Linnesse from the infirmary, she sent me here to pick up blankets you had made for the infirmary," The lad, Marcus, told Ione and the nun. Sister Margaret smiled, "Well, I can help you to bring them back to the infirmary depending on how many you have, Ione." Ione unlocked the door, but did not smile. She opened it, stepping aside so that the nun and Marcus could enter. The weaver pointed to the stack of 20 blankets, "Those are the ones." Marcus and Sister Margaret headed to the pile and looked through them, then sister Margaret asked, "Did you bring the small cart, Marcus?" "Yes ma'am right outside the door," Marcus said with a gesture. He looked to Ione then the nun and began to carry the blankets to the waiting cart outside while Ione and the nun watched. Sister Margaret looked slightly at Ione. The young woman did look exhausted again and in need of rest. Marcus worked fast and soon the blankets were in the cart. "We have to get back to the infirmary now, Ione. Try to get some rest, dear, and don't forget your medicine before you do to bed," Sister Margaret did not want a repeat of what had happened, and nor did Ione who just nodded, not saying anything. She stood by the door and watched at the young boy and the nun made their way back to the infirmary until they were out of sight. Ione remained though, for a moment and left her thought go to Titrus hoping that he was free from harm, and that he'd return soon safely. Looking up at the gray sky, Ione bowed her head and slowly closed the door blocking out the wintery scene... |
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| golden_trillium | May 31 2010, 03:11 PM Post #51 |
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Author: Pinkie Date: Wed Dec 10, 2008 11:24 am Mari Mari was obedient. If nothing else in the world, she was that. With Linnette sitting across from her and wishing to be leaving, despite Mari's hunger, and despite her wish to sit and talk a little more, she was willing to forego these wants on her own behalf to satisfy Linnette. And what's more, she didn't think it a sacrifice. It would never occur to her to disagree or argue her point to remain and eat and give the other two times together. So she was readying herself to stand when Linnette slumped bonelessly onto the bench opposite. Mari had another piece of cheese halfway to her mouth and was half-crouching over her seat as her big brown eyes looked to the other woman.
Mari sat slowly, almost cautiously, watching Linnette and sensing a restless spirit from her. She chewed the cheese thoughtfully and gave the woman a hopeful, nervous smile.
Obedient and sweet, but not very good with nurturing techniques - Mari did not realise that Linnette was not really eating as she spoke, sighing hopelessly and sagging down into her seat. If there was a link between Linnette's comment on not knowing what to do anymore, and her question about her being with child, Mari didn't know what it was. Her initial reaction was delight - her eyes brightened her back straightened. She was smiling broadly as she looked across at Linnette but slowly the two sentences came together in her head and she realised the implications of her being with child and not knowing what to do anymore. She was going to be a mother in a few months and she had no husband to provide for her, no husband or man at all to take care of her or her child whatever it might be. The young woman's expression softened a little, the excited edge vanished and she gave Linnette a sad but understanding smile and a shake of her head. "No you hadn't told me. That's ... that's quite good news. I can see that it is quite daunting now given ... your circumstances. But there's someone isn't there? Some family who can look after you? And if there isn't then... well, well - "the girl perked up and looked solid for once, she looked assured and there was a tiny frown of strength in the middle of her forehead as she placed her palm flat on the table gently for emphasis - "Well then I'll help you. Milan and I we can help - we can do whatever we can. One way or another Linnette, you won't be alone." Mari assured Linnette. She didn't quite know how they would help but she would do all that she could to make sure that the poor woman was not alone raising a child. She had enough heartache in her life right now without worrying over what was to come. Mari smiled and took another bite of food, chewing it thoughtfully before speaking around it. "How long til you're due?" she asked kindly. |
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| golden_trillium | May 31 2010, 03:13 PM Post #52 |
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Author: golden_trillium Date: Wed Dec 10, 2008 2:20 pm Linnette
"Midsummer," Linnette murmurred, her eyes downcast to her plate where she once more gave the cheese a little push, but did not bring it to her mouth. Midsummer- a summer baby, with no father. What was she going to do? "It's quite a while yet," she added, dragging her gaze, and in some measure, her spirits, back up and looking Mari in the eyes again. Linnette felt down, certainly- there was no other way she would have expected to feel- but looking at Mari it was just impossible to feel as down as when not looking at her. She radiated innocence, optimism, and kindness- she lit up the world around her. And, well...it was a while. A while until the baby. A while to think about what to do...though probably not a while until she started showing. Under the table, Linnette rubbed one hand over her stomach, feeling its slightly rounded contour that could have signified anything or nothing, as yet- but which would no doubt be increasing in only a matter of weeks. "I have a sister and brother-in-law in the fort- but it's a very kind offer, Mari...very kind." A smile, though she felt the beginnings of a mist behind her eyes, and then with sudden decision, she leaned forward and took a bite of the cheese she had been pushing around for so long. The baby needed food- everyone would agree with that. And it really wasn't bad. Not exactly inspiring to her at the moment, but not bad. She reached for her mug and took a sip of the wine, then impulsively reached for the book sitting abandoned on the wall side of the table, pushed aside so that they could eat- the book that Drake had lent her, to be a distraction. A distraction might be just what she- and Mari- needed. "Here," Linnette pulled the book towards her and adjusted the positions of plates and cups, keeping all the food within easy reach, but placing the book sideways on the table, so that both she and Mari could see it. She opened the cover to the first page, savoring momentarily the smell of the leather and paper, the smell of new knowledge, new worlds waiting to be discovered. "'Gloriana, a tale of Adventure', by Cinna Marcellus Appius." She read from the opening leaf of the book, then turned to Mari with raised eyebrows, a silent question as to whether she was interested. "A friend lent this to me," she added, forbearing for now to mention that the friend in question was Drake, the selfsame man whom she had told Mari she intended to set up with a woman. The sight of him taking his kill and far too much wine for one person out of the tavern a few moments ago still stung a but, much more than it should, and Linnette didn't want to re-open that particular basket of worms, now...but maybe she'd confess to it later. Maybe. |
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| golden_trillium | May 31 2010, 03:14 PM Post #53 |
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Author: Elessars Girl Date: Wed Dec 10, 2008 3:44 pm Arthur The tension between the Woads and Arthur’s men seemed to dissipate to some degree…Arthur prayed that it was enough for them to continue on. And he prayed that they would reach Merlin soon….and that peace could be reached.
Arthur gave no verbal response directly to Guinevere. However, a wry grin briefly flashed across his weathered expression before the Commander turned his head to give a quick glance back at his small group. “Gentlemen, we shall continue on,” Arthur called out in signal to his men and then focused on the snow covered ground ahead – his green eyes fell to one of Guinevere’s people who once again moved to the front of the procession. Guinevere’s companion, Nolan, motioned for Arthur to follow and so the Commander gave Casti a gentle nudge with the heel of his boot and a click of his tongue and the stallion immediately responded; falling into step behind the Woad.
Arthur released a small snort in dark amusement at Guinevere’s statement. He felt her tiny hand take up residence over his knuckles again as well. But this time, no gentle caress. Pity. “What makes you think that I would be susceptible to your charms, hm?” Arthur retorted, his mouth even closer to Guinevere’s ear now. “I am no gentleman to welcome your seduction,” He added and punctuated his words by allowing his prickly chin to rasp over the shell of her ear. Only one person had that power over Arthur. And for that one person only, would Arthur eternally burn in Hell for his sins. And at that thought, the Roman’s chest tightened and the one spot beneath his armour ached again….painfully so. Arthur proceeded to lead his mounted group onward in the footsteps of Nolan. The Optio rode close on the Commander’s right flank and the rest formed a line behind the two officers. The frozen snow crunched and cracked beneath the heavy hooves of the horses. The icy wind whipped and whirled around all of them as they rode on. And then the thick forest of firs and hardwoods gave way to a small ford – a frozen and rocky stream dotted with white snow and fallen limbs from the trees along its shore. Standing on the far bank was a dark horse with a blue-painted rider…..the Woad that had rode ahead at Guinevere’s urging. Arthur pulled his fingers from Guinevere’s hold and raised his arm signaling his men to halt. “What would you have me do here, lady? It appears the path is blocked by your man,” Arthur murmured to Guinevere; the heat of his breath easily warming the shell of her ear if not her cheek as well. He brought his free hand back to the woman’s abdomen, his palm covering hers completely and possessively. Arthur still viewed Guinevere as his only bargaining tool – if Merlin were to refuse a meet or if any of her people should choose to threaten the men. |
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| golden_trillium | May 31 2010, 03:15 PM Post #54 |
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Author: Pinkie Date: Wed Dec 10, 2008 4:15 pm Drake Drake used his boot to close the door. The bundle of sticks he dumped on the hearth next to the woodpile he had brought up ealier. He placed the amphora onto the table and looked at it with pursed lips. Something in the back of his head was telling him that this was a bad idea - that he should go back to the tavern, have a drink there, maybe buy some dinner - anything than sit in his own little dinky room with a full amphora. He grunted at his lack of confidence in his own self-restraint and blindly pulled the rabbits loose from his belt. HE slung the bodies bonelessly onto the table next to the wine and walked back to the door, unhooking his cloak and placing it on the peg. He toed off his boots whilst he was there and padded over to the hearth. The homely task of lighting a fire, dirt and grit in his nails from hunting and foraging earlier recalled Drake to a different time altogether. A time when he had been expected to perform these tasks - those brief interludes where he had been a husband and father instead of a mere breadwinner for a beautiful wife and three healthy sons. Their home had been rather small - white washed walls, tapestries hung from these but none of them were rich or expensive. They had glass windows and acres of land that was farmed and maintained by servants. Slaves had been cheaper but with Drake being away so often and for so long he had deemed it more sensible to use servants. On the window sill by the kitchen there was a small trough with herbs that his wife used for cooking... Drake stood and put his hand to his belt once more, tugging out the pitiful looking herbs he had plucked from the wilderness. There was nothing impressive given that it was winter - but what was good for the rabbits was good for him. And the rabbits now lay dead upon his table. Gathering his small battered pot and pan from his saddlebags, Drake used the pitcher to fill the pan before going back to his table. Fire built up and an orange flame beginning to lick around the edges of teh logs, the Spaniard flopped down in the chair. He only had one chair and so he stretched his bare feet across to the bed, his knees angled outwards. He had gutted the rabbits out in the wild but they needed to be skinned and the meat cut into chunks. As he worked, diligent and frowning, he tried to think of things that were not pertaining to the past. Memories past made the amphora look more tempting. But anything related to the present made him feel awkward too. In any other situation when he had started to engage his withered heart he had severed the link and retreated inside of himself once more. At least that is what he had done all of the one times he had felt something for someone since Cecile. "Cecile..." he murmured her name, hunkering down by the fire now and stirring the pot of stew he was concocting. He reached back behind him to the herbs on the table and scattered them into it, a permanent frown etched into his forehead. Leaning forward, the old soldier took a sniff of the rabbit broth and gave a grunt of satisfaction. He sat down on the ground and reached up for the amphora. He unstoppered it and tossed a dash of the wine into the stew for flavour before taking a good, hearty swig himself. It was bitter - not quite the best the tavern had to offer, he doubted, but it would suffice. Without thought he took another drink, and then a third. He leaned his solid back against the leg of the table and watched the flames lick around the long-since-charred bottom of his pot. |
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| golden_trillium | May 31 2010, 03:19 PM Post #55 |
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Author: LadyCastus Date: Thu Dec 11, 2008 11:44 am Neeria Neeria put her hands to her breasts to hold up the frock and twirled around in the dress, amazed that she was wearing such a beautiful thing. She stopped twirling suddenly when she thought of what her friends...and Merlin...would think of her behavior. Merlin's face of consternation flashed in front of her eyes and Neeria froze, suddenly ashamed at what she was doing. What AM I doing? she thought. She closed her eyes to Merlin's face, trying to block him out. But the vision burned her eyes even in the darkness of her closed lids. She would return to him, Neeria thought, and explain her actions. Yes, one day - once she healed properly. Yes, once she'd healed properly, she would leave the fortress and go back home. It would just take time, that's all. Neeria subconsciously touched her bandaged side. She cleared her throat before she spoke, looking back at Vanora. "It is very pretty. Thank you again, Vanora," she said softly, not making eye contact with either woman. Neeria dug into her head viciously again, scratching her dirty scalp. Leaves and a small twig fell to the floor. "Maybe I should take it off before I get it dirty," she said coyly.
"Do you think so, really?" Neeria asked, once again, wide-eyed like a child. She wanted to be clean and washed. I do want to wear the dress and be normal. Just once. Mikal would have thought me beautiful in this dress.
Neeria looked at the dark-haired Briton and smirked. The healer's impatience was not lost on the woad. But there was no way Neeria was going to put on her first dress looking like a wart hog. "Thank you," Neeria said as properly as she could. "But I think I should take a bath first before putting on my new dress and boots. I don't want to get this smell into the dress and my hair needs cleaning. Arthur said I could have a bath." Neeria thought throwing the commander's name into the mix might soften Neeve's disposition a bit. Neeria's whole body itched and she smelled awful. She dreaded putting the filthy, stinky clothes she'd had on before back on, but she didn't want to soil her new garment either. Relunctantly, she pulled the dress over her head and once again stood completely naked in front of the other two women. Neeria realized then, the other two women's surprise that the woad seemed completely at ease in the complete buff. She chuckled. "Does my nudity offend you?" she laughed as she reached for her dirty trousers. "It is, of course, a natural state of being for my people," she said as she wiggled her bottom and pulled up the pants, tying them at her tiny waist. She reached for the tunic next and scratched again before pulling it over her head. "I am ready for my bath now, lady," she said to Neeve. "And thank you for your kindness, Vanora," Sniffing the air again, smelling the good food, she added, "Maybe I can come back later and eat with you. That is if I get permission." Titrus Titrus clucked his tongue and tapped his heel to Adolphus' side once Quintus had mounted his horse again and Arthur had given the command to continue moving forward. What a near miss that was. What was Brendyn thinking? Well, he wasn't thinking. He didn't realize that such a movement would cause aggression from the woads. It was an easy mistake, albeit a near deadly one. That feral, rabid, half-dressed looking wildcat could have exterminated Brendyn in the blink of eye. Even with his fancy moves and all, she'd managed to still keep the upper hand. Fucking woad bitches. Titrus thought to himself. Who could trust the bitches? The lieutenant scoffed when he thought about little Eala whom he'd given the benefit of the doubt. Never again. They weren't to be trusted, no matter the age. Titrus looked over at Quintus. He knew the centurion was probably still a little cross with him, but nonetheless, the lieutenant leaned over in the saddle. "Everything alright, mate?" he asked softly. Quintus looked stoic in his saddle. Titrus didn't know if it was out of anger, fear, disgust or all of that. He looked at Quintus closely and waited for him to reply. Rosita and Nolan Rosita put the arrow back in its quiver and the bow back on her shoulder. She locked her dark eyes onto Brendyn and curled her upper lip up into a snarl. Then she rolled her eyes, looking at Brendyn from head to toe, then took her place back at the front of the line next to Nolan, nodding her head at Guinevere. Nolan began walking, only to find Smith waiting for them a short while later. Nolan smiled and nodded his head at the mounted scout, knowing Smith must have gotten to Merlin and notified him. It would just be a short matter of time before Merlin showed up. Malcus Barbattus Once Malcus had paid Catherine for her services, she discreetly tucked them away in bodice. Very professional Malcus thought to himself and smiled. Catherine stood on her tip toes and kissed Barbattus lightly. He grabbed her small waist and pulled the woman closer to him, ever the perfect gentleman, and kissed her back - deeply - before he released her again and stared into her green orbs.
Malcus grabbed her hand and kissed the back of it. "I will certainly recall our afternoon with great fondness and I will call you again when the situation...er...arises," he said wickedly with a smirk. Then the captain turned around again and pulled his boots back on, lacing them up and replacing his small weapons on his person and along his belt. "She we go now, love?" he asked her once he'd finished dressing and thrown his cloak around his shoulders.
The blonde beauty purred the salutation as she curtsied before the captain. Malcus' eyes widened again at the perfect creamy mounds of her bosom and made a mental note to call on this woman again. He actually enjoyed her company. Barbattus cleared his throat and opened the door, allowing the lady to exit his quarters first. They walked down the corridor in silence. Once they reached the outer gates of the barracks, Malcus kissed Catherine's hand and thanked her again for her services. "Is there somewhere the brute can escort the lady on his way to the stables?" he asked, perfectly comfortable with seeing Catherine to her next destination. |
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| golden_trillium | May 31 2010, 03:23 PM Post #56 |
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Author: Pinkie Date: Thu Dec 11, 2008 2:50 pm Saoirse It was a very calm and rejuvenating scene. She was quiet, her head tilted to one side so that her red hair fell in fiery waves to brush against her exposed thigh. The bandaging around her thigh was neat and her pale skin matched it well. Her blue eyes were intense but peaceful – the movements of her small, pale hand was slow but certain. The salts scoured all the dead skin from his battered body, turning the water a murky color. Saoirse kicked her feet gently and moved her hand across the back of his neck, down the centre of his spine. The difference in his skin was obvious – the dried blood dissolved before her eyes. When he turned to her she sniffed, tossing her head back to move her hair from it’s dangled position over her legs. The knight looked stymied – Saoirse smiled. They would figure out what he was able for and what he was not able for when the time came. For too long there had been this worry over her lovers’ strength, about his health and well-being. – the Irish woman longed to be able to look at him and not wonder if he was in pain, to touch him without thinking it might pain him… She longed for normality. Unfortuately for her though, normality would involve turning back time. Because despite his reassurances, Saoirse stillfelt … wrong… she felt she had wronged him and even more so now that his son had been taken from him. He had a daughter – a daughter whose presence might ease his current heartache, that might lift his bleak spirits but she was far away in Ireland. In hiding.
Saoirse continued looking at the Sramatian a long time before realising he had spoken. She gave a start and frowned, reaching across to hold his chin in her hands. She harrumphed and tilted her head to the side. Leaning forward, she brushed her cheek against his and turned her lips to kiss the skin close to his ear. “Mmmm shave. Leave yer head though – it kinda suits ye…” She replied with a smile, moving her damp hand over the short crop of hair atop his head. Scrambling to her feet, the red head walked to the bundle of clothes that she had dropped there earlier and rooted about for the shaving blade. Uncovering it, she returned to her perch by the pool and parted her legs. With a wry smile she gestured for Dagonet to come closer to her, a twinkle in her blue eyes. “C’mere til I do it fer ye… make sure it’s done properly.” She said with mock reproach. Mari When Linnette popped the cheese into her mouth Mari smiled. She hadn't been aware that the woman wasn't really eating but something did register in her mind when she finally did that this was good for her. Food was good, it was essential for the healthy development of the baby. So Mari thought anyways. She wasn't too familiar with babies and children at all. Her only experiences had been brief and passing as she moved from place to place with her father. The little street urchins made her feel welcome when they had stayed any place long enough for her to explore. But as for being an adult tending to a baby... well, that whole world was a mystery. And she had no mother to tell her what to do either.
While Linnette spoke, Mari ate - and drank, her mind churning over the bits of information that the woman offered. She gave a pleased smile around a mouthful of food when Linnette said she had a sister and brother-in-law. Not that it would stop her from helping. It was in her very nature to want to please people. Perhaps because she had been unable to ever please her father, Mari constantly made efforts to make other people like her. All that she said and did was said and done with the purest and nicest of intentions. Linnette's eyes misted over and Mari continued to smile, chewing slowly now, hoping the hazel-eyed wmoan wouldn't cry. Not that she would blame her. To have lost her husband and now being faced with raising a babe on her own ... it was daunting. MAri tried to imagine it as herself - she tried to imagine how it would be for her if Milan... and there she faltered. She couldn't even imagine how she would continue if she lost Milan the way Linnette had lost Gedeon. She could not even get beyond that hurdle to consider what it must be like to be carrying the child of that dead love.
Interested?! Mari almost choked on the piece of bread she was chewing when Linnette spoke the title of the book. She skooched in closer, a wide and excited grin on her face as she lookedfrom the book to Linnette. She reached a hand out and touched the pages, running her fingers reverently over the letters. Letters that meant something to Linnette but which looked merely like squished squiggles to Mari. She nodded her head enthusiastically - "Where did she adventure? My it is strange for an adventure story about a woman! Usually women are the ones who stay at home at the loom in stories - it's the men that go adventuring." she said, glancing up at Linnette and then back to the page, biting the edge of her lip. "He sounds Roman too... Cinnus... something.... " she laughed gently with a rueful shake of her head at nto remembering the awkward Roman name. "Would you... read a little? " Mari asked tentatively. Catherine
People could look and people could presume what had occurred between the two. Malcus held her hand and it looked a tender thing - but once they came to a stop the blonde went around to stand in front of him, smiling up at him patiently despite her insane need to go and get clean, to refresh herself. His request was met with a soft pout of her pretty lips and she tilted her head to one side, sliding a chilled hand up against the soldier's neck. "My destination takes me in the other direction... but thank you." she said. "The brute is well on his way to becoming the gentleman..." Catherine teased with another getnle brush of her lips against his before turning to leave him. She looked over her shoulder as she went and blew him a kiss. "I'm never too hard to locate Captain - don't leave it so long in future." she laughed with a shake of her pretty head then carried on on her way, ensuring to let her hips give that suggestive sway that would, no doubt, have the man pining for more of her before she had left his sights. Catherine looked back only once more and turned a corner. She carried on with the charade for a little while longer before dipping her head, gripping her skirts and begining to walk a bit faster. She met Arland on his way to the fortress to begin his day's work. "Catherine! There you are - mother's looking for you..." he said and gave a slight pause before asking, "What's wrong?" Catherine gave him a wan smile and shook her head. She was a bit breathless from her continuously swift walking and her cheeks were flushed prettily. The edginess she felt was obvious to someone who knew her as Arland did. "Nothing -- just getting home quickly. It's bloody cold out hmm?" she enquired, knowing full well the fortress servant would not be tricked into thinking there was nothing wrong. But he knew better than to ask, he knew better than to delve too deeply into the parts of her life that he would rather pretend did not exist. "It is... well... will I see you later at home?" he asked tentatively. Catherine licked her lips and looked over his sholder, eager to be on her way, she looked back into his sad eyes and gave him a bright smile. "Maybe." she replied adn gave a soft laugh at his defeated sigh. "Go Arland - you'll be late." she told him, and brushed past him, hurrying on out of the fortress grounds and along the line of cottages that made up Badon Village. |
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| golden_trillium | May 31 2010, 03:25 PM Post #57 |
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Author: TwistOfShadows Date: Thu Dec 11, 2008 2:58 pm Guinevere The heat of Arthur’s body did two things. It warmed her, surrounded her...but it was also reminiscent of human touch. It was a fragile thing, delicate and transient, and Guinevere had not been this close to another in a long time. The press of the Roman’s thighs around her small body provided comfort and security...but also reminded her that she was trapped. Held captive, and used as their bargaining chip. Guienvere was no fool. This was war...and in war? People became valued. Civillians were worth more than soldiers, and Guinevere counted as a shoulder. Her lithe body was coated in blue war paint, and she had the passionate gaze of a warrior. She did not scare easily, and had grown devoid of mercy with time. She was not cold, but rather distanced, aloof. She was rational, secure and confident, and did not heed to the traditional role of the woman. In Briton, women were strong, and could rival the strength of a man. In Rome? Women were feeble, and merely the birthing husks of their bastard husbands. Arthur’s own mother had been British, and that graced him with British characteristics – strength, passion, righteousness. Guinevere trusted that Arthur would choose the correct path in the end...
Guinevere’s lips lifted in a bitter smile, and she leant back against Arthur’s breastplate. Dark wisps of hair whipped about her high cheekbones, and she breathed fog from her lips. This path was awkward, but well guarded by her kindred. She appeared relaxed against Arthur’s chest, but was rather on her guard. She held Arthur’s hand, and her dark eyes flickered about their surroundings. There was the faint lullaby of birdsong, and twigs snapped in the snow. The winds blew, hard, and leaves rustled at every side. The woodland was alive around them, and she lifted her black eyes to the immortal sky. This land was her heaven, and she would fight to preserve it. They did not need Roman marble and gold here, it was not welcome...
Guinevere lifted her brows in amusement, and considered a cheeky response. She would hardly identify her physical prowess as ‘seduction,’ but clearly Arthur was impregnable when faced with the most beautiful women. Guinevere shrugged her shoulders lightly, and laughed. Did he keep a whore at Badon? She knew Darya, but a Roman was a Roman...and a man was a man. Indeed, it amused her. Arthur and she should have been mortal enemies, and yet here they were...challenging each other akin to sexual satisfaction. It was hardly the conversation of war, but it provided ample amusement. Guinevere’s eyes glittered, and she concentrated ahead...but gods, the heat of his mouth upon her ear! The Woad swallowed, and almost fluttered her eyes shut. His breath was hot, musky, and it heated her entire earlobe and cheek. It was...inappropriate for a Roman, but Guinevere did not deny the stir of her desire. She was British; passionate, vehement, and respondent to the challenge of sexual supremacy. They would not have created a beast, they would have created a warrior. Strong.
Their path grew short, and the company came to the ford. Guinevere made a sound of triumph, and moved to sit forward...but was stopped. Arthur’s hand covered hers, and the woman felt the heat radiating from his callused palm. The Roman was not stupid enough to risk her escaping, but why would she? The Woad looked to the impressive sight of Smith, and did not answer Arthur. She merely raised her voice, and spoke across to her brethren. Arthur needed her leverage, and only she could grant them access to her father. “Smith! Our circumstances have not changed. A temporary peace still reigns, and these men seek a meeting with my father, our Merlin.” Guinevere’s voice carried out over the snowy ford, and her voice lilted ironically on the word ‘men.’ She would not bestow Arthur’s full title, not whilst he condemned her to propriety with the word ‘lady.’ There was nothing ladylike about Guinevere of Briton. She was beautiful, it was true, but in a wild way. She lacked the manners and pretty words of courtship. She was a warrior, and the daughter of the dark wizard... Ceinwyn Ceinwyn followed the party. Her green eyes glared out through the undergrowth, and with each step, she disturbed the snowy trees. Gentle flakes of snow drifted down, and rested upon her red hair. It was a beautiful contrast. White, against wild red, and Ceinwyn did not notice it. Her small hands moved twigs and branches, and she pouted her lips, blowing her hair away from her face. It had become loose in its fragile bonds, and now tussled thickly over her blue shoulders. The woman moved, silently and adept, and breathed in complete silence. Her movements were minimal, and her senses were furtive. She would not be seen, not yet....but when the party approached the ford, Ceinwyn slid her dagger from her boot. It sat lightly in her hand, and ready, prepared. The Woad did not expect trouble, but Rome was unpredictable. This whole venture could prove to be a trap, and yet they must trust Guinevere’s judgment. A tiny fleck of snow fluttered down from above her, resting against her nose. The woman flared her nostrils, feeling the chilled ice of it. Ceinwyn continued to move forwards, closer to the ford’s edge. Her green eyes grew darker in intensity, and she stood up in the woodland. She was tall, beautifully lithe, and the elegant curve of her spine was a welcomed illusion of fragility. Ceinwyn was not fragile, but rather damaged. Wild. She gave up her hiding place, and instead rose to meet Smith and his ford. The white flecks of snow still coated her red hair, and she pursed her lips impatiently.There was snow on her eyelashes, her cheekbones, and she turned glanced down into the water. It trickled, softly, slowly, and Ceinwyn wrinkled her nose... |
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| golden_trillium | May 31 2010, 03:26 PM Post #58 |
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Author: Pinkie Date: Thu Dec 11, 2008 5:01 pm Smith The cold bit through the deer-skin trousers that Smith wore. His sleeveless jerkin and shirt he wore fluttered open in the breeze revealing the severe lines and contours of his blue painted upper body. The ugly bruising about his broken collarbone might have just been paint - but the swollen flesh spoke more clearly of injury. Blue stained his clothes also and some of the roots of his hair was colored also. He looked like a frozen apparition as he sat still in the saddle, his eyes looking into the distance and a half-smile curling his pale lips. He listened. The forest spoke to him. Oh others heard the whisper of the trees, they heard the chirp and scurry of animals clearly - but with Smith it was something else. IT was something more. He could detect the atmosphere of the place, he could anticipate the movements of those wild and feral creatures of the forest as if he were one of them. A wild pig scuffed away in the distance. Smith turned his head towards it - a slow movement of his handsome features. He sniffed the air and turned back to look at the path. A bird darted along the ground, hopping frantically, it's attention diverted momentarily. Smith lifted his chin and his smile became more secretive, more confident - many moments later the sound of horse-hooves could be heard. Scáth flared his nostrils, a pale freezing fog blooming up aruond the horse's dark features. A ghost of a horse appeared amongst the snowy trees and disappeared. Smith casually draped his arm over his lap and leaned forward. Waiting. The horse reappeared - a rider apparent now. Then disappeared. It was on the third appearance that the horse could be clearly seen walking along the path leading to the ford. The white beast was impressive amongst the snow-splattered trees - an apparition. An ill omen? Smith tilted his head to the side and waited patiently, unmoving, unswerved as the Romans came closer to the edge of the ford. He locked eyes with Guinevere until they came to a stop and only then did he look about the others. Nolan gave him a nod which Smith graciously returned. His dark, unfathomable eyes met the eyes of the enemy without fear - but also without hatred or disdain. Snow fluttered down from a pine tree to his left. Smith glanced towards it and saw Ceinwyn emerge. She looked as unhinged as ever - pale flakes clung to her wild hair. She looked irritated. Smith smiled and looked back at Guinevere. He was not ignoring the Roman Commander - no, not at all. But he gave due reverence and deference to his leaders daughter before glancing above her head to meet the eyes of Castus. He merely blinked and looked back to Guinevere as she addrssed him- calling out above the noise of the forded river.
The woad male nodded his head and lifted a hand, signalling for the Romans to remain on the far side of the ford. "Take these Romans no further, Guinevere." the man said in a lazy tone of voice. He gently pressed his heels into his horse's belly and the equine stepped forward, horse and rider as calm as if it were just family and friends on the other side and not a sworn enemy. The sticks and brush laid out across the river provided an easy foothold for Scáth and the black stallion clopped slowly across the ford. Water splashed up around the dark legs of the stallion - a gust coming downriver blew Smith's dark hair to one side. When they came to the far side of the ford he approached Castus' horse and met his eyes - the message as much for him as for Guinevere. "Merlin comes." the message was delivered with a knowing smile, an amused but harmless twinkle in the man's dark eyes as he looked to the other woads for their reactions to this good news. |
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| golden_trillium | May 31 2010, 03:27 PM Post #59 |
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Author: lady ione Date: Thu Dec 11, 2008 5:09 pm Brendyn Brendyn had pride: pride in what he did and how he had been trained. Pride in who he was serving, and those he was serving with. His eyes looked from one man to the next while he sat astride Tyranus, ready to ride again. Brendyn looked down from the saddle and met the female woad's gaze with a narrow hard one of his own. He had never killed a female, but had he been given a chance, Brendyn would have not given it a second thought. The black horse seemed to be alright as he was placing full weight on the leg, so that was a great sign. She had succeeded in humiliating him in front of his fellow officers, and it angered him not to mention that he almost ruined the mission. He gave Titrus, Quintus, Bors, Tristan and Jols all a silent gaze, shook his head, embarrassed by his actions, then prepared to ride, awaiting Arthur's orders....
Trying to ignore the thoughts that could possibly be going about him unheard as well as the woads who had shouted the accusations at him, Brendyn urged Tyranus forward to follow Arthur and the woad he had in the saddle with him. The soldier looked up into the shimmering pristine quiet of the forest all but blocking out the incident that had happened, but keeping the memory as a lesson learned. Somehow, snowy forests and winter all around seemed to calm Brendyn despite the biting, howling wind, and the calm that seemed to envelope the world about him... the fragrance of the pines and the chilled air. It reminded him a bit of the harsh untamed woads. Cold, proud, arrogant woods people. Very arrogant and insolant fools! The lot of them! The female that had attacked him should have been glad that Arthur stopped him before he had a chance to retaliate. The side of his face, no doubt, had a nice red mark on it... He moved a bit toward Jols who had not said much since the mission began. Perhaps he could take a look at Tyranus, to make doubly sure he was okay. 'Jols, I would like you to take a further look at my horse to make sure I did not miss anything further,' Brendyn whispered, and left it at that. He did not want to do any further talking until this mission was done... unless spoken to. The wind came up and moved through his red cape, flowing between the folds and moving it about his uniform. The trees seemed to part and gave way to a small clearing near a frozen ford, and on the far side of the stream was the rider they had seen earlier on the back of his mount. Seeing Arthur raise his hands to halt the group, Brendyn gently brought his horse to a halt near Jols and Bors, giving them a short glance then looking about him at the woads that had grouped about them. Tyranus stood still awaiting his master's command, while Brendyn waited to see what would happen. The soldier felt that soon perhaps the great Merlin would appear.... The one he had heard so much about. Merlins were birds of prey as he recalled and he had seen a few in his travels. Proud birds, but dangerous, lethal hunters. Near by, Brendyn saw Titrus lean over to ask Quintus a question, his eyes looking from one officer to the other, then went back to the scene before them. He was too ashamed that he had not used his head in the situation that could have proven deadly to even look any of the officers in the eyes. What would Malcus think if word got to him of this incident? What's more, what did Arthur think of him now? The Briton was too proud to show his humiliation outwardly, but kept it hidden well and looking every bit the trained soldier he was... |
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| golden_trillium | May 31 2010, 03:29 PM Post #60 |
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Author: Lancelot Date: Thu Dec 11, 2008 7:07 pm Lancelot
The Sarmatian followed the unnamed guard, albeit reluctantly. Fucking Arthur and his 'Lancelot, you're in charge.' He grumbled to himself, and rubbed at his swollen eye. He looked shite and he knew it; nevertheless, whoever this 'lady' was, she'd know him for who he was - Lancelot, son of Ban, warrior of the plains of the East and the fiercest swordsman here in the wilds of Britain. Rome's best slave. Arthur's best dog. He shook his head and twisted his mouth as the Saxon followed him. A good thing, else Lancelot would have had to go in search of him again to make sure Derfel was following the orders Lancelot had given him. Soon enough they arrived near the main gate; Lancelot's hand rested on his sword as they stopped at the foot of a beautiful, exotic looking horse - topped by a beautiful, exotic looking woman, fully dressed in her obvious best, headdress and all. Lancelot cocked a wild eyebrow, and glanced at Derfel. "The Lady Isabella Aracelli, I would presume," he murmured to the other man as said lady spoke.
Well now. This was interesting. And yet another thing Arthur had failed to share with his first knight before he'd left on his mercy mission. Lancelot's lips pursed in a wry smile; he knew she must think them servants or lowly stablemen. He knew how he appeared - but that was his greatest weapon. Stepping toward the horse, Lancelot placed his grubby hand on the animal's nose, and spoke a few words in Sarmatian to it. It flicked its ears at him, and he removed his hand. Not that he had an overmuch love for the beasts, but he had not forgotten what his mount had done for him in the last campaign. He squinted up through the hazy on again off again winter sun, and smiled at the bejeweled vision. "Madam," he said, and affected a 'noble' nod. "I am Lancelot ap Ban, and I am Arthur Castus' second in command. I regret to inform you the commander is on an...assignment," he tilted his head, resting his hands on his hips - although he kept one near his sword. Always near. "I am in charge in his stead, and I hesitate to admit I knew nothing of you or your arrival. A great pity, that," he added, his voice sliding into a deeper octave, his face taking on the pointed cast that would cause most of the women in the tavern to giggle and wiggle into his lap posthaste. With the dirt and his bare head and his blackened, injured skin, he looked more Woad than warrior at the moment - and gods save anyone who mentioned it. "You shame me with your beauty." He jerked his head back at Derfel. "Arthur's man Cadarn as well." He would leave it to the Saxon to speak to her if he cared. That was not Lancelot's job. "Commander Castus is due back in a day or two's time. I would be more than happy to ensconce you in a room whilst you wait." He put out a hand, the long and slender fingers trembling only once in the cold (and more from exhaustion, although he'd never admit that), and waited to see if she took the bait. A new toy, Arthur. Thank you for not warning me. "Although I will share a secret with you, Lady," his words were spoken softly, as if he shared a great and special thing with her. "I would recommend you not order me about. I can only be slave to one Empire." He flashed his teeth, his features arranged in a charming and blandly pleasant setting, but his eyes - dark and dangerous did not cover the half of it. |
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