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December 2008
Topic Started: May 28 2010, 01:27 PM (2,124 Views)
golden_trillium

Admin
Author: golden_trillium
Date: Thu Dec 11, 2008 9:02 pm
Quintus


Titrus
 
"Everything alright, mate?"


“Aye,” Quintus grunted, maintaining his stiff posture in the
saddle and his resolute forward stare. They were slowing
down…and ahead of them, the trees seemed to be thinning out,
and Quintus fancied he heard the sound of water. A few
snow-crunching horse steps later, and it became clear that
that was indeed what it was…a stream, running shallow, cold
and icy over rocks, and on the other side, glimpsed around the
heads of Arthur, Amadeus, Tristan, and the others in the front
of the group…the Woad rider, poised on the other bank like a
statue.

Guinevere
 
“Smith! Our circumstances have not changed. A temporary
peace still reigns, and these men seek a meeting with my
father, our Merlin.”


Smith
 
"Take these Romans no further, Guinevere. Merlin comes."


Merlin…Quintus swallowed hard as the rider picked his careful
but casual way across the ford towards the Roman group. He
smiled as if he knew something, knew something that was to his
benefit and the detriment of his enemies…something deadly.
Where was the Magician? Was he watching even now? Quintus
started suddenly as a flash of red caught the corner of his
eye, and he turned his head to see another Woad woman, who had
been hidden in the brush alongside the path, emerge from the
trees and langorously straighten her lithe body, her
snow-festooned hair nevertheless glowing almost unnaturally
red in the wan winter sunlight. She was a barbaric
figure…careless of her scanty clothing, seeming not to notice
even her dangerous surroundings…but deadly, Quintus knew, as
were they all. The woman looked down at the water of the
stream, her expression shifting into what looked like
displeasure from here, and the Centurion swallowed again,
hard, and made himself turn back to the darker figure of the
rider. There was no denying the red-headed Woad’s
attractiveness- she was a beautiful, savage distraction, and
he shouldn’t be devoting too much of his attention to her.

“Look at that,” he nevertheless couldn’t help but mutter to
Titrus, very softly out of the corner of his mouth, jerking
his head shortly over in the direction of the redhead.












Linnette

Mari
 
"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. He sounds Roman,
too...Cinnus...something...would you...read a little?"


“Oh, of course,” Linnette exclaimed in answer, turning the
book just slightly towards Mari so that she could get a
momentary better look at the letters, just in case she was
curious to see them better- then turning it back sideways so
that she could read it. Holding it like that on the table
meant that she had to crick her neck to read from it, but it
seemed right to be sharing it with Mari like this nonetheless-
after all, even though Mari couldn’t read yet, she had asked
to learn, and seeing the letters as they were read could only
help- right? Well, Linnette wasn’t sure how to go about
teaching someone to read at all…but being able to see the book
seemed like the minimum requirement.

“I’m told it’s a comedy- about a woman who dresses up as a
man. Hence the adventure, I suppose,” Linnette explained to
Mari, once more smiling as she warmed up again to Mari’s pure,
innocent enthusiasm. “It takes place in Spain…” Linnette
faltered just a little, her mind turning momentarily back to
Drake, who had lent her the book and told her it took place in
and near his hometown. How funny- Linnette would be able to
picture him in the places the story described, maybe learn a
little more of him in the process.

“Drake…the man from before…” Linnette nodded hurriedly towards
the tavern door, getting the rest of the explanation out in a
rush, but without lingering on the subject, “It’s really his.
He’s from Spain. Anyway…” Moving on quickly and with a renewed
touch of embarrassment from that potentially-uncomfortable
topic, Linnette turned the first leaf of the book, revealing
the first page of text, beautifully illustrated with a small
but brightly colored picture of a woman in a simple,
sleeveless Roman dress gazing to the right with a far-away
expression on her face- as if anticipating her coming
adventure. It was quite beautifully done- as were the words
themselves. They were simple, neat, and quite easy to follow
as Linnette began to read.

“’Gloriana was the daughter of a prosperous family, but she
had little care for the things of womanhood, for spinning and
weaving and things of that sort. She was beautiful, and
virtuous, but not at all pleasing to her mother and father-
for since childhood she had had an unbearable curiosity about
the ways of men. I speak of immoralities, you think, perhaps?
No, nothing so crude at all! Did I, Cinna Appius, not say
Gloriana was virtuous? And when have the men of the Appius
family ever been known to lie?’” Linnette chuckled, the small
laugh bubbling unexpectedly up from her at the story’s odd,
whimsical writing style. She had never read anything quite
like it at all!

“This is funny already!” she admitted to Mari, shaking her
head ruefully and thinking for a small, sad moment, how much
Gedeon would have enjoyed a story like this, too. She had read
to him a few times- he could manage his name and a few common
words but little more- and he had enjoyed hearing her, but
books were in short supply around the fort. She had promised
some day to read to him anything he wanted from the Villa’s
library, when they went back there…but of course that would
never be happening now. Linnette determinedly blinked back a
light mist from her eyes and returned her eyes to the book,
moving steadfastly on with the story, letting its narrative
take her up again.

“’I am no exception to my family’s honesty, of course, and
here I speak the truth. Gloriana was virtuous- the most
virtuous woman in all of Spain, perhaps, but she had a great
curiosity about men. She desired nothing more than to
understand them- to know why they did one thing or did not
another, or here deceived and here spoke the truth. Men seemed
to her strange creatures, of little rhyme or reason at all…’
Gloriana was very right,” Linnette put in, once more meeting
Mari’s eyes with a laugh, then reaching for a bite of bread
before going on. How lucky she was to have this book to
distract her and Mari from unhappy topics- how good it felt to
laugh at something small, and of little consequence! One more
thing Drake’s done for me, she thought, picturing his face in
her mind again, with a small, contented smile despite herself,
as she once more lowered her gaze to the page to read.
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golden_trillium

Admin
Author: Elessars Girl
Date: Fri Dec 12, 2008 10:55 am
Arthur


Arthur’s deceptively placid green eyes focused on the man
across the ford; a dark figure upon a dark horse in stark
contrast to the pale white landscape surrounding him. The Woad
appeared almost mythical and as much a part of the woods and
frozen earth as did Guinevere. He, too, was adorned in swirls
of blue paint that dominated even his buckskin trousers and
jacket. The crystal clear water could be heard trickling over
and around stones and fallen branches. But all else was still
to Arthur’s ears…except Guinevere’s steady breathing and then
her certain voice as she called out to her brethren….

Guinevere
 
“Smith! Our circumstances have not changed. A temporary
peace still reigns, and these men seek a meeting with my
father, our Merlin.”


Arthur’s thick fingers gave a mild squeeze to Guinevere’s hand
in his possession. His crimson cloak still covered half her
lithe form in his lap and his leather clad thighs still
pressed firmly on either side of her bare legs. Although the
circumstances were anything but….Arthur and Guinevere were
joined in a most intimate way. And if the Commander could use
it to his advantage, he would. But she had more access to
Arthur than she surely realized here…his wound might be well
padded beneath his Roman armour, but it was Arthur’s weak
point and Guinevere could discover it. And Arthur had one
other weakness that Merlin’s daughter might exploit….she was a
woman of considerable beauty and charm and of Igrain’s people.
And perhaps that is why Arthur felt some connection to
Guinevere – he was half Briton and thus the blood of this land
also flowed through his veins.

Smith
 
"Take these Romans no further, Guinevere."


Arthur elevated his chin, not truly with an indication of
superiority…but with dignity and his sheer determination to
continue on to Merlin. The Commander had no intention of
turning around and riding back to Badon without a meet with
Merlin. It was unacceptable. Arthur held firm his position,
Casti standing proud and magnificently stoic while the mounted
Woad Smith crossed over the ford and came to a halt in front
of Arthur and Guinevere.

Smith
 
"Merlin comes."


“And I shall welcome his arrival,” Arthur answered evenly,
green eyes easily holding the gaze of the other man. He prayed
to God that the meet would go peacefully and that no further
blood would be shed from either side. There was movement in
the wintry forest around them….Merlin’s people clearly had
Arthur’s men surrounded….and Arthur hoped the fact that he had
so willingly rode into such a situation would prove his good
and honorable intentions to Merlin. And he still held
Guinevere firmly in his lap – and she had willingly consented
to Arthur’s possession of her.












Derfel

Derfel walked at Lancelot’s side in the wake of the blindingly
polished guard until they came upon a small group of riders
near the main gate. At the head of the group was perhaps the
most extravagantly decorated woman that Derfel had ever seen.
She was even more exotic in her appearance than Darya had been
upon the Saxon’s first meeting of her. And this one seemed
even more out of place in the cold, bleak landscape of Britain
than any Sarmatian beauty. Derfel squinted as he looked up at
the woman’s jeweled headdress and as the sun dipped back
behind heavy grey clouds – his eyebrows rose to nearly his
hairline as he took in the tiny perfect details of her noble
expression.

Lancelot
 
"The Lady Isabella Aracelli, I would presume,"


“No doubt,” Derfel quietly mumbled in reply…and stood stark
still as the lady addressed them both. Her dark eyes appeared
to be assessing them. And Derfel could not help but to feel
lacking – on reflex he straightened his back and held his
blonde head high. He was after all, Arthur’s knight.

Isabella
 
“Gentlemen. 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...It would be beneficial to us both, if
you do as I tell you...”


Dwell here? Surely there is some mistake. And who is this Lord
Aracelli?

Derfel smiled sweetly and cordially at the lady, but wisely
kept his mouth shut. Lancelot was in charge anyways. And it
would be quite amusing to watch the arrogant and dogmatic
First Knight deal with nobility.

Lancelot
 
"Madam, I am Lancelot ap Ban, and I am Arthur Castus'
second in command. I regret to inform you the commander
is on an...assignment. I am in charge in his stead, and
I hesitate to admit I knew nothing of you or your
arrival. A great pity, that. You shame me with your
beauty. Arthur's man Cadarn as well. 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."


Derfel gave a slight bow when Lancelot actually bothered to
mention him by name. But again, his mouth remained tightly
shut. It was not his place to interject anything here. And
Lancelot was utilizing a surprising level of incredible charm
in addressing the lady anyways. It was a side of the dark
knight that Derfel had no idea even existed…interesting.

Lancelot
 
"Although I will share a secret with you, Lady, I would
recommend you not order me about. I can only be slave to
one Empire."


Derfel was still standing right next to Lancelot, so when the
dark knight quietly murmured to the woman, he could still make
out the words….and fought off the urge to roll his eyes at
Lancelot’s attempts to charm their ‘guest’. Derfel tugged at
his forest green overcoat to straighten it and then allowed
one hand to rest on the hilt of his sword, the other slipped
into his coat pocket…and he waited for whatever Lancelot
wished to do with the lady until Arthur returned. But it was
damn curious as to what this stunning woman was doing here
asking for their Commander.
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golden_trillium

Admin
Author: LadyCastus
Date: Fri Dec 12, 2008 12:40 pm
Rosita and Nolan


Rosita still scowled as she and Nolan continued to lead the
group. However, when they arrived at the ford, all anger
seeped from the woad's being. Something warm and comforting
filled her body when she looked up and saw Smith on the other
side.

There he sat upon his horse, looking incredibly handsome and
wild, his hair blowly recklessly in the cold wind. Rosita
sucked in a breath as the woad scout began to lead his horse
slowly toward them, his thigh muscles tight and strong,
showing through his trousers. His body swayed in time with the
movement of the horse, his hips rocking side to side, his
crotch rocking backward and forward. Rosita self consciously
licked her lips and tried to peel her eyes away from the
blue-painted adonis headed her way. A piece of hair hung
limply over his face, partly covering one of his eyes, but
Rosita still saw the twinkle in them - the underlying look of
mischievousness. Rosita's breath caught in her throat when
Smith finally got close enough to speak, her gasp barely
audible as she watched the woad's lips partly.

Smith
 
"Take these Romans no further, Guinevere.


Nolan couldn't help but smile at Smith's statement. He knew
he'd been right when stating that Merlin would not want Arthur
going to their village. Nolan was sure Merlin would have
something to say about that later. He turned around and held
up his hand, signaling the party to halt.

"Stop here," Nolan growled, looking directly at Arthur. "No
farther."

Rosita finally broke the hypnotic-like spell that kept her
eyes locked onto Smith and turned around to face the group
also.

Smith
 
"Merlin comes."


Arthur
 
“And I shall welcome his arrival,”


Nolan rolled his eyes at Arthur in disgust and looked over at
Rosita.

"Go check the back of the line again," he told her.

Rosita shifted the weight on her back and moved slowly down
the line, checking the men for any sign of trouble. She glared
at Tristan as she moved past him and locked her eyes onto
Brendyn. She smirked at the young Roman with a look of
defiance on her face. She wanted to say something to him, but
didn't dare. Instead, she continued down the line.

"But will he welcome yours?" Nolan said to Castus, exposing
his teeth in almost a snarl. "That is the real question, isn't
it half blood?"
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golden_trillium

Admin
Author: golden_trillium
Date: Fri Dec 12, 2008 8:02 pm
Merlin and Tristan


The Romans were nearby.

Merlin could smell them- the stink of horse, the acrid tang of
metal armor- the enemy, tainting the pure freshness of the
snow-covered British woods. As the Woad chieftain walked, his
feet unerringly finding the faint path despite the crust of
snow, he could hear at a distance Guinevere’s clear, confident
voice, calling out across the ford; the Smith’s reply in
answer, and a light splashing of water that was probably the
rider crossing the stream. Some more male voices after that,
growing closer as Merlin walked- Smith again, and Nolan, and
Arthur Castus himself. The Roman spoke evenly, confidently-
well, no wonder. His British blood gave him that. Too bad he
had renounced that particular portion of his heritage.

Merlin continued forward, his strides lengthening as the
underbrush opened up. He had brought nine more warriors with
him, all that he could readily round up, but aside from two
that shadowed him on either side, just behind, they had all
spread out and melted into the undergrowth now, ready with
watchful eyes and keen ears for whatever should happen. They
were strong, and they were well concealed, and they, plus the
burial party could slaughter the Romans should it come to
that- but in the interests of more recuperation time for his
people, Merlin hoped very much that that would not be
necessary. He would make no bargains here, would not risk
further offending the Gods with more truces- but he did not
intend immediate aggression, either. He merely intended to
hear Castus out, and then send him on his way. If he would go.

And Merlin intended deception, too. He was approaching the
group boldly now, not disguising his movements, along the path
calculated to reveal the least to the Romans about the
location of the village. The Woad leader and his party had
picked their careful way across the stream some way up it, and
now Merlin was nearing Castus from the west and slightly
south, and on the same side of he stream- very nearly in the
opposite direction from where the village lay. Hopefully,
between his position and Smith’s original one on the other
side of the fort, the Romans would have no idea in which
direction the rest of the Woads could be located. They would
have to guess, and if they guessed, they could be misled,
trapped, ensnared. They would not find the village.

And now the clearing and the ford were close at hand. Merlin
paused, took a breath, a silent prayer to the Gods, as it
were, and pushed aside the last screening pine bough, and then
he was stepping out into the midst of the gathering with
barely a sound of his fur-booted feet on the spotty snow.

He was master of this ford, of this land. Merlin knew it in
his heart, and it showed in his bearing, straight, dignified,
and easy, though he was on foot and so many of the group were
mounted. He nodded to Nolan and Smith, in unsmiling, yet
generous, acknowledgement of their service here, and eyed his
daughter, perched between Arthur’s thighs, with a look that
was half disapproval, half interest. An idea seemed to have
tugged at his mind on seeing that- a small, soft whisper from
the Gods- but he put it aside for now. He would think on it
later. His gaze slid up to meet Arthur’s, deep, dark eyes
meeting the Roman’s green ones, and seeming to search him, to
see inside him as Merlin pondered this situation.

“Merlin is here,” he stated, his eyes now sweeping around the
clearing, over all of those Arthur had brought with him,
soldiers and Sarmatian slaves. The scout was there- Merlin
spotted him glaring at Rosita as she paced restlessly back
along the line of the group and gave him a momentary glare of
his own. One to be watched, the Sarmatian- a formidable enemy.
Amadeus Scipio was also with Arthur, but Merlin noted that the
man who had argued with him, Malcus Barbattus, was not. As for
the others- there were one more Sarmatian knight and four
others, all of little consequence individually. But
nonetheless, his people were watching, and would reward
treachery with the swift point of an arrow.

“What would you say to him, Artorius Castus?” he inquired,
raising an eyebrow politely, if coolly, as he once more
regarded the Roman Commander.
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golden_trillium

Admin
Author: lady ione
Date: Sat Dec 13, 2008 9:47 am

Vanora


Neeve had not said a whole lot, but then she had always been
the quiet type. For Vanora, as long as she had known the
healer, Vanora still found her expressions hard to decipher.
Neeve always seemed to be deep in thought, and when she did
speak, it was always very straight forward and to the point...
nothing wishy washy. Right now, she wondered what the healer
was thinking. Granted, Vanora had seen more than her fair
share of bare bottoms in her motherhood having had 11 children
to change and bathe, but she had also taught them to move to a
bit of privacy when changing clothes... obviously Neeria's
parents had not taught her such things. She had not even felt
abashed to undress in front of she and Neeve. Vanora was
beginning to wonder if this young woman had even had parents
she remembered, or if they had abandoned her for Neeria did
have some odd behaviours, though she had a sweet, innocent
tinge to her.

The red head waited for Neeve to answer her question about
Ione, and the answer came. Vanora knew Ione would be able to
fix the dress so that it'd fit, though there were other
weavers in the fort, but Ione was a likeable soul who was
always willing to help out... Plus it was odd that she had not
shown up for her morning breakfast yet, and it was now late
after noon...

Neeve
 
“No, I haven’t seen her…” “…which doesn’t say much
actually, seeing that me and my…attachment…” “…have only
been in the dungeons and the tavern so far. But if you
see it necessary that she works on that dress to make it
fix better, I’ll check on her… Killing two birds with
one stone so to speak…” “You like the dress? Good. Then
let’s get it adjusted and move on…”


Vanora raised an eyebrow at Neeve's statement, but then, the
healer always seemed to be busy her and there, and did not
tarry long in one place for long periods of time. For a
moment, Vanora recalled watching her eldest daughter get her
first nice dress and how she had twirled about showing it off
proudly. To see Neeria enjoying the dress, twirling about in
it just like a little girl excited for her first party dress.
To Vanora, it just seemed as though Neeria had really not had
all of the comforts of life, and had not really owned such a
piece of clothing this nice before. Finally, the young woman
seemed to calm down from her excitement...

Neeria
 
"It is very pretty. Thank you again, Vanora," "Maybe I
should take it off before I get it dirty," "Do you think
so, really?"


Though the woman did not make eye contact, Vanora could hear
the gratefulness in her voice, "You are most welcome, dear.
You may keep that and the boots to wear, and don't forget the
belt either." She laughed lightly, then looked at Neeve. Had
the young woman wanted to tell her something? Her brown eyes
turned back to Neeria who was twirling around in her dress,
and remembered how her daughter had acted when she had
received her first nice dress. It was always a magical moment,
and though Neeria was not her daughter, the moment brought
back good memories. It was not long before Neeria calmed down
a bit, and stopped twirling. Granted she did not look like
much now, but Vanora could see a natural beauty in the young
woman, and figured if she had a good scrubbing that she'd be
one no man could resist... Though there were some men who were
not so nice and could prove a problem, perhaps she'd find one
that would like her. It had not gone unnoticed how young Adian
had looked at her and treated her. He really was quiet and not
such a bad sort....

Neeria
 
"Thank you," "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." "I am ready
for my bath now, lady," "And thank you for your
kindness, Vanora," "Maybe I can come back later and eat
with you. That is if I get permission."


Vanora smiled at both of the women, "Well I really should be
getting back to the tavern anyway. I told one of the girls
that I would not be gone long." to Vanora, nudity did not
phase her much as she had seen more than her share of bodies
from bathing the children, and changing diapers. Though she
had still instilled in all 11 of the children that privacy in
public was a good thing. Obviously, Neeria had not been taught
manners, but she was polite and sweet. Perhaps she had been an
orphan of the battle, but then why was the word "prison"
mentioned so may times? What had she been in prison for? Well,
no doubt if she needed to know, Neeve would tell her. And what
was that about "my people"? What tribe was she from? After
Neeria was dressed in her old clothes, Vanora grabbed her
cloak nearby, "Well, not sure where Bors scampered off to...
some mission or something, but it'd be nice for some company
if you are permitted." Permitted? Vanora turned to Neeve, "It
was good to see you again, Neeve." There was a pause, then. "I
wouldn't ask you to look in on Ione, but she never came to
have breakfast this morning, and I have not seen her about. I
know she is pregnant...I hope nothing happened to her." Being
a mother of so many children, Vanora's motherly instinct
always kicked in, and she felt something must be wrong...
almost like a child skinning their knee.

The red head placed the shawl over her shoulders, and nodded
to Neeria, "You may keep the boots and the dress then... Oh
and don't forget the cloak." She motioned to the cloak that
Neeria had not tried on, but Vanora was sure it'd fit anyway.
"Neeve, if you need anything more, you know where I will be."
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golden_trillium

Admin
Author: Darya
Date: Sat Dec 13, 2008 12:45 pm
Neeve


Almost every other person would certainly have laughed,
grinned or at least smiled benignly at Neeria’s behavior when
the Woad actually tried the dress on. Like a child, she
twirled about the room…obviously absolutely fascinated by the
swinging of the skirts and the feeling of the drapery on her
bare skin. And as Neeve had predicted, it was an odd sight. A
Woad in a dress. It was just…kind of wrong. But oh well, since
it seemed to make both, Vanora and Neeria, happy…so be it.
Neeve, however, watched the whole scenario straight-faced and
only secretly recalled that Neeria was perhaps feeling the
same way she had when she had been on a Roman ship for the
first time in her life. The healer recalled that moment very
lively…as it had been the day she had met Lucius. The second
Roman, who had managed to successfully make her forget all her
reservations she had regarding the Empire that had dared to
conquer this island. Yet Neeve had not expressed her amazement
about the ship as obvious as Neeria was expressing hers about
a dress and a pair of boots right now.

Briefly, a corner of the Briton’s mouth twitched slightly at
her own thoughts and she actually dared to wonder where the
Roman soldier might be now. They had met again here at
Badon…but he had soon disappeared again without a single word,
which – to be honest to herself – saddened her a little. Of
course this would remain her little secret…but still…

Then Neeria finally seemed to have enough of dancing about the
room…and for the blink of an eye, Neeve thought to see
something shadowing the Woad’s dirty face. Another
emotion…something more negative; maybe something that made her
realize how strange she was acting. Whatever it was, it made
the prisoner remove the dress and put on the lumps again. Her
comment about whether or not her nudity might have startled
Vanora and Neeve made the healer snort quietly… I couldn’t
care less, really…, the Briton thought and reminded herself
that she had given up on trying to understand some of the
Woads' weird behaviours a long time ago…

Neeria
 
Thank you. 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.  I am ready for my bath now, lady. And thank you for your kindness, Vanora. Maybe I can come back later and eat with you. That is if I get permission."


“I know what he said…”, the healer just murmured calmly and
suppressed a roll of her blue eyes, ignoring the prisoner’s
next attempt to tease her. Neeria was a Woad. So why could she
not just jump into the next puddle, pond or lake and be happy
with it. Well, it was winter and most waters had a layer of
ice covering them… Pity. And when a simple dress and a pair of
boots already excited the Woad that much, how 'bad' would it
get once she had set foot into the bath-house? The bath-house
was a Roman invention, thus it was big, impressive and
pompous. Hopefully Neeria would not faint at its sight for
Neeve was in no mood to carry a Woad across the fortress…

Anyway, the bath was actually the last thing Arthur had
ordered her to grant Neeria. All else apparently was up to
what Neeve thought proper. How very tempting… It would be so
easy to drag the other woman right back into the dungeons…and
no doubt Lancelot would not exactly argue with her about this.
But then Neeve knew the Commander too long and too well…and
was sure that was not what he had had in mind when he had
freed Neeria. Sort of at least. And again the healer sent a
silent prayer to the Gods that Derfel would show up any moment
to take over.

“And no, you running around naked does not bother me at all…”,
the Briton then said, still not moving an inch from where she
was standing but still watching Neeria closely as the Woad put
on her old clothes again. As a healer, she had seen all parts
of a human’s body in a more or less healthy shape. And even
though some people did controvert Woads actually being humans
as well, Neeve knew better. She had watched the forest people
for too long to believe in all the fairytales that existed
about them. “You will get the chance to do so again in the
bath-house…”, she added with a slightly cynical undertone. And
whether or not you will be allowed to return here for dinner
will hopefully not be my decision to make anymore, the
raven-haired added in thought and brushed a hand over her
face.

Vanora
 
"Well I really should be getting back to the tavern
anyway. I told one of the girls that I would not be gone
long. Well, not sure where Bors scampered off to... some
mission or something, but it'd be nice for some company
if you are permitted. It was good to see you again,
Neeve. I wouldn't ask you to look in on Ione, but she
never came to have breakfast this morning, and I have
not seen her about. I know she is pregnant...I hope
nothing happened to her. You may keep the boots and the
dress then... Oh and don't forget the cloak. Neeve, if
you need anything more, you know where I will be."


Neeve gave Vanora a wry smile and nodded slightly at her words
when the gesture seemed to fit in. Yes, Ione was one of the
tasks she had not had the chance to work at yet…even though
she had told the weaver to check on her after she had told her
about the pregnancy. If Derfel had not taken over guarding
Neeria until after the Woad had had a bath, the healer saw no
other choice but to take the Woad to the weaver’s shop to
indeed get both things done: the dress worked on to fit Neeria
and Ione herself to be checked on health-wise. Lancelot and
Darya were the other two on her schedule. Oh, this would be
yet another long day…

“Thank you, Vanora…for helping out here…”, the Briton finally
said and pushed herself away from the wall, “…and don’t worry
about Bors. He’ll be back in no time… I’ll see you around
then…” With that, the healer adjusted her dark thick cloak and
moved towards the door, ready to leave. So it was the bath
first…then probably the weaver’s shop… “Are you ready?”, she
asked Neeria and gave the Woad a cool, yet expectantly glance
as she did so…
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golden_trillium

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Author: Pinkie
Date: Sat Dec 13, 2008 4:36 pm
Drake


The broth burned his tongue.

Drake hissed and frowned, pushing his wooden spoon under the
chunk of rabbit that he had been chasing around the bowl for
far too long. He missed it and ended up with a spoonful of
soup which he took another tasting of. He was eating out of
the pot – of course. A part of his mind mocked him for this
rather bizarre ritual. He was pretending – for all intents and
purposes – like he was out in the wilderness. He was cooking,
eating and behaving as if there wasn’t a tavern or a kitchen
for miles, that there was no roof over his head and no
servants to call upon to gather more wood.

Wood…

The Spaniard put his pot onto the hearth near the fire and
rose up onto his knees. He reached across for a chunk of
firewood and turned it over in his huge hand. He brushed his
thumb against the soft splinters and then tossed it into the
fire. It thunked against the back of the hearth and then
started to sizzle on the flames. As the flames licked about
the edges of it, Drake took one of the smaller sticks he had
gathered and broke it in half before tossing it onto the
building flames. With no candles lit and the window of his
room so small and really rather grubby, the main colour in the
room was orange. The flicker and spit of flames played around
the man’s bearded face as he sat back, shoulder against the
leg of the table. He hitched one knee up and reached for his
dinner. He placed it on the thick leather trouser leg at his
knee and tried another spoonful.

This time it spilled onto the creases of his tunic and burned
his firm abdomen beneath.

“Fuck…!” Drake exclaimed quickly, sitting up abruptly and
putting the pot down onto the hearth. He pulled his tunic up
and pressed his cold hand to the little scald mark between his
chest and stomach, grumbling to himself about heat and rabbits
and stupid boiling broth. Sighing, the Spaniard slouched back
down, pushing the pot away from him with his foot and slid his
cold hand down to the tanned, folded lines of muscle at his
stomach. He was frowning at the fire, as if he had heard a
whisper and sought its source. He took a breath and held it
then blindly reached out beside him for the amphora of wine.
When his thick fingers wrapped around the neck of the clay
amphora the Spaniard paused…

He had never seen her face lit with the flames that he had set
but that did not stop his imagination from conjuring the
punishing image. Cecile – beautiful Cecile! Her glossy black
hair charred and scorched… the beautiful, tanned face of his
wife was blistered and melting, sliding down the pale bones of
her cheeks and sinking to her chest which heaved with smoky
breaths. A skeletal hand reached out to him and her face – oh
her face contorted into a mask of pure pain and betrayal.

“Sir?” the voice was lilting, sweet, and female. Drake looked
up at the serving wench. That was one thing he had to say
about this place, this Syrian hell, its women were the epitome
of angelic. Their bodies were lithe and beautiful, supple and
strong, willowy. Their faces were pure and wholesome, smiling
and untouched by the ravages of war and the conceited masks of
cosmetics adopted by the Roman women. And their mannerisms
were pleasing. The woman stood before him now with a tentative
smile on her face – her hand was steady as she offered him
some more wine. He was already drunker than he should have
been – it seemed the months since Cecile’s death had become
one hazy drunken blur.

“No.” he told her, lifting his hand to push hers away. But
instead he held it. He wrapped his fingers about her wrist and
held her there. Her pretty features turned to concern and she
took a step back, extending her arm as she did not wish to
displease the soldier by pulling away from him.

“Bed with me.” He said to her, somewhere between an order and
a request. The woman’s eyes widened and she looked over her
shoulder quickly to see if anyone was close enough to have
heard. She was shaking her head as she looked back at him but
there was something in his eyes, behind the hardened, bitter,
drunken soldier front that he put forward – there was
something that she could see, something to nurture. The golden
fringe of her headscarf brushed her nose as she tipped her
head forward, glancing at him from beneath her eyebrows with a
silent nod of confirmation.

Drake harrumphed at the odd memory. He looked down the neck of
the amphora and swirled the dark liquid. There was something
in it that reminded him of blood – his green eyes drifted to
his badly bandaged hand. Another harrumph – and coupled now
with a dark frown. Drake shook his head softly and took a
long, long draught of the cold wine to blot out any thoughts
about her. She had offered to bandage his hand but … it wasn’t
right. It wasn’t right that sense of responsibility she felt
to bandage his stupid hand. His protection was freely given –
it was not given with an expectation for her to reimburse him
somehow.

The memory was obscure. It bore no relevance that he could see
right now – except the wine … the wine tasted the same. Or
perhaps it was because that night had been the first of almost
a years worth of blurred memories as he went from place to
place getting drunk. The woman had been beautiful too – in
body and spirit, she had been beautiful. She hadn’t deserved
him to treat her as he did. Drake hung his head, his bottom
lip pursed outwards in petulant reminiscence as he looked at
the red scald on his torso.

Her warm hand on his bare chest had felt nice. It had felt
like it restored him a little. Her soft lips touched his
collarbones creating a maddening stir of passion in his loins.
Drake pushed his hand in behind her neck and turned her around
so that her back was to the door and he pressed her against
it, pinning her there with the solid mass of his body. He
brushed his lips against her chin, her jaw, his fingers
wrapped around the nape of her neck, his thumb pushing her
chin upwards to allow him more access to her foreign scented
skin.

“Who are you?” she whispered urgently, one of her legs
hitching up against his waist. Drake shook his head and
murmured something unintelligible He lifted his face from her
neck and looked at her lips, slowly he dipped his head and
kissed her, his eyes remaining open for a moment. Then he
closed his eyes and tasted…

“Blood!” he spat, withdrawing from her quickly, shoving her
against the door abruptly . He turned away from her wiping a
hand against his lips and then looked at his fingers. There
seemed to be more of them than there should be. The alcohol.
But no blood. Drake looked back over at the startled woman and
turned to her quickly. He took up the same position again but
his breathing was harder, his ardour vanished but his
intensity increased.

Cecile’s lips had tasted of blood… that last kiss. Claudius
had gutted her, the stench of her insides was strong in the
air that day and Drake had kissed her, one last kiss he had
told himself, but blood had been upon her lips and blood he
had tasted.

Tensing his jaw, Drake kissed the Syrian again hard. He shut
his eyes tight against the taste of blood and his fist curled
into her hair, clutching strands of it painfully. She gave a
squeak of protest at the pain but his lips were hard upon hers
and she could do no more than that.

Drake withdrew, growled in fury and lowered his face. The
woman trembled. Both her tiny hands were upon his shoulders –
but now it was to hold him back. As if she could!

The Spaniard kissed her again, harder, his tongue pressing
against her unwilling lips as he forced himself to admit that
there was no blood, it was his imagination, it was a foul
memory but it wasn’t working – all his mental chastising was
not working and still…

“Fucking blood!” he growled, slamming a hand against the
woman’s shoulder as he turned away from her.

She cried out in pain, her shoulder blade cracking hard
against the door from the force of his shove. She sunk to the
ground initially but scrambled to her feet once the soldier
had turned back to her. Drake shook his head, looking at her
in apology – but it was not for hurting her. It was for his
next action.

“I’m sorry…” he told her in a gentle whisper, gently placing
his hand around the back of her head once more. He pulled her
towards him and kissed her softly, tenderly. She was not
convinced and her knees became weak, her body falling against
him a moment. And then he sunk his teeth into her bottom lip.
She cried out and pushed away from him. When he released her
she stepped back and wiped a hand to her mouth in shock,
looking at the blood staining her dark fingers.

“Why … I don’t understand!” she exclaimed to him in her
beautiful accented voice. Drake licked his bottom lip which
was stained with her blood also. He tasted blood and shut his
eyes, turning away from the woman in disgust. At himself.

“I don’t either.” He told her breathlessly. With a gesture of
his hand he dismissed her without meeting her beautiful eyes
again. Dark eyes…

… not hazel.

Yet another disgruntled harrumph broke the silence in the old
soldier’s room. He looked over at the broth sitting on the
hearth and knew that he should eat. To prevent himself getting
drunk on all the wine… he had eaten nothing yet. Tensing his
strong jaw, the Spaniard took another gulp of wine and got to
his feet. He rooted in his saddlebags with one hand, the other
holding the amphora – and he dug right down to the bottom of
one of the side bags.

He pulled out a silver chain. Thick links joined together and
hanging from one of them was a pale pink stone. Rose quartz
the Syrian had told him the following day. It would make it so
his heart could love again, she had told him too. Drake
dangled the rosy stone from his thick, clumsy looking fingers,
his green eyes intent on the blasted thing as he wandered back
to the fire. He sat down awkwardly, sloshing the wine – but
there wasn’t enough in the amphora to spill now.

He didn’t understand why she had tasted like blood there had
been none. He didn’t know why it was the same with the other
women too. Now he just avoided it… Blood on beautiful lips
reminded him too much of what he had lost - what he had loved
and what he had lost.

“Doesn’t matter…” he told himself in a surly whisper and let
his hand slide down to the ground, the silver links dropping
from his fingers, forgotten once again. The wine offered
little comfort – but at least it blotted out the worst of it.
For now.

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golden_trillium

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Author: lady ione
Date: Sun Dec 14, 2008 10:57 am
Adian


"Awww shit! Can't anything go right today?"

The young carpenter looked down at the piece of wood that a
nail had split. He'd have to start the work over again.

Ghosts, split wood, a black and blue thumb from being hit with
a hammer... Fuck it all! Adian frowned at the piece of useless
wood then cast it into the cart, and brought out a new piece.
The storage units had suffered great damage, but it was
nothing he couldn't fix.... it'd just take time. Adian
rummaged through his tool box and discovered that he had left
one of his tools back in the tavern earlier.

Rolling his eyes, he told one of the workers that he'd be back
in a moment. All he needed was something else to take up more
of his time.

He made his way back over to the tavern, and entered the
establishment which was not busy at all... except for Tatiana
and the lovely raven haired woman he had bumped into some time
back. Why was Tati not at work? Cocking his head to one side,
Adian studied the woman she was sitting with... and the woman
had a hawk perched on the back of the chair next to her. Well
nothing like being courtious he smiled inwardly as he
approached the table, "Ladies, I came in to retrieve a tool I
had left behind and thought I'd stop by to say, "hello". "
Affectionately, he bent down and placed a soft kiss on
Tatiana's cheek, "Tati, what a nice surprise...." Adian was
about to say some rather seductive things to the copper haired
woman, but then saw that there was company.

He mentally kicked himself again as he turned to the dark
haired beauty next to Tatiana and bowed slightly, "I am called
Adian, lady. What would your name be?"

In the back of his mind, he could not forget the naturally
lovely dark haired woman he had seen earlier here (Neeria),
and he wondered how she was fairing...
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golden_trillium

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Author: TwistOfShadows
Date: Sun Dec 14, 2008 1:25 pm
Isabella Araceli


Isabella felt exotic. She was familiar with grand and ornate
marble pillars, with brightly coloured vines wrapped around
their curves. Jerusalem had striking birds that swooped low
throughout the city, and called out in song and screeches.
Badon Hill lacked the richness of her homeland, and the cold
was positively unbearable. Her long white fur cloak covered
her shoulders well, but her skirts were not thick enough for
this climate. They were thin and light, decorated with various
beads and pearls. She appeared strange against the dull grey
stone, and the icy cold setting. The Lady Araceli pursed her
lips petulantly, and held her chin high, nobly so. She
understood her status, and would never betray that. She only
prayed that Arthur was noble enough to cater for her needs,
her expectations. She desired a pretty bedroom, with
inspirational silks and weaves to perform. The woman also
wanted flamboyant dinner parties, and courtly intrigue. It was
the way of her family, who were the politically influential in
Rome. Isabella had sat at her mother’s side, blinking lazily
and prettily at the noble families around her. Oh, but she
could be demanding. Her nature was not as frail as her
physical form appeared to be...

Sitting atop her impressive mount, she looked down at the two
men. She scrutinized them vigorously, and did not care for
appearing rude. They clearly weren’t noble, nor were their
opinions worth considering. Isabella saw them as mere guards,
serving Arthur, and wondered why Arthur had not been brought
directly to her?

She did not deal or converse with servants. Not truly. They
made her nervous, uncomfortable.

The darker man approached Isabella’s horse, and her fingers
tightened on the reins. She did not appreciate his closeness,
nor his casual attitude. Her dark eyes assessed him. The man
was lowly, but there was something about his eyes. They were
almost black, and intense in their attentions. Isabella
watched him touch her horse, and listened to him speak in a
foreign tongue. Did he not know how rude it was? To speak
another language in the presence of someone who did not
understand it? Isabella tightened her lips into a thin line,
and watched him carefully. He was...handsome, somewhat. In a
wild and uncivilised manner, but his attention unnerved her.
She should be dealing with Arthur...so where was he?

Lancelot
 
"Madam, I am Lancelot ap Ban, and I am Arthur Castus'
second in command. I regret to inform you the commander
is on an...assignment, I am in charge in his stead, and
I hesitate to admit I knew nothing of you or your
arrival. A great pity, that. You shame me with your
beauty.”


An assignment?!

Isabella listened, and...was bemused. Arthur had left this man
in charge...but he appeared unfit to command a stables to
order! The woman arched a pretty eyebrow down at the man, and
parted her petulant mouth. He did not speak wildly, nor
offensively...and his recognition of her beauty warmed her.
The Lady Araceli was a prize to any man, because she was adept
and pure. Her dowry would be large, and she came with
political influence within the Empire. The Lady was used to
compliments, and it was pleasant to hear that he recognised
it. He was not completely barbaric, and so she lifted a gloved
finger into her hair, pulling a curl away from her cheekbone.
Her beauty shamed him? It was pretty, but Isabella had never
received such compliments from...a filthy man? She blushed
momentarily, and attempted to blink away the flattery.

Lancelot
 
”Arthur's man Cadarn as well. 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. Although I
will share a secret with you, Lady. I would recommend
you not order me about. I can only be slave to one
Empire."


Lancelot offered his hand, and Isabella glanced down at it
suspiciously. His name did not sound particularly Roman, and
the Lady did not wish to risk her reputation by consorting
with commoners...but Arthur would not leave a fool in command,
surely? She was very tired after her journey, and would like
nothing more than to settle herself for the evening...but she
had a duty! She had to deliver a very important document to
Arthur Castus, because her father had emphasised its
significant nature. A light frown crossed her pretty
expression....but then she listened to Lancelot’s order. ’I
would recommend you not order me about???’ Isabella’s frown
disappeared, and she wrinkled her nose at his proffered hand.
How very rude, and utterly displeasing! His words suggested he
was Sarmatian, one of Arthur’s famed cavalry...and yet he had
all the manners of a grumpy politician! Isabella glanced at
Derfel, before reaching out and grasping Lancelot’s hand. Her
gloved fingers slipped into his palm, but she grasped him
hard. Accepting his offer, but showing her displeasure. She
did not move to mount though...

“Perhaps you did not receive my introduction, Lancel-otty.”
She spoke confidently, her accent faltering over his name. Her
words were soft, gently spoken, and almost mirrored his own
’intimate’ tone. Her dark eyes met his fiery gaze, and her
lashes appeared thick with disapproval. “I do not order anyone
around, because a woman knows her place, does she not? It
would be rude to make assumptions on someone’s character, and
I do not care for it. I am not here to please you. I am here
to deliver urgent news to Arthur’s hand.” The Lady glanced
down at her documents, and pulled her slippered feet from her
stirrups. She squeezed Lancelot’s hand as she dismounted, and
landed promptly before him. He was tall, but Isabella was
noble. She was also tired and impatient. The jewels on her
headdress jingled as she spoke again. “If Arthur is not
present, then you had best take me to a room...suited to my
station. I will wait for him there, and you will make sure I
am comfortable."

With a swish of skirt, and a tingle of jewels, she turned to
look over Lancelot’s shoulder. More dull, grey buildings, and
not a palace in sight. Such disappointments...
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golden_trillium

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Author: lady ione
Date: Sun Dec 14, 2008 9:23 pm

Ione


She stood by the door a few moments more before moving over to
where she had left the finished black cloak. Ione looked down
at it, neatly folded and ready to deliver to Titrus. A slight
smile played on the corners of her mouth as she ran her hand
over the surface, before picking it up and placing it in a
protective covering. The blankets had been picked up, the
lieutenant's daughters had been seen to....

She held the cloak to her, then brought it over to where a
parchment was waiting to wrap the cloak in, and carefully
folded it, wrapped it neatly and placed it on the shelf for
merchandise to be picked up. The weaver stood at the table,
letting the overwhelming silence envelope her, and left a tear
fall. All of the grief she was feeling for all of the losses.
Ione wiped a tear away as she felt her stomach jump and move.
It seemed like every time she thought of Ian, the other
joyfully reminded her that he, or she was there. The young
woman laughed through the sadness, and placed her hand
comfortingly on the active unborn child. Moving slowly over to
her chair, Ione sat down and closed her eyes only to rest them
for a moment, but it also brought memories that only seemed
like dreams now...

...the times spent with Javier....the time he had found her in
the frozen garden, fog swirling about them... the time they
spent at her homestead... his promise to return... the first
time she met Accolan, and the times they shared...

...The dream broke, and Ione slowly opened her eyes to the
blur of tears. The realization was becoming more apparent that
Javier and Accolan would not come back. They were not coming
back... Her head turned to the window and watched the clouds
pass over.

The remembrance of a sweet kiss shared.... the calming voice
that had stayed her in a tragic time... The gentle hand that
had held hers...

Absently, Ione began to rub over her stomach, and began to hum
a soft little song to calm the moving child. The miscarriage
had seemed like a bad dream, but it had all happened, and it
was a reality Ione knew she had to come to terms with if she
was to give her remaining child a happy life.

Slowly, she closed her eyes again, humming softly to her
unborn child...
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golden_trillium

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Author: Lancelot
Date: Mon Dec 15, 2008 7:12 pm
Lancelot


The First Knight gazed up at the exotic lady; his eyes were
wide, and despite the dark bruise around the one, his black
irises and the liquid white of his eyes were sparkling and
deep. His long lashes hid his truth easily; his lids were half
masted as the woman - Isabella - spoke to him, even as she
took his offered hand.

Isabella
 
“Perhaps you did not receive my introduction,
Lancel-otty. I do not order anyone around, because a
woman knows her place, does she not? It would be rude to
make assumptions on someone’s character, and I do not
care for it. I am not here to please you. I am here to
deliver urgent news to Arthur’s hand. If Arthur is not
present, then you had best take me to a room...suited to
my station. I will wait for him there, and you will make
sure I am comfortable."


A rolling laugh echoed Lancelot's chest, the sound mocking and
yet pleasant at the same time. He bowed over her hand as she
landed beside him, dismounting effortlessly as she looked
about the grounds. He could tell from her expression - and her
words - she was not exactly happy to be here.

"Lancelot," he repeated his name, pronouncing it slowly for
her benefit. He moved a bit closer and stared down at her. She
was small, yes, but her dress and her personality made her
charming and a lot larger than her physical stature implied.

"Lady, I cannot tell you how sorry I am you are not here to
please me," he continued, his voice smooth as silk as he kept
ahold of her slender fingers. "I think you might find me -
intriguing." He smiled tightly, falsely, as once again he
found his mind whirling to just what the fuck was going on
with Arthur and his 'assignment' and the distinct possibility
that he might have to find something to do with this woman
should Arthur not return. Lancelot's head began to throb, and
he turned to Derfel. "Cadarn," he snapped. "Come with us, and
I might have need of your woman later. Perhaps she can help
the lady Aracelli here with her ... getting to know the
garrison." He turned back to Isabella, and finally let go of
her hand with a gentle squeeze. A grip that said do not forget
me.

"I can house you in the quarters where the officer's wives
usually stay when they visit. This is a working fortress,
madam, and unfortunately, not exactly as fancy as the home you
came from, I am sorry to say. However. Once Arthur returns, he
may have a better room for you. In fact, he has the best rooms
in the place! We'll have to ask him if he would trade."

And then he winked at her - audacity, thy name is Lancelot -
and backed away. He clicked his fingers at her ostentatious
guards. "Men - take care of the horses. I would expect you can
find your mistresses new 'home' with the help of one of the
lads. Let's go."

Gods, just let me get this seen to. And then, for a brief
second, if I can just have a moment to myself....just a bath?
Maybe?

He shook his head, his wild curls tumbling over his forehead,
and he waited, his posture erect and his face carefully
arranged, even as the chill wind froze his bones and made
every injury on his flesh ache.

I am raw, here

His jaw cracked when he clenched it, but it was little pain
compared to his head and his heart.
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Author: lady ione
Date: Mon Dec 15, 2008 9:48 pm
Vanora


Vanora tied a loose knot to tie the two ends of her shawl
together as she made ready to go back to work.

Looking over at Neeve, she could see that the young healer had
not gotten much rest yet today, and hoped that at least Neeve
would get a good night's rest. As far as Vanora could see,
there were other healers who could hold down the infirmary for
one night. Though she was not an expert on the infirmary
staff, she heard tell that there were nuns and other healers,
so why did everyone seek out Neeve? Possibly, because of her
tenacity to get the job done right, her honesty and well just
her willingness to help out and follow orders through to the
letter.

Or at least that is how Vanora saw her.

Neeve
 
“Thank you, Vanora…for helping out here…” “…and don’t
worry about Bors. He’ll be back in no time… I’ll see you
around then…” “Are you ready?”


"You are welcome, Neeve. Anytime," Vanora gave the healer a
warm smile, but at the mention of Bors, her smile lessened a
bit. After all of these years of watching Bors go off on
missions and battles, the red head still worried about him.
Moving to the door, Vanora moved the latch, and opened it,
stepping outside to the sound of her children throwing snow at
each other. Oh! To be a child again! Vanora had to smile at
the little bastards, then turned to Neeve and Neeria, "Neeria,
you enjoy that dress and the boots and cloak okay? Neeve, I
will see you around later perhaps."

Stepping aside, Vanora held the door open for the two
ladies...









Brendyn

All suddenly became deathly still.

Silence enveloped the group.

Brendyn had to take the time to admire the beauty about him:
the snow lying undisturbed on the ground and flocking the
trees with a sort of shimmer. The frigid wind that blew about
the two groups caused some of the snow to blow off the trees
in a sort of powdery mist. Somewhere, Brendyn thought he heard
the song of winter birds , or was it a sort of call the woads
did? No, the sound was too sweet and lilting. The stream and
the rocks surrounding it were powdered with snow and ice...
the stream itself looking like a piece of well wrought glass.
In the glassy stream was the perfect reflection of the woad
who looked like a statue on the back of his black horse....

It was truly a lovely scene.

Even beauty sometimes can hold dangers we cannot forsee,
Brendyn.... The voice of his uncle rang in his mind as if
reminding him that even though this was a reflective spot, it
still held danger.

The young soldier found himself holding his breath, the
incident with the stone all but forgotten, as the tenseness of
the moment enveloped him. Even Bors who always had a lot to
say, said nothing at all.

Alert eyes moved over the area to try to catch everything in
that moment... to make sure no surprise attacks were in the
making.

Guinevere
 
“Smith! Our circumstances have not changed. A temporary
peace still reigns, and these men seek a meeting with my
father, our Merlin.”


Smith
 
"Take these Romans no further, Guinevere. Merlin comes."


Arthur
 
“And I shall welcome his arrival,”


Nolan
 
"Stop here," "No farther." "But will he welcome yours?"
"That is the real question, isn't it half blood?"


Brendyn moved Tyranus forward just a bit, then stopped him.
His eyes moved to the figure on the horse as he moved across
the stream towards the group. Merlin comes? His eyes began to
move over the area on the other side of the stream as if
trying to find this Merlin. Nearby, a lovely woad came out
from her hiding place, but Brendyn paid little attention to
her. To be distracted now would not be a good thing. So he
basically ignored her, and continued to look to the other side
of the partially frozen stream, the wind whipping through his
cloak making him shiver a bit. Brendyn was tired and wanted
nothing more than to lie down and catch up on about 24 hours
of sleep, but this mission was of the utmost importance. The
lives of both parties depended on it.

It seemed to Brendyn that both sides had suffered enough
loss... At least that was what he judged by the looks of the
fort and those lost in the battle outside the wall.

Brendyn looked to Tristan, the Optio and Arthur, then back to
the other side of the ford. Though he was searching for a
glimpse of the woad leader, it did not go unnoticed by him
that the group was surrounded well by Merlin's loyal group. As
Nolan shouted orders to the female woad, Brendyn could feel
her gaze on him, but he still looked forward not giving the
female woad another thought. Any normal person who hit a
soldier of Rome would be punished, but Arthur seemed like the
merciful type, and besides, what would it have accomplished to
fight with her? He wanted peace like the others and fighting
would not have achieved that. Suddenly, a large male woad
appeared on the opposite side of the stream, a figure that
somehow commanded attention. For a moment, Brendyn was
awestruck as he had only heard of the "magician", but had
never seen him. Until now, he had only thought of Merlin as a
legend: A myth. Merlin had appeared so silently that it almost
seemed unearthly in a way...

"ghosts"... that is what they were known as, and Brendyn could
see why.

Merlin
 
“Merlin is here,” “What would you say to him, Artorius
Castus?”


So it begins... Brendyn thought his full attention now moving
from the woad leader to the Roman Commander.

There was a silence so thick one could cut it with a knife
before any spoke again...
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golden_trillium

Admin
Author: Pinkie
Date: Tue Dec 16, 2008 5:14 pm
Smith


There was a cockiness about Smith that was quite disarming. He
moved as if he did not fear a knife in the back. He moved as
if a knife in the back would not harm him. His relaxed posture
atop Scáth was off-putting, it was almost challenging. As he
perused those gathered he found himself wondering how they
perceived him. He was dirty – mucky, the blue paint he had
decorated himself with was pale and fading, the darker swirls
he had adorned on the strong muscles at the tops of his arms
still stood out quite noticeably but the rest were fading. He
looked young too – he looked young and yet he looked wise. He
looked like a child of Merlin.

Rosita was looking up at him and he turned his head as he
walked past her, looking down at her without expression. Until
the last moment when his left eye winked at her and the left
side of his lips quirked upwards in a cocky grin. It was a
brief flash and when he turned his head back to the front
there was no vestige of this moment of playfulness.

Arthur
 
“And I shall welcome his arrival,”


Smith took a deep breath, inclining his head respectfully to
Arthur. He had learned this from Merlin’s actions. To respect
the enemy. To respect the enemy ensured you would never
underestimate the enemy. And Arthur was worth respecting. For
all his Roman pomp he was British by the set of his eyes.
Perhaps that is why he was easier to address than the sharp
nosed fellow behind him. Smith gave a considering look to the
Optio – but his attention was distracted. He lifted his head
and looked towards the trail along the river, past the ford.
He lifted his chin and gave a smile of acknowledgement,
gesturing with a pointed inclination of his head the moment
when Merlin arrived upon the foggy path.

Nolan
 
"Go check the back of the line again, But will he
welcome yours? That is the real question, isn't it half
blood?"


Smith glanced back towards Nolan and then back to the path as
Merlin finally descended from the shelter of the forest and
mists of the river to stand before them. The horseman smiled
and pulled Scáth back a bit. He slid down from the saddle once
he stood a decent distance from the Romans and walked the
horse over towards Ceinwyn. He did not address the feral woad
at all – he looked at her directly, without hiding his
assessing perusal of her form, and then looked back to watch
the negotiations with interest. The horse stood off to one
side of him, Ceinwyn on his right. He let his brown eyes rove
down the line of Romans but kept an ear on what Merlin and
Arthur would say.
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golden_trillium

Admin
Author: Darya
Date: Wed Dec 17, 2008 8:16 am
Neeve


Vanora
 
"You are welcome, Neeve. Anytime. Neeria, you enjoy that
dress and the boots and cloak okay? Neeve, I will see
you around later perhaps."


The healer gave Vanora a final nod of thanks and then motioned
Neeria to follow her, briefly pondering whether to see Ione
first or to go to the baths. Both would make sense to her:
seeing Ione first would mean the dress would fit the Woad
better once she had had her bath…but she would probably have
to try it on a few times during the process…and that would
certainly be a better thing to do when cleaned already.
Sighing, Neeve finally decided to head to the bath-house
first…

She glanced over her shoulder to make sure Neeria was
following…and then scanned their surrounding with the small
hope that Derfel was somewhere near…approaching them to take
over the guarding part. But apparently, she was not that
lucky. Instead, the Briton’s blue gaze lingered on Vanora’s
kids for a moment…and she found herself wondering how the
redhead managed all this; the big family…the tavern…Bors… The
healer shook her head slightly to herself and then focused on
their way again. Thankfully, the bath-house was not too far
away…

“Right, it’s gonna be like this…”, Neeve then addressed
Neeria, who seemed to be struggling a little to carry all the
things Vanora had given to her while trying to keep up with
Neeve’s pace. Taking a deep breath, the healer slowed down a
little to make things a bit easier for the Woad. Not knowing
why…but oh well… “You’ll take a quick bath…then we’ll get you
dressed properly… And in case your new guard has not shown up
until then, you will have to accompany me to the infirmary…”
Another pause and a brief glance towards the cloudy heaven,
where Dwyn was once more circling above them. “Any questions
so far?”
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golden_trillium

Admin
Author: TwistOfShadows
Date: Wed Dec 17, 2008 9:00 am

Guinevere


There was a pale fog lingering above the ford, and Guinevere
listened to the soft and frequent trickle of water. Tall
trunks loomed endlessly into the sky above them, and the vines
wrapped tightly around their bark, like lovers embracing. The
Woad’s dark eyes glittered vehemently, and she drew strength
from her surroundings. This was British territory, and had not
yet been suffocated with Roman greed. The leaves were greener
for their freedom, and the lands more beautiful. The woman sat
atop Casti, and she met Smith’s strong gaze. To her side, she
saw Ceinwyn emerge from the thick undergrowth, and stand proud
at the rocky edge. Proud and defiant. The Woad people were
impenetrablein this terrain, and surely Arthur knew this? The
further they rode into the center of the woodland, the safer
the Woads were...and the more fatal the Roman plight became.
Guinevere had no patience for the tales of Roman reform. They
were cruel men, and should leave or die.

Smith
 
"Take these Romans no further, Guinevere. Merlin comes.”


Arthur
 
”And I shall welcome his arrival.”


Guinevere watched Smith cross the ford, and lifted her chin
proudly. She listened to the man, and could not disguise the
smile on her lips. Her father was coming to them, and would
deal with the situation accordingly. She felt Arthur squeeze
her small fingers, and she returned the gesture. There was
something warm about their intimacy. Guinevere would never
trust a Roman to become this close to her, and yet Guinevere
and Arthur understood each other. There was a common respect,
almost a merciful attitude, but Guinevere would always choose
her people. She did not turn to look at Arthur, but merely met
Smith’s gaze and nodded in agreement. A dark smile lingered
upon her coltish mouth, and she returned her attention to the
front of the ford. Merlin would come, and in his wisdom, would
know best....

Merlin
 
”Merlin is here. What would you say to him, Artorius
Castus?”


Guinevere watched her father emerge from the trees, and the
atmosphere changed, intensified. The Woad looked fondly to the
chieftain, and lifted her fingers to her face, tucking a stray
curl behind her ear. Merlin approached them, but Guinevere did
not feel ashamed by her current situation. She was tucked
neatly and comfortably between the enemy’s thighs, and yet she
was also a tool of leverage and politics between Briton and
Rome. Technically, the entire group of Arthur’s party were
hostages, and so Guinevere was not ashamed. She looked out
over the ford, from above high and noble cheekbones, and held
Arthur’s hand tightly. It was a comfort, but also a reminder
of her presence...and his precarious position. The Romans were
surrounded, and it would be foolish to play false. No,
Guinevere remained silent, and awaited Arthur’s reasoning...
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