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| January 2009 | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Jun 3 2010, 01:14 PM (1,514 Views) | |
| golden_trillium | Jun 5 2010, 06:08 PM Post #31 |
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Author: lady ione Date: Wed Jan 07, 2009 10:00 pm Brendyn Brendyn moved Tyranus along the trail close in the group next to Titrus and Bors with Quintus nearby as well. This whole mission seemed to have passed like one very fast dream. A dream that had held adventure and danger. The snow mixed with the branches and frozen dirt crunched under Tyranus's hooves, and a bit of wind caught Brendyn's red cloak swirling it about him. His eyes watched with curiosity at the silent conversation between Guinevere and Arthur. He did not want to know what was said as it was really none of his business, though the Commander and the woad had softly talked since leaving the meeting with Merlin. Well, nothing like keeping up those good relations with the enemy. 'Actually Bors, that drink is sounding better and better... do they serve meade in the tavern? Those are good hot drinks..." He gave Bors a smile, then he turned his head and yawned again. "God above, but I am tired..." He was ready to say more to the knight, but then heard the lovely female woad's voice rise from the silence....
Brendyn had been so intent on watching Guinevere slide down from Arthur's horse that he had not noticed that it was snowing a good clip. Tyranus shook his head as flakes landed on his black mane and coat. Brendyn reminded himself to give the horse a bucket of oaTs and water when they got back to the fort. The light from the torches made those standing about them look like ghostly shadows and now Guinevere and the rider had joined them...
... Brendyn looked over at Quintus, Titrus and Bors, and said with a smile, then another yawn as his lack of sleep began to show, "I can almost taste that hot stew with the tankard of meade and then a warm bed..." And evening prayer... In truth he had no idea what duties awaited him back at the fort, but it was good to think positive for a day off to explore the fort and get to know some of the people therein. Snow began to fall in profusion about the group, and after Arthur urged his horse ahead as had the others, Brendyn kicked the sides of Tyranus's flanks and urged him to follow the rest, all of them galloping at a good clip. Tyranus's hooves hit the ground in a thunderous rythem like a drum beat. Everything seemed blurred except for the torch lights of the fort fastly approaching. Snow and wind assailed the riders: the flakes swirling in and around the riders. As they approached the gates, it always filled Brendyn with awe and pride when he saw the massive gates open... the way the guards greeted them as they rode through them. He slowed Tyranus down as they entered the main keep of the fort, and then left the horse walk to the courtyard with the rest of them until the group came to a stop. This time Brendyn would dismount after Arthur had dismounted... |
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| golden_trillium | Jun 5 2010, 06:10 PM Post #32 |
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Author: Unicorn Date: Thu Jan 08, 2009 2:30 am Dagonet Dagonet knew that Saoirse caught his look, but there was nothing to be done about how he felt right now. He allowed this to happen... He felt nervous about it... The situation was breaking his heart in reality. The world pushed them into this. Into the moment that he became a model for the portrait of his dead son. He felt sorrow rising in his heart again. And worst of it was that he didn't feel like a good model. He was tired... hurt... and.. and..old - nothing that Gedeon was. He was always cheerful, full of life... not so reserved like him.
His eyes were longer upon Mari as the young woman seemed somehow out of place... nervous. Just like him. And feeling that from her Dagonet gave her a little smile. He didn't want to feel so uncomfortable around him... This all might help Linnette and he promised himself to hepl her in anything. To ease somehow her sorrow, and the woman felt exicted about it. It was plainly visible that she needed this to work out. So Dagonet will quietly allow it. Even if he didn't want it. Saoirse came closer to his bed to put more light in the room and her hand touched his. Dagonet swallowed harder but drawn some of the strenght from this touch. It was comforting.
The tall knight looked into her eyes and slowly nodded his head. He understood that... but does Linnette had?
As Mari started to sketch Dagonet stilled his movements... He felt awkward and strange. He didn't know how he should look like, what expression should he have on his face. His heart beated harder. He felt nervous, so a frown appeared on his face... Gedeon had rarely frown! He wanted to change that expression but he could not. He could not see what Mari was drawing, so it made him more nervous about it. Instead of looking then a tMari and movements of her pencil Dagonet looked at Linnette, who seemed to wonder about the room too excited to do anything... sit or stand in one place. Dagonet followed her by his eyes, feeling his frown disappearing... He hoped that this idea will help Linnette anyway... He had agreed only for her. His eyes went again to Mari... her eyes meeting his brefly. There were some lines on the paper, but Dagonet could not see them properly. He cleared his throat just to breake the silence that started to bother him.
He looked back at Linnette as she wanted to say something more... she wanted this picture perfect and Dagonet feared what will happen if the drawing won't be enough for her.
Dagonet knew she was nervous and that was something more going on in her head. He was observing her for a moment and his heart torn in pain and sympthaty for her. "Linnette..." he whispered to have her attention. "Stop apologizing. I agreed to help." he reminded her and gave her a little smile. But inside he felt bad.. he didn't want this, he didn't need this. It hurted to think about this situation. It hurted to think of Gedeon... and now his heart was chained down by this hurt, like a wild animal trapped in a cage. |
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| golden_trillium | Jun 5 2010, 06:11 PM Post #33 |
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Author: Elessars Girl Date: Thu Jan 08, 2009 11:13 am Derfel
Derfel snorted a small laugh and of course blushed a bit more as he stepped backwards until he was safely out of sight of the womens section of the baths. The young knight srubbed a hand over his stubbled face and sighed as he leaned back against the wall to wait. He could use a bath himself – but he reckoned that would have to wait. Duty first. Derfel arched a single eyebrow in the direction of the male side of the baths and briefly pondered whether or not Lancelot was still around. Not that he wanted to casually consort with the dark knight – just well…Derfel shook his head at his own thoughts as his fingers lazily tapped on the stony wall at his back. He could hear the women on the other side of the thick curtain and turned his thoughts to his given assignment – guard the Woad woman.
Was this the first time the Woad had seen a Roman bath? Oh most definitely. Derfel reflected back on the first time he had been allowed to make use of the baths at the Villa Rosarium….he had spent hours just quietly soaking in the warm waters…mesmerized at how his skin wrinkled and softened in the luscious bath waters. He could hear the patter of soft wet feet on stone as Neeria must have stepped from the pool….and Derfel’s mind then returned to his duty – he was not sure how to treat this Neeria. She had tried to kill Arthur and so the knight should despise her for certain. But she seemed so innocent and child-like just now…it was a conundrum for sure.
Food would be good. Derfel instantly straightened his posture and shoved off from where he’d been reclining against the wall the moment the curtain was jerked open. And luckily what his blue eyes found was a ‘dressed’ Woad – as opposed to a naked woman. Praise to Bel. “She has not been fed yet tonight?” Derfel looked to Neeve with a furrowed brow and questioning tone. Was he to buy this prisoner a meal too? Great. He rested both hands on his hips; brushing the flaps of his overcoat back to expose his forrest brown tunic and leather swordbelt tooled with a few Celtic markings that matched the eloquent designs on the hilt of his sword. Until he had acquired his father’s great sword and jewelry recently, Hywelbane had been Derfel’s only opulent possession. |
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| golden_trillium | Jun 5 2010, 06:14 PM Post #34 |
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Author: Darya Date: Thu Jan 08, 2009 1:26 pm Darya It felt odd to be assessed. And that was exactly what Eyla was doing openly right now. Assessing her. When the whore arched an eyebrow, Darya automatically mimicked the small gesture and tried to let her own gaze follow Eyla’s… To her, nothing was that terribly wrong with her and the dress she was wearing…but it became more and more obvious with every moment that the other woman did not share this opinion. Well, at least Eyla had confirmed that she was no lost course. That was a start, was it not? “If I interpret the way you are looking at me correctly, there is not much…maybe nothing…that you have not changed already…in your mind…”, Darya mused and briefly twisted her mouth awkwardly, “…right?”
The dark Sarmatian cocked her head and watched Eyla more or less dance out of her room…obviously quite eager to start dealing with her latest challenge. Darya herself hesitated for a moment… It might look like an odd decision to others that she had decided to trust Eyla of all people to help her change something in her life; but to her it made sense…at least at the moment. The other woman was beautiful, seemed to be happy and apparently had no problem to approach others in a positive manner. Perhaps all this came with her…job…yet Darya assumed that it might at least partly also just be her natural self. Either way, it would hopefully only help the Sarmatian to break out of her loneliness and little traumatized world… Taking a deep breath, the dark-haired straightened her back and followed Eyla out of her room, closing the door behind her as she did so. “Let’s go then…”, she addressed the whore and the two women walked through the corridors, heading for the building’s exit. “Tell me a bit about you, Eyla…”, the Sarmatian then asked the other dark-haired and glanced sideways at her, “…just…a few things to get to know you better…” And she meant it. After all, Darya was about to be so daring to partly give herself into Eyla’s hands…at least as far as her definition of what she wanted to learn from the whore went. And knowing a bit more about the smaller woman would for sure help her to do just that. Soon the two women reached the exit and stepped outside. It was dark by now. Evening. Where had the day gone? And would Arthur return tonight? Briefly, the Sarmatian shifted her dark gaze into the direction she knew the main gate was, hoping that the Commander was alright and successful with his mission. For his…for everyone’s sanity. The last attacks had left marks on Badon and its people…and the harsh winter was not making this any better. Pursing her lips in thought, Darya brushed a strand of dark hair out of her face and almost automatically veered toward the bath-house… Neeve Neeria once more acted like a child once she had conquered the pool and apparently forgot everything around her. If she weren’t a Woad and a prisoner, her behavior would perhaps even be cute…but in the current situation, Neeve could only lower her crystal-blue gaze and shake her head slightly to herself.
The raven-haired breathed a laugh. “Thanks…but no, thanks…”, she said and sat up a bit straighter when the Woad seemed to finish with her bath. To the healer’s surprise, she did not have to explain the use of the sponge to Neeria…even though the other woman had looked as if she had never seen the item before only moments ago. Well, not that Neeve would have been too keen on showing the prisoner the use of the sponge anyway… Instead, she discretely watched the Woad drying herself. So Woads did know towels. She had never been sure about that…
Before Neeve even had the chance to react to Neeria’s wish to take a bath again later, the Woad was dressed and already moved towards the dividing curtain, pulled it open and therewith brought Derfel back into the scene. Take a bath again. Did she honestly expect to stay at Badon forever??? Neeve’s eyes narrowed on their own accord as she was not happy about this thought…idea… Woads belonged in the forest. Even Woads wearing a dress did… However, the healer just skipped the second bath issue and focused on Neeria’s other question instead. The Woad had eaten A LOT around midday…how was it possible that she was hungry again already? The Briton stood from the bench and walked over to Derfel and Neeria with both her hands resting firmly on her hips. “Oh she has been fed…thoroughly…earlier today…”, she then answered Derfel’s question, “…but apparently, Woads eat a lot…” Neeve raked a hand through her short hair…and had to admit that by now she was hungry, too. After all, she had not eaten anything at all today. So far. “So I assume our next destination is the tavern…again…”, she added and glanced from the Saxon to Neeria and back. “Are you hungry, too?”, the healer asked Derfel and subtly gestured for him and Neeria to move so that they could exit the bath-house again… |
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| golden_trillium | Jun 5 2010, 06:33 PM Post #35 |
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Author: TwistOfShadows Date: Thu Jan 08, 2009 3:15 pm Guinevere and Ceinwyn What did Guinevere desire? Many things, and all were portrayed in this cold and unforgiving Winter. Guinevere suited the natural beauty of Nature. The cold breezes caressed her dark hair softly, and flushed her cheeks to red. The snow-covered ground reflected in her dark eyes, and the snowflakes glittered on her eyelashes. Her lips were full, pouted in both reflection and petulance. Arthur’s hot presence had warmed her very soul, and their conversations had been hushed, intimate. She trusted the enemy Roman, and respected his efforts. Arthur was not barbaric, nor cruel...and so Guinevere allowed him moments of friendship, peace. Indeed, she hated those he kept in company. They were nothing, mere players in a large and dangerous game...and now Arthur had failed in his peace.Guinevere was not sorry, but nor was she pleased. She kept a vigil for peace, and prayed to the gods for its coming. Briton would be free again, and not tainted by Roman touch. There would be fertile lands, beautifully long summers, and Pagans would roam freely within their own territory, unafraid of murder or greedy soldiers. Peace was Guinevere’s Hope, and Briton was Guinevere’s Love. Arthur’s hand tightened against her abdomen, and Guinevere glanced down at it. Her dark brows lifted, and a small smile lingered upon her mouth. They were a strange couple. Two warring peoples, and yet here they sat, finding solace in eachother’s warmth. The Woad breathed in gently through her nose, and sighed. The woodland was beautiful today. The snow blessed it with an enigmatic and myserious aura, and Guinevere drew strangth from it. She fought for this land, this beauty...
Cold? It was such a strange notion, and Guinevere smiled still. She felt Arthur’s stubbled jaw against her soft cheeks, and felt his mouth lower to her ear. He spoke, and breathed a fire upon her lobe. His soft mouth brushed the outer shell, and Guinevere responded to this touch. There was fire, yes. The Roman was alluring himself, and sweetly so. Guinevere nuzzled her nose into his dewy neck, finding solace in the strong sinews and muscle. Was he attempting to disarm her? Arouse her? The Woad woman turned into his touch, and breathed a rasped laugh from her throat. There was nothing more threatening than the touch of the enemy, and yet Arthur made it gentle...and demanding. Oh, but in another world...another place...Guinevere would have bedded him well...
Guinevere of Briton slid down from the saddle, taking Arthur’s proffered hand. An amused smile lingered upon her lips. Arthur spoke with such an interesting formality, and after their shared journey together? It was an interesting conclusion to today’s events, and she stood beside Casti, looking up at him. Gods, but she could still feel the bristled hair of his thighs upon her legs, and the heat of his mouth remained on her cheek. Arthur of Rome and Briton Combined...and what an impressive man he was. If only he would choose to remain home, here, and abandon Rome’s stupid war. Arthur was full of British blood, and Guinevere could sense it. It was in the deep baritone of his voice, the passion of his cause and conscience...and the way he held morality above all. He was a fine example of British breeding, and he was wasted on Rome’s ideals.... “Goodbye Arthur.” She spoke calmly, and watched as he moved to ride away. The snow had begun to fall once more, and it covered the muddy ground with ease. The snowflakes fell down upon her dark hair, and decorated her loose plait with white. The Woad turned her attention to Ceinwyn and the Roman Optio...and she frowned for a moment. Ceinwyn wore her emotionless face well, and the snow had made her pretty. Her face was no longer dirty, and her hair gleamed red against the snowy woodland. Guinevere did not ponder upon their conversation...not truly....the Romans would be gone soon, and their stench alongside them. Guinevere however, glanced once more to Arthur, and smiled slightly. Oh, she did not hate him. Far from it... Ceinwyn, on the the other hand, hated Romans. She despised the way their armour glinted in the Winter light, and the way their smug mouths curved into effeminite smiles. Their manners were grossly arrogant, and they believed themselves untouchable. It was almost sweet, almost. Ceinwyn of Briton had emerged from the snowy woodland, and wore the glittery decorations of snowflakes and frost. Gentle flakes rested upon her eyelashes, and made them thick, lustrous. Her red hair gleamed against the silvery white backdrop, and the snow coated the strands with a vehement attachment. The snow began to fall again, and yet Ceinwyn paid it little heed. She tasted the flakes upon her pouted mouth, and sucked her bottom lip softly, quietly. Green eyes looked up at the Optio, and she challenged him with her stare. It was not the gaze of a quiet and feeble woman, but rather the look of a barbaric savage who would happily rip out his jugular with her teeth. Ceinwyn had been damaged. Somewhere along this bloody passage of Life, she had been hurt and...it glittered in her unforgiving eyes. She was prepared for a challenge. Any daring duty. ..and she yearned for it. Death no longer frightened her, because she understood the cruelty of life. She understood that polite words and gentle manners resulted in pain and weakness, and so she hardened herself. Against everything. Ceinwyn was cold, hard, and she drew strength from her emotionless state... The young Roman leant down in his saddle, and the woman lifted her chin in defiance. A small smile formed on her mouth, and it sought to mock him...
Sweetness? Ceinwyn’s green eyes narrowed into tight slits, and her upper lip curled in distaste. She looked at the man, and suddenly wondered at his own bravery. It was a brave man who challenged Ceinwyn in her current state, and the woman gritted her teeth sharply. She parted her mouth to retort, to shout a nasty rebuke and destroy Merlin’s promised peace...but was too late. The Roman pulled his horse away sharply, and Arthur and his party thundered away into the distance. Ceinwyn had drawn her dagger from her side, and held the cold tip against her fingertip. Her eyes glared after the Roman bastard, and she growled low in her throat. He challenged her? If she had the courage to do it? Oh, but Ceinwyn wished to follow them now, and ’attempt’ it. She would love to cut his weak throat, and make him swallow his words...
Guinevere turned to the voice, and heard the ground thunder with the sound of hooves. Arthur and his men departed, and Guinevere did not watch them leave. She trusted Arthur would depart peacefully, and if he did not? Then his beloved men would die. The Woad woman walked to Smith, and lifted her dark gaze to his face. He was a handsome man, but he did not affect her. Not truly. Her mind was elsewhere, and lingered upon Arthur’s failure. There would be more attempts at negotiations, surrenders, wars...there was much more blood left to be split, and Guinevere knew it. She felt it in the breezes. Lifting her hand to Scathe’s neck, she ran her fingers through the horse’s coarse fur. It was damp with snow, and coated her small hands with ease. She spoke softly, quietly. “There is still much to do.” Guinevere looked up at the Woad scout, and lifted a hand into her own hair. She shook the snow from the dark tendrils, and allowed it to fall upon her shoulder blades. “We must still bury the dead, and I wish to return to my father. Smith, take Ceinwyn upon your horse and return to the old camp. Bestow them the sacred rites they deserve, and a burial fit for honourable Britons.” Guinevere turned to look at Ceinwyn, and lifted her brows. Ceinwyn was not the sociable kind, nor a woman of conversation...and in her heart, she knew it was an interesting choice of her men. Smith would surely drive the other woman crazy, but it did not matter. It was their duty to bury the dead, and Guinevere would see it done... Ceinwyn did not hear the words at first, nor did they settle into her mind. She stared angrily after Arthur and his party, and muttered a silent curse of damnation. Her mind reeled, and a fire lit in the darkest depths of her green eyes. The woman wanted to scream, and thrust her dagger into the ground. Truly. She turned slowly to Guinevere, hearing something akin to an order...and then it struck. ’Take Ceinwyn upon your horse’?? Ceinwyn’s angry glare turned into a look of disbelief, and she presumed Guinevere was jesting. Ride a horse? Ceinwyn was terrified of horses and did not mount one unless extremely necessary. Surely Guinevere expected horseback to provide speed? It was a good truth, and yet the Woad had no intention of riding alongside...Smith. Her green eyes looked up at the dark and handsome scout, and her fingers tightened around the dagger’s blade. She must sit in his lap? The notion was ridiculous, and rendered her completely powerless. She did not wish it. Not now. Not ever. “I doubt Smith would want my presence in his lap to hinder his own control...over such a beast.” Ceinwyn spoke coldly, and looked hard at Smith. She tipped her head to the side, and challenged him to defy her words. She would not ride with him. She would follow on foot...but not sat snugly in his lap like some wanton whore. No way. Ceinwyn felt a snowflake come to rest upon the tip of her elven-like nose, and she flared her nostrils in annoyance. She spoke again. “The hut is not far from here. I can cover it on foot most adeptly...” The Woad stood straighter, and flicked her red hair back over her shoulders. It curled lightly in the damp snow, and she appeared deeply unimpressed. |
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| golden_trillium | Jun 5 2010, 06:35 PM Post #36 |
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Author: Pinkie Date: Thu Jan 08, 2009 3:44 pm Smith Smith was comfortable with Guinevere. Theirs was a quiet understanding. Neither was impassioned beyond sense for the cause of Britain yet both believed in it with all their hearts and souls. Both were strong leader but neither sought to be any other than led by Merlin. There was an attraction there from Smith's side for how could a man look at Guinevere and not see beauty and strength? She was a challenge to any man's ego but she was not a challenge Smith ever intended on taking to task. No no - he preferred to watch Guinevere. She was fascinating. Her dark hair was mottled with white snowflakes, the dark tendrils made darker and silken by the wet snow. Dark, dark eyes looked up at him as she stood unflinching next to Scáth. Her fearlessness went so far that she felt safe to reach out a slender hand and touch the beast. This made Smith smile and endeared him even more to Guinevere for she did not fear his mount as others did. The young woad leaned forward more, looking down at her fingers against the black, sleek coat of his horse.
Her sombre words made Smith drop his eyes. He sighed heavily and purse his lips in agreement. Pressing his arm into the saddle he puhed himself up into a more upright position as Guinevere continued. At the mention of Ceinwyn the scout's dark gaze immediately darted towards her. He knew well her dislike of company and hatred of horses but it seemed that she was not so adverse to the idea, her pretty face turned towards the Romans departing. Smith shrugged one shoulder and regretted it - the pain in his collarbones increased with the cold. " -- " he was about to speak when Ceinwyn's voice interrupted him. Smith turned in the saddle to look at the wild red-head, narrowing his dark eyes to see her properly in the fading light. Her presence was clearest as an obstruction to the falling snow - was she holding her dagger?
That was more like it. Smith smiled lazily at her words and reached a hand up to brush snow from the bare ball of his shoulder. He pursed his lips and sighed loudly, looking over at Ceinwyn's hard and unforgiving glare without flinching, smiling in the face of her irrational scorn for Scáth. "Hmm - I would never allow you sit on my lap. Least not when I am riding Scáth. You would be more comfortable and out of my way best if you rode behind me. But if you would rather that I rode ahead and did all the work myself then ... " he said smoothly. "Or you could stop acting like a child and do as you are ordered." he added but his tone was so soft and so sweet that what he said did not sound scathing nor insulting. It sounded friendly and warm - the suggestive tone used between lovers. It was a purr. |
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| golden_trillium | Jun 5 2010, 06:38 PM Post #37 |
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Author: TwistOfShadows Date: Thu Jan 08, 2009 4:32 pm Eyla
Yes. There was a rude truth in her words, but Eyla did not respond to it. She merely looked deep into the dark Sarmatian’s eyes and tutted her tongue loudly. The whore was not cruel, but merely encouraging and honest. She would not lie to Darya, because the other woman sought advice from the chief erudite of prettiness. Eyla was known to be pretty. Her exotic skin was tanned and silken to touch, and her eyes were deep with passionate lustre. These eyes had seen the most extraordinary delights of the flesh, and that made Eyla appealing. She had an aura, an enigma, that followed on the heels of her slippered feet. She moved gracefully, as if each feature of movement was part of a larger dance. She glided and skipped, but did not walk. She sang and flirted, but did not speak. Her life was a beautiful play, but spontaneous and an act of improvisation. She lived to please herself, and to survive. Winter was getting colder, and the winds would be painful soon. Already the snow had dampened her delicate slippers and frozen her toes into a stinging pain. The whore would need more money, and therefore more patrons. More pleasure. But she could spare a moment for Darya, the depressed and moody Sarmatian...
The outside was freezing, and Eyla immediately exhaled in sweet shock. Her bare and tanned arms were suddently assaulted with the cold and falling snow, and she batted the air with an impatient swipe of hands. Wrapping her shawl tighter around her shoulders, she dashed quickly across the courtyard. The snow drifted down upon her dark curly hair, and the tendrils fell heavier into her rounded bosom. Eyla tutted loudly and shivered against the cold. Darya wanted to know about her? Whatever for? The whore glanced incredulously at the Sarmatian, and continued to pace across the snow-covered ground. The snow made her slippers wet, and it was most irritating. She would invest in some warmer clothes...but still as revealing. She had her stock to promote... “Whatever for?” Eyla asked with an arched brow, before laughing sweetly. She threw her head back and caught several snowflakes in her thick eyelashes. Eyla parted her lips against the snow, and stuck her tongue out, tasting it, smiling into it. Well, it was cold but ever so pretty...she turned to Darya, and spoke again. “I am a whore. I pleasure men for money and I enjoy lifting my skirts for anyone and everyone.” It was a cheeky response, and spoken with a slow and honeyed tone. The two women walked onwards, and reached the building of the bath-house with little trouble. Eyla skipped across the entrance, and turned back to Darya, shaking the snow from her hair. Arching her back, she raked her hands through her curly hair. “I was born in Heaven, you know? And my first kiss was with an angel...” The woman looked at Darya from beneath thick eyelashes, and a feline smile lifted her lips suggestively... Ceinwyn Ceinwyn stood out against the snow. Her form was lithe, petite, but her leathered clothing was tight around her rounded bosoms, and her hips held all the sway of feminine charm. Her long hair had grown longer, thicker, and now curled into her bosoms and down the gentle curve of her back. Blue paint was mottled down her arms, but the snow seemed to clean it from her skin. The dark colour paled, and now the most prominant colour was a green gleam. It came from beneath thick eyelashes, dusted with snow and frost. The woman appeared wild, defiant and confident...but in truth, she sought solitude. She wanted to disappear into the thickest foliage in the woodland, and find solace in a lake nearby. She needed to bathe, and the thought of freezing cold water did not spook her. No, it appealed. The cold was penance, and she endured beneath it. Blinking lazily towards Smith and Guinevere, she flexed her fingers around her dagger. She refused to ride upon his lap, because it demanded intimacy and close contact. Ceinwyn did not encourage that, nor did she react well to such implications. She lived alone, she fought alone, and she served alone. There was no room for compromise, or argument, and her expression spoke volumes of its vehemence... He would agree with her. He must.
He smiled. The man smiled and it boiled Ceinwyn’s blood. Her green eyes narrowed darkly, and the annoyance showed upon her features. She pouted her coltish mouth, and tasted snow upon her lips. She did not act like a child! Rather, she showed independence and a mind for self-preservation...and Smith mocked it with his gentle and teasing tone. Gods, but he was a damnation! Ceinwyn looked deep into his dark eyes, and then tore her gaze away sharply. She lifted her hand to her hair, and brushed off the snow irritably, indignantly, sharply. AND he expected her to ride behind him, where she would surely fall. It was a hideous mockery, and Ceinwyn found herself growing angry. She was keen to prove him wrong, but at the risk of herself upon a wild beast? ’Do all the work myself...?’ Ceinwyn growled loudly, and thrust her dagger back into its leather cover. The woman flicked her hair from her face angrily, and strode over to the bloody horse. The creature was big, imposing, and Ceinwyn sought to calm her own fear. Surely Smith was watching every action and judging each with a mocking conviction? Oh, but she hated this. To prove him wrong? The woman had suffered at the hands of Rome, and knew her duty well. She knew it better than he... “Children are not sent to bury the dead.” She snapped, and her green eyes flared with vehemence. The woman stood beside the horse, and reached out to grip the pommel hard. Her small fingers curled into the hot leather, and she was careful not to touch him. “If I fall, I will kill you. Move forwards.” Ceinwyn spoke harshly, and deliberately avoided Guinevere’s gaze. The Woad woman had turned from their path, and Ceinwyn was not content with her orders. She was not Smith’s ideal companion in duty. Ceinwyn served alone, and did not share company with others. The red-head looked up at the man, and glared at him down the length of her small nose. She did not seek to disguise her own annoyance, not to him, a man. He was no concern of hers, no importance...and yet Ceinwyn dreaded sliding into the saddle behind him. She did not care for closeness. It unnerved her.... |
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| golden_trillium | Jun 5 2010, 06:40 PM Post #38 |
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Author: golden_trillium Date: Thu Jan 08, 2009 8:22 pm Linnesse
Linnesse turned at the touch on her sleeve, setting aside the empty bowl and spoon that she had just taken from a patient back on the meal cart- and found herself face to face with Lancelot, again. He looked quite different now- in fact, she started slightly at the difference that wet hair and a simple, undyed tunic and trousers made in him; it made him look boyish, innocent, even cherubic. Well, the black eye did detract from it, but still. It was hard to see him now as the dangerous man that Derfel had proclaimed him to be, and she started on a friendly smile- but it fell back into coldness at his next words.
Linnesse arched an eyebrow and pursed her lips disapprovingly, feeling stung by the sarcasm, polite though his tone was. Mighty husband? That could not be anything other than a mock, despite the bland smile! If she was not mistaken, she also detected some similarity in the tone to comments that Lancelot had made in the past to and about Gedeon- at least according to Linnette- and felt her opinion of the man fall another notch or so. Whether he was dangerous or not was hard to say, but he was apparently the kind of man who took pouty offense at the fact that a given woman might not be available to fall into his bed. Linnesse set her face into a coolly courteous mask as she answered, summoning up a bit of the ‘looking down the nose’ expression that Linnette used with those who displeased her- Linnesse was not nearly so good at it, but managed to approximate a kinder version passingly. “I did make it, and as you are the one who is here, you may surely have it. This way.” Linnesse turned with a small gesture indicating the way, and led Lancelot to the workroom where the poultice sat on the corner of the table not far from the open door, surrounded by the other oddments she had used, and reeking of the herbs covered by its unassuming cloth. She picked it up and held it out to him, launching right away into her businesslike explanation of how to use it- it seemed best to get this over with as soon as possible, though here in the infirmary, she did not feel threatened by him. He was a patient, now. Just a rude patient. “Just place it over your eye when you lie down, and keep it there as long as it’s comfortable. The herbs will make it feel warm, so if it gets too hot, take it off for a while, of course. Best not to fall asleep with it on, if you can help it. It should be still usable in the morning, too, but if you still want it beyond that, I’ll make you a new one. You should have seen some improvement by then, though- the bruising starting to pale. Any questions?” Linnesse arched her pale, barely-there eyebrows at the man inquiringly, wondering if some other sarcastic comment was coming- and prepared to coolly deflect if it was. Quintus and Tristan Back! Quintus thought he had never been so glad to return to the fortress. After the eerie, muffled creakiness of the dark, snowy forest, the wild Woads padding largely unseen at their sides, even the rather bare comforts of stone walls and torchlight were as good as a ray of spring sun. And…well, maybe there would be other comforts available. Ale, for starters, and the Centurion’s thoughts were tending in the direction of a woman, too. Yes…someone soft and round and cheerful- just what he needed right now to banish the dark worries of the journey. Once well into the courtyard, Quintus passed off his torch to one of the stableboys, then dismounted heavily and handed his reigns to another, glad enough to pass that responsibility to someone else. His thighs felt stiff and misshapen from the ride- a long one for him and he walked a couple of steps at a limp before bones and muscles began to reaccustom themselves to standing. Off to his right he saw Tristan dismount, easy and graceful, and eyed the scout with some resentment for his obviously untroubled movements. Sarmatians- hmph. As Quintus continued to half watch, Tristan waved off the attentions of a squire and walk his mount hmself a few steps in the direction the stable, his stride showing not the slightest sign of stiffness at all. Ruddy Sarmatians- they were probably just half horse or something. Well, no matter. Quintus was just glad to be back. He shifted from foot to foot a few times, took a couple of discreet steps, working on loosening himself back up- but not going anywhere until they had been officially dismissed. |
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| golden_trillium | Jun 5 2010, 06:44 PM Post #39 |
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Author: LadyCastus Date: Thu Jan 08, 2009 9:00 pm Neeria Neeria liked the feel of the dress against her skin but wearing it made her feel strange and she wasn't sure if she liked it. A woad in a dress. She'd never worn a dress before. She'd always worn trousers or a skin around her waist and her leather breast straps. The boots, however felt good on her small feet. The fur inside was soft and warm. She would thank .. what was her name again? ... for them when she saw her again. The blond knight stood to attention when she walked through the curtain. Neeria thought he looked relieved, probably because she was clothed, and despite herself, she smiled when she saw him. Neeria brushed back her damp hair and smoothed down her dress, then stared at the floor.
Neeria kicked her toe against the stone floor, a scowl on her face, and addressed the healer. "She is standing right here, yet you talk as though she is not!" Neeria said angrily. "I am hungry and I would like to eat!" she addded, her dark staring into blue ones. Then she added, softly, "please." The Roman put his hands on his hips, pushing back the flaps of his coat. He wore a beautiful earth-colored tunic, similar in color to the clothes Neeria usually wore. The small woman moved a step closer to the knight, admiring his garment, just as the light through a small window on the ceiling hit his sword, high, just below the hilt. The reflection caught Neeria's eye so she bent down slightly and peered closely to get a better look. The markings on his belt were beautiful and she recognized them immediately. She had similar markings on her quivers. A closer look revealed the same markings on the hilt of the sword. Neeria's eyes lit up. "You are Briton!" she exclaimed, "I see the artist's work there!" Before she rose to meet his eye, Neeria also noticed Derfel's hand, which still rested on his hip, and the ring on one of his fingers. The smile faded from Neeria's lips. The knight's blond hair, the blue eyes... "you!" she snarled suddenly and stepped backward, afraid. Neeria pressed her body close to Neeve's as an act of both fear and protection. "Do you know this man well, healer?" her dark eyes ablaze. "Don't leave me with him! He is a Saxon!" she hissed. Karl Karl slurped loudly as he shoved more of the salty lamb stew into his mouth. Some of it missed the mark and slid down his chin and subsequently into a tiny pool onto the wooden table. As he chewed the tender meat, he pushed a piece of bread in as well and picked up his tankard. Damn he was hungry. But being the seasoned drunk he was, he knew he must feed the beast also. The tavern was abuzz with news that Artorius and his party had returned to the fortress. So the fuckers survived Karl 'p'fft'd' to himself. The Roman looked at the back of the room but it seemed as though Captain Barbattus had already left. Karl shrugged his shoulders and tilted his tankard up to his lips. It was empty. "Need more!" he yelled to a passing wench. "Now!" as he waved the empty cup over his head. He laughed for no particular reason as the room suddenly dipped to the right. Karl wondered if Arthur had reached the peace agreement he was looking for. Karl doubted it. Fucking woads. "Where's my drink?" he stammered and raised his hand to shove another spoonful of stew into his gaping maw. Just as the spoon reached his mouth, a pretty woman passing by caught his eye. Before he could say something rude to her, which was his way, the woman turned and vomited. Karl may have been drunk, but he moved just in the nick of time, the contents of the woman's stomach landing on the table and right into Karl's bowl of stew instead. "You stupid, clumsy bitch!" the Roman screamed. "You've gone and fucked up my stew! I ought to make YOU eat it now you worthless whore!" Karl, his high now completely blown, wanted to grab the woman by her neck and snap it right in two. He would have, he suspected, if the tavern had been less crowded. "Get the fuck away from me," he yelled in Ione's face. "Or if you don't, you think I smell bad now, wait'll I take a shit and smears it in your face ya stupid heifer cow!" Karl waved his fist in the air, "Vanora! Where in the bloody fuck is my drink?!" Karl looked back down at the mess in front of him and muttered more curses under his breath and moved to another table, glaring at Ione as he did. Titrus Titrus walked Adolphus next to Quintus and Bors, periodically patting the big horse's long, strong neck. He'd done well on the trip and Titrus was pleased. The lieutenant knew he should get back to his daughters right away, but a promise was a promise. "Quintus, Bors!" he yelled. "I'm a man of my word. Drinks on me, if you're interested, once we get finished here. What do you think?" |
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| golden_trillium | Jun 5 2010, 06:46 PM Post #40 |
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Author: lady ione Date: Thu Jan 08, 2009 10:09 pm Ione and Vanora She was embarrassed to the point of crying. Ione felt better, but now she had made the man very upset at her, and had drawn everyone's attention to her. What was more embarrassing was the fact that someone had mentioned that the men had come home! Gods! He could not see her like this! It was not how she had dreamed of greeting him! Ione had not thrown up much, but it was enough to make a small mess of the man's food and the table. The smell of him assailed her again but this time she did not throw up, but just felt queasy...
This was truely insulting and Ione's face turned red, but she did not cry. In her life time, she had heard worse insults, so whatever this man yelled at her more or less embarrassed her more. Vanora wiped up the table, then turned and asked a wench to fetch a pail of hot water and some disinfectant. She called to a nearby wench that was not busy and asked, "Can you take this young lady to the back and help her clean up a bit?" The wench nodded, and led Ione to the back room to clean up a bit. Ione followed the other woman not even looking back at the drunk. The wench and Ione knew each other from when the weaver had worked in the tavern. Taking Ione to the kitchen, the wench took a clean cloth and wiped the woman's face, "We'll have ye lookin' like new in no time, Ione..." The wench thought for a moment, then said, " Perhaps I have a dress that would fit you, Ione. It is a skirt with a tunic, and a cloak." The weaver followed the woman as they went up a set of creaky stairs to a row of rooms for the wenches to live in, and the wench led Ione to her room. She opened the door, and Ione stepped inside, the door closing behind her. The skirt came to her ankles and was loose enought o be comfortable around her belly, and the tunic was lightweight, but not see through. Ione was grateful to the wench for her help in getting cleaned up, and also for the tunic and the skirt. Quickly she changed into them and threw the soiled dress and cloak into the pile of dirty towels to be washed. "I will be taking those to be washed tomorrow, then I will bring it to your shop when it is clean." Ione braided her hair loosly and left it hang down her back. The weaver looked at herself in the mirror. The young woman ran her hands over the clothes then turned to the wench, "It is lovely! Thank you so much..." It had been a hard day, and the kindness of this woman plus Tirus and Linnesse had made things easier to deal with. The wench smiled, "Let's go then and get you some mint tea to drink..." The two women left the room, and went back to the eating area... In her mind, the man's insults replayed themselves. As if this day had not been bad enough.... Out on the floor, Vanora had gone to get Karl's drink, and not that he needed any more to drink. Vanora had been surprised that Malcus had left the man there. In her mind, Karl was dangerous and could not be trusted. Hopefully, all of the men from the mission would come in, then the place would be safer. She brought the drink back to the irrational drunk, and plopped it down in front of him, "There! Take yer drink! Tis on the house..." Vanora turned her back on the man and continued to clean up the mess on the table.... |
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| golden_trillium | Jun 5 2010, 06:48 PM Post #41 |
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Author: golden_trillium Date: Fri Jan 09, 2009 12:17 pm Linnette
“I know. Sor…” Realizing that she was on the verge of apologizing again, when he had just told her not to, Linnette gave him an attempt at a rueful smile, then turned away, with a deflated sigh. Her gaze focused on the wall behind Mari, though there was nothing there worth seeing; it just ensured that she didn’t have to look at either Dagonet or Saoirse. Dagonet had agreed to this, yes, and she was grateful for it- but the persistent sorrowful frown on his didn’t make her feel good at all. Linnette couldn’t escape the feeling that this was just an opening of the wound for him, and not the exciting, hopeful experience that it was- or had been until a short time ago- for her. Was there nothing she could do to cheer him up? Even a little? Get him to crack a smile for the portrait, not to mention lighten his heart a bit for his own sake? Linnette turned, eyes scanning the quiet, sorrow-filled room a little desperately for some diversion- and her eyes landed on the book. The book that Drake had lent her, the comedy, the beginning of which had already so amused Mari, sitting on the table where she had left it near Mari’s paper scraps. There was always that- and she had told Dagonet last night that she would read to him! “Here!” she blurted, nearly making a dive for the book, and clutching it in her hand as she retreated back to the chair she had originally been sitting on, plunking down it a bit awkwardly as she stepped back and ran her heel prematurely into the chair leg. “It’s that book I showed you last night- Mari and I liked the beginning of it. Perhaps you’d like to hear it, too?” She opened the small volume, the spine bending with small, leathery, gluey sounds, and held it in her good had, the bandaged one ready to turn the pages. “It’s called Gloriana, a Tale of Adventure,” she announced, and then, not knowing what else to do, launched right into the beginning of the story, scarcely looking up until she had completely finished the first page. By then, she, at least, felt a bit comforted by the undeniable humor, and by the familiarity of the words she had read to Mari so short a time ago- but she was not sure if Dagonet or Saoirse had liked it at all. She lowered the book and looked from one to the other hopefully, while on the other side of the table, Mari’s pencil still scratched away. |
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| golden_trillium | Jun 6 2010, 04:11 PM Post #42 |
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Author: Elessars Girl Date: Fri Jan 09, 2009 1:37 pm Arthur Arthur had brought Casti to a halt just in front of the main entrance to the stables within Badon Keep; the rest of his men followed and immediately began dismounting around him. It was late and snowing and the Commander was feeling far more exhausted than he would ever admit. He heard Amadeus utter the word ‘home’ and sighed in concurrence without even turning to look at the Optio. Home. Merlin had kept his word and allowed Arthur and his men safe passage back to the fortress…but how long until the next attack? How long until more blood was spilled and more lives lost? Arthur’s head throbbed and his side ached…but he managed to swing out of the saddle with only a small hint of stiffness in his movements. He handed off the reigns to an obliging stable hand and then gave his great white horse a firm rub along the animal’s neck before Casti was led away. Before turning to address the men, Arthur reached up to brush the worst of the fluffy fat snowflakes from his hair and to scrub a hand over his stubbled face. Failure weighed heavily on his mind; causing the lines in his brow to thicken – casting dark shadows in the torchlight as Arthur turned his attentions to the brave men who had rode with him today. “Gentlemen!” Arthur called out in his rich baritone voice to those still gathered around him; his steely expression belied the turmoil that he felt churning inside. “Go to your rest tonight…no one deserves it more,” The Commander continued with genuine good intent while his green eyes sought to reach the expression of each and every man present. They had all served Arthur well today and he was most grateful. “May God keep you,” Arthur offered in his way of dismissing the men from their duty to him tonight. He then turned to Optio Scipio and gestured towards the building that housed their quarters. “Optio Scipio, walk with me,” Arthur said with a tight-lipped smile on his weary expression. As his second in command in the eyes of the Roman Army, Arthur knew that the two men should follow protocol and discuss what must be done in the aftermath of the failed negotiations. And while any formal report could wait until morning to be written, Arthur wished to briefly discuss the most pressing matters before going into seclusion to make his prayers tonight. The Commander began to walk now, fully expecting Scipio to oblige him and keep pace. Would Lancelot be waiting as ordered? Or would the mother of Arthur’s unborn child be the one holding vigil in the Commander’s chambers? Was Arthur ready to show his failures to either? Would God forgive his shortcomings? Uther’s plain metal cross felt cold where it pressed against the base of Arthur’s throat beneath his hauberk and mail…. …and the feel of Guinevere’s plush and warm lips seemed to linger on Arthur’s neck – despite it being hours since the two had bonded almost intimately together on the ride. Just what had passed between the Commander and Merlin’s daughter? And why? In another life or another time…..Arthur bit at his bottom lip and shoved the speculation aside. It did not matter now. There was no peace and no place in his world for Guinevere’s companionship in any form other than ‘thy enemy’. Derfel
Was Derfel’s stomach up to greeting any solid foods since wretching this morning? The knight was not entirely certain…but he felt a small pang of hunger at the mention of food. It was getting late though and entirely possible that they would be too late for a good hearty meal there. But the tavern seemed a fair destination for now as Derfel had no idea what to do with this prisoner anyways. “Tavern sounds a right good place to me,” He answered with an accepting nod to Neeve.
“Then off we go, aye?” Derfel responded, thankful that the Woad girl was agreeable. But before he took a step, Neeria moved closer and seemed drawn to something in his dress…which was a bit unnerving….but Derfel held fast for a moment even if it was with a quizzical glance over at Neeve.
“I am,” Derfel acknowledged. So the girl recognized the Celtic pattens adorning his leather belt. It had been the gift that the young knight had received upon old Hwyel’s passing, along with the great sword too…Derfel’s mentor had been a knight as well and had taught the younger man the ways of the sword and spear. Then Neeria’s smile faded away as she further inspected Derfel’s person, much to his discomfort. The only woman that he wanted so closely examining him was Linnesse, for the gods’ sake. What was it with this Woad? Had she not seen one of Arthur’s knights before? Of course she had.
Derfel sighed and then bit at his bottom lip as he watched the Woad cower away from him as if he had some infectious decease. He then crossed his muscular arms over his broad chest and narrowed crystal blue eyes at the woodland lass in a dress. “I am Arthur’s knight and charged with minding you t’night…so you’d best be watchin’ your manners, miss,” Derfel flashed a full set of white teeth at Neeria and then rolled his eyes as he stepped aside and gestured for Neeve to lead the way out of the baths. Voices could be heard nearby as well…female voices (Darya and Eyla)…so the young knight was quite glad to be leaving the womens baths before other patrons had arrived. He’d been embarrassed enough tonight thankyouverymuch. “After you, ladies,” He added with a single cocked eyebrow and a small wink at Neeria. Lady….indeed. Derfel’s right hand went to the hilt of his sword while the other remained gratiously extended until the two women stepped by him. |
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| golden_trillium | Jun 6 2010, 04:14 PM Post #43 |
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Author: Pinkie Date: Fri Jan 09, 2009 5:11 pm Catherine The winter chill seeped into her bones quickly. Catherine had bathed at home and was fresh and clean, her scrubbed skin gleaming, her blonde hair immaculately flighty where it peeked out from inside the hood of her cloak. She had done well this day and was simply going to the tavern for the company rather than to seek business. Arland was bcoming more and more possessive of her and she had no wish to sit and listen to his yabbering on about Sarmatians being crude, using men, barbarians yadda yadda. Gawain had not been barbaric to her. Far from it... she recalled with a sad sigh, biting her bottom lip. Lancelot had not been barbaric either. And Tristan had not been... well, he had been a little barbaric but only in a good way, Catherine thought with a wry smile. The snow was falling once more, coating the ground in a clean sprinkling of white. Her cloak was a pale blue wool so the snow did not show on it clearly but the dark night ensured that her pale form was quite visible as she ghosted through the archway that led into the courtyard of Badon Keep. Her hazy green eyes looked about quizzically and she heard the thud of hooves. She turned to see riders coming thruogh the gate and towards the stables. Pursing her lips, Catherine leaned her shoulderblades against a post and watched the men ride forward and then dismount. Piqued, she stepped forward towards the railings that ensured the knights and soldiers were not disturbed when preparing to ride out or when they had just returned. Her slender hand was ungloved as she liftd it, placing it on the cool iron railing, leaning forward so that her pretty cheeks were but a whisper away from the railings too. Her eyes devoured the sight, her smile small but genuine. Idly she started to toy with a strand of hair, eyes twinkling with delight as she watched the men dismount. She spotted some familiar faces in amongst the men, her head tipping to the side when she spotted Tristan. Catherine hummed to herself as she perused the scout she had bedded and she sighed then in clear satisfaction. She had learned little from him and she wished to know more. Badly. What of Sarmatia? Was it true what they said about their warrior women? And if that was so then how did the Sarmatians feel about the woad women fighters here in Britain? And what of the strong kinship to their horses? Why was that? Unanswered questions. Catherine trailed the back of her index finger against her cold jaw and looked away from Tristan, scanning the others. The sharp-nosed Roman was impressive though he did look quite severe. And ah - a rare treat. Arthur stood amongst his men, his voice raised to address them. Catherine's eyes twinkled even more to see the Fortress Commander and she stood on tippy toes to see the tall Roman above the heads of others gathered around him. He was beginning to turn and walk away. Catherine sunk back to the flats of her feet and trailed the strand of hair against her lips now as she too turned. It was almots a childish walk that she did, strolling through the snow with a playful swing to her hips, eyes distant as she made towards the tavern. Galahad "No I don't want... !" Galahad whined as the cook took away the buttery bread he had procured and replaced it with a rather coarse looking brown hunk. The young knight slumped defeatedly, hands falling down between his thighs as he sat on the stool at the big table in the keep's kitchen. The cook at the keep was reknowned for being overly interested and frank in discussing the bowels and digestive habits of anyone brave enough to sit before her in the kitchen. Her food was incomparable, rich and wholesome, filling and hearty - and free to the keep residents too. Apparently, according to Cook, Galahad's petulant demeanour and foul humour was all down to a 'blockage in his pipes'. He still wasn't sure what that meant but he had been speedily fed a thick and hearty soup, which was delicious, but his desire for some of the roast meat that was still dripping over the fire with some of the cornbread that she made was met with firm and, in Galahad's opinion, ridiculous disapproval. His warm blue eyes were accusing as he watched the large woman waddle back to her large pot of soup, adding in some more water adn then some more herbs. "But why.. " Galahad began. The woman turned and waved a ladle at him, splashing him with the hot soup which causd him to flinch to one side then the other. "You listen to me young man. You are too scrawny and sullen to be healthy right? So you'll eat what I give you and wait and see - tomorrow you'll be feeling right as rain. Once you've visited the privvy of course, and .." "Ok ok ok ok ok ! You don't need to spell it out!" Galahad interrupted impatiently, waving a hand around frantically. His shoulders slumped and he put his large hand over the brown bread. It was still warm. Sighing he gathered it up and turned to leave the kitchens. "There's a good lad now.." Cook said with a pleased smile, turning back to her stew. With her back turned Galahad took the unseen moment to pilfer a jar of honey that was sitting open on a counter and darted out of the kitchens with his stolen goods, hurrying along the corridor. Sniffling and disatisfied with his meal, the young knight dipped an edge of the bread into the honey and lifted the dripping sweet bread to his mouth, hanging it over his open mouth and letting the honey drip onto his tongue before taking a bite of the softened bread. |
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| golden_trillium | Jun 6 2010, 04:15 PM Post #44 |
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Author: Lancelot Date: Fri Jan 09, 2009 7:06 pm Lancelot Lancelot followed the blond woman into a side workroom; it was the one he'd stuck his head into due to the unusual smell. He caught the change in her sweet demeanor as he spoke to her - most people reacted to him in one of two ways, and she was exhibiting the more common of the two. Haughtiness, and mild annoyance mixed with tolerance. Just like most of the good ones.
His full mouth twitched a smile at her 'instructional' tone. But he listened to what she said and nodded at the end, his clothing bundled under one arm as he took the poultice into his left hand. "No, lady, no questions. I think I can manage to follow the directions," he smiled more broadly, and gods help him, it became somewhat genuine - if only for a moment. "Thank you for your trouble and time." He turned and reentered the hallway, the door never close enough to him in this place. Stopping before he exited, he twisted his neck just enough to see Derfel's woman out of the corner of his eye. "He's lucky to have you," he said, his words soft and his tone serious - he tried to keep the small amount of wistfullness out of it. "You tell me - anytime - if you have need of me." He faced her and gave her a small bow, and then, quick as the fae he resembled, he was out the door and into the deeping night. Shaking his head as he walked - what the hell had gotten into him? Something about that woman, he guessed - he hunched into himself and his teeth began to chatter at the chill in the wind, now stronger since the sun had set. He rubbed at his damp hair, the snow sticking to it aggravatingly, and was rounding the corner by the stables near the main gate when he looked up.
Lancelot stopped in his tracks as he saw the returning peace idiot's mission to Merlin. And he heard him speak to the knights and dismiss them with typical religious ferocity. Lancelot's body trembled minutely, his dirty clothing and the poultice that he clutched in his hands shaking a bit as he stood and stared at Arthur and Scipio, completely unaware of the cold or his tremors or anything but his fucking sudden relief.
And he watched as Arthur did not see him - granted, he was wearing things he did not normally wear, and Arthur certainly probably thought Lancelot was in his own quarters, or waiting for Arthur - as ordered. Arthur walked away, most definitely assuming that the Optio would follow him, and Lancelot stayed rooted to the spot as the two men shrank in his sight. And Lancelot had to swallow hard over the bile that rushed into his throat and over the pure and unadulterated rage that made him dry mouthed and dizzy. "Jesu," he whispered the curse once more, and gritted his teeth so hard he thought he might have broken one. Suddenly, he didn't care if he was hungry, or tired, or cold. He cared to speak with Arthur - and have this fucking done. He crossed the courtyard after the Romans, and entered the building that housed the quarters. Pushing into his own rooms, he flung his dirty clothing down and set the poultice for his eye on his table. He kicked off his boots, moved to the small hutch that housed his wine - especially the wine that he'd won in not so legal games - and yanking out a bottle of good Caledonian, ripped the cork out with his teeth and drained half the bottle before he stopped to breathe. Lucky for him, he had eaten, and his tolerance was high. Lancelot put the cork back in slowly, and crossed to his brazier. He kindled the almost dead coals and stood in front of the thing as it roared to life, his bare feet and damp hair making him shiver as he thought. He felt ill. He felt happy, and thankful, and disappointed that he didn't have to go after Merlin. That would have been the only good thing if Arthur hadn't come back. He felt nauseated, and angry, and he wanted to punch that damn Optio in the face. He closed his eyes, and squeezed the lids tightly, the pain in his bruised one a welcome distraction from the burning sensation that signaled tears. He fought it like the monster he was. He would wait...and then, later, when things had quietened down for the evening, he'd go to Arthur's rooms. And they would talk. |
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| golden_trillium | Jun 6 2010, 04:16 PM Post #45 |
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Author: Pinkie Date: Fri Jan 09, 2009 7:25 pm Amadeus
Amadeus could not agree more. He felt as if he had not rested in a month. The aches of being in a saddle, the throbbing of his bruised body from the battle, the emotional battering he had taken in finding his two companions dead and by the others hand at that! And he wanted nothing more than to compose his letter, have it sent away right this moment and then sink into his bed and sleep until a morning, evening and yet another morning came around. He had held this fort safe whilst Arthur battled with Saxons and he had followed through as much as he could by riding out twice to treat with Merlin and now he wanted to rest. But Arthur turned and gestured for the Optio to follow him, uttering those words that bid the Roman to follow. Amadeus suppressed a groan. He would not let Arthur think that he was tired nor wearied. He would not let the man see that weakness in him. He turned a grey eyed look on a stable hand and pursed his lips petulantly looking for the little child that he had ordered to look after Rowan and Wybert's horses. He could not see her present and gave a sniff of disapproval at that. Composing himself with a roll of his shoulders and a tug at the bottom of his tunic, Amadeus turned to follow Arthur silently, his head bowed. The silver armour that he wore needed polishing, his boots needed waxing and there was a tear in his cloak that needed mending. There was much he had to do but nothing was as important as the letter he had to send to Rome - nothing could occupy his mind with more urgency and intensity as that letter for it was a letter that would ensure that he, Amadeus Scipio, would inherit from a disgraced Arthur this place at Badon Hill. "I presume we can expect a lull somewhat from the woads for some time?" he asked, lifting a hand to his unshaven jaw and grimacing at the feel of stubble there. He would have to bathe too. Put that at the top of his list of things to tomorrow. "They looked fairly battered and depleted - I can't think that Merlin would risk another attack so soon." he said though he was not entirely certain that this was true. He knew little of woad tactics and nothing of Merlin besides what he had witnessed the past two days. And despite his desire to make Arthur believe that he was not tired a yawn broke through his alert facade, the Optio lifting a balled fist to stifle it uselessly, his grey eyes watering with tiredness. |
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