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Post by Master Claramae St. Laurence on Aug 1, 2009 22:16:32 GMT -6
I.
Breaking the Barracades
Percival: The sky flashed with a brilliant display of lightning as the Vigilant rocked violently. Waves struck the sides of the vessel, splashing high with water colored water and drenching the already rain drenched. The deck was wet, and the bow dipped after going over each wave. Men would slip as a current came over the tops of the rails only to drain below them. Percival was at the helm of the massive vessel. He looked calm despite the chaos of the main deck. Men screamed orders back and forth. Sails had to be retied, other lines had to hold. Lightning flashed again, showing a determined face behind soaking wet locks of hair. He threw the wheel one way, only to catch and adjust another. He held his compass, affording it a look from time to time. ``CAPTAIN! CONTACT DEAD AHEAD! `` Percival squinted, only making out the shadow of several ships ahead of them, thanks to the lightning flash once more. ``READY YOUR STATIONS MEN!`` Percival called out, high above the crashing waves and cracking thunder. His scowl seemed to only deepen as he rolled his head to crack his neck.
Peregrine:-- Peregrine's vessel was aft of Percival's. The two Avarians were quite capable of sailing waters far more home to them. He, like Percival, chose to stay at the helm, negotiating the wheel with only a skill Captain's reserved. Eyes squinted through the rain as he saw the cannon doors opening on the Vigilant. Letting the wheel go, he swaggered a bit, stumbling with the motion of his ship. Flamboyantly waving hands pricked the scope from one pocket and extended it. Looking through it, he saw what Percival did. ``MAKE READY FOR BATTLE!``[d]
Claramae:What would a woman do on a rain soaked night upboard a ship full of battle ready men careening with an aforementioned destiny? Redundancy would dictate she smooth her skirts, take shelter from the wet, and take tea while the gunneryordered the pulsing pound of cannon fire. Pray fortune seated sense beneath the slick brown head for the Lady St. Laurence had bound back the lot in a fashionable braid thus indicating it was a matter of business they were approaching. Leather leggings gave water puchase to go lax in instant of immobility against the cleft of posterior while he side released the central mast to walk-a-sway into the eye of the storm. With her brother at the helm, her silence was privy to the fact it was neither her vessel, nor this her venture. Being the pilot of one's own personal Dutchman was not in the agenda, merely she would await her brother's need of her - say - when they boarded ships --
Jack:"Well gentleman, tha' Avarians 'ave led us close tae 'ell." The Irishman spoke to his senior officers. Having turned the wheel over, he wanted to see for himself through the spy-glass what the Three Ladies were sailing into. A tingling occurred in an arm who's use had lessened since the famous battle of Raasay Sound. Gritting his teeth, the rain did some to freeze the onslaught of half-pain intensified by prickling needle nerves. Oh well. It would be what it would be, and so he had a Moorish surgeon for it. (d)
Percival: Men moved with great purpose as Cannons were pushed to both starboard and port. Barrels were cut off the line and rolled into place under the Gunnery canopy! Cannon crews began loading as the pair of ships bounced forth, spreading to make a modified echelon advance. Ahead, two ships were staggered and closing in. They were close enough to hear commands from the naval lieutenants over the crash of waves. Already, marksmen atop the crows nests were readying rifles to get a shot at the Captains. Percival smirked, staying at the helm of the Vigilant. The storm flashed its violent streak of light above just before the crack of thunder. He cut the Vigilant in front of Peregrine's ship, a last second call that would force Peregrine to cut diagonally to avoid hitting the frigate. As they did this, it they made an X, putting the Vigilant's starboard and Peregrine's vessel's port sides open to the bow of the leading ship. ``OPEN FIRE!--`` ``OPEN FIRE!`` Both ships opened fire, the sounds of it all rippling in staggered succession. Wood splintered, bodies flew, and the bow of the leading warship was all but crippled, forcing the vessel to dip into the water and come to a staggering stand still, putting everyone there on their face or backs. A round pelted by Percival who remained behind the wheel. He followed the trail back toward the marksmen up high. They were trying to off him..``You will.. try..``-- The Sergeant of the main deck was moving fearlessly down the center. ``READY STARBOARD!``[d]
Claramae: Good show.. the thought rang residual in her head with the throbbing echo of the cannon ball splintering to shards the best the Steward had to offer. Caching the railing, she was able to stay aloft in order to watch the further decimation of the leading vessel. There was no guarantee that she would she action more than men at work, yet this was fine. There was a familial pride to be had after all at Baron St. Laurence's progency. The prowess had that made: brilliant men impeccable Captains. The fires from the mouths of the cannons cut through the black, drenched night enough to beg considerable pause. Opening and shutting her hand, it was a way to call for a spyglass that allowed her look on in unexpressed delirium at her brother's accomplishment while minding the manner of the enemy. " Tell him they are concealing ships to the South, two, in an attempt to break him from behind!" She yelled through the storm to an ear that would listen, tugging on the man with flags to relay the message in naval color code to Admiral Flynn --
Jack Flynn: "We're being hailed sir. They say that ships are coming from the south.." He considered the distance between himself and the two Avarians pulling maneuvers and thought to pull one of his own. "I want a crescent shape to clip the southern snips. cut hard tae port, bring her back the way we came n' prepare a welcome on' behalf of the Griffin from the Admiran n'Govenor o' Ireland." The Lady Margret felt he caress of her Captain's hand to bend the vessel his whim. While the Lady Rachel shielded him from the front, to the portside he flipped, drawing Margaret for her introduction to the Avarian society (d)
Morrigan: By the sea and stars! She'd heard the call to ready for battle, but for some reason it hadn't actually hit until she heard the resounding explosions of cannon fire. In a flash she was dashing topside, wide eyes taking in the situation in a matter of moments. While she was no sailor by trade, she'd had her experience when it came to the finer points of working on a ship, though decidedly not in such dire circumstances. It took her but a split second to make her decision, and then that diminutive frame was scrambling upwards through the rigging, before she dragged herself into the crow's nest. Keen eyes and a bird's eye view were the best she could offer under these circumstances, leaving the stronger and more sturdy members of the crew to handle the working of cannons and rigging, unless absolutely necessary that she assist. Sometimes a small hand was more useful than ten larger ones.
Percival: The crippled ship launched its response to the pair of Avarians. Firing from both sides, the Vigilant and Peregrine's ship sustained minimum damage. The bow of the leading ship was going under, and the men on board were being tossed tossed into the wake the storm had created. In valiant effort, the Captain made a final call to the mast netting, cutting the sails free and use the rope to swing over. Marines from the vessel began to swing and land onto each ship, swords in hand. At least twenty on each side. The Avarian Captain had landed upon Peregrine's ship and shot the first man he saw. The second was caught in the withdraw of his sword. War cries were heard as the ships moved past the first battle ship to take on the second. Again, Percival cut the ship over, bringing him toward Peregrine's ship. Peregrine would do vice versa, leading. Now Pere's starboard was upon the firing range of the next ship's bow, while the Vigilant moved for a close port side. Each side fired, but the same effect was not produced. Heavy damage was taken, but the ship fired back from both sides.. clipping both ship's and Peregrine's leading mast. -- Up on the helm, Percival pushed his rapier into the heart of one man and turned to slash another across the face. He held his spot, bringing the vessel to circle about.[d]
Claramae: "Madame, boarding!" The moment of use was at hand and now would not be the time to fall short of glory. Maxamillion summoned his mistress by the taking of a life with his rapier, thrusting it down to the right of the heartto slip between ribs. Blood soaked, ragged gasps caught the Marine off guard while Claramae elected to indulge one of the new-fangled devices her caress of aim. With a pistol fit to a Lady's hand, the iron ball was pushed out by the trigger squeeze. It sailed between the eyes of the enemy. The nasal bridge shattered, leaving a gaping hole to see where the brain had been made visible through an indiscrete window. cokeing the pistol by the barrel, she turned it around and launched forward and cracked a skull in the center fusion of the four bones before her sword had even been drawn. Quick, consistant. On a stormy sea of snakes she elected the part of mongoose come to a king's supper. Heroism was the hallmark of Avarian creed. Had she not come to kill the Steward's ilk she might have congratulated them on atempting to tear down the offending ships in the absence of their own. She fought her way from the aft of the ship to its bow. For a handful of men seeking directive a few words easily relayed, "We should endevor to keep the Captain, our ships pilot, alive." She came to the rigging with a sword-drawn marine and the pair were locked in a fashion worthy of the epics. She came to his level, rocking, swaying as the ship tossed people, water, and ammunition about with no effort. Gravity was against them, but they danced in it. Sucking in her belly, she avoided a swipe where he avoided only two jabs before the third penetrated to shred sinew. The wound was still grave enough, having been drug do to the ship's swaying (d)
Morrigan: The ship shook and Morrigan clung to the top of the mast in the crow's nest, suddenly questioning her decision to take such a high perch. And then she saw men boarding the ship. Combat wasn't her forte, but she was capable of fighting without dying, at least. Swinging herself over the edge of what was one of the safest yet most treacherous spots to be found, she was making her way swiftly as possible down through the rigging, a little more than halfway down when she took a flying leap onto a flapping length of rope and sail. Squeaking as she went soaring through the air, boots connected with the back of an unsuspecting invader, sending him flying face-first into the deck. Small frame of the girl soon followed suit, though she managed to land on her side, rolling forward and smacking into the back of another's legs, making him fall. She was dazed, and went rolling again as the ship tilted. The expression on her face as she flailed and cursed plainly said someone needed to make things stop moving so she could get the bloody hell out of dodge!
Peregrine: Morrigan would find that her flailing could not save her, but it was by the hand of a very questionable Pirate, who even then waved his arms to stay up right. Acting as if he was completely clueless to the battling going on about the main deck, Peregrin reached down a secured Morrigan by her wrist. He yanked her up and behind him. His sword had yet to be drawn, yet the fighting was so intimately close to them both. Stroking the thin line that was his mustache, he led Morrigan up to the helm, expertly moving through the combat where gaps were formed. Their path was cut short, however. The Captain of the other ship had stepped in front of Peregrine, leveling his sword to challenge the flamboyant pirate to a duel. Peregrine looked annoyed by the aspect of needless heroism, risking his own life.. he scoffed. A pair of men tumbled by, holding the other by their collars. Peregrine plucked a pistol from one's beltand shot the Captain as he moved to attack. The Captain fell at Peregrine's booted feet, and Peregrine tossed the pistol away.. leading Morrigan up! She would go up first, then he. He stood waiting, waving his hands to fight the way the ship tried to throw him off balance.
Percival:-- Percival was fairing well, and had managed to bring the Vigilant's starboard along side the second ship. Cannons rang out in staggered succession with rich bright flashes of orange. They struck the ship, but failed to cripple it. The retort was fired back shortly after, and the Viglant rocked from a harsh blow. Percival sneered, throwing the wheel starboard and ramming that ship. His men knew what would follow.Dispatching the twenty on their main deck, the Marines, in unison with the Baroness and her faithful ally Maximillion stood without anyone left to fight. Rounds pelted by them, some striking the well trained sailors.. others missing out right. The Vigilant rocked, and the Sergeant latched onto the rigging calling out with a bloodied sword. ``PREPARE TO BOARD!``[d]
Eirian: Sequestered up like a hidden jewel in a trunk, the wayward Royal had been tossed to the ends of creation aboard Peregrine's vessel. Hard rolls to the left were countered with abysmal attempts at leveling to the right. At one point, : a well place hand kept our troubled heroine from smacking her head clear against the ledge of the quarter windows. "Stay here" Peregrine had demanded. He would not be held liable for the rape, murder, torment, or overboard drowning of his brother's wife so help him! The best laid plans of men, however oft fall to pieces when the unthought of becomes a factor in the waking world. BAM! The sound of shoulder against the wood turned a sharp ear upward BANG BANG! He must have had no gun, lest he would have shot the lock. BAM! Instead, the marine utilized a foot to splinter the place where th ehandle had been. Peregrine woul dnot find that favorable, he liked his pretty things! Ah, : yet none lay so fine a tempting target. One so bold to fly standards of the ousted regime and carry a member viable on board? Wouldn't the steward be pleased to have such a gorgeous neck fit for a noose? Unfortunaetely for him, The Lady Apollius had no intention of dying that night! The foot he used to kick the door would be the same that was pulled up so he fell flat on his back, gazing up at the falling rain, splinters of wood, and the sideline glance of the small woman who had taken his mid-air foot come tool in order to flip him! As he tried to scramble to his feet, she used her posistion above him to lean weight into Seren Goggeld. The first taste of blood spurted up; hot, seering vitae coated the silver as she plunged, twisted, and withdrew it. Peering around the cabin's outer edge, the violence was no more an invitation than her ordered abstinence, but it was too late now! --
Claramae: "You heard what was to be done! " Now it was Claramae echoing the Seargent's call, kicking a dying man over with little regard for much else. His name, his affilation would mean nothing as survival was paramount to the completion of the venture. She reached petite, effective hands to fumble against her lower back in a smaller battle with the elements. Finding what she sought, she would try to maximize their advantage by negating the number of enemy that would assail them as either side clamored for dominance on one or both vessels. Steel's song sung sweet through the air with a crisp whistle like the wind. It was fitting that of four knives launched in succesion, four men would : die by Avarian iron ore fashioned to her specification. (d)
Morrigan : Yelping as she was snagged and yanked to something that could probably be considered at least relative safety, the girl looked up at Peregrine with wide eyes, then lurched to her feet and scrambled after him as best she could when he began leading her off. More concerned with not getting stabbed or losing her balance, she didn't realize what was going on with Perry and the captain until she was being tugged past his dead body. That earned a blink, and she
Percival: The order had been given and backed. Marines readied lines and tossed grappeling hooks high. Marksmen up top continued to shoot, one taking a Lieutenant amidst giving orders. Percival's Marines swung themselves airborne, landing on the other side of a wide deck. A fight broke out immediately, and the Vigilant's cannons opened up again. The warship rocked and began to favor one side. Percival brought the Vigilant up by the bow, tossing the wheel toward a harsh starboard once more. It turned, and the wood creeked, but he knew the limits and capabilities of his ship. Rain continued to come down at a harsh angle, forcing "Eight Gazes" to squint.--
Peregrine: Peregrine secured the safety of one lass, and managed to reclaim the helm from his helmsman. He latched onto the wheel and brought his ship about, following Percival's trek, but coming up behind him as the Vigilant made its turn. Cannons opened fire from the starboard.. tearing the holes even larger in Percival's wake.[d]
Claramae: Grappling hooks and walking the wire of narrow precept was a specialty of the Baroness. She cast off, following in another wave of marines to the adjoining deck. Once aboard, she followed the sway of the sea in order to use it to propell her turning, kicking body in the direction. Tucked rolls, a handspring. Standing still only to run. Her targets couldn't place how they were being picked off with such a quick slight of hand and change of body. The rapier was the moongoose's mouth, it's claws. She was working her way toward the Captain of the enemy ship, if he lived anyhow, he would not draw breath much longer. --
Eirian: Peregrine...she mouthed, drawing hard on exprerience to punctate a too-soft voice with electric punch to force-feed his ears with her warning. He became an object of interest, with nothing to defend his back. Dashing from the mock safety o fthe destroyed cabin the Lady of Avaria utilized the downward to up stokes, jab blows, and disabling techniques that were her mastery. Knocking the sword from a man an cutting his hand beyond all use was one. Taking part in the ruination of another man''s slight, she slit him against the right eye (d)
Ship Captain: The Captain of the ship that Claramae had boarded was at the helm. He looked furious that his ship was crippled and the main mast was threatening to collaspe. His sword was produced in unison with a smaller tanto, and he locked eyes with Claramae before she could get to him. In one bound, the Avarian leapt from the safety of his helm to that of the ground below. Blinded by rage, he would not stand by idly and be killed by some harlot, sword swinging pirate. He cursed, kicking a fighting pair from his path to meet Claramae sword to sword. He was quite skilled..--
Peregrine:Peregrine heard his name called and he turned to see if it had been Morrigan who called it! Nope.. then his eyes narrowed.[d]
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Post by Master Claramae St. Laurence on Aug 1, 2009 22:20:13 GMT -6
II .
Claramae: "My path is specific " -- there were merely only meat-pack bodies of the Steward sent out onto the sea to die. She pulled on her grappling hook to dislodge it from the side of the ship, shortening the rope and using it as a tetherwith a good spike on the end. "....!..." Shock painted the face of the Botswain as he aimed his pistol an instant too late as she latched into his firing arm with the hook, yanking it downward to dig into the neighboring flesh. Lifting her right leg, she pulled it back and punched it out with the strength better reserved for angry mares. Never anger the thoroughbred! The boot heel came down over the opposite shoulder,hands yanking the hook free and casting it out with both hands on the metal to use as an old fashioned sleep method, sending a marine overboard. The botswain was down, but one more on the path to the ship's captain. What vendetta did she have with him? None, save in that he allied himself on the wrong side of the fence (d)
Jack: It was perfect thing of beauty, seeing the Three Ladies of Dunluce began to make their turn. Were there an observer given the privilege to see the world from above, it would seem that the Three Ladies had engaged upon a beautifuldance -- with the Avarian ships acting as their dance partners. They wheeled about atop the green-grey ocean, forming patterns and setps. One could hear the music even now.... and even if that music was the deeper rumble of the ships' guns. With but a tune, the Lady Maggie would tie up the ribbons in her hair that would signal to her sisters as to what they were to do. As the three gaellons waltzed closer to their targets, each Lady began to run out her guns. Everything from demi-culverans to massive cannons were run out, for such as this was created for but a single purpose: the whiping out of the foe. As the Lady Maggie and the Lady Ciera cruised closer and closer, they came in rage of the enemy ships. And the first volley was fired. (D)
Percival: The volley was a tune of destruction that ran parallel with the beauty of the ladies' dance. As if to the silent tune, the cannons matched melodically, sending parts of the upper deck ascant with only the "cheers" of men as they sent over the edge. Lightning flashed high above, and the water was risky with chop. The ship returned fire, but clearly it'd been cripped from the bow, losing a leading mast that fell back toward the stern. It got tangled with the main, staying upright at an angle.-- As Claramae dispatched the seasoned pair, the Captain killed three of the men that had come with Claramae. He used the smaller blade very well, if he wasn't defending with it he was stabbing themin the heart with a viscious snarl. He moved to attack Claramae and swung his longer rapier with a seasoned swipe. Feet planted, his upper half swayed from the way the ship rocked. His ship was taking horrible punishment from the two Avarian vessels that circled and continued their vollies.[d]
Claramae: The sea was a ballroom and the throb of weapon pulse was the beat that they all came to the ball in order to enjoy. Storm clouds burst open and angry bolts of lightning ripped across the coastline. How beautiful! The ships turned,twisted, until they interlaced with the green water. How cheeky the mistresses of the sea-ball they should lift their green foamed fringe to reveal the dark, murked underskirts where if one embraced the lover, they might never recover from the permanent extasy. Claramae and the Captain were the next partners to come up to the floor. Her invitation was a coy toss of the grappling hook at his first mate, digging a hook down into his calf. With a side swipeto knock him, she find the weakness of him. Like Achille's, his tendon had been left out of the River Styx. "AHHH the bytch, the bytch!!" Was his affectionate refrain, for she did not invite him, but the Captain! The rope was thrown overboard. Catching on to the tumult of the water, he was pulled from the scene with no further fan fair. She sucked herself back, twisted to the left in order to withdraw the rapier from that side with the right hand, and gave her kiss to the captain of steel to steel (d)
Percival: The Captain's blade would not hold its position against her. It reeled back and his defensive hand went wide as if acting as a counter balance for his striking. He was terribly good with his sword, and quick. He pushed his advantage on Claramae, clearly his deadly intent a palpable trade in the hated glances each shared.-- The Vigilant had been boarded, and topside cannon crews had engaged in combat. Several men had made it to the helm where Percival was. The Talon was determined to keep his ship steered in the right direction! Withdrawing his rapier, he engaged four men while the helmsman took the wheel and prayed the able bodied warrior could keep him alive! Percival used his hilt to : punch one man, then ducked and stabbed a second. A third was scrambling up the ladder only to meet the lead ball launched from the sparking muzzle of a small pistol. A hole formed between his eyes and his brain came out in the form of red behind him. Head tilted back, the man fell backward, leaving Percival to lock blades with the last. He parried, stepping closer to the man to elbow him in the face. The man stumbled backward reaching for his nose. That's when Percival leveled his rapier to stab through the man's heart. The man gasped as Percival twisted the blade from the handle, then withdrew. He resumed his post at the helm.. ``CALL 'EM BACK!`` He yelled to his Sergeant below![d]
Claramae: They did not come to court one another with provincial talk of greetings and weather. She would need to be quick, one step ahead of a well trained man who looked to walk the same way she did. Rapier fighting had caught on with - a vengence. European swords were so bulky, heavy. The rapier was the elitist's version of what those of Asia minor had long claimed superiority with. In only a few countries, popular with only a few submerged schools, it would not astound her to see that the Captain's sword was a combination of European traditionlist, lighter steel, still a wider tang, and a basket hilt, compared with her own, a half inch thinner. She took out her dagger and swiped out athis solar plexus, the rapier coming over to form a loose 'x' that allowed her to deflect what he'd throw. A parry, a thrust. Their dance was enigmatic, almost too quick to watch despite the fact the ship was lulling now. Soon the mast began to groan, the stem and stern were in disagreement with what end was up. The boat would not last much longer (d)
Percival: The ship began to crack along the upper deck, and in this instant, the Captain had been tossed off balance. In that exact moment, his sword was parried off and he felt something steal his breath. He looked down to see a dagger and rapier sticking deep within his chest. He felt his heart stop, and he tried to cry out but could not. He dropped his swords and fell to his knees in front of Claramae. The lightning flashing above was viewed in a different way as heslumped backward and rolled with the sinking back half of his ship. Behind Claramae, a Marine handed her a rope to swing back over. The ship was going down! [d]
Claramae:The battle in the front was coming to a climactic close while behind them the action was only beginning. Three allied ships against two Avarian ones were an even match as far as the Captain of each boat was concerned. The cannons were hungry to eat wood, the men for bloodlust. She saw from the corner of her eye but a fraction of it as the marine's rope was taken. So the Captain went down with the ship, and even if the ship were to have stayed whole he wouldn't have lived to enjoy it. For her efforts she felt adrenaline laxing to produce some soreness,cuts, bruises, but nothing severe. Once they had boarded back on the Vigilant, she was heading up to deal with the few men Percivalhad left (d)
Percival: The Vigilant and Peregrine's ship sailed past the sinking warship. Having broken the blockade, the Avarians sailed for the coast of the misty island. This was only the start of their liberation, and they had many adventures yet still.[d]
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Post by Percival Vizharen on Aug 4, 2009 15:55:22 GMT -6
Avaria's Secret Port I Foppish Honor: The small fleet that had embarked from Skye had valiantly pierced the blockade two nights prior to this one. The sun sank behind high mountain tops, it's orange countenance hidden behind the grey clouds. It always rained in Avaria, making it a dreary place to live. The ships would ease into a large hidden cove capable of sustaining eight to nine ships at one time. It made a U, making two large peninsulas mask the actual harbor. Docks were built high making them susceptible piers with various dock houses used for storing valuable supplies like gunpowder and manilla cargo nets. A Gypsy camp took the most northern part of the area. The camp's back literally flush with the high cliff walls. The southern portion made a clearing in the small forest on the peninsula. This clearing hosted the rebel army. Row after row of brown and green canvas stood erect with small campfires that burned with fire. They were covered by high hanging tarps to keep the smoke from climbing. In the center of the encampment, stood several abnormally large command tents, reserved for only the highest elements of leadership in the battalions.--- The crews had just tied their ships to the docks. Peregrines ship had led in, with the Vigilant closely aft. Both gang planks hit the dock at about the same time and the crews disembarked..[d] Eirian: After breaking the blockade, the rest of the sail toward the Avarian coast was smooth in the wake of the storm's absence. Eirian was a fixture on Peregrine's deck, given that the Captains Quarters were an indisputable wreck and she could do nothing but pray in the belly of the ship. She'd kept to herself right up until the gangplanks fell, watching the sunset; a burning fire hiding its true intention to set the world afire. Change could be as discrete as it violent - here, now, was the peace before the onslaught of a war storm. The countenance of the woman was marked by a few bruises, scratches, and soot. "We're making land now, my lady." a crewman called over her shoulder,and she turned to grab a few worldly goods before returning to the place she'd fled from in the dead of night. -- Claramae: " No, there is no possibility of setting up a higher vantage in Honheldagus, St. Laurence has not been apart of the parliament for a long while. Still yet, we will be too recognizable." Her mind was working at an alarming rate. Thrice the speed of light and one half the pace of the common intellect's advance as she attempted to lay down plans to present with the others in the meeting of history. Often she dismantled a land, or held up the mooring stones. Very rare was it to piece meal it back together. The scent of oil for lamps, fat used for everything from cooking to soaps permeated the shore (d) Percival Vizharen: Percival Vizharen stepped away from the helm of Vigilant. He wore a curious expression, even as he had leapt from the top deck toward the main. He was following the crew as they got off the vessel. He would eventually step out onto the pier and take in a deep breath. There was never a warmth which could be found from Avaria's climate; always cold and always wet. He followed Claramae and the others on down to the end of the piers.[d] Foppish Honor: At the end of the pier was a small group assembling to see the entourage. Among this group were a couple of officers, and even a few gypsies. The sailors carrying supplies would trade their loads off with the soldiers, who carried it toward the camps. One of the officers stepped out to greet them and guide them to the main command tent with an outstretched arm. ``Right this way My Lords and Ladies. We have much to discuss and little time to do it in.``[d] Claramae: "My brother, my lord," Claramae bent her neck forward as her body lowered in respect for the Lord of Tresserhorn on native shores, rising until Peregrine passed with Eirian and Ana no less than an inch infront of him, "Your Majesty, Mistress Stirling, m'lord Peregrine." She followed last not out of processional order, but as a constant pair of eyes with Maxamillion to watch their backs. The thick murk in the air was like inhaling chilled, invisible weights into the nose and pushed down into the lungs. Eirian: "Yes, I would agree sir." She said in passing as she looked to the Skye above one more time before capturing Ana's hand to tuck into her arm so they might walk together, all unaware of the bond forged between them riding on the shores of Skye. It wasn't real until ground was touched, until the languages of the Ranger Tribes clashed with Gypsy bargaining caterwall under the rising moon. Inspite of herself, a smile emerged contrary to the conditions of arrival. (d) Foppish Honor: The Commander only nodded and moved to walk beside his Queen. She would be privy to several side glances, as if the Commander needed to reassure himself that everything he saw was real. They reached the camp within minutes, and the flaps to the large command tent was pulled up. Inside, there were candles burning, and even a small campfire to catch warmth. It was not high with flames, but red with hot coals and a kettle full of warm stew. A few barrels of grog saw horses off in one corner, and the center of the room was a large, waist height table. On it was a map, and several stacks of parchment, likely reports from the scouts. On the map, several wooden figures were placed everywhere to indicate friendly places, and enemy installations. Each was colored a red, or blue. Blue was friendly. The Commander took a spot by the table, reaching down to take his mug and motion to the fire. ``There is a fire and stew for those who are hungry. But there is an important matter we must discuss once everyone is comfortable. I fear pleasantries will have to wait until we have the Prince back on our side.`` He lifted his mug to take a drink.[d] Eirian: After a few words of compliance Eirian said nothing after. She looked one way and the other, taking in the people, sounds, smells before the main tent became the cacoon for another part of a metamorphisis. The warmth called her over to it, but the food didn't go touched. Her belly had been filled with sea water. All that would come to soak it up would be planned intent. She felt an eye or two on her, a silent entreaty to eat that was not afforded much more than a passing glance as she studied the enviornment of Avaria in wooden symbols. The Queen, as they would call her here, had ceased to be the strong willed but paling flower that some had thought Talion crazed for marrying. If the air did not give her puemonia, than the people's scrutiny would break her in half! "So, it seems the blue concentrations are heavy where we are, but what of the Northern provinces, there seems to be red or clearly unknown areas.." save for a place in the mountains that was as blue-blood as the Apollius family was famed to be. While speaking, she took up a long strip of leather and began to twine her hair around it, and up, to be out of the way (d) Foppish Honor: ``The northern provinces have either succeeded, or have been taken over, your majesty. The poor suffer while nobles sit within their castle hiding from disease. They eat and eat, complain and spend. They have no loyalty to the Steward or anyone else for that matter.`` He replied. ``We've taken the most advantageous spots, and are awaiting order to begin our attacks. We plan to move on the military bases first. None of which will be an issue at night. His men are lax, and lack proper training.-- From there, we push to Honheldagus, and hold her close.``--- Percival Vizharen: ``That leaves the provinces and their nobility to either attack or sink further. Neither of which should happen. We'll have to unite them, or kill them and take over.`` Percival said, stepping beside the Commander and glancing toward Eirian. ``There is no room for pleasant subtlety anymore. If we're to strike, it will be in one swipe of a sword. Cut the head from the snake.`` His dark glance left Eirian's to look toward his sister, Claramae. ``Do not forget. If we spring the Prince, what was a surprise is in the open, and resistance might be heavier.``[d] Eirian: "If finessing worked, Lord Vizharen, the steward would have died at a poison dinner and we would not be here. Circumstances as they are, we will need all the resource we can acquire. Those in the North must be swayed to join the cause of liberation, or no longer breathe then. We can't risk the unknown. I would wager the same would be assumed for any unknown factions here." She nodded and took the phases of the plan into consideration. The places of advantages would begin to dismantle the military base, then hold Honheldagus. But they couldn't hold Honheldagus when the Steward had Saul in the palm of his hands. "What of the old resistance? The most fleet of messengers, the forces being trained before our escape were quite mature, and their squires and men at arms were on par none. After breaking through the fleet one may assume the Steward will not take this lying down, you will need the most simple things, communications, reserves, eyes, in plays or it will be for naught. What was done today can set off a rash of executions.." Claramae: The Commander had worked hard to secure what was had, and Percival was equally in being right. There was no time to be pleasant, but to strike hard and fast. Military installations, the capital were necessary. But the North could not be left dangling. All ends stood to strain their forces, and time seemed paramount to suggest, "Insightful, Your Majesty. Yet Percival is right, the time that would be required to assemble what you speak of is not what we have. and yet we can not leave the Northern Provinces a mystery. They will kill you where you sleep, I know. Ah yes, here..and here, many of his parliamentarians are drawn from this provinces because of either full support or suitable pay. Before my absence, there was a rash of killings among them, the Steward has them in such fear they weed themselves out. What is left, with the right hand,can then be turned toward the liberation's cause. Let me go then, and ride with another. You will have more men for the attack on the military base, and far less detractors. By then there will be less mouths to raise an alarm the Steward can here. You may assume, your majesty, what faction you had led and those of your husband are scattered where they can not be touched. I am certain some may obviously be here, high in the mountains, or frankly imprisoned or dead." (d) Foppish Honor: ``Recall you, your majesty, the Gypsies outside?`` He asked, leaning a bit on the table with a cool demeanor. ``They are what is left of your old rebellion. If there are others out in Avaria, they will know.-- See, when you left, underground networks were discovered and flushed. What survived clung to the arts and took on an image that could not be picked out by the Steward. The Gypsies trade with everyone and have set up a network of communications that is impervious. We work with them, and they vice versa. Lord Vizharen has been the one to supply the funds for this project for several years. Where he came up with the gold to keep this trade going... is..`` He shook his head. ``Well it is hard to believe. Might I make a suggestion?`` Percival Vizharen: ``Of course, Commander.`` Foppish Honor: ``Why not launch a double operation. On one front, you retrieve the Prince. The other, we cripple the southern forces by taking out the main base. This will buy everyone time to unite the northern provinces, and keep Honheldagus from making any movements.``[d] Claramae: "A capital idea. Thus objectives are accomplished at multiple times. In a sense it will baffle them tremendously, and by the time they mobilize to find the prince, they will need to mobilize to the base, etc. By that time, you will have quite an assembly." Her brother had financed the operation of intricate communication via artisan trade? It was an idea so simple that it would be overlooked as simple folderol among peasants or those with money to burn! Become the villain to return a hero. She arched a brow before it settled down.."Then if the gypsy have a network of communication, we might also accomplish the objective of finding who among them has experience we might require." Why Percival, you are a genius, aren't you? A network of communication - guaranteed paths north and south. Her mind began to work on the Prince's case, "We shall need to liberate His Highness quickly, as I recall from listening to the lungs of Lieutenant Vincere and Her Majesty from their turns in such hospitality, he will be dead if we wait too long. If he is taken down and stabilized, i will be able to begin on the Northern quandary.." Percival Vizharen: ``I will accompany you, Madame St Laurence.``[d] Claramae: "Of course, My Lord Vizharen.. This then leaves to perhaps Commander Galaeones or Peregrine to assemble enough to infiltrate the castle..for the prince.." Eirian: "No. Nothing too large..." Claramae: "Of course not, your Majesty..." Percival Vizharen: ``I suggest we hold off the northern advance until after we have Saul.`` Eirian: "I agree. You will need proof we are successful, and he is the key to that. ..I wish to retrieve my son." Claramae: The silence was all but deafening. Claramae brokered an objection of a firm ' No, simply not. It is like exchanging one of you for another.." Percival Vizharen: ``You will not embark alone, your majesty. I can lend my sword. And this was my doing, so I am bound to retrieve your son as well. Reports show there are Talons guarding the Prince. Not many here are capable of killing that sort save myself. I trained them.``[d] Claramae: ""That is madness." There were other faces that agreed. While none of them were traditional by function, giving Talion's wife up to them like a carrot before a horse seemed "His Majesty will already be indignant at your departure.." Eirian: "My husband has been indignant for years, Baroness. I trust a few more days at it won't be of too much harm. My size is to your advantage, my sex provides an ample distraction if disguised. I can be escorted in as the jailer's whore, if necessary. At the same time, if we are expedient, we might free others of use as well." (d) Percival Vizharen: ``With respect, Madame St-Laurence; she is Queen and I am in no position to argue with what she wants. I will strive to protect her. ``[d] Claramae: "Within the same respects, Lord VIzharen, it is our posistion to protect and insist on preservation of life before an unprepared heroism --" Eirian: "My Lady, have not you, yourself aided in the keeping of my sword practice and stood as my guardian at one time or another. I do believe the Lieutenant, your husband, assists my archery. Therefore it would stand to suggest I will fall on no swords nor trip into any disaster..." Claramae: "Your Majesty, I did not mean to suggest.. " Eirian: "That I was incapable? No, my friend, you did. Not entirely, but enough to where I would be a hindrance. If that were so, I would not be here, now would I." Claramae: "I see..." Eirian: "You mean well, but if I wished to avoid things, I would still be at my loom in Turas Lan, or tending my baby and sheep in the valley. Lord Vizharen will be my champion," in effect, restoring him to a place he had been cast from! How would Talion take such things? "He will come with me if it pleases him, for it pleases me" (d) Percival Vizharen: ``It is with the greatest respect, I accept, your majesty.``[d] Eirian: "Good. Now might I suggest all of you eat, drink, acquire rest and familiarity with your surroundings as I should like to do the same. Commander, Percival, will you tour me through the encampment please?" (d) Foppish Honor: ``So I believe that matter is settled. One last note.`` The Commander said, his tone raising only slightly. ``I will need a reliable officer to lead the men to the military outpost.`` Kuriel: " Annnnnnnd .. " A voice came, quipping from behind the assembly of people who'd been engaged in a tense conversation. " Can he be handsome, too? " That voice could belong to one man and one man only. A man who of course had an annoying talent for showing up unexpectedly, mostly when not wanted. Jakoris Kuriel Se'vant was handsome. Damnably handsome. The type of handsome you just didn't believe could exist, nor did you trust it. His tunic was a beautiful navy, trimmed in gold -- probably real gold. His hat was ridiculous in size, as was the white feather tucked into the cowl. On his hip was a magnificent rapier, but it looked more ornate then useful. Everything about him looked decorative. Percival Vizharen: ``Your majesty.. I regret to introduce another of Apollo's Talons, the only of four more senior than myself, Kuriel.. Se'Vant.`` He scowled slightly. ``Kuriel, I suggest you accompany the Queen and myself in retrieving the Prince. I believe this other task requires someone else's touch. Someone who has needed a command of his own for many years. Lieutenant Michael Vincere, I believe, would be up to the task, Commander.``[d] Eirian: "Good evening, Sir Sevant" Oh dear. Let us not be sorry to introduce him, besides, she found him utterly amusing! So long as his sword was as grand as the pompous hat he wore, he could have dawned a woman's ball gown and slippers. She offered him a hand, intent to shake his own to form connection. "I recall you." And the pompous attitude. They hadn't forgotten whom she was married to and who's son she adopted, let alone on who's boat she traveled on? Merely a docile woman a midst violent male peacokes with swords for feather fans. After a few months you adjust! Gently sliding a hand to his shoulder, she turned to listen to Percival's suggestion and could not help but agree. Her husband was going to fall from his chair in shock at the changes to his little band of loyalists. "So then it will be. Commander Vincere from this moment hence forth, and when this is done I shall see you all commissioned properly for your service. And Lord Vizharen, might I correct you? Is it not, in the case of the Lady St. Laurence ..Vincere-St. Laurence?" She was also able to pay very close attention. To where her husband had a boar's fit on the matter, she merely bid them both. "Congratulations. And welcome, Kuriel Sevant, to the little gathering." It was official - Talion was never going to believe any of this occurred. (d) Kuriel: " And I suggest you not be such a negative nancy and turn that frown upside down. " Kuriel sauntered next to Percival, his old friend, once rival, often headache and more then once the man who tried to kill him. A heavy hand first struck Percival, every one of those flawless teeth flaunted in an ear-to-ear grin. The type of grin the chesire was born for. When she offered his hand it became a bit suggestive, carefully wraping his hand around her own and placing a long lived kiss on her knuckle. " The rumors of your beauty do you everything but justice. " Leaning back, he eyed her for a long spell. " Remember me? " His hand laid on his chest, playing up the shocked disposition. " I am just being all sorts of honored today. " Percival Vizharen: ``For Gods sake Kuriel, her majesty has quite the memory. I think she's capable of remembering who her husband's brother is.`` He shook his head and shrugged out from under the fop's grasp. ``Now, are we set to move out. I am anxious to get the ride over with. We've not much time..``--- Kuriel: Kuriel feigned a wounded expression, but finally just huffed. " Grumpy pants. " Foppish Honor: ``I will send for Commander Vincere St Laurence at once, and have our attack under way, your majesty.`` The Commander said, switching his gaze to Eirian then Lady St Laurence.[d] Eirian: "Aren't you simply too much. Were I to have ever held a court you would have shone in it, I am certain. Dally not too long, we've work to do." Rumors did not justice to sea-soaked dresses, a sword with dried blood against her back and perspiration slicked hair wrapped up in a braid of leather. Eirian was what one would call a functional, working royal! "Yes please, commander, erstwhile I shall find another change of clothes to look the part of a whore. Ana, are you coming?" She didn't expect to leave her sister-in-arms behind. Indeed, if Kuriel favored beauty he'd have two for the price of one. Eirian would lift her soaked skirts over her arm and unabashedly show the legs the good Lord gave her on the way out. God bless it, Talion was fortunate! (d) Kuriel: " Ah, old Vincere. I taught him everything he knows, a fine addition. " An obvious lie, as he adjusted his belt subconsciously, shifting the many purses of gold and that shiny rapier around his thin waist. Kuriel looked to be anything but a warrior. Most thought he was a fool with money .. And they were right. Morrigan: "Ye bet I'm comin'." Only words spoken from the determined young lass before she followed her sister of the heart. Sidelong, slightly wary yet vaguely amused glances at Kuriel aside, she was all business at this point, determination shining in brown eyes. Kuriel: Then another voice chimed in. A lady! .. Well, an angry women. What a women. Kuriel and his fiendish grin returned. " I think I would know if you were cu-- " Percival slapped the back of his head, cutting him short.
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Post by Percival Vizharen on Aug 4, 2009 15:58:19 GMT -6
Rescuing the Prince I Foppish Honor: The night had grown darker and colder with heavy rains and piercing winds. Lanterns hissed as moisture struck the glass only to steam and dissipate. The dungeons were set apart from the main of Honheldagus. Almost a good twenty miles to its south, the dungeons sat into the depression of a large hillside. Cut out of the ground by laborers, the building ran deep underground with only one story above. The stone was dark, the innards darker. Even from a distance, the party could hear the screams of unfortunate souls as they were tortured below. The wall was hardly fortified and stood maybe at waist height. A pair of soldiers walked with the aid of spears along the outer most perimeter, while another stood vigilant at the doors.[d] Percival Vizharen: Percival sighed, pulling the cowl from the black leather armor up. He wore a quiver full of intricate arrows at his waist, and a pair of arming swords across his back. With one hand, he motioned to the outer most guard. In the other, he held the bow low, preparing to knock an arrow given Kuriel's response. Behind them, the group of ladies were awaiting with another group of men, dressed as the jailors. Dark eyes hardly shown as his gaze locked with Kuriel SeVant's.[d] Kuriel: Kuriel was as aloof as ever. His disposition was distant, his gaze much further. After a long period of awkward tension he came to, realizing everyone was sort of waiting for him. Blinking away his lethargy, his smile was sheepish. " Oh, yeah, go ahead. " Next to Percival, he raised his own bow, preparing to let loose an arrow if need be. Not that it would help much, given that Kuriel was probably as useless with a bow as he was with a sword. Eirian: Her role was to look unassuming and frankly, inviting. The cross had been taken from her neck, the rosary from around the wrist for God was not to be mocked to the extent she might go in order to save the life of her son. Who else was in their crying out for God? Why did you abandon me, why am I forlorn? The jail of the Steward was no place for religious intervention. Holding no outward weapon's, her sword's wait was roughed up bound against the side of wash covered hips. A bodice cut lower than modesty ever allowed hoisted up the pair of round, red flushed orbs like a pair of sweet rolls. Every inch of figure questioned at was no mystery now! That old whore in the camp had done too good of a job. (d) Morrigan: Morrigan was unbelievably embarrassed. She didn't know how in the hell Eirian had managed to get her into a dress, let alone looking like a woman of ill repute, but there she stood. At least she still had her blades.. one of the smaller ones tucked down the front of that dress, and the two longer ones up under her skirts. She tried not to fidget too horribly. This was not quite what she'd had in mind when it came to her participation in this rescue, but she was more concerned with the liberation of Saul than her modesty. Deep breaths were not her friend as she was convinced she was bloody well going to fall out of the top if she took one too many, a sidelong glance cast at Eirian before looking forward again. Peregrine: How much fun was Peregrine having as the jailor keeping watch over his bevy of whores? Far, far too much. Though he was serious as the hour approached, the smile remained in his eyes, until Rosalind shook her head, to remind him he was meant to be sober as a rock. He cleared his throat and looked pointedly at the low cut on her dress, whistled absently, then turned away. Rosalind Avalle: Rosalind discreetly adjusted, frowning, and when she realized she had been had, sniffed and turned away. All concerns about appearance fading away, she placed a hand to Eirian's shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. "We do give a convincing show, Eirian, do we not? Will you allow me to pray with you before we must go?" It was no secret how pious Eirian was, and Rosalind thought it would be a kindness to offer, despite their appearances. One could change the clothes without altering the lady within. * Eirian: "Prayer, and when we are home again think you the priest will cry a'foul if we boil a pot of holy water and oil?" A pious rebel with an education to rival a reverend mother dressed as a whore - the chorus of O,Lord, spare us was whistling through her head along with a death dirge for any who's grimy hands had touched her son by marriage. Breathing inward she pressed her belly against the smooth rock, blending in due to the black and brown cloak that covered her -ahem - what might as well have been unmentionables. Clasping to Rosalind's hand she began to pray in utter earnest God forgive her of a litany of sins (d) Percival Vizharen: Percival shook his head. ``Take the leading one. I'll take the one further back. They seem far enough ahead, the other two won't notice.`` Percival stood up, poised with the bow in right hand. He knocked a specific arrow [like some drunken archer had taught him once] and pulled it back taut. His eyes narrowed and he let his two fingers go lax, launching the arrow forth. The arrow made a high pitched whistling noise that could barely be heard over the rain, and it struck the man further back from the leading one. He fell with an arrow stuck from his neck, his spear falling upon him. Percival shot a glance to Kuriel.. to see if he'd even fired yet.[d] Rosalind Avalle: Rosalind bowed her head and murmured the familiar Latin cadences. She had too many sins to atone for to worry about them now. It made rote memorization of her favorite Psalms easier, on both heart and soul. She supported Eirian while she prayed, though perhaps, her mind was not entirely on the Latin words, but on what role they were to play. If she had been born a man, she would have made an excellent military tactician. As it was, she merely had the words of Greek war strategists floating in her mind, carmine on her lips and cheeks pinched to a rosy glow, and a skirt far shorter than she would like exposing her ankles to all men's lascivious gazes. Mon Dieu, perhaps she did have something to pray for. "The Holy Book is quite forgiving, I think, on transgressions made in the preservation of your life or your neighbor's. I will not let this trouble my conscience much." She crossed herself and said her amen, then smiled. Rosalind was quite the heretic. Blackmailing the Pope was her favorite sin. * Kuriel: Kuriel watched the man fall. Kuriel was also leaning on his bow. " That .. That was a hell of a shot. " Obviously impressed, a worried expression passed his face. " Uh, Perci' .. Might wanna get that other gu-- .. Oh, that was my job. " Unphased, he shrugged, staring at Percival with a curious expression. Something that had a degree of jovial influence, but beneath it was a scrutiny. He was studying the man. Again. " Better get him. " Eirian: "Sage words of wisdom from a sage lady." When all was said and done they would need to speak on the Sins the papacy constantly commited and perhaps corner the market on indulgences. She hitched a top skirt over a the sash belt, "Given these are my neighbors, my family, and subjects God shall have a large bastian of mercy." Twang! The arrow made her eyes follow it to the target with unexpressed gladness one more of the Steward's men went down. Then another. All too soon it would be time for their 'work'. Inside a convesation went "M'bits need relief. Thought the jailer was gettin' us a'piece taenight?" "Hold it in yer hands n' tug, man, get it stiff. ye know whores dun like it soft." "They'll like it how'er I pay 'em..." Delightful! With the guard coming to a grinding hault in life, it was time to play the part. That said, she would stand up and begin the show. "Can you believe it....Rose and Anne Madame let us out taenight to have some real fun!" Grit, grin..admirers were afterall watching from a window. (d) Percival Vizharen: God damn him for being more senior than Percival. Percival's scowl grew as he knocked a second arrow. Taking aim, he let his mind rest and a second later let his fingers go lax again. The arrow soared in the same fashion as the last, and struck the leading man down before he had any idea what that whistling was. Steadying himself, he motioned for the women and Peregrine to do their parts. Kuriel and Percival would come in afterward. When the group began their approach, Percival grabbed Kuriel by his collar to get him to come along, and they'd stop by the outer perimeter where they were concealed by the wall. Kneeling there, Percival collected a spear and tossed it to Kuriel. ``I know you ain't chyt with a sword..`` He frowned and waited for Peregrine and the ladies to work their magic.[d] Morrigan: What were they waiting for? She was getting anxious, and she wanted to get out of that damned dress. She glanced over at Eirian and Rosalind as they prayed, but her attention was soon garnered by Eirian and it was time to play the part assigned to her, she immediately pasted a grin on her face and followed after the other two with a giggle. "Oh aye, 'tis about time!" Flutter of lashes. Dear gods she would be glad when this was over, and she could walk normally again, this whole hip-swaying thing was awkward. She was afraid she was going to lose her balance and fall over. Rosalind Avalle: "Ah, him. Him, I like," Rosalind offered helpfully in French. "Madame was very kind to let us out tonight, oui? There are so many fine specimens to choose from." Rosalind's hips swayed as if she was dancing, but honestly, the feel of fabric so high against her ankles was alarming. Next time, she would borrow a dress from a taller whore. She fluttered her fingers at one of the guards, laughed, and continued on alongside Eirian. She slowed them a moment to wrap her arm around Morrigan's waist. She wanted to stay close, if only to the lingering feel of drugs making her world a tad slower than it turned for everyone else around her. Peregrine strode calmly in their wake, ensuring they had safe access through the guards and toward their potential clients, making chitchat along the way if it was required, and pointedly ignoring Rosalind. * Kuriel: Kuriel paused, eying Percival curiously when he was arrested. As he produced the spear the wily fop just allowed his grin to return. Spear, his weapon of choice. Twirling it once, he tested the weight, before securing it on his back and following quietly behind Percival. " Perci, " He whispered sharply, moving past him to keep a closer watch on the women. For security purposes .. And because they were all dressed so deliciously. " I am going to be real sad the day I have to kill you. " Calling over his shoulder, Percival could hear the grin in his tone. Eirian: "I feel lusty and want to have a really bonnie time.." She parlayed her Southern Welsh accent into something that would have paralyzed a man if he listened to it long enough. Your horse, sir? Your manor? Your coin? All for the sake of a good romp. "Mm, look at that.." She lived a hand and waved, giving a tart's wink to a particular man who was tall, dark, and a might zealous. 'Can I test the wares. I like to sample before I buy.." Her mind reeled - no such indecency would be given to the Lady Invernye nor brave, good Ana! Letting a step forward with a hip go pressed down, it let up the other side as presentation, given it was sword free and arse ample. Taking his hands, he placed one to hers as she let it to her breast, "Head man goes first, my pet, but there's plenty in Iana left for you.." As she realized their proximity to the doors, now was the time for them to go to work! The guards on the wall had been target practice, and these here were deprived, easily distractable...four or five...inside they would need to get be done with the commander, and give the keys to the other. Literal belly of the beast. As she slipped inside her skirt was grabbed at, and for one last parting shot she allowed him a feel of ankle, a kiss to the fornt of her shin before he laughed, secure he would have maybe even two to bed later! (d) Morrigan: "Aye, cannae wait tae get one o' these braw, bonnie laddies tae m'self." She wasn't at all sure if that was something a whore would say, but she figured that if it was a thought that normally would never enter her mind, it was safe enough to say. Looping her own arm around Rosalind's waist, she sauntered along next to the woman and cast decidedly un-innocent smiles at the men, even offering up a few winks, and the occasional kiss pressed to fingertips then thrown in their direction. Meanwhile her stomach churned at the thought of one of them touching her. She was now eternally grateful to Eirian that she saved her the horror, at least for the time being, and on the outside, she laughed. "Saucy wench gets all th' fun!" Rosalind Avalle: Rosalind did distract, and quite well. She saw what Eirian was doing and laughed genuinely. This would be easy, though now was probably not the time to get ... cokey. She angled herself between the men and Morrigan, so gracefully, it was difficult to tell Rosalind was doing any such thing. "Lord above, but I want th' tall one. Or the girl. D'ye think they'd -- hell, can I ha' both taegether?" Rosalind grinned. "Only if you can get her away from me first, gentlemen. I have not been known to ... share well." She sashayed up to Eirian. If she had the keys yet, Rosalind would slide them against her body and drop them into the hidden pocket she'd sewn into the whore's skirts just a few short minutes ago. If not, she and Morrigan could make another round. They had time, even if Peregrine was grumbling something about "Pay before you play" to the particularly grabby guards. "The Madame will have my head." She heard bawdy laughter and a few jests she intentionally ignored in response to Perry's threat. For a whore, it wouldn't do to make her ears burn. * Eirian: "I'll even charge you less, lads, if you can fill me more eh?" One set of keys passed, but this must not have been the entire one they looked for, how easy it was to acquire them meant maybe he was a steward's man trussed up with responsibility to keep him quiet. What little pay the Steward offered -it was easy to see where that was going. She flipped a wink to Peregrine, a sign that the clientele had their...fun and it was time to meet their maker? Another to Rosalind an Ana, a discrete rolling of the wrists indicating she was penetrating deeper inside, where it was dark and unforgiving. Clear the doors - and follow - so Peregrine could follow! "But I want the big fish first, he did pay Madame extra..where are you, where are you....come out.." The jailer with the original half set of keys followed her in..good..it'd leave a hole for the girls to journey in behind. The next of many offenses to gentle person was this. He thrust her against the wall - hands of a greedy man roaming lakes and mountains after having being in the desert! He pressed his scared, foul tasting mouth against hers, mistaking one moan for an obvious pleasure bout..a hand slipped round, drawing up a closer knife before his last breath was wasted an inch from her mouth as he then noticed a strange loss of blood. Covering his mouth, she had him die quiet, his head drowning in her chest as another passing guard thought he was fishing for bits. It took but two minutes, the longest two minutes of her life before she could drop his corpse in the dark corner, careful to avoid bloodstains on her dress (d) Percival Vizharen: Percival looked to Kuriel, ignoring the comment he had made in lieu of their current situation. Ahead, the four had made it inside the dark building, leaving only the pair of guards outside by the main doors. Percival intended to kill the pair before advancing forth. Favoring a knee in his kneel, he brought the bow before him and plucked two arrows from his waist quiver. Biting a fletching from both, he turned his head to spit them out. One hand leveled the pair onto the bow, laying it horizontally in front of him. With the arrows knocked, he pulled the string back taut, aimed, and released. These arrows did not whistle, but they struck both targets with varied results. One was hit deep in the stomach, the other in his throat. Grabbing his throat, the man toppled over trying to breath and fight death. The other man leaned forward and fell to his knees in utter pain. He yanked the arrow out of his stomach and was about to call the alarm when he heard something whistle. He didn't have long to investigate the noise, because a third arrow struck him in the throat to silence his voice. He fell over and shared the struggle his companion was losing.-- Percival stood and motioned forward, before vaulting over the small wall and moving toward the door in a crouched, silent run.[d] Peregrine: "I did not see you pay for that," Perry said lazily, grabbing one of the guards from inside and slamming his head hard enough against the wall that the man slid boneless to the floor. He shoved Rosalind out of the way to grab another who had thought to intervene, and slid his dagger between the man's ribs, then dropped him to the floor without blinking an eye. "Rosie, I swear." * Kuriel: Kuriel was on his heel. It wasn't the same Kuriel of old though. Every step was balanced and graceful, he had the semblance of a practiced warrior. He didn't bother with any of the guard, he was confident in Percival and his prowess and the man flawlessly intercepted every impediment they squared off against. He bound over the wall and landed silent, before closing in on Percival. He stayed in the shadow of the famed death dealer, keeping his bow at the ready. Eirian: *Daniel in the Lion's Den came to mind - Jonah, poor depressed Jonah in the belly of the whale awaiting God's deliverance. Save here, the only thing spat up on shore was bone or corpses. Deliverance day was nothing overly fanciful rag tag whores and men who happened to be good at archery, swords, and spears. Was it enough? Appearing from the corner, she told Peregrine "Rosalind has a set of keys, find out what they go to. A cell, a room of supplies. Whatever can be turned over find those you set free to help you, kill the guards.....the master commander is not among these men...it was far too easy getting in here." Peregrine:'And where does my brother's wife think she is taking her pretty rear - save to my bed.." Rosie was going to beat the shyte out of him for that, but Mon Dieu, so much...bounty, all in one place! Eirian:"To give God more reason forgive me committing murder, Peregrine should be close behind, we'll flush out this level before going below...hurry Peregrine, come, let's split up the keys..." The jails were below, but surely a few were kept above for questioning or merely as torturous Yesterdays Fancy: playthings for a new device. (d) Morrigan: "Plenty tae gae 'round, laddies." Said with as salacious a giggle as she could muster, she planted hands on her hips and eyed the men as though looking over prize goats, or perhaps considering the idea of a two-for-one deal. But she was hardly given chance to speak before Peregrine leaped into action, and she moved to grasp Rosalind, tugging the other woman away from the bloody mess as she paled. She still wasn't used to seeing a man die, and she wasn't sure she ever would be. A quick glance was cast around as she considered the next thing on their agenda, one hand reaching to unlimber blades in their respective sheaths. One could never be too careful, especially not in a situation like this, and she glanced at Eirian as the woman rematerialize, her eyes brightened to a sharp hazel flecked with gold. Rosalind Avalle: "Mon Dieu." She crossed herself. She had seen too much violence in her life, but it was different when it was right before her very eyes. She backed up though when Ana tugged her away, rather glad to be behind someone more armed than she was with only a stiletto in her pocket. The knife went everywhere with her, save to France, and when Perry gave it back to her when they were on the ship, she'd been so happy she'd cried -- and later blamed it on Jean- Claude's drugs. She fished the key out of her pocket. Peregrine would want this more than he would want her to lead the way to any locked doors, so she didn't argue in giving it up. "Let us hurry, either way. This is too easy. There must be more." She was a realist, not a pessimist, and after surrendering the key to Perry, dug out her stiletto and kept it clutched at her thigh. She wouldn't win any sword fights with it, but it could do far more damage than bare hands. * Eirian: Eirian was pale on a constant basis so she did not pale here. The death of a man was as paltry as the wind blowing when nerves had been dipped in steel only to be coated with thrice the resilence of usual. So much had befallen her since her inception to the world of courts, titles, and intrigue that what mattered now was survival above all else. No one would see the ousted Queen crying on this day, nor whimpering, even paying God a heed. He couldn't come any further with her here than he'd already had. "Hmm. Before the stairs go down to the complete dark, there are doors.." Already a presence was sure to cause commotion. The change of the guards didn't happen on schedule, and soon they'd discover bodies where living men had been before.Peregrine had the key, and she now held two others on it, one she impressed into Ana's hand. "That looks like an armory key..or some such..open this...open this because we will need that store. Percival....if you are ready my lord." She slid her dagger into her coif of hair so it appeared as a decoration, steel vanished in the black strands, leaving a flat, ornate hilt to appear as a hair pin. The truth of performance waited below, they'd join down there soon... she ran down the stairs, nearly toppling over from the smell of fecal matter coming as she merely put the key in the keyhole (d) Percival Vizharen: Percival moved toward the doors and stepped over the bodies of the two guards. They were dead when he and Kuriel arrived. He knelt by their bodies and collected a set of keys to unlock the doors the group had vanished through. He twisted and pulled, coming face to face with Eirian. When she spoke he nodded and moved past her, only to look back and make sure Kuriel was right behind him. ``Your majesty, stay behind Kuriel and I. We will clear the path of guards. You and the rest make sure the prison doors are opened to free the prisoners of war. Do not get ahead of us. There are Talons somewhere in this facility.`` Percival didn't give her a chance to reply, but cut the conversation by twisting to step off. He stuck his arm and head through the bow, wearing it like he would a cutlass strap. He reached back and pulled the pair of arming swords free, the blades sliding silently from their secure homes. Posting on the door Eirian slipped the key through, Percival waited for Kuriel to take the other side before twisting the key and pushing the doors open.-- Foppish Honor: When the doors opened, they would with a loud groaning sound. The iron was rusted and needed oil. When the door opened completely, the two Talons could see the line of cells along each wall. A total of six guards had been posted in this particular room. The room stretched forward, ahead of the group and ended with another closed and locked door like the one prior. The guards adjusted, seeing the two warriors and hoisted their weapons to attack. They were not silent in this undertaking either. Each harvested a cry for battle, and sought to kill Percival and Kuriel proper.[d] Eirian: Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death...I shall fear no evil... the recitation of the 23rd psalm made the battle cries, the charge, sound as if it were all a dream to which she were the observer walking through the the scene unfettered. Outside, sure enough, the change of the guard would mean a change in status. The bodies of the men were found with arrows in them, the doors to the facility obviously open from a distance. A group of fifteen men came to assail the first, and only, level of the jail while Percival, Kuriel, and Eirian were going further into the dark. Following their instructions, she did not adventure ahead of them, but ran to the first door that was free of a guard because of them. She breathed in to compose her hands, driving the key into the lock, turning, and pulling back. Out came an emaciated man who's muscle was beginning to waste away. "Run!" she bid him, and he wasted no time to pursue his freedom. Still, all released would have to fight out. Next another door, this was a man whom was barely a man. Fifteen, and one she recognized almost immediately as messenger in training for the Old King. Her heart would have to break another day, especially when he cried in spite of himself. "No..no I dream.....My La!" She clapped a hand over his mouth, "Listen! You are still well off, find you arms and fight! But say nothing, the prince is here! Have you seen him?" One good cry of Your Majesty and it could all be for naught! (d) Kuriel: Fighting? Kuriel saw Percival prepare himself and scoffed. " .. This is a brand new tunic, Perci'. " Lament showed now on his fickle face, before his gaze narrowed and cut to the ingression. There was a whole company waiting for them .. Great. Percival let free a harrowing battle cry, as did those who sought to challenge. Kuriel? Pumped an unenthusiastic fist in the air. " Rawr .. " Percival plunged ahead like a whirlwind of death, cutting past his enemies defense with ease. Kuriel wasn't as eager to engage in battle, or anything strenuous for that matter. One of the men wisely pushed past Percival after witnessing the terrible man work over one of his closest friends, sending him charging headlong at Kuriel, who panicked .. Dropped his spear and cried out. " Wait! " So loud was his cry everyone paused for a moment, the closest assailant even perking a brow in outright confusion. That was when Kuriel produced a flintlock and shot him. " .. Ha. Sucker. " That smug smile was wrought clean soon after though, as he barely managed to gather his spear and block the next attack. Rosalind Avalle: Rosalind followed Perry. She was as safe standing here as she was going deeper into the prison, so she left, stiletto out. Those prisoners too weak to fight were struggling to flee the prison, and Rosalind decided since she could not fight, here was one place she could help. "Go. Your nephew needs you. I will be safe." She had her stiletto, after all. She grabbed the arm of the emaciated soul near to passing out on the stairs and helped him out, toward fresh air. She couldn't help him run, but she could help him conserve his strength so that he stood a better chance of escape. There were more. Lord in heaven, there were so many more too weak to fight, too weak to even run. She helped them, too, as many as she could, lifting until the muscles in her arms turned to jelly and her crippled leg burned in utter exhaustion. * Morrigan: Nodding as Eirian gave her that key, she momentarily squeezed her sister's hand with a look that said, 'Good luck!' before hurried steps ushered her away. That key gripped firmly in one hand, she tried it on every door she found, a cry of elation torn from her lips when she opened.. an armory! Oh goody, that would undoubtedly do some good to their cause, wouldn't it? Onward and upward! ..Er, more like downward. Now she had some prisoners to free! Amazing she wasn't tripping over those confounded skirts as she ran, should've tried to finagle her way in dressed as a mute boy or something, at least then she would've been able to wear the breeches to which she was so accustomed. Pausing long enough to peek carefully around corners as she went, before she moved on. Eirian: "Have you seen the Prince..." The question was asked again, and again. One more...than another, and to the third she made her way towards on bended knee. He had fallen, too broken to stand and was dying. - but he had instructions...in his last words on earth he would croak ' they drug...his highness....down..down...down further...screaming..all he time -- He coughed out phlegm, blood. Eirian turned his face over so it wouldn't burned his lungs from continuing the story "Corridor...hollow corridor...around, bend." He clutched onto her sleeves, shaking her ...smiling before he died. "I won't let you rest here.." She promised, moving from the room to find it partially blocked by soldiers. One or two had slipped past them, and fortunately, she was able to dive under. Huzzah, for being small! After that her sword had no choice but to come out for a time. Down the rows, around, around, and around the bend. The hollow places..deepest places. "I know where he is!" She yelled as she merely helped incapacitate those who came past the Kuriel/Percival wall. There was no way she could best a Talon enough to claim a victory, but those who live and run away fight more days after! She noted they had no armor, so it was not hard to incapacitate sword arms, wrists, feet and shoulders with able bodied blows. That alone was enough to prove a shock. Some things you don't take down outright. You dismantle (d) Percival Vizharen: Percival kicked a man across the face before stabbing his friend in the gut. The man's form favored Percival's lowered shoulder, and he bended at the stomach to show that. Blood leaked from the wound as Percival widened it with a subtle twist. He pulled the blade out, dropping the corpse of the man on the ground. He turned when he heard Eirian's voice. ``That's good and all.. but do not get ahead of us.`` He slung the blood from each sword and moved to the next door. He waited for Kuriel to turn the key, then he would step forth again.[d] Kuriel: Fighting with a spear in close quarters was both difficult and dumb. Something Kuriel himself had been called a number of times. Luckily, the man he shot was an obstacle of considerable size and when the man assaulting him saw an opening he couldn't deny he eagerly lunged forward, only to trip on his dead comrade. Kuriel smoothly side step the falling man, wincing when his head crashed hard into the stone wall. Pushing past his grimace he saw Percival impatiently waiting. " Gosh, coming .. Coming. " He tip toed over one man, then the next, being mindful of all the blood and doing his best not to get any on his boots. They were, after all, leather boots with golden straps. He won them in a crooked game of cards with a dishonest man, which made it an honest-ish transaction. " You'd think we were in a hurry. " His smile faded when he saw Percival wasn't amused by his shenanigans. Ha. Shenanigans. Pushing the next door open, he waved an insistent arm for Percival to go first. Foppish Honor: Like the other door, this one would open in the same manner. It was loud and creaked with a high pitched whine. The next corridor went down a steep set of stairs, followed by another, followed by another. When they reached the bottom, the room would fan out into a wide space. There were tables everywhere, some behind bloodstained curtains. The ceiling was low and leaked with water. Chains hung in the corners, with torture devices at the ends of some. There were tables out in the open, chains connected with them as well; some still hosted the dead, rotting corpses of poor souls. The room only had two doors, the one they came through, and a one at the northern most part of this chamber. Inside were ten men, shirtless and fat. They wore leather overalls with thick leather straps and carried either huge axes, or a curved sword.[d] Eirian: "Down the rows, bends, and in a larger, hollow hall at it's end." Shere merely relayed direction for travel while following her own to the letter of law's allowance.The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want. it was better to focus on the biblical verse for concentration than the passages unfurling hell before her eyes. No poet could have captured better a description of hell than what was at the bottom of the steps. Her ears echoed with the voices of the already departed. Eyes narrowed to ignore the want to spy ghosts vying for mercy above their dismembered corpses, or wailing in the stairwell envious of the freedom being granted. Could not their shells have held on but another day, an hour? She ducked low, wondering if perhaps Ana were in the level above, finding whom else could be set free. Had she taken in the far behind them? What of Rosalind and Peregrine? (d) Danae: While all that was going down inside the walls was going on, where would the brother and sister duo be? Why they were making there way down a well traveled path, entering into the area where the prisons were found. The large Greek male sat in the driver seat on one said wagon full of hay and straw, his body clothed with a deep dark brown robe. A little artistic paint on his face to make it look as if he'd been cursed by some terrible skin disorder. Beneath his robe, not only the oversized and massive frame, but what was found between the chiseled body and the robe, a few friends as he liked to call them. Friends that did quite a bit of damage when they needed to. His sister? The ex Commander of the once Avarian ranger forces lay hidden beneath layers of straw, her body lithe small. Much easier to hide in a pile of hay than the big brute of her brother. She had her own companions and as Ren stirred the wagon in Danae maneuvered what little was needed to keep the needle likes pins sticking in her clothing and skin. However, not a sound was made as the two readied themselves as they neared their position. -d- Peregrine: "No. You are not going down there." He grabbed her shoulders and shook his head slowly. "I need you to leave now, Rosie. You have helped so much already -- " Rosalind Avalle: Rosalind shook herself free of Perry and left. He was right. There were some things she did not need to see, and places where she would be more hindrance than help. Still, she warred with herself, wanting to do more. Perry put up a good guard of the doorway, but he was so focused on making sure she did not get past him, she doubted he was paying attention to anyone behind him, but that was always part of the deception. She threw up her hands in a Gallic gesture of defeat and left the prison. It was very lucky, then, she saw the movement of the wagon's approach as she left. A few former prisoners were dragging their emaciated bodies across the grass, and Rosalind was behind them, too exhausted to compensate for her limp, dressed like a whore, and her cosmetics only barely remaining on her face in a garish mockery of what all three women had pretended to be just a few short minutes ago. She forgot what she looked like, even if her upper bits were getting a little chilly. * Morrigan: Ana had encountered a napping guard and after bashing him over the head with a conveniently located pitcher, had set about freeing the prisoners that had been under his.. watch. With the final one liberated from his cell, she looked around to make sure she hadn't missed anyone, and eyes went wide when she heard the guard grunt. Not taking any chances, she bolted out of there like the hounds of hell themselves were nipping at her heels, skirts carelessly lifted out of the way to keep her from tripping over them as she ran. Those who flee live to knock unsuspecting men unconscious another day! Surely there were others to help, or something she could do to be of assistance, right? Right! And so onward she went, careening through passageways and trying keys on any door she came upon. Eirian: Eirian wedged herself behind the fighting duo alright, so far behind that she slipped beneath one of the torture tables where the blood had soaked through the wood; drip, drip of scarlet drops through the panels to undo the locks placed under there. Finagling with leather, key locks, and straps. Whatever live body would be on the table would find he movement of limbs unrestricted. What was coating the floor? Entrails, blood, urine and water. So went the re-emergence of the Apollius dynasty. It would be her luck that one would catch sight of what she was doing, and it became a game of very fat cat going for very tiny mouse, which meant Percival's commandments went out the window along with decency. (d) Percival Vizharen: The man in question seeking Eirian would find that his neck was incapable of stopping very sharpened steel. In one, concise motion, his head was removed with a very loud crack. Kuriel had continued his assault as well, stabbing a in his gut, lifting him off his feet, only to drive him into the ground. In a subtle motion, Kuriel would pluck the spear from the gut and raise it horizontally to block one blow, then swing wide to close line another man to the ground. Percival continued the assault which Kuriel had left with only a block. Bringing one sword down harshly, he cut the hand clean off from the wrist then twisted to cut across his stomach. Within seconds, the room had been cleared in a proper fashion. Percival kept his emotionless look as Kuriel seemed to prance about, avoiding the blood and properties of the dead. He even commented about how the place reminded him of Percival's ship, and the smell matched, if not rivaled it, perfectly. Percival only shook his head and waited for Eirian to unlock the next set of doors.[d] Foppish Honor: The next set of doors gave way to another room, but it was merely what looked to be a dead end. The walls that were leading in hid the L junction the corridor made. But once the group moved to the end of that, they could see that only one cell remained. It was the VIP cell, and sitting upon each side of that cell door were two heavily armed persons. One was obviously female by stance, and she held a crossbow with both hands. The other was a male, and he held a rather large sword with both hands. They were expecting trouble from all the shouts, and they were ready. Immediately raising her crossbow, she would fire a bolt toward Percival. The man lifted his sword and would start to trade licks with Kuriel. All four met midway, and there was not enough room for Eirian to squeeze through to get to the form behind the bars.[d]
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Post by Percival Vizharen on Aug 4, 2009 16:03:04 GMT -6
Rescuing the Prince II Danae: As Ren continued to drive the wagon, the hood over his head hid most of his features. What light there was, highlighted the fake skin disorder across the left side of his face. It looked real, especially seeing as the scar on his right complimented it. Danae by now was ready to jump out an attack, but the signal had yet to be given and there was still no sign or shouts of the others. So she continued to lay quietly beneath hay while her brother's eyes came to settle on the Lady Rosalind. Knowing what she and the others pretended to be, he directed the wagon so it was still on it's set course but neared her. ``Might you be willing to give a scared man like myself a bit of company? `` he asked. A perfect pair... an ugly man with a crippled whore.. Danae, under the hay, rolled her eyes. But, at least it would gain them one of their own while waiting for the others. The wagon came to a halt and he waited for Rosalind to give her reply. Guards were running about, trying to maintain some sort of control over the situation. One even neared he and Rosalind. "You there... get that piece of chyt wagon out of the way!" he barked, and though underneath, Ren wanted so badly to gut him like some sort of cod fish, held his breath, kept his temper in check and replied.`` Yes Sir, I figured I might as well find myself some fun with the woman here before I'm on my way.`` -d Eirian: They had come to far to have it end here! No! "I am not..leaving..here....without..my SON" She bellowed as the path merely jostled her this way and that. The fighting was intense, and the space, too small! She'd need to have a human wedge or somehow find flight in her heels to go overheard! Peregrine had caught up to them by this time, finishing off their left overs. Gah, so sloppy! Fat blubber and lack-luster seconds. They would always leave him the tid-bits! He had tossed Rosalind back outside where she belonged! Unorthodox as he was, this was too much for his lady of the permanent hour, and on seeing his banner-maker trying to push a way in, he had to think ' Women will be the death of me!' Peregrine:"Eirian! Get the hell out of here woman ---" Eirian:"Not without my son!" Peregrine:' He knew enough about indignant mothers to know Rosalind would hack him into tiny pieces if this were Aldric. She needed to get through, and he couldn't very well slide her up the middle! The best course of action the flamboyant pirate could think of was to make one of these fights two for the price of one! Kuriel had a spear in his hand, thank God. He'd be alright, that fight would grow hair on his chest! Percival, however, oh hated outlaw come hero (how the hell did that happen!) was up against a crossbow. He'd put his two sense in here and give the bastard a reason to thank him Luckily he avoided the bolt too, doing a short duel with one sword over Peregrine's sword knocking against crossbow all in the name of Avaria. Allegiance be damned! He better be promoted too! Eirian: She didn't waste a precious second when the openings were available, sliding under legs, climbing over a bent body as necessary. Like a damned bloody local rat, the Queen shimmied and crawled until she pulled herself up against the lock with a battle that could turn at her back and bars at her front. "Saul..SAUL" There was a punctuated demand in that voice, rousing him from stupors of sickness and pain "SAUL!" The door came open, and she went to him (d) Rosalind Avalle: "Holy Christ," Rosalind said just loud enough that Ren could hear her. She knew Ren was going to paint his face, but she didn't know what the effect would look like put together. He was positively hideous, and the shadows did him no favors. She actually had to repress a shudder of revulsion, but was truly grateful when Ren spoke. Of course, what crippled whore would turn down a bit of coin? "I want my fee up front." She listed her price, and held out her hand. She was too exhausted to climb up onto the wagon of her own volition, and when he swung her up, she sank onto the seat. Payment be damned. She wasn't moving ever again, unless it was to dodge something dangerous flying directly toward her. She draped herself indolently around Ren, making an offhand remark about how he should keep the paint on a little longer to surprise that woman she had seen him kissing at the docks. She'd talked to the healer long enough to know Ada would appreciate it. Perhaps. Well, no, not at all. "They have found his cell, I think. They will be up soon. No losses yet, but you should be on the lookout for Ana -- I did not see her after we took down the guards inside the gate." * Morrigan: Slightly echo-y and muffled through they were, the sounds of skirmishing and yelling were unmistakable, drawing Morrigan like a moth to the flame. Spotting the fight, she slid one of a set of dual knives, both just under two feet long, from its sheath on her right thigh beneath the skirt. The other hand deposited the key she'd been in possession of down the annoyingly low front of that pain in the ass dress, and exchanged it for the small throwing knife hidden there. She didn't know if she'd be of any help, but she'd try, anyway. She was tired and she was scared, but it would take more than that to drag her away from all of this now! She saw Eirian disappear into the cell and had to resist the urge to bolt after her, eyes hard and features drawn into a blank mask ever so vaguely tainted with anger.. anger for the bastards that had stolen Saul in the first place! Danae: That all to familar smirk would creep along his lips in that smug fashion of his in response to Rosalind's reply. Apparently, the look was realistic. ``Half now, half later...`` he replied before he moved to have her seated next to him on the wagon bench. Once they were both settled, he took the reigns and moved the wagon along, giving a nod to the guard that lingered. Before long, he nodded silently in reply to Rosalind's comment, getting the wagon in position. It was a good that Danae remembered certain things about this place, even if she had only been here a short time before she fled. ``Keep an eye out for her and the others...`` he said gruffly in a low baritone voice. Danae was about to go mad... the hay was irritating her skin and it was getting a little harder to breath, she thought to herself. Can we go any slower? As her nose twitched a couple times to keep from inhaling... hay. -d- Percival Vizharen: Percival grunted as he was shoved into the wall, but it did not knock him too much off balance. Peregrine did his part with amateur heroics, and it was something the female Talon did not anticipate. Her crossbow fell to shambles at her feet, yet she was prepared for his attack. Making an X with her forearms, she caught his blade within the spiked bracers and parried it off to one side, forcing him to drop the blade before getting backhanded away. The force behind the hit was more than enough to take Peregrine to the ground. Percival had recovered in that instant and stepped over Peregrine before she could finish him. Percival ducked under a hook and sank his shoulders into the woman's stomach, lifting her up off the ground as her body folded to accommodate the force he put behind the spere. She felt her back flatten against the steel bars of Saul's cage, and she lifted her elbow to strike Percival at the base of his skull and neck. Percival dropped, losing his swords in that same instance. He hit the ground, but reached forward to grab her ankles and push his shoulders into her shins. Unable to tumble out of this shoot, the woman fell back into the bars and onto her back. Percival scrambled up, mounting her and sitting upon her stomach. Grabbing a fist full of her hair, he yanked up to pull her face up at an angle before crushing it with a devastating punch. She cried out in agony! He grabbed her hair and did it again.--- Kuriel: Kuriel Se'Vant was a master long before Apollo had ever come to the fellowship. Handling one of the fifth generation Talons was a feat Kuriel was not short of completing. The two traded hits until Kuriel managed to twist the man about, bringing his back toward the entrance, where Morrigan was. Smiling as he often did, he threw the man for a loop as deceptively powerful arms batted a sword down with the brunt of a spear. Kuriel stepped about the man, bringing one leg to rest behind his two. Using the spear like a barricade, he shoved the other Talon backward, hip tossing him to the ground in the same subsequent motion. The man landed with a grunt, his eyes looking up toward Morrigan, and locking with her own. In that moment, Kuriel put his boot to the man's throat and pressed down. His visage locking with the man's as he smiled from ear-to-ear. ``You.. have been a bad boy..tsk..tsk..`` He took a heroic pose here, if by any means, appearing more feminine than masculine. The man grabbed Kuriel's stylish boots trying his hardest to move them off his throat, but he was unsuccessful. Kuriel brought the spear up then stabbed it through the man's mouth; a killing blow worthy of any Talon. No pain, quick; a soldier's death. He would yank the spear free letting it waver and drip blood. His gaze however was locked with Morrigan; and despite it all.. he still held that damnably handsome grin. He would turn from her to assist Peregrine back to his feet. Saul: Saul was not conscious, and it was a miracle he was still alive. A shell of his former self, Saul hung by his limbs alone, the chains pulled tight to keep him upon his knees. He was shirtless, and only wore a pair of tattered trousers and high leather boots. He was breathing, and he had a pulse. Hair, stained with his own blood and sweat, stayed matted to his gaunt cheeks. Eirian's key would fit the shackles. But Saul was incapable of moving on his own free will. He'd been through hell, but the extent of his injuries could not be determined here.[d] Eirian: "Saul....Saul love please! " She all but made him deaf if he wasn't already. Unlocking the manacles that bound the chains on his wrists there would be no place for his body to go accept against one of his liberators. She pressed herself square against him, letting a freed left arm drape over her body as she worked on he right. Pressing him against the wall, this would keep him aloft enough to capture a flailing additional limb as she drew it over her. There was no way he was going to die here! "We're getting you away from here.." It took everything inside of her to find the will to drag a man a good head higher toward the door. A woman with fabled bird-hollow bone was stronger than she seemed under duress! The Talons had done their work well, and even those turned against the Brotherhood fought in a way that when things were finished, all would admire. Eirian was determined as God was to level the walls of Jericho for Joshua. This was her son, and he was not staying here! By now, she imagined, he must have set to sea with anger and worry in his eyes. Maahes would be somewhere howling at the moon over it all. Over dead bodies, she got to the stairs before the burn in her muscles demanded her stop for a second. (d) Morrigan: Those eyes widened when they met that of the fallen man, and she gasped when Kuriel killed him. Looking up at the.. bizarre man, she quickly sheathed the two blades and stood, rushing towards Eirian. She could've cried when she saw the state poor Saul was in, and all she said was, "Let me 'elp." And with that she took on part of the burden of the captured prince's tortured frame onto her own shoulders, bearing it with urgency as she waited for Eirian to recover enough so they could all get the hell out of there. She didn't want to think of what had been done to him, but woe be unto the bastard responsible for all this if the fiesty stable-hand ever got her hands on him. A slow, painful death would be too good for that particular individual, so said the earthen gaze that spoke murder most cold-blooded. Percival Vizharen: Percival was still in the room with the female Talon, who at this point, was crying in pain. He'd put a terrible beating on her face, and her cheek had bruised with a dark red circle threatening of bleeding. He growled, yanking her to her feet by her hair. She screamed. ``Shut up, you stupid bytch.`` He said visciously into her ear before slamming her stomach first against the wall. ``PLEASE.. DON'T!`` She screamed again. He hit her hard in the kidney forced her over the side of the oak table, slamming the bruised portion of her face against it. She cried out again, in pain. He took her hands, which were balled in fists, and wrapped his fingers about her thumbs. He broke them, forcing her to open her hands. She screamed. He palmed the back of her head again, yanking hair and slammed her continuously into the table until she just sobbed. ``I said.. SHUT THE f**k UP!`` Resetting her thumbs, he lashed her wrists tight. Grabbing her by her hair, he pulled her up. ``You think you can betray the order and just die.. oh nooo. It's high and time you pay for your treachery, Talon.`` He led her out of the room by her hair. She continued to cry, but submitted to his anger because she was unable to do anything else.--- Foppish Honor: Kuriel and Peregrine had moved up and past Eirian while Percival subdued the last of the Talons in the back. Kuriel passed by Morrigan, Eirian and Saul to make sure the path ahead was secure. Peregrine took Eirian's spot and would assist Morrigan in getting Saul outside and to the wagons.[d] Eirian: Eirian curled in for a moment against herself, bringing her hand to her chest as if to quell the frantic pace of a questionable heart. She swallowed hard against the knot in her throat,finding enough air to begin a climb up, albeit slowly. The mission had been accomplished: Saul was free, the prisoners of war with him. Among them would information, souls to heal, and more for the resistance. She smiled in spite of it all with a hint of madness that soon turned into terrific terror as she felt the back of her waist being pulled back! What, what was this? She turned over her shoulder, almost too exerted to scream until the hands held hard, almost squeezing it out of her. "NO!" the abjections of Claramae Vincere St. Laurence must have permeated with those from the tent as the emptied prison allowed her cry to resonate up the stairs. She was digging her nails into the grooves, latching on so hard the man had to climb up her body and start banging on her fingertips to get her to let go (d) Percival Vizharen: Percival was bringing up the rear of the group. Closing in behind Eirian by at least twenty-five feet. Eyes were terse, extremely dark and brooding as he walked with a defining purpose. Then he heard Eirian scream. He felt his heart drop, and in an instinctive motion, he bent the Talon female over his knee, forcing that knee into her solarplexis to leave her on the ground, gasping for air. Tucked beneath one of his many belts, he plucked a finely made flintlock pistol out, cokeing the hammer back as he moved to assist Eirian. As he closed in on the scene, he saw the man had forced Eirian upon the wall, her legs open to receive his forceful thrust. She was trying so vehemently to resist. Percival's gaze narrowed in that same instant, noticing the brand upon the man's hand. It was the same Percival, and the female behind him had. He raised the pistol, taking careful aim while standing poised. His finger went to the trigger and was pulling. What's this? The female came up beside him and used her arms to bat the weapon down. It discharged, producing the lead round and sending it into the Commander's left knee. He dropped Eirian and lost his balance in the same instant, falling backward to land with a loud, painful scream.-- The female had knocked the gun from Percival's grasp, then upper-cut him in the same manner. Percival fell back onto a table where the legs buckled and collapsed. She was intent on killing him and she used the rope about her wrists as a way to choke him. Putting her boot to his back, she put the lashing at his trachea, and pressed down with her boot. She pulled back, crying as she did it. ``DIE!`` She screamed. Percival weaseled his arm into the bend of her elbow on each side and forced her to lift up via pressure points. He yanked her forward and she tumbled onto her back. When she looked up, all she saw was the bottom of his boot, then darkness. [d] Eirian: "NO! NOOOO!" Gasping, gulping for air with a greed to rival the poor deprived of food, Eirian became animated by disgust, rage, and fear. Her nails became claws that spared no inch of viable skin as she scratched and hit the Commander's face. To her effort - he didn't' go unmarred. She'd later cringe to remember how much of his skin collected under her fingernails, the precise erratic shapes she drew him as if he were but a parchment to be marked. Jagged lines, hooked half moons, gashes on the side of his neck that bled. When she hit his eye with the brunt of her palm, causing him to squint, that's when he captured her wrist, driving it back into the wall. "AHHHHH!" She cried out in pain, watching the black-purple bruises and broken blood vessel form. Feet kicked, her body was lifted. She saw her ankles, her knees...."NO STOOOOP! NOOOO!" She was indignant, treated now like the very thing she pretended to be, right up to the first moment of impact that disgusted her. It felt as if she were being run though -- until the Commander crippled down, letting her lop over like a rag doll. He was grabbing at his leg, trying to pry out the iron ball stuck somewhere inside. Free now, determined hands grabbed at the sword that had fallen to the wayside. When he looked up again, he saw the muggy heat wave off the side of a few ranger-tribe words that slashed down into the thigh of the bleeding leg, causing him to cry out mixing with her own. "Th..That is for my SON! THIS is for the people here!" She kicked into his solar plexus, climbing up his body after as she drew a knee down onto his sternum, "AND THIS IS MINE!" She drove the sharp Seren against his throat deep, pushing it down in until he gurgled, flopped, and died. The woman was unconscious, her male counterpart, bleeding to death..Pulling back, she took the sword with her and ended up against the wall. "/When we are out.....burn it...burn it all.: (d) Percival Vizharen: ``Yes, your majesty.`` He replied. He stepped up, having reloaded the weapon he re-acquisitioned from the ground, and pointed the weapon at the dead corpse. Aiming for the skull of the Commander, already dead, he fired again. The round split the man's skull and spilled the gray and red matter of his brain. On his shoulder, the limp form of the unconscious woman lay. He pushed the pistol back under his belt and offered a hand to help Eirian up. ``Let us be gone of this place, your majesty. I fear the smell and look of it will haunt us till our dying day. `` Percival would not let Eirian's hand go as he led her out of the prison and up onto the main field. Percival's men had arrived and cleaned up the last of the guard. He passed orders for them to burn the dungeons to the ground; he would follow Eirian to the wagon, and deposit his prisoner there. He had many plans for the Talon woman, betrayal was not so easily repaid with death. She had a steep price before that, and Percival intended to see it through.[d] Danae: As soon as Ren got the wagon into position, Danae stood up, arms and hands brushing back the hay and straw mixture. Her quiver of arrows strapped across her back, her bow in one hand, the other reaching the wooden railing. Her scimitar and katar at her sides. Ren tossed back the hood, looked over his shoulder and waited until all moving forms cleared the wagon. Danae moved forward, a hand reaching down to help pull those that made it to the wagon, in, then letting them situate themselves. Shouts and yelling rang out through the air, guards pointing in their direction as they were spotted from a few in a run towards another area. She reached back behind her, grabbed three arrows, two stuck upright in the hay, one notched in her bow. Fingers curled and pulled back both the taungt string and wooden shaft before letting fingers release. The arrow was sent flying, slicing through the air and hit a man right between his eyes. Another arrow plucked from the pile and the actions repeated, hitting the second charging their way in the chest. ``Ren! Get ready to to ride!`` she yelled over a shoulder as he nodded and, looking to Rosalind at his side. ``Hold on, get ready for some fun`` he said with a smirk and a wink. -d- Eirian: She had no intention of letting go of Percival's hand. The Champion of Avaria again - it was a strange way for him to replenish lost trust or honor. In a twist of irony, Fate would deem that Percival Vizharen should place an 'honor less' man in the path to spare a woman her own. It could have been worse. The gun could have never hit him...and the story be far different. As it was, one instance of bodies melding in gross contusion was enough to prove Percival right. Of all she had seen in attacks, fallen lands, sieges, and kingdoms - and of all the deeds she'd done out of goodness or God, this would never forsake her memory. God pray somewhat else come to dim it! She said nothing when he placed his prisoner into the wagon, nor when she went to find a way up did she stray too far. The only words she could utter to one of their allies was, "Burn..it." She crawled across the hay over toward Ana, eyes pleading for a little place, a little purchase to touch him. She needed to be busied, she needed to have something to tell them...she needed to feel the weight of his head against her body to detract from what was screaming at her senses. "Please..may I..just lay along the side of him. you are not" It was ragged, ghastly. Like a beautiful thing strangled, what came from her throat (d) Morrigan: Her heart veritably jumped into her throat when she saw Eirian, and without even saying a word, grabbed the other woman's hand, pulling her close and enfolding her into a hug that ended with Saul sandwiched between them. She couldn't even find words at this point.. only clung to the unconscious prince and Eirian, her eyes wide. Thank the gods this was over.. or at least so she hoped.. more than that she hoped that Saul would be all right. His gauntness and the obvious wounds from manacles and beatings alike worried her immensely.
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Post by Percival Vizharen on Aug 4, 2009 16:06:16 GMT -6
Avarian Family Reunion I Foppish Honor: The trip back was quiet, the passing of the storm. The weather of Avaria never relented. It had always been dreary, cold, moist; fog hovered above the swamps and through the thick trees of the forest. Rain came not in a heavy form, but that of a gentle mist. There was no wind but the air was thick, making it difficult to breath for those who weren't used to the environment. Rangers often challenged the caravan, but when they saw the colors they waved them by. The cliffs were ahead of them, and the obvious gorge that led them to the back, where the hidden port, army, and gypsy camp was only moments away. -- Upon their arrival, the gypsies acted as the healers, rushing forth with gurneys for the sick and wounded. --- Percival Vizharen: Among the group, but riding separate, was the dark figure that was Percival. Long brown hair hung by his face as he rocked periodically from the motion of his horse. He held a crossbow up against his shoulder, riding confidently at the rear of the group. When the last of their caravan arrived, he made his horse stop. He eased over the side of her and landed with a thud, letting his weapon of choice hang by a sling alone. He would oversee the exchange between sailor to gypsy, offset from the others.[d] Tommy: From the depths of the deepest shadows from within the trees, she emerged, the fog keeping its slow, lingering swirl around her as she rode forward. From behind her, those same shadows seemed to covet her closeness, moving almost in unison with her and the massive mount she straddled. A mighty human wave rolled in behind her, each body inching closer before she lifted her hand and signaled for them to stop. Some two hundred men stood behind the Talon woman, their gear tattered and torn due to extreme stress. Shields were dented and damaged, uniforms marked or ripped in various places from the brunt of force they were faced with through each confrontation. Weary were their bodies, sorely damaged from physical strain, and their mental state was probably not far behind. Faces were streaked with dirt and sweat, filth, and underneath the grimy veil were scars of truth that blazed brilliant and bright, revealing some history about each man. They spoke of effort and survival, struggle and sacrifice, and they boasted of victory over trial. But there was pride present, and it shone clear and bright in every pair of eyes that stared forward. They watched her with a trained intensity, not wavering with their attention even for a moment lest they miss a signal. While the hundreds of gazes held on forward, they tracked her with their peripheral vision, waiting, patiently and without complaint. A scattered handful of other riders eased up toward the front, holding directly beside where the woman sat, straight and erect. The heavy helmet that shielded her head was lined with horse hair in the middle, leaving the sides as smooth, even steel; the tail fell down along her back and wisped about her hips when she moved. As of now, however, there was no movement save the lift of the guard from over her eyes. Maahes: Over the shores of ash he had found himself too many times, and in this very place more blood fed the sea turning it a deep crimson. Some said it was the sands that turned the shoreline red, but in his heart he knew the truth. Avaria bled for her fallen, and in the break of the rain a small bit of blue could come forth; swallowed by darkened sky once again, but here it was all he needed to know. "Fall out!" The Arabic boom rolled like thunder over the valley and the men upon horse back would fill the sands from the back of a trade ship. In his heart he had prayed they were not too late, feeling his chest rise and fall in hungry rushes Maahes bit the insides of his cheeks from the nerves. Horses trimmed in gold, a glorious sight the Griffin army, but even upon Avarian soil they seemed so humble. Yet from those watching from hidden shadow--families waiting for answers to their prayers--here was their hope. Two nations coming together for the same cause, and their freedom in the hands of fate once again. Hopes had soared when the flagships of Skye came, and at the help Percival. Would Maahes feel the same? Into the camps his 15 finest closed, with an entire fleet simply waiting in the misty fog. Steward would fall this time, or so he hoped. However, when he saw the few before him--Talion, Tommy, and even Eight Gazes he knew deep down it was time. (d Eirian: Eirian was as silent as the grave to which too many good people were condemned too before their time. When the wagons came to a halt, she wouldn't accept hands to help her down unless they were her own to validate the ability to move, to function independently with the advent of choice. For a few precious moments --choice was not hers. For a few precious moments --she paid the price she had prepared herself for on sky shores. Virtue or death. At least it was the first, only in part, leaving the rest of her alive. -- Her hands, arms, legs, and feet were accounted for and useful. She watched as the gypsy people placed Saul on a stretcher. Before they would get too far, a gentle hand was pressed to one's chest. "Wait..If it is her wish to, Morrigan goes with him. I will send Lady Laurence to look at him soon," It was not that she trusted less, merely familiar opinions were taken into stronger account. Her hair was askew, fallen most out of its wrapped bindings to where it had its own mind to go. It was not how she left, nor how she arrived two nights before, but a prelude to how it seemed she might remain. Yet of all things to expect - Griffin Banners? The only she'd seen were on the Lord Admiral's own three ships! "Mm..it is good to know the Lord still favors the crazed." She did not know how she was waking, nor held together, or accomplished half of what she did that day. She elected to be relatively mute unless she had to speak, which might be soon, as she came to the gathering of Talons (d) Morrigan: Upon arrival in the camp, she carefully pried herself away from the still form of Saul, and assisted in getting him down off the wagon and onto a stretcher. Angrily wiping her face free of the remnants of that thrice-damned makeup, she was about to walk off and get out of that stupid dress when she heard Eirian's words. Blinking in surprise, she looked at the woman, and nodded slowly. "Thank you, Eirian." She wasn't of any use in the blasted skirts, though, and after assuring the healers that she would be there in a matter of minutes, she took off. She was useless in a dress, and she would be edgy till she got back in her usual garb. Then it would take a force of nature equivalent to a volcano's explosion to get her away from Saul's side. Eirian: She looked over her shoulder, paying Ana a nod of head with a hint of a fractured smile before proceeding further on (d) Foppish Honor: In the distance, everyone present could hear the catchy tunes of music from the Gypsy camp.-- Men moved to intermingle and help the men from Skye find a place to make their own camp. The peninsula was large, making a huge U shape with two land masses jutting out to the sea and wall of mist. The northern jut was where the Gypsy camp was, the southern was the Armies. The middle was the host of all the ships coming and going. The piers linked up with the land that would be the center part of the U, also where the gorge was in the cliffs.--- Percival Vizharen: Percival had stopped for a moment to insure his prisoner was taken off the wagon. The woman, now stripped of her armor, save the under skivvies, was latched onto by her hair. She screamed in protest as she was drug off the back of the wagon by her hair. Bare feet pummeled the wood with her hardened heels until her back hit the ground. She grunted and continued to cry as Percival forced the female Talon betrayer to stand. He held her by the back of her neck, squeezing so hard, her lips tightened and it paralyzed her. When he brought her about to face him, his right hand reared back only to punch her across the face and let her fall to the ground again, in tears. ``Shut it.`` He said, standing over her. He shook his hand a bit, lifting his gaze to follow the forms coming off the boats. He recognized the symbols from Skye, and the tall hulking Avarian that was their General. Then he turned to see the others coming to the call, led by an armored figure upon a horse. His head tilted in a terse faction as he watched the Knight lift their eye-visor up. He could not make out the face nor shape of the person, but he felt drawn to them somehow, as if his stomach became lighter and his blood ran quicker through his veins.[d] Tommy: Dark eyes were surrounded by shadow from lack of sleep and severe exhaustion, yet the woman didn't sacrifice stance or surrender to weariness or strain. She sat poised and controlled, able to command her body the press for even more performance. The warhorse shifted his weight and started to turn; she gripped the thick mane and gave a rough yank. The animal settled again, resisting the instinct to struggle for freedom that was no longer a memory. This was his life, now. She..was his life, and she would be until he met his death, which was more than likely soon in coming. ..especially if you're familiar with Tommy and horses. Oy. Eyes aptly scanned the immediate surroundings, making clear assumptions based on what was laid out before her. She swung her leg and slid from the horse, jumping down at long last to set booted feet to the murky ground. The splatter of mud further stained her clothing, deepening the brown color another two shades beneath the layer of grit she didn't seem to mind or notice. The vest, bound up the front, had come untied and was beginning to unravel against another layer of leather meant for added protection. "Wait here," she murmured, lazy sounding and fatigued, and then she set off to find the person in charge of this wondrous catastrophe of a mess. And there he was, Eight Gazes himself. Dark eyes tracked his movement and held there on him for a moment, steadfast and bold without so much as a blink or sidelong glance. A hint of a smile teased at the corner of her mouth, forced back and away as she controlled her expression for obvious reasons. Passing by the bound female who had been roughly deposited on the ground when Percival had finished, Tommy paused and back-stepped when the she-thing struggled and shrieked through her gag. The Talon's hiss was thick and heavy, yet no more than a coarse whisper, "Move again, make one bloody sound, and I'll pull your eyelids over your head and make you eat your hair for supper." The girl shrank back and went still, welcoming the mouthpiece before her tormentor pressed on. "Percival." Then she stopped and waited. Peregrine: There was a spirit in the wind, and when it shifted he heard voices from trees older then the stone mountain. Soft songs called from distant birds, signals of a tribe still very much alive. They had helped when the "Goddess" met her end, and helped when the small alliance took hold over Osteria to build Avaria. Would they be so eager to help again? Peregrine took the hand of Rosalind, that look in his eyes that the wild was calling. Saul was in safe hands, Eirian was well now, and with as much tension that rose with the three rivers flowing together he wouldn't be missed. (d Eirian: Strange is the day, strange this life, this skin.. She would be as well as could be expected; dull mouthed with a razor edge to the glittering influx spilling over in blue eyes. It was nothing a poet would want to capture as the look of wrong crossed woman continued on her way. Drawing the sword from her back, she looked at it with a twisted face. Dried blood caked into the Ranger-Tribe lettering. A washing ritual would do. (d) Rosalind Avalle: This was not the Avaria he had wished to show her, but in tragedy and horror were glimpses of a soul stripped down to its core. There was beauty in ugliness, and rot in glories, and she was too exhausted to allow these thoughts free reign. She could see the look on Eirian's face, had known it for what it was when her friend had been pulled into the wagon, for it had stared back at her too many times to count in the course of her lifetime. She saw Eirian move, watched her go through ritual, relying on primal routine as a crutch, as salvation. This was familiar to Rosalind. It was heartbreaking, but here Eirian was surrounded by men who would go to war for her, friends she could rely upon, and these were the building blocks for making a return. Rosalind held the hand of her own foundation, squeezing his callused fingers between her own, and left with her pirate. It was nice to finally have a conversation with him in which her words did not slur, or in which she was not playing the whore to his jailer. * Percival Vizharen: ``Colonel.`` He replied without missing a beat. He had been knelt to readjust the female's gag, and stood when Tommy called his name. Percival was a might bit taller than she was, but even he recalled some of their first meetings being in the time of war. Avaria was an old indian word for kicking ass all the time; it was the Avarian way. His brow shot skyward as he looked into the only visible part of her face, and knowing Tommy inside and out so well he could tell she was tired and exhausted. ``I see you got my message. `` There was a moment of pause there, and she could see the disagreement stretch across his expression. Moving quick, he hugged Tommy, and pulled her in tight. He was relieved, exhausted, and worn out; but relieved more. It had been the better part of a year since he'd seen her last.[d] Tommy: The dark hue of her eyes shone, reflective through shadow, through the steely guise. The base of the helmet was grabbed and fingers curled against the smooth edge so it could be pulled over her head and removed. Finally. She closed her eyes for a moment and breathed in, tasting salt and sea on her tongue before swallowing. The fine lines that framed her eyes were somehow intricate in design, crafting instead of age an expression of determination and will. While the years had not been overly friendly, they had managed to enhance European features, staving the roughness from her eyes and redirecting it, instead, to settle around her jaw-line. Defined and chiseled, mostly due to a lack of nutrition and loss of body fat that was never truly present, the muscle there worked in tension as teeth were lightly ground. Apprehension? Perhaps. Reaching inside her vest, the wrinkled, torn paper was removed and held out for him to take, and when he unrolled the scribe, he'd find his own writing staring back his way. Translation: You called. I came. Now what, yo? Shock hit next, bowling her over in wave after wave as he moved in to embrace her so intimately in front of many. After a moment, she inhaled the scent of him and slid her arms around his middle, holding there, quiet. If her heartbeat didn't STFU, she was going to throw herself over a cliff. Or some chyt. Danae: Where had the Greeks gone? No where, they had done what was needed and what they were known for... taking out enemies with little to no problems. The sister and brother team walked about here and there. Checking on people as they moved along. They reached a large boulder and Danae let her back rest against it. A water skin pulled up to her lips as she drank her fill before passing it over to Ren. He stood at his sister's side, his weight settling on one leg more so than the other has his dark hazel eyes shifted from her to the faces before them. Danae's own icy hues did the same, a single dark brow arching as she watched Peregrine and Rosalind, Eirian and Morrigan with Saul, and then Percival with Tommy. A deep inward sigh made and she slide down the length of the rock to sit and relax. Her legs parted, knees bent and arms resting on either. Her brother stared down at her and wondered what was going though his sisters mind. Without looking up, she whispered. `` Just like old times...`` -d- Maahes: Some things would never change, and no matter what sky the fell beneath or moved under--Maahes would forever give a deep underside growl as Percival attached himself to Tommy. Falling away from his horse, he parted the small crowd coming to stand in the small circle where the pair embraced, "I got no missive, no message. Yet here I am." Where was his hug? Bare arms came to cross over him, as he shed away the weight of a nation and the overstuffed gear that came along with Skye. Here he was Maahes, and took his place just over the shoulder of the dark haired woman--glaring at Percival. "You have plan?" Broken English would simply never get better, but one thing stayed the same--he could break any face here. Saul: Saul had been put into a modest tent with a cot. The cot had several furs stacked upon it. Stripped of what tattered clothing he had been wearing, the full extent of his injuries were concieved. Cut in places all over his body, he had poorly stitched areas everywhere. They draped a towel over his mid-section to preserve modesty, even if the damnable Prince didn't have any!-- A pale with steaming water sat beside his bed, a series of rags all around its circumference. He remained motionless, a shell of his former self. He was pale in the face, his hair dark, and features gaunt.[d] Morrigan: Maybe the sense of modesty was more for the girl who had taken up residence in the tent where the Prince was housed. Sitting in an corner, out of the way of the healer, Morrigan was silent, watching with dark eyes as they tended to Saul. Back in the usual garb of breeches, boots, shirt and vest, with knives at her hips - not to mention a series of smaller ones hidden about her person - she was ready for action at a moment's notice. Though it would be with reluctance that she would leave the tent, should such a thing have to occur. She was tempted to ask the healers how he was doing.. but she was afraid to ask, at the same time. Percival Vizharen: His embrace with Tommasina was cut short by the gruff countenance of the even taller General. Percival, for the first time since knowing Maahes, lowered his head with respect and stepped back from Tommy. Looking up, he would reply; ``Of course. Let us get the camps situated, and we can discuss everything over dinner. With the military dungeon, and the outpost hit; the Steward is paralyzed for awhile now. Which will give us enough time to set up where we need to. You can have your men set up to the south, the peninsula is plenty large enough for everyone here, and a thousand more. My gratitude knows no bounds, General. Thank you for arriving on such quick notice.`` His attention switched to the Talon he had trained so many years ago. ``Tommy, you can have yours do the same. They can get what equipment they need from our armories, and medicine from our neighbors. We are fortified and well hidden; the Steward will never have the capabilities of reaching us here.``-- His next group of inquiries would be best served in private, but they were for Tommy.[d] Danae: Ren continued to shift his gaze between his sister and those she looked to. ``Friends of yours?`` he asked and she looked up to him with a cool, calm, and collective look. ``Brothers in arms... `` she answered before her attention was snatched by the rolling helmet Tommy had let go. Her eyes met those of the only other woman she had befriended on Avaira and a smirk was granted before it curled upward into a smile. The meaning? Well, only something the two of them would know. Women could say what needed to be said without a single word and and shortly after, a nod followed. -d- Saul: The healers had moved to Morrigan and knelt in front of her. They informed her that he would be ok, and good company was the best medicine. They tossed the rag back into the pale and left her and Saul to the silence of the tent. The music from the Gypsy camp barely making it past the wall of canvas.--- Percival Vizharen: Percival nodded and cast a glance toward Danae. He waved before moving off toward the group of command tents. Dinner was already made, and the officers and garrison were moving in to grab a bowl of chow then go back to their tents. Only the officers and Lords/Ladies got to eat in the command tent. It held a stretch of tables, and a fire within the center. The fire had some benches sitting around it and a few instruments for the musical inclined. Percival moved toward that tent, and hopefully.. would lead Tommy and Maahes that way too. He motioned for Danae to follow with a wave. He assumed Kuriel was already inside either playing guitar, or stuffing his face.[d] Tommy: Tommy's about ready to take out a horse and gnaw on its hoof if she don't get something to eat, ASAP. Where's Cook?! Slacker. Regarding the command tent, Tommy had no place in there, but the smell of food was too overwhelming to resist. Reluctantly she followed, entering the tent and stopping there to stare. Again. "Someone's been enjoying life, it seems," came the throaty murmur. She veered off to the right and went to grab a piece of whatever bird was dead on a plate before finding a seat at the table. Priorities. Kuriel: Speaking of enjoying life, on the far side of the camp -- strewn lazily across his hammock was our ever so handsome, ever so charming, ever so heroic Kuriel. Kuriel hadn't taken much notice of the proceedings and excused himself from most of the follow up planning. He didn't bother with things like instructions. To him, a " plan " was a list of chyt that didn't happen. Of course when the smell of food wafted through the area he perked a brow, lifting his hat slightly to peer towards the direction of the main camp. Just in time to see Tommy saunter on in. Curious. That Cheshire grin tore across his face ( ladies, this is one good looking man ). Despite not being hungry, he certainly looked the part. With an exaggerated swing he rolled out of his makeshift bed, straighten his flawless tunic before strolling on in behind Tommy. Quiet as ever, he was calculated to not alert her of his presence until she sat. Without any hiccup, he smoothly slid next to her. He feigned an expression of shock, before settling on his normally aplomb expression. " Tommasina Mancini .. You're looking older. " Such a delight, our resident rogue. Danae: As those cold icy blue hues watched Tommy move off, Danae looked back to where the woman had been standing. Did Percival just back down from Maahes? Did he just 'wave' at her? Dark brows arched in confusion. She always knew Percival was a good man deep down. The day the two of them had met on the docks, she was certain of it then. Danae noted the tag a long wave and moved to her feet. Her brother by now had washed his face and no longer looked like the diseased wagon driver he had posed as during the rescue. She waved her brother on, both moving in to the tent, following in after Percival, Tommy and...was that Kuriel? Well I be damned.. she hadn't seen him in.. well, forever. After moving further in, both sister and brother took up a plate of food, drink, and a seat. Somewhere close by to those she knew and had missed over the years. -d- Morrigan: The stablehand looked up when the healers approached, her tense form relaxing when they said he would be all right. A shaky smile curled on her lips, and she nodded, watching as the healers left. She rose to her feet then, moving toward the cot where he lay. A hand with calloused fingers gently brushed hair back from his face, before loosely clasping one hand. "..Ye foolish man." She looked down at him, and was once again silent. If only she hadn't gotten separated from Bess that night, and he hadn't seen her! Then maybe he wouldn't have ended up in this situation. But what was done was done, and at least they had him back now. Percival Vizharen: Percival excused himself for a moment to return to the wagon outside. He had assumed the men would have grabbed the Talon female from the ground, but when he returned.. she was gone. chyt. His eyes narrowed and he looked for any clues as to where she had gone. Coming around the edge of the wagon, he found what was left of her bonds, cut and on the ground. He knelt to pick them up. `` ..son of a bytch..`` He muttered. He heard footsteps behind him, feet sloshing quickly in mud! He turned and caught the flat end of a blade up-side his head. CLONG! He went side ways and rolled, his vision going dizzy. The fray was hidden from sight! She held the sword low, coming to stab him where he landed on his back, but unfortunately she missed and he booted her hand which held the sword. She cried out, letting go of the grounded blade, and turned to run. Percival felt the warmth of his own blood coming down the side of his face, and he grew hot as he scrambled to his feet to give pursuit with a growl.[d] Tommy: Teeth sank into the fleshy part of the leg of pheasant, and she tore free a hunk of meat that was shoved against her cheek by means of her tongue tip. Glancing over at Kuriel, she regarded him coolly, speaking with care so as not to reveal her meal. "I am older," she mused, matter-of-factly while chewing and ending with a swallow. Reaching for the goblet of wine, she tipped it back and took in more than the obligatory sip was allowed. After setting the drink aside, she turned her body Kuriel's way, nudging his leg with her knee, and lowered her voice, "Do not push him tonight." ..and then, as though forced, "..Please." God that hurt. Burned, even. It singed her skin and boiled her soul, and to make matters worse, she tacked on yet more. "And you look exceptional, as usual." She turned her head, chin brushing against the coarse leathers that covered a far too thin shoulder, and looked for Percival. Should she be uncomfortable about his situation? Hell yes. But she wasn't, and nor would she allow it to take over and rule her as she had so many times prior. Sinking back in her seat, she slid lower and set down the meat directly on the table, bypassing completely..the plate, as distraction set in. What was taking the man so g'd**n long to get back in there? A sudden perk and she slid her gaze the Rogue's way again, "Did you hear that?" Thighs flexed taut as the chair was slid back and away from the table, and she moved to stand. Kuriel: " Yes, " A smile pushed past his usual cokey grin. " it would seem the Talon is taking to Percival and his training. " Kuriel didn't ever say anything directly, but his tone suggested enough. When she brushed against him he let that smile hold for awhile long. An honest expression usually looked more a lie on his face then a lying one. ( Sorry babe. ) A deceptively strong hand gathered her wrist, using influence rather then authority to ease her back into the chair. " Sit, eat. " Leaning in to the woman, once his, he enamored her cheek with a kiss. Kuriel was a man of exaggerated theatrics and half truths, but he managed to curve it ( to a degree ) with Tommy. Her detection of bull chyt was to spot on for it. Smoothly standing he started to the ingression, pushing outside to seek out Percival and his trainee. When he did happen upon them she was amidst a bolt. Emancipated and scared. Her escape was impeded by Kuriel, who arrested her with that powerful grip. Stilling her for a long while, he waited until the panicked woman stopped struggling and finally made eye contact. Poor girl, she certainly noticed how handsome he was, despite starvation and the threat of death. " Go in the tent and get some food, " For once he was beyond flirting, not even a suggestive wink as he pushed the unsure girl past him. " now! " That last bit was barked, an air of insuperable authority anchoring his tone. Staring at Percival with pure, unfiltered hatred, he began rolling up his sleeves. " Damn shame, " Starting to circle him, there was a mounting tension between the man that was gaining fast momentum. " this is a new suit. " Percival Vizharen: The girl, arrested by the father of her fellowship unknowingly, was held in absolute fear as his gaze seemed to pierce her very soul. When he let her go, she nodded wearily and padded off toward the tent, on guard for whatever was to follow.-- Percival was closing in but had completely missed the scene. He was out of breath, blood coming down the side of his face. He took in big gulps of air and put his hands to his knees for a moment, catching his breath. Straightening, he was equal height with the rogue, and his vision narrowed. ``The hell you talking about? Where's the woman?`` Percival was in a dirtied tunic that favored the style of rich-made pirates, much like Kuriel. His sleeves were already rolled up.[d] Danae: While a few others moved from their seats to go and inspect their suspicions, The Greek Commander kept to her seat and so did her brother. The way she figured, if it was that much of a threat, there would be more than just a couple shouts here and there. The dark copper skinned woman would continue to enjoy her meal, maybe go check in on Saul, and she was likely to try and catch some shut eye. She'd be up at the crack of dawn anyway. Old habits were hard to break. Not that she really wanted to break them, but.. Ren however, he'd probably follow, do much of the same and go off somewhere for some alone time. He wasn't one much for crowds, always got him in trouble. People were less likely to provoke him and get hurt. -d- Eirian: They were taking supper over greetings littered with half-jests and a banter not entirely unfamiliar. Apprehension was evident peppering over the strain of the evening. Basic needs should be seen to, but as of late she'd seen to perhaps a pair of them: washing the filth of the prisons away from the flesh and changing into a brown dress. There had only between two changes of clothes in her pack so whatever else came like the costume of the whore would have to be of good natured giving because charity wasn't an option. There were questions to answer have answered tasks to see to assuredly. In the abyss of the mind yearning to be filled, the first foremost figure coming to prominence was Commander Mancini. "Good evening, Commander. It has been a long while.." -- there was nothing good in the evening but civilization cometh before surrender to the primal. At least now, anyway. Cuffed sleeves revealed bruises with a story to tell shaped in the hands of a man who lay with cracked open, pistol shot head in a building deemed fit to burn. Christ, she couldn't eat. At least she took up of a large portion of water to wash the swill out of her mouth. (d) Tommy: Trouble had a scent; a horrific, wretched smell that lingered like a thick oil against the back of the throat and refused to be swallowed down. It clung, miserably so, latching onto the host and sticking there through the entire duration of the struggle, showing nothing but consistency and awareness without flaw. And trouble was Tommy's bedmate. Eyes settled on Kuriel's, briefly, before she nodded and sat -- she waited, patiently, for what she knew was coming. Kuriel rarely let her down in that regard; in fact, it was safe to say that such behavior was the only area in which the wandering scamp had proven himself stable, with her. ..and it was accepted. He moved for the mouth of immense tent, and she immediately stood up went to follow, but another assumed his previous position and got in the way. Distracted sounding, the Talon woman released a curse then followed it up with a heated mumble, "Evening." Eyes shifted again as recognition was sought and finally found. "Long time, yes. You have about five minutes before you lose me. Talk fast." Pardon the abruptness -- but there's a huge scene she ain't up to missin'. Eirian: "Mm, perhaps I'd be poor company for you tonight then. My mouth doesn't move at the rate of my head." She thought faster than she spoke. With nothing of over-important merit to say it was better to nod as to allow the Commander her view of the main event she had passed on her way inside. So long as the Avarian Champion remained in enough pieces to acknowledge the decision in her husband's presence, that was all that proved necessary. There were things on did not intervene on, yet she did not want the champion to be broken too hard across Kuriel's competence, which was more than most thought anyhow. Perhaps silence would find better reception amidst the gypsy folk. Finding that an acceptable idea, the Queen would tuck up a bit of meat and bread to pick at across the way into a cloth. Thus would be the end of her in that tent. (d) Kuriel: " You're a scoundrel, Percival. " Kuriel pushed into the nearby foliage, when he re-emerged he had his spear. His spear was crafted from an exotic steel, light and durable. The dangerous side had an elongated blade, about a third the length of the spear itself. Without dramatics, he plunged it deep into the soil in front of them. " A scourge that has poisoned our community for long enough. You have failed us time and time again and because you play savior to your own mess you are forgiven. Coddled by good people -- Apollo and Tommy .. You have bastardized my once proud troupe. Tonight, I'll curve that spite out of you .. Not with pain, " That usually engaging grin had a far more sinister edge for once. " no .. Pain to you is useless. Some people you can beat on and beat on .. But it doesn't matter, because all of that agony, all of that pain, they believe it is their own. They believe that is what they deserve. They welcome it, that gruesome, searing heat is their reward for a life poorly lived. It is your own inability to burden responsibility without a temper tantrum that has brought us here. I'm not going to give you your cherished pain, Percival. I am here to take what matters most to you, Eight Gazes. " That last bit was spat as he tore his spear from the ground. " I am going to show you how small you are, how useless your extreme measures have been, I am going to show you the truth of your cowardice and the lies of your deeds. Tonight I am going to show you that had you just stormed ahead, gotten up after life knocked you down and faced your challenges with a degree of integrity, that you would be able to have a life worth living .. And live it as a man worth something. " Percival Vizharen: Percival took a step back, his eyes widening with the initiation of a duel. He gulped, letting the very human impulses crawl down his spine and back up. Perhaps it was the rogue's words that hurt more than any fist would, or the intent behind them; but Percival was feeling fear for the first time in many years. The prodigal student of many masters, Percival was supposed to be the beacon of hope for their order, only to fall and become its greatest tragedy. His chance at redemption he thought had passed, but looking at Kuriel, he knew that redemption was a lost cause. Atonement was the only word that came to mind as Percival followed the stipulations of the duel. He withdrew his own weapon; it was an intricate rapier awarded to him by the father of the Talons, the very man who stood before him ready to carve his soul like a stick of butter. The sword was held in able hands and pushed into the ground before him in honor of the tenets which bound Kuriel and all within their fellowship. Percival knelt behind the blade, letting both hands latch onto the hilt while eyes lowered and closed for only a moment. Taking in a deep breath, Percival stood up again, freeing the blade from the ground he'd stuck it in. He did not reply, could not; if this was his fate-- he accepted it when he brought the blade up in front of him. One hand took rise behind him, and he took an expert's stance.[d] Tommy: "You'll walk with me," she stated without question, picking up the leg of meat and holding it between her teeth while hands were slid against already soiled leathers. Greasy bird, pheasant. Snatching up a cleaning cloth, she used it to hold her meal while heading for the way out of the blasted tent. Once outside, she continued without pause. "Talk. Might look like I'm not paying attention, but I can assure you I'll capture every word." Already, eyes were scanning for the two, and ears were honing in on not only conversation, but other, more familiar sounds of struggle. And she found what she was searching for, reasonably fast. The two men, both tremendously skilled and dangerously lethal, squared off to speak; the woman kept her distance and leaned against the body of a tree, bringing the meat to her mouth to take another bite. She chewed slowly, meticulously, jaw working the grind of food while she watched in silence while listening to two situations at once. Interestingly enough, she absorbed enough information from each party to actually be aware of how to respond in turn. Her body stiffened, however, when one of said conversations seemed to be heading in a more physical direction. Regardless, there was no intervention; was something to two males needed to work out. Eirian: "If you'd like.." she replied turning a red-rimmed sapphire over the weather-beat shoulder. She feasted on bird while Eirian had no room for substancce of merit inside. Information only was satiating an appetite for reductions. Was she worth paying attention to - hmm - redudant question. Talk, I'll hear you. Invitation accepted. The tree proved support as she let her body go down to rest against the roots. "Talion did not know of my plans to come back," the bread was picked at, tossed to an Albatross "I would wager he knows now. Our son is free. Half of my students are dead. I have failed them but must not fail those who live. They need teachers, we left a bevy of new knights before we fled. The gypsy have good communication. Artisans. I have been raped." As nondescript as the weather it came out. Her belly unclenched, bread bitten into as the ritual went on. She did not like what was progressing but men weren't creatures of diplomacy here. Instinct reigned supreme. "That makes the whole of the past three days." What would art be after a time like this? What sort of twisted things would her eyes fashion around the creeping vine or a beautiful flower? Kuriel's spear seemed to glint with what justice must look like in a plain, flat white light gathering no other form from the thick air. (d) Kuriel: Kuriel was renowned for his ability to assess a situation, his borderline clairvoyance because of his uncanny ability to simply understand things. The man was methodical. When Percival knelt he charged, offering a vicious thrust, one that boomed with enough concussion to take most men clean off their feet. He didn't cease his umbrage, he followed through with the thrust, ducking with his spear and spinning it skillfully above his head, sending the flat end of the metallic shaft at the skull of Percival. " I'll not give you honor, Percival. You'll have to take it. " Exemplary footwork helped promote his unfathomable speed as he pushed the offensive, giving the wily Talon only the chance to defend. " You'll have to stop your incessant whining about being forgiven, about what you are -- I'll have you driven from this land, or I'll have you stop feeling sorry from yourself. " Percival Vizharen: Percival had already been dizzy from his encounter with the female Talon, but this had thrown him for a loop. Looking up from the moment he heard the splashing of charging boots, he shot backwards freeing the rapier from the temporary husk he placed it in. He wasn't given the time for fancy swordsmanship! The rapier was held with two hands; one upon the hilt, the other by the top of the blade itself. Gloves worked for spacing off recoil, but not well enough. The first attack was sustained with an upward parry, where Percival drove his sword up, horizontally, catching the spear as it came to stab him in the face. He would be partially successful in his attempt, but Kuriel had caught him off-guard. The edge was sharp, and cut a large line from the top of his cheek bone to the portion above his eye and brow. Blood immediately filled the crevice formed by Kuriel's work, but his attack was relentless! This put Percival in a clearly defensive nature, using the rapier in the same nature a bow-staff would be used to block attacks. Reeling back from each one, Kuriel's strength was deceptive and used in ways that Percival could barely understand. Sparks flew from each encounter with their weapons. Each man took calculated steps, twirling where needed, ducking other times or even leaping to run away to better ground. From where Tommy and Eirian were, they had a spectacular view, all be it rare as well. Both men moved as if they were practicing an ornate dance, and sparks flew in such a quick succession, people were more compelled to think it was magic coming from their hands rather than being produced by their weapons![d] Tommy: Tearing free another chunk of meat, she slid her gaze to the left and watched the other woman for a moment. Listened. Her pause was so long in silence, that perhaps it was assumed that Tommy had gone lost. She had not. Though not phased with the delivery of such severe and tragic news, the Talon knew full well that these life issues affected everyone differently and it would be acknowledged, respectively. "And yet here you are, surviving it. Well done, lad--Christ!" ..she hissed, throwing down the last of the meat and stalking forward; her pause was only to extend and arm to prevent Eirian from going closer or, God forbid, catching steel. At that moment, she wasn't sure whether she hated or loved these men. Both were pig-headed and mulish, arrogant and self-assured, and she wondered then if there would ever truly be peace there. Regardless, there was a wealth of emotion invested in each, and she would never regret knowing them. Staying to watch wasn't an option as already she could feel the painful tug at her heart yet again. "We must leave. Right now." Turning, she grabbed onto the lady's arm and started to pull her away. Eirian: "Commander...I wish to watch them. If I may?" Latent ability was slow to return as a fuel in the veins beyond a crawl but she suggested an upward vantage instead of their own. The tree seemed plausible, did it not? If one sat at the base to talk of survival, one may sit in its leaves to watch the future unfold. Still, the distance taken was palpable to several beats of the heart before thought of climbing trees would resurface. Yes, her mind was in a state of awkward paces. "Perhaps it is better if we do leave.." She swam in a sea of inconsistency, "Thank you, on your acknowledgement. I'd like to stay alive to see my baby grow." The two were at war, a volatile war, yet voyeurism was beating down a once present pacifism. One eye was clouding, the other holding them in vivid color (d)
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Post by Percival Vizharen on Aug 4, 2009 16:08:14 GMT -6
Avarian Family Reunion II Percival Vizharen: Percival had already been dizzy from his encounter with the female Talon, but this had thrown him for a loop. Looking up from the moment he heard the splashing of charging boots, he shot backwards freeing the rapier from the temporary husk he placed it in. He wasn't given the time for fancy swordsmanship! The rapier was held with two hands; one upon the hilt, the other by the top of the blade itself. Gloves worked for spacing off recoil, but not well enough. The first attack was sustained with an upward parry, where Percival drove his sword up, horizontally, catching the spear as it came to stab him in the face. He would be partially successful in his attempt, but Kuriel had caught him off-guard. The edge was sharp, and cut a large line from the top of his cheek bone to the portion above his eye and brow. Blood immediately filled the crevice formed by Kuriel's work, but his attack was relentless! This put Percival in a clearly defensive nature, using the rapier in the same nature a bow-staff would be used to block attacks. Reeling back from each one, Kuriel's strength was deceptive and used in ways that Percival could barely understand. Sparks flew from each encounter with their weapons. Each man took calculated steps, twirling where needed, ducking other times or even leaping to run away to better ground. From where Tommy and Eirian were, they had a spectacular view, all be it rare as well. Both men moved as if they were practicing an ornate dance, and sparks flew in such a quick succession, people were more compelled to think it was magic coming from their hands rather than being produced by their weapons![d] Kuriel SeVant: Eventually there was balance. Both men were far to talented to every be truly dominated. Given their mutual training, both of their styles had a number of parallels. The storm didn't calm, but like most truly terrific things, there was a degree of beauty to it. " Time - " He spoke through gritted teeth, exerting himself as he kept trying to keep Percival on his heels. " and - time again .. You think your way is capital, is an ugly necessity .. I won't let you ruin this place too with your poison. " Despite having a noted edge he spun back, twirling his spear above his head to purchase the distance so he could. " You're a disgrace Percival. You talk about it all the time .. " The mix of sweat and blood was a rare sight on the usually pristine pirate. " Why not accept your lot and life, just trudge on. We don't need you here to be a part time hero until you feel another episode of depression or self-loathing over come you and you turn on your friends because it is for the greater good. " Percival Vizharen: Percival struggled to keep up, and sweat beaded along his furrowed brow. He was strong, and the way they moved; it looked easy! Finally, when they had distance between one another, he stumbled back a bit, heaving his narrow shoulders. The sword was lifted up, now held with only one hand, he moved to attack with precise speed. He would strike in calculated flurries seeking to wear the man down, but Percival knew that was impossible. ``I.. did.. it out.. of NECESSITY!`` A harsh slash brought along, followed by a twist in his step, and he took a defensive stance, assuming Kuriel was right on his heels.-- ``I could-- NEVER.. bring myself.. to do it.. AGAIN!`` He parried the spear away, heaving, but clearly showing his strength and agility. The blood on his face had made a thin line along his cheek and stained the white collar of a very fashionable shirt.[d] Kuriel SeVant: " Necessity? " He echoed incredulously. " That is what made you do what you did? " They had kept engaged throughout the majority of the conversation, but with a fancy series of well timed thrust Kuriel bought himself some space. Rolling his spear around, he lined it against his arm and held it ready at his side. " Necessity? .. You want to know what is necessary for you now? Forget repenting. Forget redemption. Just do your damn job. Do your part. You want to hate Artemis so much, but he is better then you ; at least we can rely on him to be what he is. You need to choose a side. " That spear was hoisted again, but he didn't attack -- he just pointed with it, aiming it directly at the man he was berating. " Choose a side and stay there .. I grow tired of your charade, you aren't a good man, but you are still capable of doing good things. " Without warning he erupted forward, firing his arm and hurling the spear directly past him, sending it crashing into the tree behind him. " You don't deserve all the chances you've got Percival. " Percival Vizharen: He turned his shoulder in time to see the spear sail right by him. It plowed right into a tree, sending pieces of bark and splintered chunks everywhere. Percival straightened and regarded the man again, lowering the rapier before setting it into the ground. Hands went up to his collars and he pulled the fabric tight before popping the bones in his neck. He stepped forward after that, bringing his hands up in front of him in a dignified grappling guard. His boots sank into the mud, but he approached fearlessly. ``I have chosen my side, and I plan to stick to it. I am not worried over salvation as I am getting this done. I am past that all now, and I am sick of where it got me! `` He locked up with Kuriel, latching his fingers behind the rogue's neck after ducking under a jab. ``.. there's only duty now..``[d] Kuriel SeVant: Kuriel wasn't into the whole concept of fair fighting .. But Percival and he were crossing for reasons other then gain. This was a person matter and while the aloof rogue allowed very few things, if any, to effect him .. Percival had managed just that. That testing jab was meant to gauge distance, but the nimble Talon managed to avoid it whilst also gathering a fistful of his shirt. Pivoting off his rear foot, he launched a knee up and driving into his sternum. He set his hip hard into the man, twisting hard and away from his body and aiming to hip toss him. " I don't believe you. " It was stated matter of factly, as if his own word was the law of the land. The normally flamboyant pirate of enigmatic origin had made a career out of being unreliable, but there was always a certain method to his madness -- and unlike Percival, it never came at the direct detriment to others. " I don't trust you. We'd be better off with you gone. " Despite his talking he didn't dawdle to long after his first assault, though his next wasn't as finesse orientated. He jolted forward, offering a hard kick to his stomach. Percival Vizharen: Percival was a man of uncanny agility and deceptive strength, but when he was forced to sustain the strike to his chest, that very pinnacle of superiority left him in but the blink of an eye. He wheezed outward and lost his grip around the foppish rogue's neck, favoring the direction of the knee that made his body bend upward. Blood surfaced with the cough that followed, but even his empty lungs and twisting stomach had not prepared him for the hip toss which followed. Spun about, he felt his body take the form of Kuriel's, feeling the hip jut outward to lift his body weight up. Time slowed for the notorious death dealer as he saw his legs go airborne. His calloused hands could feel the texture of Kuriel's shirt as they were being drug downward. He gripped in that instant, hard. Percival's body became a stoppable force against an unstoppable earth. Air that wasn't there was forced from his lungs in the form of a pained grunt. When he collided with the ground, his grip was lost and he felt Kuriel slip from his grasp. Above him, the canopy of the trees swirled in circles as pain blanketed his nerves with a sense of reality; the cold hard reality that he could be beaten. He saw Kuriel move, and out of instinct, Percival sucked in air and rolled away, seeking to climb back up to his feet and fight the need to throw-up. He heard the words, continued to hear them echo within his mind as he regained control of his legs, and through the searing pain, pushed himself to stand! Percival's anger was hot, and his passion was beyond anything that could be measured in words. His jaw locked and his chin turned upward before weathering a blow from Kuriel's knee through doubled up forearms. In knocking the attack back, he gained a moment to strike, and did with such poise and backed up strength through anger; he wanted to kill Kuriel! Percival stepped in as he would thrusting up close, only his intent was to use his elbow to catch the fop in the chin. He would extend his arm from the elbow to backhand the man with a closed fist; and throw his body weight into a terribly hard straight punch with enough force to carry a man from his legs, go airborne, and slide across the ground! He straightened, breathing hard. ``YOU WILL NOT TAKE THIS FROM ME! I'VE WAITED YEARS FOR THIS MOMENT!``[d] Kuriel SeVant: Kuriel wasn't sure how to react to Percival finding his feet. When he finally settled on a reaction, it was terribly wrong. He came forward, only to have a fist of unrepressed fury crash into his face. Turning his head sharply, he felt gravity betray him. His consciousness wavered, but returned when he crashed into the mud. The series of tumbles across the ground was brutal, but the harrowing cry of a broken man was enough to satisfy the man. Swaying as collected himself to his knees, he finally managed to come off his hands and sit up in a kneel. " .. This is why you ruined everyone around you time and time again? Why you lived in the darkest corners? " His tongue tested the integrity of his mouth, he concluded by spitting a tooth out, one lost in a thicket of gore. " .. Fine. You have your chance then. When you slip up, " Shaky feet managed to hold him as he pulled to a stand. " and you will. " That confidence of his look, mixed with a stare that could curdle milk, truly relayed his hatred for Percival. " I'll be there. " Percival Vizharen: Kuriel could see that Percival was shaking with anger. Kuriel's words tormented Percival, echoed in the back of his mind until he let his anger guide his will. As Kuriel looked at him with that unwavering sense of confidence, Percival felt his soul flake away piece by piece. That stare ate at him, made his stomach curl and forced his expression to change from hatred to disgust. In one motion, taking the next step forward, Percival withdrew a flintlock pistol and leveled it in the direction of Kuriel's face. Shaking his head, there was a sick smile that perked up, and his finger eased over the trigger. ``No you won't.``--- Talion Apollius: ``You will stay that pistol at once, Percival Vizharen.`` Percival Vizharen: ``Your majesty.. `` Percival lowered the pistol turning toward the voice that was none other than Apollo's. When did h--- Talion Apollius: Apollo had already been closing the distance towards the fight, and seeing that it had come to an end, and Percival take it one step further; he sought to end it before more blood was shed towards the tragedy that was Percival Vizharen. Securing the intricate rapier from the ground, which Percival had put there prior to their fist fight, Apollo would use the hand guard to punch Percival. Apollo's strength was backed by countless years of war and campaign, the man knew how to use his body weight and superior size to his advantage. In doing so, Percival would be rendered unconscious, and Apollo would drop the rapier by his side. He would not linger there for long because his gaze lifted to a friend he'd known for the best and darkest parts of his life. Apollo's judgement of the situation may have been altered by this fact, but Apollo believed that Kuriel's days would not end on this one. He offered a hand to the foppish rogue, so that he may right himself and stand beside his longtime friend and companion.--- Percival Vizharen: Percival was unprepared for the strike, and his face jerked to the side in favor of the intricate medal the hand guard was made of. The shot discharged in the air, missing all, and he twisted until he hit the ground. Laying lifeless, his eyes would remain shut, and his ears yielded.--- Talion Apollius: ``You did not have the right hand of cards this round it seems, old friend.``[d] Kuriel SeVant: Kuriel watched Percival without anything in the way of fear showing. It was a curious expression, one a soon dead man shouldn't wear ; but it never came to that as Apollo and his timely intervention came. That smugness washed away from his expression in the aftermath. Something that could be viewed as concern showed as he stared at the prone Percival. Taking the hand he hoisted himself up. " .. Poor kid. I'm going to have to kill him if he turns again, Apollo. " The nonchalance in which he spoke the claim was shockingly, given just how dangerous Percival was. Apollo and his quipped was met with a clipped smirk and short lived chortle. " It isn't about your hand, Apollo. It is how you play them. " After a small episode of silence he looked the venerable warrior over, placing a heavy hand on his shoulder. " You look well, " That infamous arrogance renewed itself. " almost as good as me. " Said the muddy pirate. Talion Apollius: Apollo would not reply to Kuriel's conclusion of Percival; it was not his place. A hand came up to tuck his long hair back as he felt the light gesture from Kuriel against his shoulder. They began to walk, leaving whatever shell that was Eight Gazes behind.-- Apollo turned his head to regard his friend and his appearance. ``It would seem so. Never thought you the type for earthly tones.`` He afforded a handsome grin in trade, moving to the command tent that had been erected. He hardly paid any mind to the fools who passed, uttering empty sayings like "Your majesty.." or "My Lord.." It irritated him that men would readily kneel before a self proclaimed leader, rather than doubt and see what fibers make him. Two guards pulled the flaps open from the canvas tent, and Apollo, with the support of a large and muscular arm, guided his friend in first because Kuriel was more feminine looking than he. Apollo would follow with a smile, coming up behind Kuriel then passing him. He hiked a thumb up, interrupting the men taking a kneel and uttering the same words. ``Get out.`` They submitted and moved out. Apollo's glance followed them as they would slink by the narrowly built fop, and move out of the tent. There was a moment that was long with silence traded between the pair, and Apollo's eyes didn't leave Kuriel's. Some often mentioned when they saw this trade off, the pair were talking without speaking. It was moments like these which filled the gaps between the two very different men; but it made Apollo realize how much Kuriel really was his brother and best friend. He looked down. ``He won't...`` He said, moving to the table to lean against it with large hands. The two words were descriptive enough for the pair to pick up a conversation that normally would've been held outside, but for cohesion and the protection and sanctity of the armies present, it was best to discuss the dark matters in private. In lieu of the two words, Kuriel would know that Apollo was putting his trust into the kid.[d] Kuriel SeVant: Kuriel didn't mind the gesture, even giving a curtesy when Apollo waited for him. " I didn't pick you for the type to use a phrase like earthy tones, but we all have our surprises. " When alone the pair were just friends. Kuriel wasn't going to bow, because quite frankly he'd seen to many kings usurped, to many of them corrupt, to many of them indifferent .. He'd just seen to many of them. " If you say so. " That simple counter was as candid as he'd ever be. Doubtful, but willing to proceed. " Tommy is back, too. " A tilt of his head shifted with his glance to the wily Talon. " Plus your whole - fast growing family .. I'm just saying this is a quick fire strike away from blowing up. " Talion Apollius: ``Yes, yes. They are always here.. or there. They're never where the fighting needs to be. To busy quarreling aongst themselves and chasing these damnable adventures. Talons. Hmph. 'Lot of 'em I heard defected anyway. I failed as a King and Commander, and here I arrive two days late; and the damned thing is functioning without me. You know what that tells me, Kuriel?`` He was fishing a chair out from under the table, and eased into it with a pained and aged grunt. His features relaxed when he could resume his lean, and stretch his legs out. ``It tells me that there is still hope yet. Even you can not deny the prestine art that man has achieved by working with the weaves he was given. Gods be damned, I know we didn't make it easy for him either. Still, there is competence where there was once not. I see in him a man that is not great, but one capable of great things. I know we share the same understanding, but the problem is conveying that to him without him blowin' off the god damn rocker.`` He put his forehead into the curve of his index and thumb, rubbing there harshly until he forced himself to look up through the head ache of it all. His eyes narrowed slightly, locking upon his friend again. ``If he wants to start some damned personal crusade, off 'im. But if his intentions are true, if he truly believes what he is doing is the right thing, ride it out. Killing Vizharen is not the issue here, catching him is. Like a child he is, and all he needs is a smack to the back o' his hand when he veers off kilter.`` He sneezed. ``It has been awhile since I have been here..`` He shook his head slightly and his brow wrinkled with thought. ``..and you say the old woman and kid are here, eh? I knew Saul was, but I had not figured Eirian would leave me behind like she did. I am losing track of things to maintain sense of it all, and it is making me uneasy.`` He flashed a look to the rogue and just went silent, staring at him for a moment.[d] Kuriel SeVant: " Apollo, rhetorical questions aren't my thing. " Kuriel adopted his old persona in an instant, moving far away from the man engaged in a gruesome battle not moments prior. He flopped into a chair, slinging his leg over the arm of it and sprawling out accordingly. He waved a hand in a rolling manner to encourage him to continue on. " You're losing a lot of things, " Kuriel gestured at Apollo's hair. " and yes, they are all here. Whole cast an' crew have assembled accordingly. Whether you like it or not, you're the puppet master. Even to me, in many instances .. " Both of his arms waved wide, displaying himself in his dirty grandeur at the comment. " We all have come, heralding your unheralded call, O' King Apollo. " Talion Apollius: ``Feck you Kuriel, and feck the Kingdom.`` He said, his accent thickened by his distaste for the constant call to revel his past campaigns. ``This damned place has been a curse to me since the day you and I met in the tavern all those years ago. I came for my son, not the salvation of this place. It is a god forsaken stretch of land that needs to learn its place. Its ilk ousted me, and now they beckon me to come rescue it again. What? The third or fourth time now? I have lost count.``He spit onto the ground and reached up to scratch the wily mop of hair he left to its own thing. His hand would fall to trace the beard he had. ``But I already know what Eirian's gonna say, and Gods know I can not lose her. She is everything I have. If I were to fight again, it would be because she wants it. I have long since laid my arms down. Trial and tribulation of constant squabbling about has led me to the failure that was this place, marring my once.. exemplary record. I do not feel I am up to the challenge again. As you can see..`` He gestured about the tent and motioned to the camp outside. ``It already started without me. I believe I can take a hint at face value.``[d] Kuriel SeVant: Detached and indifferent, Kuriel suddenly sneezed violently. " Sorry about, " A hand lifted to excuse himself and silence Apollo. " I'm allergic to bullchyt. " After the poorly timed joke had passed he gave him a flat look, one tempered by a life long friendship. " Your son will raise arms for this place, Percival would follow you to hell ; Tommy has her children here .. Maahes is a supremely ugly man -- " When Apollo perked a brow at his last comment the rogue just shrugged. " .. Didn't wanna leave him out .. Your wife calls here home and you are a warrior. Born and bred, a warrior. Whether you like your lot in life or not Apollo, that is it. You're a leader. They may have started without you, old timer, but they are waiting on your command. It is as simple as that. " Talion Apollius: There was a silence that followed, and his brow lowered. ``---`` His hand curved around the features of a hairy chin and he looked skyward, even if his glance ended with the canvas. ``Fiiine. You talked me into it, and not because flattery is an open route to your success. I was pretty damned successful before you came along, mister.`` HA! Kuriel had saved Apollo's ass more times than the old grunt cared to count! Apollo shifted again, starting to chuckle. `` Maahes, cheeky fellow it'nee.`` His lips curved into a smirk that was handsome. ``I am getting way too old for this kind of thing. I guess I should make sense of their chicken scratch and see if I can straighten this debacle out. I have heard my son was retrieved? I heard you were on the party. What news of that raid would you tell me?``[d] Kuriel SeVant: " Cheeky is a word, but the man is ugly as sin .. Like he got hit in the face with a sac of what-the-hell. " Kuriel wasn't the nicest of people when it came to people who weren't cultured. He was a refined man, in truth. Someone who enjoyed the luxuries of life. In short, a spoiled, two-timing brat. " You are getting real old .. " The rogue consented with an enthusiastic nod. " And aging poorly, though your wife is ho-- " He paused when Apollo adopted a more intolerant veneer. His sheepish smile fit his nod. " Right. Raid .. Hmm. Organized, angry, very thorough .. A lot of men. They don't like. Old enemies maybe. Or maybe Saul has your winning personality. Who can guess for certain. " Talion Apollius: ``You are so insatiable with details, old friend. So much so, I should speak with the commander and get a more thorough report. Mind you, I am not surprised about the report. I was more surprised you got involved.`` Apollo stood then and moved to pass his friend with a pat to his shoulder. He stopped just before moving on, and squeezed lightly. ``And you should not be surprised that I am glad your here..`` He moved on and stopped by the door. ``..and not in a gay way. I am a married man.`` He shook his head and moved out, leaving the damnable fop to his own devices, whatever that may be.[d] Kuriel SeVant: " Got it .. You're a gay man. " Kuriel was all ready not listening, but had given him a very stoic look when he inquired as to why he got involved. Apollo had known Kuriel the better part of twenty years, as a vagabond with bad luck, then as a man who was always being beaten up .. Next an unrivaled archer with a bad drinking problem. Disguise after disguise, mask after mask -- only one thing remained certain .. Kuriel didn't take risk and rarely got involved in anything without it eventually serving himself in some capacity. " Goodnight, Apollo. Welcome home. " Talion Apollius: ``Hmph.``
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Post by Talion "Apollo" Apollius on Aug 5, 2009 6:20:43 GMT -6
Dissention With a Troubled Past I Talion Apollius: The camp had grown quiet over the passing evening. The sun, being ushered behind a veil of dark rain clouds, had sank and arose once more to much the same effect. Rain didn't fall in heavy spurts but drizzled, making the ground wet and cold to the touch, and the air moist. For those who were not used to the Avarian climate had developed a rough cough and found it difficult to sleep at night, but those who had lived there before or for many years; this was a great day. It always rained in Avaria making it a drowsy, miserable, and murky place to live. Those who called it home, loved it.-- The smoke within the camps was negated by the canvas strung up high in the trees to help capture it. The piers, as they always were, carried a heavy fog and mist that swirled and twirled beyond the immediate inward U the peninsulas made for port. There was no fleet traffic this day for beyond the veil that was Avaria, the skies had been painted with awful storms, and it had slowed the process for supplies. The Gypsy camp was a pristine place to be. People were friendly and carried with them a foreign class of style that could not be interpreted or imitated, only admired. Music, food, and laughter was a common commodity with the folk, and an easy spot for hiding.--- Apollo emerged from a command tent south of the Gypsy camp. He was large and broad shouldered, and his yawn was often compared to the challenge roar of a bear. Arms stretched high and he 'roared' before smacking his lips and shaking the grizzly collection of hair that hung long and across his back. He had been speaking with his best friend for a good long while, and was informed they had an outcast somewhere in the camp. Apollo's journey, be it short or long, was to find this outcast and speak with them. Just like any adventure Apollo had, he started with a yawn and stepped forward to see what the new morning would bring him.[d] Evelyn Ballard: It wasn't exactly easy to stay hidden when you were Evelyn Mae Ballard. For starters, she had that ostentatious red hair that spilled down to her backside in soft waves like spun silk. It wasn't bright and dizzying like some ginger tops, but instead was mostly a dark sheen until the suns rays touched upon it, where it would flare with golden highlights. Even some of the gypsies seemed drawn to it, as they appreciated exotic colors and fine textures. This is why she kept it tightly pleated to fall like rope down her spine. Along with that was the fact she stood at five feet ten inches, which seemed like quite a feat compared to some of the woman who occupied the area. She was not a frail waif, despite how at times she longed to be so, and instead encompassed curves that mostly earned ribald comments and at times got into the way of her training. Which is why the chemise she wore beneath the plain cotton tunic was two sizes too small, as to contain that full bust and douse those feminine curves. She was strong looking, and her appearance wasn't deceiving as she threw a nasty right hook. Indeed, she seemed to draw attention from some corner or another, but since she'd return that attention had turned bilious. The gypsies were fair and warm with smiles and chats, but that didn't stop the sharp burn of rejection from her peers. So today, with the weather as beautiful as it was, she decided to remove herself and let nature be her companion. Not to mention she could use a bit of a bath. The light drizzle was welcomed as she tilted up her face with a faint smile. The precipitation clung to her long lashes, turning them thick and black against her pale cheeks while making the rest of her exposed skin moist and soft. Currently she perched upon a boulder that was strategically placed along the waters edge so the occupant could soak their feet - which is exactly what she was doing. Loose fitting ebony trousers were rolled up to her calves to not be drenched as her toes drew unseen designs against the glassy surface. That cotton gray tunic, surprisingly too big, hung off a porcelain shoulder as relaxed, hands carefully draped over her lap. She was safe in this environment - the harsh sun rays were usually abolished by dark clouds, leaving her sensitive skin fair and ivory, instead of red and speckled. Her dark eyes shifted to the horizon as she stared out, emitting another small sigh of defeat. She needed this little reprieve before she went back and had to harden herself akin to the stone she sat upon. Talion Apollius: For the better part of the morning, Talion walked aimlessly about the Gypsy camp. He watched the younger children play hero and older men play their music about the fire. He stopped occasionally to see a dance, his old eyes following the shake of jutting hips and rattle of trinkets and beads. These were the small things in life which made the venerable man grin and laugh, even with the dreary times of war at the back of his mind. He asked around concerned with the lone wandering of their newly acquired 'prisoner' set free from the rage of one Talon by the compassion of another. He would get varied answers which subjected his hand rise and scratch a hairy beard that ran its course about his jaw line. Shaking his head, he turned to look beyond the camp. He was standing towards the northern most reaches of the Gypsy camp, looking into the drizzle covered forest that only stretched for another fifty yards or so. He saw the boulder, clear as day, but only saw the subtle movement of something hanging over the edge of it. He excused himself from the gathering, a group of vagabonds passing a pipe around while singing and drinking, to go and investigate the boulder thoroughly. He was silent in his approach, paying mind to where he stepped with a weary glance. From time to time, as he avoided holes or slippery mud puddles, he would pay a glance up toward the boulder until the distance between he and it was closed entirely. With his hands tucked to the small of his back, Apollo appeared to be in deep thought. His hair was wild and hung in all sorts of manner and angles, but his expression was always vibrant with creases of age and experience, and scars he wore like medals from battles long past. He regarded the woman with a solemn nod, tracing her glance to the horizon that was not so visible thanks to the ever present fog that surrounded the large stretch of land. He remained silent for the longest while, trading his glance to the horizon and then to the lines that built her face and shaped her. He saw her hands, and his gaze narrowed on the one aspect which separated her from any normal woman. His expression, however, would not change. When she noticed him, and he would know when, he would speak or allow her to speak. However, his initial approach was silent, as he had been a renown Ranger long before he was a war hero, and as the saying goes; old habits were hard to break.[d] Evelyn Ballard: Upon closer inspection, one would start to note the telltale signs of physical contact gone awry. Full lips were split in the corners and centers, as if she'd gnawed on a razor. High, proud cheeks and almond shaped eyes blossomed bruises and scrapes at their corners, some purple and dark and others fading into a sickly yellow. She had cleaned most of the blood and dirt from her person, though personal shame had made her keep it in place for a few days. Her knuckles were florid and raw looking, along with her palms and the bottoms of her feet. Which is another reason why she chose to soak them - the water was very soothing upon her angry skin. There were various cuts and marks across her long arms and legs, all very visible against the backdrop of her pallid flesh. Some were old wounds, even older scars, but some were fresh and angry looking. She'd let them fester, and burn and irritate, knowing that each discomfort was deserved. She was lucky to have her life. She sat up a little straighter, grateful for the muffled pops along her back as she stretched and yawned. That action caused he to lay back a little farther, her face tilting up once more to the sky. She splashed softly with her feet, absently noting a small shadow that darkened inside red of her lids. Would it rain again? An eye popped open to see and that's when she nearly gasped and fell over. Instantly she was on her feet, swallowing the squeak that nearly escaped her. The water splashed loudly with her hasty movements as she faced the man who'd been standing near her. Damn and blast! Her head bowed a fraction respectfully, giving herself a moments time to still her pounding heart. "My lord. You've my apologizes. I didn't realize you were standing there." She cursed internally. She sounded like a daft cow. Behind her back, she dug her nails into the palm of her hand so deep she nearly winced. "Is there something you wish of me?" Indeed, what could he want with her? Talion Apollius: He regarded her with an amused expression which he failed to hide. He often enjoyed the reactions he was awarded when he snuck up on unsuspecting folk. It had always been a trademark of the old ranger. He didn't speak until she was done fidgeting, and when he did, it was soft and soothing. Apollo was a man of great wisdom and guidance, but his accent carried in it the soft tunes of a jovial soul. He was a friendly man, and one who loved his spirits. Even more importantly, for her at least, he was an understanding man when he understood.-- He shifted slightly, clearing his throat to speak.``Had I wanted to be noticed, you would not be surprised. Hmm.`` He closed the distance between them, and came to stand right in front of her. He was tall, so very tall and full. In closer observation, one could note the strength he carried within his stance and walk; each swing and every action was guided by a powerful set of arms or legs. Despite his obvious stature however, she could note he had the gentlest touch. His hands, calloused, would feel warm to the flesh of her face as he reached out to gently touch her face. He turned her head from side to side, his eyes narrowing on some wounds and his head shook with others. He would let his hands drop when he was done, and he reached down to capture her own. The inner cusps of his thumb and index would lift both of her hands in a way that made her fingers bend to favor the shape of his hands. Her knuckles would face him at an angle and the backs of her hands would be eye level to her. He inspected her hands and the wounds present there, then let his gaze travel up her arms for as far as the sleeves would allow him to see. He respected her modesty, even though it had been a token robbed of every Talon during canonization. He let her take control of her hands again. ``It looks as if you have angered someone greatly.`` He said, playing coy but in a manner that was not insulting. ``I have heard you were a defector, and the intent of one Percival was to throw you to the wolves.`` Silence followed that statement, as if he wanted her to think he was considering the aspect of that as well. ``But the compassion of one who I respect says your fate shall not end with that.`` His eyes lifted to her own, and she would see the vivid blue color that returned her gaze without wavering. ``Ultimately, your fate rests in the palms of my hands, Talon. Before I make my decision, I would have your name.``[d] Evelyn Ballard: No, please. Don't let yourself be noticed. Just sneak up on poor, unsuspecting folk who've been trained to detect that very ability, yet the weather and their bad mood just blocked out every imperative sense so they instead jolted like a stupid bunny. Of course, none of this was relayed to the man before her, having instead been stifled to internal dialogue. When he closed the space between them, she stiffened a fraction as her chin inched up in a almost defiantly haughty gesture. Lesser men had dealt her iniquitous blows in attempts to wipe that look off her visage. Ever fiber of her being screamed for her to put space between their bodies and prepare for a strike, but she remained stock still. Slightly roughened hands seemingly caressed her cheeks, and though she pursed her lips his administrations were allowed with the utmost obsequiousness. When he released her countenance, she released a breath she hadn't realized she retained. Digits tentatively brushed against his larger hands as he inspected them. Not in the fashion of a sensual stroke, but more so to keep her fingers from trembling violently. Once they were hers again, they dropped to her sides to meet at her back. It was patent in her various discolorations and mutilations that someone was not fond of her. She didn't see a need to comment back. The name Percival made her stomach clench and roll, the mixture of ambivalence was enough to bring her to her knees. Her dark eyes shifted away momentarily as she instructed herself not to speak. It wasn't until he said her fate lay with him did her oculars find his, causing her to hesitate before she spoke. "Ballard, my lord. Evelyn Ballard." Her voice was soft, slightly hoarse, yet carried easily over the noises of the area. Talion Apollius: ``Ah, yes. Evelyn.`` He repeated her name so he could roll it off his tongue. It sounded funny with his accent, but so did a lot of words. He turned from her for a long moment and put space between them. They stood in a semi-wide opening which faced towards the sea. The sky, high above, had turned to a lighter shade of gray still threatening with rain, but no thunder. When Apollo had put a good five feet between them, he turned to face her again. His expression was a thoughtful one, and his eyes never left her after that. He never seemed to smile, his lips were always privy to that of a thin line. He took in a deep breath before speaking. ``You know the tenets of our fellowship, Evelyn, and I hope, for your sake, you follow them through this tradition.`` From his side, he pulled out what looked to be a small, metal shaft with the head of a spear at one end. He pointed the spear head skyward and pressed a button which let several links of metal to fall out until it was in full size. This was a concealed spear, and used when people wished to not have weapons found. He locked it in place with an obviously powerful twist, and spun the weapon until the spearhead was pointed toward the ground. His feet were spaced, and both hands held onto the spectacular looking spear before driving it into the ground before him. This was the signature of a duel, and one that would not be interrupted by an outside source, lest they seek to be killed by both parties fighting. The fight would be one using their hands and feet, a noble and fair fight considering the training both received. He stepped around the spear, rolling his sleeves upward. This was a great honor, to be challenged by the master of their fellowship was rare in coming, yet to face him on fair terms was even more so. His expression relaxed as he reached up to gather the fabrics of his collar. He pulled them tight, twisting his head slightly to pop his neck, then relaxed, letting his hands come to his sides. He challenged, she aggressed. A duel didn't often revolve around the fighting itself, but was more focused on the words traded between them. He would question, she would answer. The processes traded in combat would all be second nature to them, and if either was hit, it would be sustained and they would move on. Much like a dance that must be continued, the hits signified a step which needed to be perfected. ``Why would you turn your back on the fellowship?``[d] Evelyn Ballard: She watched him, blatantly curious of his motives as he spoke to her. Her lips pursed a fraction as she seized whatever words nearly left her lips and opted to take a step back. The spear stuck out of the ground like some sort of lightning rod for her failure. However, given the man who placed it there she was left unsure and off-guard. Her abilities were laughable compared to his, and yet he was treating her with the propriety that such an occasion called for. An arched brow stitched higher onto her forehead as she shifted her gaze betwixt him and the spear, calculating her options. He spoke plainly; do as you're asked, and earn what you deserve. A faint nod was seen from her person before she clenched her fists and released them. She was as ready as she'd ever be. Her ribs still ached something fierce, so much so a heavy breath caused her to pant slightly. Even still, she faced her opponent regally, her chin remained slightly elevated as she peered down her nose at him. She always had a way of looking down at people even when they were inches taller. She needn't do any theatrics to prepare for what was ahead; her trousers were still rolled to her calves and her tunic sleeves were tattered and torn practically to her elbows. Her breathing slowed as she watched him, keeping her physiology fairly slack yet poised in preparation for his next move. His first question, sent a series of chills down her spine. "I did not turn my back, my lord. I merely adjusted to my surroundings until my abilities could be better suited." She hoped that didn't sound as full of chyt to him as it might've to anyone else. Talion Apollius: He took into account her stance was as lax as his own, and to him, that signified she was ready. Stepping forth, he heard the slush of mud rallied by the weight behind each booted step as he closed the distance toward her. He was a big man and his strikes incorporated both speed and tenacity well. He was skilled, but so was she, and the pair would block, swing, kick, stomp, and twist where they needed. She would score the first hit, and his chin favored the sickly powerful right hook she produced. He was forced to turn his head, and it sent a spray of blood and spit to the side. Instead of bringing his head to turn back, he went with the momentum and twisted. This brought him to a new position and the fight continued. They had been silent for a long moment, but he broke it when he chased her from a spot with a powerful stomp. He recovered and spoke; ``You adapted by joining hands with a known tyrant. You willingly gave your skills to further his reign of terror rather than putting your energies toward a way of stopping it. You helped keep honest men and women imprisoned because they believed as you did at one time, now they died for that while you still draw breath.`` He took a new stance, circling around her. ``You watched as this country tore itself limb for limb and did nothing. Nothing. I find myself disgusted. That even as I stand in your presence I have some how become infected with your disease. Your lack of competence reflects me and what my fellowship stands for. I will not have it or permit it to stay any longer.`` He attacked with such veracity, for not in the movements of his body, but that of words. He knew words hurt more than any pain he could bring upon her. He stepped forward to attack, and did so with a force that could not be altered. He knew the specific ways to move and how to use his size to his advantage, and even though she was agile, he proved to be deceptively fast, even in what looked to be an older age.[d] Evelyn Ballard: There was a small part inside of her that regretted punching him in the face. It just seemed like a bad idea. Though given their current circumstance, she had little other choice. She hesitated for a second at his preamble as her motives sounded so much more malignant when he listed them off. It wasn't as easy as all that. He made it sound like she shrugged her shoulders and stood in the conformist line, instead of fighting tooth and nail before realizing it was useless. She kept herself alive only in hopes of taking a small chink out of the newly donned armor of the loathed replacements before coming home. She was still numb from his speech when he went after her, and the physical blow he dealt knocked her on her rounded backside with a spitting curse. She heaved in a breath that his forced shoved from her lungs, making them sear with pain as she tried to stand. "I did no such thing," she hissed. As she pathetically gained her form, she took a swing at him out of pure animosity and missed horribly. "I stood by, idle, and waited for a command from my supposed leader." Another swing, another miss, but she continued to advance upon him. "I did what I was taught to do - I survived. I stayed alive and ready for your bloody greater good, only to have you run like hell and leave the rest of us behind!" He made a swift motion, something that was veiled by her vision of red but she sidestepped quickly and stumbled from her efforts. "Where in bloody hell were you! We needed you. Why is the responsibility left solely upon the people who you declared to protect and inform of which you left behind! I waited for you, my lord," she spat the sobriquet as if it was bad food. "Only to be brought back here and punished severely from a lack of communication!" She wasn't moving smoothly anymore. Her body jerked like a marionette being controlled by an obnoxious child. All her retaliations were poorly time and orchestrated and she earned more bruises and cuts in the process of her rebuttal. "My loyalty is proven by my voracious effort to stay alive, even during the most dismal times, in mere hopes that I could return to my original colors. To you, my lord." Talion Apollius: They locked arms at the elbow and Apollo wrenched himself behind her, locking her arm at her back. He reached up with his hand and pulled her by her hair, tilting her chin up and bringing her ear within the same vicinity of his mouth. She could feel his hot breath against her clammy skin, and it was heavy as if he was tiring out like she was. He held her in this position, weathering the struggle she put on to keep her in place. ``You were trained to be above the rank and file. You are the best everyone has to offer. You are poorly mistaken if you think by telling me of your subterfuge within the Steward's service would move me. I can see beyond the veil of intent and purpose, and you would use it as a facade to hide behind. You were not trained to survive. You were trained to protect and up hold, even in the face of total annihilation.`` He sent her forward, shoving her away from him. When he regained his composure, she could note that there was no sign of anger on his expression. ``You were trained to act without support. You needn't orders if you had will and initiative, Evelyn.`` He shook his head, circling her again. ``I do not have to answer for my actions. I am a husband and a father, and the intentions of both would readily sacrifice my judgement and deter me from being here. I fought, but not on this soil. The Steward's power is not limited to Avaria, but stretches to many lands. We left to drown his efforts elsewhere, and keep his regime centralized to one piece of Earth, so that when we came back to fight him; he would be our prey, backed in a corner with no where to run. We left Talons behind because we thought our ideals were understood. We thought you would uphold the justice and carry on the fight. You were supposed to destroy the tyrant, not join him!`` He said, coming to a stop. ``Instead, we come back to find the place in shambles. What had been an underground network of well trained soldiers were rotting corpses ratted out by the very people who they looked up to. It may or may not have been you who caused this travesty, but only Talons knew the inner infrastructure of my rebellion. Only a Talon could bring it down. You were all one person, and acted in unison, regardless of what your personal intentions were. We are only as brave as our biggest coward, and as strong as our weakest person. Someone broke, so it broke us all.``-- He straightened a bit. ``Now. Here we stand because of you. The only to be returned from the rot of defeat. I see your bravery in confronting your mistakes, but even actions speak louder than words. You saw the Prince in the prison, and you watched him get tortured.. night, after night, after night, after night. You listened to his pained screams every night as they marred his flesh because he stood for an ideal you swore to protect. Yet, as that ideal was ravaged, you did nothing. Is a Prince not leader enough? Hell, he is a Talon like you! That is inexcusable and unacceptable. If I were to have been moved by what you have told me so far, this fact alone would be enough to have you burned at stake, or left tied to a post in a tent while my army rob you of the very soul you keep guarded inside. Now my son will have to live with this for the rest of his life, scarred by the incompetence of others. And do not think I just blame you. No, no, no. We are all to blame for this. You just happened to be there, and when an opportunity arose for you to act; you lacked the will to see it through. Now we all bare that scar.`` He let his hands loosen, and moved to pull the spear from the ground. The duel was over. ``I am convinced you mean well. Your actions here in this duel have shown me a glimpse of your heart. I am moved.`` He said, closing the spear and tucking it away where it'd been prior to their fight. ``You are strong, yes, but strength does not move the minds of your fellowship. You will have to prove you are truly back. At which a means I leave to you. I can not be held responsible for the opinions the others hold upon you, however, that is a matter which will need to be sorted out between you and them.`` He came toward her and offered his hand. ``Now come with me. I will have your wounds treated properly before you set out on this pilgrimage.``[d]
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Post by Lady Eirian Gwenyth Apollius on Aug 5, 2009 15:34:58 GMT -6
Avarian Family Reunion III Eirian: "My lady..." A constant barage of salutation as she walked from on end of the camp toward the other. An obsever would comment that the Lady Eirian's face seemed to host a set of visible scars across one of her eyes, but to Eirian it was nothing new. She could find her way around Avaria with no eyesight, and having done this very thing before, a half cokeed sight was a blessed intervention of a God who had far too many prayer requests for one day. "Where is my son, and has he been tended? What..not yet..." she protested a lack of care. Yes, others were dying. Yes, everyone was broken but not everyone was the King's son and if he were to die along with the prominent figures of the Old Rebellion than were would they be? The flat of her voice pushed out like the back end of a blade, the slight cut a serated edge in response, "Bring me water, bandages, salves, packing for the deeper places, bone needle and ' requisite thread." Claiming this work for a physic or surgeon, she scoffed. One chided the opposer to her wishes, showing him the mended shoulder compliments of the Queen's handiwork. 'This way, your majesty' The gypsy male had been waiting for this chance, anything close to it. He was close to his knighthood when the Apollius' had been driven North, and then over the secret land bridge. Without fail he pulled back the flap of Saul's tent before scrambling off to get her things. Eirian:"He has not yet awakened," more observation that question, coming around to kneel at his side (d) [ Morrigan: Those eyes snapped open the moment she heard the flap pulled back, and the hand not grasping Saul's flipped a knife from sheath hidden in sleeve into palm, prepared to make use of the blade as her features hardened. But when she saw Eirian, she softened, sliding the knife back into its place with a sigh. "Nay.. th' 'ealers said 'e would be fine..." They also said company was the best medicine, which was part of why she'd stayed. Also the fact that it would take an upheavel of momentous proportions to tear her from his side at this point. Shifting slightly to sit up a bit straighter, she eyed Eirian, but didn't release the Prince's hand. Was she going to take care of him? She'd thought the healers had done everything they could, but maybe she was wrong? She didn't know. Behind applying pressure to wounds she didn't know a damn thing. She didn't want to get in the way, but she wasn't going to go anywhere. Eirian: "From my inquiry they are leaving too much to fate. His wounds have not been cleaned properly, stuffed, or stiched. I can smell infection upon him." Not out of incompetence did they not complete the tasks, but out of necessity. There was an influx of far worse things - gangreen, pneumonia, lyme disease from ticks, maggots to be plucked out of deep wounds and signs of plague that had to be quelled. She murmured, "they are going to burn the bodies of the dead on pyres," broken heart mourned those who would not come to the earth as wished, it was not a bad way to be remembered. Still, Saul would not be among them . With a pitcher of water already there, a slice of ash hard soap, anda bowl she washed her hands of filfth. If only they knew she could never wash deep enough. On a long tray all she asked for was brought in, as well as extra pillows, blankets, herbs for the dulling of pain. For the boy would be in great pain. "I am no physician, but a wife knows enough." A year or so ago, they had taken to calling Eirian Skin-Stich. (d) Morrigan: "..Is there anythin' I can dae tae 'elp?" It was with obvious reluctance that she set Saul's hand upon the cot and released it, rising to her feet and idly dusting off the seat of the breeches. She stepped back, not wanting to get in the other woman's way, though hovered anxiously nearby, ready and willing to help should there be anything she could do. Even if it was just.. being there. She didn't know! She felt useless, and that wasn't something she liked. Ever. Especially not in such a serious situation. She looked at Saul's face, frowning. He looked so.. peaceful. When would he wake up? All these questions were driving her mad! Something had to change or she was going to absolutely lose it. Eirian: "Of course. Take the cloth from his head, if it is hot, douse it in the cool water. A hot cloth does nothing for a hot head. Infection breeds fever, and we must cool the body until we can provide more relief. Take your palm to his forehead, tell me how hot it is." She shot words out like the cannon had shot iron balls into the side of the ships on the sail over. Quick, efficient, the withering white flower had a thick stalk, hard leaves, and peristant petals that weren't too be plucked off. "Wash your hands first. Any pore in the body can catch infection from the unclean." The unclean - another irony. The night was full of irony but the body infront of her provided with the purpose she needed to swallow waves of bile and horror. (d) Morrigan: Listening to Eirian's instructions, she quickly rolled up her sleeves and shucked the sheaths at wrists that held knives, not wanting them to get in the way. "Aye." She was going to be helpful! A sort of calm poise overcame her then as she set about scrubbing her hands as clean as she could, then checked the cloth on his head. She made a soft sound and promptly plucked the warm cloth off his head, feeling his brow thoughtfully. "..'Tis a tad 'ot. Nay normal, but nay unbearable." Cloth was dunked into cool water then, and wrung out slightly, before gently being smoothed across his forehead once more, carefully tucking strands of hair out of the way so as not to get snared betwixt flesh and cloth. Eirian: She listened to the prognosis and nodded, "Good, now, feel the pulse at his wrist, tell me, weak or strong? Then take you that soap and wash his body thorougly where you are..I will do the same where I am.." Which was at the top left of him. Dunking into the large bowl of water, squeezing small waterfalls on him, she lathered up a soap made of goosefat and lye...the wounds would sting, but nothing as to what was coming later. "Be mindful of areas that pucker or have white tops. Watch.." Pulling out her clean knife, she sterilized it in the flame before cutting across a boil on an angle. Another rag is taken up, pressed to catch the gray colored puss of infection. "We will burn what we use so infection doesn't spread, be sure to keep the dirty cloth separate from the clean.. You must clean, and lance, and clean, and lance.... I need to open him, and god forbid, I do not bleed." Physicians did that with leeches, or large knives. She pulled away the towel for modesty had no place here, yet she still adverted her eyes from his sex, focusing on his thighs..The whipping marks there. She swallowed a silent wince, devoured her tears and continued on steel faced (d) Morrigan: With a firm nod, fingers sought out his wrist, and felt for a pulse. She smiled then, murmuring quietly, for what was the need to be loud? It was just her and Eirian. "`is 'eart beats strong." He was strong, to have survived what he had in the first place. Releasing him, she listened closely to Eirian.. only to blanch as she lanced a boil. Oh, lovely. It was one thing to treat a horse, treating a person was another entirely. Her hands shook slightly before she gave herself a mental slap and nodded once more. "Aye." Doing much the same as Eirian, slender hands sought the necessary materials and began gently yet firmly washing his flesh, doing as the other woman had said and carefully avoiding the aforementioned spots. She could be an apprentice healer at this rate! The thought earned a grim smile. She would never have the stomach to do such a thing on a regular basis.. it wasn't her place, and the only reason she found herself in such a situation now was because of her attachment to the patient. Eirian: "Good, see that one just above your hand there..it's near his chest. Lance it slowly, sometimes sepsis, the infection, can spill into wounds we can't see. They are on his back as well, i can tell from the hook shape near his waist." She had not given birth to him but loved him with a devotion that would slice that of the deceased womb that bore him in half. She was working further down the leg, beyond the exposed phallus, down into his inner thigh. This wound was deep, causing her to bite her lip as she nodded. "We will have to have him conscious. The way in which to clean the deep wounds, all wounds will be too much of a shock asleep. We can numb him, if he is awake. Pull his arms forward ana so we can clean his back...Be very careful, look and tell me what areas are more red than others, that means they are swollen, fighting inflamation..perhaps I can stitch less there" (d) Morrigan: Oh, gods. She bit down on her lower lip to steel herself as she carefully lanced the boil and caught the fluid that escaped on a rag. Making sure to keep her materials clean and sterilized as she washed and lanced and everything, she looked up at Eirian when she said they needed to have him awake, and nodded slowly. Poor Saul. That was going to suck, badly. Hands then grasped his arms and shifted his sleeping form as gently as possible, not wanting to cause any further pain, despite his seeming unconsciousness, so that they could get to his back. Keen eyes wandered across the flesh, making note of what areas appeared to be swollen and telling Eirian. She glanced at Saul's face every so often, though she wasn't sure why. Maybe watching for signs of discomfort, pain, that he was waking up.. something. Eirian: "Stir him, even if it is partial, stir him. it is imperative we feed him herbs and he can understand our commands. you may have to help him swallow." She felt so ill! Biting down into her own lip, she tasted the metallic hints of blood on her tongue. She washed her hands again, waiting then for the second of her orders - boiling water, and a boiled alcohol like a wine. Now it was time to crush herbs, as she showed Ana the importance of a mortar and pestle, good knives. She was good at this only in so far as usefulness in her own kitchens, she explained. It was soothing to some degree, teaching her skill. Eirian was an excellent teacher. Saul and Ana were her salvation right now (d) Morrigan: This was going to be rough. Taking a deep breath, she gave him a soft shake as she spoke. "Saul.. wake up. Ye 'ave tae wake up, love." She glanced at Eirian, watching and listening intently even as she continued in her endeavor to awaken the male. She wouldn't stop until his eyes opened. She could tell that this was helping Eirian, in some way, and she understood. It was hard to just sit idly by and do nothing, especially when you were upset in any way. She felt the same, which is why she was there.. first it had just been so she wouldn't be elsewhere and constantly worrying, but now, it was to aid Eirian in seeing to it that Saul was tended to. Eirian: "Boiled waters and wines are good, for wines and strong drinks have good cleaning properties, but they must be boiled, as I did this water, to make sure it is perfectly clean.. After I pour the wine..you will look for the shallow wounds, apply this salve, crushed..here. I have a poultice already prepared i will pack his wounds with. Merely..hold him..as I pour, it will hurt..bitterly." She put her against Saul's mouth and puckered up his lips, she chewed a piece of root from her pocket, and then when it was able, eased the contents into Sauls mouth, plucking it from her own, putting it in his, causing his throat to swallow." Beloved, be awake enough..hold on to Ana.." With a waiting wince of his eye, that was all she needed .Since he was forward leaned, she poured some of the boiling water, wine mixtures over his back (d) Saul: Saul..awoke when he felt the substance go down his throat. It was warm, and he was sore.. everywhere. He made no noise, even in his vunerable position. He wanted to scream and continue screaming until the pain ceased or he died. He had wished he'd died many times back in the dungeons. But even despite his reluctance, there was Apollius blood that flowed from his wounds. -- When Eirian poured the substance onto his back, his body lurched forward and his spine arched upward. The grip upon Morrigan was strong and his teeth grit as an incomprehensible amount of pain tore over his nerves. He cried out, but his voice was ragged air brushing over a bruised larynx, thus came out as a whine hardly audible. His eyes were closed, but it couldn't prevent the tears that formed from freshly cleaned ducts. He cried shamelessly, silently.-- Morrigan would notice, among other things, the brand that was on the hand that gripped her so vehemently. It took the form of a bird spreading its wing.[d] Morrigan: "Aye." She swallowed hard, and her arms came to hold the man tenderly, closed eyes against his jaw and hands curled over the back of his neck. She winced when he lurched forward so suddenly, and she clung to him all the more tightly, feeling his tears as she whispered. "I'm sorry..." Sorry that this had happened to him, and that he was in pain. She wanted to cry, but wouldn't allow herself. All she could do was hold him, which is just what she did, murmuring soothing nothings into his ear as her fingers gently caressed his hair and the back of his neck. Eirian: "Forgive me, sweetheart, forgive me..Hold on to Ana..that's right.." She sopped up the mixture with towels, and packed his back with the poultice before. Washing her hands again, Ana would watch her quickly thread the bone needle. Fortunately the ingested herbs would help to dull these aspect. With a speed rival to a sword hand, she parred his flesh on bar none. Slowly, but surely, lines of open, infected skin were packed, and closed. "Pour it across his front Ana , so my needle can come there next....and then you can bandage his chest and arms while I clean and stich his legs..." Automatic, instinctful. Skin-stich made a cross stich of human skin, an embroidery in bone needle (d) Saul: His breathing had increased with the tolerance of his pain level. He was a tough man, and there was no telling what the man had gone through in his lifetime. He held onto Morrigan tight, unsure of the whispers he heard, or the soft voice which rang in his ears. He felt them touching him, pushing into his wounds. He wanted to cry out with utter agony! Tears flowed freely as muscles of pure sinew tightened to show off shapes of a once scarless body. He breathed in harshly again, attempting to bring himself above the pain, but he couldn't do it. He felt something tugging from the back of his mind, it was both euphoric and tantalizing. Morrigan would feel his breathing begin to shorten and his grip lesson; Eirian would see the same and his weight leaned more back toward the bed as he was fading away.[d] Morrigan: She couldn't speak, as her throat had tightened painfully, so she could barely breathe, so she nodded vigorously at Eirian's instructions. Extricating herself from Saul's grasp enough to pour the substance across his chest, she was amazed that her hands weren't shaking. However her eyes widened and she squeaked softly in dismay when she felt his grip loosening, and she immediately grasped him to hold him upright, shooting a nearly panicked glance at Eirian. She didn't know what was going on or what she was supposed to do. Normally calm under fire, the worry evident in her gaze spoke volumes, since her mouth didn't seem to want to form words at the time, yet she may as well have been screaming 'Help!' at the top of her lungs. Eirian: "He's slipping into a deeper sleep....Saul, I beg you forgive me," She sanitized her dagger in the fire again, drawing a necessary deeper gash through a cut she already needed to mend. It was a cruel, harsh way to bring more pain to the body, even the herbs could not numb that! But if he slid too far, he may cease to breathe and die. "I am not losing my son tonight!" She snarled, cleaning, packing, and sewing the front...down, the abdominals...."Bandage him Ana! Good, tight layers, quickly! They are already cut into wide strips." The expectation was clear with no room to broker disagreement. She had carved into him, hurt him to save him. Each revelation of this journeywas flushing her face red in exurtion only. Sweat beads formed on her brow, and she moved down to his leg. She even changed needles, holding one between her teeth as she fetched the other, slipping the old onto a place on herclothes when a larger one was required for deeper tissue. How was she keeping him together, and at what cost? By now Eirian's senses kicked in to assist. Touch, smell, hearing. One good eye honed in like a hawk. (d) Saul: He had been fading, and the euphoria sank over his mind like a wamr, dry blanket within the cold. As he imagined laying his head down to sleep, something pricked and made his body contort instinctively. He found his voice by the most primal of senses, and he screamed out as the pain Eirian caused woke him fully. He felt every prick and drag of her needle. He felt his skin being stretched and closed over more herbs. He felt constricted, like no matter how much he struggled, he could not gather enough air in his lungs. Tears continued to fall shamelessly as he held onto Morrigan tightly. He felt Eirian pull his leg up and wide so she could follow the gash and stitch it. He screamed either silently or in a low, barely audible tone. It was all his voice had left after the first initial scream of pain.[d] Morrigan: That.. had to hurt. Dear gods, but she hoped she never had to do something like this again! Nodding quickly at the command, she grabbed the bandages and began wrapping his torso and arms quickly, determined not to be a burden and to help as much as she could. She looked up at his face, then quickly down again, swallowing down the guilt and sadness she felt at the sight of his tears. She glanced down towards Eirian, trying to judge how much more the woman had to do, and then returned to her task, making sure the bandages were snug and sufficiently covering the wounds. Eirian: "Just a little more," she coaxed, switching needles a rapid rate. Skin-Stich took broken, pus ridden flesh and joined it shut so no one could see what was inside. The effort rendered perspiration - from an unknown fever, from work. It went unstated. Her breathing was obviously harder, the screams making her work against flexion and going lax. On the back of his leg was a wicked mark, and for his sake, she sewed all the faster. If they would have waited for the excuses and compassion of others, Saul would have died from infection and fever. "There! Push the tray..ah yes.." She clipped off the last of the string, washed her hands anew, and began to bandage the lower areas she'd sewn, salved, or packed with poultice (d Morrigan:: She would never forget this night. Undoubtedly she would wish she could, but the images would never leave her mind. She finished winding the bandages around him and tied them off securely, pushing the tray over to Eirian when she requested it, and then began tenderly stroking his hair with hands that were now shaking. Her gaze wandered down to Eirian, watching the woman intently. She had to have something to focus on or she feared she would start crying. But at least Saul would be all right, now. She trusted that they'd done good, and although it hurt him horribly.. it had probably saved his life. Eirian: "Spend the eve with him, make sure to pass him water, tea, broths. He needs fluids replenished, fluids before food..and if he asks, soaked bread in wine first to see how it takes, broth, and then gravy that is thi...thicker..pardon. She put a hand to her forehead, palm pressed against the center as the world came into forced focus. "No doubt there will be others just as terribly off..but I can not work on them yet. Jesu, I can hardly see." No exaggeration. She did, however, proceed to gather the filfthy things in a refuse pail to see burned.(d) Morrigan: Morrigan nodded mutely. She'd been intending to stay with Saul anyway, but now it was her responsibility to care for him, at Eirian's own words. It took her several moments to find her voice, and then the words were almost a whisper. "Ye should rest." That was all she could think to say. She was worried about Eirian, yes, but this whole situation had her slightly reeling. She prayed to whatever deities there may be, whether it be the God Eirian worshiped or the Goddess her own mother had followed, that this hadn't been for naught. Eirian: "One can only hope to be so capable." A flash of shame marred the focusted, hard beauty in her eyes to make them fluid enough to produce water that wouldn't fall..my husband may never touch me after learning..her mind cut off the thought as she took the soiled things out to be pitched in a fire. After she'd been defiled - raped by the Commander of the Jail. No, she hadn't emerged unscathed. (d) Morrigan: Mouth opened to speak to Eirian, wondering what had happened to make her seem so.. off kilter, but before she could speak, the woman was gone. Jaw snapped shut and lips quirked into a slight frown, before she set about making Saul as comfortable as she could. Undoubtedly it wouldn't be all that comfortable, and she wouldn't be surprised if he lost consciousness again just to escape the pain.. but she was going to try, dammit. That was why she was there in the first place! Claramae: -- Erstwhile, the movements of the country, any and all royals had long been her jurisdition, or else why would Talion have chased her down in the middle of the German States? The Queen's trail was a problematic thing - a witness acount of wandering to the gypsies with a strange hitch to her step. Wandering eyes. Pregnant silence? She was forced to ask a plethora of people until at last she was directed to the Prince's tent, only to find her outsideof it. "I must insist Your Majesty walk with a proper guard at all times...one never knows..Your Majesty...Lady Apollius?" -- Eirian: "Hmm?" She looked up in the direction of the voice as she tossed the rags into the fire. A spell of swooning caught her in its grasp, forcing her to wine her teeth as the world toyed with vertigo. Ana could perhaps hear the conversation outside, for the tent flap was pulled partially back. "Mm, Lady Vincere.." it was shorter than combining three points for a name. "I'm sorry.. I didn't mean to cause disturbance..I came to care for my..s...son." Her abdomen was constantly being punched and pricked with a sick, twisting feeling of fire -- Claramae: "While none care for you or the others? Absurd. Let me look at you. We've no time to make martyrs..." She knelt down, appraising everything from the way her pupils appeared, to eye whites, to skin color. Once upon a time Claramae had only been meant to be a physician, and so lived as a physician's assistant...to a point. A keen physic, surgeon, and apothecary...it was unusual the maiden talents came to the forefront.."Come, to a tent..I need to look at you fully" (d) Morrigan: Morrigan did indeed hear part of the conversation, though she didn't intend to. And indeed when she realized what she was hearing, she stopped listening. Natural curiosity was ignored in favor of respecting her sister of the heart's privacy. Though you could bet she would be speaking to Eirian later, oh yes. Claramae: Claramae pulled Eirian to standing, hooking her hands beneath her arms so they could walk together toward the outskirts of the upper edge of the gypsy camp border. A couple of steps were had before claramae vocalized in partial anger, "You can hardly see..your majesty, were it left to me you would be on the first ship.." Eirian: "It is not left to you, and I'll take you kindly to remember that!" She was shocked at her own terse energy, and it obviously clipped Claramae into obdient, if not studious silence. They came into the tent, and the process of being disrobed was meant with resistance that soon dissolved into silent tears, only it was the action of a wracked body, because her eyes were too dry to produce enough water...(d)
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