Post by Breanna Keelan on Jul 26, 2009 22:56:28 GMT -6
{This takes place in the village of Luib, south of Turas Lan, on the eastern outskirts of the Cullin Hills Region}
Conlaed:As the vardo at last left Tarus Lan and their encampment upon the North Shore, what was this like compared to the rest of their life? In Tarus Lan, the town watchmen would swing past where Conlaed and Breanna performed -- not to arrest them, but to watch over their goods and money while the two ate a meal. Or to even ask how their day went. When they had found the horse thieves and the Cheif Bailiff's men had been summoned, they had not been arrested. They had dined with the Duchess herself and been pleasently surprised to see a young Ebony Prince, who treated them well. So unlike the rest of the world! It must be a dream, surely.... And yet, now? Now they pulled into the clearing, where the last of the workmen that they had hired were packing up their tools. Thier cottage had been completed. And the foreman had charged them a *fair* price on it. (D)
Breanna: Breanna sat atop the wagon while Conlaed drove, her thoughts moving to the sound of the horse's feet. Clip-clop. Clip-clop. A flash of the man who watched their wears, smiled to Hawk and shared lunch with the busy-boy. A baliff who sought their opinion for fact, and a Duchess who gave them a royal commision. Of dark fleshed men who rose to prestige. Outside of Luib was a village like many Irish villages before it, English before that, and all others of Europe. Only that this one had a cottage that read 'Keelan' on a pretty wooden sign above the door that swayed in the wind (d)
Conlaed: There was a soft smile, as Conlaed brought their vadro to a stop. There would be that smile, as he quietly leaned forward and crossed his arms over his chest. Would she be taken by surprise? There would be a soft touch of laughter. "...... Tis so pretty, I think, that I just want to look it for a while...." When at last his wife gave a shove, he chuckled and hurged the horse forward. The foreman and a few others were still lingering. The Scotts forman came over, "Did we dae a good work fer ya sir?" (D)
Breanna "Conlaed, it is more than I could ever hope." Just a cottage of some good square feet that allowed them more than one room, or two, but three beautiful rooms and a loft above! A wood-worked wonder with smooth white walls that had even the privelege of his artistic hand to etch designs to bring pleasure. Merely a cottage in a small scottish village by the sea that she looked on as if it were a castle for a Queen. As she climbed down the wagon wheel, she looked at the foreman with a poor man's zealous happiness! There would hardly be time to pay him before Breanna hugged him. Hugged a gadje for building her house! (d)
Conlaed: For building them a house! Conlaed smiled quietly, settling on shaking hands with the man. The man gave them a quick tour of their house - like that need to have such a thing done! - to let them know where they were. With a few more coins (the man tried to refuse), Conlaed had the muscle to move his printing press to one of the larger rooms. There was a smile, a soft bit of laughter. And to the foreman and the work crew's surprise? Another modest tip. And, if they were hungry, an invitation to join the Keelans for dinner. They were honored, but most would have to beg off. Trying to make it home in time to be with their own families. Conlaed would stand beside his wife, smiling, ".... we have a home....." (D)
Breanna Breanna would need no tour for she began to tell the foreman where things would go in this, *their* home! A home for Good Publisher Keelan and his wife. A home that would have a hearth, with cookery over it at one end and the next. Here would be a table, a chair, and perhaps a shelf for the few books they owned while traveling. Oh would they all not stay? Those with no wives and only a cold tavern room to return to were treated to copius amounts of ale, a thick roast, and vegetables. There also came a shepard's pie as the Lady was lauded for her fine hearth. Oh, what joy! Did he see how his bride's eyes sparkled like jewels in a treasurey? (d)
Conlaed: Conlaed smiled, shaking again the hands of the people that had built this place for them. There was a wave to them, a bidding of goodbyes. Perhaps they had been workmen, but weren't they not friends now? When the door was closed, Conlaed walked back to her. He wrapped his arms around her. A tear slid from his eye, "We are home, Breanna....." He kissed her, softly, loving. (D)
Breanna: A fire was in the hearth stirred only by Breanna's hands, and a lantern for the post placed their by her whim. When the last of the workmen left into the inky patches of darkness, the Keelan's home on the roadside gleamed brighter than any in the not-too-distant township of the knitted Luib. You see, they were amongst those who scattered their homes to the rim..favoring a unique bend in the road off the beaten path. Still, for all of its whimsical charm, it was a home that was solid and true. She took the tear from his face to the hand as she smoothed the moisture over his cheek. Her eyes shone. "We are home..Conlaed. We're home.." She cried tears of joy, "I keep promise to you now.." (d)
Conlaed: Conlaed laughed, although his voice was chocked. Choked by the tears of joy that he shed along with his wife. He knew, without a doubt, that in winter he would come home to the warmth of his wife's heart and his own home. "Dah, vest'acha.... dah...." He lightly bit his lip, before brushing away her own tears. "A warm home to keep with warm heart...." He kissed her softly, smiling. Did they arleady make plans who they would invite to their home? So odd! There was a smile, as he guided her toward a couch. They would sit, they would snuggle. He rested his head on her shoulder, watching the fire. (D)
Breanna: Supper surely would have to be had for any who bid them kindness. What of rooms to share for visitors, and stories beside this hearth where now the Keelans sat possesed of land that was there own? The weight of his head to her shoulder was welcome pressure as she eased her back against the arm of the coach. Fingertips unbound the braids holding bird feathers in his hair only to make them anew what seemed infinite times. Only in the silence, did she trace the top of the scar at his eye, kissing his forehead in thoughts of devotion. "I have something, I get you as a present.." (d)
Conlaed Ah, but only a wife's touch could do such a thing. There was a soft smile, as he felt her lightly trace the scar that had taken his sight. Only she could have coaxed that. He would have shied away - or been violent toward - anyone who had tried that. He laughed as he felt her unbraid his hair, only to braid it once again. She had gotten him something? There was a faint quirk, ".... you have gotten me something?" There was almost a faint panic. Had he forgotten an auspicious day? He lightly bit his lip, wondering if he should try and find something for her. It was cute, in a way. (D)
Breanna:There was no auspicious day to mark for neither was it the evening of her birth, nor his. It was not a holiday of the people here nor of the people they'd left. Reaching into a velveteen pouch at her right hip, she shifted to settled on her left in order to draw it out. Sliding it into his hand, he would open it up to find a ring of metal made to turn black, etched with impressions of dragonscale. "it is a sign of my love for you.." She had gotten him a wedding ring that could withstand his fire (d)
Conlaed: She could see the dragonic movements in her husband, in the quiet way he would move his head. So like when he would have his attenion grasped in his true form! ".... You have something for me?" Aw. When she would take his hand to pace the pouch in it, she would see his head cant to the other way. When he opened it? There would a soft gasp, a smile. And tears of happiness. "Oh Breanna....." His face clearly said, 'I love it! And you!' But there would be a touch of sadness, as he said, ".... I did not get you one." If she did not take her husband's hand, he would have ventured right then to Luib to try to find a jeweller's shop still open. To find a ring for her. (D)
Breanna: "No no, shh..I get this for you because, I wish it a sign of our promise. I took the money from dancing in the market, to have it made. It my gift to you...like you give me house," she took the ring from him only to slide it down the ring finger of his left hand. The truth of form was enlayed in performance, in symbol, in story. It was in the words that were before the eyes of many and in ways they looked between themselves.."I love you." (d)
Conlaed: There would be a startled look upon Conlaed's face, as he had already half-risen. But that hand upon his arm? Proved that Breanna could do what Saint George could not: Conlaed, the Fire-Breather, stopped. Slowly, he lowered himself to the couch again. Was she sure? Hearing her words, he smiled. "I love you too, Breanna, more than you shall ever know...." With some effort, he called upon his story teller's ways to keep from smiling, "But this is not a house, Breanna......" The smile broke, "It is a home!" There was a difference. They had lived or stayed in houses before. House of friends to the gypsies or others of their kind. But a home? A home was made warm not by the hearth's fire - but the heart's fire. (D)
Breanna: St. George hadn't the power Breanna had in the calm of her hands, nor that St. Patrick invoked with clover cross and bell. The power to bring an ancient being to pause before her in obdience of pure love. "A home - I can not hear that enough. So long we have wanted a home, and now I will make you fires. I will hold you in our bed, listening to the sounds of the seasons outside..of..our home." What could he give her more than this? "I need no ring to tell me that you saved my life..." (d)
Conlaed:As the vardo at last left Tarus Lan and their encampment upon the North Shore, what was this like compared to the rest of their life? In Tarus Lan, the town watchmen would swing past where Conlaed and Breanna performed -- not to arrest them, but to watch over their goods and money while the two ate a meal. Or to even ask how their day went. When they had found the horse thieves and the Cheif Bailiff's men had been summoned, they had not been arrested. They had dined with the Duchess herself and been pleasently surprised to see a young Ebony Prince, who treated them well. So unlike the rest of the world! It must be a dream, surely.... And yet, now? Now they pulled into the clearing, where the last of the workmen that they had hired were packing up their tools. Thier cottage had been completed. And the foreman had charged them a *fair* price on it. (D)
Breanna: Breanna sat atop the wagon while Conlaed drove, her thoughts moving to the sound of the horse's feet. Clip-clop. Clip-clop. A flash of the man who watched their wears, smiled to Hawk and shared lunch with the busy-boy. A baliff who sought their opinion for fact, and a Duchess who gave them a royal commision. Of dark fleshed men who rose to prestige. Outside of Luib was a village like many Irish villages before it, English before that, and all others of Europe. Only that this one had a cottage that read 'Keelan' on a pretty wooden sign above the door that swayed in the wind (d)
Conlaed: There was a soft smile, as Conlaed brought their vadro to a stop. There would be that smile, as he quietly leaned forward and crossed his arms over his chest. Would she be taken by surprise? There would be a soft touch of laughter. "...... Tis so pretty, I think, that I just want to look it for a while...." When at last his wife gave a shove, he chuckled and hurged the horse forward. The foreman and a few others were still lingering. The Scotts forman came over, "Did we dae a good work fer ya sir?" (D)
Breanna "Conlaed, it is more than I could ever hope." Just a cottage of some good square feet that allowed them more than one room, or two, but three beautiful rooms and a loft above! A wood-worked wonder with smooth white walls that had even the privelege of his artistic hand to etch designs to bring pleasure. Merely a cottage in a small scottish village by the sea that she looked on as if it were a castle for a Queen. As she climbed down the wagon wheel, she looked at the foreman with a poor man's zealous happiness! There would hardly be time to pay him before Breanna hugged him. Hugged a gadje for building her house! (d)
Conlaed: For building them a house! Conlaed smiled quietly, settling on shaking hands with the man. The man gave them a quick tour of their house - like that need to have such a thing done! - to let them know where they were. With a few more coins (the man tried to refuse), Conlaed had the muscle to move his printing press to one of the larger rooms. There was a smile, a soft bit of laughter. And to the foreman and the work crew's surprise? Another modest tip. And, if they were hungry, an invitation to join the Keelans for dinner. They were honored, but most would have to beg off. Trying to make it home in time to be with their own families. Conlaed would stand beside his wife, smiling, ".... we have a home....." (D)
Breanna Breanna would need no tour for she began to tell the foreman where things would go in this, *their* home! A home for Good Publisher Keelan and his wife. A home that would have a hearth, with cookery over it at one end and the next. Here would be a table, a chair, and perhaps a shelf for the few books they owned while traveling. Oh would they all not stay? Those with no wives and only a cold tavern room to return to were treated to copius amounts of ale, a thick roast, and vegetables. There also came a shepard's pie as the Lady was lauded for her fine hearth. Oh, what joy! Did he see how his bride's eyes sparkled like jewels in a treasurey? (d)
Conlaed: Conlaed smiled, shaking again the hands of the people that had built this place for them. There was a wave to them, a bidding of goodbyes. Perhaps they had been workmen, but weren't they not friends now? When the door was closed, Conlaed walked back to her. He wrapped his arms around her. A tear slid from his eye, "We are home, Breanna....." He kissed her, softly, loving. (D)
Breanna: A fire was in the hearth stirred only by Breanna's hands, and a lantern for the post placed their by her whim. When the last of the workmen left into the inky patches of darkness, the Keelan's home on the roadside gleamed brighter than any in the not-too-distant township of the knitted Luib. You see, they were amongst those who scattered their homes to the rim..favoring a unique bend in the road off the beaten path. Still, for all of its whimsical charm, it was a home that was solid and true. She took the tear from his face to the hand as she smoothed the moisture over his cheek. Her eyes shone. "We are home..Conlaed. We're home.." She cried tears of joy, "I keep promise to you now.." (d)
Conlaed: Conlaed laughed, although his voice was chocked. Choked by the tears of joy that he shed along with his wife. He knew, without a doubt, that in winter he would come home to the warmth of his wife's heart and his own home. "Dah, vest'acha.... dah...." He lightly bit his lip, before brushing away her own tears. "A warm home to keep with warm heart...." He kissed her softly, smiling. Did they arleady make plans who they would invite to their home? So odd! There was a smile, as he guided her toward a couch. They would sit, they would snuggle. He rested his head on her shoulder, watching the fire. (D)
Breanna: Supper surely would have to be had for any who bid them kindness. What of rooms to share for visitors, and stories beside this hearth where now the Keelans sat possesed of land that was there own? The weight of his head to her shoulder was welcome pressure as she eased her back against the arm of the coach. Fingertips unbound the braids holding bird feathers in his hair only to make them anew what seemed infinite times. Only in the silence, did she trace the top of the scar at his eye, kissing his forehead in thoughts of devotion. "I have something, I get you as a present.." (d)
Conlaed Ah, but only a wife's touch could do such a thing. There was a soft smile, as he felt her lightly trace the scar that had taken his sight. Only she could have coaxed that. He would have shied away - or been violent toward - anyone who had tried that. He laughed as he felt her unbraid his hair, only to braid it once again. She had gotten him something? There was a faint quirk, ".... you have gotten me something?" There was almost a faint panic. Had he forgotten an auspicious day? He lightly bit his lip, wondering if he should try and find something for her. It was cute, in a way. (D)
Breanna:There was no auspicious day to mark for neither was it the evening of her birth, nor his. It was not a holiday of the people here nor of the people they'd left. Reaching into a velveteen pouch at her right hip, she shifted to settled on her left in order to draw it out. Sliding it into his hand, he would open it up to find a ring of metal made to turn black, etched with impressions of dragonscale. "it is a sign of my love for you.." She had gotten him a wedding ring that could withstand his fire (d)
Conlaed: She could see the dragonic movements in her husband, in the quiet way he would move his head. So like when he would have his attenion grasped in his true form! ".... You have something for me?" Aw. When she would take his hand to pace the pouch in it, she would see his head cant to the other way. When he opened it? There would a soft gasp, a smile. And tears of happiness. "Oh Breanna....." His face clearly said, 'I love it! And you!' But there would be a touch of sadness, as he said, ".... I did not get you one." If she did not take her husband's hand, he would have ventured right then to Luib to try to find a jeweller's shop still open. To find a ring for her. (D)
Breanna: "No no, shh..I get this for you because, I wish it a sign of our promise. I took the money from dancing in the market, to have it made. It my gift to you...like you give me house," she took the ring from him only to slide it down the ring finger of his left hand. The truth of form was enlayed in performance, in symbol, in story. It was in the words that were before the eyes of many and in ways they looked between themselves.."I love you." (d)
Conlaed: There would be a startled look upon Conlaed's face, as he had already half-risen. But that hand upon his arm? Proved that Breanna could do what Saint George could not: Conlaed, the Fire-Breather, stopped. Slowly, he lowered himself to the couch again. Was she sure? Hearing her words, he smiled. "I love you too, Breanna, more than you shall ever know...." With some effort, he called upon his story teller's ways to keep from smiling, "But this is not a house, Breanna......" The smile broke, "It is a home!" There was a difference. They had lived or stayed in houses before. House of friends to the gypsies or others of their kind. But a home? A home was made warm not by the hearth's fire - but the heart's fire. (D)
Breanna: St. George hadn't the power Breanna had in the calm of her hands, nor that St. Patrick invoked with clover cross and bell. The power to bring an ancient being to pause before her in obdience of pure love. "A home - I can not hear that enough. So long we have wanted a home, and now I will make you fires. I will hold you in our bed, listening to the sounds of the seasons outside..of..our home." What could he give her more than this? "I need no ring to tell me that you saved my life..." (d)
