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Post by Master Jean-Claude d'Aquitaine on May 25, 2010 19:43:13 GMT -6
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Post by Master Jean-Claude d'Aquitaine on May 25, 2010 19:47:38 GMT -6
“It has been nearly fifteen years, William, he was wrong. Why can you not admit it? Give it a rest.” Jean Buridan spoke to his college from across the hall. The smell of the candles flickering out one by one, withering as the aged eyes of William Ockham read over the elegant upright script of an old contact so many years gone. His heart ached. There had not been a day since he thought of those lost in the fires of Paris, nor the man whose letter this belonged. William kept it in books, his old heart twisted every time the page opened. The book had been a manuscript; one compiled with great minds over half empty bottles of wine and other various sports that friars best not be part of. Yet, his laughter was infections the young Master from Paris. Withered hands moved over the pages, their decorated fingers seemed as flawless as the day he became a man as they appeared out from the heavy rich fabrics of his robe. “No, dear friend, Jean-Claude was never wrong. There was a method to his ways, no matter how blind he was with madness,” A dry sinister sound passed the page once more falling upon a separately sealed message, that had been ready nearly once everyday. Jean Buridan, the French priest, whose influence over modern philosophy could have rivaled that of his namesake, and someday his theory on the objects in free-fall, would someday influence the great Galileo, and Sir Issac Newton. He was a man bound by gravity, who stood right on his path, and under the powerful hand of God. He was not a tall man, despite a mother’s prayer that even his first name could somehow make him like the French instructor her father so desperately tried to pin her with. The Aquitaine, a mighty force in the fashions of politics had a number of influences upon the University, and to this day his image still remained in the backs of the Master’s minds. “It really was a shame. It makes you wonder what he would have thought of, pluralitas non est ponenda sine necessitate”. A healthy harbored smile of pride went to William then as the theory was one of the most popular practices, but Doctor Invincibilis, was lost in thought reading of a past that should simply remain. “Have a good night, Sir. The night is calling.” For a priest he held a healthy appetite, his cover perhaps for the robes were already starting to be pulled off. William remained, where the nights turned to days, and the guilt never seemed to give in. Somewhere along the lines, he had lost himself in the bloodshed, the fires that burned beloved friends lit by his very hands. God, would have his mortality, and this made his search all the more.
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Post by Master Jean-Claude d'Aquitaine on Jun 3, 2010 8:16:50 GMT -6
All the sanity in the world could not have prepared him for what had come of the once beloved hall. Oxford in the turn of the new age had seemed to crack down the middle, separation between classes, and the dignity of a church long lost with the wages of war. His heart ached for the loss of the headmaster, but this was proof that he had not been in his right mind for some time. The roof was leaking in places, some of the stones wobbled under his step, and the decor was littered with cob webs. She needed to be cleaned, healed from the inside out. However, there had been nothing that could have separated his memory with the old dusty smell of weather worn books.
Word had spread quickly of the benefactor, an agent of his majesty to give life back to the university so that when the students returned in the fall there would be a place as it once was.
"M'lord.." A small little mouse of a nun appeared to greet him, her light brown hair pulled back from her face to tough her waist in a thick braid. He did hate that style, but it suited her simple attire. She was devoted to her faith, keeping her face plain, and dare not smile openly--even in greeting. Jean-Claude marveled at her petite figure, and had he been a more out spoken man would have made comment on how the modest brown suited her well. "Welcome." She spoke again, the smallest crack in her personality showing through as her unpainted lips lifted, to mirror his own.
Oh how frightening he was! So tall. The black of his hair could rival the night, and the color of his eyes to match. She stood frozen in her steps, for fear of her life for he seemed the type to be able to see through her soul.
"You did not expect me?" Jean spoke with a smile, knowing well he had that bitter effect on people, but the woman shivered like a leaf as his gloved hand came to reach out, sweeping back a strand of her dark hair. "Speak, Child."
"No..no..sir." Wide eyes could hardly swallow back the fear, though suddenly she found herself pushed with a bit of courage, "Alive sir. They..they told us you died."
From his distance he turned, having already started going over the hall of books to start the inventory, but her words would have him turn. The realization set there in her eyes she had known him once, but she was far too young to have been one of his students..right? Slowly his steps closed back around her, with hands delicately folded behind his back.
"Tell me something, Dear Mouse. Do you believe in God?" She gave a quick nod, and seemed to relax when she saw on his lips only a smile. "I live because he sent an angel to pull me from that hell. Now..escort me to the master's chambers." He would offer her his arm, and her timid little hand would take hold though everything about her wished to simply run. What a fierce thing to behold.
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Post by Master Jean-Claude d'Aquitaine on Jun 3, 2010 9:03:20 GMT -6
He could become alive here..in the withered right of the university, Jean-Claude could live under his name. Upon his visit to France, he had heard nothing of his parents; a sister who was of his likeness or any relation. So the guilt did not loom as it should with the right of coming back from the dead without their consent. His mother would have been heartbroken to know that her son had in fact lived a very secret life.
That life was over.
***
Jean-Claude, son of a Count, heir of a Duchess who became Queen of all of Aquitaine, was named after the dark and frozen night of his birth, and the good hearted faith of the rule of the Lord through their house. The book of John. His least favorite. It had snowed like never before the eve he had came upon the world, and his mother took that sign directly from the heavens. All his years of his youth he had been a delightful child, happy and well mannered. Taking the dark black of his father's genetics, he always wore his hair pulled back, but from his mother he got her pleasing complexion. A mother had done all that she could, in the formation of a most promising youth, but never could she keep him contained. For years it seemed she struggled to break him of his curiosity. Wide navy eyes seeming so drawn to his father's parlor where all the Master's gathered to chat idly while dinner was placed out.
"Do not let him in there, Raoul!" She had once cried, pulling her young son from the office where his father worked, "It is enough your mad with it." A mother hissed at the Comte, who only laughed. He was a tall man who spent most of his years gone, so the moments they had together were precious, but his father was never a loving man--Jean-Claude quickly came to understand that there was little he could have done to please him. However, somewhere he watched his father reflect when Jean was whipped for dissecting various creatures just to watch the heart beat out of its chest. That was his boy, and though he could never show it; there was great pride.
***
Oxford always reminded him of his unbridled youth, when finally he was free from the over protected nature of his mother, and the secluded nature of his father. Here he was not under French colors, but could pull weight by rank alone; soon mastering in every degree, and returning a few short years later to teach. He had made a name for himself right well, and earned that title through the hard worked blood of yesteryears.
Legends were timeless, though he himself has aged. However, the very few that remembered him, knew well that like his father old age would never delude the complex beauty of those from the inner most workings of French society. Even if he could no longer roam the halls as freely as he once could, Jean-Claude still keep up with the little mistress he has indeed dubbed Mouse.
"You were my mother's instructor, M'lord. She was one of the only women at the time to even be able to attend a class." The timid little voice, melted his heart at the memory of Joan. The woman really was a mystery, but he had not known her to have a child..Though where else would this child have gotten her plain features. He was quiet for a moment as they moved down the hall. Didn't Joan and Warwick a fling? He searched for his partners features, but came up empty..though he really was a poor judge of likeness.
"I was heartbroken to hear of her death, but knowing now her spirit lives on puts a great deal of ease on an old soul." He smiled then, trying to remember her but those years were all backwards. However it hit him, "She brought you to see me, one afternoon. You were very sick, but…"
"She told you I was a beggar's child. Yes. She was afraid if the Headmaster found out she would be expelled. Speculation he was my father came after her death. To this day, they still think the only reason she could attend was because of her seduction skill."
Jean-Claude would shake his head looking down upon his arm, where the young woman was perched in their walk, "Then let me be the first to correct you. She could rival any man to their knees with her methods in Philosophy alone. Her ideas were brilliant, but I dare say this would have been the very reason they executed her. She..didn't believe there was a right time, or a right place." Worried he had overstepped his lines, he gave a pat to the bent hand of the youth.
"You are right. The day they burned her for her sickness, was the day I was sent to live with the nuns. They would have killed me too, or worse I would have starved on the streets. I do not have any other family, never knew my father. I had hoped…that.." Suddenly she became rather quiet, chewing on her lips, she would look up to the man, "That it had been you."
Jean-Claude's heart sank, and for a good part of the moment he had wanted to say yes. Though, from what he could remember Joan had liked other women…..so really he wasn't certain. "I'm afraid not, Ma petite, I did cherish your mother, but we never…" He would wave his hand while turning a bit pink with his flush.
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Post by Master Jean-Claude d'Aquitaine on Jun 3, 2010 9:24:45 GMT -6
Candles had all but burnt out spilled over the desk in long lines of wax to prove the night had almost shared it's fill. Sir William Occam, sat idly in a chair far too large for such a frail frame. His years were numbered, and even in the flicker of the flame he could hear the devils laughter.
"I know..I know..won't be long, I'll be burnin' like the rest." Somewhere he knew hell had a special place for him, where he would spend the rest of eternity tortured like had done all his victims. This. Was what pushed him further to the answers. He had to find truth behind that theory.
"Master.." A man came from the woodworking, the door never making a sound, and William jumped from his visions of hell. "We have the woman. The one from Skye." It did not ring a bell. "The one whose husband, the once aged King of Avaria, found second life."
"The witch." He snarled, keeping the page on his toes. "They are not human boy. Keep that right. She's not married to him, she's put him under a spell. You must keep these things right!" He screamed standing with a rush to pound atop the desk. "You MUST or we'll all be arrested. For the name of GOD!"
The young boy shook in his steps for not for fear of his life, but fear of his soul. William was indeed an old man, but one that seemed twisted every way. His long fingers were nothing but bones now and the white beard that outlined his lips long--to match the gray of his eyes.
In his time, WIlliam had been a great influence on modern science, but so often the fear of death came with a plague of the mind, and he knew well it was close--his madness kept him going forward searching for the eternal life. The theory from so many years ago that time and space could be pulled apart, and those select few knew how to get to it. The body of their last victim still slumped over the operating table, his head cut open, and the brain laying in parts upon the floor as he had searched for the key. It was a gruesome sight.
"Bring her to me." He turned from the page, but was soon called back by the remaining boy. "Well..?"
"One more thing, Sir." The boy seemed nervous, shaking really as everything about this seemed so very wrong, and the picture of the man there his skull broke open..brains on the floor; nearly did him in, and he was thankful he could no make out what was on the wall for he thought for certain it to be another part of the man's body. "Oxford, is to remained closed, I was told to tell you the student interns will be living in the dorms of the cathedral, that for now none can come and go until the killer is found," All of this news William knew already, "..The Griffin control now."
William was not worried, he had everything moved to the secret chambers of the University--underground. "And?" He could tell there was more, the page seemed to shake in his stance, waiting with the news on the tip of his tongue.
"There is a man sir, one that many thought was dead. He's got the brothers afraid, Sir. They call him Master Aquitaine. Said he was once an instructor there." Suddenly the air was pulled from William's chest, as the boy went on to describe the man in question, and he knew. "The brothers sir..they are afraid he'll uncover the…theory."
"Fools..." William shook his head, "He helped create the theory."
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Post by Master Jean-Claude d'Aquitaine on Jun 11, 2010 8:22:16 GMT -6
Jean-Claude d'Aquitaine The day had stretched long into night, with the world falling around him in the darkened sky. One by one, stars burned over the English horizon, where God painted his cathedral ceilings to match the Scientist's mood. Jean-Claude seemed to feel like that waxing moon, stretched so thin, and aching to be full again. He sat before a great scholar's desk that seemed to take up the entirety of the wall, and was settled against the open stained glass of the university. The writing block a rich fine masterful crafted cherry, sculpted by the most assertive of artisan hands. Books after books, opened to particular pages lined the length of the rest, but it was here Jean-Claude seemed to lose his focus. It was here he kept quill firmly tucked against silk covered hands. My Dearest Adelaide, the elegant script started speaking of his heart, open and empty; as she held a great portion while those he kept as 'children' held the rest. Times are tough, on English soil and I am not certain what is worse; the ache I feel in my chest from missing you so, or the many fatalities that have fallen before me. Going on to explain the situation, he gave a heavy sigh as the last It would be best if you remained for now. Though the script could hardly be finished, as he sat back with a smile. Revelations held nothing on him in this moment, for the simple realization that he was indeed whole heartily in love. Would any be surprised that the books open there upon his desk were of the theory of eternal life? (d
Adelaide of Embrum After a rainy start, the weather seemed to improve, at least for the short journey to Cambridge. The Mongols gave Ada less grief for taking her time -- who could blame her meandering, when the sun was out and the birds singing? The fields smelled alive with green and growing things, villagers who they passed on the road were fairly cheery, and though she wished with all her heart to arrive in Cambridge as quickly as the horses could carry them, she'd rather do it in one piece. Using the horses again was a priority Nasrin mentioned on more than one occasion. The only approval she received was when she failed to balk at making camp on the roadside overnight, rather than at an inn. She wondered what sort of lady Nasrin thought she was, that she might complain over the lack of a bed. There were less fleas this way, Ada thought with some contentment as she spread out her travel cloak in a slight depression and curled up within, the letter from Spain barely crinkling, so well-read was it, all the stiffness had fled from the single page. It was more like cloth from the many hands it had passed through. When they woke at dawn, the horses awaited, as did Cambridge. Toward sunset, they finally arrived, Ada bidding farewell to her thus far excellent escort, who were due to travel further north. Being a town of academics and priests, she knew at least the inns would be clean, and washed away the grime of travel, a little too hurried to find the experience luxurious, even when one of the ladies in residence dabbed perfume behind Ada's ears with a giggle, then sent the petite woman on her way. He was harder to find than Ada had imagined. She walked the pathways and hallways, peering into colleges abandoned due to the lateness of the hour, glad there were no souls walking about to judge her increasingly desperate meanderings. *
Jean-Claude d'Aquitaine He made lists, often it was how he kept his mind collected together. List after list to have this university thriving closer to the castle, or at least the home base. It would be in the late hour that the Mouse would slowly make her path towards the only lit room thus far. She carried a tray of what was bound to be for the Frenchman, for it was made up mostly of grapes, and bottle of red wine. Expensive cheese, and other various sorts of breads seemed to outline the plate so perfectly; she had worked so hard. She was a petite woman, though nothing compared to Adelaide, but held nothing out of the ordinary like his darling she-cat.
Mouse of Oxford "Excuse me." She spoke in French practicing as she started for the longer hall that lead up a small fight of stairs. Met by a man in long robes who seemed so very nervous when he spoke touched the arm of the pale brunette, but she shed away from his whispers. "Master Aquitaine must have dinner first, and..and I..I don't expect to be back tonight." She said with a small burst of defiance, though the obviously religious figure gave a long look to Ada before slowly turning Mouse away by her arm, their conversation kept private for now, and the whispers seemed relentless. Mouse did not notice that friar a small substance inside the stem of water. (d
Adelaide of Embrum She heard the tones of French before she discerned the words, stepping now toward the light and the small figure who appeared. Her lips parted to speak, but at that moment, another figure in dark robes appeared. Monks. This town was full of monks. Adelaide had little issue with the holy men, but they had plenty with her, and all was calm in Paris when she avoided their churches and continued happily living in sin. They did not wish to save her, Ada thought with a sniff. They wished another penitent paying tithes and simony, and who of her class could afford either? God, or that deity she understood from children's tales and parables, was a benevolent sort who would understand Ada was perpetually short on cash. And had a large, fuzzy swathe for a line of morality. She was close enough that the monk saw her at last, and as per usual, he chose to ignore her. No doubt, the harlot's perfume marked her as something other than a lady of good repute, though it did smell nice. Warm, and powdery, and clean. A bit like her garden, really, if her garden had ... roses? She sniffed. No, not roses. But good, and clean. Noble women did not wear blouses cut as low as Ada's, girdles pulled as tightly as hers, or skirts that came an inch or two higher above the ankle than was absolutely necessary, gathered at the hips so that she swayed dramatically even when she minced her steps. She just pressed her lips together and sank back against the wall, letting the pair wander off toward the lit room, though Ada slid very quietly after him, hugging the wall, trying but failing to hear the words of their conversation. * Mouse of Oxford "You must understand..He is too dangerous to be here. The devil's spawn. He works against the Lord." "I will not. Leave." They started to cause a scene, though the halls were empty. She broke free from the monk, keeping close to the walls to come face to face with the harlot. "Hello again." She smiled, "Are you lost?" She seemed not to be, prowling against the walls like some cat in an alley. It would indeed be the blouse she noticed first, her face flushing a bit with a rose color, but it would then be the smell. "Women do not service the men in these halls," She whispered, innocent eyes worried for her."They go below, come in through the serfs entrance, but with the students gone....you'll not have much luck." She smiled then, in honest truth not wanting to offend her, but even in England women didn't wear things like that..with breast as large as her own. "I would offer you some water, but this is for the Master Aquitaine, to which I am sorry. He refuses service, many have tried, but he does let me sit at his side while he reads." Youth could not be mistaken, but her dark eyes moved over the monks passing, yielding back in the shadow. "You can come with me if you like?" She did not like the over exposed glances given to the petite stranger, "My name is Abby, but the Master calls me Mouse." She skirted along the carpets once more, turning a smile over to Ada. "You look simply worn..and weary. Come. He is a good man." With the tray on one hand she would balance the other to offer Ada her arm. (d
Adelaide of Embrum "There is one I'd like to service," Ada said wryly, but grinned soon after, doubting very much Mouse was in on the joke, but she took the young woman's arm regardless. As usual, Ada's accent was so terrible, it hardly seemed she spoke English, slipping in and out of the language hardly minding who kept up with her. She'd never made much of a study of it in Paris, and Scots barely spoke it well enough to judge. If her old Master discovered what a backward attitude she had toward studying anything, even a language, he'd likely put her on chamber pot duty for a month, which made Ada relish even further how grateful she was to fall into the lap of luxury. She could hire people for that. "That man will not take food unless you distract him thoroughly. His mind, it is like .... Well. It is like nothing anyone has seen before, nor like to see again." It simultaneously warmed her heart to think 'that man' needed Mouse to sit beside him to concentrate, when he was so accustomed to working alone, and made her jealous. Why wasn't she there now, shuffling his notes into order and occasionally passing up his cup of wine, all for the simple exchange of feeling his longer fingers through her hair. She bowed her head for a moment, not sure which expression she was hiding, but she missed him so. She thought her heart would fly out of its chest sometimes, thinking about him. He'd always had that effect, since the day of that first disapproving look, her hand unfortunately caught in his pocket. "You mean he does not eat anything?" Ada asked, clearing her mind of all that sentimental nonsense, and drawing the conversation back around again. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Mouse, my name is Adelaide." *
Mouse of Oxford "Oh no, he forgets. You are very right." She seemed to chirp, moving through the halls, "So many think him dreadful, but my mother always told me so many great stories, especially before she died. I had hoped him to be my sire, but he swears of it that he never bed my mum." Her manners lost, though somehow surfaced once more to remember. "The Master does not like service. He goes on and on about his fiancee at home, how she is as wild as the wind, and as hard to catch. Just the thought of her makes his while face light up, it really is charming. So romantic. How love should be. I have never asked her name, but he calls her Chatte, which I think is French for kitten..or cat..or pet. I am just learning." She laughed, shaking her head happy to have friend. Her face seemed to darken at the mention of his mind, and the worry there as she took her lip between her teeth. The water glass still slightly fizzing from the poison she almost forgot about. "I..would you care to take this. Just..sit it in there on the table by the fire. I'll..come make sure he eats, but I do not think this was washed. It looks rather dirty." She would force the tray over to Ada, before taking the stem of water and hurrying down the carpets. Skittering like a mouse, no doubt where she got her name.
Jean-Claude d'Aquitaine Jean-Claude could not finish his letter, his heart ached so much simply seeing her name on the text. The ascot he wore undone, the ragged scarf she held back her hair with still carried her scent; as his feet carried him over the floors of the open space deep in thought. What if the Theory was right? What if they could somehow pry open the human mind..Adelaide had the power, but even the thoughts made him shiver. He could never let them know. Never. Lord how he wished she were there, the dark thoughts that traveled through his mind, of turning back time...but he could be young again. She made him feel so alive, but even the smallest act of their passions weighed heavy on his body. Jean-Claude had sat there for too long, his shoulders ached as the chair wasn't night enough for his long legs, and the strain at his neck did him in. With the scarf around his shoulders he would fold his arms over the mantel to stretch out his spine, and hang with the lean in thought. When the door would open, he would simply remind Mouse to leave it on the table; though he waited for her timid reply of how he should eat. (d
Adelaide of Embrum "Ah..merci," Ada offered to the retreating shadow, gripping the platter in her hands. In the passing of the water, Ada caught scent of the poison, and blanched. She straightened her shoulders and slipped into Jean-Claude's suite, setting the tray down, but not leaving. Her heart shouldn't feel so wild seeing him after such a short absence. They had done longer before -- at least, Ada had felt they had done longer, how was she to know he was anchored off the coast? They had barely been apart since then, though. She walked up behind him and rested her hand upon his back, letting the warmth seep through his shirt, and then letting her fingers move slowly up his spine to settle between his shoulder blades, where the stress seemed to gather like ropes about to snap, but which she had soothed before with gentle kisses. Lines on his face had melted away with her smiles, and both had slept as peacefully as babes -- not her babe, Ada would remark -- and only Ada, since Jean-Claude snored. So the metaphor didn't quite work, but she was glad to see him, glad to feel him under her hand, and even if she wished to say something, she was temporarily incapable. The day Ada ceased to find words would be a very, very quiet day in their household, though; she found them soon enough. "I thought you would meet me the moment I rode into town. They always seem to, in the bards' tales of romance. The hero simply knows. At least your suite affords us some privacy." *
Jean-Claude d'Aquitaine Her hand was like a ghost, haunting him for he felt himself cracking under it. Yet, the warmth had come as a surprise, but her words shot through him like a fallen star over the empty night. Almost as if he were afraid that if he moved out from under the touch, she would vanish like she did every morning when he woke, but instinct flooded him, with it his arms around her. Never in his life had he been so surprised, that his heart flipped against his chest; and he too lost words. However, his smile made up for all loss of words, and the laughter to mimic the fire lapping at their back. He held her, shaken from the surprise, "Mon chatte.." He kissed her, breaking away in a flash of other affections, saying her name over and over. The strength of ten men could not have pulled her from his arms, as the hold forced her neck back where he would feel he could sob with happiness. "My darling..what?..when?..Adelaide." Why did he care? She was here. Lifting her with his embrace he would have swung her had the fire not been so close, but it was rare he was able to bring her to his level. "You smell wonderful.." For once, would have followed, but his smirk alone could have spoken. He spoke in French so fast that even the most well versed in the second language would have trouble keeping up. All the while a kiss there, and deeper pull as his heart came back down. Pale lips were cold seeming to warm against her own as his hands cupped her face, "I have missed you." Could she tell? He spoke against her lips in a low sound that even his light touch across her jawline could have mimicked, "Oh how I have missed you." Spoken again between each gentle kiss, the growing fire for her burning, and as his hands took her own he pulled her down into one of the chairs, settling her there on his lap to better listen to reason. "You look tired, Mon Chatte, are you well?" He worried over her, as his gloved hand brushed up her arm--hell he even liked the dress. They were in England, let them break rules. (d
Adelaide of Embrum And they would need privacy, if he continued to kiss her like that. She lost sense of where she was, could focus on little that was not Jean-Claude's face, even if it meant losing the sensation of ground beneath her feet as he lifted her up and held her tightly. Her grip was just as fierce, holding onto him as if afraid a good brisk wind would take him away, and who knew? It very well might. He wasn't eating well at all. She kissed him back, pulling him in more deeply still. Just enough of a romantic she still tended to close her eyes when being so throughly kissed, she opened them only when their weight shifted into the chair. She sighed, and drew her arms around his neck, pressing her face into the space between her arm and his jaw, and breathing in the scent of him. "I have missed you so much, do not leave me again, I will go with you, I promise. Name the place, I will go." She re-settled herself again, shifting so that she rested solidly against his chest, able to angle her head to see him. "I just got here. I bathed first, of course. I had an escort, do not fear, they took me directly to Canterbury, and then on here, but they are riding further north and will not be staying. Not that they would be welcome here, I can only imagine the sort of looks they would earn." She gave a brief huff, only mildly offended at the continuing notion these people had that she was a harlot. "But I had to come, there is an urgent matter." Raising her eyes skyward, rathern than down her nose, she fished her hand between the clean linen of her blouse and her perfumed skin, and retrieved the letter about Julian. "This came from Spain." *
Jean-Claude d'Aquitaine He laughed idly, amused at her, but overly joyed that she was indeed there. Perhaps, he should have been cross at her for not waiting for his letter. "My dear..slow down." He touched her hand kissing it lightly, though when she spoke of an urgent matter and went fishing in her blouse he was all too happy to start undoing his laces. "Urgent indeed I.." Perhaps a more perverted comment would have followed had she not pulled a letter. Spain. Undone, Jean-Claude took the letter, opening the paper so carefully as if he were afraid to read what was on the other side. That dark distant look came over his eyes, reserved for fear as it gripped him tightly, "What books, Julian would not." If there had been a mood all was lost, as he read it again. "This is not his handwriting." He drew the conclusion first out of denial then out of truth, "He writes too fast. This is slow and practiced. Even the t's are crossed perfectly." The open collar of his shirt exposed what it shouldn't, but the skin beneath it turned red with the flush of worry. He sank back, to read it once more. "I must get to Spain." He could have almost pushed her off had she been any other whore, but his little harlot was indeed a cherished item as he slid her carefully to the floor. "I knew I should have gone." He shook now, "Have you spoke to Claramae? Come. We must get back to the castle." He didn't know where to start first, pack what? He'd be on a ship within the hour, and didn't care what came with him. He had to get to them. (d
Adelaide of Embrum Ada could have cried, but she knew Jean-Claude well enough to know he wouldn't easily forgive her if she had withheld that information from him. But could he not just quickly throw her on the bed, and then they could pack? "I did, and she said only to have a care with your heart, but I wonder, too. Do you know it is not safe here for you? Maybe we should go to Spain, you and I. We can find Julian. And I can find ... him. I have no doubt these books exist, and if they do, you know they are written only by one man mad enough to publish in this time. I need to tell Julian, too, Jean. How much he is like Gauthier, and how much I fear he will be too much like him. Maybe he will not listen." She pressed her lips together for a moment in thought. As she slid away and stood up on her own, she lightly kissed the exposed flesh above the lacings of his shirt, and went to tidy up whatever notes were on his desk. She saw the letter she should have waited for, but only read her name in the salutation. *
Jean-Claude d'Aquitaine "You..must.." He held his chest with his gloved hand a wave of pain fired through every stem of his nerves, but somehow seemed to form around his heart. "Adelaide. Help." He held the edge of the table, as his head fell forward, and he came to kneel against the floor. Even he looked pale, as death's cold finger hovered around him. He sucked in air before crying out, enough that Mouse came flying through the door having been listening. Air came in rushes as it filled his lungs, the struggle to keep his circulation, but the pain crippled him.
Mouse of Oxford "You gave him the poison!" Mouse shrieked, falling at his side, but Jean shook his head pressing her back reaching out for Ada's hand wanting her to put him to bed.
Jean-Claude d'Aquitaine "Non. Mouse," The pain subsided, "Side effect." He muttered, pressing back against the bed. "Spain. Adelaide." With that Jean-Claude left the world for the time being, letting his body remain while his mind wandered through the universe.
Mouse of Oxford Mouse pushed back his hair to shake her head, "Side effect of what?" She asked Ada, narrowing her eyes, "What's in Spain?" (d
Adelaide of Embrum "Jean-Claude!" She abandoned the notes shuffled into order and dropped down beside him, holding his arms firmly to keep him upright, but easing him back onto the floor so that he would not hit his head. "Sea and stars, Jean, what is this? Non, mademoiselle, I did not give him the poison, he has eaten nothing," Ada fired off in her unusual blend of English and French, as if daring the girl to keep up with Ada's thoughts. Perhaps in other circumstances, she would have applauded the girl for coming to such a conclusion; Ada was always giving the appearance of a person of interest, though it was usually more for petty crimes. "What do you have here, Jean-Claude? My medicines are in my saddlebag, I have nothing with me."
When the pain seemed to pass, Ada helped him up onto the bed, nearly folding under the effort. It had been many, many years since she hauled milk down mountainsides to be sold at market, and her milkmaid's arms had grown a bit soft over the years, though the peasant's tan was a perpetual feature. She wouldn't wait for his response, already rifling through the usual spots for his bag, and taking what she uncovered toward the fireplace for the extra light. Never before had she ground ingredients with such speed and efficiency, tossing them into a clean glass beaker and shaking with fresh water until the particles had blended into a rather thick, noxious-looking black concoction. "I will go to Spain for you, my love, but you must promise to go back to Master St. Laurence, it is no good for you to stay on your own. One of us should go home soon, I told Marcelline I would not be gone for very long." She sat down beside him, easing his head up on another pillow and offering him the drink, but only after dragging him back into the realm of the conscious with a hefty dose of her most potent smelling salts. It made no sense to ease his pain only to have him choke to death. Something was amiss with Peregrine's world; Marcelline did not have the option, even if Ada's conscience would have allowed it, to give Genevieve to her father. She missed her daughter with an ache that only grew in intensity, but it wasn't like his Adelaide to complain about the obvious, so she fell silent as she ensured he drank the entirety of the beaker's contents.
"Mouse, I need you to trust me. I mean Master Aquitaine no harm. See, I am his fiancee." She held out her hand, and pulled off the ring, offering it to Mouse to inspect. "Keep it for now, if you like. I cannot take it with me to Spain. It is obnoxiously large and I do not know who I will meet on the road. Can you see that he makes it back to Master St. Laurence? Will you do that for him?"
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Post by Master Jean-Claude d'Aquitaine on Jun 11, 2010 10:25:39 GMT -6
At first Mouse had not trusted Adelaide, for her dark hair seemed too wild, and her very presence seemed enough to break the coals across the fire. She was no doubt of the same life Jean-Claude had been. However, it was in the little whispers of the lovers good-bye did she realize Ada spoke the truth. She had stood of the fallen Scientist like an ever faithful wife, and when his bare hand came to touch her cheek, she did not flinch for fear of the mangled flesh of it all. The truth had been known then, that Jean-Claude had once been convicted of craft, and his life spared by the grace of God. Mouse saw this as a time to relish in the idea of something new.
"I am fine, Mon Chatte, trust me." He spoke so quietly to her, running his fingers through her hair as she bent over him, forcing him to remain in bed. "I am just getting old is all. Perhaps someday you will wake and realize you will want a younger model." He smirked with the small jest, feeling the wave of tiredness wash over him once again, and this time when he closed his eyes she wouldn't be there when he woke. Ada went off to Spain, in search of the truth. It was unknown if she would ever find Julian, but there was no doubt Benoit was in for a surprise.
Adelaide would never know how truly sick her fiance' truly was.
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Post by Master Jean-Claude d'Aquitaine on Jun 11, 2010 10:33:57 GMT -6
Behold! I tell you a mystery. We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, and the dead will be raised imperishable, and we shall be changed. For this perishable body must put on the imperishable, and this mortal body must put on immortality. When the perishable puts on the imperishable, and the mortal puts on immortality, then shall come to pass the saying that is written: “Death is swallowed up in victory.” “O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?” ... 1 Corinthians 15:51-57 At first Mouse had not trusted Adelaide, for her dark hair seemed too wild, and her very presence seemed enough to break the coals across the fire. She was no doubt of the same life Jean-Claude had been. However, it was in the little whispers of the lovers good-bye did she realize Ada spoke the truth. She had stood of the fallen Scientist like an ever faithful wife, and when his bare hand came to touch her cheek, she did not flinch for fear of the mangled flesh of it all. The truth had been known then, that Jean-Claude had once been convicted of craft, and his life spared by the grace of God. Mouse saw this as a time to relish in the idea of something new. "I am fine, Mon Chatte, trust me." He spoke so quietly to her, running his fingers through her hair as she bent over him, forcing him to remain in bed. "I am just getting old is all. Perhaps someday you will wake and realize you will want a younger model." He smirked with the small jest, feeling the wave of tiredness wash over him once again, and this time when he closed his eyes she wouldn't be there when he woke. Ada went off to Spain, in search of the truth. It was unknown if she would ever find Julian, but there was no doubt Benoit was in for a surprise. Adelaide would never know how truly sick her fiance' truly was. "Jean...Jean-Claude.."He could hear their voices, but somewhere found himself lost without Ada's steady hands. A fever had taken him, one coursing through his veins like venom as it had started much the same. It was all the darling Mouse could do to keep his forehead cool, the heat of the man's normally cool skin dried the rag within minutes. "I do not know what to do." Finally the Friar spoke, his kind eyes turning to Mouse who was at the scientists bedside. "If we could get him awake long enough..perhaps, he could tell us." The little frame of the woman he spoke to shook as her fingers curled around Ada's ring. It was rather large, but she was a lucky woman. For a moment in their parting, Mouse had been witness to survival, Jean-CLaude was not ready to leave her, as she was not ready to leave. However, the stress of not knowing was very much what put him there now, and if his beloved Julian was in trouble..Janice would not be far behind. "We should send a letter to Her Grace..I will deliver it with this ring. We need to send for Master William, and Master Jean." Mouse bit her bottom lip with worry, that the few that did remain would not be enough to bring him back from the otherside. The fever would come and go in spaces, days with it, and days before it would return. In the few moments he felt himself, he would rise to eat, bathe, and even go back to his work. However, that would soon be ended as again he would return. Mouse sat behind Jean-Claude's desk having pushed away nearly all of the papers..unsent letters to his beloved Adelaide to start the letter to Master Laurence. "Your Highness, I write to you to inform you of the Master Aquitaine's business. It was of the request of his fiance, who sends with you the ring of their engagement until she returns, that he be returned to your side. However, Master Aquitaine has fallen very ill, and is ordered to remain in bed. It was requested of me to inform you as well of the Lady Adelaide's departure to Spain, and that she asks you to watch over her beloved. She was unaware of how troubled the illness was when she left, and it is of University Officials orders that he not be out in the open air.It was signed her Christian name with her newly found nickname there across the bottom, and through the night the message was sent. It was within the first week, had the physician's student sighed after listening to the man's chest for the passing of air. Jean-Claude's eyes were fixed out the window as he sat up in the bed waiting for the youth to be finished, and looking rather frail in the white lace trimmed shirt that now matched the color of his skin. Folded over his lap long fingers that needed no longer to be hidden, rest with the ring of his heritage. The house of the Comte, a French household that had been controlled by the English. It was a well kept secret, but suddenly Jean-Claude longed for it. Did not all that were unwell wish to be with their mothers? The sigh of the youth, whose instrument was still being developed pulled the large brass cups from over his ears as he listened. "It is weak M'lord. The beat not as steady as it should be, and unnaturally fast." The healer didn't know what to make of it, but even now Jean-Claude kept with what he truly did best in the world. Touching the boy's chin he lifted the youth's face so that he could meet his eyes. The son of England did not flinch, but seem to wait as if he stood in a deep pool wanting to find his way out. "Think. Use your teachings. What does it mean when a heartbeat is unsteady." Jean-Claude spoke not as if he were the patient, but the professor during a lecture. "Well..it could be a matter of things, but Master..they do not make sense." "Then Young Master Phillip, think of Occam's Razor even now. entia non sunt multiplicanda praeter necessitatem Entities must not be multiplied beyond necessity." He corrected the boy, who in turn smiled knowing that theory alone held so much value to every student, and perhaps someday it would be the modo of a nation's new way of thinking. Jean-Claude sat back against the pillows, knowing well his heart was failing, and would know the boy knew the truth just simply did not wish to speak it. "Here I figured after all of these years, you would have forgotten." Spoke the fragile mouth of a man of true Science from the door. Franciscan friar William of Ockham had been a staple now in the university for the entire length of his career, and at one point a dear mentor to the fabled son of the Comte. Jean's entire face lit up, and Mouse smiled over the shoulder of the aged man having helped him climb through the halls to reach the Master's suite. "How could I forget.." Jean-Claude smiled to the man, sitting up at best he could wishing suddenly he had a comb to run through his hair. "William..How good it is to see you, and not read only of your notes." A confession he could hardly live without. In truth Jean thought this man as much dead as the Friar had thought of him. "My boy, you have no idea how delighted I am to see you..back from the dead, I knew those fires could not have stopped you. A prized pupil, but look at this." He motioned to him in the bed then meeting the eyes of the young student, "And what is your conclusion then, boy? What is the most simple answer you can give? "The boy stood a little straighter, and as Jean-Claude regarded him lightly he could not help but smirk thinking of how Julian stood much the same at that age. "His heart is failing, sir." The simplest conclusion, brought a gasp to Mouse's lips, and a suddenly worried frown over Williams, as he took a seat at Jean-Claude's side. "Leave us." William would throw his hands out to motion them all out, and suddenly the room was empty as William went over the man himself. "It is an infection, William. One even a man more of modern science then medicine can understand. My blood boils with it, and the years of my treatments have surly seen me through." Jean-Claude would raise his hand out from under the covers to which he had hidden it from the company, and William sat down once more. "This is only the beginning, and the least..my legs, in some places melted to the bone. It took me many years to learn to walk again. Up to my thigh it stops, thankfully for I am certain I would not have survived. My savior did sweep from the sky at just the right moment." "No doubt, God works in mysterious ways.." William commented, and Jean-Claude didn't have the hear to tell him it wasn't God's doing, but the works of a pirate who could very well be mistaken for the Devil himself. Jean-Claude sat back on the pillows further folding his hands up with a heavy sigh. "I have gone over your notes a hundred times, on the Theory of Eternal Life, wishing I had overlooked something when I wrote you my conclusion..but they are all still there, the answers I spoke of before, and from the looks of it Old Friend it seems you have not found them either." Jean's near black eyes stated their mark upon where Ada had stood by the fire watching him, while he slept, warming her fingers with worry, not wanting to leave. She had not known he was awake watching her back, and now witnessed only her ghost. William was taken back with Jean's comment, having a sudden dread of not understanding what he has been doing wrong all these years, but even he in his selfish wishes to be young again could not have wanted the Theory more now for his once student, now friend. William was relieved to learn it was not the poison that had first been wished upon the Scientist, that he was not here with wishes to see them out, but was truly here to help get this school back to what it was before the war. "Do you fear death, Jean?" William asked suddenly slipping back into his worldly title of God's servant, and from what he would remember of the boy who once sat in the lecture hall so very proudly, would have shook his head violently welcoming the thought of meeting his maker, having a hundred questions to ask. God, would not have whipped him for wondering, like Jean-Claude's mother had nearly killed 4 whipping boys. However, the man of science was silent still watching the fire burn in it's hearth. "I am not afraid no," Jean-Claude finally spoke meeting the friar's eyes, "Just not ready." Something warmed in his eyes as he spoke, thoughts of Genna, Adelaide, and even Scotland. Though, Jean-Claude did dearly hate it sometimes it really has started to grow on him. William's gaze flickered and it caught Jean's attention. There was something not being said, but it was nearly bursting from the seams of Wiliam's old lips. The old man sat forward looking around to make sure that none else heard. "I have a new specimen. One, who we have proof can tap into that other world, Jean-Claude. Her husband was said to have been an old man until he took the fruits of her flower, and then turned back. She is a wild woman, simply a creature, and was not so easily taken. Even now we try to break her, but this..." His eyes darkened and so too did his voice, "Is the real deal." "They had stopped your operation, William..." Jean-Claude nearly scolded him like a child, "Shut down everything." "We work in secret, under these very floors..the old water well in the courtyard..was drained. The caverns below, built into the stairs that lead to through the foundation, Jean-Claude we are close. So close I have not felt so alive in nearly 30 years. I can complete it. I can. I just need you to keep this out of the public, away from your Duchesses hands. None, must know of it. Not until it is finished. I have heard of your closeness with the Duchess, that you sit on the other hand as her husband. It is whispered that the pair of you are a mighty force..but this must be kept quiet." It was the perfect opportunity now, and no doubt Jean-Claude came with good funding. However, already the idea of betraying Claramae nearly did him in, but where would Ada go without him? Having let his thoughts run away Jean-Claude snapped his eyes back to reality and met the gaze of the elder. "You will have to let me think on it, Mon Ami, my vows are my honor and word." He spoke so lightly fighting an eternal battle that was against everything he believed in. "That is fine, M'friend..you will know where to find me." William rose to bend to kiss the forehead of the fallen black haired man, the fever burning his lips, and with that he would pull the door behind him to meet the shadowed face of a hood drawn figure, who opened another robe for William to take it. "If he speaks. Kill him." Willaim snorted pulling the hood up around his ears. "Bring me his body, when you are finished."
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Post by Lady Eirian Gwenyth Apollius on Jun 11, 2010 22:16:23 GMT -6
Deliver me, out of my sadness Deliver me, from all of the madness Deliver me, courage to guide me Deliver me, strength from inside me
All of my life I've been in hiding Wishing there was someone just like you Now that you're here, now that I've found you I know that you're the one to pull me through William Ockham and Jean Buridan "In my time I had been greatness. The like the days we live, you never truly learn to appreciate the time until one day...you wake up and all is gone, and you have become an old man." William spoke to Jean Buridan, the understudy of years gone, a man of his own now who surfaced in the shadow of the greatness when there was need. Jean kept close to the aged friar whose long robes seemed to shuffle at his feet from a spine that no longer stood straight. "For many years we have searched..and never had I thought to live to see the day when it all suddenly became clear."Madness had come to pass before his eyes, with the greedy bitter smile of some missing teeth, the age finally caught up to him. "I shall prove him wrong..them all wrong." He smiled, the cage there within the middle of the vaulted room seemed almost large enough for a hundred men if they stood shoulder to shoulder. It had once been a wishing well, water had carved out under the University and now there was stone to hold the walls, and a rather deep extension to the school. The only breath of fresh air would be the open sky from the well, so deep none at the surface could see the light of the torches. During the day the long iron bars that went from floor to ceiling, could be lit by the light of English sun, and the rain seemed to only trickle like a mist once it reached the bottom.Eirian would have truly been a caged bird, but did she sing? Even now, alone down here without the world to guide her. "Ah, look at how beautiful." William spoke with a grin, his boney fingers coming to clasp the bars. "You've been alone now for so long, my pretty. Look what I have brought for you." Jean Buridan extended his hands from behind the old man, the tray of full balanced meal there waiting. The grapes so ripe the sun could practically still be felt, would be held up as if she were some animal. He waited to see if she moved, to see if she called out after him, or advanced forward, "Careful my son, don't look her in the eyes." (d Lady Eirian Apollius A soul was a world inside of the vehicles of flesh, bone, and sinew. A soul was the true essence of being; life's manifestation was dependent on the intangible strands of whisp-ridden lights all men strove to understand but failed. Still, man only failed if the instalation of thought in his head was subject to atheist's philosophy. What if he were of the metaphysicaly brillance? What if....how..when...where..why....the phrases spurned languages of science married to the outskirts of God's realm. Deemed heathen by the narrow, heretic by the fearful, those in charge of God's will on earth had no truck with the shadow ridden arts of the men who dared question ..and..dared to answer those simple yet mystery filled questions. Eirian hadn't asked to be born with the burden of carrying a puzzle piece in the shape of an all-seeing key across space and time. She had never sought noteriety for what was feminine intuition. To say that only would be a lie, and even as she recoiled in the cell into the only shaft of moonlight wide enough to showcase the wild melancholy her features had dissolved to, she couldn't lie about it. One bare shoulder showed man's violence as she had been beaten for looking at them, for questioning, for fighting. Beaten for being as to be contained only to be beaten again. Blue-purple blossoms grew with broken blood vessel centers across her back to the startling winter landscape of too-white arms. "No, he needs her whole!" the words, she remembered them, "He needs her unspoiled! Bind her face, if you must!" As if still bound, her hair wasn't moved to foster the belief there was anything worth looking at. He called to her now. A morbid curiosity moved the prisoner against her own will to the bars and as her eyes saw the offering of food, she was humiliated to admit to the weakness of hunger. Tongue licked at dry lips before her head lowered in the instinct. To look at them, they would fear her. It was perhaps the only thing keeping her alive a little longer....the fear. How strange, because she was terrified."Will you let me have the meal?" she asked, dry voice a struggling bird song that was still so beautiful. It was almost sickening, how lovely destruction could look. As lovely as any bed of broken roses. (d) William Ockham and Jean Buridan It could have broke his heart, should it be found beating carefully in his chest, the age of it all coming too quickly or so it seemed. "Oh of course you may..Dear Sweet Child." The smooth sound of his voice, still held with it the sort of kindness men devoted to their faith held. The younger man would replace the tray upon the outer table, but was stopped before he could slide it in her direction, "But let me first ask you..Do you know why you are here?"A sinister sound behind them, fell around them as the university shut down for the falling night. The very ceiling could rattled down with the roll of the heavy gates, and a few free falling specks of a rock tumbled down the darkened cavern. It was a very surreal sound that followed next like what one would imagine the devil's breath to sound like as the low rumble seemed to breathe through the halls only to fall silent once more. "You must know...at least why you are here?" He waited for his reply, wanting so badly to touch of that face delicate features seemed so tempting. Yet, in all his madness he was not that sort, but the two men who stood guard at the door were. All of them wore heavy black robes that swept to the floor, the hoods drawn to conceal their faces, and shield their eyes from the witch. Jean, the younger of the two picked the tray up once more, having Enchanting. (d Lady Eirian Apollius "My lord, it has befallen me to consider all matter of things..yet..in doing so come to a road of thought that behoves me to harbor questions of my own. Is it because you have heard of things..to suggest witchery, or devil-worship? I was baptized three days after birth my lord as per tradition, and attend mass upon the Sabbath, and daily prayer. I...fear..that it is for things that I can no more control than you the wind. Never turned to the devil's ways." Jean was greeted the side long glance at eyes that won the heart. What fear could be found inside of eyes so blue? Silver swam in the depths, frozen flecks of sun recalling days in the rays. She was the epitome of bardic ode yet her features favored grace in Welsh folklore, but towards what end? They mystic. White as the moon, hair as dark as a velvet midnight, skin like snow. She was Morganna le fay incarnate, Rhiannon of the moon, a Welsh Twyleth Teg faery. She was the dream of a child, vision of a poet, and now the horror of a church man who wanted to touch the infinite shores of Elysuim. Eirian didn't look up though, a hand touching the cold iron bars as her eyes remained down on her feet. At least they allowed her shoes to remain, none wanted to touch her more, so she still wore the sign of faith. Her ownly true sign of good wealth in a crucifix of silver, with diamond detailing on the cross. (d) William Ockham A pent up bird was no different in a cage then on it's branch for so the wind was told it could never have either. Freedom was with the wing through the wind, never the other. "And this is all? Of witch reasons you say.." He had lost most of his hair, the small round flat of his skull bald and the moisture on his brow glistened in the torch light. "Is that what they have you thinking?" A hobble of motions withered in his years could have been without the stretch of imagination that he too clung to the idea. "You must know that your purpose here is not of the devil's reasons, but of God's..my child, you have been chosen." He wanted to touch her, like one would brush the coat of a well bred horse, or the smooth surface of a hand crafted vase. She seemed as delicate, yet as noble as any other. "You have come for your calling...Tell me how it is done. They say you can see into the future..That you can heal the sick, and cure the blind." A play on words, but he knew well what he was doing. Pressing the tray forward himself he would have given her the world should she ask it. "Deny me nothing." (d Lady Eirian Apollius Imagine the body inside of the little bird called nightingale, and Dove. A tremble that started with the blood waving so it might have churned backwards, limbs quaking so hard the hands gripped the bars of the cage, and eyes still closed as she lifted her head to hear better. Did he for all talk of avoidance want to look into the sea of fathomless depth to understand his own decision parallel with his indiscretion? Did he want to hold her as one might have cradled a mystery of Delphi? "In the name of God? My Lord..I have been beaten, I have had men afraid to look upon meor touch me, yet beat me, throw me hence no less than what seems three days, if not four. I can not distern if it has been longer.." A grace inborn as this was more than man's nobility. Upon her knees in darkness, would she have been so appealing to him praying in chapel? "My lord, many have asked such knowledge yet none have ever...done this, to obtain it. To the true seeker question is answered, knowledge given for it is better to give than to receive.God condemns a lie. It is better to tell the truth to those whom seek it in earnest, humble question than those who would use it wrongly. One has but to ask me.." She opened her eyes enough to see the bread on the plate, fresh, hot. "I do not understand how it came to this crossing. With such fear as has been shown in your men..." Arm wrapped around her body as a wave of nausea came. It passed, but it seemed to fling green around her face. "What do you want me to see, what do you want me to divine for you, what do you want to know..please. It is not spoken of aloud for I am a mother, a wife...I am first before those things a Christian..please..whatever you devise..let it not be this way..let it be given you but not this way... I am in fear of..you...and for you all..Above and below." She pressed her head against the cold bars, whispering. "England is in turmoil.." (d) [bWilliam Ockham and Jean Buridan[/b][/color] ] He would laugh, a chuckle that sounded as if his chest held a secret that could not be denied. He often found pleasure in the hidden struggles of the uncommon. How the very fear of the Lord before them seemed to unravel with their inner pride. Yet, he could not find such joy in her, he was not as twisted as the counterparts of the brotherhood, but he was indeed devoted. "You speak such words that could rival any scripture..poetic indeed, but do not think me a fool. I have lived far too long to see my work forgotten as it is now. You will keep those words, least you remember that God told me of you..and your beloved children. If you hand it over willingly then you will be returned." He was indeed a man of his word, "But you see..even if you find you are not so willing." He motioned for the lamps to be lit, along the wall of the chamber hall, where bodies remained still bound to the odd chairs that reclined back. A woman's naked form pressed back, broken and blue; missed the top portion of her head where her skull had been sliced, and her brains removed. "She lied to me..she liked to me and said she did not have the key. You. Have the key." When she bent her head he too took a knee before her, never too old to accept confession. "England is in turmoil, but England matters very little down here. Now..know that if you do not go so willing, how it will end." With a roll back of his shoulders, his frail aged body was out of her reach. "Your husband. A once future king, failed, and in that took a wife. A wife that was said to have immortality between her fingers. In the fruits of your labor alone, he could see through God's eyes. He would be the richest man in babylon should he simply face the East, and with you at his side. Condemn the truth, it is rightfully so. He shed away the gray of his face. The long silver in his hair, and now between your legs a rightful man once again. Give that to me." He pulled down the tie of his robe to show her the vacant rib cage of an old man close to death's door. (d Lady Eirian Apollius "Oh Jesus, oh please no!" She cried out against the bright light highlighting violence on the wall, dead men and women hanging in pieces. Criss crossed in chains were open heads with no inner workings. Men of God that....she had only made peace with the good men and women of science who did such in some measure of devotion to learn God's instrument, though it still seemed sacriligeous. This was torchure! This was blasphemy all for the sake of his immortality! She screamed, covering her mouth as she turned her back on it. The tray of food seemed so wrong among the dead. To eat, with them around her? To sup, knowing she could join them..." My Lord it is in my soul that moves the heart, the mind , the blood, I can not tell you how it was placed there..or why but it is there..please..please the lights!" She pressed her forehead atop her thighs, hands clasped in prayer formation. "Grant..immortality?" She shuddered, she put her hands against her mouth at the spiral craze of such maddening stories! She sounded as much a saint as he was a sinner. To...to be with her....to consumate, was to....how dare they! She would know anger if she didn't know the sublime hysteria of fear. "I.." He was thrusting his rib cage, his flesh, to her. To heal, to grant....she was not God! She was neither a saint, or the blessed mother! The story of Talion's transformation was as elusive as that of her mind. Not desiring it, but the mind wanting knowledge.. her fingertips grazed over the old, whittled ribs until a flat palm was at his heart's center. The act bound them in shared space beyond eyesight, beyond reason as he saw life, and she saw his..bastard child of a Welsh prince running in the moors of this very country, a younger man bent over hisdesk as life tied them. He felt in the tangible her soft, soft flesh. Peace descended as a rush filled him, falling down a tunnel until she crossed the place where his instruments did his speaking. She fell back screaming..and he? Not immortal, nor so young. But invigorated perhaps from the experience of witness. Enlightened. (d) William Ockham and Jean Buridan There had been a mask pulled over his eyes, or silk from it he was not certain. Yet, there in one touch he felt years shed falling from him like tears, but over him like the first rain of spring. "You.." He gasped, a withered mouth drawn open as he let his head fall back, and suddenly the ache went away if only for a moment. "Speak nothing of this!" He rose to his feet like a frog across a pond, an easy dance perhaps as he laughed. "She is the one! She is she. Praise the Lord!" He opened his hands to turn them towards the heavens and in this he would start over in song of praise. Turning on her like a wild fire his eyes burned, "Again!" He screamed in reaction to her own, kicking his foot against the cage. "Get up."The younger man came to touch his Master's arm. "Look at her, William." He spoke cross seeing the desperation in her eyes, and the exhaustion in her screams. "Let us take her to a room, give her a proper meal." "ANd let her get away! Never." But the hour was late. "Get UP!" He kicked at the cage once more fumbling for his keys, but Jean held out his hand once more. "Do you not see you are fallen victim to her tricks. If you go in you may never come back..the guard." The one Eirian did get a hold of. "But her touch, boy. You must feel it." Suddenly the once great apprentice worried of his Master, and soon spoke reason behind him. "You must let her rest, you as well." It would be many hours before William of Ockham would sleep, but he would indeed let it rest for the hour. "Eat. Get your rest. I will return on the morrow." He could have kissed them all, the feeling seeming to buzz through his ears as the adrenaline rushed him. "Just think of what her daughter could do." He spoke to the guard who came in to follow behind him, leaving her alone with Jean Buridan who stood then next to the bar. He was fearless or so they had said. Unwilling in his path of the cross to allow such harmful ventures to pass once more. He felt a great pity in him, and turned to burn out the lights so that she would be left with only the dark. He pitied her, but stood watching all the same as she came tumbling back to the world. (d Lady Eirian Apollius "Dear God, oh God, dear God...dear God!" Eirian's eyes were scarred by the sight of life extinguished for pursuit of the Devil's whim. He praised the lord, but why! What had she done to him? Eirian shook her head as if to deny what he believed was true, her eyes turned to Jean Buridan with no apprehension this time to say he is mad, he is mad! He will kill us all oh God, help me! with the feeling it might have resonated in his thoughts. But that couldn't be so, either. No matter what was gifted unto a woman, she was still afflicted for Eve's original sin. No mater how pious, would not God reserve other mysteries only for men? As he went for his keys she backed away from the guard, who in subject to her screams began to shiver himself. Was it out of pity, or fear for his soul that the witch would suck him in. She wanted nothing of them until they said one word who's name was life itself to her mother. What the guard saw shift in her eyes was enough to make him all but drop her. "Careful! They say she wielded a sword n' can gnash and claw when of the mind! Like a wild wolf!" Wild wolf gone mad at the mention of her baby, "Have of your questions and answers upon me, but DO NOT TOUCH MY CHILD! My life force pays forefeit and you will never understand what it is you seek.." Was it a six year old child, or the aged brilliance of a woman come to thirty, near thirty and one they needed. Were they all linked and with one light extinguished the rest would not exist? "Leave her alone! I will....participate..in this...but do not harm her, do not!" The guard was all too happy to leave, and as the woman curled in to herself again limp hands gripped hard at her fabric. Sorrow, anger, fear, and loathing all clashed together. The wind moaning in her cell made the effect awe inspiring. (d)
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Post by Lady Eirian Gwenyth Apollius on Jun 12, 2010 0:21:12 GMT -6
Burning fire A light in the dark Shining day and night for me Flowing water The source of our life Covering the world Gentle air blowing Caressing my face... Carry me.. Sara Brightman - The Second Element Eirian let her face fall in to the keeping of her lap. Arms wound up around her head, fingers interlacing through the oil ridden hair days unwashed. She was beside herself - inside herself - wishing to be gone from the place. In the darkness, in a twist of irony she felt the cold comfort of peace. Her body rolled on to the side to make use of a fetal posistion for rest. At the very least, the Friars provided pots for her to relieve herself in. Yet who would come to empty them? With days of no food the vessels were at least empty. The only stink was the dank of being underground but she could find that paling in comparison to what was on the walls away from the comfort of the dark. The light showed defiled remains. The light she so adored showed the wicked vice of mankind. Men in Christian clothes defiled those bodies in the name of defying even Science, proving God and Science had no harmony here. William Ocham asked of her things that no human could ever do. He lived in his world of epic saints making Christ-like miracles and all she was, all she could ever be, was a woman with an extreme intensity for the truth. It was not her fault to be blessed with what now cursed her to this cell, to his hands. Hands that would cut her to ribbons if she offered no compliance...and yet? Anger manifsted in the moan of the wind so intense the guards would not enter the room where her cell was for belief she would kill them with it. Indeed, talk of times when they tried to grab her only to not be able to touch her were common. Of course they could have touched her! The misplaced fear was one of the few things that could keep her alive, she thought, a think she would need to twist to her advantage while being unable to lie lest she prove 'useless'. Ocham swore she gave him life when all she did was see the inside of his sick, twisted mind. He fed on his own zeal, wanting to see youth inside of her youth, forever inside of her eyes. In the night a fever gripped her brain until the warm turned in to a sea of images. Laughing with Ada in her kitchen at Arianna Hymerodraeth, speaking with Ealora in a wooded gland on the meaning of madness while the woman still found a way to laugh. Rosalind's child was her god-daughter. Peregine her husband's brother. The last hours before her capture spent with Maahes. His eyes of disbelief were something she wished that she could replicate! A blindness so thick she could leave this place in body.. all she could do now was be absent of it in mind. She saw Apollo's pipe smoke curling up as he sat children on his knee at the Willingham. Luke asked him questions before turning to his mother. Oh Luke, sweet boy climbing up her leg only to be joined by the girl who's name was something all humanity desired: Hope. Tears fell from her face as she promised her heirs, her husband, that she would guard them. She promised she would find a way home to them and sobbed harder for wondering if it was a promise she could keep. She saw every fractured kingdom of Scotland pass away with the old English kingdom that had been her life as a child, watching knights pass from moors as a barefoot girl cared only for sheep. Her mind was a beacon that rose up with moonbeams, dispersing into the night. only the gifted could find them, though she hoped none were so gifted they ended up in the hands of Ocham. "Deliver me, O God.."
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Post by Lady Eirian Gwenyth Apollius on Jun 13, 2010 1:33:54 GMT -6
Deliver me, loving and caring Deliver me, giving and sharing Deliver me, the cross that I'm bearing
All of my life I was in hiding Wishing there was someone just like you Now that you're here, now that I've found you I know that you're the one to pull me through Master Jean-Claude de AquitaineI WAS sick -- sick unto death with that long agony; and when they at length unbound me, and I was permitted to sit, I felt that my senses were leaving me. The sentence -- the dread sentence of death -- was the last of distinct accentuation which reached my ears. After that, the sound of the inquisitorial voices seemed merged in one dreamy indeterminate hum.(~ Edgar Allen Poe) It was the sound of silence that pulled him from his feverish dreams that seemed so vivid the prickling of the fear still pulled away from his flesh like silk pulled from his eyes. It was as if his soul was spread like a blanket, tied only in the middle to be lifted by a single strand--the fates held it tight, their rusted blade seemed so perfectly poised there waiting.The hour was late, he knew this from the voices that were vacant from the hall, and the dark spread shadow over the window treatments, yet the hour and day had all slipped his mind. He could have remembered them all if only he could gather his thoughts, but as his feet touched the floor the wave of illness passed. It was the steady nature of the ground beneath him that kept his strength, and the voice floating in the air like a song through the open hall. He had heard it in his dreams, this Master of visions, always did they come in his dreams. He had found that with any question, the answer there before him like a pendulum swinging all he had to do was touch it to stop time enough to hear it called.This voice...this voice..could have broke his heart, and vacant black eyes searched the room. Rising from the bed, wobbly at first it felt good to stand, and the long hem of the tunic went well to his thighs--oversized on such a thin frame, and far too sheer to ever be worn in public, Jean-Claude cared very little. The neck was open, nearly exposing all of his chest, and the color matched well the skin beneath. A man who spent so little time in the sun could have rivals the very haunted souls of the empty halls, a phantom of greatness gone. The once royal family of Aquitaine were known for distinct features, and Jean-Claude carried them all. The height, the broad shoulder bulky yet proportioned to appear ever so filled with grace, and the raven black strands that moved like wisps of smoke around his face--a perfect contrast to the white of his billowy lace trimmed shirt. "Une belle chanson..Ma petite." He whispered over the cool air of the long hall as he made his way towards the memory of her presence. "Qu'est-ce que c'est ?" His bare hand came to finger the cold stone of a path long forgotten as chance lead him, or was it the fever? A beautiful song...or was it? The closer he came the more the singing bird seemed to replace her beautiful voice for sorrow and agony. Her pain felt in his own chest, but when a glance was stolen back from where he came the sound emptied to complete and utter silence. Where was he? (d Lady Eirian Apollius In the depths of hell I call to you, O Lord. I cry for your saving mercies in a place where the enemey has none. Iniquity and vice are the food upon which they sup, my throat is parched for thy holy will as my succor. Unsatisified, I take none of their feast, for it is rot disguised as pleasentry. O Lord, strengthen my will against their temptations, make whole what is broken, and keep steady what faulters. Give not my mind to those who claim your grace but are clothed as wolves. O' God, save me I pray you!" Pitiful prayer from the depths of hell on pious lips was pretty enough to pass through the walls to the world above as faint whispers that made maidens cry and men venture to find fairy spirits that turned to women of golden hordes. Delusion never sounded so exquisite to the ear as devotion borne of despair. A man took hold of that voice, fancying choirs singing allelu. Through the stone it echoeduntil it nearly beat at the door of his chambers, curled in the hollow spiral of the ear. Feathers brushed a fevered face with promise to envelope him in mystery eternal if he would but fllow. So he walked through the dark theangels sang in....only the truth was less than aesthetic in surrounding. What were the wings of an angel were only the willow thin arms of a woman growing stark by the minute. Guards insisted she eat, but she would take nothing of theirs. Only by force had even water crossed her chapped lips. Any bread soaked even in wine had been pitched in to the chamber pot in violent heaves until the belly contents was only bile. She kept singing in his delirium, in reality she cried. Her belly ached with want of food and sickness of surrounding. Her body was in immense pain, and only curling into herself, upon her knees, relieved it. Hands in perpetual prayer revealed they still held the beauty of their trade: only the hands of delicate, gifted persons formed slender steeples. When her wrist moved it could have worn a bracelet of translucent smoke. "O Lord, open mine eyes to thy will, my soul to thy whim, but guide me as you have these years. Fill me with thy holy fear of revelation that it might not be used for evil, I beg thee! Oh Lord, do not forsake me!" No ear that heard this constant prayer wasn't moved, and were it not a fear of Ocham's wrath here greater than fear of God, they might have at least pulled her from the room of death. Even if they had locked her in a room with no windows, and one door, even that would be more Christian than the house of death (d) Master Jean Claude de AquitatineThe hall was long, the candles burning in every cove to light the world beneath the university, and every few feet a man stationed in a black robe would bow his head in the passing of the phantom. Jean-Claude felt himself in a dream, should he not realize that reality was indeed on the tips of his fingers. His hair was wild against his chest, and down his back that the man seemed more an animal then he ever had. The poised and proper was lost in the visions of what dreams had made him see, and the very act of God that brought him here. It is an infection..He had told William, that ran his blood cold, and boiled his brain. Along the walls the parts of the bodies remained, claw marks from where they begged for the release, and the half empty torture devises there simply waiting. He moved then like a panther finding that every so slight deathly step that seemed so collected. For all to see, the loose fabric hardly touched his body even in the way the wind from the open shaft pressed it against his chest. Some prince of the underworld he felt the most at home when all the light was gone, and the world above went about it's business. Yet..was that one of his subjects? Her prayers broke his heart, but the room had been cleaned of what body parts could be pulled from the devise. It was far too dark, far too much, that when he pulled from the darkness the light from the torch that remained by her side--the one beacon of hope, it pulled from him as if stepped out the pool of dark water. "Mon cher.." The richly accented deep purr of a voice who held for many years a strong hold on the university, and once filled the lecture hall with honest truth--modern science. "My dear sweet child..come to the light." He hated to see the subjects so, and was always one of the few to be so brave as to be as close. He would even go as far as touching the cold iron bars of her cage. "My child..do not be so afraid." What an enchanting way to answer a prayer of his own, with the sweet little hands all he could make out. "Tell me your name." He spoke again if she did not move, circling to the other side that would be closer to where she held herself. (d Lady Eirian Apollius "You know my name," she ceased her prayer to reply in strangled tones of song. Sing a verse, a chorus. It mattered little as long as she spoke no? There was beauty in her being, life exquisite in her fingertips to give. She was being raped for a falacy and caged for a truth. "You all know my name, my kindred, my children, my life yet it is not of my place to know you? I..I can not do anymore this day. I am worn...sir. Please, mercy pray thee. mercy. Even the guard seek question of their countless fortunes, their life, their death, the past. I can answer no more question though they violate Ocham's orders, no stop them, for the man called Buridan is not there. He has pity, do you? If so than if you can not release me leave me to my prayers...to the dark..please the dark! It is hell here.." The hands pulled back as she propped herself against stone wall. As the back erected, what remained of white silk robes embossed with gold were stained from all manner of refuse. Blood, dirt, moisture. The hands trembled. Try to stand up as she might, she couldn't, constantly caving in. All she could do was reach for the bars to assist her. No matter what, her eyes would not seek out his. Everytime they looked at her eyes they either were spellbound or lecherous. "It is hell by men who claim to do the work of God. There is no God here.... not even in the men, for they have defiled their status as holy vehicles, and holy men. Lucifer has taken hold of ever wall, every single entity. " Her mind was intact enough, though she swore she was losing it b ythe hour. Firesight collliding with the guards of this world. Water forced down her throat became the waterfalls of home. Reality and speculation were merging. "So then please, pray answer, why have you need to know my name?" Her knee gaveout from under her, and she fell to it. The woman was starving. (d) Master Jean-Claude de Aquitaine Leave it to William to never take care of his precious pets, really it was sickening. The guards could smell of their own desire, the fluids still fresh against them, and this could have broke him through to the round of anger sure to rise. "I have come in my Father's name, and you do not receive me. If another comes in his own name, you will receive him." (John 5:43) Jean-Claude knew the bible front to back, the pages of the script were recalled openly in the household of Aquitaine daily, for his mother so did love to have the one true man to ever love her close. "Petit Oiseau, non, there is nothing to be afraid of." This was madness, even he could see through the darker intent of this matter.His skin prickled with the warmth of familiarity, the voice seeming as sweet as he had ever heard it. She always sang such beautiful songs. She fell, and he could not reach her. "Mes amis..open this door." His accent never sounded so pure, in moments as this and it always set him apart. The guards stood still unwavering at the request, and Jean-Claude's hands slid down the bars as he turned his attention to them, his voice suddenly without the smooth gentle purr, but a rich deep dangerous growl. "Open these doors." In that moment a new shadow fell over the room, as William stepped through the caved matter of the opening. William Ocham "You are feeling better." Or so it seemed, the old man's heart beat wildly in his chest, finding still the figure of the small victory there with the point of breaking so near. "And how do you like my pet? Look." He opened his chest to reveal the once scar nearly vanished, and he stood rather straight. Master Jean-Claude de Aquitaine"William. THAT is not a pet. She is the Avarian Queen, and sits at the side of the crown. She is a gem to our nation, and you put her here?" He turned on the old man, and if possible William felt ill once again. "OPEN THAT DOOR!" The French never sounded so violated, so full of passions that very few could understand, and the rage swelled deep in the long sounds of the vowels. William stood back, pulled between the cross fires. William Ocham "I will not. Jean-Claude, really. You used to have such tact..you look..medieval. Please. Go back.." He would be cut off with one single motion removed from the ground his feet to be replaced it the very chair that had once held his subjects. The guards jumped at the sound of the locking metal holdings, and Jean-Claude would turn upon them. Motions that seemed as fluid as smoke, that filtered before the fire soon had each man upon the flat of his back. One guard's sword now pointed at the exposed chest of the friar William. Master Jean-Claude de Aquitaine"Let us not forget, Mon ami, who taught you what organs can easily be removed." Fury faced the wicked then, as William's cries spilled out into the hall as his blood touched the floor. A small cut really at his side, where the small bean shaped organ remained dormant in his body. There was no real use for it, but William did wish it to remain. The Friar spoke for the guard to open the door, and soon the sound of keys. (d Lady Eirian Apollius
Ask and you will receive, and your joy will be complete. (John 16.24) She replied to the bible with the bible, her phrase ironic in the sense she could not see the reception of her prayer embodied in the white shirted, pale man who spoke so sweetly, beckoning her to come forward from the pit of all disdain. Was he offering her a glimmer of hope? Let it shine brighter than the torchlight because even to glance from the side of eyes was to see the tools of man's inhumanity to man. Body parts still made ghost lines in her mind until full bodies pulsed. The last moment's of their lives were vivid in her eyes; poor eyes! How she wished for her fault to ignite herself, but no blindness would come. Not even the part of her eye always shielded by cobwebs over color could diminish the impact of what was viewed as her inevitable fate. In time he would grow tired of her, in time the force that compelled Ocham to keep her would have to be replaced by reality. When that day came? When the truth she could not give immortality or her visions wore down to the end, he would dissect her. She sunk into herself again but the tones of their voices begged her, no, demanded she lift up her head to acknowleddge Occam. Yet it was who was with him, someone who knew who she was yet made a bid for her dignity. "..wait.....wait.....you. I know you." fever pitched medely took her tones for a whirl, twisting them in a rapid wind as the cold entity blew hot now through the underground. As the guards opened the door she found a reinvigorated strength to pull herself up on the bars, to walk. When one of them dared try to assist her, she screamed in a pain wrapped with anger enough to make him fall back, "Do not touch me!!" She recoiled, and so did he. "She's a witch....the Friar keeps a devil's whore!" She shivered, none of those things. Cold and hot, angry and sad, happy and decived. She had to command her body to heed the reverse of what she'd instructed in the days since she lost count. To look up "Jean..Jean-Claude? Jean-Claude...you..you know him? This..this.....you know.." Her eyes looked as if they could cut him in twain for his affiliation yet forgave him at once, for he opened her door. She was so terribly confused, so terribly weathered. "Jean-Claude please, I ...I do not want to know..not....just please take me from here! The things he wishes to do...." She layed Occham bare on the floors, " He has spied upon me, he knows all of my life, unto my children! He will seek them out..he believes I grant immortality, he .....he has said, he has done, the most horrible things!" She looked at Occham's chest there was ..no way...her hands had done any healing. No, not a single spec! "HE IS A MONSTER! HE IS LUCIFER INCARNATE! I CURSE YOU! " She spat out at Occham, before her eyes teared. What was becoming of her? "I lose myself...I can not find it...Dear God." She bored her eyes down on Occham, and if he believed she cured him, he would believe in her curse.She wanted to..to claw at him, to visit her rage on him..but was simply too weak. (d) Master Jean Claude de AquitaineHis shoulders drawn back, he walked towards her closing the distance between them and offering an up turned palm to escort her. Even now. Even here. There was such a man to rival the rest, the truth of his heritage that even in the most simple of attire he could command the room. Her words cut through him, though he let nothing show on stern steady features; he was the rock that stood against the sea. "Then I shall hunt him down, and tear him limb from limb, Petit Oiseau.." That was his promise. "Did you think me simply the second hand to your husband's brother?" For that was all Eirian knew of him, the voice of reason to always be behind the pirate cleaning up the mess he did make. Could she even walk? The poor dear trembled, and his heart broke through for her. Her curse chilled his bones, and his arms ached to relieve her of this pain. This was true deep rooted pain. She feared, and he felt the empathy from it, and suddenly carried the little frame as if she were made of glass. William's voice broke out in uncontrolled violent screams. He had been cursed! He did believe with all his soul, wound by his madness like the hands of a clock he waited for it to strike midnight and the spell be broken. William Ocham "You are dying. Jean-Claude. Remember this! Without me, you could not cut her open. Without me, you would not find your way!" William could bend the truth, for all that thought themselves the hero when their mind was twisted around the truth. "You don't know what I've seen..What I've touched, Inside her Jean-Claude." Master Jean-Claude de Aquitaine "Is a woman, a cherished figure in our homeland." He finished the sentence for William, hardly able to tell he carried her. She was so frail. Dark circles under his eyes implied the truth behind William's words, and as the torches lit the halls the color of his skin did no better. The presence of one woman was enough to keep the guards from him. Claramae Duchess of the kingdom now, would have their lives dangling from threads in a matter of seconds. Would she be surprised to learn there was very much a good stout strong form beneath her, that now more then ever felt complete. He knew that dream to be true, that the song so sweetly sang to be his one ticket to forgiveness within the Lord's eyes. (d Lady Eirian Apollius"I can not hear anymore!" She wailed, Ocham's voice throbbing on the mind, filled with pestiulance and sin. Inside of her, apart of her. He took advantage of God's eye for his own benefit and she was forced to comply or greet early death. Her own sin made her skin crawl! "Take me, take me!" She clung to the Frenchman's garments, burrowing her face against his cool, pale skin. The dead carrying the lost in the presence of the damned. Such a trio they made! "How many days has it been..how many nights....I do not know.." She tried to gather sense but feigned a poor job of displaying any. Her body was shaken like a leaf even as she breathed, so when she coughed, was it enough to throw them off balance? It would take some time for her to realize she was being truly delivered from that place..time to gather enough of the sight of Jean-Claude to ascertain his status among the living. Strength displayed such fevor for life even as it slipped away from him, "He may never forgive you for this, Jean-Claude, where God will laud your name. I will keep it to my heart. " She shut the spectacular eyes. Hunger lit such fires in them, hunger for food, for salvation, for freedom. She viewed the world now with all the delicious madness of a blessed martyr. She had truly been on the verge of kissing God's mouth for as long as she'd spent in the spaces between. "W..Where are you taking me now?" she whispered, at last threading her arms around his neck. (d) Master Jean-Claude de Aquitaine"It is not his forgiveness I seek." He spoke so calmly, gentle, and quietly; that laced within each tender word was his apology that she had gone this long. "William, will come for you again. You gave him a taste. Any man such a fool to think himself not in love with the idea of you, would fall alone for the beauty of your eyes. Lady Apollus. I will take you home, but first we must notify Master Laurence." When she put her arms around his neck he only held her tighter, closing his eyes for a moment to keep with the feeling of his terror away. She could have been lost, and though his affection only ran so deep for her; he knew the entire nation would mourn. Adelaide, was so fond of Eirian, and Genna too. As they made their way up the halls, the woman who went by Mouse came flying, her words of worry quickly over the Master then over the woman in his arms. She had seen her only once, being drug in through the servants entrance, and gasped at the sight. What a change, "Mistress Mouse, please. Will you start her a bath, send for her some bread and honey. She is near starved, but we must not allow too much." He gave his commands like a true soldier, though his fight was never on the battlefield, but in politics and classrooms. Mouse would give a quick nod sending for the food first. There was a great room there before her, with the pressing of the doors. Old books over the desk pages half empty, half read with broken promises about continuing their work. He placed her in the chair by the fire, moving to open the window so that the fresh air could find it's way in, and in hope fill life back to the little song bird. Jean-Claude resumed his role as doctor, as he went to tending for her. "Please. Remove yourself of those clothes." The smell of her, nearly did him in. The air still clinging even to her hair. Mouse drew a bath, filling the tub in the middle of the room while Jean-Claude started on the privacy screens. (d Lady Eirian Apollius"We are all far less than the greater glory of God, Jean-Claude. We all seek his love, and so learn..to love ourselves....It is.hard to do." She was trying, latching on to his every word and trying to hold conversation as a humanbeing. So long referred to as 'pet' as 'play thing', she was forgetting how to live while clinging to every memory of ever doing it. Eirian was stronger than any gave her credit for, but all have a point of breaking. The woman who could move mountains with but a prayer and sought to change the world with the tiniest of hands was reduced to a shadow of any glory. As they moved through the halls, something in her said they were above what had been below. To be above it left her like ashes, but it was better than being below. Once she was settled by the fire in a chair, once given instruction, she had to remind herself it was not for experiementation, but sense. She must..smell, look, sound.was...awful. She must, relieve herself of that. The idea of anyone else touching her was enough to force her body to work against itself as she cried true tears all the while. Stiff, stuck limbs undid knots to pull apart the robe garment. Screens hid the sorrowful work written on her body in bruises, broken vessels. A limp indicated aggrivated bones as she whispered, "It is.. done." (d) Master Jean-Claude de Aquitaine "It will not be done, until he is dead." William truly wasn't a bad man, but one so twisted every way that he could not see the method behind his madness anymore. Jean-Claude spoke to her outside the screen, as Mouse came to help her bathe, feeding her bits of bread followed by small amounts of honey. She would wash the Queen's hair, and be so mindful of her bruises. "You should have the Master look at this one." Her little sweet voice spoke as she ran the cloth gently over Eirian's back. Her heart simply melted for the woman and she wished only to mend her at her side. So this was the witch that had the entire University on lock down? This. This little woman right here. Really the shame! "And anywhere else.." Jean-Claude came to dress, or at least do up the laces of his shirt, "I will need to look at them all, Eirian, but the water will help heal. Adelaide's salts there in the mix." What he wouldn't give for her right now. "If I did not worry the night air would kill you, Master. I would think you to leave tonight." She frowned pushing a strand of Eirian's hair back from her face. When the bath was over, Ada had left behind her nightdress by request of his poor heart that ached without her. They were about the same size. He really did feel like a giant against them both, "If you do not mind, Mouse. I would have a bed made for me on the floor is fine. Change the linens of the bed so that the Lady Eirian will have a place. I will not have her leave my side. We will leave first thing in the morning." Turning then to Eirian, as Mouse went on her little venture he would simply feel his heart break. "If it suits you." (d Lady Eirian Apollius
"Please forgive..my words, Jean-Claude. It is not wise to pray for another's death, so I will not. You will not see me mourn him if it does" She was aggitated beyond belief, the name Ocham would be enough to set her off on a tanget in the days to come. Tears might flow in horror's honor or anger be spewed from the pretty mouth where all things holy dwelled. Her irreverance was in sweet delights, a smile shared with the likes of Adelaide. It was with those that knew her best breaks in only the most Christian of humor entertained reasons to laugh. At first, the food Mouse offered was met with gags until she forced herself to swallow. To her surprise, she hadn't lost her taste. Dirt melted from the flesh to reveal to Mistress Mouse a woman as pale as her master was, her hair dark as jet when the refuse was pulled from it. Untangled, the mass of hair was near as long as the woman! "If..it must be done. I don't relish the idea of being looked..at..further. It..isn't you. Just..the nature of things." Full length of sentence collapsed under the occasional feeble set of vowels and consanence interrupted by memory. Still, it felt better to be rid of it, to be clothed anew. Mouse was instructed to do as Jean-Claude bid, and to her surprise Eirian did not refuse him. "It..it suits me. I am scared of what will come in sleep. I don't think I've slept since my capture..I stopped counting after the fourth day. All days were four, but it is surely longer. In the morning, I must..." she winced forcing herself to stand as she closed what bit of distance there was between them with her walk, "Find way to make sense of this. Ocham's heresy will drive him to look for my children...Jean-Claude, it will drive him to harm Talion. I can't...not my family. Not my daughter, or my son. God how fare they..my babies. I can not even hear them anymore..All I hear is." She bit into her lip, ashamed, "forgive me. It all has been one long...nightmare. It is a nightmare, even now." She looked up at him, inclined to ask, "Do you know of me what he knew of me,Jean-Claude, and do you believe it?" (d) Master Jean-Claude de Aquitaine
There was little time between Mouse changing the sheets, and cleaning up the room. She really has become a worth while maid. "Do not fear it. Eirian, I shall be here. He will not come for you, not knowing I had sent a letter to Claramae three days ago of the project. She will soon be aware, his name on everything here." He would almost motion to the large desk under the window to show her the notes, but the sketches of the insides of a human body would no doubt be best kept to himself right now. "It has been a very long time. He spoke of you last week, when he came to my suite. Shhhh." He tried to sooth her, turning back the covers and up his hand to assist her in the depths of the sheets. They were not his silk sheets, Ada spoke about over cards with the ladies, but they were fine no doubt. "Lady Artisan," He took a seat on the plush winged chair at the bedside, placed there by the healers that tended to him. "Rest you, let this nightmare end so that a sweeter dream may begin. You will get home to your family." Did she know he was afraid to sleep? Afraid he would not wake up. Though, in truth he did not fear death. "William will not survive the wrath of the Generals you keep close to your heart, and I bet Peregrine is not far." Sitting back in the chair he would put off inspecting her until she was asleep, for fear of mounting some sort of reality. She really has been through hell. "Sleep now. I shall be here when you wake." And he would, right there in that chair. (d
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Post by Master Jean-Claude d'Aquitaine on Jun 14, 2010 8:43:54 GMT -6
Fearless people, Careless needle. Harsh words spoken, And lives are broken. Forceful ageing, Help me I'm fading. Heaven's waiting, It's time to move on. Crossing that bridge, With lessons I've learned. Playing with fire, And not getting burned. I may not know what you're going through. But time is the space, Between me and you. Life carries on... it goes on. Just say die, And that would be pessimistic. In your mind, We can walk across water. Please don't cry, It's just a prayer for the dying. Through most of the night Jean-Claude sat beside her, soothing away the dreams that came with a rush, and woke him from his upright slumber so fitting of a physician. It had been many years since he had sat beside the bed of a patient, waiting through the night to insure they carried on through morning. Julian had been his last when he carried the flu, and just as he brushed the back of his apprentice so too did he the Lady Artisan; gently of course, while she slept he tended to her wounds. Removed of his overcoat, his attire then rather simple. A new white blouse to fall around his hip, oversized on purpose for it gave him freedom in his motions, and freedom to attend what was necessary while keeping his modest approach to life. Yet, as he rose from the chair, the silence of their room seemed overwhelming as even the fire that burned in the hearth made little sound. Jean-Claude needed to send letter to Claramae, but as he stood shivering he felt the return of the cold sweat. He would go to God then in prayer, having always been a loyal subject he would ask forgiveness for his curiosity of the Lord’s finest work. “Give me strength to get her home, My God.” The French prayer started with his head bowed over his arms as they were folded over the hearth. The long lines of his body outlined by the fire that seemed to dim in his presence. Through the thin gossamer fabric the outline of a man indeed, one tall that his body seemed only naturally thin. Yet, indeed there was much a stout servant there. He was broad shouldered, with a narrow waistline that continued down the length of his body. Never in all of his life had he wanted Adelaide here more, but as he moved then from his silence to the desk to which to write, he would start a letter to Claramae. To The High Duchess,
Your Highness, I regret to inform you that all here in Oxford is not well. Upon, my illness I was given leave to roam the halls, well enough to find the under passages to which Sir William Occam Still worked. Within the series of cages the Lady Artisan who I dare say is in far better shape then the last I discovered, but still a very tattered soul. She is without her children, and has been without sleep.
I have taken the liberty of seeing to it William is locked up while I tend to the Lady Artisan, but I fear he will not be held long. The law here stands on his side, by order of the church. You are the only with power to see to it he remains behind bars. I beg you please send order swiftly, I fear both for the Lady’s sanity, and life. The letter would continue until the last paragraph to which the professional tone would fleet, and a more somber gentle voice to continue. William has taken a good portion of her soul I fear with him, and I do wish to remain at her side. Should she be moved to London, I will follow. I fear that I am far too ill to remain here, and do my job with justice. I do hope that when I recover that I shall be able to return, but until then it is upon my recommendation that the University find refuge somewhere within the city.
Forever Your Loyal Friend, Jean-Claude Returning to her side, he listened to her cries in her sleep once again, and Jean-Claude put his bare hand there upon her back. She was such a warm creature, and he shivered with the cold sweat the small touch would benefit them both. “Shhh, Ma Fille” He soothed her hair from her face, this little bird soon to capture a good deal of his heart as well, already occupied by the she-cat. It somehow seemed to fit. Lyrics, Prayer for the Dying-Seal
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Post by Master Claramae St. Laurence on Jun 15, 2010 0:25:02 GMT -6
There Is No God in Oxford
Master Jean-Claude de Aquitaine
He sang her a French lullaby, soft words spoken as delicate as her porcelain hands, his own cracking now from the pressure. Somewhere in the midst of it all Jean-Claude wandered through space and time listening to the world pass by as day turned into night once more. He had sent letters to every corner of the earth, in hopes that they would reach in time. Jean-Claude had a well trained voice, that could have rivaled the deadly fingers that passed through her hair as he sat on the edge of the bed. Would she have thought him insane with just this little touch alone, he felt his own strength return. It had been enough, this small time together that had him up and dressed, his hair washed and combed. He carried the scent of Adelaide's finest, and the deep crimson of his overcoat a vast change to his seemingly darkened personality. Really, there was not such a horrible man beneath, but always would they judge first the book by it's cover. (d
Lady Eirian Apollius
The sleep was fitful at best despite the soothing tones of the French lullaby meant to send even the most fitful of children to sleep. By the time she grew soft upon the bedclothes, her form would tense. Fingers gripped a the pillow before the body contourted. Silent screams on clenched lip; the lower tier bit until it bled, the covers turned into knots under her hands. It would be when her hair flipped back from the brow he could see the thin razor edged line of a cut deep enough to have begun to inflict damage. What had he pulled her from? The same slash marks were beneath the scalp, yet her hair had never been shaved away. "Fire, it is everywhere..the fire.." Did he say his past, her own future? In time it would become to much and she woke up screaming, struggling to find the difference between reality and what was the future..."They are going to die.." It was cryptic, omnius.
Countess Evangeline O'Cathasaigh
It was not the road behind the Arch-bishop's body that took long to travel or the directions to breech the inner sanctum of the palace that took long to decipher. It was the feeling that coming in as a funerary procession would not be as easy in the leaving. Rhupert had done a tip-top job of driving in the cart, Old Man lePower provided exceptional story. Would 'uncle' be fretful when his neice went to mourn in peace away from prying eyes? She had gone from mourning niece too expected mistress of His Holiness! The idea of what she was supposed to exude made her stomach flinch at the thought, for his holiness was still hidden under raw building materials as she was told surely he went on some sort of progress, and would return soon. She was given a room beside his. Be damned, being a beaten irish wife (in the former), it prepared her too well to enter places she shouldn't, hide when she needed to. She was searching every corner over days, what had Fao found, had he assumed a role as a guard? So far she found scant little that would assist the the campaign, and worried with every passing day the body would be harder to place
Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence
Matters of a pair of days became more with an ease that did not bode well with the plans of the Lady who reviewed the state of Warwickshire with its Earl. Her mind was fractured. In the South was the body, the mind was North, East, West. Men were being assembled, deals being conducted as the root of all evil was being uncovered at the pace of a nun's walk. It was with care they tread, but they hadn't time for care. In the North, people were pulled by threes to the pyre. Shaved heads in garments of soiled white, beaten, praying for aid when none would come. The Law of the Church was supreme, the secular never truly took hold as hard as the Griffin would have liked outside of certain cities. On a day of no consequence that should have had full consequence, the letter from Jean-Claude manifested from a messenger who endured quite a bout to arrive. The streets were littered with signs of the cross as the 'faithful' flocked to the Christian North. The Spanish North. A north slowly bleeding down the nation straight for where they stayed. "Oh my God.." The Lady said aloud, and gave Atherton no chance to disuade her from the roads at least carriage! People were fleeing now in various directions by the day. Yet there she would be, upon the Black Freesian..her last commands were this: "Have your smithy build me a breast plate, Atherton. My maids will lay the remainder of my attire. On my return, we will begin the upward ascent to battle." For now, she had to find out what remaind of any of them....and why more secrets came (d)
Master Jean-Claude de Aquitaine
"No, no, no." He shook his head, holding her gently by her arms to keep her steady, to direct her attention to his eyes. "No, no one is going to die, Eirian." His heart broke. "I've got to get you out of here." He whispered looking around the room, clutching her to his chest, trying to center his thoughts, but she clouded them up, filled them with the idea of her visions. His silk covered fingers did brush through her hair, pushing back form her scalp to see the marks, and his heart raced. "Mon dieu..." Across the county Claramae took the Lord's name in vain, it was only fitting he should to. Outside the university men in their long black robes stood by the door, lining the halls their chants to start in a slow murmur as arms raised enough to herd back the onlookers who dare peer inside. Like a choir their voices rang emptying the halls, like ghosts moaning in prayer. It chilled Jean-Claude, enough that he shook in the moment, to which they said someone had walked over his grave. "Come. Get dressed. Quickly." He hissed, drawing the sword from the wall, decor no less, still the rapier blade sharp. "They are coming for you." Hands would start up the large brass buttons of his cuff, and along the pearl inseam cufflinks of his sleeve. In all his glory, this was how the French prepared for battle. It was a rare sight, one even his fiancee had only sparked a single time in all their career together. No doubt, he and his cane were a fierce sight (lol) and where others had laughed, they would be pulled to silence at the swift deadly motions of the flick of his wrist. This sword was good. Mouse came flying as pale as a ghost, out of breath, "M'lord..you can not." She cried, turning to Eirian, "They'll kill him." (d
Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence
"Out of my way, out of my way!" All that had time to follow the Duchess were but a few quick men, no more than five, when she should have been in a contingent ten to fifteeen men deep. It was only their horses that parted the road of people moving to where safety or sanctity called them. Her eyes didn't dare look on them, lest she slice them down where they stood. Cull the weak to encourage the strong. Blinded by salvatation falsehood or genuine fear, a few clung to her horse, begging to be taken along. Others insisted she side with spain. Would she not find a way, others told her of the North. "Please, I bid you move. Move and if you are of stout heart to Warwickshire, to Warwickshire to be counted among our men!" At times it came to be so bad the guard would encase Claramae, using their feet to knock people aside. Beyond London, to Oxford they came to the side of a low rise to view the outside of Oxford gone made. The plague of the North touched the outside of the University. Men of learning were turned into banshees for Christ. "We shouldn't..." "No! What guard remain you gather them, open the doors..if they heed not command you will shoot them. Skewer them, I have no care by means of death you employ! Do you not see if we do not find them, they will be swallowed. Gone!
Lady Eirian Apollius
Eirian pulled herself from the inside of her mind with great difficulty. It was admirable, the way she conquered not only the want for the gift to swallow her mind, but the encroaching blindness of her eyes. She pulled herself out of bed, throwing weak hands across folds of fabric as Mouse diliently buttoned. She looked no more or less than mouse, how fitting to be attired in soft gray folds once more. A life she might have led, a reverand mother this one if god had not called her to be a mother of children. "You should not die here today. The fires are here, Master de Aquitaine. You have but to listen. Mouse, bar that door. For the love of god bar that door. We must take another way out, please! Please...do not let the fate of so many be your fate. The screams.... from York!" She bit into her lip to recover a moment's sanity, pulling on the older man with expectancy of Mouse to know a servant's way, any way! "Hurry, Lady Mouse...The Devil is nigh!" She sounded like a left over relic from Delphi.
Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence
"They will destroy Oxford!" "Let them have it then, and let it be rebuilt away from this vice. This was not its intention, and damn it man, we still have Cambridge." She road out forward with the guard, her voice slicing down the path to the college with startling accuracy! " IN THE NAME OF THE KING, BY THE POWER VESTED AS YOUR DUCHESS, STAND DOWN AND OPEN THIS DOOR ON PAIN OF DEATH!" (d)
Master Jean-Claude de Aquitaine
A wicked wind came barreling through the halls, as every door started their slamming shut. As if on cue there was a quick pull that kept it all in place, and here there was the rival of an Order. They had no name, but if their cause was under the Lord. Jean-Claude felt his heart beat in his chest, a slow drum that he heard behind his ears--his pulse keeping steady the warning. "They will not burn this school, and I will not cower." He hissed, a feral sound that was like a rare jewel, hidden in the pocket of the rich, and now on clear display. "They will not take you." Mouse was beside herself, as if it would be best she ran for hot water in place of somewhere to stay. Buridan, made little sound as he moved through the passage, "Jean-Claude, you can not be a fool." He spoke once a student, now a scholar. Outside the men in robe, whose songs of prayer became chants like a occult given leave on this full moon. "We want the witch." The answer came to Claramae, "She holds the key to eternal life, she must be punished, she must be destroyed..she delivers madness." "Your King holds no ground here over the Church, and by the high order he declares this place a sinners realm." Waving their arms, in attempt to spook the horses, their robes seemed red underneath as if winged demons. Jean-Claude, turned upon Buridan shaking his head, "There is not way out, You could follow that route all you wish, they all lead to the caverns. Do not think for a moment, I am a fool. You of all should know, there isn't anyone out there to rival mine." He narrowed his eyes at the man, who in turn seemed ready to fight for the other end, still a youth in his eyes, but very much a Master in his own. This was it. He knew his heart, that pulsed behind his ears. "Go..I'll hold them back." Mouse started to protest, but he held up his hand. "I am at my deathbed! God-damn it." Big words for the Master, "I am not going out running." He snarled, and Mouse drew back, "You take care of her." He pointed to Eirian, and in his fluid motions moved to close the distance between he and the Lady Artisan. In a single drawn motion his hand came to cup her the small of her back, a motion of dominance in his normally passive form, that caused bodies to bend together forming an alliance of soft curves and porcelain carved figure. She was at such an angle that in that moment he felt as if he stood atop the world staring down the rolling valley, the cool sweet smell of the soft green fields, and the very wild wind--she held them all. "Give zis to Adelaide," and with that his pale thin lips pressed to her own, and parted only to take in her bottom lip as if he refused to release her. Sparks flew behind his eyes, as a shudder pressed through him, and his body burned hot though removed of it's fever--he had not wanted to let her go, but did. Not once asking for forgiveness. Rogue. Peregrine would have been slapped. (d
Lady Eirian Apollius
"Listen to them, Jean-Claude, listen please! This is folly, this is fool's glory and you are too much of brilliance to have it so!Please..do not do this!" She threw her hands over her ears, their prayers, their screams. Imagine listening to the voice of twenty men as forty men, fifty as a hundred. Oxford made her spirit sink deep as she drew on so many lives she could hardly differentiate anymore. She wanted to cry! No sound aloud of the maudlin echo, only tears moving down her face, "By all that is holy let God take you if it is your last hour do not deliver yourself to his..not again!" She knew. She'd seen, in the fires of this world and of times agone. "Please!" Mouse was already sobbing, drawing Eirian up into her arms until the moment that Jean-Claude did what would have made William Ocham rage with jealousy. He charged her with his last breathe, his last kiss. "No..no.." Buridan had to drag her from him, as her screams rose up in the night with the prayers as the doors began to crack, to breakThe siege was upon him. "Jean-Claude, Jean Claude!" For once, the weak woman was nearly too much for Buridan. He began to believe the story of the guards when first the caught her, of a woman who lived so well she had no will to go. If God had given her nearly thirty years instead of the less than twenty she was destined because of her frailty, why not him?
Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence
"Save your blasphemy for a later interlude, I gave you an order!" What guard they could assemble not part of the contingent of mad students formed ranks around the Duchess. It would be a massacre, a holy massacre that would stain her hands. Students infected with Ocham madness, no doubt, to be reasoned with? They lost the chance to reason when they lost theirs. The front crazed began to pull at the horses of the guard, spooked, only to find an example in their duchess .Making the Freesian rear, she brought the beast's front hooves down on top of a black robed back with no qualms at all. He screamed, and what did she do? She had the beast trample his neck. Then walk across him. They parted some, one screaming to the left "Have no fear in the face of the Devil .The Lord is with us!" There were crude weapons among them, knives..fueled by their religion. A false one. Claramae was more God's servant here, Jean-Claude his apostle, than these who viewed them both as heretics. Another few moved forward, only to be dispersed in a sheer panic when it was ordered they be shot down, cut down. All that mattered were the Master de Aquitaine and those he deemed fit, the rest? "Meet God that much sooner!" None had ever bore witness to who or what she truly was until that night. Those that lived would say the Duchess was surely devil held. No woman could produce a crossbow and shoot three men in succession(d)
Master Jean-Claude de Aquitaine, William Ocham
Never. Women were not meant to be anything beyond the kitchen, yet here Claramae moved. The room now void of the rest, and doors banging at their hinges Jean-Claude moved to his medical bag, the last of it's kind--a little black vial full of what to be the last; the very reason his heart was giving out. It was not of the fires that killed him, nor the age that crept slowly on him, it was the work of his own hand. Uncorking the top he would turn it back, to cough as it stung the entire way to his chest burning until forward he would double over a sound to escape him as if agony had no other name. It was a roar that pulled him up, his body jerking with a shudder once more though this time it was almost primeval. Modern science was best left to those old scholars, but mixing the two had been his most profound art. Suddenly the liquid could have filled his eyes, as if someone had put a needle to his iris and the solid black spilled out. He felt nothing--no pain, and when his boot came to knock through the door it would barrel back the two men who tried to pull it open. "You son of a bytch." The scientist struck him, leaving many wide eyed...wasn't he supposed to be sick? In fluid motions, Jean-Claude charged through the men, the small hand held dagger moving from it's spring loaded contraption to rest against his palm in aid to what the rapier would miss. Not this University. They could not have it. He was rather looking forward to coming back to teach. It was not William who came to greet Claramae, no that man was long gone in his madness. He went by no name now, for he had no law, and only the head of one of Clarmae's faithful servants severed from the mouth down. "THIS is your God now. Let us see if she too has the key." He pointed the head in the direction of Claramae, the Duchess. "Do not be so tempted to run! Cowards. She is but a woman! A girl beneath all those clothes." He chuckled madly, turning away from the crowd. "Skin her. Make her beg. She will know God's wrath at the betrayal of England. Remind her of what her mother was." How did he know? (d
Lady Eirian Apollius
"Father Buridan, Father Buridan.....take men not far from this place, there must be something to be done! I can not leave..not this way...not when this is all of my fault." Mouse was distraught enough at what she saw would be the loss of her beloved master. Such bonds, such bonds held together those in the darkest of places. Did they feel love? Yes. Did they feel joy, elation? Yes. They were human, if not far more subject to the postivies and negatives of the condition. Somehow, Eirian need but view them, some of them, to steady her thoughts..somehow. There must be..something! But one word and William believed himself cursed!
Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence
"You are done for, Ocham. Do shut up." She snarled, watching him walk away with the name for God to a child who had never forgotten what it was to live Liadan St. Laurence. She looked to the guard at the right, the left, and soon found they would be caught in a swarm. What would be the savior? Speed. She charged the horse through them as they tried to pry her off the saddle, only to find she slid like liquid through their fingers. Vapor curled at their feet! A head rose, a body descended down. She lept on it, up high enough to mount a chest before taking it down. "The Master, Guard the Master for he has shown as the Way, The Key! We must have the Key and kill its keeper.We are the only ones that are worthy! Do not shy away, brothers, do not shy away! " Captured skirts resulted in caught arm, a man thrown. A mere girl? A mere girl who moved like a black cat, a mere girl who lived on the outside when she belonged hidden, but alas. It would be a bloody display! She had killed no less than six men and wounded three more, breeching the inner doors. The other men were already engaged, inflictedplunging swords and slit throats as others were pulled down from horses to be undone in unspeakable ways. "Jean-Claude!" not his last name, his first. The name to which God would call him, "Jean-Claude!" With lifted skirts, she moved through the fray, scaling wall pieces to move above the villany. If they did not try to catch her, they stared in shocked horror. He wouldn't be left to this fate, he would not end up like the Headmaster, the Archbishop, Her Master...their friends...her mother. He would not be left to die for family never leaves their own to perish. When the length of concievable thin rails ran out? She plunged down like some great creature, stilletos drawn. (d)
William Ocham, Master Jean-Claude de Aquitaine
"No you! You shut your mouth!" William turned again, "You have no idea what is to befall you child, your precious England..I have seen it! I have watched it in the eyes of the Lady Artisan while she cried for mercy!! You will survive this night, but the others..In your castle. IN YOUR CASTLE!" He cried out the head held by it's hair dangling with tongue, lower jaw removed but still attached the tongue. He truly was possessed. "SHe knows it all. She can see it all. We will never stop for her." He chattered moving down the hall disappearing as he went. Jean-Claude did not take his victims with such elegance, no tonight their heads sliced clear from their bodies, and the fates of their lives ended on such a horrible note. Sweat rolled over his neck and down the small of his back under his coat. A primal man turned at the sound of his voice, and the strands of ebony seeming to move about his head like some wild vicious animal. He had been pressed against the set of stairs, the stone ledge at his back, and sword freed from his hand by a single motion, and the leather of his glove to come upon the tip of the sword that nearly missed his heart. With a pull Jean-Claude found the man's hilt in his hands, and the man turned to his fate. William would clap, then causing the room to be silent, "This is the part I love the most!" He carried out his voice commanding the attention, "I have watched it, over and over again in my head. The Raven, the Sparrow..and the Nightingale.." He called out once again, and the silence was broken once more by the sound of Jean-Claude's newly acquired sword hitting the floor. It came with a shock at first, the pain that tore through him like electricity, that he gave no sign of feeling. "His heart stops." William motion to Jean-Claude, who in fact did clutch his chest, doubling forward to one knee, then to further move over the ground, his insides threatening to remove themselves. "She will come...You will all be witness! It was my doing! Remember this!" William stood watching, waiting for the door that in his vision he had watched Eirian come through. (d
Lady Eirian Apollius
"Jean-Claude!" Her cry echoed with the cry of Claramae ,
Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence
"Jean-Claude, no, no!" At that moment, Occham would not have expected one of his birds to be a claw baring, sharp, hell possessed harpy pulled him down to the ground without a secondary thought. "SHUT UP" One of her Stilleto's finished the work of his deformed mouth, curving his smile up to his ear! To keep him crippled, she broke his hand with her foot, and disjointed his leg. "GET AWAY FROM HIM!" Right hand was flexed, small darts shot out, taking down any infront of her path.
Lady Eirian Apollius
"Jean-Claude, Claramae? Claramae is there! They will die, they will die Father Buridan Please!" Her eyes implored him, enchanting...now asking him to let those eyes move mountains in God's name on behalf of their friend, on behalf of England! What would befall?
Countess Evangeline O'Cathasaigh
In Canterbury, the streets began to whisper in the moments Evangeline's hands touched the Archbishop's true message, as Faolan crept up to the edge of the dark. What of Rupert, of Le Power? The streets filled with people with stories, and already the call for the Archbishop to lead a mass in prayer was resounding...
Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence
She plowed through the living, the dying, to catch him in her arms in his turmoil. "Do you hear me, you god damned noble Frenchman I won't, I simply won't have it!" She hissed...pulling out shards of wood from hits she'd take feeling the slices of blood on her legs for not even she could survive this with no scratches. She pulled him into her arms, up, and followed the same path as set out by the Father, The Nun, and their captive Holy Ghost. (d)
Jean Buridan
"He will take you again. You will..not survive. There have been others." In all that was right in the world he could have given her everything, a man who vowed to never desire a woman thought himself empty without her. She was indeed enchanting. "Come. This way." Though he was glad in the robes of his profession he wore nothing but muted tones, and when the shadow of the room. "I will protect you, but you must be quick." Through the halls they moved now. "Go. Quickly." The room was silent, with all awaiting the arrival of the Eirian, as if to wait for the child of God to rise again. They would mark her as such in years to come.
William Ocham
Giddy as a child, he seemed so alive in the moment watching for the doors to swing open. "There! Look there! She will bring glory to us all! It is my doing!" He reminded them over and over again. It would only be when Claramae cut him would he step back, seeming to break form his daze only to scream out into the night.
Jean-Claude
"It is finished." She was safe for now, and he too finally be free of his pain. Jean-Claude had forgiven himself of the fires years ago, but now lived with it the burden. He had not wanted to leave her, and would have confessed as much if he were able to confess his sins. He had gone to see Eirian, not because he felt it wrong, but because he wished to hope one more time at a second life. His discovery grim, and very much what he feared greatly. He had become an animal too in his days of science, would have been along side William.What if that had been Ada? Someday, even Genna. Eirian had asked him, if he believed, and he had not given her an answer before she fell victim to exhaustion. He did, but he would simply never ask it of another. Jean-Claude felt himself selfish enough with asking Ada to be his wife, knowing that someday he would only leave her in death. He was unaware at how soon it would be. (d
Lady Eirian Apollius
"No.." Her voice was soft, following the edict of the vision already laid out..she left Jean-Buridan. Turning her head over his shoulder, her steps still weak the eyes told him be not afraid...hold..but a little...just hold..She shivered, nearly offering herself to the slit Ocham, slit indeed. That permanent razored smile granted him by the Duchess, that ear to ear commeration. " I have the Key...William Ocham." Some fell at her feet as if she were Mary. Her soul shuttered. This was blasphemy, this was not God. She would pray her penance for a hundred days after but knew, in some ways..she was the way. One of the guard looked up, as if entranced. It made no sense to him! He still pulled his bound captives back, as other guards did the same, so diminishing the room's number. She even pulled back her hair, lifted her eyes. Some were too scared to look, others were captivated. It was amazing what the zealot's mind would concoct, and she took poor advantage of the misled souls. "I didn't know..if..you were But I see, you would do anything. Be anything. For God." She came to him, touching a hand at first..then up, swallowing her own bile at his bloody countenance. Then further still..to his temples. At first the reunion was so sweet, as if meeting one's wife...and then. And then? All he wished was granted him..
Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence
"Why did you let her go!" She bellowed at Buridan, holding JC now so close to her heart, as if her body alone could protect him.(d)
William Ocham
The room did bow, as the friar made his cries. In all that was right in the world, they had never been this close. For years to come, this University whose corruption came with the changing ways. This would find place in the scripture. His heart stopped, Sir WIlliam Ocham, greatest mind of all of England whose theory even after his death would influence further generations of science. For now. He fell."She knew." Buridan responded, "You could not have said no." He came to her side, Claramae, the Duchess he had not yet met. It would be his greatest honor, and he would never realize as he came to aid them both. "You can not fault me." The sight alone nearly tore him out, what happened to William..his cries. It served him right, they had indeed made the wrong move. He should have released her long ago. This cost, nearly everything. "They will burn this whole place. We must leave. He is gone." The color of Jean-Claude's skin too pale, and it would cause Buridan's head to bow in prayer. Reaching out he touched Claramae's shoulder, "Leave him." (d
Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence
"Let them burn it, by mandate let it be scourged. There is no God in Oxford now, and if we do not leave..there will be none left in Canterbury. I, sir, am not leaving my brother." She had enough strength to carry him..knowing in the wake of Ocham's 'enlightened' end, the reality of them touching her would be delayed by their shock. Had he found purgatory or paradise? Where they right, or damned? "So if you will not assist me, Sir, you are commended to fetch the Lady Apollius. Do not make me have to say she dies to." She walked with Jean Claude down now empty halls, he would not be carried out like some black thing. No. Let them look on what they'd done. Let any that still had love for him see what they had done and know the price of their sin was in her hands. Unlike the sweet woman who walked from Ocham, whom as she walked was either reached for or found men screaming in her wake, she would not discriminate. She had no mercy. Not a single shred.
Lady Eirian Apollius
"The Kingdom of God is not within houses of stone, nor the altar. It is in you, and all around you." She whispered, recoiling from their touchonly to find their insanity made them think she cursed or blessed them. Let it so be then. She would be their saint if it meant she lived one more day "They will burn it any moment. You must hurry. To come back, the same way you came.To turn only to the left, not the right. " She lifted her skirts and fled, as if to disappear but would surely find Buridan awaiting her company. They would all meet up upon the road indeed.
Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence
"I love you, and I will not leave you to die." Tears. True tears slid unbidden down her face. The guards did battle with the last few who did not know the end had come.They already saw Oxford, their pyre. That hall, to be lit, to die with the man who knew the Key. "I simply won't let it be so.." With every step her rage grew and her heart broke. England was broken and bitter under the footsteps of those who had come to save her. She did not have to fight her way out, and only struggled a little to keep his body in her arms. She indeed got what she came for.Only...let it be not like this. (d)
Mistress Mouse
The guards that passed would stop, drop to a knee and remove their helmet, for the sight of her carrying him would have done them in..but her tears. NEVER, had they ever thought the day to come, for this woman could hardly smile. She was a void of emotion. She was a void of feeling. She was very much a ruler that would someday rival greatness. She was right, there was not a God in Oxford, and she carried the only who had ever thought to challenge their opinion. Jean-Claude had told William nearly 20 years ago his theory was wrong, that he could not extract such life from a human and expect to use it like water, but it was Jean-Claude who would someday burn in the streets of Paris for being accused of craft. "Here M'lady," Mouse spoke from behind offering to help carry the weight of him, she was young, she could handle him for a bit. "He loved you.." She tried to offer the Duchess, "Like a sister, A daughter even. Argued one day, til blue in the face he did about your honor to the harold. They were going to write something horrible about you in their script." She smiled, perhaps the only to find a time for joy, but this was the beauty in it. "He'll not feel any pain where he's going, M'lady. Think of this." If Claramae did not offer up the man in her arms to the little mouse, the guard would come to take him, and if she refused Mouse would shake her head at the guard to silently warn him. She just watched the Duchess tear through the halls, there was no doubt she could take his head right here. "We will have to send word to Spain, his Ada will be there."
Jean Buridan
Jean Buridan walked beside Eirian in silence, helping her as they went taking her words to heart with him. She was right, no house of stone, nor alter, and this brought him to the conclusion that would perhaps start an illumination in her name. "All of this is my fault." He spoke suddenly, "I was the first to hear of you." (d
Lady Eirian Apollius
"You were tempted to prove if myth were reality, we all strive for something, Father Buridan." She was so tired, yet held his hand as if they were old friends. Gently she touched the side of his face, a silent forgiveness for what he felt were his wrongs. It was not in her nature to hate, and he had seen his error. Ocham never would have. He would have killed them all for one grain of sand if it were touched by fortune. She looked over at Claramae, and her heart ached on the inside as much as every aspect of her outwardly. She resembled a martyr, for the cuts on her head had taken to bleeding some of them, letting thin rivers run down her cheeks to mingle with her tears. The stars took the place of the crown of thorns. As glass broke, she knew the fires would soon start behind them.
Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence
"My lady, you will send no word to Mistress Adelaide until his heart ceases to beat. It is faint, faint as the sound of your words, but it is enough. And until his life is fully expired he will be in my keeping. Where he is going, God may have a quarrel. I am not ready to let my brother go." The flat, monotone voice protected what was left to be exposed, for the tears would not stop. She refused to give him up. Her arms ached, she let Mouse assist her yes, but had every intention of holding him before her as they rode to London. "To London, then to Warwickshire, that will be all of us. If you wish to pen any message, madame, my hands will be rather occupied. I need a fast hand of word of this for the King. Within mere days, if not hours..we will be baring down on the worst of Spain. What word you send to Adelaide, if hands are black, could condemn her without your meaning to." She held him against her chest, and closed her eyes, "I love you, and I won't let you die. Adelaide would never forgive me, and I can't forgive myself."
Lady Eirian Apollius
"Let us ride together, Father Buridan, you, and I, and Mouse. After this night..let us not leave one another.." The guard came to give them mounts, or pull them on to their own if needed. Smiling to Jean, she had all intention of forcing herself to be no burden for them. "We will pray..as we..ride?" It was the most clear she had sounded, as if finaly, with so many silenced, her voice was her own again. "Come." She sat at the front of the horse, so he might come behind. So she might lead the way, and he the reigns after when she could not. (d)
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Post by Lady Eirian Gwenyth Apollius on Jun 18, 2010 19:38:32 GMT -6
Master Jean-Claude de Aquitaine
English had left him--his mind--his body, the words that formed in his lips were that of the finest French. Well trained, well mannered Jean-Claude, had never been so wild in all his life passing in and out of consciousness. The fight would not leave him, not until every last drop of his blood drained from the weakening state of his heart. He could remember her voice, being cradled against her chest, but he could not make out her face. Mouse had told him in his questioning that it was Claramae, but even then he would call out her jest. He knew his beloved friend much better then that."I am sorry, M'lord..I don't speak French." Finally the small nun would offer with wide eyes as she finished the buttons of a clean shirt. With that came a heavy sigh as he fell back into his dreamscape, healing best when the world was nothing but the songs of heavens grace; he heard angels then. Mouse would go back to her duties, worn and rather distressed at the way Oxford simply fell like a broken deck of cards. It was strange really, how fast the world could fall away--slip through their very fingers. She worried of what was to come, as often mice did, and tried to listen through the doors of the going ons outside it. Was there to be war? (d
Lady Eirian Apollius
"My French is nothing to that of Masters, but it serves. It is required of young woman in Normandy." The voice came from the side of the bed when she assumed a place in the chair she left only for a moment. Places were traded with Mouse as a war was waged for the life of Master de Aquitaine. One of the nervous, shivering women of Windsor gave Eirian a piece to embroider to steady her hands, and she turned the original piece into a masterwork beneath her patient fingers. "How is he?" The question was asked when she, herself should have been worn to sleep for years.
Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence
England would not cave as Oxford had, but what would be the cost of holding up the pillars of England under heaven? By now the letter she penned would be in Adam's shaking fingers. Her own mimiced the Kings, beesching God in private prayer at the railing before the altar, a pillow beneath her knees. London was assembling its finest to join with what was Southernly found. "Give us the strength to endure but a little more to carve a path of victory, and lasting peace there after. Take not those who should not go to soon." Like the waters, her hair flowed unbound, unstopped. (d)
Mouse
"He is beside himself, Lady Artisan. Worried of the students there in Oxford, William, and even you. I am surprised.." She bit her lip nervously, pondering the direction of her words, "I am surprised he has lived this long, but if I can be so bold?" She moved from the door then her hands coming to fold before her, as she stood as a woman should when speaking. "It is your doing..is it not?" Already she regretted her words, forming a frown as her eyes diverted to the floor. "I mean. Men just went to war over you, there must be a reason." It was all terribly romantic really, though Mouse knew little of the company Eirian kept. "I have heard stories of you..the people who are close to the Lady Duchess comment about your home, how not far behind you is a great force to keep you locked away in your hills. Even the Master spoke of only ever seeing you a small handful of times, and how it was a shame. He said you are a great leader and that the community would benefit more from seeing you. Tell me..is there something that keeps you away? Is it because when you come around things like this happen?"
Master Jean-Claude de Aquitaine
French left his lips again, in a murmur of steady hands and humiliation..what was he talking about? "Eirian, we must free her." Honor bound even he, who spent so little time in Avaria, but would fight to the death if Peregrine asked it. For too long Jean-Claude, spent his life waiting. "She is too young to die. My Janice..where is Janice?" His eyes opened suddenly blinking only once as he turned his attention where the figures remained, "Has there been word from Spain?" Good morning to you too, Jean-Claude. (d
Lady Eirian Apollius
In, out. In, out. The needle's pull and lax was steady pace so that she looked at Mouse with an ease as her fingers memorized the location of place. Her mind, as if having recorded the next five stiches, made it so that eyes needn't look down."I fear that those students who fled will be what is left of the Current Oxford class. The Duchess was implicit in her decree that evening. My state of being...well.." His worry for the students was well founded. half of them were made to corpses, crushed under horse hooves, beaten down by man. Burned. "Halls of learning rise again likes phoenixfrom ashes. William, I do not percieve has phoenix tendancies. As for the Master's state of Being, Mouse. That is God's will. I shall not came credit for such a thing. Vanity is a deadly sin,as is blasphemy. We have kept company with enough heretics for the rest of our lives." Yet at the same time, what if it were so? It would never be acknowledged either way. Romance made the woman arch her brow gently before sealing off her eyes. She smiled then, "I have known the Duchess for many years, always a faithful servant of the crown she serves. Even after the crumbling of my husband's she would preserve us both. The Valley of Stars, Mouse... is Eden. I have found many such things as thought paradise, and they crumbled. I am happy, in my place there. I am an artisan, I have students..some still come to to learn Greek perhaps, or theology. There are Fransicans and Cisterian monks, shepards, farmers, all of us enveloped by beauty. I go to the city for commisions, to see my heart family, and my students. Other than that..my world is in that Valley. My children." She missed them, so very much. At Jean's awakening all was forgotten. Gently, her hands came to his chest to steady him. "Shhhhh...you needn't rescue what is at your bedside, Master Aquitaine. I live..far longer than man ever intended, shhh now. I can ask the Duchess of your Book keeper..but you must rest."
Duchess Claramae Aisling St. Laurence
The silent footfalls of the Duchess crossed the hall outside of his room. Lingering, none saw her but she saw them. His wakefulness made her cross herself in thanksgiving of the Lord's mercy. (d)
Mouse
"But..I watched it. I saw it all with my own eyes..and today when I was dressing the Master his..well..his scars, from the fires my mother spoke of that took him the first time. They do not seem so red." She bit her lip, moving away from his bedside so she could work. "You teach like he? My mother said, students from all countries would come to hear his lectures. That its why they burnt him with all those other who stood beside him. She said it was a school to be cherished."
Master Jean-Claude de Aquitaine
He sat up, but slower now that she was there with steady hands that separated the world, from the heavens for so he swore it. Leaning into her hand he would dip his head with the closing of his eyes as he thanked God. "Mouse." His voice came with a command, and she jumped up. "Leave us." With a small curtsy the little nun was off, opening the door to run right into the Duchess with a gasp, but she kept her lips sealed--moving on. Would she notice the way the lines of age around his eyes had seemed to fade, and the pulled skin around his lips from worry let go. She knew, that in his moments of weakness there had been strength return and miracles happen. "I may never be the same." He whispered, his bare hand coming to take her own, "How do I repay such kindness? Eirian, Claramae will have you a ship ready now. To be back home within your valley, with your husband, your children." He smiled, very thankful in the moment for the steady frame of the bed."I will escort you, if you wish." Though something remained unspoken behind his eyes, where he nearly didn't want to be without her. There was still so much to be done, and he could use the steady hand..how could he ask it? (d
Lady Eirian Apollius
"Then you saw a miracle of God, Mistress Mouse, in a time when they are very few. Let us pray for more such things as to turn the tide of England. Let it also be known that the Lady Duchess has a fine medicinal hand. During the last Avarian reclaimation, she healed my illness and wounds, and in doing so saved the life of Apollo's son, whom I did not know I carried until she told me so. Her salves, her tinctures, and poultices, her..alchemy..and God. All I am is a kind voice, and a gentle hand to the man that pulled me from hell. I do teach, mouse. Before I became installed as the High Artisan, I did, and at times still do, split time among the guild of Scholars. I was the first woman to teach among the Templar in their hall, and the first to teach both genders of students, apart or at the same time. Philosophy, both Greek and Christian, Theology, Latin, Greek, Ettiquette, Dance. Some turns at History. Your Master is a marvelous man, and Oxford will here him again." Would she take that with her, a smile for her as she went beyond the room? As Mouse left she turned to him, taking up his hand in her own. "Thank God, Jean-Claude. Not me.It is I who owe you all the world. For had you not found me, I would surely be near death. A ship for me? Mm..to return to the good earth, the arms of my family. I have prayed and dreamed of no less than that, but feel that God might call me to do something more before my prayer can answered." (d)|
Peregrine Rogue: "I fear I shall always be in the debt of another, but let this be repaid just this once..to return you home. I fear for England. I.." He put his head in his hands, rubbing at eyes that seemed to want to dry up, and run freely with water all at once. "I dreamed of it. Call me a heretic if you wish, but I heard Claramae's voice..she must be beside herself. I fear for her poor nerves." He smiled letting his hand brush back his hair from his face, "If I had as much personality as Peregrine, perhaps I shall sweep you all off to some isle in the South. We shall leave our worries behind." He turned her hand over to examine her wrists, knowing the chains that had held her cut deep. "Tell me..how do you feel?" Leave it to Jean-Claude to tend to her like a patient even upon his once deathbed. "Your back? Please pray tell it is not as black as it once was." How much time had passed? "Help me stand, I." Dizziness to him as he closed his eyes, "I will help prepare you for home, they will not dare come get you, and when I am able I shall see a school built in your name, Eirian that is my promise." He felt no need for titles, of any sort, not now at least. "Perhaps somewhere between the city and your home, where I can finally commission a proper home for Adelaide." He ran his fingers then once more over his eyes amazed at how they flexed so freely without their gloves, and how the ache was lost. "Lets get you home." He sighed. (d
Set In Her Way: "You both deserve to go home," Claramae came to them, her hair loose as was all her person. For all the world no one in London had seen her hair loosened since her maidenhood! Even then..the tradition of it's concealment, it's Set In Her Way: binding had happened. "And there is a ship, ready to sail at a moment's word to bare you home again. I am sorry Your Majesty that you were ever brought here, let alone in the way you were you. Were that I could, undo what has been done. I would. For you both." She canted her head softly, strands of brown moving to the side of her face. The gown of English colors would soon be topped by the armor that would make her the most unusual fixture in the English army. "You have no idea how it pleases me, to see you awake de Aquitaine. Neither the world nor my person would accept your absence."
Lady Eirian Apollius
"You must be slow, Jean-Claude! You move as if you are a young man of twenty and one who was not in some harrowing place. Be of ease! " She almost wanted to laugh softly, finding he was more concerned of her now than himself. She saw her brother in law's influence on this perfect French gentleman. Of the nature of her hurts, she hardly complained nor wish to make fuss of it. Indeed, by the look in her eyes she wished her infinite mind could forget her time in Occham's hands. "Master Jean-Claude, listen to me....you needn't do these things. Truly. If anything should you wish a teacher I would repay you thusly, but no school in my honor, tis such...heavens." She bit in her lip before claramae spoke again.
Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence "You will make her majesty blush..
Lady Eirian Apollius
"No, your Grace. As it stands I will not even take Wales when it is my birthright, nor the title of Your Grace nor your Majesty. Merely Eirian. I am an Artisan, nothing more, nothing less. You are tired." "You both have been so tired. If I should leave, it would be to tell Adam of all that you have done here."(d)
Master Jean-Claude de Aquitaine
"Deserve yes. Will no." He spoke rather plainly, the escaping formation of his words so delicately wrapped around his accent. "You must know by now, my promise is true. I will not leave until this is finished, but..Should, Eirian, wish it I will escort her. I fear word might have been sent to me from Julian, and for Genna. Perhaps even if I go to relay topic to His Grace." He nearly whispered, wanting to rise simply so he could press her to his chest. She did look so tired, so worn, and suddenly he worried more of her then the rest. "A great deal has come to pass before you, Master Laurence. I beg you..this night will not grow any longer if you do not sleep. Come.." He gave pat to the seat beside him, "Rest, and we will work further on putting color to the Lady Artisan's cheeks."He mused with the insight already of how he would have the layout, and though he tried to make light the subject around him he worried very much of Claramae; it showed. "Tell me what I have missed, while out of commission. Is Spain still intact? What of London?" Did it fall down too? (d
Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence
"I should decree it both that you all leave upon the same ship you came on, I rue the day I brought you here. An old man forms the walls that would save us all. The Countess and her Knight are stil lin Canterbury. London holds my friend, for everyone wishes a prize capital. The South is ours, and the North will soon be again. We are truly at war, as was decreed, and now tis to action. By now Adam should have word of these things, yet it will not stop the presence of my pace at the head of my Army. It is right, to be so placed." She took Jean's hands, and in a rare move gently kissed them. "So well loved, and so well kept are we by you. There is precious litte you could do for me now but delay the inevitable, my friend.. And you, Lady Artisan," She sat beside Jean-Claude, rather baffled, "How is it you roam so. lest we recall your condition.."
Lady Eirian Apollius
"Time changes and heals many things in those who live beyond their death sentence, let us say life within the craddle of the valley is very good for one's health. I know you worry, you both do, of my blindness or frailty. My sight is quite well, I am always a little blind, and what sees, sees very well. But yes, tell us..now that I am not away from a court, I might learn.."
Duchess Claramae Vincere St. Laurence
"Castile and Aragon are merged, the other Kingdoms are not far behind in giving themselves to Aragon. All is one in spain, and they wish the entire peninsula.Aragon wishes to take hold of Portugal. The peninsual, save Aragon, will war with itself. Before things went awry, I had sent word and all I have received is one of altercation, and one resolution. This tells me nothing is safe crossing the sea if they will not even code the words. It is..a deeper thing. I fear for Julian and Janice."She looked at Eirian's raw wrists, and Jean-Claude's..betterment? "Dear heavens, rest suits you does it not? perhaps I do need rest or I see things..."(d)
Master Jean-Claude de Aquitaine
"You speak of me like I am an old hermit, Claramae, least you forget that most wars are won by delay. Both parties holding back until the very end to soldier through." He brushed his thumb over her hand, happy to feel the flesh for the first time beneath it. She was rather warm even in her state. "You do need rest, Claramae, but I assure you..you see nothing. I am ready for this war. Let them try and keep you back. I feel..as if I was given a second chance. My chest it does not ache, my legs though I have not had a chance to try them feel as if I could run again." He would narrow his eyes on Eirian, the keeper of his soul inside the bed. "A blessing from God, perhaps now I will be able to keep up with my darling Genevieve."Looking then to the Duchess at his side he would worry over her face, but her words more so. " You have no idea how tormented I am about them being there. I do not know what I was thinking. That letter sent me into shock. It started the attack my heart gave on my body. If I could only know..something. Adelaide, went to check. It was when I got sick she left." The scientist would roll her hand in his and return the kiss to her own knuckles, "Yes, Dear Claramae, this is what sleep will do to you. Perhaps you should try it no?" Tease, he would let her go, but draw the covers up around her so that she would not be so..exposed. He has seen her back, he need not see any further or perhaps they might get a taste of what Jean-Claude was really like at twenty and one.It pleased him to see Eirian so eager to learn, as he was a man who dare not see any woman behind some kitchen, and it was because of he the first lady able to listen on his lectures was soon employed by the school. It was because of his mother who was so outspoken, even to his Father who was without any part of their daily life. "One more nights rest, and I shall go..get clothed, escort the Lady home, and return. You will wait for me..do you swear it?" Would she tell the truth to a man who was beside himself enough with illness. (d
Lady Eirian Apollius
"My lady...I am going to do something, I am going to stay with you, England needs prayer, your people need a little peace. Jean-Claude will worry himself sick and you are held together by strings. She gently looked at the slight revelation on her shoulder, softly saying, "What has your home land done to you?" (d)
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