Post by Master Claramae St. Laurence on Aug 5, 2010 19:19:31 GMT -6
Part I
Barnaby Atherton and Victoria
Warwickshire was...well, there wasn't any nice way to put it: Hell. From servant to citizen all prayed for the return of the true Earl or that word might reach his true heir who was currently somewhere in France. None wanted to believe that Earl was dead yet it was what the devil, Barnaby, and his whore, Victoria, had told all. "The Earl be dead and you better to learn that I be your better now, boy!" Barnaby was a foul man, he was well into his twenties(possibly almost thirty as none could really be sure of his exact birth date) and one of Cedric's many bastards. Yet unlike the others, for Cedric had always had a care for those of his blood- bastard or otherwise, he'd not been properly educated due to his Mother's hatred of his true Father. It meant that Cedric met Barnaby only five years ago when his Mother was on her death bed. Hatred born through her was spread to the son, and so Barnaby had aimed to do what he could to ruin the Earl- loathing his other children, his wife, his friends...while aspiring to usurp. Aye, that opportunity came too. At his side? The whore. Victoria would claim to be a lady, but in this case was proof that birth and title did not a lady make. "Barney, whyyyy must we put up with these fools?" Epithets were tied to her name, and her name alone considered one, for the servants hated her lack of decorum and constant whining. The disowned daughter of some nobleman, Victoria spent money constantly and did things in front of servants that would make a virgin die of shock. Barnaby absolutely adored her. And so began the change of Warwickshire into Hell- for the servants found foul men being sheltered within their land, odd and foreign men, and whenever it seemed an uprising against the two Beasts might be held? Somehow their secret was found...people were burned in town, others hung, beheaded, families...well hideous things went on in Warwickshire that made it seem a town of mourning and darkness, where Hell opened its maw to suck the life out of its inhabitants, and only a few dared to hope...and this was what the Earl of Warwick would have to return to...(d)
Clarmae Vincere St. Laurence
Warwickshire - it was an agenda in the first part that would relay to a larger necessity, that is to say Warwickshire was a place North of London with the chance of being impervious to Spanish designs (or so it was thought) Thus, the Earl having spent many long hours in London on the matter of the Royal Sympathizer Rebellion debaucle was to return to his estate to oversee its management, make arrangements, and gather fresh men to join the grand English Griffin Army. Where after, the second part was to commence, that is to say they would move along the Western Coast towards the South for encounters of a war-like nature. Polite descriptions are what the polite use to define with intelligence the simple only to find what is 'simplistic' is a fantasy concocted by minds hoping for better while knowing it should be far worse. Instead of horses, a carriage was elected as the mode of transporation with a retinue of armed men hiding the vehicle from view.With the curtains closed, only scant light beams illuminated the interior party. Combinations equal of yellow tinged black shadow crept across the white face of the Duchess. What did it do Atherton? Her hands busied themselves turning the pages of a book filled with complicated figures for most of the journey. There was certainly enough hours between Warwickshire and London to have slept, but the party more than likely hadn't indulged. "we are close." Came the voice of warning from the outside in, bringing the neck to crane up quick the head, "Ah, exceptional speed we made given the condition of the roads." Meaning one often fretted for their lives or kept weapon close at hand in case. (d)
reamsOfWriting: Tense and surly was the Earl of Warwick. Though neither due to lack of sleep or presence of company, but instead over concern for what might be found in Warwick. Their journey had not been an unduly long one, but a stop or two had been necessary due to the roads conditions. Information aplenty could be gained by a mere conversation yet what news came out of Warwick? The Earl did not like one bit. It churned his stomach and made hair rise on the back of his neck. Only one good thing came of such a distracted mind though: when the moon rose high as they rode along there were no crazed fitson his end. Drawn from his silent contemplation, Cedric gave a wide smile though it lacked ability to reach his dark gaze, "Indeed, your Grace, I thought it would take us far longer. Perhaps my visit to the Cathedral brought about miracles?" Humor was injected though fled on a growl,"Do you suppose it true? All that the merchants say of Warwick sounds...I'll kill them both." There wasn't any humor in those words to be sure.Hand pulled at curtain to look out toward the place growing closer in the distance. "I'm expecting a fight, Your Grace, and I fear what we ride into won't be pretty." Within Warwick, needless to say, a cry had already went up to warn of what approached. New defenses, new guards..mostly not natives to Warwick or even English. Those that were only did so for the sake of their families, some locked in the castles dungeon. Barnaby smirked at the news of armed visitors, his whore on his lap, while playing cards with some Spanish men. "Let them come. We'll treat them right n' proper, and whomever they protect in that carriage. Want a new pet for our bed, sweet?" They laughed...they might get inside the castle gates, but these newer men used sneakier tactics instead of out-and-out fighting. Cedric sighed, closing his eyes, formality dropped a moment,"Claramae, I fear for what that spawn has done to the people." (d)
Claramae Vincere St. Laurence
"God was humored, to say the lease. The last time you were on your knees Atherton I am certain it was in no house of worship," one eyebrow raised as the pages of mathematics were closed. The small green leather book was deposited promptly inside a compartment in the black carriage walls. Miracles indeed, cubbies come from no where. Insertions where no sign existed. To ride to one's home made in disarray made it hard to retain composure. Everyone retained wit in a matter befitting their comfort. For Claramae whom had revealed far more of her interior heart's workings of late, the solution was simple. Steady one's mind with the same things one used to ammend a situation. Mathematics, history, science. In the sleepless hours she had ingested no less than one book on each subject. Not only would it sharpen the mind for strategy, but it lulled the beast to being passive. "It is better to believe than to not, for preparedness, my friend, than to doubt. There is hardly idle gossip in England anymore, just exceptional tales based on the same truth. It will be a nasty turn-about, given we seek what is yours from someone who believes it is theirs. You are no more dead than I am, and by now we both hold sensational stories." People pushed massive towers on wheels as if to prepare for a full battalion instead of a carriage. Metal was mobilized from armories,commanders discussed lines of position while their ruler played cards with the Spaniard. The only bedfellows he'd receive would be maggots for an earth bed, if Claramae had anything to say about it. Ah, children. Such upstart creatures. A vacant womb meant no such issue upon the earth, praise Jesu. Horse flesh tried to push closer to the carriage, the sound of armored guards clanked hard with the increased pace, "They must feel necessity to be quick, hmm." She offered little sympathy it seemed until she gently kicked the seat under him, producing a shelf extending outward. Passing him a crossbow and a pistol, she said, "It is time to cure the plague." Eyes spoke comeraderie. (d)
Cedric Atherton III
Indeed, the plague was at this moment more concerned with idle play than what went on outside. Barnaby and Victoria turned the castle itself into a house of debauchery, and outside it was the town that suffered as if it were itself a mass grave with corpses that walked. Except for those that were trained to fight. Trained for now. Cedric had to smirk at Claramae's wit, laughter coming forth briefly,"Ah, dear lady, you do so wound me. I shall have you know that my love, God bless her, saw fit that I pray every night on my knees." Though the Duchess was correct in words. Wisdom displayed itself on a beautiful face that never seemed to age, that some would say was carved from stone, and yet Cedric amongst others had seen it crack if only in rare moments. While men prepared for assault they discussed truth. Many wanted them dead at this moment in time, but they both thwarted death. "Too bad we opted to ride in the carriage. I am sure our eyes would see better outside of it." What made the men press closer? Caused increase in pace? Something urgent seemed to press upon those outside and spread to those within for the Earl's pulse began to race even as Claramae produced weaponry. Laughing, dark gaze takin' on a wild gleam, one corner of his mouth lifted up,"Ah, your Grace, you never fail to surprise me at your cleverness. What other spots of yours hide treasures?" Well, he couldn't pass up the chance to flirt. Men hollered out orders within the closer they rode to Warwick while mere citizens cowered in their homes. "Aye, your Grace, we'll cleanse the sickness before it can spread." Cedric was out for blood and by God it wasn't his own! Not anymore. (d)
Claramae Vincere St. Laurence
She took one glance out of doors before turning up her nose in disgust, "Deplorable. They must be dealt with. Prescribed sentence shall be easy to carry." Traitors were always sentenced to death, the method would not be so much up for debate so long as it happened in some form or another. On the outskirts the carriage drove over a series of harsh, harsh bumps. No one dared decide what the cause of it might be, or those outside inform those in. By the pressure alone Claramae deduced the crushing of bone or the slight groan of a half dead man made fully dead. It was maschocistic display that never boded well. Bah, she despised theatrics. Yet all over England there were said 'theatrics' as the order of business so be damned if she would not play her starring role with brilliance in the saga. "Wound you? Atherton you are made of such marble as your flesh is only a disguise. Of what you've endured of late you will endure the four horsemen. " The corners of her mouth crept in the tell tale sign of mirth; it didn't immediately die this time so that he could affirm what he had been seeing in the days prior. A woman lived behind the ageless mask that did war with a conscience made for perfect service. A weapon who grew tired yet stayed awake by books of man's logic to be fed on instead of food. The moon sustained her friend instead of making him collapse in his maudlin fits. "That is for you to ponder and for His Grace to know, your only concern may be the insides of the carriage." Alas, he could not take her for a pleasure jaunt! The citizenry who were bold (or stupid) saw the carriage with the Govenor's coat of arms and dared to hope..maybe a little. (d)
Barnaby Atherton, Victoria, and Cedric Atherton
"Govenor, you say? Oh, my dear Tori, what a guest! I be hearin' she's a cold bytch. Bet we could warm 'er up." Barnaby laughed, fondled Victoria in some inappropriate places that made her squeal, and then smacked her rear in dismissal. "Off you go, pet. We be havin' men duties to do now." Victoria smiled prettily though inwardly she sneered at the thought of him being a 'man'. He was a boy, but a useful one for now. Marry him, get him a male brat, and then kill him when he wasn't useful. Barnaby truly was a fool though had not a clue, he eagerly walked off to take part in possible battle while she went to dress for company. Vain woman. Inside the carriage Cedric marveled in how Claramae's beauty only increased when life was interjected into the stone. It served to take his breath, make his heart flutter as if he were some green lad, though he passed it off with a theatrical sigh,"Alas those tonguewaggers have soiled my reputationand hope of winning such a beauty as yourself away from His Grace." Winking, he had noted the odd bumps too and did not like it one bit. The roads of Warwick were always well taken care of. Barnaby, you spineless bastard, your Mother should have drowned you! Most hateful women like that witch would have, but instead now her son lived to become this disgrace. "What did you see outside? What has happened to my Warwick?" He prepared for battle with readying of pistol and checking of crossbow though it was the sword inside his cane that would be used most. A man had to have hisoption of toys! "His Grace is a lucky man!" Indeed the man who could catch the Duchess was lucky though probably a might bit crazy too. Weren't they all? As the carriage drew closer, outside men on horse called orders, and soon the sound of whistling through the air could be heard. "Arrows." Preparation was over...it'd started. The men inside began war on those approaching, and Cedric felt that old battle lust from younger days thrum through his veins. He'd teach them to taint his lands. (d)
Claramae Vincere St. Laurence
The cold bytch was calculating too, and didn't need a corset to keep her breasts in place unlike Victoria no doubt. Unlike Victoria she didn't rely on salves, cosmetics, and good lighting to look passable on a regular basis. Barnaby from memory was not one of her favorite of Cedric's bastards. The meeting five years prior left a sour taste that went to rot in the mouth of anyone that said hello to him. Objectives, objectives. Everyone had them, but it appeared Barnaby and his harlot were on the wrong side of one. When the carriage went to level ground again she checked to see her pistol was loaded with particular rounds more favored than others. "Oh goodness, Atherton. Your reputation is of little consequence, good fellow. One thing never to count upon myself to be is an adulteress, so unsavory. If it is one thing I detest more than treachery or broken bonds, it is the amount of jezebels in the world." A victory for morality, for feminine virtue! A killer with sexual morals. Huzzah. The guard were near to rocking the carriage over! She braced herself until the sway returned to center.."Your Warwickshire is completely ruined, Cedric, I will not lie to you. Oh by God, what in creation!" The guard thrust the peering head back in as the fellow three men over was dealing with the 'guard' only to have a spear thrust in his eye to stir in the brain. It was a failed lobotomy, the subject died. (d)
Cedric Atherton
Victoria was definitely into her thirties, but the woman acted a child and did her best to hide age. The Duchess would be correct in the amount of cosmetics and salves used to hide an aging face that wouldn't get younger, or the extremely tightened laces and corset(her waist importantly enough at 20 inches to make her seem younger), that did peculiar things to her insides. Beauty could kill- and it was slowly doing so to Victoria though she didn't care if little food was ate or sometimes blood was hacked up. It was all worth it for paler skin, a smaller waist, and a young face. "Come, my lover, you must join in my chambers. Incase they should fail I want to...be prepared." Her lover, some poor common fool, would do what Victoria asked- she wanted to look the abused woman, a victim and captive, if all went wrong. Little did she know the servants would see that lie come to light just to watch her neck snapped by the hangman's noose. Inside the carriage the Earl gave a hearty chuckle at Claramae's words,"I would never ask you to be an adultress either, your Grace. Too fine a lady are you. Though pardon me for not wishing more women be like you. I do like my playmates." Wicked grin lit up crazed eyes before turning into a dark frown at such admission of what Barnaby had turned Warwick into. "That boy will pay, mark my words, and dearly." Brows lifted at Claramae's head being shoved back inside, a shake of head given as he peeked out the window curtain,"Looks like hell be breakin' loose out there. When are they going to let us out of this sodding carriage? Can't be of any help locked inside it. Seems they have some of the town itself protected though imagine most of defense will be on the castle walls. The air smells like..." Death. Cedric didn't need to finish that sentence. Rotting or burning flesh was a hard smell to forget once scented. He'd smelled it one too many times in his years and wasn't likely to forget it anytime soon. Stomach churned at the intensity of it the closer they grew, they'd be on top of the town soon, and what ugliness would their eyes view? God above...even a brief glimpse out of window was enough to sap the color from aged face,"Lord abovethat bastard turned it into a killing ground!" Dark, deep, and feral was the growl of outrage that ripped from the Earl's throat as one hand tightened around pistol until knuckles became white. "We disembark now." Other hand raised silvertipped cane to bang it against the rough three times in rapid and loud succession. (d)
Clarmae Vincere St. Laurence
"They are picking at the guard, killing the outer lines, letting us pass so we get picked off at the entrance..." She could assume only as the men were ardent to protect the content of the little black carriage with their lives. Wind whipped the curtain back to let in the aroma of burning flesh with a compliment of blood spray. The sound of a body hit the ground, but the men rolled on. From the highest vantage point of Barnaby's new playroom a guard spied the action with glee, "Oh they are treating them right, m'lord, just look at them pick off the guard but they just draw in closer to the death cart there. Should I ready the archers?" Oil was the next vivid scent permeating Warwickshire to great them as three knocks of the silver tipped cane went unanswered, "May I?" she inquired taking the object before simply jamming the tip down on the right portion of the door to yield it open.
Bracing herself near the seat, she kicked it the rest of the way, noting the speed at which they were suddenly going when a moment before they were rolling to a stop. "The guard is scattering Atherton, a good time to disembark!" She agreed, noting the horse formation broken, the men engaging the other men, and a group coming to no doubt 'collect' the esteemed guests. "Pardon me once more" She jammed the cane into the carriage roof, opening five compartments at once. Pouches of ammunition and powder, little silver bolts for wrist bows. Her 'lucky' silvers...lucky silvers? All acquired, back packed, so the lady could ceremoniously dive out of the carriage and in to the delightful hamlet of Warwickshire (d)
Cedric Atherton III
"Not to say my men aren't intelligent, your Grace, but these tactics? Nay, these tactics aren't the work of my guard. What the bloody hell waits for us?" The Earl didn't ask to be excused for language. In this moment there wasn't any need. On the field, as their campaign continued too, the Duchess was going to hear a lot worse without apology. Mostly from the enemy's mouth. Oil, the smell was strong and practically able to be tasted on tongue and in throats as they breathed. "After you, m'lady." Cedric easily handed over the cane, allowing her to expertly pop open the door, though his own urge to get out was a mixture of fear and eagerness. If there was oil then surely fire would follow it, and fire was a tricky thing to mess with. There wasn't any controlling it. Around them the guard broke stance, horses required stronger grips,and all the while Barnaby basked in it from his chambers. "Ah, good men those Spaniards. Come on! Be wantin' to stand on the wall. Better view!" Indeed, Barnaby had put on his best outfit and grabbed a sword just to go stand on the wall- and look the part of Lord. Coward. The Earl would have laughed until his ribs hurt at that sight, but at present had more important concerns. Like the welcoming party. "Looks like Barnaby sent his finest to meet us. Those men aren't any of mine though. This is turning into a party." Once again cane was taken, Cedric lifting an amused brow,"Once we finish here remind me to buy you a cane, your Grace. It'll compliment you." Hearty appreciation glinted in dark gaze at the appearance of a secret cache, things prepped for their own disembarking, and then they were moving from the carriage. The Earl allowed Claramae out first, holding the door wide from inside to give her some blockage from the rain of arrows that suddenly began to descend again, and then joined her. An elbow was given to a man's face to aid another fellow as a knife was about to grace his throat while they moved for cover. "Can use some of the houses for shelter. We have to get inside the castle though. Could ask for a little help from the people?" If any were left alive enough. He wanted to gag at the sight of bloated corpses or charred remains of fires that still stunk of human remain. What a foul beast he'd spawned. (d)
Claramae Vincere St. Laurence
"Dastardly things, my lord, that is what!" This time the Duchess forgave the Earl his horrid mouth for the simple fact the expression was spot on. The landing was not made of roses but jutting ruck around packed earth to signify a lack of care for the road. Bruises bloomed purple beneath the blue-black mourning clothes. If Claramae were one for swearing, what obscenity would have been born from she that curled in to a ball,rolling forth only to unravel. Hands married, the suggestion of body's hurt came as she viewed her shoulder, "Good heavens!" Hardly a time to laugh as the next juncture found her sliding wrist silvers in to place in the loading mechanisms beneath her sleeve, concealing her ammunition in a variety of suggestive places, and tearing off her veil. As trendrils of brown hair whipped infront of her eyes, the next action? Running for the nearest cottage on the outskirts of the settlement as the rain of arrows came to ignite the oil smell of the air with loud woosh! Did he suppose they were still inside, about to be burned to a cinder while the premier English Army fell to pieces outside of the gate he claimed as his. Barnaby must have been thrilled. The bowmen scoffed at him, stupid idiot. Ah well. The Pay was good, and when the Spanish settled in to make it home-like, surely they'd execute him in favor of another lord. People groaned or cried collectively at the sounds of battle ensuing. Atherton was a plithy, physical fellow. Once inside the cottage she thrust her hand over the window sill to test the range of the weapon, lifted her wrist back, and shot it to the sound of a content 'ugh' meaning a marked Barnaby target, "So we decide the road then. Shall it be upper or lower.." Streets or roof? (d)
Cedric Atherton III
Old man. Aye, Cedric was a man old in age. Youth had left him long ago, outwardly, yet inwardly one would think he was still some lad of twenty. Most days. He rolled and ducked, and laughed merry over the make of new aches easily. Only in one instance did a groan come forth,"You bled on my silk coat. Expensive it was too. Jean-Claude bought me it as a gift..." He grabbed at the fellow he'd elbowed, as if it was truly his fault he'd bled on the coat, and then socked him in the face a couple of times until he lay unconscious on the road. "Claramae, are you well? Did you hurt yourself?" It wasn'ta gentle tumble, but he'd forgotten to ask. They moved for cottage happily, found one that was empty- though by the insides of it they could tell a great ruckus had taken part here. Blood was on the floor, furnishings overturned, and from the back room some foul smell that Cedric didn't plan to investigate. Up onthe walls Barnaby was having a field day, hooting and hollering like some fool, as the carriage went up in flames. "We roasted that bytch. Be sad though. Wanted to see how she rides..." Men rolled their eyes, wishing someone would knock him off the wall, while Cedric contemplated which route. Peeking out the window, though staying low to thefloor, he muttered,"Well, the roof would be quick though with all these arrows flying deadlier. Could split up? One of us by roof the other by ground, or both by ground. Shouldn't be too many of the enemy in here. Barnaby wouldn't be that careless just yet. We need some more people." No, the fool was a fool, but he'd still be cautious not to let too many Spanish in for fear they'd just take it from him. (d)
Claramae Vincere St. Laurence
One who expressed a lack of facial changes aged with great grace, so did one who was more physically active than any plain lady of leisure ought to be. To be frank, Claramae's age was never a topic of discussion (for what woman ever did discuss it) yet the sheer fact she was over thirty by some years and under forty led itself to reason that God fashioned ageless wonders when he so desired. She watched the outside body fall to what was once a windowbox; whites of eyes rolled upward,neck seemed to lose all bone as the body spasmed. Instead of kicking him away she pulled him through, ascertaining his faculties before seeming to pinch the skin behind the ears. Like magic, the soldier foamed at the mouth uttering slipper, sloppy words, "You...you're not fried! Oh my God! How did you both survive that, that's..crazy that's....nononononononono" This guard wasn't Spanish, he was English. All the worse for him as with no sense of remorse she threw him against the cottage wall "Tell me your way in to the castle or the next part of you I push the poison will effectively eat your insides, paralyzing you as it does..." He tried to punch her, but found his hand caught. "Make sure no more of them come in Atherton, the might get ideas. Being I am in distress and all you may 'save me.' " The guard began to scream as Claramae cracked his knuckles to breaking. One swift kick to the side from half intention, half accident on his part took her down, but only momentarily. How frightening then was it to have the woman they called 'Adam's Devil' pinning you to a floor like iron bars. "Talk." (d)
Cedric Atherton III
"Save you?" Grinning wide, Cedric bowed- yes, the absurd man bowed, and then headed off to guard the door. Observing the outside incase any should try to disrupt this little get-together. The man on the floor was frightened, to say the least, of the woman over him. He'd expected those in the carriage to go up in fiery flames instead of ending up tortured by one of them. Crying out in agony, he begged and pleaded,"Ple-please don't...kill me...please please...." The Earl wanted to laugh again. Didn't he understand that if an answer wasn't forthcoming then death would be a blessing? Leaning against the door, he shook his head. The man squirmed hard beneath the Duchess, near tears, as he finally squealed out,"Back...the back...there's a gate..." Cedric raised a brow, considering what this back gate could be called, and then finally he nodded,"The man is right. We can go in through one of the side gates. Probably western side. They won't be expecting us." Outside the fighting was still at full power. (d)
Michael Vincere
Working from the western side of the city, a clambered bit of racket became apparent as Vincere's entourage had caught up and was slashing their way forward. Unaware of the events that led Claramae and company to where they were, he focused on his fight. He was handling two, well armed men with only his sword. He caught a large blade perpindicular and tossed it backward only to twist by a stab and behead the 'stabber.' The parried male returned with another strike as his comrade fell, but Vincere parried his sword wide and concluded with a step toward his opponent, stabbing into his stomach and shoving him backward off the blade. He didn't smirk, he simply turned and continued forward.[d]
Claramae Vincere St. Laurence
"The western side,ah then. The Earl confirms it is so...your true lord, oath sworn, fealty taken.." She pulled up the man by his hair, thrusting him toward Atherton to have a long, hard last look. "So ...you may live, how long depends upon God, really, I have no time for you." Cold bytch broke the man's back across her left knee as she jabbed it in to his back, using his hair to pull his torso down over it. He was thrown down on the floor as her boot heeldug in his gut. A twist of foot produced a soft, squish as she pentetrated his innards with a concealed blade. Withdrawing said foot, she put the blade back in to place by kicking the sole of her shoe against a wall. He twisted, spasming uncontrollably with nothing to do but look as indeed she left him to die. "You are right if we split up, yet travel in tandem, we might make it there better. We can not be too far apart.." Lest one or the other be overwhelmed. As she spoke she began to tear at her attire. The left sleeve, gone, revealing the fantastic device that allowed her to wear a crossbolt shot upon her wrist, Then the other sleeve, the thin silk becoming firmer as it was put across knuckles to absorb harsh blows. Next, she began to arrange her skirts, pulling, shreding the useless frippery away. What matter of hidden chambers could be held on a woman?! "I am quite experienced at walking a roof" She said as a pale white thigh came into view, garters, suspending black stockings....the garters now held throwing knives. Extra fabric became a waist belt housing stilletos, a piece thrown about like a front sash held more throwing blades, and at the hip she had a pistol. Brought out crossbow was slung across her back..so that all she remained in was a corset...a thin few pieces of strategically shredded underskirt, while the rest of the dress became..utility necessities."It will be bloody, forgive me..your home is marred enough. (d)
Michael Vincere
"Move forward, men!" He called, waving his arm. He gripped his sword and casually strode forth. There weren't many left to engage at the moment, so he took it as a moment of respite. His men moved ahead of him.[d]
Jean-Claude de Aquitaine
Somewhere in the heart of the city there had been a great church, built by the kings of past, and stone set by the faith of a community. For all of humanity there had never been thought of such a war, for years it seemed the streets were stained, but even on this hour there had never been thought the great cathedral would be so washed red with the blood of their enemy. It was a house of the Lord, for English alike, but it was the Spanish that fell in battle to be kept so far from the castle. He was a man of great education, a mind for science, and a passion for medicine. However, never would he have imagined upon his trip to England he would have been in the midst of the sick, though forever had he known death. It was natural to him as he walked down the lanes of the lined beds where the body of Mary was cried out for in their time of need. It was far too hot, and even the mask he wore over his mouth could hardly hide the smell of rotting limbs--suffering souls. It was at the side of a bed he was called out to assist a Spanish soldier who fought even the beautiful face of the nurse.The man's curses in Spanish were meant by what little Jean-Claude knew to soothe the man, but the instant his gloved hand came to rest upon the soldier's shoulder thick bloody backwash was gathered against his cursing lips and spit in the direction of the Frenchman, f**k you, English Scum! Spoken in true form, and Jean-Claude simply took a step back. He was as cold as the sound that escaped the nurse's lips in her gasp, and the fire that burned despite the heat (to help seal wounds) had an iron spoke simply waiting. Like the slow crawl of a spider over the back of his hand, he closed in once more upon the Spanish soldier, and ran him through. The smell of the rotting flesh soon replaced by the burn, and the only sound.. "I am French, you bastard." (d
Claramae Vincere St. Laurence
Warwickshire was reduced to the plaything of a spoiled bastard child with deliusions of grandeur in his birthfather's house. A whore bounced on his knee, wishing to be a lady when she was not even the dirt below the feet of a woman who stood now in the old blood from a body unknown to her. A slight turn of head afforded her the effect of the door a'jar, creaking in a shaft of errant sun. Around Michael is men looked at the waste of a once prosperous province.Madmen reigned here, but not Tyrants. "The Earl would never allow this, sir, do you think...what the say..could be true?" That good men died, and foul men went unpunished? In the room lay the headless body of a woman who's blood now brown had poured on the body of her husband, run through with many swords. What could have been a child was swayed by wind in a craddleboard..rock'a'rock..rock'a'bye..for the damned. Outside the sound of respite began to change as men came closer, closer. "I will be up Atherton, you below me. We go west. Whatever you do, do not look at any doors nor through windows. Do not look at it," for it will give you fits, like it twisted the mind of the pretty one in ten knots by ten more. She turned to the window, jumping upon the sill's thin edge like a cat with nine lives to spare for she had nine more behind. It was a false thought, that old legend, but comforting. The physical pain, the mental pain, it all went numb as she ascended the roof. Not too long after she began to carve Cedric an open path as one of her throwing knives landed in an Adam's apple of an advancing soldier (d)
Cedric Atherton III
"What goes on down there?" Victoria laid in bed, a loathsome woman indeed, uncaring that she took her pleasure while death and chaos erupted outside. Her maid was young and virtouos, and therefore had been called in to 'witness' such things by the Devil's whore, eagerly stared out the window at what was going on instead. How sad was it that a young lady would rather watch death and blood shed than look behind her? Sad indeed. "Battle, m'lady. It seems that the Lord's men are winning." The maid nearly choked on the words while fervently praying that Barnaby and Victoria were ousted this day. Her own family had suffered...horribly at their hands. In the cottage, the Earl observed stoically as the Duchess broke a man's back as if breaking a loaf of bread at the noon meal. Though English it seemed the man was just as foul as the rest of the lot within his lands. "Aye, that sounds like a solid plan. What.." Words were a lovely thing, Cedric sometimes had lots of them, but when Claramae suddenly started ripping at her gown...well, every one went out of his head. Dark eyes widened, mouth dropped wide, and for a moment he struggled until finally composed. "Your Grace, I think you should warn a man before you go ripping at your clothes like that. Might get the wrong idea." Turning abruptly, staring off outside to give her some privacy, he muttered,"Trying to think clearly and you've done addled my brain. I swear for a woman you got more secrets than most." Indeed! Cedric on the other hand was a simple fellow, he didn't need thousands of weapons. A pistol, the trusty sword-cane, and.."I've lost my crossbow. Bugger." Shaking his head, Cedric turned around when Claramae spoke again and raised a brow at the sight before him as a wide grin appeared,"Be glad I'm a gentleman." Yet serious matters took precedence, and he moved into position now. While the roofs were taken by Claramae it left Cedric to take the streets, they worked to stay close. Cane became sword to strike down any that came toward him, blood spatter constant, and as ordered- both eyes stayed ahead for where smell drifted out of cottage he didn't want to look. Up on the wall Barnaby watched below eagerly,"Have we won?" (d)
Jean-Claude de Aquitaine
So in the fit of madness there had been a small break in his thought, and a feeling of dread wash over him like the sea. "M'lord.." Jean-Claude held up his hand removing the blood stained jacket and gloves to replace for his attire for the battle. "Just tell me where." Through the map of the city he went arming as the man came with instructions, and the squire's eyes grew wide with the strange blades to disappear beneath the Frenchman's overcoat.
Off he went. (d
Claramae Vincere St. Laurence
To battle on the roofs was really to serve to functions 1) lookout, and 2) a quick fire in the liklihood someone overtook Cedric from behind. A third one could be decided if there were men on her level to battle, but who would climbup to fetch her? In Warwickshire, the buildings of a small city were coming to life meaning more rooftop landscape to span ,more men to stand watch, more for the simple minded Barnaby to look down on as the Duchess let all politicsslide down under her heels to be the footing on which she walked the thin line. It mattered little here. Diplomacy had done all it could and failed. She was exposed to the elements as the mystery behind the throne was raped of anyallure. She was a brick in the wall, a thing that could inspire another thing to go. She looked down to see the blood spilling out in his sure swipes, pointing out parties of men..how many, and helping to even the score. One one street she sat atop the local pub, cross legged as she assembled the crossbow never lost by her fingertips. Like visiting with old friends, a part of her found solace in tightening the lax string, making ready the trigger point, and applying the arrow. Coming to kneel, she began to shoot them, load them, shoot, load. Mechanical. Learned instinct so intense it became involuntary, like breathing. (d)
Cedric Atherton III
They fought there way toward the gate on the west side. A double threat of skill, one above and one below, that never seemed to falter. Cedric's age never seemed to factor into it. Some of the younger fools they bowled down were affronted for it was an insult, a disgrace even, to be brought upon knee by a woman and an old man. Any concern over garments from earlierwas forgotten as now most of it was covered by blood whether his own or others. He'd been struck a few time by blade, but nothing of a serious nature for Claramae was always above to have his back just as he was careful to warn her of any incoming arrows to duck from. They made a good team. A frightening one those they faced would say. Barnaby was displeased at the sight below for it seemed that yet they had not won, a fact that set fear into his cowardly veins, and soon...soon he might be brought to justice for his ugliness. In the streets some houses came alive as people caught glimpses of hope...of their Earl come to life again!...and came out to help as they could. Forks and brooms, and other oddities wereused as weapons to aid in tripping up the enemy. On a roof as they paused, Cedric sucked in a gulp of breath while Claramae shot arrow after arrow, and called out,"Next building over meet me on the ground. We'll be at the gate then. Do you see any of our soldiers?" There were some that he'd spotted a bit back, but in chaos it could be hard to see... (d)
Claramae Vincere St. Laurence
Together a pair could do impossible things on an impossible day. When the crossbows ran out, the device that shot them becamse used to upbraid the few roof-walkers brave enough to do their lord's bidding. Most of these were Spaniards, delaying her ability to assist Atherton any further as one woman would take on three men, or a group of two. She liftd the weapon to stop a sword from coming down on her head, pushing back on it to send the man reeling backwards down to the street below. Broken leg prevented his escape as another man came after astruggle where in Claire and him seemed to dance. The crossbow was thrown away after the sword snapped a the wood. Two drawn stilletos made an 'x' to block the blade on the left, right, tension struggling until one little slip in his footing gave her the advantage of puncturing a lung. That would be how the man who breathed little crushed the man who walked none. "Alright, I will! So far I can not tell..I believe I saw the..North by West..engaging on the opposite end near the castle. It has grown here.." not that she wished to see it this way instead of the safety of her carriage or astride a Freesian on visit of state. Did he feel the days of yore slipping away with every body cut into? To know, that after this war, another would be in the place where she had sat these years keeping the hounds of hell at bay? She showed no signs of wear, breathing in short manners through the nose only..allowing air to fill her lungs, exhaled in her actions. "Perhaps we can call to them..can you send one of the citizens..tell them to look for our men?" Reduced to using whatever they could, penetrating Warwickshire would be easier than exiting if they had no reserves (d)
