Post by Rhianna Costache on Aug 23, 2010 11:26:15 GMT -6
*Bane Oakenshield*
::He watched the long ship pass between Skye and the mainland, skirting past the small island that separated them so neatly in half. He watched the oars beat twice before sails were raised and the wind guided the small ship along it's journey to Gods only knew where. Bane sat watching feeling at one. As the true heir to the Lord of the Isles he had always felt an affinity with the water, but had no real inclination to ever sail on it. No, he took the land forces way of thinking from his father. His father who, apparently, was traitor. Bane hawked and spat into the North sea, disbelieving it. He wore the same garbs as yesterday, the same black jerkin with navy blue cotton shirt and brown leather gloves coupled with the leather brown boots. However, his weapons were sat at his side, ready at a moments such was his inner rage::
*Rhianna Costache*
The day had been long and even a little lonely. It was odd to think how someone could be surrounded by so many and still feel as if you were the only person in a room or on the street. She had walked the streets all day, until she could walk them no more and was now in need of a change of scenery. With her change of clothes on, she walked upon bare feet. Losing anything she felt would weigh her down or slow her down. Anything that would keep her from connecting with the earth, the wind, and soon the water. Rhianna made her way from the streets of the city to the shores of the beach and instantly she found much relief. Sand shifted beneath her feet, spilled over her toes, and she paused a moment to wiggle them within the warmth that still radiated from it. Wind would come and go, lifting and toying those caramel curls like delicate fingers of a lover who yearned to caress more. While she was always free... out here, she truly felt she had freedom. However, he mind was plagued by the events of last night and all through out the day, she had wondered about both Breanna and Bane... wondered how each faired now. (d)
*Eirian Apollius*
The shore was where God fashioned a careful seam between water and sky. Eternity always looked as if it could be touched when a hand skimmed the air concocting the closest a soul on sand could come to the horizon line. In order to fathom the whimsy of the Father she slowed the pace of the horse to tread gentle through the flow of time. Silence could bring false sense of the stagnant. Never here, never here. For the last few days, the horse rider had been in the background of the living tapestry. Foreground raged with vivid noises bursting with the need to be expressed from their keepers, but silence was the glorious state of open ears. Sapphire orbs were upturned; dark lash concealed the lot before she tried to find the edge of the moon through the collection of dark, thick clouds. She memorized it, so that she could draw it with the materials in the satchel positioned just so on her person, but Eirian always seemed to remember everything (d)
*Bane Oakenshield*
::He took the small piece of paper from the uppermost pocket in his jerkin, quickly calculating where his lads would be. They should have made Paris by now. Another day they would be in Calais and embarked, two to three days after they would make landfall in Berwick and would march towards the old Roman fortifications to take their place amongst what were legends in their own right. This country, his country, had changed too much for his liking. The Scots were now Empire builders, nothing for which he had fought for had been preserved - liberty and freedom all but gone in the English. That wasn't the way, it wasn't the way it was meant to be. He stood up, bent down and picked up a smooth rounded pebble and skimmed it across the water. It bounced five times. He smiled and reattached his weaponry. The rapier on the right hand side, the dagger on the left with the two pistols tucked into the red scarf he wore around his waist, the red scarf being a keepsake from a French Officer. He coughed slightly and began to move towards the main town once more, looking for transport out of Skye to the old border. Maybe there he would find his place: (d)
*Rhianna Costache*
Rhianna continued to walk, there was no real destination in mind and there hardly ever was. The land called to her when it wished, the wind led her when it needed, and Rhi would always listen, answer, and follow heart and soul. As she walked along, sea green eyes turned toward the sea. She watched as the waves came rolling in and crashing on the shore. She seem to sway softly with the rhythm that surrounded her, almost as if she were in the beginning stages of a dance, a dance that wasn't necessarily meant for anyone but herself. Eyes closed for a moment, arms lifted slowly and gracefully, and soon she was twirling about like some innocent little girl playing a game all by herself. Head rolled and then tilted back and a smile began to grace those full lips of hers as the wind seem to pick up just a little. (d)
*Eirian Apollius*
Destination was subjective. None of them stood with intent to move at the very moment to what was important. Yet, at the same time, the possibility of finding meaning along the way always remained open. "Good eve," she said to Bane in a tone he might have mistook for the tone of a misplaced bird. Nightingales do not sit near seashores. Easily heard, easily dismissed. She rode on a little ways before bring the creature to stand-still. One leg shifted to span width before touching down in the sand. As the other followed, the wind played silly games amidst the dove gray and blue skirts. Eirian let conversation's prospect fend for itself because she was moved to listen to the eternal conversation of muses, the sort that reciprocated charcoal under nails and full paper pads (d)
*Bane Oakenshield*
::He stopped, watching Rhi but also hearing a distinct voice. He mumbled a welcome but continued to watch the girl who had, in just a few days, somehow captivated his way of thinking. He was too old in the tooth now to think that she had taken his heart, but it was a close run thing. He watched her dance, go through the motions as it were and found himself sitting down, cross legged in appreciation. There was nothing more he could do apart from that, for he felt that should he shout a greeting then it would come to an end - and he did not know truthfully who that would be more the pity for, her for not dancing or for him not being able to watch. Therefore, for some honestly admitted selfish reasons, he watched happily::
*Rhianna Costache*
The dance would continue and even seem to grow even a little intense. Passionate even. There was a sway of hips, a roll of her belly, a snaking of arms... she was for the most part, alone. Or at least she thought. Little did she know that there were others now on the shore with her. Did her sixth sense kick in? Something had alerted her of their presence and while some may have stopped, she seem to continue to dance, and dance in their direction even! Upon closer inspection, she realized who it was sitting down, but the other... the other she did not know. At least not yet! "Good eve to you both.." she greeted with a wide smile as those eyes would shift between the pair of them. "Is it not lovely tonight?" she asked as the Gypsy looked skyward where night had began to stake its claim and the sun was fading. Disappearing down into the water, or so it appeared. She looked back to them then. "Its good to see you again Bane... and its nice to meet you Lady." she said as her gaze turned then to Eirian. (d)
*Eirian Apollius*
One selfish reason mixed with one artist's muse made real tied them to the one who danced to the music of the waves. Eirian reclined her back against the rock outcropping, sliding down until her knees naturally fell in front of her so the upper most one served as her prop. The satchel's contents was strewn out before her. Knowing all by feel alone her eyes never left Rhiannon; the shadow-play along the soft sand shot back to the brow skin twisting. Sinew flexed and went lax under the flesh while limbs lowered or raised , she looked at that, not at the paper she set up without fault. Not even the right length of charcoal need even an eye turned toward it so that she could embody forever a moment's liberation. Ah, discovery by the subject still did not hinder her hands "Good eve, mistress, The night is lovely. God raises the moon in a memorable way this night." She tilted her head, turning eyes down again to the paper. Strands of ebony lacquer lingered before her face as if concealing the mystery of what her mind recalled. In contrast to Rhiannon's earth blessed features, the tiny creator had limbs as white as pale moon rising. On her head, the hair's motion was all to distinguish it from the black stretching out of the purple dusk. "what do you think of the night, sir?" (d)
*Bane Oakenshield*
::When it came to introductions, he spoke up.:: "Bane Oakenshield." He much preferred the mercenary name than the real name. He wasn't sure how many people would have believed it beyond the close knit circle that was the inner command of his mercenary regiment that even now was returning back to the British Isles. He considered it for a moment. They were Scots predominantly, but Borderers. And the borderer was something that no other nation would ever appreciated. Hells, even the Scots and English never understood them. The borderers knew each other, not on a personal level, but they understood. They were interlinked by blood and marriage, it was almost a different country in itself. Those were his people.:: "Judging by your accent though, the faint lilt, I'd you were southern Welsh than Northern, they sound more Scouse and English. Perhaps Cardiff, Bridgend or even Barry?" ::He was always curious, a few in his own regiment came from Wales as well as England and Ireland. It was a natural union::
*Rhianna Costache*
"A lovely name for a lovely lady" came the reply from the Gypsy as she smiled to Eirian. She would let Bane give his first and then offer her own. "Rhianna Costache." She said after a moment of Bane giving his own. She did however become quiet as it seemed the man would take a stab at guessing from where the woman came from based on her accent alone. She was still standing, thought that was soon to be remedied as she quickly, but gracefully fell to sit upon her bottom across from them both. Rhianna sat indian style, but made sure her skirt pooled within her lap so that nothing showed that didn't need to be shown. However, long legs in that soft mocha color were revealed right up to just above the knee. Hands clasped together and she seem to lean in as if intrigued by them both. She was absolutely just fine with being an observer for the moment. (d)
*Eirian Apollius*
"You are very kind. Your name, Rhianna. Know you how close it is to the likes of Rhiannon? Where I am from, such a name to the people of old was she whom understood the moon for she was its keeper, and mysteries, and the likes heaven. We are well matched, says I. Eirian means silver. Yet for a man named Bane, you sir are pleasant enough. So then we three are well matched indeed." Lips pulled to a grin as she reclined against her elbows in the sand before turning to Bane ,"You are astute, too, in your guessing. The Southern Coast of Wales is my place of birth, my family's origin is rather stretched across it, as Wales itself is stretched in her principalities, her
shires." Rhianna was sun kissed radiance while Eirian was a sliver of light cast down on earth. Each being shone in their own unique way, yet it was strange to see flesh stand out so vivid in the way it was white, against the blue-gray of garment no less. (d)
*Bane Oakenshield*
::Bane, cursed one in the old tongue. Though Celts, in the old days, didn't have a common language - there was enough similarities for the major things to be carried over. However, he took an instant liking to the Welsh woman, she seemed at ease with herself if a little on the poetic side at times in the way she spoke, but that was the way of her people he supposed. He suddenly found himself in the position of not being able to think what to say and instead of making himself sound like an idiot by blabbering anything merely stared out over the small inland sea where the Atlantic met the North sea::
*Eirian Apollius*
"You look as if you are in thought, Oakenshield," She turned the page of parchment collect to another blank one, to immortalize the horizon three pairs of eyes looked on. "what on?" Eirian was loquacious if she wished to be, and poetic was not far from the truth at all. The carriage of the woman paired with her vocabulary seemed as unusual as her appearance, as if poetry and pale women were two things bards dreamed of, but they didn't really live. Wales was over-run of poet sorts, but then what among the Celts were not? No common language amidst different nations yet there were some common threads. Artistic tendency was one of them, eloquence another (d)
*Bane Oakenfield*
"A man who is worth his salt is always deep in thought, Miss, for he must plan his next move. And the move I plan to make is akin to the Rubicon. Alea Iacta Est" ::He quoted the last, in what he knew was Latin. The die was cast. A modern day gambler phrase that, when Caesar crossed the Rubicon where his imperium ended and marched into Italy, he was said to utter before marching against Pompey and the Senate and thus securing eventual victory. He looked at her again and smiled:: "It will be no secret in a few weeks time. I intend to take a series of fortifications in Hadrians Wall and house my soldiers there. What I do after, I have not decided" ::And I shall redeem my fathers name, he thought only to himself::
*Eirian Apollius*
"M'thinks good sir you play a game of chess with a board only you can see this evening." She arched a brow at Latin, the symbolism of its history not escaping her as the charcoal drew waves coming to shore, the rise of the moon. Turning her head to him she mulled his idea over with no real turn of phrase to express a like or dislike of it. Instead she smiled, "God save you, keep you in such ventures for they seem quite prolific, to live at the border. To add with your Latin it seems one might say Tempus Fugit, or Carpe Diem." Unknowing two children of lost fathers sat side by side on the Scottish shore. The artist settled the charcoal with no real desire to, but had to, in order to rub the painful places on her wrists. The scas would subside slower than she liked that denoted some sort of recent bondage (d)
*Bane Oakenshield*
"Seize the day" ::He smiled:: "May as well, no-one else is going to in this place anymore. They are too comfortable." ::Bane looked across the shoreline, at what he judged should be rightfully his rather than a noble he had never heard of. An usurper. The words of Arbroath sounded in his head again.:: "So what brings you to these parts?"
*Rhianna Costache*
Rhianna held a soft smile still as she let her eyes drift back and forth between the pair of them as they each took a turn to speak. Bane did seem as if he were deep in thought and she wondered just what was in the mind of his. Head canted slightly as she pondered this a moment all the while as her eyes studied him. After realizing she would be thought of as rude for staring, she blinked a couple times and turned her attention to everything each of them shared, but would occasionally lean and peer to the piece of paper. She could quite see all of what Erian was drawing and so she rocked up and onto hands and knees as she moved a little closer to better then to Eriain. She was listening to everything each of them shared, but would occasionally lean and peer to the piece of paper. She could quite see all of what Erian was drawing and so she rocked up and onto hands and knees as she moved a little closer to better inspect the woman's artistic touch. "You are very good at drawing Lady Apollous." she complimented before sitting back down on her bottom and looking then to Bane before flashing him a shy like smile and tearing her gaze away before looking back to Eirian. "If what Bane says is true, is your family here with you? Or are they all back in your homelands still?" (d)
*Eirian Apollius*
"Thank you, Mistress Costache. It is an aquitred talent. My mind holds all as if a picture so my hand sought some way to immortalize it. The loom, drawing, pants, even the art of the dance. Expression is everything. God I think grows sad to see gifts go unused," The picture was resumed, hand slightly stiffer so fingers compensated for being fluid. The man spoke of seizing the day for no one else would. In a way she agreed, yet it wasn't without an earned comfort "My kin is here on the Island, except for one uncle, who remained in Wales. We live some miles outside of the city, in the central of the island just above the South. There was a fertile valley found between the Cullins. We call it the Bant Chan Ser, it means Valley of Stars (d)
to be continued... (I think)
::He watched the long ship pass between Skye and the mainland, skirting past the small island that separated them so neatly in half. He watched the oars beat twice before sails were raised and the wind guided the small ship along it's journey to Gods only knew where. Bane sat watching feeling at one. As the true heir to the Lord of the Isles he had always felt an affinity with the water, but had no real inclination to ever sail on it. No, he took the land forces way of thinking from his father. His father who, apparently, was traitor. Bane hawked and spat into the North sea, disbelieving it. He wore the same garbs as yesterday, the same black jerkin with navy blue cotton shirt and brown leather gloves coupled with the leather brown boots. However, his weapons were sat at his side, ready at a moments such was his inner rage::
*Rhianna Costache*
The day had been long and even a little lonely. It was odd to think how someone could be surrounded by so many and still feel as if you were the only person in a room or on the street. She had walked the streets all day, until she could walk them no more and was now in need of a change of scenery. With her change of clothes on, she walked upon bare feet. Losing anything she felt would weigh her down or slow her down. Anything that would keep her from connecting with the earth, the wind, and soon the water. Rhianna made her way from the streets of the city to the shores of the beach and instantly she found much relief. Sand shifted beneath her feet, spilled over her toes, and she paused a moment to wiggle them within the warmth that still radiated from it. Wind would come and go, lifting and toying those caramel curls like delicate fingers of a lover who yearned to caress more. While she was always free... out here, she truly felt she had freedom. However, he mind was plagued by the events of last night and all through out the day, she had wondered about both Breanna and Bane... wondered how each faired now. (d)
*Eirian Apollius*
The shore was where God fashioned a careful seam between water and sky. Eternity always looked as if it could be touched when a hand skimmed the air concocting the closest a soul on sand could come to the horizon line. In order to fathom the whimsy of the Father she slowed the pace of the horse to tread gentle through the flow of time. Silence could bring false sense of the stagnant. Never here, never here. For the last few days, the horse rider had been in the background of the living tapestry. Foreground raged with vivid noises bursting with the need to be expressed from their keepers, but silence was the glorious state of open ears. Sapphire orbs were upturned; dark lash concealed the lot before she tried to find the edge of the moon through the collection of dark, thick clouds. She memorized it, so that she could draw it with the materials in the satchel positioned just so on her person, but Eirian always seemed to remember everything (d)
*Bane Oakenshield*
::He took the small piece of paper from the uppermost pocket in his jerkin, quickly calculating where his lads would be. They should have made Paris by now. Another day they would be in Calais and embarked, two to three days after they would make landfall in Berwick and would march towards the old Roman fortifications to take their place amongst what were legends in their own right. This country, his country, had changed too much for his liking. The Scots were now Empire builders, nothing for which he had fought for had been preserved - liberty and freedom all but gone in the English. That wasn't the way, it wasn't the way it was meant to be. He stood up, bent down and picked up a smooth rounded pebble and skimmed it across the water. It bounced five times. He smiled and reattached his weaponry. The rapier on the right hand side, the dagger on the left with the two pistols tucked into the red scarf he wore around his waist, the red scarf being a keepsake from a French Officer. He coughed slightly and began to move towards the main town once more, looking for transport out of Skye to the old border. Maybe there he would find his place: (d)
*Rhianna Costache*
Rhianna continued to walk, there was no real destination in mind and there hardly ever was. The land called to her when it wished, the wind led her when it needed, and Rhi would always listen, answer, and follow heart and soul. As she walked along, sea green eyes turned toward the sea. She watched as the waves came rolling in and crashing on the shore. She seem to sway softly with the rhythm that surrounded her, almost as if she were in the beginning stages of a dance, a dance that wasn't necessarily meant for anyone but herself. Eyes closed for a moment, arms lifted slowly and gracefully, and soon she was twirling about like some innocent little girl playing a game all by herself. Head rolled and then tilted back and a smile began to grace those full lips of hers as the wind seem to pick up just a little. (d)
*Eirian Apollius*
Destination was subjective. None of them stood with intent to move at the very moment to what was important. Yet, at the same time, the possibility of finding meaning along the way always remained open. "Good eve," she said to Bane in a tone he might have mistook for the tone of a misplaced bird. Nightingales do not sit near seashores. Easily heard, easily dismissed. She rode on a little ways before bring the creature to stand-still. One leg shifted to span width before touching down in the sand. As the other followed, the wind played silly games amidst the dove gray and blue skirts. Eirian let conversation's prospect fend for itself because she was moved to listen to the eternal conversation of muses, the sort that reciprocated charcoal under nails and full paper pads (d)
*Bane Oakenshield*
::He stopped, watching Rhi but also hearing a distinct voice. He mumbled a welcome but continued to watch the girl who had, in just a few days, somehow captivated his way of thinking. He was too old in the tooth now to think that she had taken his heart, but it was a close run thing. He watched her dance, go through the motions as it were and found himself sitting down, cross legged in appreciation. There was nothing more he could do apart from that, for he felt that should he shout a greeting then it would come to an end - and he did not know truthfully who that would be more the pity for, her for not dancing or for him not being able to watch. Therefore, for some honestly admitted selfish reasons, he watched happily::
*Rhianna Costache*
The dance would continue and even seem to grow even a little intense. Passionate even. There was a sway of hips, a roll of her belly, a snaking of arms... she was for the most part, alone. Or at least she thought. Little did she know that there were others now on the shore with her. Did her sixth sense kick in? Something had alerted her of their presence and while some may have stopped, she seem to continue to dance, and dance in their direction even! Upon closer inspection, she realized who it was sitting down, but the other... the other she did not know. At least not yet! "Good eve to you both.." she greeted with a wide smile as those eyes would shift between the pair of them. "Is it not lovely tonight?" she asked as the Gypsy looked skyward where night had began to stake its claim and the sun was fading. Disappearing down into the water, or so it appeared. She looked back to them then. "Its good to see you again Bane... and its nice to meet you Lady." she said as her gaze turned then to Eirian. (d)
*Eirian Apollius*
One selfish reason mixed with one artist's muse made real tied them to the one who danced to the music of the waves. Eirian reclined her back against the rock outcropping, sliding down until her knees naturally fell in front of her so the upper most one served as her prop. The satchel's contents was strewn out before her. Knowing all by feel alone her eyes never left Rhiannon; the shadow-play along the soft sand shot back to the brow skin twisting. Sinew flexed and went lax under the flesh while limbs lowered or raised , she looked at that, not at the paper she set up without fault. Not even the right length of charcoal need even an eye turned toward it so that she could embody forever a moment's liberation. Ah, discovery by the subject still did not hinder her hands "Good eve, mistress, The night is lovely. God raises the moon in a memorable way this night." She tilted her head, turning eyes down again to the paper. Strands of ebony lacquer lingered before her face as if concealing the mystery of what her mind recalled. In contrast to Rhiannon's earth blessed features, the tiny creator had limbs as white as pale moon rising. On her head, the hair's motion was all to distinguish it from the black stretching out of the purple dusk. "what do you think of the night, sir?" (d)
*Bane Oakenshield*
::When it came to introductions, he spoke up.:: "Bane Oakenshield." He much preferred the mercenary name than the real name. He wasn't sure how many people would have believed it beyond the close knit circle that was the inner command of his mercenary regiment that even now was returning back to the British Isles. He considered it for a moment. They were Scots predominantly, but Borderers. And the borderer was something that no other nation would ever appreciated. Hells, even the Scots and English never understood them. The borderers knew each other, not on a personal level, but they understood. They were interlinked by blood and marriage, it was almost a different country in itself. Those were his people.:: "Judging by your accent though, the faint lilt, I'd you were southern Welsh than Northern, they sound more Scouse and English. Perhaps Cardiff, Bridgend or even Barry?" ::He was always curious, a few in his own regiment came from Wales as well as England and Ireland. It was a natural union::
*Rhianna Costache*
"A lovely name for a lovely lady" came the reply from the Gypsy as she smiled to Eirian. She would let Bane give his first and then offer her own. "Rhianna Costache." She said after a moment of Bane giving his own. She did however become quiet as it seemed the man would take a stab at guessing from where the woman came from based on her accent alone. She was still standing, thought that was soon to be remedied as she quickly, but gracefully fell to sit upon her bottom across from them both. Rhianna sat indian style, but made sure her skirt pooled within her lap so that nothing showed that didn't need to be shown. However, long legs in that soft mocha color were revealed right up to just above the knee. Hands clasped together and she seem to lean in as if intrigued by them both. She was absolutely just fine with being an observer for the moment. (d)
*Eirian Apollius*
"You are very kind. Your name, Rhianna. Know you how close it is to the likes of Rhiannon? Where I am from, such a name to the people of old was she whom understood the moon for she was its keeper, and mysteries, and the likes heaven. We are well matched, says I. Eirian means silver. Yet for a man named Bane, you sir are pleasant enough. So then we three are well matched indeed." Lips pulled to a grin as she reclined against her elbows in the sand before turning to Bane ,"You are astute, too, in your guessing. The Southern Coast of Wales is my place of birth, my family's origin is rather stretched across it, as Wales itself is stretched in her principalities, her
shires." Rhianna was sun kissed radiance while Eirian was a sliver of light cast down on earth. Each being shone in their own unique way, yet it was strange to see flesh stand out so vivid in the way it was white, against the blue-gray of garment no less. (d)
*Bane Oakenshield*
::Bane, cursed one in the old tongue. Though Celts, in the old days, didn't have a common language - there was enough similarities for the major things to be carried over. However, he took an instant liking to the Welsh woman, she seemed at ease with herself if a little on the poetic side at times in the way she spoke, but that was the way of her people he supposed. He suddenly found himself in the position of not being able to think what to say and instead of making himself sound like an idiot by blabbering anything merely stared out over the small inland sea where the Atlantic met the North sea::
*Eirian Apollius*
"You look as if you are in thought, Oakenshield," She turned the page of parchment collect to another blank one, to immortalize the horizon three pairs of eyes looked on. "what on?" Eirian was loquacious if she wished to be, and poetic was not far from the truth at all. The carriage of the woman paired with her vocabulary seemed as unusual as her appearance, as if poetry and pale women were two things bards dreamed of, but they didn't really live. Wales was over-run of poet sorts, but then what among the Celts were not? No common language amidst different nations yet there were some common threads. Artistic tendency was one of them, eloquence another (d)
*Bane Oakenfield*
"A man who is worth his salt is always deep in thought, Miss, for he must plan his next move. And the move I plan to make is akin to the Rubicon. Alea Iacta Est" ::He quoted the last, in what he knew was Latin. The die was cast. A modern day gambler phrase that, when Caesar crossed the Rubicon where his imperium ended and marched into Italy, he was said to utter before marching against Pompey and the Senate and thus securing eventual victory. He looked at her again and smiled:: "It will be no secret in a few weeks time. I intend to take a series of fortifications in Hadrians Wall and house my soldiers there. What I do after, I have not decided" ::And I shall redeem my fathers name, he thought only to himself::
*Eirian Apollius*
"M'thinks good sir you play a game of chess with a board only you can see this evening." She arched a brow at Latin, the symbolism of its history not escaping her as the charcoal drew waves coming to shore, the rise of the moon. Turning her head to him she mulled his idea over with no real turn of phrase to express a like or dislike of it. Instead she smiled, "God save you, keep you in such ventures for they seem quite prolific, to live at the border. To add with your Latin it seems one might say Tempus Fugit, or Carpe Diem." Unknowing two children of lost fathers sat side by side on the Scottish shore. The artist settled the charcoal with no real desire to, but had to, in order to rub the painful places on her wrists. The scas would subside slower than she liked that denoted some sort of recent bondage (d)
*Bane Oakenshield*
"Seize the day" ::He smiled:: "May as well, no-one else is going to in this place anymore. They are too comfortable." ::Bane looked across the shoreline, at what he judged should be rightfully his rather than a noble he had never heard of. An usurper. The words of Arbroath sounded in his head again.:: "So what brings you to these parts?"
*Rhianna Costache*
Rhianna held a soft smile still as she let her eyes drift back and forth between the pair of them as they each took a turn to speak. Bane did seem as if he were deep in thought and she wondered just what was in the mind of his. Head canted slightly as she pondered this a moment all the while as her eyes studied him. After realizing she would be thought of as rude for staring, she blinked a couple times and turned her attention to everything each of them shared, but would occasionally lean and peer to the piece of paper. She could quite see all of what Erian was drawing and so she rocked up and onto hands and knees as she moved a little closer to better then to Eriain. She was listening to everything each of them shared, but would occasionally lean and peer to the piece of paper. She could quite see all of what Erian was drawing and so she rocked up and onto hands and knees as she moved a little closer to better inspect the woman's artistic touch. "You are very good at drawing Lady Apollous." she complimented before sitting back down on her bottom and looking then to Bane before flashing him a shy like smile and tearing her gaze away before looking back to Eirian. "If what Bane says is true, is your family here with you? Or are they all back in your homelands still?" (d)
*Eirian Apollius*
"Thank you, Mistress Costache. It is an aquitred talent. My mind holds all as if a picture so my hand sought some way to immortalize it. The loom, drawing, pants, even the art of the dance. Expression is everything. God I think grows sad to see gifts go unused," The picture was resumed, hand slightly stiffer so fingers compensated for being fluid. The man spoke of seizing the day for no one else would. In a way she agreed, yet it wasn't without an earned comfort "My kin is here on the Island, except for one uncle, who remained in Wales. We live some miles outside of the city, in the central of the island just above the South. There was a fertile valley found between the Cullins. We call it the Bant Chan Ser, it means Valley of Stars (d)
to be continued... (I think)