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The Captive's Return

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Sinaedh	The Captive's Return	Lead	[-]
Posts: 211 (06/12/08 17:44:32) Itinerant Cleric Reply Quote More My Recent Posts	Tags : None Remove this ad By the player of Braden, posted October 10, 2002: "Lord, hear me. Hear me, your child. I have served under your light. I have given my blood to further your glory. I live because of you, and I will die serving you. You are my reason. You guide my steps, and my blade. . ." Braden glanced up toward the cell door in response to the sound of footfalls. An average height man of celtic decent, denoted by the woad covering half of his face, scanned Braden's cell briefly then walked off. The cell door was fashioned of simple iron bars, strong enough to keep a human or smaller imprisoned, but a troll or demented firbolg would find it easy to bend these rusty bars. The man walked off, checking on the others cells in the block. Braden waited a moment until the celt was out of sight, and then closed his eyes, turning his head to face forward. ". . . While my soul is forever in your grasp, my mind grows more and more weary each day that I waste in this hell. I seek to break free of my prison here, to serve you in battle against the heretics. I am a Paladin in the Church of Albion, not a hapless prisoner to be fed that which the dogs have left behind. I seek your guidance in my next endeavour. I seek your blessing in my choices. But most of all. . ." Braden sighed, "I seek your forgiveness in the blood that is about to be shed in these halls." Braden opened his eyes slowly, and turned to look to the cell door. The vertical bars were spaced wide enough for a prisoner of Braden's size to slip his arms through, up to the elbows. That would be sufficient for the plan Braden concocted. This cell block was reserved for the lower ranking soldiers that the Hibernians captured. Higher ranking soldiers were kept in a more tightly guarded prison on an island in the Great Sea, west of Hibernia. Or, they were simply killed to save the Hibernians the trouble of dealing with the few soldiers that had an independent spirit. With a prison designed for lower ranking soldiers, came lower ranking guards, and dimwitted ones at that. Braden remembered his days of crusading with Randon, Rhyllan, Christiana, and the other members of the Company of the Black Rose whom he called friends. Surely they were of much higher rank than he was now. If they were captured, they would surely have been killed, for their combined wits were too much for any Hibernian to handle. Now, it was time to enact the plan. . . ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Braden sat against the wall in his cell, on the thin mat that the Hibernians dubbed a bed. The lone Celtic guard stood outside the cell, yawning very once in a while, and scanning the cells. He wore a helmet, with a nose-piece, shoddy scale armor, and was armed with a short sword. A ring with the cell key hung on his right side. "Boring, isn't it?" spoke Braden, looking to the Celt. "Silence, Briton. You know I cannae speak to ya!" snapped back the Celt. "And whom here will hear you do so? The half-deaf dwarf over there?" Braden nodded his toward another occupied cell. "I doubt it. I simply wish to have honest conversation. I have no wish to trick you. I've no wish to show you deceit either. I simply wish to chat." The Celt turned to look at Braden, resting against the wall opposite the cell. "What could you and I possibly talk about that would be of interest to the both of us, Briton?" Braden shrugged. "We both hold a dislike for the Northerners do we not? I am sure you have many stories to tell, as do I. . ." "Heh. . . Northerners. The scourge of the world. Aye, I have stories to tell." nodded the Celt to Braden. The two began telling their stories, and eventually the talk became casual. Hours went by, and both were growing more comfortable with the other. The Celt, while having great stories to tell about barbaric vikings, and skalds who couldn't sing, proved to be unwise as well. Letting his guard down, the Celt came to resting against the bars of Braden's cell door. Braden was now standing, sharing laughs with the Celt. Naturally, most of Braden's laughter was a ruse, due to the paladin's dull sense of humour. The Celt began laughing at a particularly funny moment, when suddenly the time had come. Braden lashed out, thrusting his right arm through the bars and grabbing the Celt's hair at the back of the head. The Celt, stunned, looked to Braden with a look of shock. Braden pulled his arm toward the door quickly, smashing the Celt's face into one of the bars. The Celt let out a shriek of pain, and his look of shock turned into one of fear. The Celt motioned for his sword. Braden let out a primal scream and snapped the Celt's head back against the bar again. Blood spurt from the Celt's mouth as nearly all of his front teeth, upper and lower were shattered. Now the look in the Celt's eyes were that of fear and pain. The eyes were those of a child, afraid of pain, and terrified of death. Braden filled with a rage, and smashed the Celt's face against the bar again, this time bending the nose-piece of the helmet in toward the Celt's right eye. A deep cut appeared across the cheek of the Celt, and blood started pouring from it. The Celt was dazed now, and couldn't grip the hilt of his short sword. Fumbling for the blade, the Celt was pulled forward again into the bar, this time sending tooth fragments into his throat. He started to choke on the mixture of blood and teeth being sucked into his throat. Braden knew it was time to end this, and lunged out with his left arm. He pulled once more to slam the Celt's face against the bar, then snapped the Celt's neck. Blood landed everywhere. Holding the now limp body against the door, Braden reached down and slipped the keys from the guard's belt. Quickly, Braden reached around and unlocked the cell door. Braden felt liquid running down his neck, and wiped away. Looking to his hand, he saw blood. Sighing, Braden crossed himself, muttering a quick prayer to the Lord. He proceeded to a water bucket, and dumped it over himself, washing away the Celt's blood. He dragged the body of the Celt into the cell and undressed the dead body. Donning the outfit of the Celt, Braden surveyed the other cells and noted they contained Northerners. He looked back to the Celt and sighed, shaked his head, then lowered the Celt's still open eyelids. "I trust they will give you a decent burial. You died doing your duty. May your soul be free, wherever it has gone. . ." Braden stood and headed for the doors out of the cell block. He knew he had to reach the eastern shore of Hibernia, to find a boat back to Albion. He must get back to his homeland. . . for he had friends there waiting for him.
Sinaedh		#1	[-]
Posts: 212 (06/12/08 17:46:16) Itinerant Cleric Reply Quote More My Recent Posts	Escaping the Land of the Veil The surf pounded against the rocky cliffs that descended from the stone walls of the prison. It was bright out, near mid day. Braden pulled the Celt's cloak close to him, as a chill wind blew from the west. There, to the west, he saw his objective. A small hamlet nestled against the shore of a small cove. A fishing boat sat in the water, moored to the village's only pier. A narrow road, leading down a steep hill from the prison, was the only exit off of the windswept, rocky spit of rock that the prison called home. Braden knew he would have to enter the hamlet down below in order to reach the boat, his only chance of escaping this land. Glancing to the ground, Braden knelt down and picked up a handful of dust and dirt. Squeezing his hand, he poured the dust into his other hand, and then threw it at his face, deliberately inhaling when doing it, and keeping his eyes open. Grimacing, Braden then rubbed the dust out of his eyes, making his eyes red from irritation. He then sneezed, followed by his nose running. "Dat is da quickest cod I ever caught." Braden knew that he had to play off his lack of the Hibernian accent. He quickly moved off, travelling down the road before the effects of the dust wore off. The Celt's uniform wasn't new. It had a large tear across the right arm of the shirt, allowing some of the cold air to touch exposed skin. Braden drew the cloak even closer around him. Braden entered the hamlet. Few people were out and about, but an audible clamor could be heard from within the local pub, called the Slippery Salmon. Keeping a steady pace, Braden proceeded toward the pier. The chance of him being discovered would increase if he were to slow down. He had to reach his goal without delay. But delay would come, in the form of an old woman, curious why a prison guard would be walking toward the pier. "Excuse Me? Hello?" said the old woman, looking straight at Braden. Braden kept walking, as if ignoring the old woman. He stepped onto the pier and walked down toward the waiting boat. "Hello?! Please stop young man," called out the old woman. Braden stopped. If he continued, he would raise too much suspicion within the old woman. He slowly turned and looked to the old woman, who was walking slowly up the pier toward him. "Why are you going out to sea? Shouldn't you be on duty, young man? It is an awfully bitter day... Oh my, you look ill!" The old woman, placed her hand on Braden's shoulder. "You should get indoors and stay warm. Being out in this weather is doing nothing to help you." Braden shrugged, then muttered, "I will be fine miss. I just want some solitude." Braden reached out to begin untying the rope that was mooring the boat, and the cloak fell to his sides. The woman, seeing the tear in the arm of the Celt's outfit, suddenly looked as if she went cold. Her eyes darted back and forth between the tear in the arm, and Braden. "My... my... my boy? Why are you... wearing my boy's uniform?" Braden, looking to the woman, began working the rope quicker. "What did you do to my boy?!" the old woman turned and started moving quickly down the pier toward the tavern. "HELP! Help! My boy... No.." the woman started crying "Noooo... you killed my boy. ESCAPE!!" Braden shook his head, then turned his full attention to the rope. It was tied unusually tight. "Lord, you could make this a tad easier..." he muttered under his breath. The sound of a door creaking open drew his attention, and he saw a number of men exiting the Slippery Salmon and pointing toward him. a few of them were armed, two with swords, and one with a bow. "A ranger... no..." Braden said, then he worked the rope quickly, finally undoing it. Hopping on board, Braden took the pushpole in hand, and shoved off. The boat was free from its mooring, and drifting away from the pier. But Braden's ordeal was far from over. With sure aim, and as quick as lightning, the ranger raised his bow and loosed an arrow toward Braden, which found its mark and buried itself into Braden's left thigh. Braden howled in pain, falling to one knee. "NO!!" he growled to himself. He moved behind a barrel on the deck of the boat, and began tending to the wound. Suddenly, the door of the boat's cabin opened, and a large form emerged. Braden looked up in shock, and was greeted by a stiff elbow to the face. Dazed, Braden fell backward. "Briton?! You feel like sailin' do ya?" The firbolg grabbed Braden at the neck and lifted him up. Braden's feet were dangling, and the firbolg smirked. "You are a fool to think you can escape us!" the firbolg laughed heartily. Braden tried to speak, but the firbolg's iron grip prevented him from doing so. Braden kicked out at the firbolg with his right leg and struck the large being, but the firbolg simply laughed it off. The firbolg's smirk then turned to one of anger, and he spun Braden around, slamming him against the mast of the boat. Braden's face began turning blue, the lack of air starting to make his vision blur. "You will now learn that it is unhealthy to anger a firbolg!" The firbolg began to squeeze Braden's neck. Braden wheezed. He couldn't breathe. He knew that this could be the end, but his desperation to get home at any cost drove him to committ acts that normally wouldnt be considered. Mustering his last bit of strength, Braden reached down to the embedded arrow, and ripped it from his thigh. A muted yell of pain escaped Braden's lips, and he raised the arrow. He could feel his warm blood running freely down his left leg. Braden plunged the blood-soaked arrow into the firbolg's right eye. Shrieking in pain, the firbolg dropped to his knees, and grasped the arrow that was now planted in his eye socket. Braden, catching his breath, coughed uncontrollably, and began taking deep breaths. He grabbed his neck and rubbed it. He caught sight of the firbolg, with blood running freely from the wound in his head. Braden suddenly vomitted, a result of the shock from being choked, the sight of blood, the feel of blood, and the rocking of the boat. Standing up, Braden walked over to the firbolg, who was still grasping the arrow. Taking hold of the arrow, Braden lifted upward, forcing the large being to stand up. Taking the firbolg's sword, Braden ran it through the rib cage of the firbolg, then pushed the firbolg off of the boat. After a desperate moment of splashing in the water, the body of the firbolg was still. It rolled over, and floated in the water, face down. "Forgive me..." Braden muttered, and then stumbled backward, dropping the bloody sword. Tearing a strip of cloth from the Celt's uniform, he tied it around the wound in his leg, attempting to stop the blood flow. Limping over to the mast, Braden worked to unfurl the sail, and then collapsed on to the deck of the boat. His exhaustion had finally caught up with him. The boat drifted over the eastern horizon.
Sinaedh		#2	[-]
Posts: 213 (06/12/08 17:50:41) Itinerant Cleric Reply Quote More My Recent Posts	(( Posted originally as a part of Eris' Handmaiden. by Sinaedh. )) No matter how she struggled, sliding through the mud, pulling her feet from the muck with sucking sound, grasping low-hanging branches to aid her, she couldn't seem to get closer to the light. The tower drifted like a phantom, twin lights that she knew bracketed the doorway glinting just beyond her ability to resolve them, or any of the other features other than shadows. "Lord God," she murmured. "Help me. Can it be I've run afoul of some evil mirage?" She stopped, panting, swiping a hand across her brow, then smacking it to her cheek to crush a bloodsucking insect that had been drawn to the heat of her body. She looked up into the sky. Clouds scudded over the nearly full moon, somehow draining that light nearly completely before it could reach down into the murky marsh. The scent of salt from the coast mingled with the sulfurous odor of decay from the mud she'd disturbed, hinting that she'd traveled far from the path she'd thought to walk. "There must be some way," she murmured. "Some way to find the road." Another glance up to the moon confirmed that she'd been traveling to the south. Sinaedh frowned into the night. "South?" she wondered. "But the road should be off to the west." One further glance to the phantom tower, still hovering tantalizingly to the south, then she shook her head. "No. I've gone too far south." She turned to her right, grumbling under her breath as the mud once again attempted to suck her boot from her foot. Wriggling her toes in their soggy stockings, she shook her head. "Too slow," she muttered. "I have to get to Sanders." The moon struggled free from the clouds, giving the trees with their low-hanging branches a ghostly air. A breath of salted breeze, and the sound of ocean waves was carried to her. For a moment, she looked again to the south, but the tower was no longer there. Sinaedh crossed herself, murmuring a prayer against spirits of the swamp and the night, then frowned. There, off in the distance, a glint of light again. This time, however, the light was more solid than the spectre that had drawn her south. It gleamed, shimmering in the strengthening moonlight, moving in small arcs as she watched. "What is that?" she wondered in a soft voice. The tug of the road that must be off to the west was met by the very real curiosity of the gleam to the south. With a shrug, settling her hauberk and pack, Sinaedh once again slogged through the mud, her eyes fixed on the gleam when she could see it. The sound of the ocean grew, the smell of salt spray nearly covering the dank mists of the swamp. When the light was hidden by vegetation, she moved by sound, directing her laborious steps toward the ocean. Slowly the footing grew stronger, sand invading the mud of the swamp and making the trek easier. The salt water infused the soil, keeping most vegetation from growing. And there, Sinaedh could see it. "A ship," she murmured in wonder. Bobbing slowly, lifted by gentle waves, the boat seemed deserted. It leaned slightly to one side, whether due to the shore or to damage, she couldn't tell. The sails were loose, fluttering slowly in the breeze. And on the planks of the deck, something glittered in the moonlight. Sinaedh stripped off her armor then waded out in the low rolling waves, carefully approaching the ship. It seemed undamaged, leaning to the side because its keel had ground up against the sand. The waves washed around it, setting up eddies that tugged her close. There were no markings save for a strange ornate eye that had been painted on the prow in deep blue. Sinaedh frowned. Even though she wasn't that familiar with ships, that mark seemed unusual. What could it mean? The deck was too high for her to reach, and she despaired for a moment, fearing she wouldn't be able to board the vessel. But as she swam around the deeper portion of the boat, she found a line trailing out to sea in the ebb of the wave, then slipping back under the boat. Gripping the rope and bracing against the wooden hull, she waited for a wave, then hauled herself up out of the water, climbing the few feet up to pull herself onto the deck. Gasping for breath for a moment, she rolled onto her back, wiping the salty water from her eyes. The boat seemed fairly secure, only rocking slightly with each small wave that passed under it. The moonlit fluttering sails gave the vessel a ghostly feel, but it was curiosity, rather than ghost-hunting that drove her now. Would this vessel sail again? Could she use it to travel north? Would it bring her closer to Sanders? Slowly, bare feet spread for balance, she got to her feet. There, off to the right, the moon gleamed off a piece of metal. Carefully, wary of any quick movement, Sinaedh walked over the plank. Frowning, she looked down at the metallic object that had drawn her to the boat. Gasping, Sinaedh paused with her hand half-way to the object. It was a weapon, a short blade, bloodied and salt-encrusted, yet still gleaming with a fey light. "Elves," she murmured, taking a quick step back, and looking around warily. Sinaedh froze as a low moan sounded, her hand lifted to the cross she wore around her neck. Ruing her decision to leave her weapons safe on the shore, away from the salt water, she glanced around. There to her left, a small round wooden dowel rocked. She stooped to lift it, then padded silently in the direction from which the sound had come. He was lying on his belly, but she could see blood had seeped from a wound on his thigh that seemed to be bound with a torn strip of cloth. No elf, nor lurikeen, nor even firbolg, but this man lying there could well be a celt allied with those enemies of fey blood. Fingers tightening on the club she held, she slowly prodded the man's side with her foot. The man moaned again, but made no motion to rise. Slowly, Sinaedh knelt, the club held high, ready to smash down on his head if he tried to attack her. She felt the side of his throat, the pulse weak, but steady. This man was injured, and no danger. Her healing instincts took over, and she placed her makeshift club by her knee, reaching to feel down the man's back. He didn't seem to have any broken bones, though he flinched as her skilled hands pressed on the ribs of one side. Carefully, she rolled the man over, working to keep his body moving in one motion. She gasped as his face was revealed. "Brother Braden?" The sun and salt air had dried and cracked the paladin's lips. Bruises purpled his face and hands. Still, except for exposure, it seemed the wound on the man's thigh was the worst of his injuries. Carefully, Sinaedh unwrapped the bloodsoaked cloth, then ripped away the torn trouser leg. Braden moaned again, but didn't wake or move. Murmuring a prayer, she placed her hands on the angry-looking wound. She closed her eyes, feeling the familiar comfort of the warmth of the healing as God answered her plea for help. Looking down at Braden again, Sinaedh was pleased to see his expression easing to one of sleep. "Now, how do I get you to shore?" she wondered aloud. Rising, she lifted the club again, moving to explore the remainder of the small boat. Of course it was too small to have a dingy, she thought to herself after making a transit of the sides of the boat. She'd found several crates, but nothing she'd trust to keep Braden warm and dry long enough to get him to the beach. She pulled the cabin door open, peering into the darkened room. Large chests lined one wall, a bunk suspended over them. A table bolted to the wall on the other side of the small cabin held dishes still trapped by the ingenious lip carved into it. "I never thought of them as sea-faring," she murmured to herself. She peered at the bunk, then on impulse, tugged at the mattress. It seemed to be stuffed with some light-weight fiber. Better than nothing, she thought to herself, dragging the long mattress out of the cabin. Several crates were bashed into pallets with her club, then lashed with bits of rope scavenged from the drooping sails. Sinaedh noticed that the sun was pinking the horizon, then nearly fell as the boat shifted, caught by a wave. The tide was coming in. Quickly, she hefted the still-unconscious paladin onto the makeshift raft, pausing for a moment as she considered. She could tie him on, but if the raft slid into the water and flipped, would she be able to untie him quickly enough? A lurch of the boat, and grinding noise from under the deck convinced her. This boat probably wasn't going to survive the waves much longer. She had no knowledge of ships, so attempting to sail it free wasn't an option. Resolutely, Sinaedh tugged a rope over and bound the paladin to the mattress atop the wood. She dragged the raft to the side, pulling the one free rope she'd left to turn it around the mast. Slowly, she lowered the raft down, quickly tying the rope to the mast, then hurrying to see if it was floating. To her relief, the paladin lay serenely on the floating mattress. A surge of a wave sent Sinaedh back to untie the rope. The boat shifted as she stumbled back to the edge of the deck. Whispering a prayer, she leaped into the water, splashing to get a grip on the edge of the raft. Kicking strongly, she guided the floating construct toward the beach. As the sun peeked over the water, brilliant orange spreading over the waves, the boat creaked and leaned. Waves splashed over the deck on one side, and the craft wallowed. Sinaedh dragged the raft up onto the beach, helped by a large wave. That same wave caught the boat, dragging it onto its side. With a wooden groan, the boat was pulled out and under the waves. Sinaedh untied the man lying on the mattress, then rummaged in her pack, pulling free a flask of water. She sat beside him, lifting his head. "Brother Braden? Can you hear me?"
Sinaedh		#3	[-]
Posts: 214 (06/12/08 17:52:36) Itinerant Cleric Reply Quote More My Recent Posts	((Again written by the player of Braden Wulfbrande)) "Wh... Where am I?" asked Braden, his eyes opening from a deep sleep for the first time since he last saw the dead firbolg in the water off of the Hibernian coast. He stirred, trying to sit up, but failing to muster the energy or will to do so. He then attempted to move his wounded leg, but the arrow wound rudely announced that it still maintained an unwelcome presence in his leg. Braden yelped in pain, and clenched his fists together in pain and anger. This wound would keep him bed ridden for longer than he wished to be. Braden began to look around the room. The slight glint of metal above the doorway caught his attention. Studying the source of the glint, he could make out the vertical and horizontal bars of a cross in the dim moonlight entering through the window. The sound of crickets, and frogs calling out into the night also poured through the window. Smiling to himself, Braden rest his head back on the pillow and closed his eyes, realizing that he was home, in the Marsh of Avalon. The feeling of safety, and the feeling of being home brought on a comfort to him, and he drifted off into a land of dreams, rather than the realm of nightmares that he has been in. ------------------------ "He is a member of the Company of the Black Rose, and a cleric from that order is enroute to claim him. She should be arriving soon, your eminence." stated the monk, his head bowed low. "Aye. I have plans for this cleric when she arrives, and for her guildmate here. This paladin will travel with her, and provide protection should she need it. She is a very capable cleric, but extra protection and muscle cannot hurt. Clean him up and take care of his wound. I expect to see him in a suit of armor not long after his friend arrives." commanded Bishop Mercius. The monk nodded once, and then left the room. Bishop Mercius looked over Braden, and spoke softly to himself. "I hope you are ready for a hunt, good paladin."
Sinaedh	The Storm, by Christiana	#4	[-]
Posts: 215 (06/12/08 17:55:18) Itinerant Cleric Reply Quote More My Recent Posts	Remove this ad ((Written by the player of Christiana, posted October 8, 2002. There is some order to the stories of Christiana and Braden, but I am never certain of it.)) " Ahhh, Lady Christiana, what are you doing so far out in the frontier alone" Christiana jumped when she heard the raspy voice behind her. "Making my way to Hadrian's Wall, I've gotten word that they are in need of healers" Christiana blushed and looked to the ground to avoid his eyes. "What are you doing out here?" "Oh, Taking care of some business, nothing to concern yourself with" he said as he stepped closer, taking hold of Chris's arm and pulling her to him. "Be careful My Lady," he leaned down and whispered in her ear. "I wouldn't want anything to happen to you". Chris had closed her eyes to keep her composure. She had loved this man from the moment she met him but she could not tell him so. He had duties and obligations and no time for a silly young cleric, she was sure. "I'm quite capable of…….." she said as she opened her eyes but he was gone. He had disappeared into the trees as quickly as he had appeared. Christiana shook her head and continued to make her way to the wall. She wondered if she had actually seen him or if she was just imagining things. Her imagination did sometimes get the best of her. ___________________________________________________________ Christiana had spent three days at the Wall, helping as best she could. She had begun to wonder if anyone could really help. Finally after many lives were lost, they had gained control of the wall and the fighting had slowed down. Replacements were coming in for the weary, and Chris took advantage of this opportunity to leave the frontier. She needed a long rest. It was late in the evening when she reached Ludlow. She had taken a room there several months ago, mostly for the sake of convenience until her Company could afford to build housing. She had become friends with the Innkeeper and his wife, and they always made sure room was clean and that she had fresh bed linens. Oh how nice that soft bed will feel tonight, she thought. The door gave a familiar creek as she opened it and stepped inside. "Welcome Home Christiana" the Innkeeper smiled. "Home.. Thank you…. Could you have a bath readied for me, I'm taking this old horse to the stables then I will return" "Not a problem, I'll have it ready by the time you return" The Innkeeper gave her a wink as she shut the door. 'Home…not really home..but..the next best thing I suppose' she thought to herself. Christiana dreamed of having her own home someday. Filled with love and children. However love seemed to be the last thing on peoples minds these days. The war was everyone's main concern. She longed for days passed when the war and not grown so, and the people did not live in fear. An ill wind began to blow just as she reached the stable. It had just a bit of a chill in it. "I believe we have a storm comin, Lady." Said the stabler as she handed him the reigns. "Aye, I do believe you are right" she said as she tried to push her hair from her face. "Thanks again for the horse". As she walked back to the Inn she saw the normal folk bustling around, closing shudders and sitting out buckets to catch the rain. She heard thunder in the distance…this will be a strong storm.
Sinaedh		#5	[-]
Posts: 216 (06/12/08 17:57:06) Itinerant Cleric Reply Quote More My Recent Posts	When Chris returned to her room at the Inn, the bed covers had been turned down and candles were lit and her bath was ready. She quickly undressed, tied her hair up onto her head, poured herself a goblet of wine and slipped into the warm water. The warmth of the water and the wine soothed her aching muscles and she began to relax and think of the trip she would be taking to the Marsh the next day. It had been a while since she had visited her mother. She knew her mother would be asking if she had found anyone 'special' and again she would have to tell her mother "no". She hated seeing the disappointment on her mother's face. The truth was that she hadn't even come close to finding that certain someone. She compared every suitor to the highlander that held a special place in her heart, and everyone fell short. She was sure she would never find anyone that could capture her heart and make her forget the only man she loved. Christiana finished her wine and watched the storm, through the window, roll in over the mountain. As the distant thunder rolled she leaned back and closed her eyes. Chris awoke to a dark room and a cool breeze coming in the open window, the curtains blew with the breeze. How long had she been asleep? The water was only slightly warm now. She shivered as she stood and reached for her linens lying on the bed. Just then a bright flash of lightening illuminated the room. She screamed as she saw the outline of a man in the corner of her room with his back against the wall. She quickly wrapped herself in the linen as she ran for the door, then a familiar voice came from behind "I'm glad to see you made it home safely from the frontier". Chris stopped and turned to see the man light the lantern beside the bed. He slowly made his way across the room towards her. She clutched her covering tightly in her hands "What are you doing in here?" she asked with her eyes downcast. She was grateful for the shadows that hid her blush. The highlander placed his hands against the door on either side of her shoulders, trapping her so that she could not turn away. "You shouldn't be h…" he quickly stopped her protest with a passionate kiss. He traced her bare shoulder with his thumb "now what were you saying?" he grinned. His hands were coarse and weathered but touched her so skillfully that Chris could not find the will to continue to pretend to deny him. She didn't care why he was there.. just that he was there. She simply shook her head and looked into his eyes. Love or Lust she couldn't tell, but there was definitely a need in his eyes and at that moment she needed him too, more than anything else. She reached up with her free hand and brushed his long hair out of his eyes. She trailed her hand over his face and over his strong shoulder. He leaned into her, trailing kisses from her mouth to her neck and back again. She could feel her heart pounding and wondered if he could feel it too. He placed his hand behind her head,into her hair "I need you Chris". "I…. need you too" she said breathlessly as she loosened the strings of his shirt. With that he pulled her firmly forward, towards him, she released her grip on the linen that covered her and it fell to the floor…she wrapped her arms around his neck and he scooped her up into his arms and carried her to the bed. The storms continued all through the night, just as the thunder faded from one, another would come.
Sinaedh		#6	[-]
Posts: 217 (06/12/08 17:58:09) Itinerant Cleric Reply Quote More My Recent Posts	At some point in the early morning hours, Chris awakened and felt her lover's arm across her bare waist. She slipped from beneath his arm and quickly padded across the cold floor to light the lantern. She set the lantern on the table near the bed. The dim light cast dancing shadows across his body. His shoulders so wide and strong, from years on the battlefield…she traced her fingers over a scar on his arm then brushed his dark hair out of his face. The young cleric knew that he would not stay and she didn't want to waste one precious moment with him. As she sat on the bed, watching his chest rise and fall as he slept, she wondered if he had any idea how much she loved him, how much she had always loved him and how precious these stolen moments were to her. "If only he could stay" Chris shook her head to rid herself of the dreams she knew would never be and leaned to turn off the lamp. "Chris…" he said, startling her. He reached out and pulled her across his chest, kissing her with as much passion as he had kissed her the night before. Without another word spoken, they gave in again to their needs and desires and finally fell asleep together as the faint light of dawn began to grow.
Sinaedh		#7	[-]
Posts: 218 (06/12/08 17:59:44) Itinerant Cleric Reply Quote More My Recent Posts	Remove this ad Christiana was awakened by a thump and sat up in bed. Rubbing her eyes and trying to adjust to the bright light streaming in, she looked around and saw that he was gone. Noticing a piece of parchment lying on the corner table she reached for it…the note read: "My Chris, Business to attend to, will see you soon. Be safe." The letter was signed with his initial. Chris crumpled the letter in her hand, wrapped the bed covers around her and ran to the window. Looking down on the busy afternoon street Chris watched him mount his horse. She resisted calling out to him, begging him not to go, instead she simply watched. As he passed in front of the Inn, he pushed his black hair out of his eyes and looked up to Chris's window. Seeing her standing there, he stopped and stared at her for a moment, smiled, blew her a kiss and rode off towards Castle Sauvage. After he was out of sight, she continued to stand in the window, lost in thought. What had she seen in his face? Was it sadness at having to leave? Regret for the passionate night they had shared? Would he ever come to her again? Chris was suddenly brought from her thoughts by catcalls coming from below. She had forgotten that she was practically undressed standing in the window. She quickly closed the shudders. "No time to stand around feeling sorry for yourself Chris, you have a long trip to make and Mother is expecting you" she said to herself. Mother! This thought brought a new wave of concerns to her. Would she tell her mother what she had done? No, of course she wouldn't, but would she notice a change in her? She hoped not. The ride to Adribard's was long and uneventful. Chris had spent the trip thinking about the previous night. Wondering what would happen next, how she would act when next she saw him. The forest was growing darker and she would not make it before nightfall. She stopped to rest her horse and get a drink at Camp Station, but was soon back on the path towards home. Not much further now. Just before coming out of the forest, Chris had noticed a strange glow in the sky over the Marsh. "What in the world is that?" she said aloud. By the time she made the clearing she could smell smoke in the air. The glow was in the direction of the church. Her Mother lived near the church! "Please God…" she dug her heels into the mare's sides and was soon traveling as fast as the mare would carry her. Suddenly, a dark figure on a horse came barreling out from the side of the road in front of her. Both horses reared up to avoid colliding. Thankfully she had a tight grip on the reigns and was not thrown, the man continued on at full speed and did not stop. After steadying herself and her horse she looked up and saw the huge flames rising into the air. The air was hot against her face and her eyes were stinging. She dismounted her horse and began to make her way through the townsmen that had gathered and were futilely carrying buckets of water. The source of the flame finally came into view. The Church was completely engulfed in flames. Chris stood watching in disbelief as the roof gave way and came crashing down. She immediately began praying. A shaking hand fell onto Christiana's right shoulder. She made the sign of the Cross and turned to see her mother standing beside her. "Mother…. What happened? Who would do such a thing?" "I do not know love,…. But some say that Father Orguff was inside." Christiana said another prayer along with her mother then the two joined the others in the attempt to douse the fire.

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