User login

Who's online

There are currently 0 users and 1 guest online.

Poll

What would you want to see more?
A.) A movie
31%
B.) Your car broken into
8%
C.) A concert with your favorite band
8%
D.) Sorry, could you repeat the question?
23%
E.) Your friends getting hammered!
31%
Total votes: 13
Home » forums » Announcements

The Last of the King's Guard

Submitted by Eevo on June 17, 2009 - 10:50pm.

Eevo Shandor awoke from his slumber with a moan and a sigh. He opened his eyes, his vision clouded by years of sleep. Every muscle in his body ached from atrophy and cracked as he slowly struggled to move. Hours passed with increasing pain as he slowly regained control of his body. Finally sitting up he managed to glimpse his surroundings. His eyes adjusted to the light and he found himself lying in the rubble that was once the Magic tower in a great city, a city which boasted the King's Guard as her champions. He spit the dust out of his lungs and looked at his hands, skeletal and pale... at least they were familiar, he thought with a smile cracking over his ruined face.

 

A young sheppard boy was tending to his flock near the ruins of the north wall and saw the strange man rise from the rubble. He quickly hid and watched silently as the shadowy figure creeped about the ruins like a ghost having lost his way. The figure stalked the ruins for hours, pausing at times to pick up various debri only to throw it down again. The ghost turned and looked in the direction of the boy, he could swear that the strangers red eyes looked right through him, he three himself to the ground and closed his eyes, his heart skipping a beat.

 

Eevo grinned, then turned and walked toward the once proud gate. Upon reaching the gate he turned and looked back at the proud city that had been his home. " You never judge me" he whispered proudly"

Eevo turned from the ruins he had called home and began to walk.

And so the Last of the King's Guard strode forth from her mighty gates and walked across Poitain as the sun set.

"It is never over"...

‹ Site Down for Maintenance ((extended break)) ›
Guardian1's picture

Master

Submitted by Guardian1 on June 18, 2009 - 5:31pm.

 

 

 

“…and thus it has been decided that the Nemedian presence in the inner city is still serving its purpose in presenting a false impression of upheaval and weakness in the new reign. Eradication of these forces will be deferred until such a time as the larger forces have been decimated by General Xavier and the Green and Maroon units of the Guard.”
There was a general consensus to be had from the listeners gathered around the oval table if judging by the nods of ascent. Quiet sighs from one or two expressed resignation while a few remaining expressions revealed nothing in response to this announcement.
It was business as usual in the inner chambers of the King’s Guard Council chambers. Here was the nerve center of the web that served the people of Aquilonia, and who were soul sworn to the King who sat her throne. As always business here was caged in shadow and political machination where all but the most astute in the Game of Houses would have foundered.
The ‘Lame Wing Tactic’ being utilized in the city served its purpose far more effectively than even the Council had foreseen in the beginning. The enemy had grown cocky and blatant in action and the rope would soon draw taut allowing the destruction of their forces for once and for all. Only this time the mailed fist of the Aquilonian forces would crush the very heart of the enemy.
By unspoken agreement the meeting had begun to disband. Some withdrew at once, while others lingered and broke into groups to speak in quiet voices. A female figure in a plain blue gown moved from the shadowy confines of her chair, her couture a stark contrast to the birdlike trappings of her counterparts. Though the cloth of her gown and the cut were exquisite, there were no vivid patterns or jeweled inlays to catch the eye. Only a single small ornament flashed in a sea of soft blue cloth over her heart; the white shield of a High Council member of the Guard dressed with a rampant gold lion at its center.
Curiaea Challa Idicci Antiochus inclined her head in response to courteous bows rendered her direction and made her way to a window in a quiet corner of the room. A discrete servant offered a crystal goblet of rich red wine which she accepted. Two rings flashed on her long fingered hand as pale pink lips pressed to the cool crystal to taste the vintage. One bore the ancient crest of her family, and the other the bold markings of a Curiae ofthe Tribunate.
As always solitude seemed to surround her, a fortress that few had the nerve to breach even when in a place of equals. She was cool and remote giving very little away in voice or in expression. The less reverent named her ice queen … or worse.
And so it was when the glass slipped from her fingers and pale blue eyes went wide and she spun around to stare at the opposite wall with parted lips….the room went silent and every eye turned in surprise to the woman.
Crimson ribbons of wine pooled at her slippered feet as if from a mortal wound. Her posture was rigid, every muscle tensed as wide eyes stared off somewhere far from this place they all stood. Her lips moved, a silent word mouthed there in a questioning breath…a name.
As quickly she seemed to gather herself, aware immediately of the questioning looks and speculation in curious gazes. She stepped over the ruins of the shattered goblet and made her way out the heavy bronze studded doors in a purposeful stride more typical of the warrior she had been than the gowned courtier she had become. As the doors closed behind her the volume of discussion increased and queries as to what had happened began to weave through those that had witnessed the unusual actions of the Lady.
*******************
The soldier rode past the sentry with a nod from a helmeted head, the visor obscuring features. The most the sentries might be able to say if they had been sharp eyed- as sentries at this holding of the Antiochus House were- was that the dun colored warhorse had been scarred from many battles but a little fat as if a stranger to patrols of late. Of the rider it could only be said he had been tall and the gear meticulously well cared for though it had seen many seasons. It was only much later that the one gate guard would frown in sudden recollection that the color of the King’s Guard unit badge worn by that rider had glinted blue in the moonlight…the color of the old Poitainian Division that had been broken up and assigned to some Baron…
He would only shake his head though and second guess himself. It must have been a green badge from Xavier’s field units. Moonlight could trick the eye…not to mention the brandy quaffed to warm cold blood on a frosty night.  
*********************
She laughed and flung off the helm as Horse galloped over the terrain. The old warhorse was young again beneath her thighs, and she could see his ears perk in the starlight, muscled neck arched in joyful spirits that matched those of his mistress. She did not have to touch his reins to guide him; he knew the way and every powerful stride drew them closer to the abandoned fortress of Fas in distant Poitaine.
Golden hair flung like a banner behind her as she leaned forward and encouraged her old friend in his efforts. She had slipped her jesses once more and fled across the ghostly landscape to the one that called to her.

Neverlin's picture

Really enjoyed these reads,

Submitted by Neverlin on June 22, 2009 - 2:14pm.

Really enjoyed these reads, brought back memories.

Men and rats both hunger. We for our playthings, they, for us.

I agree completely. 

Submitted by Satet-Ka on July 7, 2009 - 4:00am.

I agree completely.  Reminds me why I played the game as long as I did.

 

Man those were good times.  Miss you both.  You too never....bet you get all the girls without me around! #flex#

Neverlin's picture

*sigh* Actually, the girl

Submitted by Neverlin on July 14, 2009 - 12:37pm.

*sigh* Actually, the girl wooing is much more difficult without my wingman!

Men and rats both hunger. We for our playthings, they, for us.

Wardawn's picture

Those Afraid Of Pain Will

Submitted by Wardawn on July 14, 2009 - 5:13pm.

Those Afraid Of Pain Will Never Know Glory.

I suggest you two at least make an appearence as I have been looking for you on cimmeria ;)

keep using avatars like that

Submitted by Satet-Ka on July 14, 2009 - 7:12pm.

keep using avatars like that and you may get what you ask for little one!

Guardian1's picture

Reunion

Submitted by Guardian1 on August 7, 2009 - 2:29pm.

 

       The loamy earth of Poitain clogged her senses and the wet meadow grass flung a dying scent into the air as Horse crushed the tender stalks beneath hooves as wide around as dinner plates. Greedy these days for snacks, the old gentleman had snatched at a couple clumps of wild grain and contentedly chewed as his mistress led him along the rutted cart path.
       The subdued musical clang of metal armor that had accompanied their excursions in years past was missing, and the heavy metal plate had been stowed in bulging packs on his back. Instead the long limbed woman that strode before him in soft hunting leathers had adopted the garb of a local. In truth in one respect she was just that- though it had been some time since her shadow had darkened these paths.
       There was nothing about her reminiscent of the Ice Queen now. Golden hair that had lengthened since her years as a soldier was gathered into a thick braid that trailed down her back. Loosened strands were teased by the soft summer breeze that caressed the heavy headed wheat stalks jutting several feet high into the sky along the road to her side.
       It was twilight and the lowering sun had painted the horizon rich colors influenced by cookfires and moisture laden earth. Fireflies danced in the cooler shadows of coming evening, soft green dots of luminescence luring a mate with hypnotic blinking.
       A gentle smile curved her lips as she toyed with the ends of the reins that were gathered in her hand. He was near. There at the old mill. Blue eyes hungrily searched for a sign of him against the backdrop of yellow lit mullioned windows. He would know she was close.
       She savored these last moments before she would see him again, imagining him stiff and uncomfortable in his surroundings, perhaps a cup of tea near at hand as country folk bustled in the common room preparing the evening meal. Slightly breathless, she gave a small laugh wondering at this odd feeling that had come over her in an obliterating wave the moment she sensed he had waken and returned from whence he had vanished.
       This time there had been no barriers between them, her will dominated instantly as the odd connection had rooted into place before she could even identify it. It was a marvelous thing…magical. She had no fear or doubt or concern of the future. She only knew she had to come to him and be with him. The rest would unfold as it was destined. She was feverish with the need of it…with need of him. Giddy. She laughed again and Horse raised his massive head to lip at her braid, his long tail slapping a glossy flank as he seemed delighted by her humor.
       A field hand raised his head as she approached, eying her a moment before smiling and issuing a greeting to the striking young woman. She waved to him, smile widening and led her mount off the main track toward the old mill that often served as an Inn for local travelers.
       The ostler waved her to the barn and children dodged her feet intent on bottling the flashing little bugs in the same way she had done as a child growing up in this region. The barn was dark and quiet with animals still being led from the fields and the mounts of other travelers busy at feedboxes. The scent of molasses and oats and the dust of cured hay teased her nose along with the scents of old leather and healthy animals. This place was kindred to her and her heart was light as she set about putting her hoofed friend up for the night, his nose already buried in a bucket of oats as massive teeth crushed greedy mouthfuls of the treat.
      Challa grinned at him, swatting his rump as she set aside the burlap she had used to rub him down. This too she had missed; this soothing practice of bedding down her own mount for the evening. It was a task the very proper heir of the Antiochus House would never be allowed. The brief intrusion of that knowledge dulled the anticipation dancing through her blood and she firmly quashed the train of thought. She paused briefly in her work, lithe muscles tensing a moment before she seemed to resume her casual tasks.
       Rich masculine laughter sounded from the shadow as a darker form seemed to resolve itself from the depths of the barn.
“I certainly hope you do not plan to bury that dagger in my throat … Challa.”
       The accent had the flowing cadence of the desert lands but was colored by a long familiarity of speaking the northern tongue of Aquilonia and the border regions. It was educated, soft and caressing with a nuance of power. She whirled, dropping the dagger that had slid into her hand at the faint sound of a creaking floorboard, a glad cry spilling from widely smiling lips.
       There are many things in the world that are natural and right and meant to be; the sliding of a sword into a well oiled sheath, the richness of wine in elegant glasses, and the fit of an arrow to a well made bow in the hands of a skilled archer. And so it was that as his arms opened and she slipped into his embrace, there was no awkwardness or hesitation and each knew this was what had been destined for so long.
       It was no longer Commander to First Officer or Aquilonian Noble to Stygian necromancer. Instead it was a joining of souls that had been parted for too long and kept apart by a myriad of things that melted away to unimportance in that single moment.
       There in the barn as the first slanting beams of moonlight penetrated cracks in the roof and the faint sounds of music from the inn filtered through the air… they kissed, fulfilling a promise that had long been left unspoken between them.
       This man was her world and she was filled with him. The loneliness was gone as if it had never been, the distance banished and the isolation breached by the spicy scent of his robes and the strength of his arms around her and the headiness of full lips against her own. Why had she fought this? This was the way it should always have been….the way it had been once…? That fleeting whispered voice in her head rose like a distant star from the deepest part of her soul…and she marveled at it even as it astonished her.
       Eevo. The one light that had been constant for her and unwavering and that had shown like a beacon and led her here to this place unerringly after so many years of heartache ad desolation. Yet even as this reasoning surfaced in her mind the knowledge that there was far more to it settled on her awakened by the feel and the smell of him…Eevo…
       It was much, much later when hardworking farm folk were abed that the two stole from the barn and walked in the moonlit fields under a starry Poitainian sky. He picked straw from her hair, unbound now and brushing her bottom, a soft masculine laugh joining the melody of crickets that had sung them a song of union. With hands joined they found a secluded place overlooking the valley and filled the hours with earnest talk and shared touches punctuated by kisses. She was captured by his words and the intense looks of her lover…and could see that beneath these words he spoke to resolve the matters of recent days and months...yet far more lurked unspoken. But for now he was careful and watched her with the intensity of a hawk, seeming to be waiting for…something. By the time morning came the tangled limbs of the Lady and the Necromancer who slept under the outcropping of hard grey granite only suggested the depth of the bond that had been made. A pact had finally been fulfilled that night and there would be no severing it ever after. Yet something more was coming…she could feel it: an ancient presence within her stirred uneasily.