"I am Sir Tristan, Knight of Cornwall," she replied, "We have met before, your highness. I am one of your mother's knights. How fare you this evening, my king?"
Ah... thought Gawain suppressing a smile, If only we could have met under different circumstances, you and I. His gaze fell upon the king as he slowly got out of his chair, a wolf uncoiling. He had tensed the moment he saw Mordred coming over. The server, knowing who Gawain was and sensing the mood, took that opportune moment to quietly withdraw, disappearing behind the growing mountain of flesh.
"Sir Tristan," He said bowing to the knight first, "King Mordred" Slight emphasis on 'king' and a hesitation before the formal title was a not so subtle slap to the face, and in court he would have never attempted it. Here, where there was music, laughter, and drink to cover any discrepancies, he was a little more bold. "No trouble, the seas were calm and we had the wind to our stern. Though, my father was not able to make it, as you I'm sure know. It is my brother Agravain, the heir to our father King Lot, who you must mean. He made the trip in the stead of our father." He said this while keeping an eye on both Mordred and Sir Tristan.
He was more interested in a fellow knight than in Mordred, anyway. The enemy king almost never lead forces on him in battle. None that were nearly as successful as some of the engagements Sir Tristan were a part of. He did indeed remember her, now that her name was given. Her forces had come from the flank during a battle turned messy. He remembered seeing her once as his brother had called the final retreat. He had fought long and hard to cut his way out, trying to spare as many of his men as he could.Different circumstances indeed..., he thought with a soft sigh. Damn you, you wretched man...
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wonderlandalli said
Tristan could be taking a walk. I feel like Gawain might be dangerous lol
In a neutral zone? Fuck no. We're knights, remember, and I know I won't have Gawain draw on anyone unless they draw on him first.
I'll post a little snipit form Gawain now.
Also, sorry for taking the focus away from Arthur and anyone who was going to post with that. I just felt that Tristan would like some company and if literally every plot character showed up while Arthur is being a little sneak with his brother the fourth wall would collapse and it would spiral into a scene straight from an anime.
Edited a few things, like half the post being ITALICIZED Q_Q
Why don't you guys tell me these thing? X(
Edit: Seriously though, if you do spot some stuff that's wrong call me out on it and I'll fix it.
Why don't you guys tell me these thing? X(
Edit: Seriously though, if you do spot some stuff that's wrong call me out on it and I'll fix it.
Nobodyman123 said
I don't know why, but reading that i was reminded of
Haha, that's beautiful. Love MP
SIR!
I...have...posted...
dies.
I...have...posted...
dies.
Time.
The man stood in his tent considering his options that lay spread out before him. Either Fates sick sense of humor or some malicious twist of luck had a hand in his current predicament, but he would be damned if that was going to stop him, The man stooped to roll up the map he had memorized, taking care with putting it back in its case. He knew exactly where his men were placed, the fallback positions, traps and where they would make the last stand in this battle.
As he finished putting the map case away, a runner in dark green and brown colors burst through the pavilions flaps. There were no guards in sight beyond the entrance, and the sky was a grey overcast.
"Sir, they're coming", the solider spoke with a gravel avalanche of a voice.
The man smiled a broad smile that shone in his eyes, though it wasn't one of happiness. The poor lighting in the tent turned and contorted his features into that of a demon as he stood to his full, towering height. Looking down at the messenger standing in the opening, "Then let us not keep dead men waiting. It would be rude", he spoke in a voice of deepest earth and seemed to echo in the tent.
A short while later, man and messenger were fully armed and armored striding through the barren camp. Tents arrayed in a utilitarian style where dark and still except where the breeze touched them. Cook fires were dashed and neither man nor beast were to be seen. The smile from earlier was changed in favor of a visage of determination. The walk through the camp was short, as was the walk to the front line. The only sound was clanking metal set to the rhythm of a disciplined march and the keen of wind being torn to ribbons on the jagged rock jutting up into the sky. Man in full plate and messenger in hardened leather split apart without a word, each knowing their places. The giant of a man strode past the medic's pavilion, the archers lines, the expectant men.
Anticipation was palpable, but only a few were nervous with fear. They knew what was coming, and knew the Giant would protect them, like he always had. The Giants of the North. A group of veterans in this war of four years. Four long and hard fought years that had tempered the men into steel automatons, loyal, hard working, disciplined and resolute. Sure of their capabilities and sure of their leader, the Little Giant. A massive man, he towered over almost all men, and those he didn't tower over were still shorter.
The men were experienced enough to not cheer when they saw him, his trademark bastard sword and armor, a set of full plate steel worked thin and oddly made. It sacrificed raw protection for lightness and ease of movement, and gave him a distinct look, though he hardly needed any more distinction. Instead they simply nodded as he passed. He nodded in return, occasionally giving confidence in voice lowered, clasping men on shoulders.
He reached the front line, where his Lieutenants were waiting. They stood at the front, in a valley of unforgiving rock that lay as flat as could be found anywhere for miles. Peaks form the hills and rock spires rose on either side and the field in between was strewn with rock, but the footing was sure. There was only one way to them, a winding trail that lead through the highlands, and they had their back essentially to a wall. The trail narrowed considerably to allow only a few caravans to pass behind where their camp was made. Those that did make the trip had to move slow, or else risk getting stuck on rock or potentially falling off the ledge. The trail lead to nowhere in particular, eventually it would lead past the Cheviot Hills along the coast, passing some smaller villages along the way and end near the wall of Antonine. His opponents didn't know that, however, and were hounding him thinking the would smash them on rock, or drive them into the sea.
"Sir, everything is ready and prepared. All we have to do it wait for them", a shortish man, but stocky with a well build figure, Sir Luca wore his armor like a badge of honor. Sometimes his pride could puff up more than a rooster, but he led his men well and never engaged in a petty fight.
"The scouts report that they're moving slowly. Taking their time, they'll come at us charging. They haven't far to travel, so they won't be tired and they still outnumber us three to one besides", Sir Vaden was taller than Luca, but just as well muscled. They had trained with each other and knew how to compliment one another well. This was the main reason that they were paired so often together.
"Well, I've held his hand as long as I could. I can't really even the playing field any more for him, it's his own fault that he got himself into this situation. How he ever became a commander of men is beyond me", The voice came rolling out of the Giant's helmet like a bolder falling down a cliff, even through he spoke normally.
His men smiled, Luca nodding slowly. Just then, the enemy came around the last bend, black and red banner flapping in the gale. They came at them hard, but with the resolution of men fighting for home the Giants of the North held. The Giant was a beast on the field, tearing through the foe after the initial wave, his bastard sword flashing through ranks, hewing and severing. By late afternoon the field was a bloody mess and the Giant was at the back, coordinating with his officers.
"How far off are they? We need them here or they have a fair chance of breaking us", He spoke urgently, his breathing coming out in great waves, but controlled. He had his battle rage wrapped around him like a cloak. It made him seem a menace, death wearing armor and dripping blood from where it had spattered on his armor.
"About a...a half hour...Sir", one man said in between gasping for breath and forcing it out, "that's the latest...anyone has heard...from them. There should be...another runner-"
"Yes Derik, I know, thank you. Rest, there's warm drink by the medic's pavilion. You've earned it", with that the Giant strode off to the line again, picking a spot where it was starting to sag. He was going to hold this line until the Giants Hammer could arrive. He would be there when it fell on the anvil.
All he needed was a little more time.
Sir Gawain was bored. This rarely happened, but when it did nothing good ever had come of it. He had been a trouble maker as a child and traits do tend to carry over into adulthood. He had won all of his matches, two where his opponents had even raised the lance for him, and had also won all of his swordsman matches. There looked only to be a few remaining with any real skill, though he would still make it a point to return the horse he had won. The poor fellow had sailed from his saddle and landed, unhurt thankfully, in a very un-glamorous way. Defeating him would win him prestige, but also put the winner in favor of Mordred. King Mordred, Gawain mused, He-No, I need to stop. I'll only anger myself, and there is no need. His stomach picked that point to protest quite verbally.
Looking down at his midsection, he grunted, "What, are you unsatisfied? You need something to eat, don't you? Come, let us go. Nothing happening here anyways."
Leaving his tent in the Knight's section, he waved his guards away and straightened his clothes. Fresh, clean garb of simple green and browns with The Giant embroidered on one shoulder and his father's Griffon on the other. He smiled as he waved some Giants away when they started to stand. He was attending the feast at Mordreds castle, it wouldn't do to bring armed guards to a feast. He would, however, join with his other knights once there.
He strolled through the town as the light was falling, enjoying the spectacle of the Tourney in full. Hawkers were trying to sell everything they own along with their mothers, merchants proclaimed the newest perfumes from France, and everything in between. Children ran and played through the crowd, trailing concerned parents and guards patrolled in their red and black, sweltering in the heat. As Gawain strode through the middle of the street, the ocean of people parting before him and people began to stare. He wore the colors of their enemy openly and wore a sword. Even so, he occasionally paused to move out of the way of horses like everyone else.
As a company of soldiers was approaching people began to part and Gawain noticed a commotion near the back of the opposite side of the street. Moments later, a child bust out, laughing carrying a small object. Gawain reacted instantly, he took a step forward scruffed the child like a pup and stepped back in one smooth motion. The horsemen thundered on, their small and massive obstructions gone as quick as they had come. Gawain set the child, a boy, down and looked him hard in the eyes. The child was wide eyed from the shock of being whipped through the air in the hands of a man more than three times his height, and his mouth was hanging down.
"Now, what did we learn", asked Gawain in a soft voice.
"Um. I. Ah...", he stammered for a moment before finally finding his bearing again, "Thank you! I need to go though..." He glanced over his shoulder at the other side that was dispersing. There were some bigger children with sticks looking around. Gawain reached into his purse discretely, pulled out a few silver freshly acquired earlier in the day, and gently put them in the boys hands. He noticed the object the boy was carrying was a book. A smile touched Gawain's face as he nudged the boy, whispering, "Go on, I'll take care of your problem. If they give you any more trouble, come to the camp with the Giant on it, you know will know the one"
With that he stood to his full height and made his way to the other boys. They saw him approaching like a moving mountain with a dark expression and decided that was not something they were equipped to deal with. They scurried out of sight, some dropping their sticks. Gawain looked over his shoulder. The boy was gone. Smart kid. The edge of his mouth upended itself a fraction. I did wish for less boredom..., he thought shaking his head. He continued on toward the castle.
The rest of the walk was uneventful, and he arrived at the palace in short order. The guards took one look at him, one at each other and waved him through. He had a distinct appearance that really didn't need to be checked. As he entered the courtyard the last rays of the setting sun struck him and he stood a moment, basking in the radiance. He gathered it's strength around him like he always did, and breathed out, calming his entire being. He felt rejuvenated and light as air, and continued on his way.
Gawain looked for an open table, one where he would be welcome. He spotted a table, mostly open save for one seat. He walked over an saw that it was a lady who sat in the chair, sword arranged so she sat comfortably. Well, I certainly did ask for something to end my boredom, Gawain thought, and did fate deliver quickly. She was eating quietly, but with vigor that came after physical exertion. Like being a knight.
"You know, you would be able to draw quicker if your sword were next to the table. Though it would be bad if someone were to take it while you sat. I'd prefer to take that risk, though. I trust in my ability to see danger coming. Sir", he had a sly, playful smile and a lightness in his eyes as he sat down, setting his bastard sword upright and leaning on the table. Gawain took a better look at the woman before him. Tall and well built, she sat straight, giving off the impression of a drawn bow. Short auburn hair fell around her face and reflected the dancing firelight.
A short servant was just arriving with an offer of food and it looked like the Lady Knight was about to respond when a voice rang out.
"Gawain!", thundered across the across the feast hall. Gawain saw that the lightning it came from was Mordred, sitting elevated with his nobles.
An end to boredom indeed...
The man stood in his tent considering his options that lay spread out before him. Either Fates sick sense of humor or some malicious twist of luck had a hand in his current predicament, but he would be damned if that was going to stop him, The man stooped to roll up the map he had memorized, taking care with putting it back in its case. He knew exactly where his men were placed, the fallback positions, traps and where they would make the last stand in this battle.
As he finished putting the map case away, a runner in dark green and brown colors burst through the pavilions flaps. There were no guards in sight beyond the entrance, and the sky was a grey overcast.
"Sir, they're coming", the solider spoke with a gravel avalanche of a voice.
The man smiled a broad smile that shone in his eyes, though it wasn't one of happiness. The poor lighting in the tent turned and contorted his features into that of a demon as he stood to his full, towering height. Looking down at the messenger standing in the opening, "Then let us not keep dead men waiting. It would be rude", he spoke in a voice of deepest earth and seemed to echo in the tent.
A short while later, man and messenger were fully armed and armored striding through the barren camp. Tents arrayed in a utilitarian style where dark and still except where the breeze touched them. Cook fires were dashed and neither man nor beast were to be seen. The smile from earlier was changed in favor of a visage of determination. The walk through the camp was short, as was the walk to the front line. The only sound was clanking metal set to the rhythm of a disciplined march and the keen of wind being torn to ribbons on the jagged rock jutting up into the sky. Man in full plate and messenger in hardened leather split apart without a word, each knowing their places. The giant of a man strode past the medic's pavilion, the archers lines, the expectant men.
Anticipation was palpable, but only a few were nervous with fear. They knew what was coming, and knew the Giant would protect them, like he always had. The Giants of the North. A group of veterans in this war of four years. Four long and hard fought years that had tempered the men into steel automatons, loyal, hard working, disciplined and resolute. Sure of their capabilities and sure of their leader, the Little Giant. A massive man, he towered over almost all men, and those he didn't tower over were still shorter.
The men were experienced enough to not cheer when they saw him, his trademark bastard sword and armor, a set of full plate steel worked thin and oddly made. It sacrificed raw protection for lightness and ease of movement, and gave him a distinct look, though he hardly needed any more distinction. Instead they simply nodded as he passed. He nodded in return, occasionally giving confidence in voice lowered, clasping men on shoulders.
He reached the front line, where his Lieutenants were waiting. They stood at the front, in a valley of unforgiving rock that lay as flat as could be found anywhere for miles. Peaks form the hills and rock spires rose on either side and the field in between was strewn with rock, but the footing was sure. There was only one way to them, a winding trail that lead through the highlands, and they had their back essentially to a wall. The trail narrowed considerably to allow only a few caravans to pass behind where their camp was made. Those that did make the trip had to move slow, or else risk getting stuck on rock or potentially falling off the ledge. The trail lead to nowhere in particular, eventually it would lead past the Cheviot Hills along the coast, passing some smaller villages along the way and end near the wall of Antonine. His opponents didn't know that, however, and were hounding him thinking the would smash them on rock, or drive them into the sea.
"Sir, everything is ready and prepared. All we have to do it wait for them", a shortish man, but stocky with a well build figure, Sir Luca wore his armor like a badge of honor. Sometimes his pride could puff up more than a rooster, but he led his men well and never engaged in a petty fight.
"The scouts report that they're moving slowly. Taking their time, they'll come at us charging. They haven't far to travel, so they won't be tired and they still outnumber us three to one besides", Sir Vaden was taller than Luca, but just as well muscled. They had trained with each other and knew how to compliment one another well. This was the main reason that they were paired so often together.
"Well, I've held his hand as long as I could. I can't really even the playing field any more for him, it's his own fault that he got himself into this situation. How he ever became a commander of men is beyond me", The voice came rolling out of the Giant's helmet like a bolder falling down a cliff, even through he spoke normally.
His men smiled, Luca nodding slowly. Just then, the enemy came around the last bend, black and red banner flapping in the gale. They came at them hard, but with the resolution of men fighting for home the Giants of the North held. The Giant was a beast on the field, tearing through the foe after the initial wave, his bastard sword flashing through ranks, hewing and severing. By late afternoon the field was a bloody mess and the Giant was at the back, coordinating with his officers.
"How far off are they? We need them here or they have a fair chance of breaking us", He spoke urgently, his breathing coming out in great waves, but controlled. He had his battle rage wrapped around him like a cloak. It made him seem a menace, death wearing armor and dripping blood from where it had spattered on his armor.
"About a...a half hour...Sir", one man said in between gasping for breath and forcing it out, "that's the latest...anyone has heard...from them. There should be...another runner-"
"Yes Derik, I know, thank you. Rest, there's warm drink by the medic's pavilion. You've earned it", with that the Giant strode off to the line again, picking a spot where it was starting to sag. He was going to hold this line until the Giants Hammer could arrive. He would be there when it fell on the anvil.
All he needed was a little more time.
Sir Gawain was bored. This rarely happened, but when it did nothing good ever had come of it. He had been a trouble maker as a child and traits do tend to carry over into adulthood. He had won all of his matches, two where his opponents had even raised the lance for him, and had also won all of his swordsman matches. There looked only to be a few remaining with any real skill, though he would still make it a point to return the horse he had won. The poor fellow had sailed from his saddle and landed, unhurt thankfully, in a very un-glamorous way. Defeating him would win him prestige, but also put the winner in favor of Mordred. King Mordred, Gawain mused, He-No, I need to stop. I'll only anger myself, and there is no need. His stomach picked that point to protest quite verbally.
Looking down at his midsection, he grunted, "What, are you unsatisfied? You need something to eat, don't you? Come, let us go. Nothing happening here anyways."
Leaving his tent in the Knight's section, he waved his guards away and straightened his clothes. Fresh, clean garb of simple green and browns with The Giant embroidered on one shoulder and his father's Griffon on the other. He smiled as he waved some Giants away when they started to stand. He was attending the feast at Mordreds castle, it wouldn't do to bring armed guards to a feast. He would, however, join with his other knights once there.
He strolled through the town as the light was falling, enjoying the spectacle of the Tourney in full. Hawkers were trying to sell everything they own along with their mothers, merchants proclaimed the newest perfumes from France, and everything in between. Children ran and played through the crowd, trailing concerned parents and guards patrolled in their red and black, sweltering in the heat. As Gawain strode through the middle of the street, the ocean of people parting before him and people began to stare. He wore the colors of their enemy openly and wore a sword. Even so, he occasionally paused to move out of the way of horses like everyone else.
As a company of soldiers was approaching people began to part and Gawain noticed a commotion near the back of the opposite side of the street. Moments later, a child bust out, laughing carrying a small object. Gawain reacted instantly, he took a step forward scruffed the child like a pup and stepped back in one smooth motion. The horsemen thundered on, their small and massive obstructions gone as quick as they had come. Gawain set the child, a boy, down and looked him hard in the eyes. The child was wide eyed from the shock of being whipped through the air in the hands of a man more than three times his height, and his mouth was hanging down.
"Now, what did we learn", asked Gawain in a soft voice.
"Um. I. Ah...", he stammered for a moment before finally finding his bearing again, "Thank you! I need to go though..." He glanced over his shoulder at the other side that was dispersing. There were some bigger children with sticks looking around. Gawain reached into his purse discretely, pulled out a few silver freshly acquired earlier in the day, and gently put them in the boys hands. He noticed the object the boy was carrying was a book. A smile touched Gawain's face as he nudged the boy, whispering, "Go on, I'll take care of your problem. If they give you any more trouble, come to the camp with the Giant on it, you know will know the one"
With that he stood to his full height and made his way to the other boys. They saw him approaching like a moving mountain with a dark expression and decided that was not something they were equipped to deal with. They scurried out of sight, some dropping their sticks. Gawain looked over his shoulder. The boy was gone. Smart kid. The edge of his mouth upended itself a fraction. I did wish for less boredom..., he thought shaking his head. He continued on toward the castle.
The rest of the walk was uneventful, and he arrived at the palace in short order. The guards took one look at him, one at each other and waved him through. He had a distinct appearance that really didn't need to be checked. As he entered the courtyard the last rays of the setting sun struck him and he stood a moment, basking in the radiance. He gathered it's strength around him like he always did, and breathed out, calming his entire being. He felt rejuvenated and light as air, and continued on his way.
Gawain looked for an open table, one where he would be welcome. He spotted a table, mostly open save for one seat. He walked over an saw that it was a lady who sat in the chair, sword arranged so she sat comfortably. Well, I certainly did ask for something to end my boredom, Gawain thought, and did fate deliver quickly. She was eating quietly, but with vigor that came after physical exertion. Like being a knight.
"You know, you would be able to draw quicker if your sword were next to the table. Though it would be bad if someone were to take it while you sat. I'd prefer to take that risk, though. I trust in my ability to see danger coming. Sir", he had a sly, playful smile and a lightness in his eyes as he sat down, setting his bastard sword upright and leaning on the table. Gawain took a better look at the woman before him. Tall and well built, she sat straight, giving off the impression of a drawn bow. Short auburn hair fell around her face and reflected the dancing firelight.
A short servant was just arriving with an offer of food and it looked like the Lady Knight was about to respond when a voice rang out.
"Gawain!", thundered across the across the feast hall. Gawain saw that the lightning it came from was Mordred, sitting elevated with his nobles.
An end to boredom indeed...
wonderlandalli said
Sir Gawain could EASILY be sitting at the table Tristan joined. :)
That's what I was thinking, but not in the way you're thinking about it.
I think.
When I get off my both extremely lazy and busy ass, I'll post and you'll see. Which reminds me, I need to message Nobody...
Character Sheet from my 'vault'. I'm working on my first IC post now. Hopefully I'll have it up tonight, but I'm not sure.
Name: Sir Gawain, Once heir to King Lot, who rules over Orkney and Lothian. He leads a fair sized company of men known as the Giants of the North.
Age: 27
Is it alright if I post next? I have an Idea about what I want to do...I'll prolly be posting tomorrow.
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