Blood, Oath, and Honor - Closed Thread

[Light Ice]

Ireland - Lockerbe, 1385 A.D

Resting at the foot of the rolling Beguille Hills, the stretch of land known as Lockerbe lay nestled into the waist-grass. A rural lordship, it's wayside lay open and unmarred, except for the small town at the largest hill's foot. The walls, comprised of shoddy timbre stockades and simple watch towers, were a signal of the slipping English dominance in the entire region.

The Irish populace seemed free, entirely, from Britain's oppressive, catholic rule, as they roamed through the small town's various paths and marketplaces.

However, if they looked to the north, the ominous stone facade of the Castle Roai overshadowed any hopes or dreams for their civil freedom.

Built of solid granite, and heavily guarded, the massive castle had a dark place in the heart of every Irish man and woman that paced about the town. It's ebon-clad history loomed in the throats of everyone, and sent painful chills down the spine of most.

The manor, always, was kept by the family who had erected it. The endless British nepotism assured that Ireland would, in time, forget anything but the lording british families that dominated her.

If the Castle signified this vision, Symond Roai was jealous. His brutal treatment of the pagan-celtic people that he ruled was nearly as legendary as his father's. His name was hardly ever spoken, and he was as feared by his guards as he was by the people he ruled.

He walked the halls with long, loping strides, arrogantly swinging his lean arms from side to side. The swagger accented his dashing nature, truly handsome under the word's definition. His hair was black as pitch, and his eyes much the same.

For the last seven years, he had been waiting for this moment. The return of his last surviving family member, the only one he could ever truly trust. It was this that had drove him to the balcony that night, leaning forwards as her carriage came in.

His heart leapt, jumped, and swelled as he waited the sight of her. And it nearly stole the breath from his throat when she arrived.

Seven years in a convent, and she was an angel... beautiful and saintly as she moved. The hesitant grace in her strides swooning him, she moved with her head delicately held.

Noble to the end.

And rightly so. Her father had ruled these lands, and now she was home. It was hers as well, thought Symond, his lip drifting out to run across the curve of one pouted lip.

Hers, and mine. Ours.

He felt it then, the familiar pressure in his groin, and the excitement came to a peak. For the first time in seven years he had seen her, and as he had on the day she left, Symond Roai grew hard in his slacks.

Hustling through the hallway, he rushed out to greet her. His squeel of delight was not so enthusiastically met, though her pleasant, and humble manners were entirely satisfactory.

 

[MapleGirl]

Estienne

Estienne sat quietly as the coach travelled awkwardly along the rock littered road leading up to the Roai family castle. Her head pressed back against the luxuriant crimson-hued velvet padding of the coach, eyes closed. The swelling, rolling sensation of nausea rose from the pit of her stomach bringing the bitter taste of bile to her mouth. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to maintain her composure.

"So close to home now, can't let him see me looking unsettled. I won't give him that satisfaction."

How long had it been since she'd been home? She was just a young lass when her father sent her away to the convent. Father had been dead some six years now. Estienne should have been married off long ago. Most noblewomen were married off by the age of fourteen. She, now nineteen, was well beyond the accustomed age of betrothal. She had her brother, Symond, to thank for that. It was he who kept her shut away these past six years at the convent. He who ensured that the nuns gave her a daily dose of lily root to keep her chaste, to save herself for him.

She drew the heavy, crimson-hued velvet curtain back from the coach window, and leaned forward to let the fresh country air rush against her pale visage. She could see the manor grounds now. The massive, ominous outline of castle Roai slowly coming into view as the coach lurched and roiled forward toward its destination.

Withdrawing her pale, soft-skinned hand she let the heavy curtain fall back across the window. She knew he was there waiting for her, watching intently as the coach travelled into the courtyard. She could feel his eyes upon her as she stepped down out of the coach. It made her flesh crawl yet she lifted her raven-tressed head high and strode gracefully across the courtyard toward the entrance to Castle Roai.

Symond came rushing through the door to greet her.

"Estienne!"

Hearing him call her name excitedly, eyeing her as he was, sent a chill up her spine. She allowed him to hug her, but recoiled gently as she felt him press his groin against her hip. He was indeed excited to see her, far too excited as the hardened state of his manhood quickly revealed. Placing a modest amount of distance between them she wrapped her arm gently around his and allowed him to lead her into the hallway.

"It's been such a long journey home dear brother. Fear I'm longing for a nice hot bath to relax myself in and something to eat."

 

[Light Ice]

Symond Roai

The thrill of it was undeniable. Her soft frame, hanging upon his arm, moving through their home... She'd see all his work come to life. In the many, many years since their father's passing Symond, though still quite young in his own right, had turned their lordship into one that functioned according to the british ideals. The castle, sheer and bleak on the outside, had been reinforced and now bore two large wings that had been added in addition. These could serve as additional stores, and projected flanks, in the case of the seige.

Around them, the castle's interior, however painted a far different picture. Their father, while notoriously stict, had always been content with the land allotted to the family. He had made their castle brilliant on the inside, with long floors of polished alabaster stone. Everything within the massive manor was built of roman design, with great pillars of rare black marble running down the length of the main hall. Peices of art, and massive tapistries were on nearly every wall, cleverly placed to make the space both elegant and homey. It was magnificent, and in this regard hardly changed, for as much as Symond's ambitions eclipsed his father's the youngman clearly had great respect for him. This was only clarified by the massive portrait that now dominated the corridoor which lead to the four main staterooms.

Symond, even after his father's passing, had been unable to move into his father's room. He had merely brought a few, small reminders brought into his chambers and added to his own personal decor. What once had been their parent's bedroom, a place of wonder and comfort for the children in their youth, was now a spare stateroom. The door, however, still seemed taller than all the rest.

"Yes, of course, Estienne. A fine bath... I think you will be pleased with the state of your chambers. I had them kept the way you, yourself kept them. They were changed over often. Only one small change. Your bathing area is a bit larger. And it can be heated... rather new, and fine. My companions in greater Brittany insisted that I included one for you, amongst many of my lesser gifts." He rambled, absolutely thrilled to have her here. As he eased the door open, allowing her to slip through, he let his arm gently fall to his side.

"And, you'll be happy to know that the two young ladies you requested for service were more than happy to bind themselves to you. Call them when you desire. Tonight, though you may be tired, I arranged for a bit of a festive welcome. There are various -lesser- nobles from Ireland who will be joining us. They're all rather eager to meet you." At first, he had seemed cheery, but as his lips released the latter of his words, a darkness came over him that eclipsed anything else.

Quietly, he brooded, in his eyes the great jealousy that she had been for too long aware.

"But we have a few hours until they arrive, so by all means rest."

Leaning then, his thin lips brushed along the arch of her jawline in the most chaste of kisses. The scent of her abruptly arced through him, and he nearly sighed, only to force himself to turn and swiftly move out the corridor. He had much to prepare.

 

[MapleGirl]

Estienne Roai

Estienne fought the urge to recoil from his kiss, as chaste as it was, as the mere closeness of him made her uneasy. She felt a sudden surge of relief as she watched him stride off down the corridor. She’d noticed that brooding look in his eyes as he’d studied her and told her of the planned feast and guests waiting to meet her.

She quickly withdrew into her private chambers. Symond had kept things just as she’d left them when she was sent away from home. The only exceptions, a large tapestry depicting a voluptuous young maiden bathing in a garden that now hung across from her bed and the luxurious sunken bathtub he’d had built in the adjoining room. The detail and craftsmanship of the tapestry was exquisite. It seemed quite out of place amongst the trappings of her childhood.

Estienne waited patiently while her personal servants drew a hot bath for her and set out her garments. She suddenly felt weary, the journey through the night and day by coach, finally having caught up with her. The thought of dressing and joining her brother and his guests seemed unbearable as she glanced at the large canopy bed. She wanted to do nothing more than slip between the scented linens and fall asleep.

The footsteps of her servant, Anna, drew her attention to the woman’s presence at the doorway to the bathing room. She smiled softly as the woman moved closer and began to unlace the bindings and fastenings of her bodice and gown. A recently lit fire burned brightly in the hearth. The temperature inside her quarters was chilly this time of year. Her soft, alabaster hued skin quickly prickled with goose bumps when exposed to the air as her servant, Anna, helped to pull her linen shift up over her head.

Estienne caught a glimpse of herself in the oval shaped, floor length mirrored glass as she passed by. She’d blossomed and become a woman since leaving home, her figure long and slender, with softly rounded curves. Her long raven tresses flowed, unbound, down over her slender shoulders. She was as attractive, if not more so, than her mother had been at her age. Her heart shaped face and deep blue eyes were clearly inherited from her mother.

Though considered a handsome man, her father’s looks were far more chiselled and rugged. It was her brother who most resembled their father, no longer the boy she remembered him as but a full grown and attractive man. It was clear to Estienne that the women of the castle were aware of her brother’s attractiveness. Anna, herself, had blushed and babbled like a brainless young girl when greeted in the corridor by Symond.

“Why hasn’t he married? He clearly has the pick of any woman he wishes if the women of the castle are any indication.”

Even as she was formulating that question in her mind, Estienne already knew the answer.

 

[Light Ice]

Symond

Through the dark halls he moved, quietly passing guards and servants without word. The thought of Estienne bathing, dressing... a heat spread through him, pulsing hotly through his body and forcing his flesh to thicken in his slacks. However, with his endless plans and constant responsibilites, time to fantasize was frightfully short. Already, he found himself hailed by one of his Captain's to the castle's great tower.

While quite Roman in design, with level arcs and ornate statues that proved as solid as they were asthetically pleasing, Castle Roai had two distinctively gothic elements. The massive, fortified walls that encompassed the entire compound were made of sheer, solid granite and meticulously kept. And, a clever and radically designed citadel that was build into the castle's core. Any who attempted seige would find the heart of the estate to be vastly fortified, and that the riches of the Roai family were held out of reach in a massive, towering spire that was able to be reached only by ascending some five-hundred stone stairs that rose steeply in a spiral that pressed to the left-most wall.

Symond was surprisingly fit, and while the stairs were a daunting task for anyone, he ascended them without much difficulty. At the top, he passed through the massive, iron-banded door that lead into his war-room. The octagonal room was draped in aggressive, anglo-saxon tapestries depicting great battles and victories that his father's father, and his father, had been a part of as the King's great Captains.

"The neighbooring Celtic lords have arranged a meeting, my lord." offered Draven, Symond's most trusted companion and officer.

"The clans are organizing?" There was nothing well that could come of it. The lords had been warring for centuries, but under Symond's aggressive tributes and raids, he knew they had been forced to work together. Of course, he had hoped on it, for a unified raid would present him enough of a reason to smite them down and claim dominion over their lands. He'd be expanding his already considerable territory, while eradicating a threat to the King's rule.

Draven nodded, aware of Symond's hopes, and offered but a subtle smile. He was a blond-haired man, of norse heritage, who's massive, towering figure had made him feared and heralded by enemies and allies alike. The reason why Symond liked him as a Captain, of course, was their equally merciless way with the natives. "I have done as you asked, and organized two of your divisions. They are capable of being mobilized in less than a day's time, should you give the command."

"Excellent, Draven," said the Lord, turning to his friend with a sincere smile. "Time and time again you have proven yourself my most trusted friend, and had I my way I'd have you my brother. Send word to the King that the Celt's are massing an army, but be sure it does not reach him for over two week's time. I'd like to have the matter taken care of before he offers aide. His majesty is too busy with the Franks to trouble himself with a few barbarians."

Draven simply nodded, his smile sure and ever present. It'd remaind like that in his Master's company, always, only to fade into a scowl which he reserved strictly for the rest of the known world. On his back, sheathed in heavy leather, was a sword that weighed well over seventy pounds. The massive, hand and a half swords of Germany's smiths were uncommon for Saxon warriors to brand. But Draven was not a common Saxon, nor was his sword of German make. The blade, affectionately called "Hell's Cleaver", had been fashioned by local smith's in Draven's own land plots in Viking territory. Turning, the massive man slipped smoothly out.

For a moment, Symond remained where he was, before moving to the window. His dark, weighted eyes gazed out over the overcast skies, and towards the vast borders of his land. He thought of war, and of a great battle upon his fertile plains. His mind drifted towards what victory would bring, and of what Estienne would say when she saw her brother crowned king of all that she had known. How she would love him, when their father's dream was realized by his only son! He would win her heart with the blood of the natives whom had at one time wounded their father with an assassin's blade.

Thinking about the carnage his revenge would bring, and the love his sister would give... the carnal delights they would partake in... Symond Roai smiled.