Medieval Fantasy and the RPer Who Couldn't Write Titles

[loyalist_historian]

Secure in a tent deep within the trenches of the rebel campsite sat a seventeen year old girl, her moss green eyes resolutely examining her reflection in the simple wooden mirror. Her dominant left hand repeatedly ran through her long curtain of dark red hair, smoothly piecing through the gentle curls reaching the halfway point of her back.

Placing the mirror on her lap, the girl reclined on her makeshift bed, staring up at the 'ceiling' of the tent with a plastered frown as her thoughts returned to the trauma she had undergone over the course of these past few months. It seemed that Henry thought he understood her completely--when she was happy, or distressed, or angry--but Jaina had long been taught by her parents to keep those emotions hidden, and, whether Henry knew it or not, Jaina did that with him as well. How could she burden him with the silly ramblings and fears and worries of a child? She couldn't. With everything else going on, tacking something else on wouldn't be fair.

Generally Jaina's mindset, the thoughts were rarely followed to fruition when it really mattered. Jaina acted unfazed by so many little things, and kept so much inside, that when she bursted, she bursted, and acted even more immaturely than she would have admitted she could. And now seemed like it would be one of those times. Allowing her hand to fall, the girl rose, smoothing the dirt streaked emerald green dress--she wished it hadn't gotten so dirty--before beginning to pace slightly, a conflicted look on her face as she bit her lip before glancing at the exit from her tent. She wanted to exit, to find her brother, to be there with him as he spoke with the leader of those who had helped them both so much already. She should be there! But she knew how Henry about that, and how protective and off-put he would get with her if she even tried.

Still…she wanted to go…

Releasing the pressure on her lip, the girl nodded to herself, walking to the exit-way and deciding that she would stick her head out to see if any of her guards were around. If not, Jaina would continue as she wished. Breathing in deeply for a moment, she opened the cloth that served as a door, looking around in the green for any keeping an eye on her.

((We need to figure out the other roles, I suppose. I'll take the prince (older brother)?))

 

[radioactive]

The woods crawled and twined with unease, a turmoil that seemed to vibrate and hum off of the forestry and to the human intruders. Something was happening bigger than this place, bigger than anything they were fully capable of grasping or controlling, and even the animals felt it. A number of smaller tents had been set up in the clearing, and the sun peaked from behind the dark clouds enough to brighten up the place, even if there was an unparalleled evil scouring the lands. Two guards had been out posted around each of the tents, and others were around a small fire.

This place was nothing like the castle, nothing like the warmth which seemed to radiate inside of the place, but it was better than a dungeon. Which had been the only other choice that the tiny rebel camp had been given. Those resisting who had been left behind had either been slaughtered by the resurrected king, or been held captive due to their usefulness. Luckily most of the key fighters, and even a few others had been able to break free. They had one of the resident cooks from the castle, some servants had scurried out after the chaos had subsided, warriors, and most importantly the Prince and Princess had both been safely secured.

Admiral Casimir paced back and forth; the dark black boots on his feet thudded loudly against the dirt – a testament of the weight on his shoulders. Casimir's hands hung at his sides, a sword dangling from his right, and a decent suit of chain link armor hung from his slender but muscular build. While the battle had subsided a few hours prior, Casimir still had a dark copper color staining his gloves, and a few wounds across his face. Casimir was on the younger side, mid twenties, but he had excelled at his job, and was a phenomenal fighter since he was a young boy. Pausing slightly in his constant pace, the light hazel of his brows scrunched downward finally.

"We need to travel, of course the Devil's Causeway is a problem if we are to reach The Order of Saint Lazarus, but I think if we pass it at dawn that the risk would be less, that we could hold out own," he spoke partially to himself, and partially to the Prince who had been sitting idly in the room watching the precise but unsure movements of Casimir.

"While normally we can send carriers, or signals, we have no carriers, and they wouldn't pay mind to any signals, lest it was a Kingdom, and since we are not in ours, nor can reach any others, this is our best bet, unless we plan to fight, but the necromancer, I mean, we are outnumbered, at least the Saints are gifted," he paused, "At least they could gather others to fight." With the final bit of information out in the air Casimir turned his amber eyes to the Prince.