Post by Svetovida Sviatislav on Jul 6, 2016 22:20:19 GMT
Men talked to themselves in whispers. The tent was heavy with tension, worry, anticipation and above all, curiosity. The ten men in charge of the remaining Sclavenic cavalry contingent have been summoned, by someone claiming to be the heir of Ivaylo Sviatislav. A bastard, but an heir nonetheless. They had all been approached by a small slim man with extremely pale skin and pitch black hair. He had an uncomfortable way about him, but he was convincing.
The tent was well lit by candles and lamp, but heavy footsteps outside shook the candles and made the light of their flames jitter, like an infernal symphony of orange shadows. A colossal man stepped in through the opening, although stepped would have been generous. The figure was so large that he had to almost bend double to get in. Once inside he cast a shadow on every occupant. His face was cruelly scarred and bore an evil look. He was not just tall, he was clearly heavier than most bulls. But the thing that took the men most by surprise was the colour of his skin, it was incredibly dark. Not the light brown of some Africans they had seen on their travels, but an onyx black that induced a primordial fear in those present.
Another figure followed the man in, a small woman. Shorter by a head than all present and of slight frame. She was neither stunningly beautiful nor horrendously ugly. She had been blinded in one eye and had her hair cropped short. She certainly bore a resemblance to Ivaylo, that was unmistakable.
"Good evening brave warriors. I am Svetovida Sviatislav, daughter of Ivaylo Sviatislav and your Queen." After a few moments of gobsmacked silence the men burst into laughter. One man in particular seemed in an exceptionally amused state, falling on the floor and breaking into tears. Svetovida smiled an evil little smile and nodded. The giant stepped forwards and placed his hands around the mans head, picking him up and holding him in the air he drove his thumbs through the comedians eye sockets and into his skull before ripping his head apart and spraying blood on the laughing men and the canvas walls.
The laughter stopped.
"I am Svetovida Sviatislav, daughter of Ivaylo Sviatislav and your rightful Queen. This is Gora. If any of you wishes to mock me or harm me then you shall find yourselves confronted thus." The crowds attention was caught "I shall not bore you with the details of my birth and my origin, suffice to say that my father was visited by Lada one night many years ago. He made love to the fey goddess and she bore me unto the world. Within me burns the spirit of Svetovid, a name which you all know to fear and honour. Even if you have forsaken the old ways. I have been approached by a Roman pretender in North Africa. A weak man named Julian who offers coin, freedom and the chance to redeem our honour through war. I have summoned you here because you represent my fathers most loyal and skilled warriors. You must not be lions led by Roman lambs into the gaping maw of Hunnic warlords. Follow me and we shall once more have a chance to honour he that resides in my heart."
Svetovida and Gora leave the tent, once out in the air she sighs and approaches a seemingly innocuous shadow "No Romans have passed this way, your meeting has remained a secret for now." the voice which came from the shadow was not followed by a body, by Svetovida knew it well enough.
"Thank you Oko, well done. Have you seen Reka and Senca?"
"We are here mistress" This second voice was attached to a slim man with pale skin and dark hair, the odd figure who had arranged the meeting "I must say you came over better than expected. I think most of them will back you for now, the others will either follow the crowd or find themselves visited by our friend Senca"
"Thank you Reka, as ever you judge the situation well. I hope we do not have to put Senca's peculiar talents to the test, but if we must then we must."
Another figure in the shadow said nothing, but did shrug its shoulders and put a wicked thin knife back into a hidden scabbard.
************************************
The next evening an assembled group of ten men (a very straight faced young fellow having replaced the previous nights casualty) ascent to Svetovidas wishes and agree to leave the Roman camp post haste. The flight is silent and swift, no great battle cries, no daggers in the night. Just hard ridding and the thunder of a thousand sets of hooves. It is noted by some that although sentries are seen at their posts they are mysteriously silent and still....
The tent was well lit by candles and lamp, but heavy footsteps outside shook the candles and made the light of their flames jitter, like an infernal symphony of orange shadows. A colossal man stepped in through the opening, although stepped would have been generous. The figure was so large that he had to almost bend double to get in. Once inside he cast a shadow on every occupant. His face was cruelly scarred and bore an evil look. He was not just tall, he was clearly heavier than most bulls. But the thing that took the men most by surprise was the colour of his skin, it was incredibly dark. Not the light brown of some Africans they had seen on their travels, but an onyx black that induced a primordial fear in those present.
Another figure followed the man in, a small woman. Shorter by a head than all present and of slight frame. She was neither stunningly beautiful nor horrendously ugly. She had been blinded in one eye and had her hair cropped short. She certainly bore a resemblance to Ivaylo, that was unmistakable.
"Good evening brave warriors. I am Svetovida Sviatislav, daughter of Ivaylo Sviatislav and your Queen." After a few moments of gobsmacked silence the men burst into laughter. One man in particular seemed in an exceptionally amused state, falling on the floor and breaking into tears. Svetovida smiled an evil little smile and nodded. The giant stepped forwards and placed his hands around the mans head, picking him up and holding him in the air he drove his thumbs through the comedians eye sockets and into his skull before ripping his head apart and spraying blood on the laughing men and the canvas walls.
The laughter stopped.
"I am Svetovida Sviatislav, daughter of Ivaylo Sviatislav and your rightful Queen. This is Gora. If any of you wishes to mock me or harm me then you shall find yourselves confronted thus." The crowds attention was caught "I shall not bore you with the details of my birth and my origin, suffice to say that my father was visited by Lada one night many years ago. He made love to the fey goddess and she bore me unto the world. Within me burns the spirit of Svetovid, a name which you all know to fear and honour. Even if you have forsaken the old ways. I have been approached by a Roman pretender in North Africa. A weak man named Julian who offers coin, freedom and the chance to redeem our honour through war. I have summoned you here because you represent my fathers most loyal and skilled warriors. You must not be lions led by Roman lambs into the gaping maw of Hunnic warlords. Follow me and we shall once more have a chance to honour he that resides in my heart."
Svetovida and Gora leave the tent, once out in the air she sighs and approaches a seemingly innocuous shadow "No Romans have passed this way, your meeting has remained a secret for now." the voice which came from the shadow was not followed by a body, by Svetovida knew it well enough.
"Thank you Oko, well done. Have you seen Reka and Senca?"
"We are here mistress" This second voice was attached to a slim man with pale skin and dark hair, the odd figure who had arranged the meeting "I must say you came over better than expected. I think most of them will back you for now, the others will either follow the crowd or find themselves visited by our friend Senca"
"Thank you Reka, as ever you judge the situation well. I hope we do not have to put Senca's peculiar talents to the test, but if we must then we must."
Another figure in the shadow said nothing, but did shrug its shoulders and put a wicked thin knife back into a hidden scabbard.
************************************
The next evening an assembled group of ten men (a very straight faced young fellow having replaced the previous nights casualty) ascent to Svetovidas wishes and agree to leave the Roman camp post haste. The flight is silent and swift, no great battle cries, no daggers in the night. Just hard ridding and the thunder of a thousand sets of hooves. It is noted by some that although sentries are seen at their posts they are mysteriously silent and still....