Thread: What is broken can be fixed. (Luana Blodwyn x Irlandais)

As he stepped closer the red head's posture coiled further. Just one more step and she could knock him down, possibly, without harming the woman next to her. Her eyes narrowed at the mild threat but the narrowed looked turned to surprise as the chain was stepped on. Weak from her struggle and her sheer outrage, not to mention the several miles tied to a horse she fell to her knees as his boot came down. She gave a small grunt as mud splashed around her knees, hands landing in the mud. Once down she looked back up to the man, anger still blazing from those wide green eyes, only more fueled by the situation. His threat mattered little, her life was forfeit anyways. That knife in his belt would be better served to slice the throats of every woman and child in the chain, it would be a mercy to them all. The chain was kicked back and she was unbalanced, sent onto her rear. Mud spattered again, coating the entirety of her skirts and legs only slightly exposed by the rips and tears. Son of a whelping whore, she snarled as she adjusted to stand back up beside the timid woman beside her. Filthy and still brazen her eyes followed the glorified scribe back to his tent. She wouldn't learn her lesson until a knife was drawn across her throat. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- It was a year since the Great Cabbage Seige, so it was called. The brutal commander and his men were dismissed from the services of the king after the war was over. The war had been over for three months and a time of perilous peace reigned. The peace of the realm was on a knife's edge, a single wrong word and the balance would tip. It was for that reason that multitude of balls, masquerades, hunts, feasts, any event that could make people forget and make the nobles stay peaceful between one another. So far it seemed to be working. It was a late autumn ball, celebrating the harvest and greeting the coming winter with joy rather than fear. Lords and ladies were resplendent in their autumnal garb. It was as if the autumn trees had grown legs and arms and were whirling their way on the dance floor. The affair was grand and the man putting it on one of the grandest men in the city. Lord Karstark was the wealthiest man in the kingdom, it was whispered even richer than the king himself. He was a self made man, a merchant by birth and an up-start lord. Whatever the old blood lines said of him, they could not begrudge his feasts. Weaving through the dancing lords and ladies was a bevy of pretty slave women. All sorts of women from the kingdom and further abroad. All the same and yet all different. Women with skin as black as coal with hair like that of a spring lamb. Others with pale skin, white-blond hair and grey eyes that were so pale they looked like frozen pools. Some were jovial, so accustomed to their place they truly believed that was their life and there was no other to be. Each dressed in loose gown of fine, sheer silk. No detail could be seen but in the fire light their lean, lithe bodies shown dark through the golden fabric. There were some, however, that were not so jovial, though none were chained nor violent. A woman of early twenties with hair the color of a smith's forge marched between the men and women. She saw nothing but the floor at her feet. The fine clothing and how her hair was teased and curled into a sheet of curling ringlets were at odd with the hunched demeanor. She only stopped when called to pour more wine into a tankard. When her arms raised the sleeves of the gown slipped to her elbows to show the angry scars around wrists from a time of long chaining. Her ankles showed the same but the skirts of the dress brushed the ground to conceal them. When all seemed satisfied she slunk to a corner to await another thirsty noble. Unseeing but for the ground.