Post by wordy on Apr 9, 2011 11:39:40 GMT 10
Title: Fugitive
Rating: G
Word count: 243
Pairing: Raoul/Sabine
Round/Fight: 1/G
Summary: A blast from the past. (AKA the one where Flyndan completely steals the show and I'm tempted to make Sabine a Time Agent.)
The ragtag group of bandits had been trained well, but they were no match for the Own. Within an hour of arriving, Third had successfully located and subdued the group, then set up camp.
Raoul and Flyndan were looking over some maps of the area when one of the men came bursting in. Flyndan raised an eyebrow disapprovingly.
“Pardon, m’lord,” said the man, nervously, “but one of the bandits is asking for you.”
“Don’t look at me,” said Flyn, once the man had fumbled his way back out of the tent. “You’re the only lord around here.”
Raoul scowled. “I’m going.”
They were a dirty bunch, though outfitted well with a mixture of short swords, daggers, and even a mace or two. Raoul stopped in front of them, tucking his thumbs into his belt. “Alright, what’s the trouble here?”
“I want to talk to the commanding officer.” The speaker was a woman, with sharp eyes and broad shoulders. She looked slightly out of place amongst the other bandits; her clothes were of good quality, but strange design.
Raoul tilted his head to the side. “That would be me.”
“I have a warning, for the king,” she said.
Raoul waited. “Are you going to tell me, or do I have to guess what it is?”
The woman scowled. “Tell this to your king. I’ve found someone who may be of interest to him.”
“Does this person have a name?”
She paused. “Roger of Conté.”
QC by PeroxidePirate
Rating: G
Word count: 243
Pairing: Raoul/Sabine
Round/Fight: 1/G
Summary: A blast from the past. (AKA the one where Flyndan completely steals the show and I'm tempted to make Sabine a Time Agent.)
The ragtag group of bandits had been trained well, but they were no match for the Own. Within an hour of arriving, Third had successfully located and subdued the group, then set up camp.
Raoul and Flyndan were looking over some maps of the area when one of the men came bursting in. Flyndan raised an eyebrow disapprovingly.
“Pardon, m’lord,” said the man, nervously, “but one of the bandits is asking for you.”
“Don’t look at me,” said Flyn, once the man had fumbled his way back out of the tent. “You’re the only lord around here.”
Raoul scowled. “I’m going.”
They were a dirty bunch, though outfitted well with a mixture of short swords, daggers, and even a mace or two. Raoul stopped in front of them, tucking his thumbs into his belt. “Alright, what’s the trouble here?”
“I want to talk to the commanding officer.” The speaker was a woman, with sharp eyes and broad shoulders. She looked slightly out of place amongst the other bandits; her clothes were of good quality, but strange design.
Raoul tilted his head to the side. “That would be me.”
“I have a warning, for the king,” she said.
Raoul waited. “Are you going to tell me, or do I have to guess what it is?”
The woman scowled. “Tell this to your king. I’ve found someone who may be of interest to him.”
“Does this person have a name?”
She paused. “Roger of Conté.”
QC by PeroxidePirate