broadsword_babe: (Other (no man))
When: Summer, 61 AD
Where: SE Briton
Alias: Boudica, Iceni Queen



"My lady, what you are proposing is to go to war against Rome itself!"

She glared at the man standing across the war table.

"What would you have me do, Irial? Pretend they didn't desecrate our holy sites with shines to their Cæsars? Forget they brutalised my daughters? Dismiss the fact they publicly humiliated me?"

The air in the tent was charged with her fury. Ever since her husband died, the provincial Roman government had treated Iceni lands as their own. The Romans had disregarded their customs, and had raped their lands just as they had raped the heirs to Prasutagus' crown.

"It's a fight we can't possibly win!" her General argued. "Going against better trained, better armed soldiers is suicide!"

"By all means, Conmael! Roll over like a dog to be whipped!" she shouted. "You're welcome to tend your gardens and live in cowardice! I, however, will not!

"I may be a woman, but the gods also know me as a warrior!" she raged. "I refuse to let these conquering brutes bully their way onto Iceni lands! If you want to be their slaves, so be it! Go! Throw yourselves on their mercies! But as you are offering them your arse, know that I, a woman, fought while you decided to live in bondage!"

The men all exchanged looks. She had struck at their most vulnerable point: their pride. And well she knew it.

"What do you suggest, my lady?" her Chief Councillor, Irial, asked.

"We must take back what is rightfully ours," she stated. "We take Camulodunon."

The rest of the evening and into the night, they planned. Strategies were planned and routes were plotted. By morning, all had heard that Boudica would revolt against Rome.

Within two years, three outposts were sacked, over seventy thousand were killed, a Legion was annihilated, and even an Emperor feared her. Her!

A woman.


Quinnleigh Kincaid
Highlander OC
313 words
broadsword_babe: (Miranda (Boudica not happy))
When: October, 62 AD
Where: Venonæ, Britannia (High Cross, Lutterworth, Warwickshire, UK)
Alias: Boudica


Bodies littered the ground, broken and bloodied. Half her forces had not survived to see sunset. Half or more of those that remained told the story of the battle in wounds and severed limbs. Over a hundred thousand against maybe five hundred and still, she had lost. Carrion birds squawked and argued amongst themselves for the best morsels. Her stomach churned in revolt, knowing they feasted upon those she had just that morning called friend and ally. Wind whipped at her cloak, bringing with it the vile stench of death as the sun slowly slid below the horizon. For a moment, the sky turned as bloody as the field below.

"Lady Boudica." She knew the Druid, Irial, by voice alone.

"I am dead," she said without turning.

"My lady?"

"Tell them I am dead."

"But... why?"

"How do you expect me to face them after this?" She waved a hand in the direction of the mutilated carnage. "Taya and Ciara will understand. Our lands belong to the Romans now. There's nothing for me here."

"Where will you go?"

"North."

"To the land of the Prydyn?"

Her only answer was mounting the horse standing nearby.

"What should I tell the others?"

"That I took poison and was given a proper funeral."

Of course, that meant a pyre and her ashes scattered to the four winds. The Druids would find no shortage of volunteers to play her part.

"Be well, my lady. The gods have honoured us with your presence."

"And you have honoured them, Irial. Be well."

The Druid raised his hand in solemn salute and watched in silence as she rode into the oncoming night.



In response to [livejournal.com profile] _call_me_snake_'s question here.
Note: Names (aside from Boudica's) are fictional. Ciara is pronounced Key-ARE-ah.

Fury

6 Jan 2008 04:20 pm
broadsword_babe: (Miranda (sword))
{OOC: I know some community somewhere has posted a "fury" prompt, I'm just too lazy to look it up.}

October, 60CE
Near present-day Norfolk
Alias: Boudica



I stormed into the tent where my generals and council had gathered. The wounds to my back still oozed blood and the warm liquid trickled down between my buttocks. They (five generals, two advisors and a Druid) looked up from the war table around which they all stood. Braziers of flame illuminated their curious glances.

“My lady,” Chief Councilor Aedan greeted me.

I ignored him and the glances of the others. Instead, I stripped bare to the skin so all could witness the results of the flogging I had received at Roman hands. They fell silent as the welts and gashes were revealed. I slammed my hand on the war table, feeling the wood shudder beneath my wrath.

“I will have vengeance!” I shouted. “Not for myself, but for my daughters.”

“Your daughters?” the Druid asked, confused.

“Yes, Irial,” I hissed. “Both were raped. By Romans.”

Scowls formed at my blunt words. Each began to murmur to the others in angered tones. This was worse, oh so much worse, than the Romans taxing our people to build their temples on our holiest of grounds.

“Someone needs to be made an example,” I seethed. “I don’t care who, or how, but they will pay for this. I will have my vengeance, or I will die trying. Rome needs to learn that they cannot simply deflower my daughters without retribution. I want Nero himself to remember my name, and my fury. And I want every last putrid Roman to leave these lands and return to Gaul with terror in their hearts. Now go!

Each bowed their heads and murmured a “yes, my lady,” before leaving the tent until only the Druid remained. I shook my head, feeling my coppery locks sticking to the blood of my back. I did not want to know what the gods had in store for one hapless Roman whose only crime was his chosen occupation.


Quinnleigh Kincaid
Highlander OC
316 words



Mun note: This does not reflect on any other character(s). As far as she knows, the Roman could've been strung up by his balls to rot drawn & quartered.
broadsword_babe: (boudica)
A rewrite of this.

{For Immortal Knowledge Only}

The white ribbon the Romans called “Wæcelinga Stræt” coursed through the landscape. I scowled. It was yet more proof of Roman intrusion into lands that were not theirs. They defiled the land just as they had deflowered my husband’s daughters. Nothing was sacred to them. They made their Emperors into gods and made my people pay for their temples.

The Iceni they had claimed as “savages” had systematically ruined three of their precious settlements. And the one and only Legion that had dared stand against us was slaughtered. Still, I wouldn’t rest until every last Roman left Britain without a backward glance. I would be free of them, or I would die trying.

At last the dawn came. I took to my chariot, my husband’s daughters beside me. With a flick of the reins, I urged the two horses to ride to the front of my forces. 230,000 strong; it was a sight to behold. I raised my voice to the clear morning air and spoke to them not as a Queen but as a mother avenging her daughters and a woman fighting for her freedom. Although Immortals couldn’t scar, my back still twinged at the memories of being flogged for trying to keep my husband’s daughters intact. That fury added power to my voice.

“On this spot we must either conquer, or die with glory. There is no alternative. Though a woman, my resolution is fixed: the men, if they please, may survive with infamy, and live in bondage.” I raised my voice to the dawn, praying the Gods would hear my cry. “Nothing is safe from Roman pride and arrogance. They will deface the sacred and will deflower our virgins. Win the battle or perish, that is what I, a woman, will do!”

To their credit, each raised their arms and roared with battle lust. Men, women, Iceni and Trinovante alike had answered my call. Rome must know that their deeds would not go unpunished, and we would not be conquered easily.

“Fight the foe!” I cried.

“Fight the foe!” Over two hundred thousand voices echoed in the dawn.

The Battle )


Quinnleigh Kincaid
Highlander OC
351 words (not including wiki info)
broadsword_babe: (boudica)
THE Roman Road runs straight and bare
As the pale parting-line in hair
Across the heath. And thoughtful men
Contrast its days of Now and Then,
And delve, and measure, and compare;
Visioning on the vacant air
Helmeted legionnaires, who proudly rear
The Eagle, as they pace again
The Roman Road.

But no tall brass-helmeted legionnaire
Haunts it for me. Uprises there
A mother's form upon my ken,
Guiding my infant steps, as when
We walked that ancient thoroughfare,
The Roman Road.


{For Immortal Knowledge Only}

Taken from these events, and continued from here.


"This is not the first time that the Britons have been led to battle by a woman. But now she did not come to boast the pride of a long line of ancestry, nor even to recover her kingdom and the plundered wealth of her family. She took the field, like the meanest among them, to assert the cause of public liberty, and to seek revenge for her body seamed with ignominious stripes, and her two daughters infamously ravished. From the pride and arrogance of the Romans nothing is sacred; all are subject to violation; the old endure the scourge, and the virgins are deflowered. But the vindictive gods are now at hand. A Roman legion dared to face the warlike Britons: with their lives they paid for their rashness; those who survived the carnage of that day, lie poorly hid behind their entrenchment, meditating nothing but how to save themselves by an ignominious flight. From the din of preparation, and the shouts of the British army, the Romans, even now, shrink back with terror. What will be their case when the assault begins? Look round, and view your numbers. Behold the proud display of warlike spirits, and consider the motives for which we draw the avenging sword. On this spot we must either conquer, or die with glory. There is no alternative. Though a woman, my resolution is fixed: the men, if they please, may survive with infamy, and live in bondage."


Quote taken from here.

My voice carried in the still, clear air. Smoke rising from the ashes of Londinium smudged the horizon. We left none alive. I had my vengeance for my dead husband's daughters. The 230,000 men, and women, under my command let out a roar that made the very ground shake. I smiled. I could taste victory on the back of my throat the same way one could taste lightning before it struck.

As I looked out across the landscape, I soon realized the Romans had chosen the battlefield well. The gorge protected their flanks and the forest, their rear. The gorge would also serve to funnel our forces and take away our advantage of superior numbers. Even then, I couldn't, wouldn't, back down. Those Romans had to learn they they could not savage our people and not expect retribution.

The battle raged all day, and as I suspected, our losses were heavy. The Romans pushed us back against out own wagons, slaughtering everything and everyone in their path. We lost almost half our forces, and half again were maimed or wounded. Although we didn't win the battle, per se, it still showed that the Britons were not afraid to stand against the tyranny that was Rome.
broadsword_babe: (braid)
Talk about a moment in which you wished you had a camera.

{For Immortal Knowledge Only}

Boadicea ~ Steve McDonald
Deep in the night, in a quiet place
I hear her voice, I see her face
All in a dream
She was the Warrior Queen.

Brought to war,
by the pain of her daughters
She vowed revenge,
and promised to slaughter
The enemy there
It was an honor affair.

Fight the foe, fight the foe
Sang the Warrior Queen
The lion looks proud in the shade of the tree
But the lioness hunts down the prey
The victor is she.

Across the land, her chariot sped
Burning London 20,000 dead
Feared and serene
The Iceni Queen.

Though soon she would falter
Suetonius would reign
Forgotten victories are all that remain
Her voice they still hear
An echo from yesteryear

Fight the foe, fight the foe
Sang the Warrior Queen
The lion looks proud in the shade of the tree
But the lioness hunts down the prey
The victor is she.

Across the land, her chariot sped
Burning London 20,000 dead
Feared and serene
The Iceni Queen.

Though soon she would falter
Suetonius would reign
Forgotten victories are all that remain
Her voice they still hear
An echo from yesteryear
Fight the foe, fight the foe
Sang the Warrior Queen
The lion looks proud in the shade of the tree
But the lioness hunts down the prey
The victor is she.

Deep in the night, She took her own life
Blessed with a smile and a tear
Though she had severed their dearest veins
None would ever forget, Boadicea


Not that they’d been invented yet, but damn, do I wish I had a picture of that Roman as I swept across the field with 20,000 angry Iceni behind me. Surely the dumb shit would’ve realized that my people wouldn’t stand for the rape of their heirs, nor would they tolerate the flogging of their Queen. And to think, their bright idea of women being inferior still permeates society today!

Right, so the girls weren’t technically mine, and I faked my own suicide, but quit splitting hairs. Those Romans still needed to be taken down a peg or two. I only wish the Druids had come to our aid. With them, came the blessing of the Gods, and we might’ve been able to chase those damned Romans out of Briton for good. Londinium. What the hell kind of name is that?

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