Diarmuid Ua Duibhne (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
oathshackledbird) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
towerofanimus2013-01-13 11:12 am
oathshackledbird) wrote in towerofanimus2013-01-13 11:12 am
Entry tags:
Dark Knight of the Soul...
Characters: Zero Lancer and anyone else!
Setting: Various locations throughout the week focusing on the ones listed below.
Format: Action brackets to start, but whatever you want after.
Summary: It's been hundreds, if not thousands, of years for Zero Lancer. That is, if there is enough left of the knight of old that he can even be called the same person.
Warnings: Okay, things have gone downhill enough in some of the threads that I'm completely revamping the warnings on this. So New Warnings/Potential Triggers on: Language, Suicide, Violence, Blood, Psychological Abuse, Depression, and Mental Self-Harm.
Room 4-16:
[He stretches, shoulders rolling and bringing life to the large bird of prey tattoo that covers most of his back. Black and brown feathers glisten, but seem dim when compared to the glow of the bird's golden eyes.
It's late by Lancer's internal clock, but considering when he'd come to bed, late is really a relative term. Still, he doesn't rush to get up and moving. Why should he? It's not like he has any plans for the day. Nothing new anyway. Just the same pattern he's followed for the last...
A sigh slips from his lips. How long doesn't matter anymore. He just knows it's been far too long since he's found something able to keep his attention. Even sleeping is more interesting sometimes which is why he's started doing it regularly when he doesn't actually have to.
Lancer runs a hand through his now very white hair and finally slinks his way out of bed. Much like the tattoo, he doesn't actually remember when his hair changed. Honestly, he doesn't care. There's nothing interesting in pondering the whys after all.
He gathers his clothes from the floor and slides back into them. Long gone is the armor he used to constantly wear. Instead, Lancer's outfit consists of a black halter top given to him by...someone who had once said it was a shame to cover up even a small portion of the work that had been done on his back and a pair of black pants that fit much better than they have any right to. His feet remain bare, though. For a servant such as he, shoes are hardly necessary and he enjoys the feel of the floor against his skin.
Another sigh slips from lips that curl into a slight smirk. The tower feels slightly different today. Maybe...just maybe he'll find something interesting out there after all.]
The Restaurant (Floor 21):
[Golden eyes watch as people move in and out of the restaurant. While there is a slight smirk on his face, Lancer's eyes show nothing but boredom. There had been a time when he had found some joy in this place. He had purposely eaten there so that he would have the chance to go hunting. There had been a thrill--a hope--that sometime they might actually give him an item to find he wouldn't be able to.
That thrill hadn't lasted long. Even once he had added in his own rules to the hunt, he'd never once failed to find what they wanted in the time they wanted it.
Though...he's almost tempted to try again. It's been a long time since he's gone on a hunt and the excitement of even a bad hunt at this point would be welcome.
And so he stands there and ponders just how bored he truly is...]
The Gymnasium (Floor 39):
[At times, he's moving so fast that all a normal person can see is a blur. Those who are better at following fast movement or just have advanced eyesight will see much more--a man practicing a complicated series of strikes and parries with his spear. Each motion flows flawlessly to the next and the next with no sign of slowing down or stopping. Most of the time, his feet have a very loose relationship with the ground.
Then. there is a break in the flurry of motion as Lancer launches himself into the air and comes to light on the tip of his spear, bare feet resting far too comfortably on its sharpened blade. While he balances there, his face for the first time loses its bored look--he can, after all, do these practices with his eyes closed he is so used to them--and gains a satisfied smirk. How many men had foolishly died trying to mimic this trick? Too, too many.
Lancer flips himself forward off the spear point and drops right back into his practice though a bit of warmth fills his heart at the memories. They had been stupid enough to try and mimic his walk across Moralltach's blade as well. How had Fionn ever believed that these fools could have brought him down?
He laughs and flips himself to rest on the top of the spear again arms out and head back. It had been glorious if he gave himself the credit he should. He had defeated most of their army with just a few measly tricks and they had not even known it was him until he told them.
Fools all they were and better off dead for it.
Lancer flips backward off the spear this time desummoning it as he falls. One hand drops to his waist and pulls the short sword bound there free. It had taken him quite a bit of time to fashion it in the workshop, but after how long he has finally managed to make something that is both strong enough to survive being used by a servant and well balanced enough to strike true when needed since the last thing he wants to do is be stuck fighting a monster that can nullify his abilities for very long.
Okay, that is a lie. Now that he has such a trustworthy non-magical blade, fighting these kinds of monster has become a game for him just like fighting anything else in this place.
A smirk slides across his face as he starts into another set of strikes and parries, this time with the blade. Perhaps tonight he needs to test it yet again--play the game yet again.]
Any floor/hallway where monsters can be found at night:
[Lancer leaps backward slightly opening the distance between himself and the monster. He doesn't know what it's called and doesn't care other than it's one of those who are able to cancel out abilities. And this particular monster has a couple of friends who aren't too far away and are closing in on him pretty quickly.
The smile on his face is entirely too happy for the situation he's in. Most people would be terrified. Him...he's just waiting. Waiting for them to gather all in one place. Waiting for that moment...
He suddenly dashes forward. A quick set of twists and slashes later and the monsters are dead at his feet, their blood dripping down his face and staining his hair.
Lancer is quiet for several moments before throwing his head back and beginning to laugh. The laughter is sad, though. Even without his powers they were no challenge. None at all.
So much for having chance to play tonight. Perhaps if his is lucky on the way back to his room he'll find someone interested in a different type of game entirely...]
Anywhere else:
[During the day or night Lancer can be found prowling around the tower just about anywhere looking for something--anything--that might spark his interest.]
Setting: Various locations throughout the week focusing on the ones listed below.
Format: Action brackets to start, but whatever you want after.
Summary: It's been hundreds, if not thousands, of years for Zero Lancer. That is, if there is enough left of the knight of old that he can even be called the same person.
Warnings: Okay, things have gone downhill enough in some of the threads that I'm completely revamping the warnings on this. So New Warnings/Potential Triggers on: Language, Suicide, Violence, Blood, Psychological Abuse, Depression, and Mental Self-Harm.
Room 4-16:
[He stretches, shoulders rolling and bringing life to the large bird of prey tattoo that covers most of his back. Black and brown feathers glisten, but seem dim when compared to the glow of the bird's golden eyes.
It's late by Lancer's internal clock, but considering when he'd come to bed, late is really a relative term. Still, he doesn't rush to get up and moving. Why should he? It's not like he has any plans for the day. Nothing new anyway. Just the same pattern he's followed for the last...
A sigh slips from his lips. How long doesn't matter anymore. He just knows it's been far too long since he's found something able to keep his attention. Even sleeping is more interesting sometimes which is why he's started doing it regularly when he doesn't actually have to.
Lancer runs a hand through his now very white hair and finally slinks his way out of bed. Much like the tattoo, he doesn't actually remember when his hair changed. Honestly, he doesn't care. There's nothing interesting in pondering the whys after all.
He gathers his clothes from the floor and slides back into them. Long gone is the armor he used to constantly wear. Instead, Lancer's outfit consists of a black halter top given to him by...someone who had once said it was a shame to cover up even a small portion of the work that had been done on his back and a pair of black pants that fit much better than they have any right to. His feet remain bare, though. For a servant such as he, shoes are hardly necessary and he enjoys the feel of the floor against his skin.
Another sigh slips from lips that curl into a slight smirk. The tower feels slightly different today. Maybe...just maybe he'll find something interesting out there after all.]
The Restaurant (Floor 21):
[Golden eyes watch as people move in and out of the restaurant. While there is a slight smirk on his face, Lancer's eyes show nothing but boredom. There had been a time when he had found some joy in this place. He had purposely eaten there so that he would have the chance to go hunting. There had been a thrill--a hope--that sometime they might actually give him an item to find he wouldn't be able to.
That thrill hadn't lasted long. Even once he had added in his own rules to the hunt, he'd never once failed to find what they wanted in the time they wanted it.
Though...he's almost tempted to try again. It's been a long time since he's gone on a hunt and the excitement of even a bad hunt at this point would be welcome.
And so he stands there and ponders just how bored he truly is...]
The Gymnasium (Floor 39):
[At times, he's moving so fast that all a normal person can see is a blur. Those who are better at following fast movement or just have advanced eyesight will see much more--a man practicing a complicated series of strikes and parries with his spear. Each motion flows flawlessly to the next and the next with no sign of slowing down or stopping. Most of the time, his feet have a very loose relationship with the ground.
Then. there is a break in the flurry of motion as Lancer launches himself into the air and comes to light on the tip of his spear, bare feet resting far too comfortably on its sharpened blade. While he balances there, his face for the first time loses its bored look--he can, after all, do these practices with his eyes closed he is so used to them--and gains a satisfied smirk. How many men had foolishly died trying to mimic this trick? Too, too many.
Lancer flips himself forward off the spear point and drops right back into his practice though a bit of warmth fills his heart at the memories. They had been stupid enough to try and mimic his walk across Moralltach's blade as well. How had Fionn ever believed that these fools could have brought him down?
He laughs and flips himself to rest on the top of the spear again arms out and head back. It had been glorious if he gave himself the credit he should. He had defeated most of their army with just a few measly tricks and they had not even known it was him until he told them.
Fools all they were and better off dead for it.
Lancer flips backward off the spear this time desummoning it as he falls. One hand drops to his waist and pulls the short sword bound there free. It had taken him quite a bit of time to fashion it in the workshop, but after how long he has finally managed to make something that is both strong enough to survive being used by a servant and well balanced enough to strike true when needed since the last thing he wants to do is be stuck fighting a monster that can nullify his abilities for very long.
Okay, that is a lie. Now that he has such a trustworthy non-magical blade, fighting these kinds of monster has become a game for him just like fighting anything else in this place.
A smirk slides across his face as he starts into another set of strikes and parries, this time with the blade. Perhaps tonight he needs to test it yet again--play the game yet again.]
Any floor/hallway where monsters can be found at night:
[Lancer leaps backward slightly opening the distance between himself and the monster. He doesn't know what it's called and doesn't care other than it's one of those who are able to cancel out abilities. And this particular monster has a couple of friends who aren't too far away and are closing in on him pretty quickly.
The smile on his face is entirely too happy for the situation he's in. Most people would be terrified. Him...he's just waiting. Waiting for them to gather all in one place. Waiting for that moment...
He suddenly dashes forward. A quick set of twists and slashes later and the monsters are dead at his feet, their blood dripping down his face and staining his hair.
Lancer is quiet for several moments before throwing his head back and beginning to laugh. The laughter is sad, though. Even without his powers they were no challenge. None at all.
So much for having chance to play tonight. Perhaps if his is lucky on the way back to his room he'll find someone interested in a different type of game entirely...]
Anywhere else:
[During the day or night Lancer can be found prowling around the tower just about anywhere looking for something--anything--that might spark his interest.]
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