The Ill-Made Knight (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
chevalier_mal_fet) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
towerofanimus2013-07-10 12:31 pm
chevalier_mal_fet) wrote in towerofanimus2013-07-10 12:31 pm
"Where Go You So Late?" Said The False Knight Upon the Road
Characters: Berserker/Sir Lancelot & You
Setting: Throughout the Tower, including hallways, dorms, and common areas.
Format: Brackets preferred.
Summary: Infected through their mental and spiritual bond by his Master's breakdown, a malfunctioning Servant goes a bit Mad. Encounter him as he attempts alternately to control himself, to find his Master, and to seek the *usual target for his rage.
Warnings: Lancelot is experiencing what is essentially an intermittent psychotic break. When Mad, he will be un-responsive and murderously violent. Though he is struggling against it, Lancelot's Madness only serves to increase his Strength, which is already frankly ridiculous. As he is unable to successfully control himself or his Abilities, attempting to battle Lancelot in this state will very likely result in your severe injury or death. Characters with telepathic abilities should note that Lancelot's thoughts will include disturbing imagery and violent themes.
Note: If you'd like to plot anything elaborate with Lancelot, such as the particulars of a character death, please find me on Plurk-- I'll be happy to hash it out with you!
*Spoiler Alert: it is Arthur.
There is a buzzing in his head, no. Sharper than that -- a scraping, screaming thing that is more sensation than sound-- and more sight than any other sense.
They desert him one by one, his senses, lights gone out-- until he is cocooned in red darkness. It clings, it burns. It has the shape of flame and the flame is the sound and it comes from within and it covers all.
Berserker finds that his shaking hands are covering his mouth, and that his gloved fingers are pressing hard against his lips and that his teeth are sharp.
Black Fog swims before him, all around him, though he does not recall its summoning.
The sound is like a spear, like a hook scraping at the Root of his Mind. At the root of Lancelot's mind. For Lancelot he remains, by some awful magic-- the moorings of his Mind rocked and torn by the Storm of Anguish his Master makes.
If he could claw the Bond with Kariya from his head, from his being, he would do it.
Pierced by his Master's own Madness, bound to it as a drowning Man lashed to the mast of a foundering ship, he is neither one thing nor the other.
Neither a Knight nor a Berserker, but the terrible resident of some hinterland between.
He staggers under the sudden weight of his Armor-- only to find it vanished the next step he takes.
Now Arondight is in his hand and black shapes obscure his vision, black thoughts fill his mind, black deeds come to him in revolting images.
His Master's Pain and Torment flood his Soul. Unspeakable things seem to writhe beneath his skin, unaccountable Rage fills him to overflowing, and he screams.
HIs Sword and his Reason flicker in and out of being while what remains of Lancelot struggles, torn by his Master's despair.
Arthur...
Setting: Throughout the Tower, including hallways, dorms, and common areas.
Format: Brackets preferred.
Summary: Infected through their mental and spiritual bond by his Master's breakdown, a malfunctioning Servant goes a bit Mad. Encounter him as he attempts alternately to control himself, to find his Master, and to seek the *usual target for his rage.
Warnings: Lancelot is experiencing what is essentially an intermittent psychotic break. When Mad, he will be un-responsive and murderously violent. Though he is struggling against it, Lancelot's Madness only serves to increase his Strength, which is already frankly ridiculous. As he is unable to successfully control himself or his Abilities, attempting to battle Lancelot in this state will very likely result in your severe injury or death. Characters with telepathic abilities should note that Lancelot's thoughts will include disturbing imagery and violent themes.
Note: If you'd like to plot anything elaborate with Lancelot, such as the particulars of a character death, please find me on Plurk-- I'll be happy to hash it out with you!
*Spoiler Alert: it is Arthur.
There is a buzzing in his head, no. Sharper than that -- a scraping, screaming thing that is more sensation than sound-- and more sight than any other sense.
They desert him one by one, his senses, lights gone out-- until he is cocooned in red darkness. It clings, it burns. It has the shape of flame and the flame is the sound and it comes from within and it covers all.
Berserker finds that his shaking hands are covering his mouth, and that his gloved fingers are pressing hard against his lips and that his teeth are sharp.
Black Fog swims before him, all around him, though he does not recall its summoning.
The sound is like a spear, like a hook scraping at the Root of his Mind. At the root of Lancelot's mind. For Lancelot he remains, by some awful magic-- the moorings of his Mind rocked and torn by the Storm of Anguish his Master makes.
If he could claw the Bond with Kariya from his head, from his being, he would do it.
Pierced by his Master's own Madness, bound to it as a drowning Man lashed to the mast of a foundering ship, he is neither one thing nor the other.
Neither a Knight nor a Berserker, but the terrible resident of some hinterland between.
He staggers under the sudden weight of his Armor-- only to find it vanished the next step he takes.
Now Arondight is in his hand and black shapes obscure his vision, black thoughts fill his mind, black deeds come to him in revolting images.
His Master's Pain and Torment flood his Soul. Unspeakable things seem to writhe beneath his skin, unaccountable Rage fills him to overflowing, and he screams.
HIs Sword and his Reason flicker in and out of being while what remains of Lancelot struggles, torn by his Master's despair.
Arthur...
no subject
Your-- the Archer known to me from the Fourth War is fond of referring to me as a Mad Dog. I will gladly take your gracious compliment as intended. Gilgamesh.
For all that a draw is unseemly, I am pleased with the outcome. Here, at least. I have little memory of the havoc I very likely did wreak along my path to this place.
[Still, it is hard to complain overmuch at the moment. Incredibly, Lancelot is actually comfortable. The snow is cool against his back, and the Archer is a warm and pleasant weight above. As the man shifts against him, Lancelot attempts to subtly arrange himself so as to make a better resting place-- one more easeful for them both.]
It is a relief to feel the Madness pass.
[Noting the wincing touch, and remembering quite clearly his hand about the Archer's throat, Lancelot moves that hand once more-- this time his fingers are un-mailed and chill from the snow and ice as he wraps them, without comment, about the back of the Archer's neck.]
no subject
Despite some injuries and a dose of weariness, he continues making use of his voice.]
Hm? You did not call upon your madness?
no subject
But for all Lancelot is so warm within, the firm weight of Gilgamesh atop him is a welcome warmth without.
He stills, attempting to formulate a reply to the man's query.]
No-- I did not. To be truthful, I thought myself free altogether of the Enhancement in this Place.
[Lancelot is not normally one for confidences, but his guard is down-- and he sees no reason to expend what energy he has in guarded speech.
There was something Wrong within the Bond. I found myself overwhelmed by the Wrath and Distress of my Master. In the end, I was unable to resist the call of the Madness-- my blade has drunk deep this day, I believe.