towerofanimus | Berserker . The Masterless Servant

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Berserker . The Masterless Servant

Sir Lancelot's final memories of the Tower as he knew it last are all Darkness and Fire. But then, many of his own memories of Life and the War both carry a similar distorted taint. He recalls a Madness not his own, and a merciful Death. He recalls a brief respite-- a few lost days in his Master's company before Death took him once again. Suddenly, in that moment, as one struck by an arrow from afar. Or by some poison.

On his second rising, even the air of the place seemed changed, his own senses seeming to have lost their compass for a the space of a breath. Only that little time needed pass before he missed his Master-- and indeed, their bond is broken.

Berserker has wandered since as Mist and Shadow, and sometimes as Himself unseen. Content, for the time being, to watch as events play out before him. Without Kariya Matou, he feels less substantial, and less the more human Self that he had shared with his Master in this Place. Strange and Fae, he goes where his Will takes him.

...

The Graveyard - Here, he lingers by his Master's grave. He has avoided this Place, as it has nothing to show him that he does not already know to be true. Still, the sight of Kariya's grave marker is a painful one. A reminder that in the end, he failed his Master-- in every way a Servant can.

The Meadow - This was his Master's favorite among the Tower floors, and indeed it was here they met again after having been taken from the War. Here he is sometimes unseen, but today he stands beneath the false Sun, his back to the entrance, unguarded.

The Cathedral - Once a Holy Knight with a Blessed Weapon, Sir Lancelot does not enter the Sanctuary, but wavers just within the threshold-- as if in debate with himself over whether to enter or no.

Room 1-10 & Environs - Those he shares rooms with may find him sat on the edge of his bed or checking the contents of his Trunk. He may also be encountered in the dormitory hallways nearby.

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[The Cathedral seems nostalgic to Grainne. It's not the structure, but the feel of the place that gave her a strange feeling of home. Maybe because it felt ancient. She can't place why herself, but many of the days she's spent in the Tower were in the Cathedral, usually with some sort of work in her hands.

Her powers are nearly returned to her; she's felt more like herself the last few days and even the more passive powers are working, if a bit vaguely. A Servant again. She never thought it would be a relief.

She sits not far from the entrance, with a bit of sewing in hand and in her robes, but without her veil and cloak. She stops working though. Something's wrong. A change in the air or maybe she just sensed it. There's someone here; she turns to see who it is.]

Hello?

[Morbid curiosity for the one who has died brought Sephiroth here initially, if only to see Rick's headstone for himself on the off-chance others aren't around.

Sephiroth is not by any means prepared to have to face others that might seek some pointless vengeance for what he did, especially since he is again without his powers and his healing forearm still throbs beneath it's support bandage despite the fact that it's no longer an open wound. He looks still frayed around the edges and the presence he exudes usually is not there at all.

His usual leathered frame comes to a stop no less than three headstone spaces away from Lancelot and peers between the one he might have called a friend and the headstone that he can't quite make out the name of from his distance.]

[He has been aware enough of other Servants, these past days, but has avoided speech with them for reasons of his own. Perhaps the chief of which is that he felt empty of words.
He senses the presence of this one now, but it is a not a presence he knows. He does not move, but answers with his eyes still fixed upon the distant and False vaulted ceiling.]

Lady. I beg your pardon. I have not come to Disturb you.

[He knows the grave to be empty. Yet he still feels its mockery keenly-- it deepens the pain of his strange sorrow all the more.
Sephiroth, he knows, is near. There is much that might be said, but for the nonce he simply speaks his mind, as if to the air itself. He does not lift his head, but gazes at the stone, his long, dark hair curtaining his face. ]

When first I came to this place, we quarreled. He had no head for Strategy, and hardly the stomach for Battle-- only the feverish conviction of the Righteous. Indeed, I thought us poorly suited and myself shackled to an unworthy Master. Indeed, I said as much.
In this I erred, and was humbled by his Will and Faith. If he lacked Power and Command, then what of it? I was his Arm and his Strength, his Strategist. His Champion, his Companion, even. He had no Fear of my Form or Wrath, and I did his bidding with a calm Heart.

What will come to pass now that we are parted, I cannot see, and cannot say. Our last days together are Dark with Shadow in my Mind, and I was not Living at the Last when he fell forever in this Hellmouth where we tarried together.

Tell me then, why is it you linger here, Sephiroth? Whose grave do you seek?

[Seldom, yet more often recently Sephiroth has lost his thoughts in gazing at the various names of a handful of the graves that represent those that have been lost forever to the wasteland of his Planet. He'd outlasted them all. Until very recently he'd seen it as almost a strength of his, now, he came reminisce on that which he had lost; similar to one of his only sometime-companions left here who now stood before him doing the same.

Though it wasn't clear whether Lancelot refers to Sephiroth himself or to the name of the one he has recently lost.]

I come here- [He pauses, attempting to conjure up some of his lacking confidence back into his voice but it falls far short of how Lancelot is used to him sounding.] -because I didn't so much before, even when perhaps I should have lingered more often.

[To bask in the scale of those who had fallen away from this place. Perhaps a few of the names etched in stone around on this floor could have focused his thoughts to a different end than this.]

[Between his wife's arrival and being sick most of last month because of Sephiroth's little...game, Diarmuid has spent most of this month feeling like he is behind and has missed a lot. When he spots Lancelot in the Meadow, that feeling only grows stronger. It is obvious that, while the madness that was plaguing him before seems to be gone, something else is wrong. No knight would leave themselves so open and unguarded. Especially in this place.

He crosses to where the other servant is standing and then speaks.]

What has happened?

[He didn't quite have a routine; obviously there were many places to go in the Tower, even if they continued to be dangerous. As the floors became more familiar, the danger became the only thing worth looking forward to.

And even then, the thrill of danger from an environment, from brainless, mutilated creatures, did not compare to fighting one of the "higher ranked" Servants.

Despite detecting a Servant nearby, Archer doesn't pause until he actually sees that long-haired individual on the far side of the hall. He lifts his head and narrows his eyes, setting out to stride towards him wordlessly.]

[He does not turn, even at the familiar presence, or the words. He only smiles very slightly. Diarmuid us Duibhne remains unchanged, or so it seems.
After a long moment, seemingly lost in reading the clouds that dot the False sky, he answers.]

Much has happened, it seems-- and yet I know little enough of it. I have not seen your face in some time, Diarmuid ua Duibhne-- and then it was in this Field, as I recall.
Tell me, what has passed for you?

[Having at last determined to be visible and to walk among the living-- if they may indeed be called the living-- he has both recognized and expected the recognition of the other Servants present in the Tower.

Archer seems particularly intent on renewing their acquaintance this day. Though with what intent, he cannot guess.
As it is, he stops where he stands, raising a hand in informal greeting.]

Archer.

[Archer's feelings do not make it to his face as he makes his approach; his frown is slight at best, his stare intense but not accompanied by knitted brows or other visual tells.

That is, until he's all of three feet away and his stare turns into an all-out glare, and his own hand comes up -- formed as a fist. With surprisingly little fanfare, he lets his fist fly at the Berserker's stomach, only then spitting out words of greeting.]

Berserker.

Aye, for you have Outstripped yourself. Spent your Strength and Will almost to their Limits.
Or so I have gathered, though I have had no Speech with any here in some time.
[Lancelot's tone is low and even, his demeanor calm. He does not yet raise his head, but is plainly present in his words to Sephiroth. Though he might seem given to allowing the subject to wander, he has desired this Speech, for there is much to discuss.
He thinks of his Master, and of what Human council he might give.]

In my day, Death was a part of Life. Always present, in-waiting like a retainer. Men feared it, but Lived as if it might come at any Time. Indeed, it is wise to make Death's acquaintance as other than its Supplier of Souls.

[Withdrawn as he has been, and un-armored as he is, the Blow comes, surprisingly enough, as a surprise.

Finding himself suddenly winded (for when would Archer ever pull a punch), he presses a gloved hand to his belly and coughs deeply before drawing a long breath before answering Archer-- with Words, of all things.]

I will grant you the strike this once-- but what reason have I given you, Archer? Say your Peace.

You will not grant me anything. You had best not forgotten who I am.

[The expression of anger that had shown on his face settles to one of sullen resentment as he folds his arms low against his chest.]

You had the nerve to leave. Both you and Saber.

[Berserker had hovered over Waver's shoulder at an unsettling distance from time to time as the latter had worked. It had deeply disturbed the lecturer--like being watched by a giant, feral wildcat that could just as easily tear one's throat out.]

[And yet somehow, it was the lack of that occasional lurking presence that concerned him more. Though he didn't have much in the way of spare time, Waver found himself wandering to the graveyard for the first time in a while; there were a few names he wanted to check for.]

[However, this was something of the inverse of what he'd expected.]

O-oh. Kariya's...?

It was and you were falling to madness then. Now, you have returned to normal...

[And Diarmuid doesn't feel like he has to say what that implies. Lancelot must have died and returned to the old collar fluid, though, when that might have happened he has no idea after losing so much of last month.]

I was...ill for most of last month thanks to Sephiroth. So much of the time is lost to fever and delusion.

[He shakes his head, frowning.]

Though, perhaps I was lucky and shouldn't complain. Thanks to my bond with Waver I did not die like I have heard others did.

[Grainne shifts in her seat, setting her sewing down.]

I'm not disturbed.

[She is curious about why he is standing there, though. He seems like he wants to come in, but is reluctant.]

If you wish to sit down, I am not going to stop you, Sir.

[Assassin has mostly kept to herself mostly after being ejected from the Tower. Only since the monsters have started disappearing is she exploring again, trying to find out why they're gone, and if they'll give way to something more dangerous.]

[She greets Lancelot as she spots him while going down the staircase toward the cathedral.]

Peace be upon you, Berserker.

Perhaps.
[A tilt of the head--]
You are well-informed then, for I perished twice in a short span. Once by the Hand of another, though my Will was not my own-- and once suddenly, as by a Hand unseen.
[-- and then at last he turns to look on the Lancer's face. He is Berserker still, and a red light shifts behind his dark eyes, like flames glimpsed through heavy smoke. He is grave and courteous, as is his wont, but there is a hollowness to his Words.]

My Master has gone from this Place, Diarmuid ua Duibhne. Our Bond is broken.
At the last, I could not keep him from Death.

If I wished to enter, Lady, none but your God could prevent me.
[Though low pitched, his voice is harsh-- either in anger, or as one who has not spoken aloud for some time.
Though he does not turn his eyes on the Servant, he does temper his tone.]

Tell me, why do you linger here-- and who do you Serve?

Edited 2014-04-22 04:51 (UTC)

[Frowning, she looks down toward the altar, and then back towards him. She is confused for a moment, but she realizes quickly that he has taken her for a believer.

His voice does set her somewhat on edge, however, and worries her that he may not be of the ones who realizes the Wars have no hold here.]

I serve no one, and I am of a different faith... but I find this floor peaceful and less visited than other safe places. Why do you, if you do not wish to enter?

By a hand unseen... Yes, when whatever it was that made us all sick was triggered...

[Diarmuid still remembers how fright--no, terrified--he had been when that pull hit him. However, before he can say more, Berserker mentions his master is gone and it is like the whole world stops moving around him. He pales and has to close his hands into fists to keep them from shaking.]

K-Kariya has been sent away? Permanently?

[It's his fault for not knowing, of course, but Diarmuid has not been able to force himself to the Graveyard recently. He just can't. There are too many stones with familiar names on them now and it seems like he hears of more showing up everyday...]

Edited 2014-04-22 05:04 (UTC)

[He has found nothing amusing of late, but he nearly laughs. Nearly. Instead, he only stares at Archer as if he has gone Mad.]

I will not beg your Pardon, for it was hardly my wish to depart-- at least not in the manner that I did so, and without my Master...
[Arthur...] has she gone, then, Arthur?

She has returned as well -- earlier than you.

[And just as quickly as that sullen look had appeared, it's replaced by a smirk.]

Is it not customary for the knight to arrive before their king, to clear their way?

[Heavy words resonate with Sephiroth's heavy demeanor indeed and Lancelot drives that nail in deep. For the moments between his dialog Sephiroth drops his gaze to the ground space between them, dragged across to the nearest grave to him as he needed something to look at. Lest the bitter self-loathing turn again back in on himself.

The same eyes then flick up to his ex-room mate and pupils within green pools flex to slits and then relax open more to accommodate for the gloomy light on this floor.]

Death is just another part of life. One side of the same barrier that separates the physical from the sea of memories that powers it.

Loken stands by the lectern within the cathedral, glowering at the world from behind his helmet as always. He spares the smaller but still immense knight a stare, and then a nod.

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Berserker . The Masterless Servant

Cathedral

Graveyard (cw: this could get negative?)

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(Good to see you! I have no objection to negativity.)

My pleasure! \o/

The Meadow

Dormitories

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graveyard

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cathedral

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The Cathedral -