A Magician and a Hound
Who: hound_of_war and hangedhourai
Where: Alice's Home.
When: Morning of February the 5th
What: Dream sharing and a Mutual understanding.
Warnings: Gore in Lancer's dream. Other than that idk it's Lancer? He swears.
"A man with a brilliant death has a different way of looking at things."
What was it that sustained him now, at the end of his life? Was it simply his pride, spurring him on even when his fate was sealed? This battle had been settled before it had even begun. His life had been one filled with oaths, loyalty and obligations. Even if it meant his own demise, he would always strive to fulfill the oaths he had made. Those oaths were best expressed through the various geis that he had accepted through his life. A taboo he could not break; an oath he'd sworn and had to obey. Perhaps it was always his fate then that one day the many burdens he'd willingly chosen to bear would lead to his death. If that was true, he had no regrets. There was no greater way to perish. He had lived a full life; it had not always been admirable, but he had enjoyed it to the fullest.
Long ago, he had slain a dog and sworn to serve in its place. That was how he had become the Hound of Chulainn; the reason he bore the name he now did. And so he had also sworn an oath to never consume the meat of a dog, accepted a geis that required he never do so. But those who had wished to seal his fall had used his sense of duty against him, compelling him to break his own geis and consume the meat of a dog. The breaking of his geis rendered him weakened as he entered his final battle.
And yet he fought. He was never one to turn away from a fight, to run from a challenge. He laughed in the face of death, cared not for the threat of it. His enemy was cunning, using deceit and preparation to best a man thought to be unbeatable. And now he had been beaten. Three spears did Lugaid mac Con Roi have forged for the sake of this battle. Enchanted spears foretold to slay a king each. The first had slain his friend and companion, Laeg the king of charioteers. The second had brought low his mighty steed, Liath Macha the king of horses. And now the final had pierced himself, wedged through his stomach.
The pain was excruciating, but it hardly mattered. His death was certain, but that was not what mattered to him now. He simply wished to continue fighting. He wouldn't fall to the ground, he would remain standing and fighting until the bitter end. And so even as his innards spilled to floor below him, he sought a way to keep himself standing. Ah, of course. As he spied a standing stone nearby, he forced himself towards it. His foes simply watched, afraid to approach him even in the throes of his death. Such was the ferocity of his presence, the power of his will. He leaned against the megalith, perching against it. He could remain standing like this, as he challenged his foes to approach him. None dared to.
And yet still, he could feel the life draining from him. His feet were growing unsteady. What a bother. He would not die on the ground, he would perish on his feet just as he had lived his life. With grim determination he tied himself to the stone, satisfied that he would not fall even when he had died. He continued to challenge his enemies to approach, but none dared to. Ah, what shame. He would have wished to fight up until his last breath, but they were naught but cowards here to face him this day.
His eyes were growing heavy now; he could see the blood pouring from him and streaming down to a nearby river. What an absurd sight. But the stranger still, he spied an otter drinking from that very river, consuming his own blood. An otter. Even as the last ounces of strength faded from him, the last sound his enemies had to greet them was his laughter. Laughter at the absurdity of it all, the pathetic nature of his final sight.
Even after he had died, his enemies remained too overwhelmed of his presence to approach him. He would have laughed at their cowardliness if he could. Only when a raven dared to perch upon the shoulder of his corpse did any feel safe in approaching him. His killer finally came forward, intent on beheading the hero. But in return for his head, Cu Chulainn would take the man's life. As Lugaid decapitated his corpse, his own sword fell from his grip and took Lugaid's hand. A fair trade, perhaps. The head of Ireland's Man of Light for naught but a mere hand.
Unlike the other Servants approached by the Throne, Cu Chulainn did not regret his life or have any desire to change things. He had no wish to seek of the Grail. He had no interest in the Grail at all. All he sought was the chance to fight once more, pitting and testing his strength against the other heroes of legend. Finally he would have that chance when summoned once more to fight in the Fifth War... If he could simply enjoy the thrill of battle one final time, he would be content.
"She thinks it would be the end of the rope for her if she lost with full power."
A young girl opens the door to a dimly lit room. A bruise on her cheek, neck, shoulder, leg. Her lip is split. She walks into the room with a limp in her step. She'll wipe some blood off of her mouth with the back of her wrist. The little girl stumbled into the dimly lit room. She lit a candle to light up rows of books. The girl knew exactly what book she was looking for. Out of all of these books there was only one that would help her. The book that needed a buckle on it lest it open and it's power overwhelm all. Her mother had told her several times not to ever touch this book ever. She had been scolded her whenever she drew near it. But she still found herself in the library and staring at that book. Once the girl laid her hands on it the grimoire would be hers. She decided that the moment that her mind was made up to steal it.
This grimoire... she knew what it was. It was power. The one thing Alice didn't have. She had been beaten terribly by those strangers. Those people who want to come in uninvited and ruin her home. She would never let anyone do that. Those strangers would pay for waltzing into the land of Makai without thinking of the consequences. She would never let anyone go unpunished after defeating her, her maid, and her mother. It hardly matters that she was born in another land and was simply adopted into this magical world. As far as she was considered England was a world she was never apart of. Makai was her home. And for the sake of Makai she felt humiliated. It wasn't only the girl's body that was bruised but also her ego and pride was severely damaged. The girl had cried and cried over her defeat and she wanted revenge.
This girl simply didn't want to cry anymore.
She won't cry. This little girl won't ever cry ever again. She let those people see her cry. She won't let that happen. No one else will ever see her cry. She may have lost once but she won't ever lose again. She'll go all out one more time. Grabbing onto the grimoire, she'll drag it along out of the room to the battle field. Her face will show her determination and resolve against the strongest of foes. She'll avenge her home so that she can show her face in Makai once again. Without winning the girl would have nothing left. She'll put everything into her very last battle.
And after she loses she'll cry once more.
The girl, torn and dejected, packs up her things and leaves Makai. She tells herself that she'll be back someday but she knows that she's only lying to herself. Her plans are to dedicate herself to her training and do nothing else. The girl will prolong her life as long as possible; she'll become inhuman simply for the sake of being stronger. She cares about nothing else besides her knowledge and strength. Everything is secondary. Interpersonal relationships, socialization, humility. Nothing can be gained without sacrifice. This girl understands that much. She'll dedicate herself to only herself and never falter in her ways. She will never hesitate to use whatever is thrown at her to obtain her goal weather it be a tool, circumstance, or a person.
And she will never cry again.
Where: Alice's Home.
When: Morning of February the 5th
What: Dream sharing and a Mutual understanding.
Warnings: Gore in Lancer's dream. Other than that idk it's Lancer? He swears.
"A man with a brilliant death has a different way of looking at things."
What was it that sustained him now, at the end of his life? Was it simply his pride, spurring him on even when his fate was sealed? This battle had been settled before it had even begun. His life had been one filled with oaths, loyalty and obligations. Even if it meant his own demise, he would always strive to fulfill the oaths he had made. Those oaths were best expressed through the various geis that he had accepted through his life. A taboo he could not break; an oath he'd sworn and had to obey. Perhaps it was always his fate then that one day the many burdens he'd willingly chosen to bear would lead to his death. If that was true, he had no regrets. There was no greater way to perish. He had lived a full life; it had not always been admirable, but he had enjoyed it to the fullest.
Long ago, he had slain a dog and sworn to serve in its place. That was how he had become the Hound of Chulainn; the reason he bore the name he now did. And so he had also sworn an oath to never consume the meat of a dog, accepted a geis that required he never do so. But those who had wished to seal his fall had used his sense of duty against him, compelling him to break his own geis and consume the meat of a dog. The breaking of his geis rendered him weakened as he entered his final battle.
And yet he fought. He was never one to turn away from a fight, to run from a challenge. He laughed in the face of death, cared not for the threat of it. His enemy was cunning, using deceit and preparation to best a man thought to be unbeatable. And now he had been beaten. Three spears did Lugaid mac Con Roi have forged for the sake of this battle. Enchanted spears foretold to slay a king each. The first had slain his friend and companion, Laeg the king of charioteers. The second had brought low his mighty steed, Liath Macha the king of horses. And now the final had pierced himself, wedged through his stomach.
The pain was excruciating, but it hardly mattered. His death was certain, but that was not what mattered to him now. He simply wished to continue fighting. He wouldn't fall to the ground, he would remain standing and fighting until the bitter end. And so even as his innards spilled to floor below him, he sought a way to keep himself standing. Ah, of course. As he spied a standing stone nearby, he forced himself towards it. His foes simply watched, afraid to approach him even in the throes of his death. Such was the ferocity of his presence, the power of his will. He leaned against the megalith, perching against it. He could remain standing like this, as he challenged his foes to approach him. None dared to.
And yet still, he could feel the life draining from him. His feet were growing unsteady. What a bother. He would not die on the ground, he would perish on his feet just as he had lived his life. With grim determination he tied himself to the stone, satisfied that he would not fall even when he had died. He continued to challenge his enemies to approach, but none dared to. Ah, what shame. He would have wished to fight up until his last breath, but they were naught but cowards here to face him this day.
His eyes were growing heavy now; he could see the blood pouring from him and streaming down to a nearby river. What an absurd sight. But the stranger still, he spied an otter drinking from that very river, consuming his own blood. An otter. Even as the last ounces of strength faded from him, the last sound his enemies had to greet them was his laughter. Laughter at the absurdity of it all, the pathetic nature of his final sight.
Even after he had died, his enemies remained too overwhelmed of his presence to approach him. He would have laughed at their cowardliness if he could. Only when a raven dared to perch upon the shoulder of his corpse did any feel safe in approaching him. His killer finally came forward, intent on beheading the hero. But in return for his head, Cu Chulainn would take the man's life. As Lugaid decapitated his corpse, his own sword fell from his grip and took Lugaid's hand. A fair trade, perhaps. The head of Ireland's Man of Light for naught but a mere hand.
Unlike the other Servants approached by the Throne, Cu Chulainn did not regret his life or have any desire to change things. He had no wish to seek of the Grail. He had no interest in the Grail at all. All he sought was the chance to fight once more, pitting and testing his strength against the other heroes of legend. Finally he would have that chance when summoned once more to fight in the Fifth War... If he could simply enjoy the thrill of battle one final time, he would be content.
"She thinks it would be the end of the rope for her if she lost with full power."
A young girl opens the door to a dimly lit room. A bruise on her cheek, neck, shoulder, leg. Her lip is split. She walks into the room with a limp in her step. She'll wipe some blood off of her mouth with the back of her wrist. The little girl stumbled into the dimly lit room. She lit a candle to light up rows of books. The girl knew exactly what book she was looking for. Out of all of these books there was only one that would help her. The book that needed a buckle on it lest it open and it's power overwhelm all. Her mother had told her several times not to ever touch this book ever. She had been scolded her whenever she drew near it. But she still found herself in the library and staring at that book. Once the girl laid her hands on it the grimoire would be hers. She decided that the moment that her mind was made up to steal it.
This grimoire... she knew what it was. It was power. The one thing Alice didn't have. She had been beaten terribly by those strangers. Those people who want to come in uninvited and ruin her home. She would never let anyone do that. Those strangers would pay for waltzing into the land of Makai without thinking of the consequences. She would never let anyone go unpunished after defeating her, her maid, and her mother. It hardly matters that she was born in another land and was simply adopted into this magical world. As far as she was considered England was a world she was never apart of. Makai was her home. And for the sake of Makai she felt humiliated. It wasn't only the girl's body that was bruised but also her ego and pride was severely damaged. The girl had cried and cried over her defeat and she wanted revenge.
This girl simply didn't want to cry anymore.
She won't cry. This little girl won't ever cry ever again. She let those people see her cry. She won't let that happen. No one else will ever see her cry. She may have lost once but she won't ever lose again. She'll go all out one more time. Grabbing onto the grimoire, she'll drag it along out of the room to the battle field. Her face will show her determination and resolve against the strongest of foes. She'll avenge her home so that she can show her face in Makai once again. Without winning the girl would have nothing left. She'll put everything into her very last battle.
And after she loses she'll cry once more.
The girl, torn and dejected, packs up her things and leaves Makai. She tells herself that she'll be back someday but she knows that she's only lying to herself. Her plans are to dedicate herself to her training and do nothing else. The girl will prolong her life as long as possible; she'll become inhuman simply for the sake of being stronger. She cares about nothing else besides her knowledge and strength. Everything is secondary. Interpersonal relationships, socialization, humility. Nothing can be gained without sacrifice. This girl understands that much. She'll dedicate herself to only herself and never falter in her ways. She will never hesitate to use whatever is thrown at her to obtain her goal weather it be a tool, circumstance, or a person.
And she will never cry again.