lancer | diarmuid ua duibhne (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ua_duibhne) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
middaeg2019-08-04 05:32 pm
ua_duibhne) wrote in middaeg2019-08-04 05:32 pm
[closed] august catch-all!
Who: Diarmuid & Zelda, Diarmuid & Berserker
When: Throughout August.
Where: Around the city
What: Reluctant modelling during Lúnasa, failing to drink unexpected emotions away, and other good shit.
Warnings: N/A!
When: Throughout August.
Where: Around the city
What: Reluctant modelling during Lúnasa, failing to drink unexpected emotions away, and other good shit.
Warnings: N/A!
closed to caster
The dummy, bespelled to dodge every blow thrown its way, crashes to the ground, stuffing flying as Diarmuid rips his spear free from its chest with a flourish. That makes the second he's torn apart today and he might feel bad if it weren't for the way, owing to its rather eccentric enchanter, it raises a hand in a wobbly thumbs up. The Lancer drops back out of his offensive stance, twirling Gáe Dearg one last time before setting it across his shoulders.
The Wilder watching over this section of the encampment gives a little scoff as she nudges the dummy with the toe of her boot.
"Well, I certainly don't need to tell you how to use that thing. Maybe you need an actual opponent. How about..."
The witch glances around, looking for any trainees not currently engaged in combat or some kind of exercise- and spots a likely candidate in no time at all. After all, there's one particular man here that stands out immediately and he's simply talking ("Doing nothing important," she decides.) with another Wilder.]
[With a short wave, she calls for him to come over and join them- and with her lined, serious face, it's probably not advisable to disobey her. Not that Diarmuid was planning on it; he's been temporarily caught off guard by just who it is that he's going to be fighting.
"Right! So, this is your new sparring partner. Play nice."]
[Does this mark the first time they've been properly face to face since...? Of course, they've seen each other at the Coven, exchanged brief greetings and shared a few breaks together but it didn't feel the same as before. It was nothing like-]
... I'd be honoured.
//screams forever// you are incredible how dare u
Caster makes a short pause as he's being pulled away and given a living, breathing opponent. No one else but Diarmuid ua Duibhne. For the time it takes for one exhale he waits, waits for the turmoil of those emotions he refused to name to wash over him and— and nothing of such happens. Just a surprise, excitement over the challenge, acceptance and that "long time no see, friend" feeling.
Bonds and their strengthening of magic along with keeping both participant safe from the eventual demise were most often praised points. But the leveling of emotions, control, lack of this constant irritation— That feeling of being in charge of own head again? Best thing in the world. ]
Honor is mine—
[ Another Wilder comes with two training staffs, taking note that both of the man hold actual weapons, pointy edges and all. Caster's face split in a wide, toothy grin as he glances at Lancer, at staffs offered and back to Lancer. ]
Do we want to start with a friendly warm-up, or are we going all-out from the start? [ Pffft, staffs, seriously. ]
'3-
In fact, Caster seems different to the last time that they met. Subtly, perhaps, but different and the pulse of magic within him feels more stable. Could it be that he finally Bonded? Or did he find another outlet? Either way, it's not his place to ask; if he wants to reveal what changed, let him do it on his own terms.
Besides, there's a battle that needs fighting. They can talk later.
He flashes his fellow witch an equally cocky smile. It's a shame they won't let them do this with actual spears; he'd give anything to test his own skills against the greatest spearman Erin ever produced.]
Well, you did promise me a challenge, Caster. [In an unabashed display of showmanship, he lets the staff play across his fingers before elegantly spinning it back into his grip.] Don't tell me you've grown rusty with a weapon...? If you need to warm-up, I certainly won't deny you.
[a little bit of playful smack talking never hurt anyone]
no subject
I don't need the warm-up but since you're the one who chose the staff— I promise to go easy on you. [ Friendly smack talk is a Celt thing. Art of flyting, at least they're not doing that in a verse. Caster is a show-off as well, but his twirl of the staff is shorter because he immediately falls into a stance and zips in a low dash, mud, and dirt miring him down enough to give a bigger window for reaction than intended. He uses the full length of the staff to bridge the distance between them even faster, aiming a wide swipe at Diarmuid's ankles. It's just a poke, a test, friendly greeting.
Fortunately (?) neither of them can be as obnoxiously quick as they would as Servants. ]
no subject
Damn-
[It's barely even a whisper but there's a new glint in the Lancer's eyes. Now this is interesting. Diarmuid flashes him a cocksure grin.]
We never did settle on a wager, you know. [Though his grip on the staff tightens, he leaves room for it to slip across his palm and giving himself the chance to switch up his form.] Are we still game for three rounds of drinks and a story for each night?
no subject
That— sounds just about perfect.
[ A beat ]
Just to make sure; anything goes or is there a hard no on something? [ And to better explain what exactly he means by that, he hooks his teeth into top of the long glove on his left hand, and starts to pull it off. As the fabric slides off it uncovers strings and swirls of shapes and runes painted onto Caster's forearm. He throws it away with a shrug. His all too relaxed stance being an opening ] It's a Witches training, no?
[ While most of Witches here require training in weapons first since they know magic, they don't need to train their spears skills— but how to use them along with their new spellcasting knowledge. ]
no subject
No holds barred. I'd be offended if you were to pull your punches, Hound of Ulster. [He chuckles.] Magically speaking, that is.
[Rather than taking advantage of the relaxation of Caster's guard, Diarmuid focuses on flexing his own magical prowess. As he lets the staff slip back through his fingers, he mutters something- and even if the Lancer-turned-druid doesn't recognise the specifics, he'll certainly feel a shiver of arcane energy in his words. For just a brief moment, the whorls of the wood's natural grain glow, as though filled with light from within.
An enchantment.
But there's no more time to waste on talk. The only signal Diarmuid gives of his advance is a tightening of his grip on the staff as he propels himself forward. Not a deflection this time but an entirely offensive swing aimed directly at his spear-arm.]
no subject
His studies focused nearly only on Enchantment since then, and he found someone to teach him the trick of enchanting living flesh. It's been a work in progress since then, but gave him something to focus on.
Just this practice makes him realize that Diarmuid just had cast an enchantment on his weapon, but he is unable to tell what kind of spell exactly it was. Oh well, soon he will find out—
Caster's reaction is instant— he takes the staff, rolls it in a tight spin over his wrist, before gripping with both of his hands. That's trading force for maneuverability as he's focusing on blocking the incoming strike. No dodge, no twirl on his feet; Caster figures the sooner he figures what Diarmuid's spell is, the better he will be able to adjust his strategy.
The block naturally, keeps him occupied, keeps him on the defensive. Just for a second or two.
What happens when their weapons collide? Is the staff heavier? Sturdier? Will it release some kind of effect on hit? ]
no subject
There's no obvious change to his staff at first. Perhaps in that hit Caster might have noticed that it felt more solid but nothing else- that is, until he swings it back down on the retreat and scrapes the tip along the stone edge of the ring.
It sparks.
Like a flint hitting rock, flashes of yellow-orange light burst and fade around his staff as he brings it back up into a more combatitive stance. In the absence of a real lance, it seems Diarmuid has imbued the wood with the properties of metal.]
I hope those markings aren't just for show, Caster.
no subject
Gaerdagas pits them in a fight that is more of the battle of wits, rather than pure power, and these circumstances while not preferable, are interesting as well. —is it transmutation here at work? That would change the staff into metal. So no, enchantment with only giving it properties of it. Not permanent, but easier to cast ]
They make me look good, so we can compete on all fields— [ Sorry, not sorry pretty boy. ] Get ready Lancer, here I come.
[ A heads-up on an incoming attack is but a courtesy. Magic electrifies the air once again albeit there is no reaction from markings on Caster's arms. It's focused on his legs instead, and when he takes off he leaves a shining trail— another set of runes is painted on his feet and they grant him increased speed and range. He zips around their battlefield jumping up and bouncing off a tree— a choice that is both over the top as it could be confusing. The leap is intended to end on Diarmuid (even if he fully anticipates a dodge) and from there a flurry of increasingly aggressive attacks.
Though it's only his legwork that is enhanced and obnoxiously fast ]
no subject
Jabs are blocked or parried- but a lightning fast swing catches him unawares and bites into his cheek.
Yes.]
[This is what every warrior truly lives for. Heart pounding, every inch of his body tense, blood roaring in his ears- it's been some time since he last had a duel so evenly matched and his excitement is palpable.
As soon as he sees an opening, though, he seizes it- but not so that he can counter. Instead, he goes for a feint, gracefully ducking another blow and darting to the side for a moment's relief. A few steps and he's out of reach again. Diarmuid wipes his cheek with the back of his hand, unintentionally smearing the blood in a way that almost looks like war paint.]
That's quite the spell. You'll have to share it with me once I've bested you.
no subject
[ First blood.
The adrenaline rush has Caster, no, Cú Chulainn fully in its grasp. A duel with a warrior of this caliber is a pure pleasure. No barrels held— is it dangerous? Of course, it is. But that's what their skills are for. Exchanging blows with full force, being ready to counter them. That's a form of trust, to go all out and know that the other warrior can handle it.
It's reckless— it's exactly what courses through their veins.
The feint is so well-timed it knocks one of Caster's hands off the staff. Not that he can't swing with just one, that's what he does, but Lancer must have anticipated exactly that, reflexes honed in endless battles and ducked right under it.
A second to breathe, a moment to exchange another banter. ]
Rising up the stakes already? What do you offer in exchange to make it even?
[ A twirl of the staff is as much a show, as it is a movement to get him into a different position. He does prefer the low stance, close to Earth— feral. This time it's the markings that light up, muted color glowing with the warmth of living magic. But here is the interesting detail—
As enchantments on Caster's arms are activated, the faint glow that marked his steps fades. Tuning different spells on different areas of the body are not as easy as one would think. A skill he has to yet fully master. ]