ʙᴇʀsᴇʀᴋᴇʀ [ Cᴜ́ Cʜᴜʟᴀɪɴɴ Aʟᴛᴇʀ ] (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
curruid_coinchenn) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
middaeg2019-09-03 12:29 am
curruid_coinchenn) wrote in middaeg2019-09-03 12:29 am
Entry tags:
Terrified of the open road, where it leads, you never know [closed]
Who: Berserker and Diarmuid
When: Septeril 1st-ish
Where: No man's land
What: Wilde quest: The Big One aka two celts go on a fishing adventure
Warnings: none right now
[ It was just barely dawn when they started off on this little quest, the first rays of the morning just starting to peek over the horizon. The city itself was still asleep, with only a few other souls walking the streets; they weren't beginning their days but ending their nights, more than likely. The early morning air is cool and crisp, enough to sting when you breathe it in and yet still be refreshing.
Knowing what was in store for them in just a few days and what happened in their shared dream, a quest calling for help in fishing seemed like just the thing to ease their minds. Functional, yes, but just some time to spend alone together. It's unlikely to be too dangerous or too much for them to handle despite the warnings on the poster. They'd get something for dinner out of it, too.
Buckets, rods, and spears, they're set. It's way too early for Berserker, normally a late sleeper. As they venture outside the wall, he finally says something. ]
Is what we're looking for really that dangerous or are the fishermen just too scared to handle it on their own?
When: Septeril 1st-ish
Where: No man's land
What: Wilde quest: The Big One aka two celts go on a fishing adventure
Warnings: none right now
[ It was just barely dawn when they started off on this little quest, the first rays of the morning just starting to peek over the horizon. The city itself was still asleep, with only a few other souls walking the streets; they weren't beginning their days but ending their nights, more than likely. The early morning air is cool and crisp, enough to sting when you breathe it in and yet still be refreshing.
Knowing what was in store for them in just a few days and what happened in their shared dream, a quest calling for help in fishing seemed like just the thing to ease their minds. Functional, yes, but just some time to spend alone together. It's unlikely to be too dangerous or too much for them to handle despite the warnings on the poster. They'd get something for dinner out of it, too.
Buckets, rods, and spears, they're set. It's way too early for Berserker, normally a late sleeper. As they venture outside the wall, he finally says something. ]
Is what we're looking for really that dangerous or are the fishermen just too scared to handle it on their own?
no subject
Hard to say- some of those fishermen are probably witches too, after all. They're not entirely helpless.
[Truth be told, he's hoping that it's a little more the former than the latter; he's itching for something to really get his teeth into and a potential underwater monster is just the thing. Speaking of which, when he next glances at Berserker, it's with a slightly mischievous smile.]
I imagine your spear is eager to return to its brethren. It was made from a sea beast, wasn't it?
no subject
You're right, I'm just used to people who can handle a situation begging for help because they don't want to deal with it themselves.
[ Bitter? A little bit. Berserker wants this to be easy, though he wouldn't mind it being actually dangerous -- the Lancer will get more fun out of it if it's dangerous.
Berserker cocks his head just slightly, that faint smile turning into a smirk. Gae Bolg rests on his shoulder and he twists it in his grip, the red blade glinting in the morning light. ]
It was...The Curruid. I'm sure it'll be thrilled to destroy something like the creature that killed it.
[ The cursed spear made from the skull of the Curruid, a creature killed by the Coinchenn. His armor, his other Noble Phantasm, is made from the rest of its skeleton. How fitting for it to be used again in such a way.
The closer they get to the coast through no man's land, the more eerie everything becomes. The sound of animals and wildlife die away, even the wind itself seems to stop, leaving an unnatural silence behind. Berserker continues forward, closer to the water's edge. ]
It just said to fish as much as we like. [ No fear or hesitation in his voice, as expected. ] Let's get started.
no subject
In all likeliness, you're not far off the mark.
[But he's not going to linger on that if he can help it. Instead, Diarmuid turns his attention back to Berserker's spear, eyes flickering over its sharp, crimson tip; even in this corrupted form, it provokes a sense of awe. No doubt whatever creature they'll be facing today will feel something similar when it finds itself at its mercy.]
Let's not disappoint it, then.
[While the fishermen weren't specific about locations in their request, it isn't far until they reach a likely spot- and even the rising sun doesn't do much for the tension in the air. Perhaps it's just the general sensation of being in the Wildes, of being in no man's land, but it truly feels as though they're not welcome here.
A light mist hangs over the water where it laps against the shore and, as they make their way down, their footsteps are incongruously loud in the absence of seabirds. Diarmuid glances across at Berserker.]
... right. Once we've set up, we can check the beach for any hints as to what we're dealing with.
[Diarmuid wastes no time helping with preparations, although Berserker can probably tell that he's not much of a fisherman from his lack of skill. He even manages to tangle his line, a fact he tries to hide until the dragon turns away and he has a chance to correct it.]
no subject
If you need me to ready that for you, I can do that.
[ Yes, the "I noticed that and I'm slightly disappointed in you" comment.
Berserker, of course, has a considerable amount of angling skill -- though the joy of it's gone, the memory of such things remains. Careful to set up his line and efficient in how he does it, it's muscle memory and little else. A shame that the joy from something like this is gone when it's obvious it used to be a big part of his life.
He had half a mind to just cast his line, but stops because the Lancer is right: they should check around to see if any information can be gathered. It's unlikely, given that the fishermen had no idea what they're dealing with, though it's still worth a look. ]
I'm surprised there's anything living here at all...
[ Even with the mist over the surface of the water, there's a noticeable disturbance a bit further out. Whatever's under there is definitely large, judging by the sound it made and the size of the ripple left in its wake. ]
no subject
... it just so happens that it's exceptionally easy to look a fool while prepping a fishing rod. Maybe he should have taken Fionn up on his offer to teach him all those years ago after all.]
Once we've dealt with whatever it is scaring the fish away, I'm sure it will recover.
[There's been no shortage of creatures- hostile, corrupted and otherwise- in the Wildes as far as he's explored them, after all. Diarmuid sets his rod aside and makes his way down from the rocky outcrop they've arranged themselves across towards the beach. Seaweed stripes the sand, undisturbed by their mysterious prey, and at first nothing appears to be out of place.
That is, until he spots a dark shape washed up just ahead of them: the rotting remains of a porpoise, its body littered with straight, sharp incisions. One of its pectoral fins has been cut cleanly away. Unperturbed by the smell, the Lancer kneels beside it, frowning.]
... what could cause such injuries?
no subject
You're more optimistic than I am. [ Though he doesn't think Diarmuid is entirely wrong -- get rid of the overzealous predator and everything it scared off might return. ] I don't think the lack of life is entirely its fault.
[ He kneels down beside the witch, inspecting the wounds a little bit closer. There's a bit of caution in his actions, stopping short of actually touching the dead porpoise. His last brush with the Wildes nearly ended with a Cwyld infection and he'd like to not repeat that experience again. There's no telling if the beast they're dealing with is infected or not and Berserker's not about to take his chances. ]
Claws. Big ones. If we find this beast, let me deal with it and you can back me up. [ It's not out of disrespect he says this, but out of practicality: he is the one with the most strength between them due to his transformation. It also shows the considerable amount of trust he places in his Bonded -- nearly anyone else he would tell them to stay out of his way. ] But that's if we find it...
[ He rises back up and turns towards the outcropping they'd set up on. ]
So let's get to work.
no subject
Let me deal with it. Diarmuid arches an eyebrow.]
You're intent on wounding my pride today, aren't you?
[But his indignance is entirely feigned, a fact that becomes clear when he follows it up with a firm nod. It's not only a show of faith in his abilities but a solid suggestion that plays to both of their strengths. Besides, there's nothing to say that he'll be taking a passive role; support will be just as important to their success as aggression.
... still, he really does like to take these things seriously, doesn't he? Berserker might feel more like he's looking at a steadfast soldier, armed with the strange combination of spear and fishing rod, than anything else.]
Understood. I'll provide whatever help I can with magecraft [still can't stop calling it that, old habits die hard] and step in if I have to.
[Orders received, he twirls the rod back around to the front and heads over to their fishing spot. If nothing else, he manages to look elegant while casting it- although his actual ability will pale in comparison to the dragon's.]
no subject
I'm not your commander, you know. [ It's not harsh or chiding, more like a reminder. ] Don't treat me like one.
Being a commander of any kind is a role he definitely doesn't want to have, especially [ not to the Lancer. They're equals, aren't they? That's what they agreed to when they chose to Bond and that's how he wants them to remain. He doesn't begrudge the way the witch reacts, it seems like such a trained reaction and god knows he understands that much.
With that said, he decides to leave it alone -- there's a task at hand. Berserker casts his line and there's no elegance in anything, just the same practiced efficiency as when he fights. The joy of this kind of act is long gone and it's kind of depressing. ]
Even if you don't know what you're doing, you look good doing it.
[ A little smirk creeps across his lips for just a moment as he pulls up his first catch. It's not much, but he stills decides to keep it; no sense in throwing back what could be dinner later. ]
icon..............
[As though snapping out of a dream- or, more aptly, a memory- Diarmuid blinks, eyes widening for just a moment. Subservience is so deeply ingrained into his being that, even without prompting, he finds himself slipping into the role of vassal. A knight before a king. But it's as Berserker says; there's no hierarchy here, no serving or being served. Equality was written into their vows and it's as much his duty to uphold them as it is to be useful to him.
A little embarrassed, Diarmuid bows his head briefly.]
... of course. I'm sorry, it's a habit.
[By contrast, he has absolutely no shame about his inability to catch anything bigger than his palm. Needless to say, they get thrown back in. So, he only laughs at Berserker's comment, letting whatever it was at the end of his line escape so that he can give him a wink.]
If I didn't know better, I'd say that was a compliment.
no subject
[ Despite his own feelings on the matter, he still fondly calls him his knight. Though he has no pride of his own to speak of, he knows Diarmuid does. Berserker takes it upon himself to protect that pride -- it's the least he can do for someone that's chosen to stand beside him.
That wink...actually catches him a little bit off guard. Though he's still largely indifferent to most things, little things about the Lancer give him such unfamiliar emotions. A little flutter in his chest confuses him. He really is fond of this one, isn't he? A beautiful warrior...His beautiful warrior. Berserker regains his composure with a quick shake of his head. ]
Take it as you will.
[ Yes, it was absolutely a compliment.
He turns back to his work, landing a few more decently-sized fish. As he casts his line again, something grabs the line. In trying to reel it in, the line suddenly snaps. Judging by the sudden, if brief, change in Berserker's expression, that definitely wasn't normal. ]
... I might have found the problem.
[ A dark shadow is visible where his line was broken, but it disappears as quickly as it came. Hm...Frustrating. ]
no subject
[Not only was that endearing but it was a low key admission that it definitely was a compliment and the thought makes fishing out here on this dreary little outcrop considerably brighter. Maybe it's just Berserker's presence in general; disinterested, brutally honest with an emphasis on the "brutal", yes, but in a way that makes leaving an impression on him all the more rewarding. It helps, of course, that the attraction is very much mutual. While he keeps it to himself, Diarmuid seems to blossom a little under the unspoken praise and with a small smile he turns back to the sea.
Things have dried up since he last checked in. Even the undersized runts he's been catching seem to have abandoned him- and the reason for that becomes clear when he hears the snickt of Berserker's line snap.
The Lancer looks up abruptly, eyes first darting to the dragon- ah, that face isn't a good sign- and then to the spot where the bait used to be. He's just in time to see the shape, too dark and distorted by water to identify, fade out of sight.]
Hmm. [Cautiously, he sets his rod aside and moves closer to the edge.] If it's this close to the surface already... do you think we could lure it out further?
[The last thing he wants to do is try and face whatever it is on its home turf.]
no subject
The Lancer is right: they need to lure it out. To risk fighting it in the water is a suicidal prospect. It lives there, it has the advantage, and the water is far too murky to be able to see clearly if one of them had to fight it there. It likes fish, right...? The most recent catch for Berserker is still twitching. He picks up the wriggling fish and hands it to Diarmuid. ]
Throw it in the water. [ He says as he picks up Gae Bolg, chancing a few steps into the water's edge. He draws the spear back, readied to strike. ] I'll see if I can bring it out.
[ All he needs is one quick strike. Whatever it is, he can surely pull it out of the water with his spear. If not, they're in for a much more dangerous fight than he anticipated. ]
no subject
Alright. Prepare yourself.
[As if he hadn't already. He gives him a firm nod and throws the fish, now in its final throes, into the water.
For a moment, nothing happens. The waters become darker still, now marbled with blood as the fish first bobs around and then sinks below, out of sight. Silence. The waves continue to roll over each other as though fighting for dominance, their rhythm unbroken. And then it happens: The surface breaks in a flurry of bubbles and foam as something stirs, revealing itself first in a flash of peculiar spines and a carapace-like body.
Diarmuid jerks back with a soft sound of surprise, eyes narrowing. There are spells on his lips, ready to be deployed at a second's notice, but he holds onto them. Easy does it.]
no subject
Oh. That's a lot bigger than he expected. No matter...Well, no matter until he feels the shock from it conducted through the metallic portions of his lance. It's enough to make him let go of his weapon and take a step back, fists clenched. Naturally, it's not happy about having a spear through its midsection, so it makes a beeline for Berserker. ]
Distract it. [ Like he needed to say that. He takes another step back, eyeing the beast for an opening to get his weapon back from it. ] Don't let it touch you, it'll shock you.
no subject
But the feeling of triumph lasts only until Berserker hauls the thing out of the water. What have they gotten themselves into exactly? With its strange, equine muzzle and claws, Diarmuid isn't entirely sure what kind of chimeric monstrosity he's looking at or how to go about defeating it but one thing's clear: it's not happy.
The spark of electricity only adds to his concerns. So, that's pincers and the additional ability to shock its prey- and, right now, that's the two of them.
Grand.]
I've got you-!
[Berserker isn't exactly vulnerable but he's not about to take any chances. Using the base of his spear for extra momentrum to vault forward, Diarmuid closes the gap between himself and the beast in one go, drawing its attention in a flare of sparks as the metal scrapes the rock.]
Ugly bastard, aren't you?
[The Lancer grins, twirling his lance back into a more offensive position, ready for its inevitable counter. It comes as a sudden, sharp lunge, foam bubbling out of its mouth like a crab but, light on his feet as Diarmuid is, he dodges it with room to spare.]
no subject
With the creature's attention on Diarmuid, he takes the time to wrench Gae Bolg free from its body. The distraction keeps it from shocking him again thankfully -- not that he can't take the pain, more that it's irritating and he doesn't want to deal with it. A black substance oozes from the open wound in its carapace and it emits a terrible sound of pain before whipping around to face Berserker. It scuttles towards him, static crackling around it. ]
This feels almost cruel. [ He deflects one of its claws with a quick motion of his spear. ] Like we're just toying with it.
[ A game of cat and mouse with two borderline bloodthirsty cats. ]
no subject
It does sort of take away from the thrill of the hunt... let's put an end to this quickly.
[A phrase that he'll regret almost instantly.
As soon as the words leave his lips, the waves begin to churn again and the waters break in a spray of brine. Another seahorse-lobster hybrid bursts out from the depths and slams into the outcropping, crushing the first's head under one enormous pincer. It's considerably bigger, shell covered in enough growths and lichen to give it a misshapen, armoured look and a multitude of scars across its spines and tail where countless other monsters and, in all likelihood, sailors have attempted to slay it.
It shrieks.
Diarmuid shoots Berserker a look of alarm.]
... is this what they call "karma"?
no subject
... Why did you say anything?
[ This could've been easy and yet here they are. Self-preservation be damned, he takes a step back, enough so he can take a running start at the massive beast. He springs up into the air, bringing Gae Bolg down towards their new target. This doesn't go nearly as well as planned, the hardened shell barely cracking under the force of his spear. Still, there's a chink in its armor at the cost of Berserker getting a nasty shock out of it. Considering its size, the shock it delivers is that much stronger, stunning the dragon for a moment. He grunts in pain, but refuses to give up his spot on its back. ]
It can never be easy...
i'm sorry i had to use The Word
[-"started it."
Probably for the best that he doesn't manage to get the rest out before Berserker charges in as most bloodthirsty, feral conquerors are want to do. Diarmuid bites back the instinct telling him that he needs to protect his partner- he knows what he's doing, such behaviour would be condescending- and plants himself more firmly on the now slippery rocks.
With a sound almost like cracking porcelain, a few chunks split away from the monster's shell under Berserker's spear. Time to put in some work of the more arcane kind.
The Lancer spits out a few, short words, concentrating his energy into the casting of a single spell: an orb-like barrier of pure magic that embosoms Berserker and crackles under the creature's flailing attempts to knock him off with its claws. The dragon should be familiar enough with his magical signature to recognise it as sturdy but far from unbreakable; he needs to be quick.]
are you really that sorry, though?
It still feels weird to be backed up like this with a former Servant acting more like a Master. Once he feels the spell envelop him, he's quick to work at the weakness he created. Time is of the essence and, under the assault of the pissed off beast, he's concerned the spell's duration will be that much shorter.
Using Gae Bolg like a pry bar, he jams it into the crack he created previously while using his free hand to pull at any edge he can get a hold of, It's a single-minded assault, his own safety thrown out the window in the name of killing this thing as quickly as he can. The protective spell limits the intensity of its shocks, making his work a little bit easier. The small dent soon becomes a larger crack as the shell gives way beneath Berserker's immense strength. A piece of its shell gets tossed away, a sizeable hole left behind.
It's about then the spell wears off and the dragon takes a solid blow to his side, forcing him to give up his position. The strike is enough to send him tumbling to ground, spear still clutched in his hand. He decides to stay down there for a few moments to catch his breath, lungs burning to get air in them. ]
Go, finish it off! [ He calls as he gets back to his feet. Again, he places his faith and trust in the Lancer. ] Just stab into that gap...
[ It might be asking a lot, considering the hole isn't that big. It doesn't leave a lot of room for error. ]
for once in my life no
By some stroke of luck that neither of them are usually privy to, the barrier holds out long just enough for him to wrench part of it free. Less fortunate is that, as it shatters, Berserker receives the full force of the creature's claw.
That's when his dedication is truly tested.
What he wants to do is run to his side and cast another barrier to deflect the next blow. The remains of the smaller monster still smeared across the rocks are a stark reminder of just how much danger he could be in.
What he does, however, is very different.]
Leave it to me!
[Pushing all doubts aside, Diarmuid takes a running leap up onto the beast's claw just as it lifts it for a follow up attack. The extra height is exactly what he needs to get onto its back. His boots slip on the lichen but his balance holds firm and, in one last strike, he drives Gáe Dearg into the gap that Berserker created. Bile-black blood spurts out, coating his arms and chest, but he's relentless, piercing the creature as many times as he can.]
no subject
There.
Berserker jumps forward, cracking the broadside of the spear tip across its head. It's a hard enough strike to disorient it and keep it from harming the witch on its back. Quickly turning his weapon in his grip, he stabs at it again and again. The creature shrieks from the two-pronged attack, though it's too wounded to escape. It's Diarmuid's spear that deals the final blow, the noise ceasing and the beast growing still.
The dragon takes a step back, a splatter of its blood across his face and chest. At this point, apathy would normally take its place, but it doesn't. A satisfaction settles over him -- the most positive emotion he's felt about a battle in a very long time. Fighting alongside his Bonded and lover actually felt good. ]
You did well.
[ It's not empty praise, either. Despite knowing Diarmuid's past and his failures, he's shown Berserker nothing but valor worthy of pride. ]
no subject
- and then it's over.
For a few short moments, Diarmuid stays perched atop its back, panting as he feels the last signs of life slip away. By the time he clambers down, he's a mess but glowing from the mixed thrill and Berserker's praise. There's something about fighting alongside someone he feels so in sync with- hell, someone that he has such strong feelings for, romantic or otherwise- that has him buzzing and it shows.]
By your command and spear, Hound of Ulster. [Before Berserker can complain about the formality, he flashes him a smile to show he's just teasing.] But thank you. Are you alright?
[Diarmuid reaches out- only to stop half way when he realises that his forearms are black and sticky with blood. Well. This cloak is a lost cause, that much is certain. Pulling a face, he shrugs it off and wipes his face and hands off as best he can with the cleaner parts of it. As he leans forward, though, something glints around his neck: the boar tusk Berserker gifted him the month before.]
no subject
I'll be fine.
[ His ribs ache, certainly, and breathing is a bit painful, but nothing feels broken. He does expose the injured area to show Diarmuid, heavy bruising already forming under the skin. It's nothing he can't handle, it just looks absolutely nasty.
Mostly clean, he pulls the Lancer into a sudden hug. They're alone here, so there's no harm indulging this urge. He nuzzles against his neck, savoring the contact and feeling of the magic between them. ]
So you didn't find my gift too cruel, I see.
no subject
[There isn't much room for him to argue- both metaphorically and literally, he discovers as he's pulled into his embrace. Immediately, Diarmuid sinks against him, cupping his face in both hands where he's too wary to test those bruises by putting them on his waist. The kiss he steals is light, barely a ghost of contact, but there's warmth enough in his eyes to make up for it.]
The opposite. [He relinquishes his touch only to brush a loose, wet lock of hair back from Berserker's face.] I feel stronger because of it. Because of you.
[Ah, is that too much? Before he can say anything even more foolish, he forces himself to look away. There's not much he can do about the rising staccato beat of his pulse or the hint of colour to his cheeks but he at least manages to sound less sentimental.]
... you've got me talking like a lovesick maiden. [He laughs, embarrassed.] But fighting by your side truly is an honour.
[It's fine to indulge those feelings in private but he has to at least try and cut them off in person; after all, their Bond is strong enough that he'll feel them anyway if he simply tries to hide them.]
no subject
You're too sentimental. [ He, too, steals a kiss, a little bolder than the Lancer's. ] ...But I don't mind.
[ If he wasn't that way, he wouldn't be the person he's grown to truly care about. Berserker lets himself relish in the embrace just a little bit longer before he backs away. ]
We should leave before it gets any later. [ At least dinner's been figured out. A decent catch, at least on the dragon's part. ] Less questions about the blood in town that way.
[ A joke. He's learning. ]
no subject
I know, I know. [He flashes him a smile.] If you're not careful, it might rub off on you.
[Reluctantly, he allows Berserker to break away. He's right; any later and they'll be walking through the city at rush hour covered in blood and smelling of fish. Not a particularly appealing prospect. Even so, Diarmuid pauses to pick up the chunk of shell that his fishing partner manages to wrench free and, after scraping off the fleshier parts still attached to it, tucks it under his arm as proof.]
You know, I've always thought that you had a sense of humour you'd be dangerous. [a beat] Looks like we're safe for now.
[he's just teasing he appreciates the joke serker]