❧ albedo piazzolla (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
conquests) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
testrun_box2012-06-04 02:50 pm
conquests) wrote in testrun_box2012-06-04 02:50 pm
Entry tags:
Testing for last_free_city!
[o1: ʙᴀᴛᴛʟᴇ]
When Albedo first came to the city, he was mad.
...Well, perhaps that was an understatement. He was furious to have been denied the finality that was to be doled out to him by a heavily-goaded Rubedo and told to go be a soldier for some hoity-toity gods who think they can casually play with a man's life. But he was to be such a good asset, they urged. They needed his help, they begged. That he would live a life of glory on the battlefield.
This anger would fuel him once more.
He hadn't bothered to adorn himself with a set of armor when he set foot on the battlefield. Armor was for mortal men, those who could not afford to lose an arm, a leg, or even their foolish heads -- only the rags about his waist and a metallic polearm he pried off some poor idiot's carcass were all Albedo had to his person. He reveled in the violence, tearing through the carnage, the smoke, the din of clashing steel and explosions behind him like a backdrop to the most marvelous play where he was the star of the whole bloody affair.
A shell whistles loudly through the air and lands a direct hit -- the force is enough to knock the URTV to the ground, blowing his arm and part of his chest clean off. His grip loosens around the spear, dropping it in the mud as stars burst across his field of vision and a look of dazed bliss crossed his face. Such a strike would surely kill another man, but for Albedo... all he had to do was wait for his dubious gift to work its magic before he's back on his feet again, new and pristine like nothing had ever happened, with only the spray of red over the rest of his body to even hint at what had transpired.
He picked the polearm up where he dropped it and charged onward towards the most dangerous thing he could see, seeming to care little for what awaited him. In fact, he seemed to be enjoying this...
[o2: ʀᴇsᴘɪᴛᴇ]
The indefatigable soldier needed breaks sometimes. Tearing up sods on the battlefield was fun, but all men need downtime to decompress and relax after a good day of carnage. Although his days were caked with blood and dirt and shrapnel, he was a prideful, fastidious creature -- one that wouldn't dare set foot in a civilized place looking like some knuckle-dragging, bloodthirsty monster. He was a killer, yes, but as far as he was concerned... he was nature's perfect beast, engineered and honed to be not only sharp of body, but sharp of mind as well.
Dressed in fresh, plain white linens and hair still wet from a good stay at the district bath house, he has now settled comfortably into a corner of the Grand Library with a small stack of books on the table at his side. Clutched in his clawed hands is a copy of Man and His Symbols by Carl Jung, as he peruses it with barely-masked amusement on his face. A quick glance at his selection reveals similar titles -- ruminations on philosophy, the nature of man, mythology, and religion.
However, based on the upright and attentive way he sits and the way he occasionally glances up from his book to search the faces of the library's other patrons, it doesn't seem like he's closed himself off to conversation with others, should anyone approach him. In fact, he looks eager to chat with anyone that's willing to listen...
[OOC: I need to run out for errands, but will tag when I return! :)]
When Albedo first came to the city, he was mad.
...Well, perhaps that was an understatement. He was furious to have been denied the finality that was to be doled out to him by a heavily-goaded Rubedo and told to go be a soldier for some hoity-toity gods who think they can casually play with a man's life. But he was to be such a good asset, they urged. They needed his help, they begged. That he would live a life of glory on the battlefield.
This anger would fuel him once more.
He hadn't bothered to adorn himself with a set of armor when he set foot on the battlefield. Armor was for mortal men, those who could not afford to lose an arm, a leg, or even their foolish heads -- only the rags about his waist and a metallic polearm he pried off some poor idiot's carcass were all Albedo had to his person. He reveled in the violence, tearing through the carnage, the smoke, the din of clashing steel and explosions behind him like a backdrop to the most marvelous play where he was the star of the whole bloody affair.
A shell whistles loudly through the air and lands a direct hit -- the force is enough to knock the URTV to the ground, blowing his arm and part of his chest clean off. His grip loosens around the spear, dropping it in the mud as stars burst across his field of vision and a look of dazed bliss crossed his face. Such a strike would surely kill another man, but for Albedo... all he had to do was wait for his dubious gift to work its magic before he's back on his feet again, new and pristine like nothing had ever happened, with only the spray of red over the rest of his body to even hint at what had transpired.
He picked the polearm up where he dropped it and charged onward towards the most dangerous thing he could see, seeming to care little for what awaited him. In fact, he seemed to be enjoying this...
[o2: ʀᴇsᴘɪᴛᴇ]
The indefatigable soldier needed breaks sometimes. Tearing up sods on the battlefield was fun, but all men need downtime to decompress and relax after a good day of carnage. Although his days were caked with blood and dirt and shrapnel, he was a prideful, fastidious creature -- one that wouldn't dare set foot in a civilized place looking like some knuckle-dragging, bloodthirsty monster. He was a killer, yes, but as far as he was concerned... he was nature's perfect beast, engineered and honed to be not only sharp of body, but sharp of mind as well.
Dressed in fresh, plain white linens and hair still wet from a good stay at the district bath house, he has now settled comfortably into a corner of the Grand Library with a small stack of books on the table at his side. Clutched in his clawed hands is a copy of Man and His Symbols by Carl Jung, as he peruses it with barely-masked amusement on his face. A quick glance at his selection reveals similar titles -- ruminations on philosophy, the nature of man, mythology, and religion.
However, based on the upright and attentive way he sits and the way he occasionally glances up from his book to search the faces of the library's other patrons, it doesn't seem like he's closed himself off to conversation with others, should anyone approach him. In fact, he looks eager to chat with anyone that's willing to listen...
[OOC: I need to run out for errands, but will tag when I return! :)]
2!
Slowly, she approached him, all the while trying to calm her nerves. Things would be okay... wouldn't they?