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    1. GreenGoat 10 yrs ago
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3 yrs ago
Current Memes aside, pineapples on pizza is ok actually. Being shat on for liking things different from other people gets old after a while.
7 likes
3 yrs ago
Hark, it seems I am in dire need of medical attention that is easily accessible by specialized containers we call medical bags.
2 likes
3 yrs ago
no one cares about christmas. What is important is how we let some strange old man in red in our house depositing mysterious packages and never question him for it
4 yrs ago
Oh shit, I'm sorry
5 yrs ago
instructions unclear, snorted all the dicks
3 likes

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B͏͠҉er̶̕ş̶e͝rk̀ę́r͏ ̶̧G̀̕í͟͝l̸le҉s̛ ̀D̷͢e̢ ͡Ra̷̡͞is̢͘
Foreigner's Lowlands



The sheer amount of rage he was experiencing was gone, as if switching off a lamp, when Gilles managed to finally defeat those two Lyaeus. There was only pain. Pain and the terrible realization of the memories flooding back, through Prelati's Encouragement of him during that mad moment. It seemed that his friend's encouragement brought him strength, but at the cost of reliving his live again and again, the memories vivid as if it happened just yesterday.

He collapsed upon the bloody field, left over by the severance of his men from him, the flames seemingly trying to consume his entire self now.

Thats... right.. The Maiden... Jeanne... she was burnt to death... I am sorry...

Jeanne...


***


A lake of blood, knee deep, barely concealing the bodies strewn within. A hand, stretched out for help that never came. He stood alone in the lake, soaked in blood, soaked in the regret and pain of his victims. All these deaths... but what had they done?

"You know very well what they had done! This fate, they brought it upon themselves!" The him that was from the future spoke, rising from the blood as if the blood itself had formed him. Anguish, rage, regret and most of all, sorrow, was apparent within his future self's features, even clad and partly hidden with the cloak he wore. "To betray their own saviour, to turn upon one who hath sacrificed her all for them! Even abandoned by the very God she devoted herself to!"

That was right.

For the very person he had thought to be the proof of God's existence, for that gentle smile, that hand that held the flag they fought under, for that brilliance to be snuffed by the ugly jealousy of the people.

"But yet... they were the reason you fought in the first place, wasn't it?" A voice, from a young boy, wearing armor that looked a bit too big for him, and a sword that didn't look as if it was drawn for battle much. "Don't you remember? You were just sixteen at the time, before you took up the sword for the first time against the English?"

That too was right.

He was the boy before him, untouched by the blood, pale, tall, and scrawny. But he had taken up the sword for France. He was trying his best for the people under him, yet always felt inadequate, until she came. The Holy Maiden, Jeanne d'Arc, the flag bearer who turned the tides of the war. But her end... shook him to his very core. It was as if God had just abandoned them.

"God may have abandoned her. But you did not! WE did not! Our loyalty lies with Jeanne! WE SWORE TO PROTECT HER!"

"That is right. We have not abandoned her. Nor will we abandon the world now. What will Jeanne say if you neglected the very people you fought to protect? This may not be France, but the people are the same. Mothers, fathers... children whose future still lies bright."

The boy inhaled, before bellowing at him, a slight vein appearing on his forehead.

"Are you going to abandon the people again, Gilles de Rais!? Will you turn a blind eye to everything Jeanne fought for!?"

***


"UUUUUOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHH!!"

The flames seemed to gather in his hand as his cape rematerialized, seemingly made of some writhing fleshy material, still burning intensely with a strange purple flame. His hand held out, it materialized not his banner, but a horrifying staff of flesh, bone, and teeth, appearing out of the flames in his hand. Bringing himself to his feet, he held up the staff, the chanting and fluttering deep within him reaching a crescendo, as if angered by the mere presence of the Lyaeuses, drawing in energy from the other side.

Several eyes appeared from the staff's top, jerking around as if glancing at everything, before each of the seven eyes paused, glaring at the different Lyaeuses nearby. Each one transfixed upon a different target, the staff channeled eldritch energy from the other side, a beam of brilliant light sparking from each eye upon their targets.

"Masters!" Gilles bellowed. "Servants! All those that would oppose these things, these creatures that would destroy us and the world! Let us strike upon its heart! Let us march towards the source!"

A cry for action, for them to march under his banner. Yet even if none came to his aid, he would march alone, full of convictions as Jeanne did. Even if he was to be deemed a heretic, even if he was to be burned by hellfire, this, at least he would do.
Berserker(?) Gilles de Rais
Foreigner's Lowlands



"KIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"

Memories of a friend, that outstretched hand, a boy too young to hold a weapon, that maiden's smile.

The veins upon his forehead seemed ready to pop from the sheer rage he was experiencing. He could not, WILL NOT, be defeated by such creatures! Bad feelings or not, divine or not, he will struggle and roar against the very heavens until these things were torn apart. With such feelings came strength, a voice, power within his limbs that he did not expect.

Memories of a friend, that outstretched hand, a boy too young to hold a weapon, that maiden's cry.

Power, encouragement from an old friend, yet he was not trying to escape. Or rather, they went too close to him, in his state of mind, where upon nothing would be above consideration. No tactic would be too bold, too brash. His mind hurts, but he cannot stop now. Gilles did not escape the Lyaeus, but instead grabbed it with all his newfound might.

Memories of a dear friend, that limp hand, a boy too young to fight, that maiden's cry.

"Hear me, my loyal servants, for our victory is at hand! We attack them with all our might! IT IS THE MARSHALL'S ORDER! IT IS THE MARSHALL'S SIEGE ORDER!"

An army appeared, large enough to cover the field, a besieging force that brought a large amount of cannons. But... Each soldier, whereas they looked normal yet slightly off before, now was visibly cracking in their shape. Unbroken, but truly odd, with some warping into mind bending shapes. Their weapons had visible tentacles upon it, though it retained their shapes. It took but the instant the Noble Phantasm to be called, for the army to appear, and in that instant attack, numerous cannons firing not only upon Gilles's position and the other Lyaeuses near him, but any other within cannon range due to the sheer number of cannons summoned.

But yet, within, an action parallel to Gilles' was also taking place, the fluttering of pages and the chanting taking on an ominous tone, as if feeling threatened. The visions of impossible shapes was but a flash, as it seemed to call out, crying for attention.

Flaming tentacles burst out of Gilles, as if in response to the fluttering and chanting. One shot out towards the silent Lyaeus, stretching to impossible burning lengths, as several wrapped around the one nearest to him, trying to crush it within its burning grasp with terrible strength.

Memories of a dear friend, a decayed hand, a boy too young to fight back, that maiden's crackling upon the fire.
Servant Berserker, Gilles de Rais
Foreigner's Lowlands.



For a moment, he looked stunned, his men bursting into pools of blood, the sheer number of them bursting at the same time, turning the land into what seemed to be a lake of blood.

"You..."

An offered hand, that soldier too young to be holding a sword, the blonde maiden that lead them.

"You you you you!"

A smile, that maiden's smile, the warmth of that circle, the men that followed.

"YOU YOU YOU! YOU DEMON! CUR! POXY FLEAS UPON THE BACKSIDE OF A DOG!" Gilles bellowed, veins popping out on his temple from sheer rage, tears streaming down his face. "UNFORGIVABLE! SUCH VILLAINY SHALL NOT GO UNANSWERED! THE LIVES OF MY MEN SHALL BE AVENGED!"

Droning, fluttering of pages, chanting deep within even as he acted.

Cthugha, embrace mine skin...

Gilles' cloak started sporting a shining point, moving into a shining line, before flames appeared, more and more of those shining points appearing, burning away his cloak. Fire, cloaking his body in stead of the purple cloth, swirled around him, levitating him but for a few inches off the ground. A flame unnatural, even watching the cloak sent twangs of pain through one's mind, as if clawing one's very thoughts. The price of this was readily apparent, for it did not fully protect the wearer from its own effect, as it seemed to burn Gilles' skin. Though he seemed to be constantly regenerating, the pain was still there. Magic, abilities from a side almost incomprehensible, operating under a different law.

While not even close to the speed Achilles reached, Gilles was, by no means, slow, but the cloak of fire seemed to accelerate him far beyond his normal abilities as he charged screaming at the two monsters, swinging his weapon wildly.


Servant Berserker, Gilles de Rais
Foreigner's Lowlands.



By now his army has grown to prodigious size, the territory he had claimed for himself now looking like a proper camp, bristling with palisades and cannons. There were still more corpses, but he needed to ride now to his Master's defense. Prepping a group of knights to ride back, he barked orders at the other soldiers, directing their actions. Before a horse was brought to him however, what seemed to be a Servant approached him.

"You. Don't move for a moment. This is to save the world."

"You, wha-" Gilles started before she inscribed some sort of magick upon his armor. Nay, he was not about to refuse help, but it was a bit sudden. Any bit of help would be needed if this threat was as bad as it felt. He could not help but feel rather frustrated he didn't have more time to prepare. A proper base with better land would perhaps strengthen his forces.

"Understood, make it quick, witch."

As soon as she finished, a horse was brought to him.

"Thank you, witch. I shall ride with reinforcements towards the Masters."

Moving quickly, he brought a force of fifty knights towards the monsters approaching the hotspring, aiming to cut them off and occupy them before all of them grouped up and become a greater danger.
ill probs either make a saber balin, or a lancer ajax
Yes hello it is I
Servant Berserker, Gilles de Rais
Edge of Foreigner's Lowlands.



Another body was put in front of him. Dead, but it did not matter. In his eyes, all can join his army. This felt unworthy, cheap, to disturb the dead and call upon them to fight, but Gilles did not doubt they too would want to fight against this threat, that they too would die again to defend their home. How many people have perished here before? The mere 14 men he could summon now brought him the dead from the previous events of the war, swelling their numbers as more were brought in, which in turn, lead to more soldiers bringing more of the dead in. Even just around here the number of dead people were staggering; the piles of bodies and the number of soldiers that joined his ranks were rising exponentially.

With each pile of bodies, he knelt down and offered them a prayer, the droning, fluttering and headache inducing chant reverberating through his head ignored wholesale as the bodies burst, a soldier emerging from each burst shell. He did not see, or could not see each soldier's wrongness, some morphing for a brief moment into unfathomable shapes before returning to normal. Their shape was right but they did not feel right.

Ia! Cthulu fthagn.

Slowly the force under his banner was starting to look more and more like an army; there was already a small group of horsemen as well as larger heavier equipment like a cannon. But it was not enough, he did not feel he had enough. The horsemen rode off to bring him more soldiers, he did not have enough to save the town. He did not have enough to save the town. He did not have enough to save his face. He did not have enough to face the Saint. He did not have enough to say he had done everything he could. He did not have enough to save them. He did not have enough to save the Saint.

He did not have gof'nn'bthn klw'nafh uh'e.

Gilles held his head, feeling as if a bad dream was coming on, as well as a headache.

Master, this is a perilous situation. I have already started gathering an army here, to move now would be to surrender territory. I do not know how many there are, but I can feel many of them already converging upon this place. I will hold them off with the best of my abilities, and with what meager resources I have at my disposal. I believe you are safe with the other Masters and Servants, thus I will not return to your side.

He paused the communications with his master for a moment.

Unless you have a better plan laid out of course.

Communications was important in a war, Gilles was not one that needed to be told that, thus being told to simply go back and defend did not convince him in the slightest, not when he has a course of action that he feels would be more advantageous. Already his numbers was swelling to near a hundred and still growing alarmingly fast.
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