First Person: [ the view, when the feed clears, is a breathtaking panorama of the city from somewhere high up. it is apparent that the person controlling the pocketwatch camera has no clear idea of how to work it, and it is a few moments before he speaks, sounding both mildly irritated and thoroughly unamused at the same time. ]
This is not Fuyuki City.
Whoever has summoned me here, I commend you for your boldness. Take pride while you can, for it will also be the reason for your demise at my hands.
[ the camera pans lower; it is a direct view down, a steep drop, really, and the effect is almost dizzying. ]
I, Gilgamesh, King of Heroes, promise you that.
Third Person: This was not Fuyuki City.
Gilgamesh did not pay mind to the whispers and gawking of the people loitering in the station when he descended the stairs of the train; his primary focus was the how and why and who would dare--
The last thing he remembered was lying sprawled out amidst the ruins of the building leveled by Saber’s blade. He recalled looking up, glimpsing a swirl of inky darkness blacker than anything he had ever seen before (and it was not fear that had gripped him, then, no, because he was king, and he did not fear anything), standing --- and being doused in mud. Thick, suffocating mud that filled his eyes and nose and mouth and utterly consumed him, but – no. That was not right. He was here now, was he not? If he was here, then he had not been consumed.
The question was, where was here?
It was a place like and unlike the one that he had left. The buildings were different, and the streets were far emptier than the crowded roads of Fuyuki City. The train station itself looked worn and in disrepair. It was not a fitting reception for him, that much was certain.
His first thought was that this was the work of a Magus. But what Magus would be strong enough to send him here? Another Grail War, perhaps? No, that was not right either. He had life. He had physical form, he had incarnation. He was not here of his own free will, and so that only meant that he had been summoned, or else manipulated here for someone’s own schemes. Either way, this was an unforgivable offense, and the mere thought that someone had brought him here without his express permission was enough to make his temper flare, hot and bright.
Gilgamesh let out a short, barking laugh. Oh, whoever brought him here would pay dearly. He, Gilgamesh, King of Heroes, would see to their demise personally.
Ah, but first – and he paused, peering at his reflection in the filthy glass of the nearest window – he required clothes.
no subject
[ the view, when the feed clears, is a breathtaking panorama of the city from somewhere high up. it is apparent that the person controlling the pocketwatch camera has no clear idea of how to work it, and it is a few moments before he speaks, sounding both mildly irritated and thoroughly unamused at the same time. ]
This is not Fuyuki City.
Whoever has summoned me here, I commend you for your boldness. Take pride while you can, for it will also be the reason for your demise at my hands.
[ the camera pans lower; it is a direct view down, a steep drop, really, and the effect is almost dizzying. ]
I, Gilgamesh, King of Heroes, promise you that.
Third Person:
This was not Fuyuki City.
Gilgamesh did not pay mind to the whispers and gawking of the people loitering in the station when he descended the stairs of the train; his primary focus was the how and why and who would dare--
The last thing he remembered was lying sprawled out amidst the ruins of the building leveled by Saber’s blade. He recalled looking up, glimpsing a swirl of inky darkness blacker than anything he had ever seen before (and it was not fear that had gripped him, then, no, because he was king, and he did not fear anything), standing --- and being doused in mud. Thick, suffocating mud that filled his eyes and nose and mouth and utterly consumed him, but – no. That was not right. He was here now, was he not? If he was here, then he had not been consumed.
The question was, where was here?
It was a place like and unlike the one that he had left. The buildings were different, and the streets were far emptier than the crowded roads of Fuyuki City. The train station itself looked worn and in disrepair. It was not a fitting reception for him, that much was certain.
His first thought was that this was the work of a Magus. But what Magus would be strong enough to send him here? Another Grail War, perhaps? No, that was not right either. He had life. He had physical form, he had incarnation. He was not here of his own free will, and so that only meant that he had been summoned, or else manipulated here for someone’s own schemes. Either way, this was an unforgivable offense, and the mere thought that someone had brought him here without his express permission was enough to make his temper flare, hot and bright.
Gilgamesh let out a short, barking laugh. Oh, whoever brought him here would pay dearly. He, Gilgamesh, King of Heroes, would see to their demise personally.
Ah, but first – and he paused, peering at his reflection in the filthy glass of the nearest window – he required clothes.