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Aug. 7th, 2019 07:07 pmHe sleeps in the same bedchambers where he'd woken, beside this William the Bloody, never feeling entirely at ease, but never concerned enough to leave. Finding another place to sleep would not have been a problem, he could have found someone to bed with ease and yet he hasn't. He returns each night to the same place where he'd woken and he falls into the same bed and the next morning he wakes up and does the same thing he'd done the day before.
It becomes more and more obvious as the days go by that he's not to escape this prison. It's a world that has forgotten its gods and here he is, a God-King with no worshippers of any kind. Stuck. Imprisoned in a place when no one and nothing else has ever been able to imprison him before. He's angry about it, but anger does little, and so, this day, he finds himself in the park and settles on a bench to consider what his next steps might be.
No family. No worshippers. No armies to command.
As he thinks, he plucks a coin from his hoard, a special coin, turns it over in his fingers, then sends it back. Over and over he does this, plucking the coin, sending it back. It flashes in the sunlight, playing over his features, over his braided beard. He sends it back again, then reaches for it once more and in its place finds something else entirely.
A spear.
Not his spear, but something very like it. Old and etched with runes he doesn't recognize. Holding it in his hands, Lugh studies the designs on it, wishing he could read them, then turns it on its side to appraise the point of it. The spear is sharp, able to do real damage, and he stands from the bench and hefts it in his hand.
There is no one in front of him. No one he might hit by accident. If there are people behind him, it matters not, for he's not throwing in that direction. He lifts the spear, then lets his arm arc forward, his entire body carrying the momentum and the spear goes sailing through the air, slamming home into a yellow sign no regular man would have been able to hit.
Lugh grins then, pleased with his throw. Pleased with his new spear. Perhaps this place is not so terrible.
It becomes more and more obvious as the days go by that he's not to escape this prison. It's a world that has forgotten its gods and here he is, a God-King with no worshippers of any kind. Stuck. Imprisoned in a place when no one and nothing else has ever been able to imprison him before. He's angry about it, but anger does little, and so, this day, he finds himself in the park and settles on a bench to consider what his next steps might be.
No family. No worshippers. No armies to command.
As he thinks, he plucks a coin from his hoard, a special coin, turns it over in his fingers, then sends it back. Over and over he does this, plucking the coin, sending it back. It flashes in the sunlight, playing over his features, over his braided beard. He sends it back again, then reaches for it once more and in its place finds something else entirely.
A spear.
Not his spear, but something very like it. Old and etched with runes he doesn't recognize. Holding it in his hands, Lugh studies the designs on it, wishing he could read them, then turns it on its side to appraise the point of it. The spear is sharp, able to do real damage, and he stands from the bench and hefts it in his hand.
There is no one in front of him. No one he might hit by accident. If there are people behind him, it matters not, for he's not throwing in that direction. He lifts the spear, then lets his arm arc forward, his entire body carrying the momentum and the spear goes sailing through the air, slamming home into a yellow sign no regular man would have been able to hit.
Lugh grins then, pleased with his throw. Pleased with his new spear. Perhaps this place is not so terrible.
