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damned_institute2009-02-12 12:48 am
shallweplay.livejournal.com) wrote in damned_institute2009-02-12 12:48 am
Nightshift 38: Basement, Hall of Armor
[From here]
Now this was more like it.
Ophelia's face lit up with almost childlike excitement at the sight of the nine suits of armor that lined the well-lit stone walls of the hall they stepped into. Each one was unique, and each was displayed with its own enticingly deadly weapon. This beautiful sight was almost enough to make up for putting up with her unwanted companions.
There was only one set of armor that Ophelia really had eyes for, however. On the end of the row was a pristine set of armour in the same style used by the organization. The exact style of the armour and the symbol on the front were unknown to her, marking it as likely belonging to a warrior from generations long past. Most exciting of all, strapped onto the back of the armour was a gigantic claymore sword, and it was already stained with dried blood. As far as Ophelia was concerned, the only way the set could possibly have been better was if the blood had been a little bit fresher.
She was tempted to hurry straight over to the beautiful equipment and snatch it all up, but even she could see that this was just too good to be true. Landel wouldn't just give them these things or leave them lying around behind weak doors for no reason. There had to be some sort of trick. Cautiously and slowly, she proceeded forward, keeping an eye and ear out for anything that might suddenly jump out at them.
Surprisingly, she found that she was able to make it across the room without any traps springing or enemies attacking. She narrowed her eyes at the Claymore armour, looking for any signs of triggers or things out of place. As far as she could tell, the only odd thing about the armour was that it seemed to be bolted to the stand it was on, unable to be taken down. Only the sword seemed to hang free.
Carefully, she reached out a hand and brushed it against the hilt of the claymore, jostling it slightly. Nothing. She put her hand around the hilt and gripped it without lifting. Still nothing. She pulled up. If something was going to happen, it would probably happen now. Again, however, there was nothing.
A triumphant smirk crossed the warrior's face as she drew the sword completely out of the straps on the back of the armour. It was more light-weight than the claymores she was used to, just light enough that she could hold it easily in her weak human form. It was still just as well-made as any other blade she'd seen, however. "It's perfect," she purred, making a few powerful test slashes through the air in front of her.
Now this was more like it.
Ophelia's face lit up with almost childlike excitement at the sight of the nine suits of armor that lined the well-lit stone walls of the hall they stepped into. Each one was unique, and each was displayed with its own enticingly deadly weapon. This beautiful sight was almost enough to make up for putting up with her unwanted companions.
There was only one set of armor that Ophelia really had eyes for, however. On the end of the row was a pristine set of armour in the same style used by the organization. The exact style of the armour and the symbol on the front were unknown to her, marking it as likely belonging to a warrior from generations long past. Most exciting of all, strapped onto the back of the armour was a gigantic claymore sword, and it was already stained with dried blood. As far as Ophelia was concerned, the only way the set could possibly have been better was if the blood had been a little bit fresher.
She was tempted to hurry straight over to the beautiful equipment and snatch it all up, but even she could see that this was just too good to be true. Landel wouldn't just give them these things or leave them lying around behind weak doors for no reason. There had to be some sort of trick. Cautiously and slowly, she proceeded forward, keeping an eye and ear out for anything that might suddenly jump out at them.
Surprisingly, she found that she was able to make it across the room without any traps springing or enemies attacking. She narrowed her eyes at the Claymore armour, looking for any signs of triggers or things out of place. As far as she could tell, the only odd thing about the armour was that it seemed to be bolted to the stand it was on, unable to be taken down. Only the sword seemed to hang free.
Carefully, she reached out a hand and brushed it against the hilt of the claymore, jostling it slightly. Nothing. She put her hand around the hilt and gripped it without lifting. Still nothing. She pulled up. If something was going to happen, it would probably happen now. Again, however, there was nothing.
A triumphant smirk crossed the warrior's face as she drew the sword completely out of the straps on the back of the armour. It was more light-weight than the claymores she was used to, just light enough that she could hold it easily in her weak human form. It was still just as well-made as any other blade she'd seen, however. "It's perfect," she purred, making a few powerful test slashes through the air in front of her.
no subject
It took some wrestling with the cover of the holster which seemed determined to spoil all his fun, but he soon had the pistol free. HK needed only a second's inspection of the weapon to recognize its make.
He nearly squeed. A Mandalorian Ripper. An actual slugthrower like this would have seemed quaint if it hadn't been created by a race that had their priorities in the right place--Namely, killing just about everything, just because it was there.
no subject
He didn't pick up his weapon, and instead looked at it warily. This might be a trap, and SubZero didn't want to get caught in it if it was.
no subject
She had to admit, though, that the set of full samurai armor, complete with helmet and mask, coupled with a katana and wakizashi was tempting. She did move over to it, looking the piece of work over with a shrewd eye, but she kept her hands to herself; she had a katana so she didn't need these.
It was interesting how each set of armor, each weapon presented, seemed to fit each member of this excursion. That realization alone was enough to make the step back and move down the hallway away from the samurai set, toward the door at the end.
"Looks a bit small," she commented to Ophelia as she passed by the Claymore. She did not want to linger in the hallway any longer than necessary. Something didn't feel right about it. It was all too convenient.
no subject
Disappointingly, however, Ophelia was forced to resist the temptation. If she wanted to get any further in the basement, it was clear that their captor preferred group efforts. A little sigh escaped her lips at the thought. She did not much care for games with rules not of her own design. Just one more reason to find Martin Landel with all haste and eviscerate him in the most painful fashion possible.
After quickly surveying the rest of the armour and weapons, her gaze turned next to the door at the end of the hall. It looked like the second door in the hallway, heavy and ornate. It was likely another three-person door. "Well, I know I'm ready to see what's next," she said with an anticipatory grin. She headed straight for the door and waited next to it for help. When the others finally came over to help, they pushed together, and Ophelia stepped past them, ready to lead into the next room.