[Gilgamesh knows that danger approaches as soon as the words leave Setsuna's lips.
For Gilgamesh grew up in a culture full of these treasure palaces, of dungeons and of riddles, and so he understand the poem for what it truly is: a herald of warning. He draws his sword, he holds his ground, he digs his heels in preparation for whatever malevolence may follow...
And he shrivels, almost immediately. He's not imagining things now, tiny sets of teeth and tails that belonged to disgusting salamanders. These are snakes, real and in the scaly flesh, and his stomach starts to turn and he can feel the bile creeping up his throat. Their bodies are thick and repulsive, reeking of the blood and sacrifice they'd left behind. They bare their fangs, creep over every inch of space, and hiss and snarl and Gilgamesh can think solely of that instrument of the devil which stole away the only means he had to avenge an untimely death.
But that had been a fool's errand from the beginning, hadn't it? Gilgamesh shakes, yet he forces himself to see straight. He cannot be a liability for his comrades again. He is King, a great Hero, a man of strength and dignity and honor. He cannot wilt before something he could just as easily crush in the palm of his hand.
So even though he wants to fall back, he resolves to fight. Once again, his party members serve as inspiration. How could he be anything but a leader to them?]
They are venomous! Do not let them bite you!
[He doesn't know how he knows, only that he does. Gilgamesh focuses all of his energy on weaving between the snakes, alternating between crushing them with firm stomps and piercing them with his sword. He calls upon all the magic he knows, which isn't much; but a few flares of fire and ice here and there aid in their extermination.]
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For Gilgamesh grew up in a culture full of these treasure palaces, of dungeons and of riddles, and so he understand the poem for what it truly is: a herald of warning. He draws his sword, he holds his ground, he digs his heels in preparation for whatever malevolence may follow...
And he shrivels, almost immediately. He's not imagining things now, tiny sets of teeth and tails that belonged to disgusting salamanders. These are snakes, real and in the scaly flesh, and his stomach starts to turn and he can feel the bile creeping up his throat. Their bodies are thick and repulsive, reeking of the blood and sacrifice they'd left behind. They bare their fangs, creep over every inch of space, and hiss and snarl and Gilgamesh can think solely of that instrument of the devil which stole away the only means he had to avenge an untimely death.
But that had been a fool's errand from the beginning, hadn't it? Gilgamesh shakes, yet he forces himself to see straight. He cannot be a liability for his comrades again. He is King, a great Hero, a man of strength and dignity and honor. He cannot wilt before something he could just as easily crush in the palm of his hand.
So even though he wants to fall back, he resolves to fight. Once again, his party members serve as inspiration. How could he be anything but a leader to them?]
They are venomous! Do not let them bite you!
[He doesn't know how he knows, only that he does. Gilgamesh focuses all of his energy on weaving between the snakes, alternating between crushing them with firm stomps and piercing them with his sword. He calls upon all the magic he knows, which isn't much; but a few flares of fire and ice here and there aid in their extermination.]