Fate/Alter Prototype [DEAD]

Bladestar123 · Aug 14, 2016

ZerbanDaGreat said:
It shouldn't have been possible for a fox to go pale. It did so anyway.

<... Jorg, if Archer discovers either of us we run. He is far beyond my power to defeat, even with my Noble Phantasm. Even assassinating his Master will be insufficient. We have to form an alliance come morning, fast. I don't care with who, we can betray them whenever you wish, just so long as Archer dies.>

The hero in question may have lived long before the mortal incarnation that allowed Tamamo entrance to the Throne, and far to the West, but that mattered little. No self-respecting hero would not be able to recognise the son of Indra and greatest of the Pandavas, especially not when he had a history of slaying the children of the Sun.

@Sockpuppet

A prickle

That's all he felt

A frission down his back, an instinctual reaction

He was being watched

Well, fuck that.

Archer tore his bow out of the ground, and swung it in the direction he had sensed the look, string already tensed.

onetwofoureightfire!

Arrows hissed blindly at his unseen target, the atmosphere screaming again. Archer internally cursed, even as he began searching for what he'd sensed. Terrible bow handling. Drona would've skinned him alive for mistreating his bow like that, no matter how divine or indestructible.

Archer cursed loudly again, drowned out by the echoing thunder of his shot.

Sockpuppet · Aug 14, 2016

ZerbanDaGreat said:
Tamamo laughed.

<... oh, you were serious?> She didn't have a physical body, yet she still made the 'snrkhahahaha' sound of laughter that cannot be contained. <I'm a kitsune, my sweet. I could likely appear in the Assassin class due to that fact alone. It's in my nature to be sneaky, conniving, sly, underhanded, whatever adjective pleases you most. Kill them in their sleep if it pleases you. But if you are discovered, simply say the word and I will be by your side.>

On a high rooftop overlooking the carnage, a little fox sat. Her eyes were bright yellow with cunning and wit, her fur a lustrous red-orange. Her forepaws were up on the lip of the building, so black it was as if she were wearing little black boots or socks. Her bushy, brush-like, white-tipped tail lay on the ground behind her, swishing idly to and fro. A little strange, a little out of place, but nothing alarm-worthy. At worst just a familiar, surely. Just above her narrow shoulders sat a mirror framed in gilded ebony, capturing and reflecting the light of the scene that lay before it. The little fox wrinkled her nose and watched.

Jorg spattered down onto the asphalt ground, oozing out into an expanding pool of black sand. The sand rapidly began coiling around a centerpoint in the air, warping and wrapping around this tiny dot of space, forming an ever growing ball of sand so black as to be clearly outlined even against the dark of night. When this ball of sand had become the size of a soccer ball, it rapidly took Jorg's form. The grainy appearance of the sand smoothed out, regaining color and forming back into Jorg's more human appearance. He was near the battle now. Aside from the telltale blares of immense magical energy expenditure, the simple fact that Jorg could see A)a giant dome of fire exploding like a volcano in the middle of the city, B) a dude driving fast and furious amid clouds of ungodly darkness and fire, C) a woman armored in black poising herself menacingly before what appeared to be a big lizard man holding a ragged, half alive man, and D) literally a shadow dude was sign enough.

"Perhaps your summoning was a compatibility one. We see eye to eye on matters most important." Jorg pressed his back against a building, just shy of where the real carnage bubbled. He flicked his fingers and black sand pattered out, forming into the pattern of a rune. A rune for surveillance. Small and unnoticeable, as well as possessing the same concealment in darkness attribute that Jorg's own body had. The sand's individuals grains fused together, causing the rune to gain a glassy look. The rune skittered across the dirty ground littered with rubble in a haphazard manner before finally taking off into the air at a nice, easy pace. He was just in time for another challenger appearing.

Through his rune, Jorg saw a hail of arrows stream down from above. Flashes of light crackling and striking against the night. Comets raining from above as numerous as raindrops and yet each and every one carefully primed at a target. Faster than sound they traveled, streaking in perfect, beautiful arcs. A wave of divine power - a manifestation of heavenly wrath that men of old had always feared.

ZerbanDaGreat said:
It shouldn't have been possible for a fox to go pale. It did so anyway.

<... Jorg, if Archer discovers either of us we run. He is far beyond my power to defeat, even with my Noble Phantasm. Even assassinating his Master will be insufficient. We have to form an alliance come morning, fast. I don't care with who, we can betray them whenever you wish, just so long as Archer dies.>

The hero in question may have lived long before the mortal incarnation that allowed Tamamo entrance to the Throne, and far to the West, but that mattered little. No self-respecting hero would not be able to recognise the son of Indra and greatest of the Pandavas, especially not when he had a history of slaying the children of the Sun.

@Sockpuppet

Not a very reassuring thing to say for sure. Jorg could already tell from a simple glimpse of his master's clairvoyance that the Archer was an exceptional existence enjoying the upper ranks of even heroic spirits. Tamamo was also right in that assassinating his master would do little, considering his high rank in independent action. It seemed that the Archer class by itself already had an inherent advantage to those that skulked in shadows such as Jorg. But what astounded Jorg even more was the fact that this archer had the presence of mind to instantly recognize that he was being watched. From several blocks away. Considering Jorg could see no skill that allowed him to pick apart the battlefield with godly scrutiny, he assumed that this archer simply had the martial prowess to "feel" hostility or prying eyes.

If that was the case, then there was no use for Jorg even attempting offensive action. The archer would sense him instantly and make an end of him in due process. Knowing this, Jorg formulated a new plan. He'd simply survive in the sidelines in his sand form, hidden in shadow rich buildings to minimize his presence. Using his runic familiar, he'd gain as much information on these combatants as possible. But what mattered more was the possibility that Tamamo was hit. She was his lifeline in this war; his only chance of attaining happiness.

He couldn't lose her. "Tamamo, did he manage to do any real damage to you?" asked Jorg, still as mentally sound as ever. Nerves of tempered steel were something of a necessity among enforcers.

ZerbanDaGreat · Aug 14, 2016

Sockpuppet said:
"Perhaps your summoning was a compatibility one. We see eye to eye on matters most important." Jorg pressed his back against a building, just shy of where the real carnage bubbled. He flicked his fingers and black sand pattered out, forming into the pattern of a rune. A rune for surveillance. Small and unnoticeable, as well as possessing the same concealment in darkness attribute that Jorg's own body had. The sand's individuals grains fused together, causing the rune to gain a glassy look. The rune skittered across the dirty ground littered with rubble in a haphazard manner before finally taking off into the air at a nice, easy pace. He was just in time for another challenger appearing.

"It may well be. Ever since I apeared I've felt a certain-"

Bladestar123 said:
A prickle

That's all he felt

A frission down his back, an instinctual reaction

He was being watched

Well, fuck that.

Archer tore his bow out of the ground, and swung it in the direction he had sensed the look, string already tensed.

onetwofoureightfire!

Arrows hissed blindly at his unseen target, the atmosphere screaming again. Archer internally cursed, even as he began searching for what he'd sensed. Terrible bow handling. Drona would've skinned him alive for mistreating his bow like that, no matter how divine or indestructible.

Archer cursed loudly again, drowned out by the echoing thunder of his shot.

On paper she was slightly faster than Arjuna, certainly. That didn't entirely make up for the fact that she wasn't expecting him to draw a bead on her at all, especially so quickly. A yelp of shock and fear echoed across both the real world and Tamamo's bond with Jorg, drowned out by the thunderous roar of the bowshot. No time to transform or erect magical defences. No time for anything at all but pure, panicked reflexes.

Sockpuppet said:
But what mattered more was the possibility that Tamamo was hit. She was his lifeline in this war; his only chance of attaining happiness.

He couldn't lose her. "Tamamo, did he manage to do any real damage to you?" asked Jorg, still as mentally sound as ever. Nerves of tempered steel were something of a necessity among enforcers.

A soft, pained groan answered Jorg over their link.

<I'm alright. Barely.>

Tamamo was stretched out flat on her stomach on a completely different rooftop, face in the concrete. A long, bleeding gash right across the small of her back from hip to hip, a mark of the near-miss that could've been even nearer. A near-miss was all it took.

<Sorry, Jorg. Looks like I won't be able to show off my back for a little while.> She stirred, wincing, dragging her claws across the concrete as she pushed herself up off the ground just a hair. <I'm a bit of a fragile sort when I don't come prepared. Are you okay? He didn't hurt you too, did he?>

Sockpuppet · Aug 15, 2016

ZerbanDaGreat said:
"It may well be. Ever since I apeared I've felt a certain-"

On paper she was slightly faster than Arjuna, certainly. That didn't entirely make up for the fact that she wasn't expecting him to draw a bead on her at all, especially so quickly. A yelp of shock and fear echoed across both the real world and Tamamo's bond with Jorg, drowned out by the thunderous roar of the bowshot. No time to transform or erect magical defences. No time for anything at all but pure, panicked reflexes.

A soft, pained groan answered Jorg over their link.

<I'm alright. Barely.>

Tamamo was stretched out flat on her stomach on a completely different rooftop, face in the concrete. A long, bleeding gash right across the small of her back from hip to hip, a mark of the near-miss that could've been even nearer. A near-miss was all it took.

<Sorry, Jorg. Looks like I won't be able to show off my back for a little while.> She stirred, wincing, dragging her claws across the concrete as she pushed herself up off the ground just a hair. <I'm a bit of a fragile sort when I don't come prepared. Are you okay? He didn't hurt you too, did he?>

Jorg listened intently for Tamamo's response, feeling relief wash over him when she confirmed she was alright. She had been damaged, but not all too badly. As long as a servant did not take damage to their spiritual core, they could simply regenerate by expending magical energy. Of course, every servant had varying levels of regenerative capability, but Casters in general seemed to observe more capability in this regard. Judging from the spiritual link, Jorg could feel that she did not receive any major wounds.

Jorg understood he couldn't take any chances here. Even near misses from this archer managed to deal appreciable damage. It was simply too risky to leave Tamamo out and about. He set to ensuring Tamamo's safety.
"I'm okay, but you're not. I can't risk you being in any more danger here, so you should take refuge back in my workshop. Very few should be able to detect you there considering my preparations." Jorg considered having Tamamo stay to heal in his territory, which had accumulated a nice chunk of magical energy due to Jorg setting it up to be a gathering point for residue from leylines. Concealing that chunk of magical energy was something Jorg would have to do tonight, but perhaps he could have Tamamo do that in his stead. However, that seemed incredibly dull even if it was a task befitting a caster.

"I'm planning to slink around a bit more and gain more information. Perhaps mark some of the masters with my curse. Considering that a caster class servant would likely be the only easy way for magi to remove my curse, it would be quite a devastating blow on some of these masters as you are the caster in this war," said Jorg, giving shape to a semblance of a plan after the sudden attack had shaken up his previous ones. "If you want to come with me after preparing some defenses, that's fine too. I can keep us both hidden with a primal rune. If you have any other suggestions, I'm all ears."

ZerbanDaGreat · Aug 15, 2016

Sockpuppet said:
Jorg listened intently for Tamamo's response, feeling relief wash over him when she confirmed she was alright. She had been damaged, but not all too badly. As long as a servant did not take damage to their spiritual core, they could simply regenerate by expending magical energy. Of course, every servant had varying levels of regenerative capability, but Casters in general seemed to observe more capability in this regard. Judging from the spiritual link, Jorg could feel that she did not receive any major wounds.

Jorg understood he couldn't take any chances here. Even near misses from this archer managed to deal appreciable damage. It was simply too risky to leave Tamamo out and about. He set to ensuring Tamamo's safety.
"I'm okay, but you're not. I can't risk you being in any more danger here, so you should take refuge back in my workshop. Very few should be able to detect you there considering my preparations." Jorg considered having Tamamo stay to heal in his territory, which had accumulated a nice chunk of magical energy due to Jorg setting it up to be a gathering point for residue from leylines. Concealing that chunk of magical energy was something Jorg would have to do tonight, but perhaps he could have Tamamo do that in his stead. However, that seemed incredibly dull even if it was a task befitting a caster.

"I'm planning to slink around a bit more and gain more information. Perhaps mark some of the masters with my curse. Considering that a caster class servant would likely be the only easy way for magi to remove my curse, it would be quite a devastating blow on some of these masters as you are the caster in this war," said Jorg, giving shape to a semblance of a plan after the sudden attack had shaken up his previous ones. "If you want to come with me after preparing some defenses, that's fine too. I can keep us both hidden with a primal rune. If you have any other suggestions, I'm all ears."

<Aww, you're just a sweetheart, aren't you?>

Tamamo pushed herself upright, brushing down the front of her robe. No reason not to look presentable in a fight to the death. She was a fox with standards.

<Your concern is touching, but I'm not just some delicate cherry blossom, Jorg. It'll take more than a little scratch to drive me away.> She put one bare, clawed foot up on the lip of the roof and leaned forward, supporting herself on her knee as she gazed down into the incomprehensible mess of shadows where her Master had becoming a shifting mass of black sand. And now here he was talking about primal runes. Such a fascinating man. How could she ever justify leaving him all alone and vulnerable?

<One stray arrow from that Archer is all it'd take, and he has a hundred and eight. Not to mention that eyesight and those instincts of his. If I come with you, I can protect you too. I have a mantra that should suffice if he fires quickly, and I can get us both to safety if he takes his time to gather his power.>

She gestured, beckoned, and her mirror answered. It hovered above her shoulder, the shining glass reflecting the world. And then she was gone, mirror and all. Replaced by a red fox, fur matted with blood around the gash across its shoulders, that silently padded into the shadows at street level where Jorg's black sand lay.

Dekutulla · Aug 15, 2016

Well, Grigor thought, there wasn't much for saving Unit Gilles now. Even if the collision had caused only superficial damage, he doubted it'd ever run again with a lance through it's engine. It was time to retreat to Rider's side.

<I apologize for troubling you with this, Rider, but I regret to inform you that I need to expend some magical energy to remain your provider. Please feel free to punish me for this indignity however you wish once I am no longer attracting the ire of Lancer.>

The priest pulled something from his vestment's sleeves, a thin, straight blade with a ruby handle. One might wonder how it fit. Grigor took the Black Key and stabbed it down into the dashboard of the car. For an ordinary priest, this would doubtless be a pointless act in itself, but fortunately Grigor had not merely forgotten his training in magecraft upon his conversion. The key would provide a useful boundary, a point of reference that would aim the magecraft he was about to use. Channeling magical energy into it, the blade began to shine, a line of light spreading from each side of the blade. Taking another blade from his other sleeve, he pierced down through the floor of the car, driving the tip of the blade down so that it was in contact with the asphalt. This one would act as a point of contact, and it too began to shine.

Earth, the element of embedding energy into another thing. Alteration, the act of giving an object new properties. Both of these were basic, rote things that even the worst magus knew. Well, the worst magus worth considering, he supposed, so not including Hedge Mages. Regardless, if there was anything he had learned during his time as a priest, it was that simplicity did not equate worthlessness. Even a simple table-leg could give ridiculous pain in the right circumstances. Ah, those nights he had wiled away in the dimly-lit basements of the church, stumbling his way back to the stairs...ah, right, the keys. They were probably charged by now.

The first key cracked. Magical energy flared hot across the line it had traced, inflicting the material with something utterly apropos; being cut. The chunk of Unit Gilles that was held in place by Lancer thudded to the ground, supported by the wheels of the car no longer. It was a shame he had not been executed during the revolution, Grigor mused. A beheading would have been far more appropriate than a hanging. He tapped the second key, sending his energy through it and into the road below. This, somewhat more flashily, gave the road the property of "sending things in contact with it flying in a specific direction". Unit Gilles rocketed backward, if a rocket only reached the speed of a ball rolling down a hill, and came to a rest near Rider.

Grigor opened the door of what remained of Unit Gilles and stepped out beside her, bowing his head to her in apparently legitimate sorrow. "I humbly apologize for not being able to protect your steed, Rider. Lancer was harder to drive around than I had expected."

@Sucal
@TenfoldShields

TenfoldShields · Aug 15, 2016

Dekutulla said:
Well, Grigor thought, there wasn't much for saving Unit Gilles now. Even if the collision had caused only superficial damage, he doubted it'd ever run again with a lance through it's engine. It was time to retreat to Rider's side.

Lancer twisted, powerful legs working, casting up a spray of light as he spun like a skater on ice. Sliding to a stop. A pause and then he was ripping the front third of the car from his legs. Pulling a leg free, crushing it in taloned feet. Yanking his spear from the ground, pulling it free from the great furrow it gouged in the earth. The edges of the jagged, ragged, wound still soft and smoking, the asphalt running like molten wax. Lancer snarled and it was a rolling, racking noise. The kind of sound to send chills up the spine. To send the atavistic, instinctual part of the brain, the part that remembered what it was like to hide and be hunted, into fearful convulsions.

The dragon kicked the sparking, crumpled ball of scrap behind him. Lodging it in a concrete wall. He leveled his spear at Grigor. The man only a few hundred yards away. A few hundred yards distant.

Thunder rumbled in the distance. Lancer stalked forward.

The sky flickered blue-white. The light seeming to squirm and shift. Ebbing and flowing. Lancer's steps slowed. They stopped. He paused, head tilted up. Up through the fog, now clearing. Up at the unseen heavens. Half-cocked in bemusement.

Scarlet eyes widened.

<MA->

Bladestar123 said:
54 arrows of glowing fury in a carpeting formation, shot toward both servants at a speed that shattered the air about it.

Thunder howled through the city, every window and piece of glass around Archer shattered instantly.

The atmosphere ignited.

The missiles arrived.

The city shook.

@Druby

For Elias it was easy. Just a bumpy ride, rocking and rattling in the hollow of Lancer's body. Shielded by his wing. Maybe squinting, eyes watering, as aching white light pouring through the membranes of the wing. Casting bone struts and skeletal spurs in harsh, high contrast vision as detonations rolled on, like an entire artillery battalion firing just a few feet away. A few fresh new bruises. A few cuts and scrapes where Lancer's rough scales scratched the skin. But nothing so bad. Maybe some tinnitus but nothing he couldn't walk (or groggily stumble) away from. Not so bad.

The glow in the sky faded.

The night returned.

Beneath him Lancer's arm slowly uncurled, slackening. The bat-like wing drifting down. Without warning the dragon-man lurched, the ground heaving up. Elias spilling out onto the hot, unyielding earth. Outside the protective cocoon of the wing. Lancer's hand suddenly closing around his ankle like a shackle cuff. Squeezing so hard the bones creaked. The Servant's breathing hard and harsh. The right and fall of great bellows.

The slow, gentle patter as muddy, viscous ichor dripped to the ground. The same color and consistency of crude oil. Running from slitted ears. Flaring nostrils. Black eyes. Puddling int the sea of gravel beneath Elias's feet. The rough, gritty sand that clung to his clothes. Clotting the dust together. In. Out. In. Out.

Scorched scales, muscle wetly twitching, bunched black cables flexing, squirming like fat worms inside holes that chewed down straight to charred bone. Slowly closing as he breathed. Widening again on the exhale. In. Out. In. Out.

There wasn't a road anymore. There wasn't a cloaking, black mist anymore. There weren't buildings anymore. Just gutted, groaning, broken ruins. Grey spars thrust up through grey-brown fog. In the distance rubble collapsed. Clattering and scraping as it crashed to the street.

In. Out. In. Out.

Lancer pushed against his spear, point buried in the earth, raw muscle straining as he heaved himself to his feet. Clumsily dragging his Master back up against him. Silent.

He spread his wings. Scarlet flames gathering beneath the mighty pinions, the edges a tattered, ragged, ruin.

Sockpuppet · Aug 16, 2016

ZerbanDaGreat said:
<Aww, you're just a sweetheart, aren't you?>

Tamamo pushed herself upright, brushing down the front of her robe. No reason not to look presentable in a fight to the death. She was a fox with standards.

<Your concern is touching, but I'm not just some delicate cherry blossom, Jorg. It'll take more than a little scratch to drive me away.> She put one bare, clawed foot up on the lip of the roof and leaned forward, supporting herself on her knee as she gazed down into the incomprehensible mess of shadows where her Master had becoming a shifting mass of black sand. And now here he was talking about primal runes. Such a fascinating man. How could she ever justify leaving him all alone and vulnerable?

<One stray arrow from that Archer is all it'd take, and he has a hundred and eight. Not to mention that eyesight and those instincts of his. If I come with you, I can protect you too. I have a mantra that should suffice if he fires quickly, and I can get us both to safety if he takes his time to gather his power.>

She gestured, beckoned, and her mirror answered. It hovered above her shoulder, the shining glass reflecting the world. And then she was gone, mirror and all. Replaced by a red fox, fur matted with blood around the gash across its shoulders, that silently padded into the shadows at street level where Jorg's black sand lay.

Jorg kept vigil, his body of sand pittering and pattering across the wall of a shoddy apartment complex. Through his rune, positioned so as to give a bird's eye view of the battlefield, Jorg saw the tides of battle rage. It was a scene befitting of Armageddon. Destructive force poured out from these servants as easily as water does from a burst pipe. The sheer scale of raw power was an unyielding torrent that hailed of legendary times great and old. No modern barricade could withstand this confluence of aged might. The abundant patches of fire blazing like wild members of some hellish audience and easily toppled buildings built so painstakingly to withstand modern strains all stood testament to the typhoon that could be called a battle between servants.

Chaos reigned king here. There were too many players at hand. Too many servants and masters all grasping desperately at each others' throats. So many variables and so many events all occurring concurrently in a battlefield where a single error could mean death. Jorg loved this. He could sense all the players in this mad game of life and death. Their lives hung on the slimmest of threads, and Jorg could physically see this. He could see how in this whirlwind of blows and arrows one precise strike could snip a thread cleanly. However, he was not one to participate in this game. He was no reaper - he did not hold the scythe that harvested, nor did he grasp the shears that decided fate. His was the kind that bore witness and took only when the time was right.

Jorg kept watching for this right time. The single moment where he could, for an instant, become the scythe's holder.

When Tamamo warped to his location in a fox's form, he made his intentions known.

"Indeed. Archer is simply too much of a threat to consider an open assault. We shouldn't form plans that have him as an obstacle. Using a mantra in defense of Archer, who has one hundred and seven more repetitions of his attacks, and possibly more noble phantasms up his sleeve, seems wasteful. But your ability to get us to safety - now that is so very useful." Jorg materialized under the shadow cast by the building he stood behind as cover. His body seemed to meld with the darkness, becoming wispy streaks of faint ink upon the parchment of night. He looked down at Tamamo and drew three runes in the air, forming a spell that took the concepts of vigor, strength and renewal to create a potent healing spell. Tamamo's wound fully healed, leaving only the faint stain of crimson upon her fur as testament of its existence.

"What kind of method are you using to get us back to safety? The same seemingly instantaneous physical movement you used to get here?"

ZerbanDaGreat · Aug 16, 2016

Sockpuppet said:
"Indeed. Archer is simply too much of a threat to consider an open assault. We shouldn't form plans that have him as an obstacle. Using a mantra in defense of Archer, who has one hundred and seven more repetitions of his attacks, and possibly more noble phantasms up his sleeve, seems wasteful. But your ability to get us to safety - now that is so very useful." Jorg materialized under the shadow cast by the building he stood behind as cover. His body seemed to meld with the darkness, becoming wispy streaks of faint ink upon the parchment of night. He looked down at Tamamo and drew three runes in the air, forming a spell that took the concepts of vigor, strength and renewal to create a potent healing spell. Tamamo's wound fully healed, leaving only the faint stain of crimson upon her fur as testament of its existence.

"What kind of method are you using to get us back to safety? The same seemingly instantaneous physical movement you used to get here?"

"Oh he definitely has more Noble Phantasms up his sleeve. Do you have any idea how many legendary weapons Indian heroes get to just throw around? Just think. After all that work Susano-o went to, I don't even get to keep the Kusanagi. But the point being-" the little red fox Tamamo had become waved a paw "-that he seems to need time to nock various amounts of arrows in that bow of his. The only reason I'm alive is that he rushed it. As I said - if he shoots quickly enough that I can't get us to safety, it should be few enough arrows for me to block them. Should." The fox's shoulders slumped. "Indian Servants should be banned from the tier list."

She looked up as the runes' effects took hold. The deep gash across her shoulder blades stitched together in the span of an instant, her spiritual body all but reversing to its prior immaculate state. The bloodstain was all the evidence that remained. She fixed her Master with a funny look.

"Now what did you go and waste mana on that for, silly? I would have taken care of it myself once we left - I can handle a little scratch." She paused, grinning a foxy grin. "Sweet of you, though."

In answer to his other question, she inclined her head at the mirror hovering at her side. "Mhm. If we ever need to get out of a jam fast, just look for my mirror and jump at it. Trust me, it'll be your best bet."

Druby · Aug 16, 2016

For a long time now, Elias had thought he'd known death. It was easy to feel like that when you were slowly dying by inches, life slowly flickering away like a candle flame at the last of its wick, one light breeze from being blown out. He'd long thought that he'd come to accept the inevitability of his fate, even with the possibility of redemption by the Grail, he would never dream of getting his hopes up only to be crushed again. However, today Elias came to know the difference between a slow death, fighting for every centimeter of ground taken against a withering body and soul, and the sudden chaos and the risk upon his life that was brought upon him by a fight; a true fight, one where two or more people stepped in fully expecting to end the other's life, and against heroic servants no less.

Even cradled in Lancer's arm, the sight of a car speeding right towards him was enough to have Elias suck in a breath in shock. It wasn't a gasp, there hadn't been enough time for that. Instead it was simply a quick intake of breath, being readied to be put to use elsewhere, but everything had simply happened already before that could even be done. It seemed to all happen in a blinding instant, even faster and more terrifying than any flight Lancer had taken him upon that short night. The blinding headlights of a car, breaking through the artificial smoke and fog Lancer had thrown down moments ago, a Servant, Rider if the fact that she had literally been riding upon the roof of the car had been anything to go by, leaping skywards and then down towards him with spear and sword, their steel gleaming in the streetlights' glare as the points were obviously directed towards him. A whoosh of wind, one of Lancer's wings glides across his view, shielding his body and blocking Rider from his sight. An impact, the car upon Lancer's hulking frame, and movement as he skid backwards. And finally, the sound of one-hundred cannons going off, thunder both distant and immensely near leaving Elias' ears ringing and a flash of heat and warmth. His senses were overloaded, the flashing lights and loud sounds, the taste of the ozone in the air, the pounding of his heart, and the voice screaming at him in the back of his mind to run, run, run, run and never look back but sheer reality leaving him unable too. He screamed. What else was there that he could do. It was drowned out in its entirety, it would have been an utter shock to him if anyone had heard it. It really only made the situation that much more terrifying.

Elias came to a stop as he hit the ground suddenly though, air driven out of his lungs by the impact, and his head bouncing off the concrete in a painful manner. It was the shock he needed though, to break him out of his terror, and if that wasn't enough, the pain around his ankle as Lancer grabbed him there, like a manacle being shut too tight, was more than enough and forced a pained grunt out of his lips, particularly as Lancer dragged him back up unceremoniously back to his side.

Elias' breath came in gasps, eyes taking in the view of the destroyed city, Lancer battered, and everything burning. A beat passed before Elias focused, channeling mana from his reserves towards Lancer in order to aid his recovery. Even with Lancer having pulled almost solely from his reserves not moments ago, Elias had always been a prodigal magus. It had certainly put a dent in his power but he had enough to spare for the moment especially if it was what was required for them to survive this. <We have to get out of here...> Elias whispered to Lancer telepathically, not trusting his voice at the moment. <There's... There's too much going on, too many people. Can you still fly?>

Sucal · Aug 16, 2016

Rider was annoyed.

It was her usual state of mind, but the actions of the Lancer had enhanced it more then a little. People were supposed to move when she hit them with things, especially weapons that shouldn't have been expecting her to jump off and whack her out of the way. They weren't supposed to destroy Unit Gilles and put her summoners life at risk so quickly.

Maybe her mood was closer to pissed off, considering how the fires around her refused to die.

She wanted a pointy stick, and she would mount Lancers head upon it immediately after she worked out how to stop it dissolving after his death. The only real benefit to the situation is that it had become rather clear that his Summoner was completely useless, in comparison to hers who was only mostly so. Listening to him discuss how he had to waste some of her mana to keep himself alive. At least Lancers summoner didn't possess anywhere near that type of skillset from what she had seen of him.

Her face softened for almost a second when he moved in behind her, almost as if he was preparing to fight alongside her. It was only for a second however, since the world filled with light and she began to let loose a barrage of curses she picked up from the french soldiers. Raising her banner high, she spoke five words and gathered/generated as much flames as she could to and prepared a shield around herself and the summoner.

<If this doesn't hurt, then what I'm about to do really will>

Her banner was visible before Rider herself, the once tattered thing now containing awards of valor and glory. It was also glowing crimson, the same light reflected in all the destruction in the area. Rider wasn't looking much better, her armour shattered and broken in more then a few places, plus her sword hand was clearly not enjoying its best day.

She was also glowing crimson, as the light seeping out of the destruction began to flow into her body, replenishing and enhancing her supplies. It didn't however heal her, a task that was left for her mostly intact summoner to work out he was meant to do himself.

"Ville disjoncteur"

The world was filled with the scent of gunpowder and iron, as the crimson light flowed away from her and began to flow together into a massive form. The battlefield shook as it took its first step, the clanking of iron added to the sounds of devastation and the roar of the fourth servants bike. The manifestation of her hatred, her rage and her talents in life. A false dragon for a false servant, one that immediately grasped Archers location from Riders direction.

Even as she mounted it, dragging her summoner behind her, the fortress like armoured dragon almost seemed to smile..

Then the cannons opened fire at Archer.

Status

Class: Rider

Alias/Titles: Walking War Crime/Dragon Witch

True Name: Jeanne d'Arc

Alignment: Neutral Evil

Parameters

Strength: B

Endurance: C

Agility: B

Mana: A+

Luck: E

Biography

Appearance:
History: The fearsome english destroying witch dredged up from their worst memories and filtered through the grails corruption, Jeanne is well aware that her existence should be even more impossible then some of the other corrupted heroes. After a saint was said to be one too pure to possess any evil side, and by any regards her actions (if not her motivations) are as evil as they come. Three parts hatred, rage and desire, two parts english propaganda and a desire not to make the mistakes her 'pure' self once did, Rider is fighting for her right to exist.. and intends to enjoy every second of it.

Personality: Smiling, happy and completely filled with anger, rage and hatred to her very core, Jeanne is still annoyed about having to rely on a master. A proud cat like woman that hates showing affection or even admitting that she likes people, she is always more then happy to mock, tease or otherwise inflict some kind of torment on that what she hates. Which depending on her mood can include liars, the pious, people that bother her, hypocrites, the English, people that believe in justice, honour, fairplay, etc and of course pacifists.

She is quite fond of the modern world though, not to mention people who are prepared to walk into hell by her side, accepting both who and what she is. More then a little fond of chaos, carnage and destruction, when she enters the battlefield she doesn't fight to win as much as she fights to annihilate anything that gets in her way, though shes not above wringing every last bit of pain and carnage from their bodies as possible when she has the time or doesn't want to kill the person in question.

Although she claims to be much happier in her current state and is quite fond of doing things that her 'original' would never consider, there is more of the saint left in her then she would like to admit. A self proclaimed dark hero that knows and accepts she is damned to hell, she secretly still considers herself on the side of good and god, even if she talks a big game about wanting to destroy humanity or whip the people that annoy her until she sees bone.

Good itself might disagree with the amount of chaos and destruction she causes, but it doesn't get a choice in the manner.

Class Skills

Riding A++

Creatures on the level of Phantasmal Beast and Divine Beast can be used as mounts, including members of the dragon kind

Magic Resistance: ?

Unknown

Personal Skills

Pyromancy: B+

The raging fires of the pyre that created her, held within her and yearning to be free. Jeanne Alter embodies the mystery of fire, may command it with but a thought despite no formal training in its use. Its manifestations from her body are more akin to the expressions of an Imaginary Demon's Reality Marble than magecraft.

Noble Phantasms

Name: Malédiction de la sorcière de dragon

Those that threaten France will be annihilated

Type: Anti-Unit (Self)

Rank: B

Description: The cursed banner of the demon witch, her rage and hatred transformed a formerly holy protective standard into the very enabler of her destruction. When invoked, the banner begins to glow the crimson of her rage, converting destruction into more mana for her to wield. A rather efficient phantasm that pays for its own cost, it is typically four times more beneficial then consuming human souls. As more mana is gathered, the banner begins to fill itself out, cruel mockeries of the awards her soldiers received in life to display proof of her 'glorious' victories. Once an appropriate level has been reached, she can begin supplementing her abilities with the surplus.

Name: Ville disjoncteur

Jargeau's Doom

Type: Anti-Fortress

Rank: A++

Description: The dreaded iron guns that laid waste to Jeannes enemies, even as the Saint Rider showed an uncommon affinity for cannons, utilizing tactics and techniques that many wouldn't match for hundreds of years. Now that her impossible darker self has been given reign, these techniques have been given a new life, manifested through her corruption into the form of a mighty iron clad dragon. In addition to the typical abilities possessed by a divine dragon, it can also batter opponents into submission from its destructive array of cannons mounted onto its back.

Further Skills, Details and Noble Phantasms remain hidden

@Bladestar123
@Azrael
@Druby
@Dekutulla
@TenfoldShields
@Deadly Snark

Deadly Snark · Aug 16, 2016

TenfoldShields said:
Lancer pushed against his spear, point buried in the earth, raw muscle straining as he heaved himself to his feet. Clumsily dragging his Master back up against him. Silent.

He spread his wings. Scarlet flames gathering beneath the mighty pinions, the edges a tattered, ragged, ruin.

In the wake of Archer's assault Saber, who had slowed down in order to avoid being caught in the divine arrows of Indian Mythology, brough his ride up to it's maximum speed. The shadowy comet trailing smoke and sparks as it moved ever closer to Lancer. Elias could feel the swordsman's intent behind the roars of the hidden vehicle and the smoky wave that was coming towards them. To finish them before Lancer could recover from his injuries and retreat.

A split second later, the darkness around Saber engulfed the draconian spearman and his young Master. Even the Magus's magic senses had trouble perceiving anything in the mist, and even less needed to be said of his normal senses. Under such circumstances, even with a Servant such as Lancer his chances of Survival were precarious. It would be down to the wire on whether Saber's opportunistic strike would be able to kill him or if Lancer's proven prowess as an protector would be eno-

Sucal said:
Rider was annoyed.

It was her usual state of mind, but the actions of the Lancer had enhanced it more then a little. People were supposed to move when she hit them with things, especially weapons that shouldn't have been expecting her to jump off and whack her out of the way. They weren't supposed to destroy Unit Gilles and put her summoners life at risk so quickly.

Maybe her mood was closer to pissed off, considering how the fires around her refused to die.

She wanted a pointy stick, and she would mount Lancers head upon it immediately after she worked out how to stop it dissolving after his death. The only real benefit to the situation is that it had become rather clear that his Summoner was completely useless, in comparison to hers who was only mostly so. Listening to him discuss how he had to waste some of her mana to keep himself alive. At least Lancers summoner didn't possess anywhere near that type of skillset from what she had seen of him.

Her face softened for almost a second when he moved in behind her, almost as if he was preparing to fight alongside her. It was only for a second however, since the world filled with light and she began to let loose a barrage of curses she picked up from the french soldiers. Raising her banner high, she spoke five words and gathered/generated as much flames as she could to and prepared a shield around herself and the summoner.

<If this doesn't hurt, then what I'm about to do really will>

Her banner was visible before Rider herself, the once tattered thing now containing awards of valor and glory. It was also glowing crimson, the same light reflected in all the destruction in the area. Rider wasn't looking much better, her armour shattered and broken in more then a few places, plus her sword hand was clearly not enjoying its best day.

She was also glowing crimson, as the light seeping out of the destruction began to flow into her body, replenishing and enhancing her supplies. It didn't however heal her, a task that was left for her mostly intact summoner to work out he was meant to do himself.

"Ville disjoncteur"

The world was filled with the scent of gunpowder and iron, as the crimson light flowed away from her and began to flow together into a massive form. The battlefield shook as it took its first step, the clanking of iron added to the sounds of devastation and the roar of the fourth servants bike. The manifestation of her hatred, her rage and her talents in life. A false dragon for a false servant, one that immediately grasped Archers location from Riders direction.

Even as she mounted it, dragging her summoner behind her, the fortress like armoured dragon almost seemed to smile..

Then the cannons opened fire at Archer.

Status

Class: Rider

Alias/Titles: Walking War Crime/Dragon Witch

True Name: Jeanne d'Arc

Alignment: Neutral Evil

Parameters

Strength: B

Endurance: C

Agility: B

Mana: A+

Luck: E

Biography

Appearance:
History: The fearsome english destroying witch dredged up from their worst memories and filtered through the grails corruption, Jeanne is well aware that her existence should be even more impossible then some of the other corrupted heroes. After a saint was said to be one too pure to possess any evil side, and by any regards her actions (if not her motivations) are as evil as they come. Three parts hatred, rage and desire, two parts english propaganda and a desire not to make the mistakes her 'pure' self once did, Rider is fighting for her right to exist.. and intends to enjoy every second of it.

Personality: Smiling, happy and completely filled with anger, rage and hatred to her very core, Jeanne is still annoyed about having to rely on a master. A proud cat like woman that hates showing affection or even admitting that she likes people, she is always more then happy to mock, tease or otherwise inflict some kind of torment on that what she hates. Which depending on her mood can include liars, the pious, people that bother her, hypocrites, the English, people that believe in justice, honour, fairplay, etc and of course pacifists.

She is quite fond of the modern world though, not to mention people who are prepared to walk into hell by her side, accepting both who and what she is. More then a little fond of chaos, carnage and destruction, when she enters the battlefield she doesn't fight to win as much as she fights to annihilate anything that gets in her way, though shes not above wringing every last bit of pain and carnage from their bodies as possible when she has the time or doesn't want to kill the person in question.

Although she claims to be much happier in her current state and is quite fond of doing things that her 'original' would never consider, there is more of the saint left in her then she would like to admit. A self proclaimed dark hero that knows and accepts she is damned to hell, she secretly still considers herself on the side of good and god, even if she talks a big game about wanting to destroy humanity or whip the people that annoy her until she sees bone.

Good itself might disagree with the amount of chaos and destruction she causes, but it doesn't get a choice in the manner.

Class Skills

Riding A++

Creatures on the level of Phantasmal Beast and Divine Beast can be used as mounts, including members of the dragon kind

Magic Resistance: ?

Unknown

Personal Skills

Pyromancy: B+

The raging fires of the pyre that created her, held within her and yearning to be free. Jeanne Alter embodies the mystery of fire, may command it with but a thought despite no formal training in its use. Its manifestations from her body are more akin to the expressions of an Imaginary Demon's Reality Marble than magecraft.

Noble Phantasms

Name: Malédiction de la sorcière de dragon

Those that threaten France will be annihilated

Type: Anti-Unit (Self)

Rank: B

Description: The cursed banner of the demon witch, her rage and hatred transformed a formerly holy protective standard into the very enabler of her destruction. When invoked, the banner begins to glow the crimson of her rage, converting destruction into more mana for her to wield. A rather efficient phantasm that pays for its own cost, it is typically four times more beneficial then consuming human souls. As more mana is gathered, the banner begins to fill itself out, cruel mockeries of the awards her soldiers received in life to display proof of her 'glorious' victories. Once an appropriate level has been reached, she can begin supplementing her abilities with the surplus.

Name: Ville disjoncteur

Jargeau's Doom

Type: Anti-Fortress

Rank: A++

Description: The dreaded iron guns that laid waste to Jeannes enemies, even as the Saint Rider showed an uncommon affinity for cannons, utilizing tactics and techniques that many wouldn't match for hundreds of years. Now that her impossible darker self has been given reign, these techniques have been given a new life, manifested through her corruption into the form of a mighty iron clad dragon. In addition to the typical abilities possessed by a divine dragon, it can also batter opponents into submission from its destructive array of cannons mounted onto its back.

Further Skills, Details and Noble Phantasms remain hidden

@Bladestar123
@Azrael
@Druby
@Dekutulla
@TenfoldShields
@Deadly Snark

And suddenly there was light and there was Fire.

A sudden ripple of mana, fury and flame exploded. Some was absorbed by the mist, but the sheer intensity of the phenomenon overcame the shadow and blew the parts behind Lancer and Elias away. Clearing their sights to allow them to witness the manifestation of the Great Wyrm in all it's violent glory. A mighty beast chained and armored in Iron, whose muscles rippled visibly under the plates and it's eyes aglow with dark intent.

So the magus was so preoccupied with the sight, that it took him a few moments to notice that there was no longer any dark miasma surrounding them. Then he did a double take as he registered the figure riding atop of a bike hidden in darkness that had parked casually right beside them, with no signs of incoming attacks.

Either not noticing or not caring for the man's astonishment, Saber began to talk. "Hmm, a Dragon." Pause. "It's been a while since I've had the 'pleasure' to face one. It seems that there is an far more important and far more dangerous foe right now."

@Dekutulla
@Bladestar123
@Azrael
@Druby

Sockpuppet · Aug 16, 2016

ZerbanDaGreat said:
"Oh he definitely has more Noble Phantasms up his sleeve. Do you have any idea how many legendary weapons Indian heroes get to just throw around? Just think. After all that work Susano-o went to, I don't even get to keep the Kusanagi. But the point being-" the little red fox Tamamo had become waved a paw "-that he seems to need time to nock various amounts of arrows in that bow of his. The only reason I'm alive is that he rushed it. As I said - if he shoots quickly enough that I can't get us to safety, it should be few enough arrows for me to block them. Should." The fox's shoulders slumped. "Indian Servants should be banned from the tier list."

She looked up as the runes' effects took hold. The deep gash across her shoulder blades stitched together in the span of an instant, her spiritual body all but reversing to its prior immaculate state. The bloodstain was all the evidence that remained. She fixed her Master with a funny look.

"Now what did you go and waste mana on that for, silly? I would have taken care of it myself once we left - I can handle a little scratch." She paused, grinning a foxy grin. "Sweet of you, though."

In answer to his other question, she inclined her head at the mirror hovering at her side. "Mhm. If we ever need to get out of a jam fast, just look for my mirror and jump at it. Trust me, it'll be your best bet."

"No amount of mana is wasted in keeping you in top condition. And trust I will. Now with that taken care of-," Jorg opened his hands wide, his elongated black fingers forming crown tips above his palms. From the ends of his glossy claws dripped ten thin streams of blackened sand. When a small pile a few inches tall formed on the ground, Jorg closed his hands into fists, ending the sand streams. He knelt on the asphalt and traced a line around the sand pile with one outstretched finger. The finger's claw bore through the asphalt cleanly, meeting practically no resistance. The thin circular incision made by the gesture began glowing with a faint blue light.

With the same finger, Jorg began carving runes into the sand pile directly. Perthro to symbolize birth. Sowilo to impart life. Ingwaz for growth. Hagalaz for destruction. Red light burnt into vision the shapes of the runes he traced. This combination was one that Jorg had often used for the creation of lethal familiars. Though runes certainly were not a magecraft that lent itself well to familiar construction, a temporary familiar could be made without difficulty. The sand quickly consumed the runes, collapsing around them in a raging sphere of whirling particles.

After a few seconds, the sphere calmed, stilling and splitting into five fly shaped familiars. Each fly was perhaps three centimeters in length and barely two in height; mere specks in this battle of grand scale. Extremely difficult to notice visually, as their dark shades and affinity with shadows would render them near invisible. What might give their presence away to the wary individual was the sound of their flying, but even that shouldn't be distinctly audible considering the chaotic cacophony of battle. Jorg cupped them in his palm. Despite being tiny things, the flies still brimmed with unstable magical energy. The sand particles they were made of vibrated intensely, making it seem as if they were to collapse at any moment.

Jorg, still kneeling, presented his familiars to Tamamo.

"Want to send a few parting gifts to one of the masters down there?" he asked, wondering if Tamamo would impart any additional curses onto the flies. Flies held an affinity with curses and the dark arts, being symbols of demonic forces. Much like how magi could bootstrap the concept of an angel onto unstable magecraft to stabilize it, Jorg chose the fly shape for the conceptual benefits mentioned above. Would Tamamo would implant these flies with more curses? Perhaps she could conceal them better? Jorg was curious to find out.

ZerbanDaGreat · Aug 17, 2016

It was hard to tell, but Tamamo seemed to be giving Jorg an approving look. Familiar-construction was child's play for most magi, let alone Casters, but her Master's strange bloodline held more than its fair share of novelty for her. She longed for a quiet moment without the constraints of the tiresome matter of the Grail War with which to explore the curiosity to her liking. But for now, she would do her best.

The kitsune breathed over the flies in one long, steady exhalation. Her breath was so heavy with magical energy that it fogged blue before Jorg's eyes. With it she cast a charm, a mantra and a curse. While they would not be invisible, the flies would seem to all but the most perceptive of onlookers to be nothing but common insects. Their little probosci, or whatever sandy stingers they had, would efficiently drain the magical energy from blood and gift it to the pair. And finally the tiny familiars buzzed as if they had been dunked in coffee and made to drink their way to safety. The power in their small bodies had quadrupled, fit to make them explode like fun-sized grenades when all other options ran out.

"There. Consider them blessed by your local shrine maiden. But make them something pretty next time," she said with a wink.

TenfoldShields · Aug 17, 2016

Druby said:
Elias' breath came in gasps, eyes taking in the view of the destroyed city, Lancer battered, and everything burning. A beat passed before Elias focused, channeling mana from his reserves towards Lancer in order to aid his recovery. Even with Lancer having pulled almost solely from his reserves not moments ago, Elias had always been a prodigal magus. It had certainly put a dent in his power but he had enough to spare for the moment especially if it was what was required for them to survive this. <We have to get out of here...> Elias whispered to Lancer telepathically, not trusting his voice at the moment. <There's... There's too much going on, too many people. Can you still fly?>

The clawed hand tightened, a bolt of pain shooting up Elias's side as curved claws broke the skin. Drawing scarlet trickles of blood. Nothing ruptured. Nothing shattering or splintering. But enough that it hurt. Enough that it shattered his concentration, breaking the flow of mana. Killing the drain. A few of the worst wounds mitigated. The torn edges softened and smoothed, but little else.

The flames roiling, seething beneath his wings. Building up to twin keening, screaming columns.

Sucal said:
"Ville disjoncteur"

The world was filled with the scent of gunpowder and iron, as the crimson light flowed away from her and began to flow together into a massive form. The battlefield shook as it took its first step, the clanking of iron added to the sounds of devastation and the roar of the fourth servants bike. The manifestation of her hatred, her rage and her talents in life. A false dragon for a false servant, one that immediately grasped Archers location from Riders direction.

Even as she mounted it, dragging her summoner behind her, the fortress like armoured dragon almost seemed to smile..

Deadly Snark said:
So the magus was so preoccupied with the sight, that it took him a few moments to notice that there was no longer any dark miasma surrounding them. Then he did a double take as he registered the figure riding atop of a bike hidden in darkness that had parked casually right beside them, with no signs of incoming attacks.

Either not noticing or not care for the man's astonishment, Saber began to talk. "Hmm, a Dragon." Pause. "It's been a while since I've had the 'pleasure' to face one. It seems that there is an far more important and far more dangerous foe right now."

As he pivoted.

Lance drawn across his body. Tip pointed at Saber's throat. Teeth bared and hair waving in the gale of displaced air that followed the fortress-beast's manifestation. Seconds passed, Lancer didn't reply. The thunder of cannons shaking the ground.

He nodded at Saber once, just once. And then beat his wings down.

A sphere of sand and grit so thick as to almost be a solid wall, collapsing into a rising plume that stretched over the street. Lancer a burning star high above on the ascent, acceleration ripping at his body. Mach cone-framing his snout, trailing from his horns. Vanishing into the night, first a silhouette, then a distant speck, then gone. The air screaming, streaming around him, the howl of his passage vanishing.

Swallowed up by the roar of Rider's guns.

Parameters
Strength: B
Endurance: B
Mana: D
Additional Parameters remain hidden.

Class Skills
Magic Resistance X: A skill that grants protection against magical effects. An innate ability of the Lancer class it has been subsumed by another of Lancer Alter's skills.

Personal Skills
Guardian Knight A+: This Servant receives a temporary modifier to parameters when acting in defense of others. A protector of numerous nations and expansive regions in life, Lancer Alter is capable of deriving effectively unlimited defensive capabilities from those who place their faith and expectations in him.

Mana Burst (Flame) B: A skill that infuses one's body and weapons with magical energy before expelling it in powerful and often destructive jets. Common to those blessed with draconic or divine lineage. This is a variant that imparts a flame effect, as appropriate to Lancer Alter's new physiology.

Saint A-: A skill bestowed upon those canonized by a religion. Though there is no longer any authority willing or able to heed Lancer Alter's prayers, such is his unshakeable faith that he may mimic the proper effects with his own mana stores, creating his own dark miracles and warped sacraments. Feelings of fear. Feelings of rage. A black rain that fosters shadows and obscures sight. Healing others with his own spilled blood. Evoking the sign of the cross and mantling himself in protection of an equivalent rank of Magic Resistance. Such things are within Lancer Alter's power.

Noble Phantasms
All Noble Phantasms remain hidden.

Dekutulla · Aug 17, 2016

Oh, what splendor! What an utterly lovely development. Grigor felt his face reddening, and it wasn't because of the flame's heat. If he had known that things would have ended up like this, he would have pierced Maeda's back and organized this war himself! On the other hand, if he had done that, would he have been able to be manhandled the way he was now? He had to enjoy it while it lasted!

Mana circulated through his nerves again, opening his senses. The mana wasn't spent, of course - it was just moved around, put in a more...sensitive vessel. Every bump, every shake, every misplaced ember...this was the heaven that Grigor had sought, all those years ago. This made up for every bland and banal meeting he'd been forced to endure in peace, all the boring posts and stations. All of it had led up to this moment, this peak. To think that even greater pains might still be lurking, somewhere in the shadows...well, Rider could find those too, couldn't she? They'd find them all together, in their little hidey holes, atop her gloriously jagged steed.

Grigor pulled himself up, kneeling in the place Rider had unceremoniously dumped him. He had not responded to her surprisingly thoughtful message, though he certainly felt the telltale fatigue of mana depletion. What remained cycled between his circuits and nerves; though the moment was over, another could happen when he was least expecting it! Not that she could tell, he thought - with the rough ride over, he was the very face of a stoic Church priest again.

...Aside from the lingering blush, at least.

@Sucal

Sockpuppet · Aug 18, 2016

ZerbanDaGreat said:
It was hard to tell, but Tamamo seemed to be giving Jorg an approving look. Familiar-construction was child's play for most magi, let alone Casters, but her Master's strange bloodline held more than its fair share of novelty for her. She longed for a quiet moment without the constraints of the tiresome matter of the Grail War with which to explore the curiosity to her liking. But for now, she would do her best.

The kitsune breathed over the flies in one long, steady exhalation. Her breath was so heavy with magical energy that it fogged blue before Jorg's eyes. With it she cast a charm, a mantra and a curse. While they would not be invisible, the flies would seem to all but the most perceptive of onlookers to be nothing but common insects. Their little probosci, or whatever sandy stingers they had, would efficiently drain the magical energy from blood and gift it to the pair. And finally the tiny familiars buzzed as if they had been dunked in coffee and made to drink their way to safety. The power in their small bodies had quadrupled, fit to make them explode like fun-sized grenades when all other options ran out.

"There. Consider them blessed by your local shrine maiden. But make them something pretty next time," she said with a wink.

Jorg felt her breath on his hand, and drove down an urge to pull back. The sheer amount of concentrated magical energy shocked Jorg, making it seem as if his hand had been hit with an electrical shock. His circuits were still open from his creation of familiars, and they flared up again in response to the sudden deluge of magical energy. Jorg tensed his hand, feeling his body temperature suddenly spike. The warmth spread from his hand to the core of his body in a rapid bloom, but just as rapidly as the heat came it subsided, leaving an empty chill behind.

The sudden cold snapped Jorg back to his duty at hand.

"Thank you, though I do have to say pretty is not something I have taken into consideration many times," replied Jorg. "Though I will have to admit I don't think we can make much use of the magical energy draining portion of your blessings."

Jorg flicked his hand, sending the flies airborne. They suddenly became animated, their little wings buzzing furiously into action. Jorg looked into his sentry rune again, and spotted an apt target. A priest standing behind his servant atop a gigantic metal dragon. He didn't question why a mecha dragon was there - he had seen enough already this night. The flies began circling upward before shooting out into the night at high speeds, their agility having been empowered by Tamamo. Jorg aimed to land just one on the priest while keeping the remaining four hovering above the danger zone. He watched as the lone little warrior fly zoomed in towards the priest, hopefully landing on his back where it would have the least chance of being spotted.

Wizard_Marshall · Aug 18, 2016

LostDeviljho said:
Julius nodded and lead the way upstairs out of his workshop and into the building he was using as his current base of operations. Removing his jacket from the coat-hook by the door, he shrugged on and set his hand on the door handle before pausing and glancing back toward Berserker. "You may wish to revert to spiritual form before we leave, in order to avoid attracting undue attention."

Berserker glanced at Julius, the way one would an insect. Was this punk trying to corral him? But his advice was sound. Berserker disappeared into the aether, acquiescing for now. Julius seemed to know his place, but Berserker would be watching for any warning signs.

As they made their way to the park, an enormous prana flared against Berserker's senses. Even though the source was far away, he could feel it like the sun blazing down on him at midday. This was likely a Noble Phantasm, but that's all he could surmise.

He almost didn't sense the two Servants nearby. They were closer, but their signatures were mere embers compared to the blaze in the distance. It was possible they sensed him on the edge of their senses, or they could've too immersed in combat to notice Berserker and Julius.

@BlackHadou @Mortifer

"Combat in the park," Berserker said, halting Julius. "And I feel a large prana surge far away in that direction." Probably too far for them to make a difference or gather any intel in time.

"Do you have familiars?" Berserker wanted nothing more than to charge in and feed on his foes, but he reigned in his hunger. He'd learned on the battlefield that knowledge was also power.

LostDeviljho · Aug 18, 2016

Wizard_Marshall said:
Berserker glanced at Julius, the way one would an insect. Was this punk trying to corral him? But his advice was sound. Berserker disappeared into the aether, acquiescing for now. Julius seemed to know his place, but Berserker would be watching for any warning signs.

As they made their way to the park, an enormous prana flared against Berserker's senses. Even though the source was far away, he could feel it like the sun blazing down on him at midday. This was likely a Noble Phantasm, but that's all he could surmise.

He almost didn't sense the two Servants nearby. They were closer, but their signatures were mere embers compared to the blaze in the distance. It was possible they sensed him on the edge of their senses, or they could've too immersed in combat to notice Berserker and Julius.

@BlackHadou @Mortifer

"Combat in the park," Berserker said, halting Julius. "And I feel a large prana surge in that direction, but its much further." Probably too far for them to make a difference or gather any intel in time.

"Do you have familiars?" Berserker wanted nothing more than to charge in and feed on his foes, but he reigned in his hunger. He'd learned on the battlefield that knowledge was also power.

Julius nodded. "I do."

Closing his eyes, he tapped his connection with the nearest of his familiars. With a thought, he sent the owl winging its way in the direction of the park, its passage silent as the grave.

Deadly Snark · Aug 19, 2016

TenfoldShields said:
As he pivoted.

Lance drawn across his body. Tip pointed at Saber's throat. Teeth bared and hair waving in the gale of displaced air that followed the fortress-beast's manifestation. Seconds passed, Lancer didn't reply. The thunder of cannons shaking the ground.

He nodded at Saber once, just once. And then beat his wings down.

A sphere of sand and grit so thick as to almost be a solid wall, collapsing into a rising plume that stretched over the street. Lancer a burning star high above on the ascent, acceleration ripping at his body. Mach cone-framing his snout, trailing from his horns. Vanishing into the night, first a silhouette, then a distant speck, then gone. The air screaming, streaming around him, the howl of his passage vanishing.

Swallowed up by the roar of Rider's guns.

Dekutulla said:
Oh, what splendor! What an utterly lovely development. Grigor felt his face reddening, and it wasn't because of the flame's heat. If he had known that things would have ended up like this, he would have pierced Maeda's back and organized this war himself! On the other hand, if he had done that, would he have been able to be manhandled the way he was now? He had to enjoy it while it lasted!

Mana circulated through his nerves again, opening his senses. The mana wasn't spent, of course - it was just moved around, put in a more...sensitive vessel. Every bump, every shake, every misplaced ember...this was the heaven that Grigor had sought, all those years ago. This made up for every bland and banal meeting he'd been forced to endure in peace, all the boring posts and stations. All of it had led up to this moment, this peak. To think that even greater pains might still be lurking, somewhere in the shadows...well, Rider could find those too, couldn't she? They'd find them all together, in their little hidey holes, atop her gloriously jagged steed.

Grigor pulled himself up, kneeling in the place Rider had unceremoniously dumped him. He had not responded to her surprisingly thoughtful message, though he certainly felt the telltale fatigue of mana depletion. What remained cycled between his circuits and nerves; though the moment was over, another could happen when he was least expecting it! Not that she could tell, he thought - with the rough ride over, he was the very face of a stoic Church priest again.

...Aside from the lingering blush, at least.

@Sucal

With a potential annoyance gone Saber released the shadow within himself once more and the battlefield was once again shrouded in darkness. The roars of an engine resonated deeply from within, loudly enough for both Rider and Grigor to hear it. The intention of the sound was clear enough. A message meant for them. A challenge towards the Fallen Saint and her False Dragon from a Failed Knight.

A gesture of respect? Or perhaps a threat? Well it mattered not.

After that, no sound could be heard from the depths of the fog. It was patently obvious that Saber was moving to the attack, but how to find him? How to see him in the shadows that he hid in.

Suddenly outof the corner of his eyes, the Dragon riders could see sparks inside. Ones that only persisted for a moment before vanishing. The Sparks of a blade marking the ground beneath it. There, again. And over here, up there, and there.

Saber was mocking them, provoking them.

TenfoldShields · Aug 19, 2016

Two fights tonight. Two thunderous, frenzied, clashes of metal on metal; mana pitted against mana. A few hours and already so much chaos. So much destruction and unremarked death. But not here, here it was still quiet. A little backyard garden, a little slice of nature walled off and carefully tended. A few shrubs and flower bushes waving in the evening breeze. Leaves rustling. Crickets chirped. A small pond babbled. The distant conflict little more than a few booming echoes and strange lights in the night.

Lancer hit it like a meteor. Earth cracking, dirt shooting up in a dusty plume, displaced air whipping out in a momentary gale. The branches thrashing, cracking. Quickly settling. The sounds of the night returned.

Hips to shoulders in the pool, tail tangled in a bush, head in a hollow of shattered stone and ruined statuary. Lancer lay on his back and stared up at the sky. Wordlessly he reached down to his chest. To the bundle of sweat soaked clothes and motion sickness huddled up against his scales. He lifted his Master by the scruff of the neck and set him on his feet.

The pond's waters slowly darkened. Fine tendrils of black seeping through the water. Lancer's body crisscrossed in wounds. Laced with ragged, scorched cuts. Stitched with broken, charred black arrows.

"Well. Master." His voice was wet and raw and rough. Bloody spittle leaked around his fangs, thick and viscous. "Thoughts on our first engagement with the enemy?"

@Druby

Sucal · Aug 20, 2016

Rider was angrily amused.

It appeared that the first loser had left the game, abet not mounted on her pointy stick. That made it much easier to take care of things here, especially now that the pesky Archer was either dead or keeping his head down. Just to ensure he wouldn't come back any time, she waved her hand, ordering the dragon to unleash another barrage in the same direction as the first. Worst comes to worst, she'd just have more energy flow into her, as the crimson aura once again flowed back into her body. Still, she shouldn't drag it out too long, despite the best efforts of the Rider wannabe to bait her into making a stupid move.

"Oh Oh oh, why don't I abandon my mount and come charging into the darkness? That sounds like an excellent idea!"

Although it couldn't talk, the fake dragon had its own response. Namely turning its head around and unleashing the full flood of its incendiary breathe. It was an almost pyroclastic flow, designed to flood not only as much of the darkness as possible but to cause plenty of collateral damage to feed its own existence. Sure, he might have theoretically had close to the same capacity of riding as her, but only a fool brought a bike to a Dragon fight.

@Bladestar123
@Azrael
@Dekutulla
@Deadly Snark

Deadly Snark · Aug 21, 2016

Sucal said:
Rider was angrily amused.

It appeared that the first loser had left the game, abet not mounted on her pointy stick. That made it much easier to take care of things here, especially now that the pesky Archer was either dead or keeping his head down. Just to ensure he wouldn't come back any time, she waved her hand, ordering the dragon to unleash another barrage in the same direction as the first. Worst comes to worst, she'd just have more energy flow into her, as the crimson aura once again flowed back into her body. Still, she shouldn't drag it out too long, despite the best efforts of the Rider wannabe to bait her into making a stupid move.

"Oh Oh oh, why don't I abandon my mount and come charging into the darkness? That sounds like an excellent idea!"

Although it couldn't talk, the fake dragon had its own response. Namely turning its head around and unleashing the full flood of its incendiary breathe. It was an almost pyroclastic flow, designed to flood not only as much of the darkness as possible but to cause plenty of collateral damage to feed its own existence. Sure, he might have theoretically had close to the same capacity of riding as her, but only a fool brought a bike to a Dragon fight.

@Bladestar123
@Azrael
@Dekutulla
@Deadly Snark

The fog burned. The workings of a Servant that was not a mage, not matter how mighty did not stand a chance against the fury of a Dragon. Even if this was a fake dragon, it was still close enough to the height of those supreme creatures that there was nothing Saber could do to stop the fires.

The dying roars of a bike rang out and blur flew out from the burning fire. From the perspective of Grigor the scene was akin to the emergence of an Horseman from hell. Saber's formed was exposed for the first time. Clad in full armor all over that might have once been magnificent to behold, yet it was hard to tell anything distinctive about it. Any details or heraldry that might have existed must have been burned off. The metal was charred in some places, and melting in others. Sparks of flame trailed of him, while lingering darkness flowed from the cracks and edges of his armor.

The bike farred much worse. A mere construct of the age of man untouched by magic, the divine or significant power of any sort, the moment it passed the fire it was finished. The melting metal, the overtaxed and overheated engines, it was too much. It exploded. The Fallen Knight had now lost his mount.

Yet the lost of his ride did not seem to concern Saber. Nor did his injuries seem to inconvenience him. His Sword was still shrouded in blackened mist despite it's passage through the fire, wherever it passed the flames lessened and in some cases died.

That was all Grigor saw before the smoke and debris created both by the massive damage originating from fire and the explosion once again blocked his sight, once again temporarily shielding Saber from prying eyes. A moment later, he heard a meaty and metallic thud, as he felt the Dragon shifting stances under him as if caught off guard and driven off balance by some blow.

His unasked question was answered by the rising black tendrils of smoke that seemed grafted to the Great Beast. It was Saber. He had used the Explosion to launch himself, while using the smoke created by the Dragon's own attack to catch it off guard.

Sudden roars of pain and fury almost shattered his eardrums in response. It was hard to tell whether it came from Rider's Mount or from Saber, or from the both of them.

Battle Continuation: ?
The Ability to keep fighting despite grievous wounds.

@Azrael
@Bladestar123
@Dekutulla

Dekutulla · Aug 21, 2016

Sockpuppet said:
Jorg felt her breath on his hand, and drove down an urge to pull back. The sheer amount of concentrated magical energy shocked Jorg, making it seem as if his hand had been hit with an electrical shock. His circuits were still open from his creation of familiars, and they flared up again in response to the sudden deluge of magical energy. Jorg tensed his hand, feeling his body temperature suddenly spike. The warmth spread from his hand to the core of his body in a rapid bloom, but just as rapidly as the heat came it subsided, leaving an empty chill behind.

The sudden cold snapped Jorg back to his duty at hand.

"Thank you, though I do have to say pretty is not something I have taken into consideration many times," replied Jorg. "Though I will have to admit I don't think we can make much use of the magical energy draining portion of your blessings."

Jorg flicked his hand, sending the flies airborne. They suddenly became animated, their little wings buzzing furiously into action. Jorg looked into his sentry rune again, and spotted an apt target. A priest standing behind his servant atop a gigantic metal dragon. He didn't question why a mecha dragon was there - he had seen enough already this night. The flies began circling upward before shooting out into the night at high speeds, their agility having been empowered by Tamamo. Jorg aimed to land just one on the priest while keeping the remaining four hovering above the danger zone. He watched as the lone little warrior fly zoomed in towards the priest, hopefully landing on his back where it would have the least chance of being spotted.

The flies did well not to be noticed. Among the din of the dragon and the sounds of destruction, Grigor could not hope to hear their buzzing. Amidst the smoke and flames, he could not hope to see them flitting through the ashes. But with mana running through his nerves, triggering at the slightest touch, the fly aiming to settle itself on his back could not hope to be unnoticed.

Grigor was in the middle of healing Rider when he felt it. Six light touches - an insect, he reasoned, or some particularly abused spider. He was about to dismiss it when he considered the fact that, despite his own safety, bugs were not on the whole more resistant to city block-engulfing flames than people were. It was rather odd, then, that one could have somehow survived and remained at the epicenter of the blast. Certainly, some may have simply been blown away intact-but this was implausible in the extreme. To try and smack it off of his back would be inconvenient, and likely impossible for someone with his flexibility; he'd just have to remove what the fly was attached to.

For a moment, the vestments flapped in the wind, before Grigor slapped them into the top of the dragon. He didn't know where exactly the fly was now, but as long as it stayed under the top it would be fine. "I will kill. I will let live. I will..." The rest of the Baptism rite faded into inaudibility as the priest muttered the rest of the lines as quickly as he could. There was a faint holy aura around the cloth, and then...nothing. Well, he reasoned, it wasn't a particularly flashy sacrament anyways; even if something had been destroyed, it wasn't as though there would be some sort of indication. He pulled the vestments away and stood, looking down at himself. He'd been trying to stay fit, in preparation for the war, and his efforts had payed off. He only looked sort of like someone who's occupation was sitting around talking to people.

Pulling his shirt back on, he called out to Rider. "Rider, I have just been targeted by a familiar. I believe there is yet another Servant out there-"

Deadly Snark said:
The fog burned. The workings of a Servant that was not a mage, not matter how mighty did not stand a chance against the fury of a Dragon. Even if this was a fake dragon, it was still close enough to the height of those supreme creatures that there was nothing Saber could do to stop the fires.

The dying roars of a bike rang out and blur flew out from the burning fire. From the perspective of Grigor the scene was akin to the emergence of an Horseman from hell. Saber's formed was exposed for the first time. Clad in full armor all over that might have once been magnificent to behold, yet it was hard to tell anything distinctive about it. Any details or heraldry that might have existed must have been burned off. The metal was charred in some places, and melting in others. Sparks of flame trailed of him, while lingering darkness flowed from the cracks and edges of his armor.

The bike farred much worse. A mere construct of the age of man untouched by magic, the divine or significant power of any sort, the moment it passed the fire it was finished. The melting metal, the overtaxed and overheated engines, it was too much. It exploded. The Fallen Knight had now lost his mount.

Yet the lost of his ride did not seem to concern Saber. Nor did his injuries seem to inconvenience him. His Sword was still shrouded in blackened mist despite it's passage through the fire, wherever it passed the flames lessened and in some cases died.

That was all Grigor saw before the smoke and debris created both by the massive damage originating from fire and the explosion once again blocked his sight, once again temporarily shielding Saber from prying eyes. A moment later, he heard a meaty and metallic thud, as he felt the Dragon shifting stances under him as if caught off guard and driven off balance by some blow.

His unasked question was answered by the rising black tendrils of smoke that seemed grafted to the Great Beast. It was Saber. He had used the Explosion to launch himself, while using the smoke created by the Dragon's own attack to catch it off guard.

Sudden roars of pain and fury almost shattered his eardrums in response. It was hard to tell whether it came from Rider's Mount or from Saber, or from the both of them.

Battle Continuation: ?
The Ability to keep fighting despite grievous wounds.

@Azrael
@Bladestar123
@Dekutulla

"...watching us."

Oh, Grigor thought, lying face first on the metal of the dragon. That was right, there had been a Saber, too.

@Sucal
@ZerbanDaGreat
@Deadly Snark
@Sockpuppet

Sucal · Aug 21, 2016

The force of the sword upon her mount was... rude. The knight of shadows or whatever he was appeared to have little or no manners, from the way it treated a far superior lifeforms and ruined what might have been a good bike. Sure, she was technically the one that ordered it destroyed, but if he hadn't dared to imitate her class, she wouldn't have had to crush it like so. Of course now that he was attempting to ruin her mount the same way, she would need to take offense to that. Now that her summoners 'heal' job had brought her back closer to full capacity, it was the perfect time to do so

Re-manifesting her sword as she dove from the dragon, she frowned even as she did her best to use the moment of the charge to impale him upon her pointy stick of a spear/banner. Things weren't progressing quite the way she liked, from the way her injured mount wasn't moving out of the swordsmens range like she wanted it to, to how both the archer and the saber had kept their masters hidden. Quiet cowardly that was. Summoning a brief burst of flames to hide her swords purple glow, she launched a small series of thrusts, attempting to poke a few more holes in him before the Saber could be healed.

Her summoners quick message made the situation suddenly seem a lot worse. Her mount was wounded, she was in melee range of a Saber, the Archer hadn't appeared again yet. Switching her noble phantasms and skills to run off her own supplies, she winced slightly.

<Keep a careful eye. If you see ANYTHING let me know>

She was also running out of things that could easily be destroyed. This wasn't a battlefield she would have chosen ideally. Yet another thing to blame her summoner for, right after she poked a hole or five in Saber.

@Azrael
@Bladestar123
@Dekutulla
@Sockpuppet

Fate/Alter Prototype [DEAD]

Happy

Daemon Noble of D E M O G R A P H I C S

Daemon Noble of D E M O G R A P H I C S

Lounging on a Hoard of Words

Daemon Noble of D E M O G R A P H I C S

The Devil’s Cut

Tryhard As Fuck

Daemon Noble of D E M O G R A P H I C S

Lounging on a Hoard of Words

Flame Dragon Princess

Tryhard As Fuck

Lounging on a Hoard of Words

The Devil’s Cut

Tryhard As Fuck

The Devil’s Cut