Fate/Revival

[Look to the Left]

Lancer smirked, "I suppose that works", he said as he idly spun the spear in his hand. "I'm going to take your face and wording to mean you have very little idea of what's going on, correct? Or perhaps you simply desired a champion other than the Knight of the Lance"

Lancer glanced around the room, noting books, a bed, a strange box his mind identified as a "Television", as well as a sort of sack hanging from the ceiling along with several other minor things before he turned back to his seemingly confused Master.

'She really is a tiny thing', he thought, 'Girl barely reaches my chest'.

Click to shrink...

"Former. It's the former..." Stay cool Satsuki, stay cool he, still hasn't tried to blow you into tiny bits or something. Best I be careful with my question. "Excuse me but... hehe... mind if I ask you about what a Holy Grail War is? I mean it says something about in this book but it's so old and worn down that I can't really get much out of that certain topic..."

 

[Takoe]

"Ahahaha! That's the spirit!" The real Archer cackled. Three of the clones ducked out of the range of Kazuma's opening swing, but one was unfortunately not quick enough and was caught across the face with fine upholstery that hit like a pickup truck and skidded across the floor a couple times before disintegrating into a shower of mirror-like shards that vanished into thin air. The head Archer gave a hum of approval while two of the remaining Archers circled around Kazuma to flank him and the last one kept his distance, observing their foe warily.

Click to shrink...

The clones turned out to be more fragile than Kazuma had anticipated, which was kind of a bummer if he were honest. The technique seemed like it would be useful in the War, but with durability like that it wouldn't be nearly as good. He didn't have much time to think the strategy for the War over though, lest he let himself be surrounded. So he dashed to the side, towards the kitchen area and through one of the clones, holding the couch sideways as to slam into him with the force of a bulldozer. The action would probably turn the couch into toothpicks, but he could always buy a new one once survived this.

 

[Nanimani]

Within a homely little house overlooking Fuyuki harbor, there was a decidedly abnormal scene. Inside a small one bed room, a summoning circle glowed with an eerie incandescence upon a wooden floor. It had a red tinge to it, a deep, corroded crimson in shade and comprised of countless inscriptions that the average eye couldn't decipher. They seemed like pictographs - the more mystically knowledgeable would say they appeared to be runes, but even then, they would be wrong.

Whatever the writing was, it seemed old. However, the one who wrote them was a young man who could barely pass for twenty. He looked down at his handiwork, a red dry-erase marker clutched in his hand. Using something permanent would make the people in the house mad: he was renting the place, after all.

He placed the marker down and wiped his forehead, swiping away a few stray locks of black hair to the side. His hair felt a little greasy, reminding him that he was a bit overdue for a shower. He couldn't really blame himself. Things had been busy. He'd only found out about the grail war a few days prior, so the past few days were a hectic mix of traveling and planning.

But that said, he was finally here, and now he was ready to summon his servant. He clasped his hands in excitement - would he finally find someone worthy to bestow the essence of his being to?

Taking in a breath to stem his anticipation, the man knelt down and focused, exhaling, his muscles relaxing as his body temperature spiked. His magic circuits opened, feeling like little pinpricks all across his body. A bead of sweat formed at his head, but he resisted the urge to wipe it down.

The summoning was more important.

"Heed my call," he said, whispering since he didn't want to disturb the homeowners. "Mighty hero of the past, hear my voice. If you are willing, then take my hand."

The dry erase circle crackled, arcs of red streaking around it in a chaotic dance. He worried that it was making too much noise, and the boundary field he had previously established only blocked magical energy from getting out, not sounds. His worries soon drowned away as the arcs started dancing to a rhythm, gaining order as they formed a swirl around the center of the circle, coalescing into a whirlpool of brilliant crimson.

An influx of magical energy escaped from his body. He felt lightheaded for a second, but his body - a relic of the age of gods - quickly recovered. With this, he knew he was successful. Someone, or perhaps something, was ready to step out of the whirlpool of magical energy.

Whoever it was, it had answered his call.

The call of the man named Odin.

@Nanimani

Click to shrink...

The call came, seeking no specific Heroic Spirit, simply anyone worthy of the name. This made it exceptionally easy to jump on. There was no need for any kind of infodump for him; after all, he already knew it. The idea of six, no, seven others trying to kill him made a Grail War like this not the best environment to simply stretch his legs and enjoy the modern era, but as a place to watch over someone's journey, it couldn't be beat. Would be a nice change of pace from simply observing humanity from his position, for a little while, at least.

The class, the class... Let's just call it Saber. No one ever gets on a Saber's case for not hitting things with a sword. And so, as the whirlpool of light reached peak brightness, Saber set foot to wooden floor with a creak. "Hello, Master. Merlin, at your service. I suppose you'll probably want to call me Saber, though?" White hair, reaching almost to the floor, swished behind him as he looked around the place with a smile. It wasn't much to look at, but finally, a change of scenery!

 

[Aodyssey]

"My apologies." She said, briefly lowering her head.

"Hmm. You possess capabilities fitting the Caster class? Ah, I see... we should probably assume there is already a Caster extant in this War then."

Click to shrink...

"That is a safe assumption, Master." Berserker said unevenly. He holds himself close as he walks, the breezy clothing unsuited for the island nation's cool night. He looked at the older woman in confusion. Has he misjudged her? For all his limited capabilities, he is quietly proud of his ability to read a person, yet the Magus has been nothing but polite.

With an obvious exception.

Regardless, maybe he should give her the benefit of the doubt...?

"Hey, Berserker. I have three possible approaches to this War, and there's something I need to confirm to see if one of them is any use. Would you be willing to participate in an... experiment of mine?"

Click to shrink...

"Certainly, Master." Berserker said, sounding much happier. His voice affects a lilting tone, and he spins around with a flourish.

"Heee. I messed up my introduction, but—

"I am Servant Berserker, your escort for this War. Your wishes are my command.

"Reasonable requests only though, Master." The familiar said, wagging his finger at her. "In modern parlance, you have to increase my relationship values before we do this or that."

He gave her a megawatts smile.

Eventually, she reached into her bag and pulled out a half-eaten chocolate bar covered in its wrapper. Taking it, she broke off the portion where she had bit into it, and offered the candy to her Servant, beginning to chew on the broken off portion.

"I'm just your average, run-of-the-mill washed up, dropout Magus. Well." She shrugs, "I guess I'm also technically the head of my family, but the position's actually held by some branch member by now. That or they're all dead."

Turning away, she resumed walking.

"I suppose I could tell you more about my family then. We're an old bunch, but from the Clocktower's perspective, we were just a bunch of foreigners bumbling around with an art we didn't fully understand. Can't say I agree with them, just because our methods are different doesn't mean we're savages. Anyway, I come from I land not too distant from your own. I don't know what dynasty you're from, but its likely you lived at around the same time as some of my earliest ancestors." She paused, looking over her shoulder.

"That is, unless I'm completely off-base on my assumption of your background. Do pardon me if I'm being presumptuous."

"So I spent most of my life at the Clocktower, England's branch of the Magus Association, and eventually I got kicked out. Didn't like me much I guess, not that I can blame them!" Anara laughed, seemingly finding the situation nothing but amusing.

"Well, in terms of my craft you could say I know the fundamentals, the stuff the Clocktower thinks everyone should know. My family's craft is one part Cursecraft to two parts Alchemy, I would say? I'm far from home here though, so don't expect too much from me on that front."

Click to shrink...

He took the proffered chocolate, nodding in gratitude. Biting into it bitter he barely stops himself from making a face.

Gulping down, he chided her lightly. "You should be more concerned about your family, Master. They are the only ones that survive your passing.

"An Aššur line, still alive and well in this era. Your ancestors were formidable people, Master, equal to the magicians in my court.

"But most of all, I'd like to learn your name. I must withhold my True Name here, outside your bounded fields, and putting aside the significance both our cultures placed on names—

"I'd like to know what to call such a beautiful woman."

Gigawatts.

She suddenly turned around without stopping, walking backwards while facing Berserker.

"What about you? Feel like sharing anything?"

Click to shrink...

"Ankh wedja seneb. Be alive, strong, and healthy. This is the promise of my station, the things I wished most for my people.

"In a certain sense of the word, I am the last Pharaoh. I ruled over a content people, with the able assistance of my retainers, before He comes." Clearing his throat, Berserker continues. Several kilometers away, his familiars bulged with excess magic from the feedback, dropping bloodlets that dissipates before it hit an unfortunate pedestrian's head.

"As you have guessed, I am the facet that was not the Heroic Spirit of Spells and Sorcery. I have certain suspicions about my template, but I'd like to keep that thought to myself for the time being.

"I will follow your lead, Master, but I'd strongly advise seeking an alliance. Perhaps by presenting myself as Caster to ward off suspicions?

"I — I would like to avoid the state of Mad Enhancement, as long as possible.

"My wish is to live. I would like to visit my home and see how it has grown in my absence."

 

[Azrael]

Your wishes are my command.

Click to shrink...

The woman in black smiles.

With that, her steps are taking them towards the small uninhabited house she had appropriated. It wouldn't be accurate to call it her 'workshop', but she could use the cover provided by her Bounded Fields.

Gulping down, he chided her lightly. "You should be more concerned about your family, Master. They are the only ones that survive your passing.

Click to shrink...

Anara shrugs noncommittally.

"Too late for that I'm afraid. I've cut ties with them, and lost most of my use to them anyway. After what happened, I wasn't worth much. After I went and... made some changes, I lost what little worth I had for them. The only thing I'd be missed for now is-"

She turned to face him, indicating her side under her coat.

"Well, this."

A brief thought sees a flare of energy pass through her circuits, causing what is obviously a magical implant to glow briefly. The Grail has likely filled Berserker in on the concept of a Magic Crest, and so he'd be able to make the connection.

"An Aššur line, still alive and well in this era. Your ancestors were formidable people, Master, equal to the magicians in my court.

Click to shrink...

"I will accept that compliment, though I imagine what I'm capable of will fail to meet the expectations set by my forerunners. The changing of the ages has seen most of our craft become... unreplicable. In the past our magecraft was a gift from our gods after all, now it is something entirely else."

"But most of all, I'd like to learn your name. I must withhold my True Name here, outside your bounded fields, and putting aside the significance both our cultures placed on names—

"I'd like to know what to call such a beautiful woman."

Click to shrink...

Anara stops.

She turns.

She stares blankly for a few moments.

"...Did I not do that?" She mutters, putting her hand on her chin and resting her elbow on her other hand. Judging from her furrowed brow, her surprise is genuine. After a moment, she moves her hands away and falls to her knees, head bowed.

"Do forgive my presumption, great king. This meager and pathetic magus would be honored to be of use to you. I may not be as able as the magi from whom you would normally seek counsel, but I would put forward my name nonetheless.

"This unworthy one is called Anara Ishteng, the current head of the Ishteng clan."

Introduction finished, she lifted her head, smiling. It was obvious the formal declaration was little more than a jest.

"Ankh wedja seneb. Be alive, strong, and healthy. This is the promise of my station, the things I wished most for my people.

"In a certain sense of the word, I am the last Pharaoh. I ruled over a content people, with the able assistance of my retainers, before He comes." Clearing his throat, Berserker continues. Several kilometers away, his familiars bulged with excess magic from the feedback, dropping bloodlets that dissipates before it hit an unfortunate pedestrian's head.

"As you have guessed, I am the facet that was not the Heroic Spirit of Spells and Sorcery. I have certain suspicions about my template, but I'd like to keep that thought to myself for the time being.

"I will follow your lead, Master, but I'd strongly advise seeking an alliance. Perhaps by presenting myself as Caster to ward off suspicions?

"I — I would like to avoid the state of Mad Enhancement, as long as possible.

"My wish is to live. I would like to visit my home and see how it has grown in my absence."

Click to shrink...

Standing and continuing to walk, Anara nods in acknowledgment.

"Unless you have an ability I am not aware of, lying as to your Class will only work if you remain unmanifested or at a distance... And I would prefer not to expose myself to a potential enemy on my own. As such, I will consider it when the dawn breaks and rule-abiding competitors are less likely to make overt moves."

"Hmm. In that case, if my experiments go well we will go with option B or C as our primary mode of engagement... Could you tell me exactly what magecraft capabilities you've retained?"

 

[God and the Snake]

If he'd been any closer to downtown, Makim might not have seen the smoke.

Fuyuki wasn't huge, even by his own rather outdated standards, but even at midnight it bled light like a sieve. If you lived downtown, you'd be lucky to see the moon in the sky, let alone the stars. Get out past the city limits and the street lights, though, and onto the roads that were still made of the same dirt they were when he'd came to Japan, and you could see the Milky Way for miles if you found a high enough hill.

He felt a distant pang of sadness at the thought as he pulled to the side of the road.

He'd come out here to escape the silence of his home for an hour and clear his head with Rider handled the business of ferrying his blades across the city with an almost unsettling glee (though that was Rider, generally), and caught sight... and whiff... of an acrid black smoke as he drove along the back roads of the agricultural district. Even now he could catch, just barely, coal black wisps against the moonlight.

Stepping out his truck, Makim weighed his options.

It didn't look like there was a fire at least, but smoke was still smoke. A distant inkling of concern that there might be magic afoot rose in his mind, but he quickly dismissed it: He knew old Haru, the man who owned this property, and knew that there wasn't a single whiff of magic in that field as well. It would be an odd duck magus to go summoning in a random field, particularly in the open.

It was probably some local kids out playing with fireworks past their bedtime, then. He could and probably should have called the cops... but, well, that'd just make more trouble for everyone.

After another moment of contemplation, Sereov Makim grabbed his emergency kit from the back of his truck, and pulled out a flashlight. He'd just go in and play the angry farmer, spook the kids (if there were any) off.

Flicking the flashlight on and making a fine ruckus, Makim waded into the field.

@Azrael
@Aodyssey

 

[Khawy]

Noticing the look that the throne gave her, Samantha couldn't help but offer it a similar look before going on to gather the few possessions she kept at this room, which were composed of a briefcase and a few cans of coffee. She made a mental note to return the keys to this apartment later on, if she survived this whole affair, and filed it away in her still reeling from this whole her Servant is very pretty, very gaudy and very noticeable partition.

"I imagine that you wish to move to a more mana filled area, and that's alright, but... I'm afraid that, unless you plan on becoming a monk and learning about buddhism, we won't have a lot of luck with the Ryuudou Temple." She then walked towards Caster and offered her one of the cans she had collected. It was still warm.

"Thirsty?"

Click to shrink...

Caster graciously accepted Samantha's offering. Taking a sip, tasting the flavor and absorbing everything it has to offer, the drink was acceptable. Still a lot of room to improve, but it was to be expected. She will have to do something about this down the line. However, the situation at hand was certainly more important than obtaining higher quality snacks and beverages.

"Yes, this Ryuudou Temple. It has to be that place. We are ready to compensate the wise and studious monks. However, we must make sure to convince them properly with the right words, lest they object to the arrangement. We trust that you have the persuasive ability to suffice for this task." Caster swirled the can in her hand, dark liquid whirling back and forth. "That place is necessary for the trials ahead of us."

Taking another sip from the can, Caster then handed it back to Samantha.

"Hold this for us, we won't be able to hold it in our spirit form. Our presence is too bright to not be noticed by the common people, it is unfortunate but we have to remain hidden." She said, fully intent on finishing the perfectly edible drink. It would be a waste if she didn't finish the offering from her Master. "We will walk with you, so have no fear."

With an assured smile, the sparkling ceased, and Caster and her serpentine throne disappeared to the aether.

 

[Asterion]

"Former. It's the former..." Stay cool Satsuki, stay cool he, still hasn't tried to blow you into tiny bits or something. Best I be careful with my question. "Excuse me but... hehe... mind if I ask you about what a Holy Grail War is? I mean it says something about in this book but it's so old and worn down that I can't really get much out of that certain topic..."

Click to shrink...

"Hmm, I suppose I could, but I should warn you that I wasn't a teacher in life so the explanation may very well be rather basic", Lancer said.

"There exists a ritual known as the Holy Grail War. In this ritual, Seven participants known as Masters are selected to fight over a wish-granting device called the Holy Grail", the spearman explained. "The seven Masters then proceed to enact various Ritual Summonings for the purpose of calling up a Heroic Spirit such as myself", at this he tapped his lance against his chest with a smile, "We are essentially copies of dead myths and legends, Kings and Warriors, Rogues and Wizards of ages past, empowered by our stories and deeds in the hearts of humanity. From our Summoning we are sorted into one of seven Classes dependent of our legends and what we would best align with: Saber, Lancer, Archer, Rider, Caster, Assassin, and Berserker.

"The Classes are all rather self-explanatory in terms of naming, Sabers being famous swordsmen, Archers being famous ranged combatants, Berserkers going insane at some point in their legend, etc. etc.", Lancer explained as he explored his Master's dwelling, inspecting various trinkets and crafts, skimming over books and opening drawers, ignoring his Master's flustered protests as he sifted through articles of clothing.

"Basically", he continued, "You entered yourself into one big Death Match for a Wish, whatever you want, and all that's in your way are six other people and the Superhuman killing machines they call Servants", he glanced down towards his Master's hand, "those Tattoos on your hand are called Command Spells. They're what identify Masters and let you control Servants, you get three Absolute Orders that I have to obey no matter my personal feelings on the matter, keep 'em covered and use 'em smart if you don't want to draw attention to yourself from the other Masters".

The Servant turned from where he'd been softly nudging the hanging bag back and forth and leaned against a wall, "So", he quirked an eyebrow, orange eyes watching the young woman with a sort of detached boredom but with a spark of interest, wondering what this girl, this Child was like that she could Summon one such as he without a catalyst of any kind, "Any other questions?"

 

[Azrael]

After another moment of contemplation, Sereov Makim grabbed his emergency kit from the back of his truck, and pulled out a flashlight. He'd just go in and play the angry farmer, spook the kids (if there were any) off.

Flicking the flashlight on and making a fine ruckus, Makim waded into the field.

Click to shrink...

@Aodyssey
Anara suddenly turned her head to the source of the noise. Had the owner noticed something and come to investigate? Berserker had complicated things when he destroyed her Bounded Field.

Well, an angry farmer wasn't much to be worried about. If he couldn't be persuaded away she would simply-

"Berserker, dematerialize now."

Right, if she was planning on not killing them it would make sense to have Berserker hide his presence.

Placing her hands in her pockets and standing straight, Anara walked forward to greet the newcomer.

 

[Aodyssey]

"This unworthy one is called Anara Ishteng, the current head of the Ishteng clan."

Introduction finished, she lifted her head, smiling. It was obvious the formal declaration was little more than a jest.

Click to shrink...

"Rise, Magician of Aššur. We recognize you of Our Court.

" !"

Berserker said, smilingly. He pulled her to her feet by her left hand, the contact glowing a soothing blue.

"I'll be relying on you, Master Anara."

"Hmm. In that case, if my experiments go well we will go with option B or C as our primary mode of engagement... Could you tell me exactly what magecraft capabilities you've retained?"

Click to shrink...

Quirking his head to the side, he considered.

"Luckily, my culture's system is very similar to the basics taught in the Magus Association. I can manipulate my element; 'Blood' in this container." He pursed his lips, seeming slightly unsatisfied. "And I can perform Familiar Creation."

A walking staff materialized in his hands and he twirled it around, seamlessly transitioning to a pliant form and wrapping around his forearms. In the silence, Anara could hear a soft cooing sounds.

Flicking the flashlight on and making a fine ruckus, Makim waded into the field.

Click to shrink...

"Berserker, dematerialize now."

Click to shrink...

Berserker disappears into the ether.

Makim could hear a hissing noise distinctively foreign to a species that live in this area.

 

[Mortifer]

"Well, Assass-erm, Hassan, is that fine?"

". . . I'm Carmine, no surname, here to represent Atlas among other things." Not that Atlas, itself, possesses any claims to the grail, or needs advocate to let alone speak for itself. "What I'm capable of? Magecraft, you mean? Curses and Bound Fields, and few other things, here, and there."

"As for a wish? . . . "

"It's. . . kinda stock, perhaps, but I do intend to use the grail to pry open a way to the root, and take magic back." A somewhat awkward chuckle escapes Carmine's lips.

"Hm, I wonder, do you possess one as well, Assassin?"

Click to shrink...

Hassan took a moment to respond to the question, as they took a moment to process the situation.

She merely wished to open a way to the Root?

How...

Well, it answered little, honestly. Assassin's Master had given a wish that offered no motivation, no hint at deeper meaning. Why did Carmine seek to take back a True Magic?

To avoid giving away how deep in thought they were, Assassin gave an answer.

"My Wish is not something I require the Grail for." The Servant responded. "The Grail War is merely a chance for me to be summoned once more, live in the world again, and achieve my wish during the War."

It was something trivial, to most, but one important to Assassin's heart. They had seen the trail of Heroes who had come after themselves, and had found them wanting.

"I want to correct a mistake." Assassin declared. "Nineteen Heroes took the name of Hassan-i-Sabbah. The teachings of the First had preached killing as a last resort, to be done if all else fails. Somewhere along the line, that was forgotten. What I seek from the Grail War is a chance to remind the world of the difference, between the Hassan that followed the word of the First and those who simply killed every obstacle they came across."

Underneath their mask, Hassan smile sadly.

"Forgive me, Master. If you were seeking an Assassin who would paint the streets red in the blood of your enemies, I have failed you already. You were my summoner, and I am bound to your will, but I shall warn you now. The legacy of the First matters more to me than your will. I shall not kill an enemy Master until every alternative has been extinguished."

 

[The Out Of World]

The clones turned out to be more fragile than Kazuma had anticipated, which was kind of a bummer if he were honest. The technique seemed like it would be useful in the War, but with durability like that it wouldn't be nearly as good. He didn't have much time to think the strategy for the War over though, lest he let himself be surrounded. So he dashed to the side, towards the kitchen area and through one of the clones, holding the couch sideways as to slam into him with the force of a bulldozer. The action would probably turn the couch into toothpicks, but he could always buy a new one once survived this.

Click to shrink...

The resulting impact of couch on magical apparition was a mutually assured destruction, smashing the clone into a shower of disintegrating shards as the expensive furniture was reduced to a shattered wreck in a small shower of splinters.

"You're not getting away that easy!" The last two clones cackled, one coming to a couch as the other jumped into his waiting hands, leaping off him as a springboard to move into a flying kick across the penthouse aimed at Kazuma while the final clone quickly followed suit on foot, fists raises and rearing up for a punch.

 

[Dexterity]

Caster graciously accepted Samantha's offering. Taking a sip, tasting the flavor and absorbing everything it has to offer, the drink was acceptable. Still a lot of room to improve, but it was to be expected. She will have to do something about this down the line. However, the situation at hand was certainly more important than obtaining higher quality snacks and beverages.

"Yes, this Ryuudou Temple. It has to be that place. We are ready to compensate the wise and studious monks. However, we must make sure to convince them properly with the right words, lest they object to the arrangement. We trust that you have the persuasive ability to suffice for this task." Caster swirled the can in her hand, dark liquid whirling back and forth. "That place is necessary for the trials ahead of us."

Taking another sip from the can, Caster then handed it back to Samantha.

"Hold this for us, we won't be able to hold it in our spirit form. Our presence is too bright to not be noticed by the common people, it is unfortunate but we have to remain hidden." She said, fully intent on finishing the perfectly edible drink. It would be a waste if she didn't finish the offering from her Master. "We will walk with you, so have no fear."

With an assured smile, the sparkling ceased, and Caster and her serpentine throne disappeared to the aether.

Click to shrink...

With a small, amused smile, Samantha held onto Caster's half-finished can of coffee and simply whispered a word to repair and seal the tab. She hoped that Caster wouldn't mind having to open it once more, but hey, keeping it warm was imperative.

"You know, if you dismissed your throne and walked around you'd fit right in. Well, as much as a really fashionably dressed person would." And so, with those words, she unlocked the door to the apartment and walked off, stopping for a second to lock it back up. Samantha had decided to simply trust that Caster would, hopefully, be able to convince the monks and so headed towards the temple, squeezing her briefcase's handle with her other, hoping to avoid meeting anybody she already knew. Although her previously reeling partition was already hard at work with excuses as to why, exactly, she was going towards the temple at this time of the night.

 

[Murderhobo of Nod]

@Mortifer
S-stop judging me, already. Carmine was hoping her masked Servant wasn't quietly condemning her already; yet, Assassin wasn't a Caster, let alone, a practitioner of Magecraft. Maybe her Servant just lacked that unique kind of awareness only miracle-workers possessed. Certainly, with Magic, real Magic, that is ---all the possibilities were quite. . . intoxicating.

"My Wish is not something I require the Grail for." The Servant responded. "The Grail War is merely a chance for me to be summoned once more, live in the world again, and achieve my wish during the War."

"I want to correct a mistake." Assassin declared. "Nineteen Heroes took the name of Hassan-i-Sabbah. The teachings of the First had preached killing as a last resort, to be done if all else fails. Somewhere along the line, that was forgotten. What I seek from the Grail War is a chance to remind the world of the difference, between the Hassan that followed the word of the First and those who simply killed every obstacle they came across."

Click to shrink...

No.

NO. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!

"Forgive me, Master. If you were seeking an Assassin who would paint the streets red in the blood of your enemies, I have failed you already. You were my summoner, and I am bound to your will, but I shall warn you now. The legacy of the First matters more to me than your will. I shall not kill an enemy Master until every alternative has been extinguished."

Click to shrink...

Are. You. Fucking. Serious?

What kind of sick joke, is this? ---An Assassin that despises murder? Ridiculous. Fuck those founding families, and their shitty lil' backwater grail system. . . the hell are we going to do if we face Saber, or heaven's forbid, Berserker? "Aaaaaand there goes the traditional approach to hell in a breadbasket, and yet, it's not even a single friggin' night in. Hoo-ray!" A long-suffering sigh then departs Carmine's lips.

Ideally, like any sane Master before her time; Carmine had wanted Assassin to eliminate the opposing Masters. Their Servants, without their walking prana batteries to feed them, would then (quietly) exit stage right. . . after presumably, some sort of thrashing, yelling and/or whining, on their parts. Sore losers, as they say? But this predicament leads to another, far more annoying topic that needs to be addressed.

"Hassan, please, enlighten me, wouldja? ----What exactly is a human life to you? Is it just honoring that legacy, or something more?" incidentally, Carmine had finished her drink, and poured another. Depending on Assassin's answer she might as well begin chugging from the bottle.

 

[Takoe]

The resulting impact of couch on magical apparition was a mutually assured destruction, smashing the clone into a shower of disintegrating shards as the expensive furniture was reduced to a shattered wreck in a small shower of splinters.

"You're not getting away that easy!" The last two clones cackled, one coming to a couch as the other jumped into his waiting hands, leaping off him as a springboard to move into a flying kick across the penthouse aimed at Kazuma while the final clone quickly followed suit on foot, fists raises and rearing up for a punch.

Click to shrink...

Little did they know that the Dragon of Fujimura was not bitch-made and certainly didn't run from fights. He'd been trying to get to the kitchen to grab a ladle or something, but, having thrown a glance backwards to see where the clones were at, with them in hot pursuit the countertop would have to do for his counter attack.

Kazuma leapt forward, landing on the edge of the counter top while kicking kicking backwards at the same time, the high ground allowing him to tag the first clone in the face before their flying kick could connect. The aim was to launch him back into the second clone and make them crumple up into a pile, ready for the follow up; Using the imbalance from the kick, Kazuma let himself fall backwards and jumped off towards the opponents. With a fierce yell and lot of mana behind it, he then elbow dropped into them, hoping that he wouldn't bust through the floor.

 

[Look to the Left]

"Hmm, I suppose I could, but I should warn you that I wasn't a teacher in life so the explanation may very well be rather basic", Lancer said.

"There exists a ritual known as the Holy Grail War. In this ritual, Seven participants known as Masters are selected to fight over a wish-granting device called the Holy Grail", the spearman explained. "The seven Masters then proceed to enact various Ritual Summonings for the purpose of calling up a Heroic Spirit such as myself", at this he tapped his lance against his chest with a smile, "We are essentially copies of dead myths and legends, Kings and Warriors, Rogues and Wizards of ages past, empowered by our stories and deeds in the hearts of humanity. From our Summoning we are sorted into one of seven Classes dependent of our legends and what we would best align with: Saber, Lancer, Archer, Rider, Caster, Assassin, and Berserker.

"The Classes are all rather self-explanatory in terms of naming, Sabers being famous swordsmen, Archers being famous ranged combatants, Berserkers going insane at some point in their legend, etc. etc.", Lancer explained as he explored his Master's dwelling, inspecting various trinkets and crafts, skimming over books and opening drawers, ignoring his Master's flustered protests as he sifted through articles of clothing.

"Basically", he continued, "You entered yourself into one big Death Match for a Wish, whatever you want, and all that's in your way are six other people and the Superhuman killing machines they call Servants", he glanced down towards his Master's hand, "those Tattoos on your hand are called Command Spells. They're what identify Masters and let you control Servants, you get three Absolute Orders that I have to obey no matter my personal feelings on the matter, keep 'em covered and use 'em smart if you don't want to draw attention to yourself from the other Masters".

The Servant turned from where he'd been softly nudging the hanging bag back and forth and leaned against a wall, "So", he quirked an eyebrow, orange eyes watching the young woman with a sort of detached boredom but with a spark of interest, wondering what this girl, this Child was like that she could Summon one such as he without a catalyst of any kind, "Any other questions?"

Click to shrink...

I stood there for a few minutes. Magical Death Match, wish grant granting device that bares the name of a certain Christian artifacts and a magic tatoo that I'm so totally not showing anyone... "Excuse me please Lancer, I uh... just need to release something." I grabbed a pillow from my bed and went out the door and into the bathroom. I closed the door, locked it , jiggled it a few times to see if it's closed. Nodding to myself, I mushed the pillow into my face and screamed with all my might. I must've stood there for several minutes before I had felt calm again. Well, actually I still wasn't calm I still have feelings of unimaginable horror but I felt better than before.

I went back to my room. Throwing my pillow at my bed. Normal, yes, maybe we should do something normal, yeah, like eating at the table. I still have some leftover dinuguan and I'm suddenly feeling hungry, must be all the stress. "Hey, Lancer you feeling hungry, I have some found downstairs... um... if you don't mind..."

 

[Sockpuppet]

The call came, seeking no specific Heroic Spirit, simply anyone worthy of the name. This made it exceptionally easy to jump on. There was no need for any kind of infodump for him; after all, he already knew it. The idea of six, no, seven others trying to kill him made a Grail War like this not the best environment to simply stretch his legs and enjoy the modern era, but as a place to watch over someone's journey, it couldn't be beat. Would be a nice change of pace from simply observing humanity from his position, for a little while, at least.

The class, the class... Let's just call it Saber. No one ever gets on a Saber's case for not hitting things with a sword. And so, as the whirlpool of light reached peak brightness, Saber set foot to wooden floor with a creak. "Hello, Master. Merlin, at your service. I suppose you'll probably want to call me Saber, though?" White hair, reaching almost to the floor, swished behind him as he looked around the place with a smile. It wasn't much to look at, but finally, a change of scenery!

Click to shrink...

"Merlin?" whispered Odin.

Even Odin, who came from a culture sphere foreign from the Arthurian mythos, knew the famous wizard's name. Even a member of the ignorant public would have a decent chance of knowing. To think that he had pulled forth a magus of such renown was quite a blessing - even more cause for excitement as surely a magus of such great renown would have a similarly great poise, some sort of incredible bearing with which he carried himself.

A perfect vessel for accepting Odin's life's work.

"Ah, sorry about that," Odin said. "I got a little lost in thought there. Still, though, it's a little interesting that you're a saber. Hope it doesn't rub you the wrong way or anything, but you're generally more known for flashy magic, wizard hat, long white beard and all that."

Odin gestured like he was waving away a stray thought.

"Anyways, where's my manners," said Odin, stretching out an open hand for a handshake. "The name's Odin. Looks like I'll be your partner in crime for this old gig. And by the by, I might be being pushy, but could you be quieter? Less creaking and all that - though I really can't blame you for that I suppose, the floor's the real culprit here. The tenants here would have way too many questions if they suddenly saw you up here."

 

[Wizard_Marshall]

Several kilometers away, his familiars bulged with excess magic from the feedback, dropping bloodlets that dissipates before it hit an unfortunate pedestrian's head.

Click to shrink...

After a night's work, Rider had been enjoying one of the modern age's marvelous wonders - the double bacon cheeseburger. Such a thing hadn't existed during his era, or at the very least where he lived. The masterful way the moist vegetables complimented the succulent bacon and beef patties was divine. Rider thought there was no way to augment this meal further, but his ignorance was proven by the revelation of ketchup and mayo. Such a hard choice. As he was caught between a rock and a hard place, his joy was defiled. He had been simply minding his own business, like a good law-abiding citizen, when some random bird decide to ruin his day by bleeding all over his meal. The thought of eating it anyway and pretending the blood was ketchup briefly passed through his mind before it was squashed with disgust. He wasn't some bloodsucking vampire. As much as it pained him, this culinary miracle was no longer salvagable and thus must be relegated to the trash.

After he disposed of his meal, righteous fury seized Rider's heart as he gripped the steering wheel so hard it was shaking. Meanwhile, the Vorhis gobbled down their share of bacon cheeseburgers in blissful ignorance. The sound of other people enjoying what he could not became a mocking symphony to Rider's ears. The bacon and beef eagerly being devoured felt like the world was sneering at him. Ah, were those gods still upset at him for his deeds? Were they conspiring against Rider all the way from the Reverse-side of the World? If only he had the money or time to make another food run, but alas, he was out of allowance and it was time to tuck the Vorhis in. There was only one path open to Rider: he must return home as soon as possible. It was not for the sake of asking for a raise; a wise king was not so petty. He had simply made a promise to his Master to return the Vorhis before their curfew. Yes. It was not rage that gripped the steering wheel but duty. But perhaps he may be forgiven if he complained to his Master about the injustice of the world.

 

[The Out Of World]

Little did they know that the Dragon of Fujimura was not bitch-made and certainly didn't run from fights. He'd been trying to get to the kitchen to grab a ladle or something, but, having thrown a glance backwards to see where the clones were at, with them in hot pursuit the countertop would have to do for his counter attack.

Kazuma leapt forward, landing on the edge of the counter top while kicking kicking backwards at the same time, the high ground allowing him to tag the first clone in the face before their flying kick could connect. The aim was to launch him back into the second clone and make them crumple up into a pile, ready for the follow up; Using the imbalance from the kick, Kazuma let himself fall backwards and jumped off towards the opponents. With a fierce yell and lot of mana behind it, he then elbow dropped into them, hoping that he wouldn't bust through the floor.

Click to shrink...

It was an impressive display, really. Few sights captured one's attention quite like a grown man beating the stuffing out of the elderly, let alone several old men at once, all while using one motherfucker to beat another motherfucker with the expertise of a person who's clearly had experience at this. That the geezers exploded into a cloud of showy special effects that if featured in a movie would drain most of the budget for that fight scene alone. Oscar bait at its finest.

As Kazuma got back up from the elbow drop that had completely obliterated two grown men with one strike, the original Archer approached him with two half-full glasses of wine in hand. A quick glance back at the kitchen area he just jumped off from revealed a very familiar bottle sitting on the countertop, one he received from his incredibly persistent brother in arms after a night of shenanigans that he didn't try too hard to remember, lest his blood pressure get any worse than it already had tonight. When did he...? No, best not to think about it. Chalk it up to magic and move on.

"Not bad." The old man mused, offering a glass to his Master. "You'll do. Care for a toast to our new business contract? If you have any questions, now is a good time to start asking them."

 

[God and the Snake]

@Aodyssey
Anara suddenly turned her head to the source of the noise. Had the owner noticed something and come to investigate? Berserker had complicated things when he destroyed her Bounded Field.

Well, an angry farmer wasn't much to be worried about. If he couldn't be persuaded away she would simply-

"Berserker, dematerialize now."

Right, if she was planning on not killing them it would make sense to have Berserker hide his presence.

Placing her hands in her pockets and standing straight, Anara walked forward to greet the newcomer.

Click to shrink...

"Rise, Magician of Aššur. We recognize you of Our Court.

" !"

Berserker said, smilingly. He pulled her to her feet by her left hand, the contact glowing a soothing blue.

"I'll be relying on you, Master Anara."

Quirking his head to the side, he considered.

"Luckily, my culture's system is very similar to the basics taught in the Magus Association. I can manipulate my element; 'Blood' in this container." He pursed his lips, seeming slightly unsatisfied. "And I can perform Familiar Creation."

A walking staff materialized in his hands and he twirled it around, seamlessly transitioning to a pliant form and wrapping around his forearms. In the silence, Anara could hear a soft cooing sounds.

Berserker disappears into the ether.

Makim could hear a hissing noise distinctively foreign to a species that live in this area.

Click to shrink...

Makim found two things when he breached the edge of the field.

The first was an overwhelming scent of blood that just seemed to linger across the field, like someone had left a truckload of pig iron unattended. Or a few corpses, but that was a much less cheery thought.

The second was an adult woman, eyes bloodshot and dressed in all black. She might've looked Japanese if you'd never stepped foot in the country, but Maks had been around the block enough times to sus out when someone didn't belong.

Honestly, he'd think she was scab if it weren't for the fact that no one in the family would be fool enough to wear all black; Operating in the city could be hard enough without looking like a goddamn cliche. And she seemed to old to still be going through 'a phase', which ruled that idea out like as not. His dismissed theory began seeming much more possible than he was comfortable with, even if he didn't let it show. Thus and duly concerned, Makim cautiously reached out and tugged at the things he kept back home and felt them make a beeline for the field. They wouldn't show up for a spell yet, though, so he couldn't avoid this conversation any longer.

"Weeeell~," the old man drawled, dragging out the single syllable. "You see a little lost there, miss," Makim shown the flashlight directly on Anara. "Must've made one hell of a wrong turn to get so far from the road."

He'd try and stall out the conversation and given his guardians time to arrive. No sense not playing it cautiously.

 

[Takoe]

It was an impressive display, really. Few sights captured one's attention quite like a grown man beating the stuffing out of the elderly, let alone several old men at once, all while using one motherfucker to beat another motherfucker with the expertise of a person who's clearly had experience at this. That the geezers exploded into a cloud of showy special effects that if featured in a movie would drain most of the budget for that fight scene alone. Oscar bait at its finest.

As Kazuma got back up from the elbow drop that had completely obliterated two grown men with one strike, the original Archer approached him with two half-full glasses of wine in hand. A quick glance back at the kitchen area he just jumped off from revealed a very familiar bottle sitting on the countertop, one he received from his incredibly persistent brother in arms after a night of shenanigans that he didn't try too hard to remember, lest his blood pressure get any worse than it already had tonight. When did he...? No, best not to think about it. Chalk it up to magic and move on.

"Not bad." The old man mused, offering a glass to his Master. "You'll do. Care for a toast to our new business contract? If you have any questions, now is a good time to start asking them."

Click to shrink...

Initially Kazuma still had his dukes up, prepared to keep fighting his Servant if that's what it took to get his respect. Of course he could have just used a Command Seal to avoid all this, and a more orthodox Master probably would have done just that if the first thing their Servant did was attack them. But Kazuma recognized a test when he saw one, which was confirmed by Archer's words and peace offering.

And thus he took the wine from Archer's hand and clinked with him. The wine's taste was a lot better than that man's taste in fashion at least, so that was a big plus. After taking that first obligatory sip he put the glass down for a moment to dust off his suit and ask his most burning question.
"How much were you holding back?" He knew that Servants were supposed to be stronger than the modern people, but he didn't know by what margin. If he had been seriously fighting him just now then that would be a world of difference from any other approach.

 

[Azrael]

"Weeeell~," the old man drawled, dragging out the single syllable. "You see a little lost there, miss," Makim shown the flashlight directly on Anara. "Must've made one hell of a wrong turn to get so far from the road."

Click to shrink...

Upon seeing the elderly man, Anara was somewhat cautious. Japan was not a diverse country, and this man did not look Asian, much less like a native. Most tourist destinations were in larger cities, and even though Fuyuki likely had some places of interest even in its more homely side- there was a temple, wasn't there? -it was not likely for a foreign man of advanced years to be touring them at night.

Thus, there was her response to consider. If he was as she suspected, a participant in the War, it would be best to either kill him here or, considering Berserker's suggestion, attempt to forge an alliance.

If he was not a participant, she could try to extricate herself from this some way... or just kill him.

Weighing the options, Anara opened her mouth to respond and then immediately re-examined her first instinct. She then rethought her second instinct.

Finally, after an obvious moment of silence, she looked at him with glassy eyes, then began to speak falteringly.

Her chosen course of action was-

"H-hey old dude... uh... where am I? Oh yeah uh... Shit I am fucked up, ha."

She stumbled a bit while walking towards him, staunching her flow of mana as best she could.

"Hey dude, have you, like, seen the others? We... we're all together like, a minute ago. Ahrun just ran off though, and the others... uh, aren't here anymore?"

As the woman approached him, Makim suddenly smelled something underneath the blood in the air. Alcohol. A lot of it.

Anara started to slur something else before slipping into Persian, then some english swearing was heard before she went back to clumsy Japanese.

She did manage to communicate she was going to head back to her hotel though, before stumbling off through the field.

 

[God and the Snake]

Upon seeing the elderly man, Anara was somewhat cautious. Japan was not a diverse country, and this man did not look Asian, much less like a native. Most tourist destinations were in larger cities, and even though Fuyuki likely had some places of interest even in its more homely side- there was a temple, wasn't there? -it was not likely for a foreign man of advanced years to be touring them at night.

Thus, there was her response to consider. If he was as she suspected, a participant in the War, it would be best to either kill him here or, considering Berserker's suggestion, attempt to forge an alliance.

If he was not a participant, she could try to extricate herself from this some way... or just kill him.

Weighing the options, Anara opened her mouth to respond and then immediately re-examined her first instinct. She then rethought her second instinct.

Finally, after an obvious moment of silence, she looked at him with glassy eyes, then began to speak falteringly.

Her chosen course of action was-

"H-hey old dude... uh... where am I? Oh yeah uh... Shit I am fucked up, ha."

She stumbled a bit while walking towards him, staunching her flow of mana as best she could.

"Hey dude, have you, like, seen the others? We... we're all together like, a minute ago. Ahrun just ran off though, and the others... uh, aren't here anymore?"

As the woman approached him, Makim suddenly smelled something underneath the blood in the air. Alcohol. A lot of it.

Anara started to slur something else before slipping into Persian, then some english swearing was heard before she went back to clumsy Japanese.

She did manage to communicate she was going to head back to her hotel though, before stumbling off through the field.

Click to shrink...

Of course. Of all the things to land on his plate tonight, it had to 'drunk tourists potentially dying bleeding to death in a field'. Without thinking, Makim stepped towards the woman and took her carefully by the shoulder. "Hey now, why don't you come back to the road with me? I can give you a ride back to wherever you're staying." After calling the police: From how bad the smell was, someone could've gutted themselves out in the wheat.

 

[Asterion]

I stood there for a few minutes. Magical Death Match, wish grant granting device that bares the name of a certain Christian artifacts and a magic tatoo that I'm so totally not showing anyone... "Excuse me please Lancer, I uh... just need to release something." I grabbed a pillow from my bed and went out the door and into the bathroom. I closed the door, locked it , jiggled it a few times to see if it's closed. Nodding to myself, I mushed the pillow into my face and screamed with all my might. I must've stood there for several minutes before I had felt calm again. Well, actually I still wasn't calm I still have feelings of unimaginable horror but I felt better than before.

I went back to my room. Throwing my pillow at my bed. Normal, yes, maybe we should do something normal, yeah, like eating at the table. I still have some leftover dinuguan and I'm suddenly feeling hungry, must be all the stress. "Hey, Lancer you feeling hungry, I have some found downstairs... um... if you don't mind..."

Click to shrink...

Lancer raised a brow at the muffled scream through the door. His Master didn't seem...overjoyed with the current situation. Not surprising really, from what little he'd seen in his short time back among the "Living" (if his current state could be called such), his Master was still young, a child really and the Modern World apparently didn't prepare them for the possibility of death the same way his time had.

In Lancer's life, death had been something that could happen at a moment's notice, from famine and plague to wars between neighboring kingdoms or even something like an animal attack, such occurrences were the norm and they had merely been the mundane causes, to say nothing of spiteful gods and scheming Magi.

Lancer focused once more as his Master returned to the room, slightly frazzled perhaps, but otherwise fine. As she offered food, Lancer spoke once more, "You needn't worry", he said as he slid into a relaxed position on the floor, "Servants like myself require no such thing as Human food. To be sure, we can partake in such a meal as we desire, but it provides no value to us. Rather, such a concern is handled by our Contracts with our Masters".

Lancer frowned and tilted his head, eyes narrowing in concentration. "Master", he questioned, "Tell me: What exactly do you know of Magecraft, and have you had your Circuits opened yet?"

 

[Mortifer]

"Aaaaaand there goes the traditional approach to hell in a breadbasket, and yet, it's not even a single friggin' night in. Hoo-ray!" A long-suffering sigh then departs Carmine's lips.

Ideally, like any sane Master before her time; Carmine had wanted Assassin to eliminate the opposing Masters. Their Servants, without their walking prana batteries to feed them, would then (quietly) exit stage right. . . after presumably, some sort of thrashing, yelling and/or whining, on their parts. Sore losers, as they say? But this predicament leads to another, far more annoying topic that needs to be addressed.

"Hassan, please, enlighten me, wouldja? ----What exactly is a human life to you? Is it just honoring that legacy, or something more?" incidentally, Carmine had finished her drink, and poured another. Depending on Assassin's answer she might as well begin chugging from the bottle.

Click to shrink...

"To take a life is to sin, Master." Assassin declared. "If it can be avoided, then it must be."

The Servant took a moment to observe their Master, before they continued. She seemed displeased by this development. Of course, that was natural, and they were at least getting the revelation out of the way before the conflict started.

"An Assassin does not win a Grail War by eliminating Servants, but by eliminating Masters." Assassin began, in an attempt of reassurance. "There is a difference between the two, beyond mere ability. A Servant has nothing to look forward to but the events of the Grail War. A Master has something to lose. A Master has something to fear."

Assassin raised their arm, and pointed behind the Master. The wall behind her, which was now riddled with throwing dirks. Perfectly positioned to make an outline of the Master's head against the wall, and one more where the left eye would be.

"A Master does not need to be killed. They simply need to become aware of how easily it could be done."