Fate/Hollow Order
Wade Garrett
Just trying to do the right thing
- Pronouns
- He/His/Him
[X] Try to convince Medea to come with you to Chaldea
-[X] She's going to die. If Caster, Medea...if she stays here, she dies. Just like Olga Marie. Just like you almost did and it's not fair, it's not right, you can't just leave her.
"If I..." And you have no idea what to say next. Your throat is burning with thirst and you're exhausted and you want just want to lie down and sleep for a week and you...you know dozens of spells, spells for wards, Bounded Fields, and protective barriers, hundreds of ways to keep someone safe and alive and you have absolutely no idea how to get someone to want to live but you have to try.
"If I loved someone and I..." Your stomach twists again and you taste acid, but you swallow and you keep going, "and I died, I'd want them...I'd want them to be alive and be happy, not...I wouldn't want them to just lay down and die, I'd want them to fight and go on and...." Your eyes are burning and your vision is blurring and you won't cry, you WON'T, "Medea, please, you have to, you have to come with us, you can't just...just die!"
-[X] She's going to die. If Caster, Medea...if she stays here, she dies. Just like Olga Marie. Just like you almost did and it's not fair, it's not right, you can't just leave her.
"If I..." And you have no idea what to say next. Your throat is burning with thirst and you're exhausted and you want just want to lie down and sleep for a week and you...you know dozens of spells, spells for wards, Bounded Fields, and protective barriers, hundreds of ways to keep someone safe and alive and you have absolutely no idea how to get someone to want to live but you have to try.
"If I loved someone and I..." Your stomach twists again and you taste acid, but you swallow and you keep going, "and I died, I'd want them...I'd want them to be alive and be happy, not...I wouldn't want them to just lay down and die, I'd want them to fight and go on and...." Your eyes are burning and your vision is blurring and you won't cry, you WON'T, "Medea, please, you have to, you have to come with us, you can't just...just die!"
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Omegahugger
Inattentive Idiot
[X] Try to convince Medea to come with you to Chaldea
-[X] She's going to die. If Caster, Medea...if she stays here, she dies. Just like Olga Marie. Just like you almost did and it's not fair, it's not right, you can't just leave her.
-[X] She's going to die. If Caster, Medea...if she stays here, she dies. Just like Olga Marie. Just like you almost did and it's not fair, it's not right, you can't just leave her.
Hyacinthium
Writing about sad cannibals as we speak.
- Location
- Bedroom
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Medea meeting her Lily counter part would be great. And it will never happen if she dies.
Nor will her reaction to endless Seibah summons. Unfortunately, I don't know which write in would be best in order to persuade her.
Nor will her reaction to endless Seibah summons. Unfortunately, I don't know which write in would be best in order to persuade her.
The Curious Fan
Perpetually sleep deprived
[X] Revlid
LostDeviljho
Flame Dragon Princess
- Location
- The glorious Pacific Northwest
- Pronouns
- Any
LostDeviljho
Flame Dragon Princess
- Location
- The glorious Pacific Northwest
- Pronouns
- Any
@Lord Marshal @Revlid
one of you should change the text in your actual vote lines. you both just have the same thing there, so the tally's counting you both for the same vote.
@Cavalier you just need some vote text, full stop. you don't have any so the tally's not picking you, or anyone who voted for you, up.
one of you should change the text in your actual vote lines. you both just have the same thing there, so the tally's counting you both for the same vote.
@Cavalier you just need some vote text, full stop. you don't have any so the tally's not picking you, or anyone who voted for you, up.
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I don't think Zerban actaully uses a vote counter? Maybe he changed, but from what I remember he goes through them by hand. Or, well, by eye, I guess? Eye guess that's my best guess.
Regency
PFP by vanathema (previously yubishines)
- Location
- Morioh Town, Mt. Ebbot
- Pronouns
- They/Them
I could be very wrong, but doesn't he use the write-in he likes best if no votes seem dominant?
EDIT:
[X] Cavalier
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[X] Revlid
Well, that's essentially the same thing, isn't it?
[x] Revlid
Chapter Eighteen: Safety
ZerbanDaGreat
Daemon Noble of D E M O G R A P H I C S
- Pronouns
- They/them
The world ripples around you, and time seems to distort, skipping back-and-forth. Flecks of ash that were here are now there, and you suddenly realize you've been inhaling for far too long, like you're stuck mid-breath. You suppose this is to be expected from a process that doggy-paddles above the waters of multiple separate Acts of Sorcery. A more pressing concern is at hand. You absolutely need to persuade Medea to accompany you to Chaldea.
As a magus, it's simply unacceptable to allow such an unparalleled source of ancient lore to pass away out of mere apathy. You'd never be able to forgive yourself if you let a resource, an artifact such as this slip from your grasp.
Even outside of her scholarly value, Medea is a potent magical weapon, a flying artillery battery equipped with the ability to refine any magical infrastructure by virtue of her Class and legend. If you are to resolve whatever plot the treacherous Uvall has unleashed on Chaldea, her aid would be invaluable.
And, of course, as a Hargrave it's naturally unacceptable to allow one of your charges to slip away.
Medea's survival is a matter of pride, both personal and familial.
Therefore, you'll have to persuade her.
"It's not over. You know that."
To those around you it must seem like you blurted the words out. You feel more like you've picked them to the bone, desperately turning the problem over in your head like a puzzlebox. Your first instinct was to appeal to Medea's pride as a magus, as one who walks with death — but she's no such thing. She was a princess, a witch by birthright, not pursuit. She sought happiness, not the truth, and was the dashed against the rocks of fate.
No, she's nothing like the academics of the Clocktower, nothing like Uvall and his obsession with the past. It's a blow at your pride to admit it, but this divine, elfin sorceress has more in common with the men and women you've met since arriving at Chaldea. Den of heresy though it may be, they had what you didn't — the drive to protect something. To protect everything, really. It pushed them to achieve impossible things, and Lev slaughtered them for it.
You wanted a cause, something to give yourself for... and you think you might have it. Of course, now you also want to wipe the dagger-toothed smile off that green-coated murderer's face. All you can do is hope she wants the same.
"Uvall got away. The Grail's gone, and the blackened Servants are gone with it, but... they were just tools. Servants to a Master who's still out there. He won't stop, you heard him yourself. Are you really content with that? Your retribution isn't over. Can you really give up here?"
You don't want her to.
"I... look, whatever Uvall is, he came here and he destroyed everything. He took everything, from the animals to the plants to the people to the- to the blasted atmosphere. What he couldn't destroy, he corrupted, turned into diseased puppets. The only thing that survived is... well, it's you. We beat him, but if you just vanish... he won here anyway. He destroyed everything. So-"
Your words pick up pace, becoming a babble, and you don't know if it's time dilation or a floodgate breaking before the impassive witch.
"We don't even know why he did all this. We don't know what he'll do next. Maybe he'll try again, attack Earth even further back. If he succeeds... then you won't even be a ghost. You won't be anything. None of us will. Everyone we've ever known, they'll just be... dusted away, so they never happened. I'm a magus, even before I'm a man, so I know history, and you can cherish it or resent it but it's a foundation, it's something you build on and learn from, it's not something you deny. You're not a ghost, Medea, you're as real as-"
The woman whose name you can't even bring yourself to say.
The shield weighs on your arm, no lighter than it should be. It feels like the weight of a life. "-well, as real as me. I suppose. Don't..."
You reach out with your other hand, skin scorched by burning red seals. Medea's already wicking away at the edges, like the empty gold-tinged core of a candle-flame. Will she just wait here until she dies and the last thoughts in this little world blink out forever? Too exhausted to take that one step into a future of her own?
"If you ever found anything of worth here, come with us. Or that bastard Uvall will sweep it all away. You may think you don't have a future, but I- I firmly believe you do. And if he wins, you won't even have a past."
She looks at you. The moment is stretching on into eternity, literally. You feel time in this bubble of false space distending, ready to snap. She looks and you and you can't read her, face and eyes hidden by shadow. You hope so desperately that she sees sense, that she accepts a contract and comes with you to the present. You hope and you wonder why, how you can be so passionate about something you knew nothing of only hours ago. Is this what it is to understand the weight of a life? Are these the stakes of protection?
She starts to lift her hand.
"Initializing Leyshift."
"No-!"
The hollow world ends.
***
How sweet are looks that ladies bend, on whom their favours fall
From them I battle till the end, to save from shame and thrall:
But all my heart is drawn above, my knees are bow'd in crypt and shrine:
I never felt the kiss of love, nor maiden's hand in mine.
***
"Leyshift complete."
You stumble free of your Klein Coffin, the door swinging out to its limit and bouncing back with a snap as you collapse onto all fours. You hear the metallic clunk as the edge of your shield hits the floor. The clang as the Grail in your right hand lands base-down heavily. It wasn't a dream. As much as you may wish it wasn't, it was all real. You really went back in time. You really became a Demi-Servant. You really claimed a Holy Grail. You really saw the end of the world. You really saw the woman who kept Chaldea afloat by her will alone...
Retching, gasping for air that seems almost freezingly cold after Fuyuki, you look around. The Leyshifting room has been repaired since you were there last. Not completely. You can see lines of fused, molten metal where panels were hastily replaced. You see some still missing, exposing jury-rigged wiring. You see scorch marks still staining every surface. You finally see the control room, the safe place where the Leyshift would ordinarily be triggered from. You see a brief flash of Einzbern's face through the toughened security glass before he dashes away from the controls, no doubt sprinting to meet the returning time-travellers. You see Marche step out of her Klein Coffin, coughing slightly. Four is at last beginning to stir in her arms, squeaking weakly. You see Luvia standing beside her own Klein Coffin, forearm against the cool onyx-like surface. You see the first of Chaldea's remaining staff to greet you.
"You're finally back!" Leonardo exclaims, ducking under the door in her haste. She stops dead in the centre of the room, turning this way and that. Scanning the room, as if hoping her quarry is simply hiding. At last she turns to Luvia. "Where... where is Lady Animusphere? Where is Miss Olga Marie?"
Luvia stares into her darkened reflection in the side of the Klein Coffin, unblinking. It's a long time before she finally replies. "Hargrave found the source of the anomaly. That Grail. Give him the passcode for TRISMEGISTUS' core and send him down there." And that's it. She steps away from the Klein Coffin and strides away, heedless of Leonardo's attempts to get her attention. The door slides open before her, Einzbern standing behind it with his hand still hovering over the keypad.
"Luvia-"
She walks past him, turns the corner, and strides out of sight. Einzbern turns to watch her go, mouth half-open in useless silence. He closes it again. The homunculus steps across the threshold. You see him cast his eyes around too, sharing Leonardo's vain hope that Olga Marie was simply pulling a cruel prank. His lips part as he tries to think of what to say. "You made it back in one piece, at least," he settles on.
"We did," Marche replies. It's a hollow assurance. She looks at you, and you look away rather than meet her gaze.
The air becomes solid beside you. A humanoid shape resolves itself out of sparkling motes of mana. Glossy black and lustrous gold. Rider, brought along back to the present with nary a hair out of place. The Servant slowly scans the room, his eyes alighting on Marche, Four, Leonardo and Alfons in turn. At last, he looks down at you.
"You did all that you could and more," he says.
You stand up. You look down at your arm, at all those Command Seals. All that power, useless in the end. Nine strokes of concentrated power, miniaturized packets of-
... nine?
Another shape resolves itself out of the air. It slumps, half-formed, like a translucent ragdoll. Collapsing against the side of a Klein Coffin and landing in a tangled heap on the floor. The door opens once more as it finds the last shreds of will it requires to solidify in earnest. Dr. Matou races in and sees Medea lying unconscious in a puddle of her own robes.
"What- Jesus Christ!" He jumps, his hand clapping down on Einzbern's shoulder for support. "H-How did she get in there!? Someone get her out of here! Servant, Rider or whatever, do somethi- oh my God why are you naked."
"I am not. I am wearing my armour, which happens to be made of my skin," Rider replies plainly. "And does an unconscious woman really pose a threat to you?"
"It's Medea," Einzbern replies seriously. "Possibly the most dangerous witch in the world. I've no doubt there are a hundred things she could do to us, even unconscious. We can't take any chances."
"She... she must have been lower on mana than she let on," you say at last. Your own voice sounds foreign to you. "She didn't expect to survive, so she didn't hold back. She'd be dead already if it weren't for the mana I'm giving her right now. She's not a threat."
"Not yet," Dr. Matou corrects you.
You look down at your arm. The last empty space has filled in. Your entire forearm, wrist to elbow, is marked with Command Seals. Nine pieces of irrefutable power. You did it. You saved her. You brought her through time and to the relative safety of the present. And now her history with the rest of the staff may make that all for nothing.
"Look, we'll..." Einzbern bites his lip. "We'll find a room for her. Contain her. Blunt her magic and weigh her down with Leonardo's Territory until we've figured out what we want to do."
"If treating allies like enemies helps you sleep easy," Rider remarks.
"Rider... please." You're exhausted. You can't keep it out of your voice. "Just... not right now."
For once, Rider obeys. Silence falls. Five of the people in the room simply stand mute as the sixth continues to breed fear and distrust with her mere presence.
"Master, may I be granted leave to familiarize myself with the facility?" Rider asks, breaking the silence.
"Of course. Whatever you want." You wave your hand dismissively. It feels like a weight's been lifted from your shoulders when the Servant disappears, becoming a formless cloud of massless mana that simply phases through the walls on its quest to explore.
"I should... go back to my room," Marche says at last. "Look after Four. He's been through a lot and I need to give him a checkup."
No one disputes the suggestion. She strides quickly across the room, pausing only to hit the control panel, and slips out as the door hisses open once more. It slides shut again. You slowly wheel around to look at the others, your arms hanging limp, your shield kept by your side by the strength of the straps alone. You're soaked in sweat and you feel like you've been forced to eat a litre of sand. You just want to fall asleep right there and then, collapsing like Medea and waiting for the pain to stop. They see it in your eyes and you see them see it.
"We won't keep you, Hargrave," Einzbern says, wisely taking the hint. "We've all... been through a lot. We need time to rest and process what's happened. Debriefing can wait until the morning. We'll handle Medea's... arrangements. For now, I only ask that you do what Luvia said and take that Grail down for analysis."
"Of course," you reply on autopilot. You start walking before you realize it. Leonardo offers you a sympathetic look as you pass. You keep your head down and just keep putting one foot in front of the other. Right now, you're reasonably certain that if you stop moving you're going to pass out. And then you'll be no use to anyone. You leave Einzbern and Matou and Leonardo to their own devices, and step through the doorway.
The window hasn't been fixed. The iron shutter is still down, robbing the ravaged control room of all natural light. Only the hastily-replaced artificial ones remain to illuminate it, to light the way to the lift. You follow the path like a sleepwalker, your body numb. Retracing the steps you took what feels like a year ago, stumbling along at Marche's side with a sucking wound in your gut. The previously blocked-off paths have been covered in opaque plastic sheeting, yellow warning signs erected. Chaldea's been cleaned up but not yet repaired, it seems. You check around you as you shuffle down the dormitory hallway. At least there are plenty of places left to lay your head. Small comfort.
You glance into the dining area, or 'mess hall' as you believe it's called. You see mundanes clustered within. There's no talking. Just the gentle clink of cutlery as they eat their meal of steak and mashed potatoes. Still in shock. You see heads starting to turn to you, the Demi-Servant who's been to hell and back. You quicken your pace. Attention is both unneeded and unwanted right now.
You find the lift again. At least that seems to have been spared the full wrath of the bombs. Or perhaps it was a priority repair. Either way, you press the plastic button and the doors slide open. You step inside, turn to the column of buttons, and raise your finger. Then you pause. You forgot to ask about the code, the location of TRISMEGISTUS' core. Then, all of a sudden, you feel the air distort beside you. It warps just like it did in Fuyuki and an illusion of Leonardo appears, her smile lacking its usual lustre.
"I'm so sorry I forgot to tell you while I was in the room with you," she says. "I was... distracted. Just press and hold the B5 button for five seconds. Then when the extra panel pops out, press '1-9-5-0'. Got it?"
You nod mutely. She inclines her head and disappears, no doubt laden with other tasks. You look down at the Grail in your hand. You crouch and carefully set the holy cup down on the floor of the lift and press the B5 button, holding it down for five seconds exactly as instructed. On the count of six, part of the steel cab siding slides away, exposing another small keypad. Numbered. Even you can do this. You carefully press the numbers in order, just as you were told. A little green light flashes, emitting a quiet beep, as it accepts the code. The lift descends. And descends. And descends. You squat and scoop the Grail up once more. To hold it now in your hand, to heft its golden weight, you can't help but feel disappointed. This is the object magi have been fighting and dying over for nearly two hundred years? It's just a cup.
You marvel at how exhausted and worn-out you must be to call the Holy Grail a cup.
The lift stops. The screen above the doors reads 'B6'. They slide open and you step through. It's nothing but a... hallway. A hallway of some kind of plastic, bleached so brilliant a white and lit from within brightly enough that it hurts to keep your eyes open. There are no corners, everything rounded and smooth. Somehow both angular and flowing. You follow the corridor straight ahead until it widens, swooping into a circular terminus. You see no machinery, sense no magecraft. You see nothing but a raised plinth, and a pillar of light within. You glance around, heft the Grail. At a loss as to what else you could possibly do, you place the Grail in the light.
You release your grip but the Grail remains in place. It hovers in mid-air, revolving slightly. And then, before your eyes, it begins to disintegrate. It looks just like how Olga Marie described Leyshifting, what you imagined was happening to your body. The light is tearing it apart piece by piece, stripping it down to nothing more than glowing golden particles, and absorbing them into the plinth. Soon, only the glowing magical core within the cup is left. Then that, too, is broken down and absorbed. Gold light flares through conduits you didn't see before, printing a circuit-like pattern upon every visible surface. The gold runs blue-green, blazing all around you. You back away from the plinth as it rumbles with power, as the air itself becomes saturated. Your eyes dart all around the featureless room, the 'magic circuits' printed over everything. If you didn't know any better you'd almost think that this was-
The air turns all-too solid before you. You back away, arm raised to shield your eyes from the light. You know what it is, yet you baulk at the impossibility. You felt no magecraft yet the Grail was used. A Servant, a new Servant, has just been summoned. This must be the legendary FATE system you've heard of. You lower your arm and gaze upon the figure kneeling amid the sparkling mana, rising up to full height. Taller than you.
The man's build is lithe, slender and sinuous and whipcord-like. His skin is deeply tanned by the sun, his features unmistakeably Asian. He wears surprisingly little, not even armour. To preserve his modesty he simply wears snakeskin-pattered cloth, thigh-to-waist. Across his shoulders is draped a robe, thin and almost gauzy, the pure white stark against his browned skin. His eyes are as red as cherries. You see no weapon with which to identify the newcomer.
"I ask of you; are you to be my Master?" His voice is soft and smooth, his words carefully chosen. As if English were his second language, albeit studied studiously.
"Yes," you say with more confidence than you feel. "I am your Master." And you're gaining legendary heroes of the past with alarming regularity. You look down at your arm, inspecting it closely for any sign of a change. Yet despite your best efforts, you see nothing. It seems your mysteriously-bestowed Command Seals have stopped at nine. You can't be too upset, you suppose. It's still triple what most Masters receive. Your eyes begin their journey back up to meet the Servant's, your lips parting to ask another question. 'What class are you, then?' springs to mind in particular. Yet you pause midway, leaving the man standing there waiting dutifully for your next words. Your brow furrows. You could've sworn you saw white fur out of the corner of your eye, somewhere around floor-level. Did Four wake up? Did he, somehow filled with energy after his extended loss of consciousness, follow you down the lift and into this room?
[ ] Speak to your new Servant. Try to assess his abilities and identity.
[ ] Go in search of that fur you saw. You've had enough of Four's tricks.
"Leyshift complete."
You stumble free of your Klein Coffin, the door swinging out to its limit and bouncing back with a snap as you collapse onto all fours. You hear the metallic clunk as the edge of your shield hits the floor. The clang as the Grail in your right hand lands base-down heavily. It wasn't a dream. As much as you may wish it wasn't, it was all real. You really went back in time. You really became a Demi-Servant. You really claimed a Holy Grail. You really saw the end of the world. You really saw the woman who kept Chaldea afloat by her will alone...
Retching, gasping for air that seems almost freezingly cold after Fuyuki, you look around. The Leyshifting room has been repaired since you were there last. Not completely. You can see lines of fused, molten metal where panels were hastily replaced. You see some still missing, exposing jury-rigged wiring. You see scorch marks still staining every surface. You finally see the control room, the safe place where the Leyshift would ordinarily be triggered from. You see a brief flash of Einzbern's face through the toughened security glass before he dashes away from the controls, no doubt sprinting to meet the returning time-travellers. You see Marche step out of her Klein Coffin, coughing slightly. Four is at last beginning to stir in her arms, squeaking weakly. You see Luvia standing beside her own Klein Coffin, forearm against the cool onyx-like surface. You see the first of Chaldea's remaining staff to greet you.
"You're finally back!" Leonardo exclaims, ducking under the door in her haste. She stops dead in the centre of the room, turning this way and that. Scanning the room, as if hoping her quarry is simply hiding. At last she turns to Luvia. "Where... where is Lady Animusphere? Where is Miss Olga Marie?"
Luvia stares into her darkened reflection in the side of the Klein Coffin, unblinking. It's a long time before she finally replies. "Hargrave found the source of the anomaly. That Grail. Give him the passcode for TRISMEGISTUS' core and send him down there." And that's it. She steps away from the Klein Coffin and strides away, heedless of Leonardo's attempts to get her attention. The door slides open before her, Einzbern standing behind it with his hand still hovering over the keypad.
"Luvia-"
She walks past him, turns the corner, and strides out of sight. Einzbern turns to watch her go, mouth half-open in useless silence. He closes it again. The homunculus steps across the threshold. You see him cast his eyes around too, sharing Leonardo's vain hope that Olga Marie was simply pulling a cruel prank. His lips part as he tries to think of what to say. "You made it back in one piece, at least," he settles on.
"We did," Marche replies. It's a hollow assurance. She looks at you, and you look away rather than meet her gaze.
The air becomes solid beside you. A humanoid shape resolves itself out of sparkling motes of mana. Glossy black and lustrous gold. Rider, brought along back to the present with nary a hair out of place. The Servant slowly scans the room, his eyes alighting on Marche, Four, Leonardo and Alfons in turn. At last, he looks down at you.
"You did all that you could and more," he says.
You stand up. You look down at your arm, at all those Command Seals. All that power, useless in the end. Nine strokes of concentrated power, miniaturized packets of-
... nine?
Another shape resolves itself out of the air. It slumps, half-formed, like a translucent ragdoll. Collapsing against the side of a Klein Coffin and landing in a tangled heap on the floor. The door opens once more as it finds the last shreds of will it requires to solidify in earnest. Dr. Matou races in and sees Medea lying unconscious in a puddle of her own robes.
"What- Jesus Christ!" He jumps, his hand clapping down on Einzbern's shoulder for support. "H-How did she get in there!? Someone get her out of here! Servant, Rider or whatever, do somethi- oh my God why are you naked."
"I am not. I am wearing my armour, which happens to be made of my skin," Rider replies plainly. "And does an unconscious woman really pose a threat to you?"
"It's Medea," Einzbern replies seriously. "Possibly the most dangerous witch in the world. I've no doubt there are a hundred things she could do to us, even unconscious. We can't take any chances."
"She... she must have been lower on mana than she let on," you say at last. Your own voice sounds foreign to you. "She didn't expect to survive, so she didn't hold back. She'd be dead already if it weren't for the mana I'm giving her right now. She's not a threat."
"Not yet," Dr. Matou corrects you.
You look down at your arm. The last empty space has filled in. Your entire forearm, wrist to elbow, is marked with Command Seals. Nine pieces of irrefutable power. You did it. You saved her. You brought her through time and to the relative safety of the present. And now her history with the rest of the staff may make that all for nothing.
"Look, we'll..." Einzbern bites his lip. "We'll find a room for her. Contain her. Blunt her magic and weigh her down with Leonardo's Territory until we've figured out what we want to do."
"If treating allies like enemies helps you sleep easy," Rider remarks.
"Rider... please." You're exhausted. You can't keep it out of your voice. "Just... not right now."
For once, Rider obeys. Silence falls. Five of the people in the room simply stand mute as the sixth continues to breed fear and distrust with her mere presence.
"Master, may I be granted leave to familiarize myself with the facility?" Rider asks, breaking the silence.
"Of course. Whatever you want." You wave your hand dismissively. It feels like a weight's been lifted from your shoulders when the Servant disappears, becoming a formless cloud of massless mana that simply phases through the walls on its quest to explore.
"I should... go back to my room," Marche says at last. "Look after Four. He's been through a lot and I need to give him a checkup."
No one disputes the suggestion. She strides quickly across the room, pausing only to hit the control panel, and slips out as the door hisses open once more. It slides shut again. You slowly wheel around to look at the others, your arms hanging limp, your shield kept by your side by the strength of the straps alone. You're soaked in sweat and you feel like you've been forced to eat a litre of sand. You just want to fall asleep right there and then, collapsing like Medea and waiting for the pain to stop. They see it in your eyes and you see them see it.
"We won't keep you, Hargrave," Einzbern says, wisely taking the hint. "We've all... been through a lot. We need time to rest and process what's happened. Debriefing can wait until the morning. We'll handle Medea's... arrangements. For now, I only ask that you do what Luvia said and take that Grail down for analysis."
"Of course," you reply on autopilot. You start walking before you realize it. Leonardo offers you a sympathetic look as you pass. You keep your head down and just keep putting one foot in front of the other. Right now, you're reasonably certain that if you stop moving you're going to pass out. And then you'll be no use to anyone. You leave Einzbern and Matou and Leonardo to their own devices, and step through the doorway.
Class: Shielder
Master: Rostam Hargrave
True Name: ??? / Rostam Hargrave
Noble Phantasm: ???/Lord of the Grey Grove
Keywords: Shield, Celtic
Strength: D
Endurance: B
Agility: E
Mana: C
Luck: D-->C
Skills:
Magic Resistance: B
Cancels spells of three verses in length or fewer. At this rank even rituals and High Thaumaturgy have difficulty affecting the target.
Guardian Knight: B
The skill of a hero whose strength lay in defence, not offence. Parameters momentarily rank-up while the user is acting solely to defend a person, equivalent to Mad Enhancement of the same rank.
Battle Continuation: C
A skill that governs ability to continue fighting at peak or near-peak efficiency as injury is sustained. At this rank, though injury may still cripple and debilitate, the user possesses a distinct knack for pushing through the pain should he apply himself.
[Host Interference Skill] Magecraft: C+
Aptitude for performing orthodox Magecraft. Rostam Hargrave is adept with his family Magecraft, and using his shield as a powerful Mystic Code allows him to magnify his spells to the level worthy of a Servant.
Further skills remain hidden.
Noble Phantasm(s):
Lord of the Grey Grove - False Phantasm Pseudo-Deployment: C
Rostam does not know the name of the shield in his possession, much less the name of the spirit who gave it to him. What he does know is his family Magecraft, his aptitude. By pushing himself to his limit and viewing the shield as a Mystic Code through the lens of his Magic Crest, he can deploy a facsimile of a Noble Phantasm that is essentially no more than a momentary boost that places his magecraft on the Noble Phantasm scale. Creates a front-facing fortress wall that will only break with Rostam's will.
All Noble Phantasms remain hidden.
Master: Rostam Hargrave
True Name: ??? / Rostam Hargrave
Noble Phantasm: ???/Lord of the Grey Grove
Keywords: Shield, Celtic
Strength: D
Endurance: B
Agility: E
Mana: C
Luck: D-->C
Skills:
Magic Resistance: B
Cancels spells of three verses in length or fewer. At this rank even rituals and High Thaumaturgy have difficulty affecting the target.
Guardian Knight: B
The skill of a hero whose strength lay in defence, not offence. Parameters momentarily rank-up while the user is acting solely to defend a person, equivalent to Mad Enhancement of the same rank.
Battle Continuation: C
A skill that governs ability to continue fighting at peak or near-peak efficiency as injury is sustained. At this rank, though injury may still cripple and debilitate, the user possesses a distinct knack for pushing through the pain should he apply himself.
[Host Interference Skill] Magecraft: C+
Aptitude for performing orthodox Magecraft. Rostam Hargrave is adept with his family Magecraft, and using his shield as a powerful Mystic Code allows him to magnify his spells to the level worthy of a Servant.
Further skills remain hidden.
Noble Phantasm(s):
Lord of the Grey Grove - False Phantasm Pseudo-Deployment: C
Rostam does not know the name of the shield in his possession, much less the name of the spirit who gave it to him. What he does know is his family Magecraft, his aptitude. By pushing himself to his limit and viewing the shield as a Mystic Code through the lens of his Magic Crest, he can deploy a facsimile of a Noble Phantasm that is essentially no more than a momentary boost that places his magecraft on the Noble Phantasm scale. Creates a front-facing fortress wall that will only break with Rostam's will.
All Noble Phantasms remain hidden.
Class: Rider
Master: Rostam Hargrave
True Name: ???
Noble Phantasm: ???
Keyword: Natural armour, light
Strength: D
Endurance: E
Agility: C
Mana: D
Luck: E- -->D
Skills:
Magic Resistance: D
Cancels hostile spells cast with only a single word or 'action'. Comparable to a protective amulet.
Riding: B
Most vehicles and mounts can be handled with above-average skill. However, Rider cannot master the likes of Phantasmal or Monstrous beasts.
Discernment of the Poor: A
An observational skill rooted in the ability of one of low birth to see through the pretty lies and half-truths that those of high birth clothe themselves in like those of Hans Christian Andersen's famous Emperor. Rider is able to discern the true intentions of nearly any person merely by observing them, whether it be in thought or deed. Powerful in both combat and conversation, and the source of his legendarily sharp tongue.
Further skills remain hidden.
Noble Phantasm(s):
Kavacha and Kundala - O Sun, Become Armour: A
A truly impressive always-active defensive Noble Phantasm. Though the armour manifests as golden plates bonded to Rider's body with plenty of gaps through which to strike his exposed body, its protection extends to every inch of his skin. It may once have possessed the capacity to bestow complete invulnerability, but as a Servant it blunts offensive strikes and magics by 90%. Though potent, this Noble Phantasm is a double-edged sword. While active, it 'reserves' 90% of Rider's available magical energy as upkeep.
Further Noble Phantasms remain hidden.
Master: Rostam Hargrave
True Name: ???
Noble Phantasm: ???
Keyword: Natural armour, light
Strength: D
Endurance: E
Agility: C
Mana: D
Luck: E- -->D
Skills:
Magic Resistance: D
Cancels hostile spells cast with only a single word or 'action'. Comparable to a protective amulet.
Riding: B
Most vehicles and mounts can be handled with above-average skill. However, Rider cannot master the likes of Phantasmal or Monstrous beasts.
Discernment of the Poor: A
An observational skill rooted in the ability of one of low birth to see through the pretty lies and half-truths that those of high birth clothe themselves in like those of Hans Christian Andersen's famous Emperor. Rider is able to discern the true intentions of nearly any person merely by observing them, whether it be in thought or deed. Powerful in both combat and conversation, and the source of his legendarily sharp tongue.
Further skills remain hidden.
Noble Phantasm(s):
Kavacha and Kundala - O Sun, Become Armour: A
A truly impressive always-active defensive Noble Phantasm. Though the armour manifests as golden plates bonded to Rider's body with plenty of gaps through which to strike his exposed body, its protection extends to every inch of his skin. It may once have possessed the capacity to bestow complete invulnerability, but as a Servant it blunts offensive strikes and magics by 90%. Though potent, this Noble Phantasm is a double-edged sword. While active, it 'reserves' 90% of Rider's available magical energy as upkeep.
Further Noble Phantasms remain hidden.
You glance into the dining area, or 'mess hall' as you believe it's called. You see mundanes clustered within. There's no talking. Just the gentle clink of cutlery as they eat their meal of steak and mashed potatoes. Still in shock. You see heads starting to turn to you, the Demi-Servant who's been to hell and back. You quicken your pace. Attention is both unneeded and unwanted right now.
You find the lift again. At least that seems to have been spared the full wrath of the bombs. Or perhaps it was a priority repair. Either way, you press the plastic button and the doors slide open. You step inside, turn to the column of buttons, and raise your finger. Then you pause. You forgot to ask about the code, the location of TRISMEGISTUS' core. Then, all of a sudden, you feel the air distort beside you. It warps just like it did in Fuyuki and an illusion of Leonardo appears, her smile lacking its usual lustre.
"I'm so sorry I forgot to tell you while I was in the room with you," she says. "I was... distracted. Just press and hold the B5 button for five seconds. Then when the extra panel pops out, press '1-9-5-0'. Got it?"
You nod mutely. She inclines her head and disappears, no doubt laden with other tasks. You look down at the Grail in your hand. You crouch and carefully set the holy cup down on the floor of the lift and press the B5 button, holding it down for five seconds exactly as instructed. On the count of six, part of the steel cab siding slides away, exposing another small keypad. Numbered. Even you can do this. You carefully press the numbers in order, just as you were told. A little green light flashes, emitting a quiet beep, as it accepts the code. The lift descends. And descends. And descends. You squat and scoop the Grail up once more. To hold it now in your hand, to heft its golden weight, you can't help but feel disappointed. This is the object magi have been fighting and dying over for nearly two hundred years? It's just a cup.
You marvel at how exhausted and worn-out you must be to call the Holy Grail a cup.
The lift stops. The screen above the doors reads 'B6'. They slide open and you step through. It's nothing but a... hallway. A hallway of some kind of plastic, bleached so brilliant a white and lit from within brightly enough that it hurts to keep your eyes open. There are no corners, everything rounded and smooth. Somehow both angular and flowing. You follow the corridor straight ahead until it widens, swooping into a circular terminus. You see no machinery, sense no magecraft. You see nothing but a raised plinth, and a pillar of light within. You glance around, heft the Grail. At a loss as to what else you could possibly do, you place the Grail in the light.
You release your grip but the Grail remains in place. It hovers in mid-air, revolving slightly. And then, before your eyes, it begins to disintegrate. It looks just like how Olga Marie described Leyshifting, what you imagined was happening to your body. The light is tearing it apart piece by piece, stripping it down to nothing more than glowing golden particles, and absorbing them into the plinth. Soon, only the glowing magical core within the cup is left. Then that, too, is broken down and absorbed. Gold light flares through conduits you didn't see before, printing a circuit-like pattern upon every visible surface. The gold runs blue-green, blazing all around you. You back away from the plinth as it rumbles with power, as the air itself becomes saturated. Your eyes dart all around the featureless room, the 'magic circuits' printed over everything. If you didn't know any better you'd almost think that this was-
The air turns all-too solid before you. You back away, arm raised to shield your eyes from the light. You know what it is, yet you baulk at the impossibility. You felt no magecraft yet the Grail was used. A Servant, a new Servant, has just been summoned. This must be the legendary FATE system you've heard of. You lower your arm and gaze upon the figure kneeling amid the sparkling mana, rising up to full height. Taller than you.
The man's build is lithe, slender and sinuous and whipcord-like. His skin is deeply tanned by the sun, his features unmistakeably Asian. He wears surprisingly little, not even armour. To preserve his modesty he simply wears snakeskin-pattered cloth, thigh-to-waist. Across his shoulders is draped a robe, thin and almost gauzy, the pure white stark against his browned skin. His eyes are as red as cherries. You see no weapon with which to identify the newcomer.
"I ask of you; are you to be my Master?" His voice is soft and smooth, his words carefully chosen. As if English were his second language, albeit studied studiously.
"Yes," you say with more confidence than you feel. "I am your Master." And you're gaining legendary heroes of the past with alarming regularity. You look down at your arm, inspecting it closely for any sign of a change. Yet despite your best efforts, you see nothing. It seems your mysteriously-bestowed Command Seals have stopped at nine. You can't be too upset, you suppose. It's still triple what most Masters receive. Your eyes begin their journey back up to meet the Servant's, your lips parting to ask another question. 'What class are you, then?' springs to mind in particular. Yet you pause midway, leaving the man standing there waiting dutifully for your next words. Your brow furrows. You could've sworn you saw white fur out of the corner of your eye, somewhere around floor-level. Did Four wake up? Did he, somehow filled with energy after his extended loss of consciousness, follow you down the lift and into this room?
[ ] Speak to your new Servant. Try to assess his abilities and identity.
[ ] Go in search of that fur you saw. You've had enough of Four's tricks.
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Wade Garrett
Just trying to do the right thing
- Pronouns
- He/His/Him
Zerban, you malevolent toying with my emotions f.....oooh, shirtless man in a snakeskin kilt. He must be from Scotland.
[X] Speak to your new Servant
Play us a mournful tune on your bagpipes, brae laddie.
[X] Speak to your new Servant
Play us a mournful tune on your bagpipes, brae laddie.
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- Location
- England, unfortunately.
- Pronouns
- She/They
Dayum, New servants up the wazoo here!
Edit: Red eyes huh? Okay, consider my curiosity piqued, which not-quite human hero did we summon this time.
Edit: Red eyes huh? Okay, consider my curiosity piqued, which not-quite human hero did we summon this time.
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Vanargand
So tired.....
I am more interested in Merlin somehow forcing Lord Camelot for some reason, because its Merlin so the servant was specified for some task