- Pronouns
- She/Her
[x] "Yeah. You may think I'm just a pet, but I'm your Master and I'll keep doing what I can do. Here and now, show me what you can do."
-
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Fate: the Granada Grail War (Fate/stay night)
- Thread starter meloncan
- Start date
- Fantasy
- Location
- Germany
[X] "Yeah. You may think I'm just a pet, but I'm your Master and I'll keep doing what I can do. Here and now, show me what you can do."
[X] "Yeah. You may think I'm just a nuisance who's in the way but we're partners. This is what I can do and I'm not ashamed of what I can't!"
- Pronouns
- She/Her
[X] "Yeah. You may think I'm just a nuisance who's in the way but we're partners. This is what I can do and I'm not ashamed of what I can't!"
Exterminatus
Tsukumogami User
- Location
- Southern California
[X] "Yeah. You may think I'm just a pet, but I'm your Master and I'll keep doing what I can do. Here and now, show me what you can do."
meloncan
Canned Melon
"Yeah. You may think I'm just a pet, but I'm your Master and I'll keep doing what I can do. Here and now, show me what you can do."
There's a few seconds' pause. The machine is putting your words spoken at the mic into their mind but you can't very well read it in return, or even see their expression.
<Very well. But don't regret it.>
"I won't."
And then the skin under your glove, under your command spells, crawls for just a moment. Far below in the distance, Caster materializes amongst the orange tiled rooftops and bounds across the city towards the eastern hills, spirit form phasing between near invisible and near material repeatedly along the way. All along the way, passers by glance up at the strange sounds reverberating through the narrow streets and alleys, only to see nothing but an indifferent night sky. The two Servants atop the mountain however, soon interrupt their battle and break apart, sensing the intrusion on a near instinctive level. Caster skips out of the buildings and up the slope from treetop to treetop, robes billowing around them. Magical energy thrums out of your being with every blurred footfall, drained and replaced by a thickening apprehension.
All you can do now is watch.
When they alight on the highest platform, the three Servants wordlessly form a triangle, the tension palpable between them as the monument's surviving lights flicker and buzz in the night.
Caster is presenting as the beautiful man you briefly saw silhouetted in the bedroom doorway a couple hours ago, features concealed or exaggerated by cosmetics, shape camouflaged beneath relaxed Chinese robes resplendent with numerous vibrant hues. Their hair is a solid, inky black and long, coming down past the waist after coming out of a traditional looking topknot.
The Lancer is a tall woman - taller than Caster - and likewise has waist length hair; hers is a splotchy and uneven dark brunette, the colour of dried bloodstains and with more than a touch of chaos along its length. Her body is well built without being overbearing and certainly better endowed; the form-fitting, full suit of mail leaves little of her shape to the imagination. She seems as much a warrior as any Servant, but her movements are, as far as is possible for a Servant, almost ordinary - certainly a little slower and less powerful than her opponent's. Her spear as well, seems remarkably unremarkable. The only thing that sticks out is her solid composure and unconcerned smile, steady enough to project only a professional admiration even whilst being pushed. Given the circumstances, you have to consider how much or how little she could be holding back but your uncertainty is hard to shake. No one who qualifies to be a Heroic Spirit is anything but an exceptional person. On the other hand, the Grail War is no longer the exclusive invitational event it once was but is almost a series of surprise parties held by, for all anyone knows, the world itself. On such short notice, even a powerful and established magus with connections and resources might not have the time to come up with a good catalyst and wind up with a 'weak' Servant.
Either she's a heroine known for being composed as iron, or she must be hiding something.
The remaining Servant is a man, handsome, perhaps an inch or two shorter than Caster and probably no heavier. Like Lancer, he's composed and in good humour but he has good reason to be. His movements are lightning quick and his sword thrums with power behind every thrust and swing. His buckle-adorned boots, pants and black longcoat flap in the wind, looking look like he picked them out yesterday from some tired teenage fashion outlet in the basement of a former factory; the sunglasses definitely aren't period. Between the weapon and his obviously high parameters and overall strength, especially against a Lancer of the knight classes, you're coming around to concluding that this Servant must be the Saber of Granada.
The only question now is who?
"And how about that," Lancer says. "Three in an evening. Well, I suppose this isn't a city full of subtle places. You don't seem like the Archer we were both poking around for though. In fact, if I'm not mistaken..."
"I know, Lancer," the Saber says. "Surely this is our Berserker."
Lancer tilts her head. You blink, behind your goggles. He's wrong, but you drift the drone nearer to try to hear his reasoning better.
Saber steps forward as Lancer takes a few steps back. Caster remains where they are but turns their gaze coolly on Saber as well. Step by step, their triangle deforms and stretches out until the next two opponents are face to face.
"My noble phantasm can gauge any opponent," Saber says. "It tells me that Big Sis here is weak of body but strong of heart. You on the other hand, are exactly the opposite."
"Quite an impudent scrap of iron then," Caster replies evenly.
"Mmm, am I wrong then? Well, you aren't Rider because I've already met her. However, if you aren't Berserker then aren't you in an unfavourable position regardless of which other class you are?"
"As it happens my Master has me here to collect a couple heads so why don't you find out for yourself?"
"Hear that, Saber?" Lancer said, smiling, spear across her shoulders. Now would you like to call it a draw?"
The Saber shrugged and unshouldered his sword, slashing through the air, once, twice with a ringing hum.
"I'm sure we'll have plenty of chances in the coming days, Lancer. As for you…"
The exchange occurred in a split second. Caster lowers themself, responding to the attack with a palm strike. Saber flashes forward, impossibly quick, splitting the evening wind with a sonic boom, sword outthrust and in the moment before impact, you recognize the blade from the replicas that still exist to this day in museums.
The sword of El Cid, Tizona!
Rodrigo Diaz de Vivar, or 'El Cid'. The man head and shoulders the most famous of Spanish heroes and an obvious choice of Servant for this Grail War - for a magus with the means at least. It was impossible to prepare and research for the Granada Grail War without coming across and entertaining the possibility of confronting him. He was most famous as a tactician and peacemaker across the religious divides of Spain at the time - perhaps strongest as a Rider - but with his famous swords Tizona and Colada, there was always the possibility of him being summoned as a Saber. It would be the natural fallback if the Rider class were no longer available.
You come to this realization. The hung moment just before Saber's thrust will pierce Caster seems to drag on and on. And then you realize that it is dragging on and on. His eyes are hidden by his shades but his teeth are gritted. Saber, and Tizona's tip, are halted dead in midair by the distortions in front of Caster's palm. The mana measuring instruments on your drones spike all the way up and then drop all the way back to zero as they overload. And then a great shockwave erupts outwards with a colossal thunderclap. Dust and rubble fly in every direction and Saber El Cid is thrust backwards, crashing through the low parapet and smashing into the mountainside.
What?
A shiver starts in your shoulders and propagates, unbidden to your fingertips and toes. True, El Cid isn't the sort of hero to be mentioned in the same breath as Herakles, Charlemagne or King Arthur but with the parameters of the Saber class and the boost from being in his home country, you might still have guessed him among the strongest Servants participating in the war. You blink out of your stupor and quickly review the frames you captured on camera.
There wasn't even contact. That was just the power of Mana Burst...
You lean forward unconsciously, jaw agape. Your hands go from gripping the armchair to, after a few moments to find it blind, to holding the edge of the desk in front of you. Even the rock steady Lancer loses her smile and takes a couple steps back.
Caster glides towards the edge of the platform, fingers delicatedly brushing stray locks of hair from their face. Saber clambers back to his feet and leaps back up to the top level, undaunted. He unleashes a flurry of blows, faster than he had against Lancer. But fast as he is, Caster is, absurdly, even faster. Their figure is a surreal blur of dodges and sidesteps and flying, outthrust hands and fingers, punctuated by the occasional deafening, high pitched impact. Ringing metal on metal even though one combatant seemed at first glance to be fighting empty handed. They steadily give ground - allow ground - until abruptly Saber is stopped again and forced to one knee, concrete and cobblestone cratering beneath him with a thunderous boom.
"Ugh!"
Barely visible in the flickering lights, red threads extend from Caster's fingers to a trio of needles each piercing Tizona's blade, entangling. Another half dozen lie crooked and bent, glistening on the ground, corresponding to the ringing blows that failed to penetrate.
"Hmph. Hard blade; squishy wielder. I knew a man once who could, without a doubt, be summoned as a Saber. Compared to him, all you westerners do is a lot of infantile flailing about.
No, it goes way beyond being 'hard' blade! Tizona is half of Saber's noble phantasm. If they can pierce it... That means every needle Caster throws is itself on the level of a minor noble phantasm.
Though his brow was furrowed and beaded with sweat, El Cid managed one last smirk and swiped off his anachronistic eyewear, revealing dark and sharp eyes.
Caster's eyes narrowed. Their fingers flickered.
Your drones' mana sensing instruments are still down but there's no mistaking the dual red and green glow of visible prana as a second sword appears in his left hand along with a massive surge of mana. The waves of energy slash through Caster's red threads in an instant.
Saber El Cid's noble phantasm - Tizona & Colada… Wait- No!
The blow does not come. The swirls of prana die away, ending the ruse, and instead gathers in Saber's legs.
"The skill Disengage! He's trying to escape!"
Red threads and silver needles lash out like a hundred little beams of light. There is a storm of plinks, tiny clatters and grunts of pain as El Cid's swords flash through the night. Broken and deflected needles rain down onto the shattered ground. Blood splatters all over the surface of the Silla del Moro, splashing from wounds and dripping from the threads suddenly piercing through Saber's limbs. But the swords keep cutting and then Saber bounds backwards and away, still trailing lengths of crimson thread from the holes pierced through him.
[ ] Try to tell Caster to chase Saber.
[ ] Try to tell Caster to face Lancer.
[ ] Let them do their thing.
There's a few seconds' pause. The machine is putting your words spoken at the mic into their mind but you can't very well read it in return, or even see their expression.
<Very well. But don't regret it.>
"I won't."
And then the skin under your glove, under your command spells, crawls for just a moment. Far below in the distance, Caster materializes amongst the orange tiled rooftops and bounds across the city towards the eastern hills, spirit form phasing between near invisible and near material repeatedly along the way. All along the way, passers by glance up at the strange sounds reverberating through the narrow streets and alleys, only to see nothing but an indifferent night sky. The two Servants atop the mountain however, soon interrupt their battle and break apart, sensing the intrusion on a near instinctive level. Caster skips out of the buildings and up the slope from treetop to treetop, robes billowing around them. Magical energy thrums out of your being with every blurred footfall, drained and replaced by a thickening apprehension.
All you can do now is watch.
When they alight on the highest platform, the three Servants wordlessly form a triangle, the tension palpable between them as the monument's surviving lights flicker and buzz in the night.
Caster is presenting as the beautiful man you briefly saw silhouetted in the bedroom doorway a couple hours ago, features concealed or exaggerated by cosmetics, shape camouflaged beneath relaxed Chinese robes resplendent with numerous vibrant hues. Their hair is a solid, inky black and long, coming down past the waist after coming out of a traditional looking topknot.
The Lancer is a tall woman - taller than Caster - and likewise has waist length hair; hers is a splotchy and uneven dark brunette, the colour of dried bloodstains and with more than a touch of chaos along its length. Her body is well built without being overbearing and certainly better endowed; the form-fitting, full suit of mail leaves little of her shape to the imagination. She seems as much a warrior as any Servant, but her movements are, as far as is possible for a Servant, almost ordinary - certainly a little slower and less powerful than her opponent's. Her spear as well, seems remarkably unremarkable. The only thing that sticks out is her solid composure and unconcerned smile, steady enough to project only a professional admiration even whilst being pushed. Given the circumstances, you have to consider how much or how little she could be holding back but your uncertainty is hard to shake. No one who qualifies to be a Heroic Spirit is anything but an exceptional person. On the other hand, the Grail War is no longer the exclusive invitational event it once was but is almost a series of surprise parties held by, for all anyone knows, the world itself. On such short notice, even a powerful and established magus with connections and resources might not have the time to come up with a good catalyst and wind up with a 'weak' Servant.
Either she's a heroine known for being composed as iron, or she must be hiding something.
The remaining Servant is a man, handsome, perhaps an inch or two shorter than Caster and probably no heavier. Like Lancer, he's composed and in good humour but he has good reason to be. His movements are lightning quick and his sword thrums with power behind every thrust and swing. His buckle-adorned boots, pants and black longcoat flap in the wind, looking look like he picked them out yesterday from some tired teenage fashion outlet in the basement of a former factory; the sunglasses definitely aren't period. Between the weapon and his obviously high parameters and overall strength, especially against a Lancer of the knight classes, you're coming around to concluding that this Servant must be the Saber of Granada.
The only question now is who?
"And how about that," Lancer says. "Three in an evening. Well, I suppose this isn't a city full of subtle places. You don't seem like the Archer we were both poking around for though. In fact, if I'm not mistaken..."
"I know, Lancer," the Saber says. "Surely this is our Berserker."
Lancer tilts her head. You blink, behind your goggles. He's wrong, but you drift the drone nearer to try to hear his reasoning better.
Saber steps forward as Lancer takes a few steps back. Caster remains where they are but turns their gaze coolly on Saber as well. Step by step, their triangle deforms and stretches out until the next two opponents are face to face.
"My noble phantasm can gauge any opponent," Saber says. "It tells me that Big Sis here is weak of body but strong of heart. You on the other hand, are exactly the opposite."
"Quite an impudent scrap of iron then," Caster replies evenly.
"Mmm, am I wrong then? Well, you aren't Rider because I've already met her. However, if you aren't Berserker then aren't you in an unfavourable position regardless of which other class you are?"
"As it happens my Master has me here to collect a couple heads so why don't you find out for yourself?"
"Hear that, Saber?" Lancer said, smiling, spear across her shoulders. Now would you like to call it a draw?"
The Saber shrugged and unshouldered his sword, slashing through the air, once, twice with a ringing hum.
"I'm sure we'll have plenty of chances in the coming days, Lancer. As for you…"
The exchange occurred in a split second. Caster lowers themself, responding to the attack with a palm strike. Saber flashes forward, impossibly quick, splitting the evening wind with a sonic boom, sword outthrust and in the moment before impact, you recognize the blade from the replicas that still exist to this day in museums.
The sword of El Cid, Tizona!
Rodrigo Diaz de Vivar, or 'El Cid'. The man head and shoulders the most famous of Spanish heroes and an obvious choice of Servant for this Grail War - for a magus with the means at least. It was impossible to prepare and research for the Granada Grail War without coming across and entertaining the possibility of confronting him. He was most famous as a tactician and peacemaker across the religious divides of Spain at the time - perhaps strongest as a Rider - but with his famous swords Tizona and Colada, there was always the possibility of him being summoned as a Saber. It would be the natural fallback if the Rider class were no longer available.
You come to this realization. The hung moment just before Saber's thrust will pierce Caster seems to drag on and on. And then you realize that it is dragging on and on. His eyes are hidden by his shades but his teeth are gritted. Saber, and Tizona's tip, are halted dead in midair by the distortions in front of Caster's palm. The mana measuring instruments on your drones spike all the way up and then drop all the way back to zero as they overload. And then a great shockwave erupts outwards with a colossal thunderclap. Dust and rubble fly in every direction and Saber El Cid is thrust backwards, crashing through the low parapet and smashing into the mountainside.
What?
A shiver starts in your shoulders and propagates, unbidden to your fingertips and toes. True, El Cid isn't the sort of hero to be mentioned in the same breath as Herakles, Charlemagne or King Arthur but with the parameters of the Saber class and the boost from being in his home country, you might still have guessed him among the strongest Servants participating in the war. You blink out of your stupor and quickly review the frames you captured on camera.
There wasn't even contact. That was just the power of Mana Burst...
You lean forward unconsciously, jaw agape. Your hands go from gripping the armchair to, after a few moments to find it blind, to holding the edge of the desk in front of you. Even the rock steady Lancer loses her smile and takes a couple steps back.
Caster glides towards the edge of the platform, fingers delicatedly brushing stray locks of hair from their face. Saber clambers back to his feet and leaps back up to the top level, undaunted. He unleashes a flurry of blows, faster than he had against Lancer. But fast as he is, Caster is, absurdly, even faster. Their figure is a surreal blur of dodges and sidesteps and flying, outthrust hands and fingers, punctuated by the occasional deafening, high pitched impact. Ringing metal on metal even though one combatant seemed at first glance to be fighting empty handed. They steadily give ground - allow ground - until abruptly Saber is stopped again and forced to one knee, concrete and cobblestone cratering beneath him with a thunderous boom.
"Ugh!"
Barely visible in the flickering lights, red threads extend from Caster's fingers to a trio of needles each piercing Tizona's blade, entangling. Another half dozen lie crooked and bent, glistening on the ground, corresponding to the ringing blows that failed to penetrate.
"Hmph. Hard blade; squishy wielder. I knew a man once who could, without a doubt, be summoned as a Saber. Compared to him, all you westerners do is a lot of infantile flailing about.
No, it goes way beyond being 'hard' blade! Tizona is half of Saber's noble phantasm. If they can pierce it... That means every needle Caster throws is itself on the level of a minor noble phantasm.
Though his brow was furrowed and beaded with sweat, El Cid managed one last smirk and swiped off his anachronistic eyewear, revealing dark and sharp eyes.
Caster's eyes narrowed. Their fingers flickered.
Your drones' mana sensing instruments are still down but there's no mistaking the dual red and green glow of visible prana as a second sword appears in his left hand along with a massive surge of mana. The waves of energy slash through Caster's red threads in an instant.
Saber El Cid's noble phantasm - Tizona & Colada… Wait- No!
The blow does not come. The swirls of prana die away, ending the ruse, and instead gathers in Saber's legs.
"The skill Disengage! He's trying to escape!"
Red threads and silver needles lash out like a hundred little beams of light. There is a storm of plinks, tiny clatters and grunts of pain as El Cid's swords flash through the night. Broken and deflected needles rain down onto the shattered ground. Blood splatters all over the surface of the Silla del Moro, splashing from wounds and dripping from the threads suddenly piercing through Saber's limbs. But the swords keep cutting and then Saber bounds backwards and away, still trailing lengths of crimson thread from the holes pierced through him.
[ ] Try to tell Caster to chase Saber.
[ ] Try to tell Caster to face Lancer.
[ ] Let them do their thing.
- Pronouns
- She/Her
[X] Let them do their thing.
- Pronouns
- She/Her
[X] Let them do their thing.
Blinktwice13
Underpaid Struggle Bus Attendant
- Location
- Eastern US
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] Let them do their thing.
- Pronouns
- She/Her
[X] Let them do their thing.
Don't want to get clingy.
Don't want to get clingy.
meloncan
Canned Melon
Let them do their thing.
Power overwhelming! We've got this. They've got this.
Caster leaps after Saber, arms raised, fingers splayed, face an icy visage of killing intent. Needles fly out in engulfing arcs, trailing scarlet lengths of thread beneath the moon, until a surging flash of solid red light engulfs Saber in midair. His body dissipates and vanishes as Caster lands amongst the torn rubble of the ruins' lower level, hands empty.
<A command spell. His Master had to scoop their dog out of trouble.>
"Yeah," you reply. "That's fair enough. Good work."
Actually, it wasn't all that fair. Normally, a Saber's high Magic Resistance makes them difficult even for a Servant's magecraft if targeted directly. Caster, however, didn't use magecraft at all. They fought only with martial arts enhanced with magical energy - a complete reversal of the norms. And on top of that, their sheer power. To just run into two Servants and force one of their Masters to expend a command spell without anything in return had to be a good result.
We really could win this. If I've really, actually summoned the strongest Servant. In that case...
<Hmph. 'Good work', is it?>
"It was stunning, Caster. You're strong. Way beyond what I expected."
<...>
They turn and jump back up to the level where Lancer still stands. She starts, backpedals a step and raises her hands quickly.
"Hey hey! My head's not worth very much! Shall we just call this a night? Maybe I can bribe my way out of this?"
She smiles with theatrical innocence and tosses over a paper bag, which Caster snatches out of the air with a glassy clang.
Wine?
Caster narrows their eyes.
"Hmph. The Throne of Heroes truly is rife with alcoholics."
"It takes one to know one," Lancer replies cheerfully, starting to back away. "When travelling, I always try to sample local varieties. Overall though, the wine of this era isn't so bad. I wouldn't mind a few extra days to try some more. If you would be so kind."
"I'll take this as worth your head for the time being," Caster says. "But perhaps not worth a command spell. Or is your Master not keeping track of you?"
"They are. Is yours?"
"Perhaps," Caster says. "I don't think it matters nearly as much for me as for you though."
"Well… It might matter more than you think," Lancer says, halting at the far parapets. Her back is up against the drop and her voice is even. "My Master would need to expend a command spell for me to survive, I'll concede that. I'm just a ho-hum Lancer as far as Servants go, to be honest. But. Maybe they won't use it to order me to escape. And unlike all them Celtic heroes, I wouldn't count on an Irish backstop for my Noble Phantasm. What my spear does can't be undone by snapping it in half. So. Will you let me go?"
[ ] Call Lancer's bluff.
[ ] Fold for the evening.
Power overwhelming! We've got this. They've got this.
Caster leaps after Saber, arms raised, fingers splayed, face an icy visage of killing intent. Needles fly out in engulfing arcs, trailing scarlet lengths of thread beneath the moon, until a surging flash of solid red light engulfs Saber in midair. His body dissipates and vanishes as Caster lands amongst the torn rubble of the ruins' lower level, hands empty.
<A command spell. His Master had to scoop their dog out of trouble.>
"Yeah," you reply. "That's fair enough. Good work."
Actually, it wasn't all that fair. Normally, a Saber's high Magic Resistance makes them difficult even for a Servant's magecraft if targeted directly. Caster, however, didn't use magecraft at all. They fought only with martial arts enhanced with magical energy - a complete reversal of the norms. And on top of that, their sheer power. To just run into two Servants and force one of their Masters to expend a command spell without anything in return had to be a good result.
We really could win this. If I've really, actually summoned the strongest Servant. In that case...
<Hmph. 'Good work', is it?>
"It was stunning, Caster. You're strong. Way beyond what I expected."
<...>
They turn and jump back up to the level where Lancer still stands. She starts, backpedals a step and raises her hands quickly.
"Hey hey! My head's not worth very much! Shall we just call this a night? Maybe I can bribe my way out of this?"
She smiles with theatrical innocence and tosses over a paper bag, which Caster snatches out of the air with a glassy clang.
Wine?
Caster narrows their eyes.
"Hmph. The Throne of Heroes truly is rife with alcoholics."
"It takes one to know one," Lancer replies cheerfully, starting to back away. "When travelling, I always try to sample local varieties. Overall though, the wine of this era isn't so bad. I wouldn't mind a few extra days to try some more. If you would be so kind."
"I'll take this as worth your head for the time being," Caster says. "But perhaps not worth a command spell. Or is your Master not keeping track of you?"
"They are. Is yours?"
"Perhaps," Caster says. "I don't think it matters nearly as much for me as for you though."
"Well… It might matter more than you think," Lancer says, halting at the far parapets. Her back is up against the drop and her voice is even. "My Master would need to expend a command spell for me to survive, I'll concede that. I'm just a ho-hum Lancer as far as Servants go, to be honest. But. Maybe they won't use it to order me to escape. And unlike all them Celtic heroes, I wouldn't count on an Irish backstop for my Noble Phantasm. What my spear does can't be undone by snapping it in half. So. Will you let me go?"
[ ] Call Lancer's bluff.
[ ] Fold for the evening.
Last edited:
- Pronouns
- She/Her
[x] Fold for the evening.
Blinktwice13
Underpaid Struggle Bus Attendant
- Location
- Eastern US
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[x] Fold For the Evening.
Better not to tempt fate. Self-depreciation doesn't always mean weakness.
Better not to tempt fate. Self-depreciation doesn't always mean weakness.
- Pronouns
- She/Her
[X] Fold for the evening.
strongly tempted to call the bluff but she is tremendously sus and we could stand to research first
strongly tempted to call the bluff but she is tremendously sus and we could stand to research first
- Pronouns
- She/Her
[X] Fold for the evening.
Would prefer to learn more about our opponent before we dive into combat with them, in this case.
Would prefer to learn more about our opponent before we dive into combat with them, in this case.