The Grail Works Mission Dossier (Discussion & Ideas)

[Vigilantia]

You going to do the origins of the Work's original War with Jalter? That's a... curious concept.

[Kieran]

It's tricky to do, I admit (*cough*understatementofthecentury*cough*), since it would basically be summed up as "Bluebeard wins the Fourth War - until he doesn't."

. . . Upon reflection, though, I may have to do it - or something similar. After all, we know that Shirou's Grail War was with an uncorrupted Grail, in order to create the Works; but in order to create the people we know who work there, the Fourth War has to have been at least close to canon - and so, as Ilya put it, why was the Grail still not corrupted as of the Fifth? To say nothing of having sufficient energy to manifest forty or fifty years ahead of schedule . . .

And, on a lighter note, the ending/continuation of the prior scene:





Kurai glanced at the paper - parchment? - she handed him, noting what briefly appeared to be elven characters before they shifted to English letters. He recognised the style from the Dungeons and Dragons' Player Handbook, even if he couldn't actually read them any longer . . .

Not that what the English words said made any more sense, once he actually realised what he was seeing.

In the tone of someone who really doesn't want to say it, but has to anyway, Kurai said slowly, "Did you . . . Actually read this?" Recalling a fact about the historical Joan of Arc, he hastily added, "Scratch that - can you?"

The blackened Servant's eyes narrowed to golden slits at the question. Her lips peeled back to show teeth as she demanded in a low, dangerous tone, "Why?"

Holding it by the tips of his fingers, careful to keep it as far from his body as possible, he handed her the contract. Only once she'd snatched it from his grasp did he actually answer her, in the voice of a man resigned to his execution.

". . . This is a marriage contract."

[Xamusel]

Hey, guys, my dad's celebrating his 70th birthday two days early. Just thought I'd share that as an explanation why I can't say more right now.

More will be forthcoming later this week about story progress.

[Xamusel]

...ugh. So much for the last part of the prior post. (/)_-) I feel like a complete dunderhead.

Now, however, I have a rather... strange idea come to mind. Namely, it refers to what limited knowledge I have on Elfen Lied, and that it would be a good idea to mess with the setting by having someone adopt Kaede/Lucy/Nyu... then have the pair of them hightail it out of there before things go from "crap" to "SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT!!"

[Kieran]

Arvandor
The Olympian Glades of Arborea, the Outer Planes








The Seldarine gathered, to wield their powers as they had not for dozens of millennia, though they were mere shadows of what they’d once been. They gathered, to heal a world, to lay a foundation for that world’s future . . . And in so doing, save a race of their children that, until recently, had been thought long since lost: the Ssri-Tel’Quessir, the dark elves who had become the drow, redeemed by sacrifice to become dark elves once more.

Unfortunately, that “race” represented a very small fraction of the drow; most of them remained corrupted by the demonic blood that had created them, to say nothing of the influence of their goddess, Lloth the Spider Queen. As such, they were at terrible risk—Lloth had never been one to take challenges to her rule over the drow lightly, and the Ssri-Tel’Quessir had earned her wrath when they had been drow elves, merely by worshipping her daughter, Eilistraee, over herself. That they had now disassociated themselves from the drow—and thus, from her—entirely . . .

No, Lloth would see that as an insult she could never bear. She—and by extension, her followers—would not stop until all traces of the Ssri-Tel’Quessir’s very existence had been utterly eliminated from the face of Aber-Toril. And that was not a fate that Corellon Larethian was prepared to countenance. Not in his role as leader of the Seldarine, the gods of the elven peoples, and not in his role as the Father of All Elves . . . Nor would he tolerate it as Eilistraee’s father, either.

His brilliant, beautiful daughter was gone—a great and terrible loss to a mortal elf, much less an immortal one. All that remained of her were the elves she’d sacrificed herself to save. He would not allow them to fall before Lloth’s evil.

Labelas Enorath knew this, of course. The Lord of the Continuum was, if not omniscient, as close to it as any god could truly claim to be. He had to be: the realms of fate, time and history were his to shepherd. He knew more of the future, and the secret workings behind it, than even Corellon himself—it was why he had allowed the solar to respond to the summons of a mortal, and grant the wish that mortal made. Because he knew what would have been the fate of the dark elves, without that wish . . .

“. . . You’ve gone to a great deal of trouble to arrange this, Labelas,” Corellon remarked. “Are we now to find out why?”

The scholar winced. He had thought he was being rather subtle, actually—he had to be, as he was working in realms normally forbidden even to deities . . . Or at least, deities of his level. It was normally restricted to Lord Ao alone; thus, he’d had to be exceedingly careful in his actions, lest he draw the Overgod’s attention—or worse, alert others to the existence of the path he’d used to reach those places. Only chaos could come from that . . .

“I merely sought to fulfill my duties as a member of the Seldarine, Lord Coronal, and protect a tribe of the mortals we oversee,” Labelas replied lightly. “That they are a tribe previously lost to the memory of any mortal living, and barely recalled even in history, made it a duty I thought required any and all efforts I could exert.”

And because, the god did not add, very soon now, as elves and immortals would reckon such things, the great upheavals that had plagued their world would culminate in a truly mighty cataclysm. And in response to that chaos, Lord Ao, the Overgod, would rewrite the very Tablets of Fate, changing the history and very nature of the Seldarine, but restoring the Realms to much as they had been before. Dead deities, including Eilistraee, would be restored to life; and the Dark Maiden would take up her work of attempting to redeem the drow once more—because the dark elves which had already been restored would cease to be, in any significant fashion.

The drow would be all that remained of them once more.

His task was to ensure that history was neither forgotten, nor altered. Labelas would not have stopped the Overgod from performing the act he would, even if he had possessed the power to do so . . . But neither did he wish for such a momentous event as the restoration of the true dark elves (as opposed to the drow, who were often referred to by that name) to be lost. It was an impossible dilemma, even for a god . . .

And in confronting it, he had discovered the existence of a Door—and what lay beyond it.

The mortals there were not yet prepared to deal with the scale of the problem that lay before him; not in the time which remained. But through them, he might be able to allow someone who was to act. And so, Labelas had sought a cat’s-paw, and made his transgressions—and the result had been everything he could have hoped.

“It is a truly beautiful world,” remarked Deep Sashelas—and as a god of beauty, as well as knowledge, magic, and the sea, he ought to know. “Perhaps the Alu-Tel’Quessir could benefit from it, as well?”

Labelas nodded. The sea elves were, in their way, as isolated from most elves as the dark elves would be, should they be returned to Toril. While they had no love for the drow, they had less history of conflict with them, as well; and as the world of Spira was mostly oceanic, such a world potentially offered them vast new territories, away from their traditional enemies. Likewise, they too would be less affected by the coming cataclysm—though not unscathed—and have less effect on it. Entire tribes of them could disappear, and not be missed in the histories—mostly because they would disappear, anyway.

“. . . Do you truly intend to kill the mortal, Lord Coronal?” inquired a feminine voice, and hearing it drew all male attention towards its source.

Hanali Celanil was the goddess of love and beauty among elves—their answer to the humans’ Sune Firehair, and a rival of Aphrodite, on the rare occasions when the Seldarine and the Olympians contested with one another. Her most common features, as now, were those of a sun elf: golden hair and eyes alongside porcelain-delicate features. She paired these with a body built to draw the eye, as her voice drew the ear—though she was not above taking other appearances, where and when she deemed it necessary; or simply for fun. She would hardly be the goddess of desire, otherwise.

Labelas coughed lightly. “He hardly seems your type, Hanali.”

The frown that crossed her features somehow failed to mar them in the slightest as she shot back, “He isn’t . . . Well, that half-elven aspect is kind of attractive, in a rugged sort of way—but there’s a human under it, and he’s not pretty at all.”

“Does he have a lover, then? Or perhaps he possesses some especial talent for artisanship?”

She snorted delicately, her expression answer enough.

Now it was Corellon’s turn to frown, as he understood the point Labelas was making. “Then what is your interest, Hanali? Gentle though you are, it’s unusual for you to be so concerned over the fate of a mortal—and a human, at that.”

“I’m concerned because he does love,” she answered. “That is at the core of this: that he is willing to die because he loved Eilistraee, in his fashion, as he loves all elves.” She shrugged. “It’s not romantic love, really—little more than the wondrous fascination we evoke in humanity. To some extent, that’s also true of Spira itself, and of those people he works for . . . But given the service that he’s performing for us in its name, I would find his death to be a poor repayment of that love.”

“So long as his resolve holds,” Corellon replied, “it should not be necessary; ’twould hardly be a worthy test, otherwise. But the question would then remain, of what to do with him afterwards . . .”

“Toril is no place for him,” Labelas said firmly. Had any of the other gods—even his fellows among the Seldarine—known even half of the sort of knowledge that was in that mortal’s head, or even just known of it . . .

Toril would not survive the ensuing conflicts.

“Nor, I fear, would consigning him to Spira do our cause any favours,” he forestalled the next obvious choice, not unkindly. “Should the truth of his nature be revealed, it would undo all the groundwork laid for the Ssri-Tel’Quessir . . . And in truth,” he added, doing his best to sound off-handed, “he does not fit well with his compatriots, either. He is no more of their world than ours, and the differences, though often subtle, leave him somewhat adrift.”

Hanali smiled, and it brightened the whole of the glade. “Then perhaps we can change at least that?” She turned to a fellow goddess. “Sehanine, what would you say to the idea of trying to catch his spirit for a little reincarnation . . .?”

The moon goddess raised an eyebrow in response, her expression intrigued.

Labelas very carefully kept his own expression blank. From here, things became very delicate . . . But, handled carefully, it would place the mortal safely away from Toril and its associated planes—for a certain value of safe, at least. Moreover, it would return the mortal to his people and his work, which was best for all concerned.

All that aside, however, he had to admit to some amusement about what was about to happen.

After all, in all his tens of millennia of life, he’d never had the opportunity to meddle before—and it always seemed to be so much fun . . .
 








Somewhere else
Unknown time








Darkness—but, within that darkness, a sense of something lighter, moving within it; much like the sun, when seen behind closed eyelids. And a voice, feminine but somehow off, with a timbre not quite human . . .

“—Start, confirmed. Welcome back; a pleasure to see you. Hello, welcome—as always, I’ve kept you waiting for quite a while, Master.”

The term was familiar . . . Or was it the voice? Did he know this person?

“This is the Spiritron World SERIAL PHANTASM,” the voice continued. “Abbreviated as SE.RA.PH and built in virtual space, it is Tsukimihara Academy.” There was a brief pause. “Excuse me, but regulations require me to scan your data values . . .”

Some of this sounded familiar, but it was primarily confusing. Enough of what he was being told sparked recognition, but not enough to bring out details—it was like remembering the information was somewhere in the book, but not the page number.

. . . Why was this happening? And why did it feel like he was halfway between waking and dreaming?

Pulsing lights and sounds that wouldn’t have been out of place on a science-fiction program interrupted what little thought process he had, followed by another set of statements from the mysterious voice.

“Label: Admitted student. Category: Administrative authority, special access. Quality: C+ . . . Confirmed. Now then, I will load your records from the Other Side.”

There was another flash, followed by an electronic screech and hiss of static, as the darkness turned to a dull, amber light.

“My apologies,” the voice intoned. “There was a failure in record access. ‘Your name’ is a required field. ‘Your heart’ is a required field. ‘Proof of existence’ is a required field. Please enter your name, gender and contracted Servant once more.”

A screen of sorts appeared before him, dotted with symbols that looked Asian, before an eye-blink at the sudden brightness the screen provided resolved the characters into English letters.

“Gender” was easiest—“male” was entered immediately. After a moment’s thought, a name swam to mind, and he entered that as well (noting that his hands had become both visible and clearly male hands in the process). Spotting an entry for “nickname” in addition, he paused and contemplated it briefly.

“Kurai,” he decided, entering the name as he spoke it, before hitting the final confirmation.

Once the screen holding that data disappeared, a second one came up, with the words [Running compatibility algorithm, please wait . . . Match found.]

“Confirmed,” the voice said cheerfully. “Thank you for your patience, Mister Kurai.”

Why did that bright, happy tone suddenly fill him with dread?

“Good day,” it continued, blithely oblivious to his thoughts. “Now then, have a safe trip.”

At those words, the world suddenly went white—and “dread” swiftly gave way to “panic” . . .








Writer's Notes: Idea: Following Pureauthor's "Melancholy of One," Kurai is reincarnated onto the Moon Cell to play out its version of CCC (or possibly Extella/Extella_Link).

[LightUnite]

Uh, hey there. So, does this whole "Grail Works" thing involve basically writing plots that involve the FSN cast going on adventures, or can we like, idk, cross over characters from other franchises and bring them into this...idk, setting? Bc I kinda have an idea of how to get Saber to looking human again.

[Draconic]

That is basically the gist of it. Read the first post in the thread for details.

[Kieran]

Uh, hey there. So, does this whole "Grail Works" thing involve basically writing plots that involve the FSN cast going on adventures, or can we like, idk, cross over characters from other franchises and bring them into this...idk, setting? Bc I kinda have an idea of how to get Saber to looking human again.

That is basically the gist of it. Read the first post in the thread for details.

^ What he said. And as of "Crisis of Fayth," Saber is back to normal - too many people prefer her that way, so . . .

[Xamusel]

Okay... this is gonna be embarrassing for me. I have way too many ideas flowing through my head for this setting, and not enough time to actually write them, y'know?

[Vigilantia]

Narrow it down then, and figure out what you'd like to do vs what you'd be able to write. Feel free to post them here if you want input?

[Kieran]

Writer's Notes: Since I'm having trouble deciding on a Servant for this particular work (as whomever it is would likely be added to the cast as Kurai's partner), I thought I'd sketch out a few snippets and see what chords they might strike with you . . .






Tsukimihara Academy (?)
Far Side, Moon Cell








The last few hours (had it been only hours?) had been trying, to put it mildly.

To start with, Kurai had apparently found himself in the world of Fate/EXTRA—which was not only quite different from being dead, as he’d expected to be, it wasn’t the world of the Works’ home base, either, which he’d have expected Ilya to recall him to if he had survived that mission in Spira . . .

Heck, unless the Moon Cell functioned very differently from what he’d read, there was no way for it to have recorded him at all, so what the hell was he doing here?

There was no sign of Shiki, either, which crossed off the most obvious theory: that Ilya had finally cracked the Moon Cell’s protections to the point where he could be sent in as backup. Why Ilya would send him, exactly, given that he’d lost his druidic identity was unclear; maybe it was simply that the Moon Cell likely didn’t have a record of him, therefore couldn’t spot him as an obvious anomaly (i.e., a duplicate of a pre-existing record)?

Then again, his current “self” (digitised body? Avatar? He wasn’t quite sure how the manifestations worked) in the Moon Cell wasn’t quite correct, either. Without the blend of Kieran Holt’s elements, he ought to be a middle-aged, six-foot, 65-kilogram Caucasian weakling with light chestnut hair, blue eyes, permanently bent knees, spaghetti arms, and more physical ailments than a single human really ought to be allowed to suffer.

The height was correct, as was the colouration, but as to the rest? He looked about student age, had more muscle than he’d ever seen on anyone in person, and was currently dressed in a school uniform—something he’d never worn in his life. It wasn’t the standard Fate/EXTRA uniform, either; where that one had the pale, sandy colours of the uniforms Shirou and Rin’s school used, this was a black-with-white-trim number that he actually thought looked kind of sharp.

. . . Although why his brain—and the Moon Cell—identified it as “Mystic Code: Memoria of the Far Side of the Moon,” he had no idea. Wasn’t that supposed to be from Fate/Grand Order . . .?

That was another oddity: unlike seemingly everyone else here, he still possessed his memories, rather than the preprogrammed personas of “normal high school students” the Moon Cell forced on prospective Masters. He could see Command Seals on his hand, and actually had access to a terminal, and could check the status of things—although when he tried to find out why, it only told him that he was rated as “Administrator: Special Access,” whatever that meant. And the fact that his “terminal” looked like a smartphone—something else he’d never touched in his life—Kurai put down to the Moon Cell’s apparent sense of humour; it did cast Kirei Kotomine as the administrator of its Holy Grail War, after all . . .

Regardless, he could safely say that he had no certain idea of where or when he was: there were enough inconsistencies to allow for doubt, after all. Including not only some kind of nun that claimed to be Taiga Fujimura, but the presence of Hakuno Kishinami—and the female version, at that—within this same pseudo-setting. At least her presence allowed her to take on her usual role, rather than him; given his luck and the strange circumstances, he’d not have been surprised to find out that this setting regarded him as Hakuno’s placeholder, otherwise.

And if he’d wound up finding Shinji Matou acting like his “friend,” Kurai would’ve made a genuine effort to discover whether the rule against attacking Masters outside of the Arena was enforced before the Grail War had actually started. Plus, Hakuno-chan, it had to be admitted, was kind of cute . . .

No— those were bad thoughts, bad thoughts! Regardless of gender, Hakuno had the Sorcery Trait “Eroge Protagonist”—no good would come of associating with her!

. . . Unfortunately, all his efforts at cautious observation appeared to be for nothing when black, static-y stuff, like a digital version of the corrupted Holy Grail’s “mud”—and wasn’t that a terrifying thought?—had started devouring the school and everyone in it.

Kurai had run, of course. His newly-enhanced physique turned out to be pretty good at it, and he was smart enough to follow Hakuno-chan when he spotted her; since the protagonist was almost guaranteed to survive, it made sense to try and hide behind her plot armour, didn’t it?

She didn’t appear to notice his presence in her panicked desperation, and he didn’t waste breath trying to alert her, either.

Unfortunately, it appeared that Hakuno had wound up putting them through one of the Bad Ends, as both he and she wound up on the roof, being devoured (deleted?) by darkness, and taunted by a Sakura-like voice as worthless nobodies no better than insects . . . The judgmental arrogance in that voice stung, and he held out stubbornly in the sensory deprivation of the void out of sheer, petty spite. If Kurai was good at anything, it was his ability to hold a grudge past all limits of rationality.

The Command Seals on his hand burned, and from that fire, a hand formed, grasping his own . . .








Saber (Wrong One, Wrong One . . .!)




“Rebellious to the end and beyond, eh?” a voice observed, one that still managed to sound cocky despite being muffled and obscured by something. “Ha! I think I could get to like you!”

As the blackness of absolute nothing gave way to a gently-lit, star-filled void, he beheld a figure in full-plate armour, with a menacing, horned helmet that almost seemed more appropriate to a Viking. Even more worryingly, it looked familiar . . .

And the reason why was proven as the helmet retracted, piece by piece, like some sort of futuristic construct—revealing a very familiar face.

“I am Mordred, the one and true heir of Arthur Pendragon!” the figure proclaimed loudly. She then gazed at him narrowed eyes, her voice becoming quieter, even as her face seemed disquietingly hungry. “So I ask of you: are you my Master . . .?”








Archer (Why Do I Feel Like Whimpering . . .?)




She was a petite girl dressed in clothes like Ciel’s hunting garb, with hair that did not quite have the same deep purple shade as Sakura Matou’s, and red eyes. The overall effect reminded him a younger-looking Scathach.

“Good day, young Sir Magus,” she greeted him in a soft, almost dreamy voice. “My name is Asagami Fujino.” She shifted her gaze to one side, visibly embarrassed. “Um, my class is Archer . . . I wonder if that’s all right . . .?”

“I don’t see anything wrong with it,” he answered, in a hopefully-reassuring voice, all the while wondering how such a shy, delicate-looking girl qualified as an Archer . . .

And dealing the sudden shiver down his spine—because if he knew anything about the Type-Moon universe, it was that the more demure and gentle a girl appeared, the more dangerous they were. So, exactly how dangerous was she . . .?








Caster (Love Will Thaw a Frozen Heart, Maybe . . .?)




“Servant, Anastasia,” the girl announced coldly, long white hair obscuring one ice-blue eye. “In answer to your summons, I’ve come here.” She tilted the doll in her hands slightly. “This child is Viy. Please take care of both of us from now on.”

Blinking, Kurai really looked at her. Leaving aside the issue of her colouring, there was a resemblance to the photographs he’d seen—a bit surprising, seeing as how the Fate universe tended to make Servants resemble their historical counterparts as little as possible . . .

“Thank you for coming, Grand Duchess,” he said carefully, sweeping into a kneeling bow, offering one hand. “It is a surprise—and an honour—to see you here.”

Now it was Anastasia’s turn to blink. “Master and Servant is a strange relationship for me—I am more used to being on this side of things. But it would be fine if I think of you as a spy, right?”

This version of Anastasia seemed a far cry from the prank-loving “imp” he’d read about, but maybe not too different, given how quickly she’d come up with that. He didn’t see the harm in indulging her.

“Whatever Milady desires,” he said grandly.

This just might be fun . . .








Lancer (. . . You’re Kidding.)




“Servant, Lancer,” the girl recited with a confident smirk. “The mistress of the Underworld, Ereshkigal. I’ve come in answer to your summons. I’m reluctant to lend my power to any one individual, but since you called, I’ll help you out . . .” She trailed off, frowning. “ . . . Wait, why aren’t you saying anything?!” Her face reddened as she protested, “I’m a splendid goddess, you know!”

Kurai, meanwhile, was staring at the blonde-haired, red-eyed representation of Rin Tohsaka, and wished sincerely for a blunt surface to bang his head against—because he just knew that the Works’ version of Rin was going to blame him for this, somehow . . .








Berserker (“Oh, wow . . .”)




“Oh, wow . . .” he breathed.

It was a very strange sound, because it wasn’t a tone she’d ever heard directed at her before. Perhaps he didn’t realise what she was?

“. . .Uu . . .” she groaned, straining to concentrate on the words. “Ber—ser—ker.”

“Pleased to meet you,” he said warmly, puzzling her. She had vague memories of another War, another Master—but even he had not been so friendly at the beginning. Curious, certainly, but not this—it was more like that annoying Rider, but milder, because he wasn’t pressing her.

He just . . . Smiled; even then, only briefly, as though it was just to reassure her, rather than a permanent expression.

Berserker was confused. She had felt his call, through the Moon Cell—felt an echo of her own loneliness, and self-loathing—and this was not what she’d expected.

“Thank you for helping me,” he said quietly. “Please stay close, until I can figure out what’s going on.”

. . . This was very confusing, she decided—but maybe not so bad . . .?








Avenger (Oh God, I’m Going to Die—Wait, Bad Choice of Words!)




“Such hatred you have burning inside you,” purred a woman’s voice. “I like it . . .”

Unlike any number of Servants who bore an identical appearance to Arturia, Kurai had never quite understood why people mistook her for Joan of Arc. Oh, there were definite similarities, and someone as mad as the Bluebeard version of Gilles de Rais certainly had all the reason (or lack thereof) in the world to be excused for the error—but by and large, Kurai thought them two fairly distinct women.

Looking at the black-armoured figure before him, however, he had to admit that, considering its resemblance to Saber Alter, there might be a closer appearance between the two than he’d previously thought.

“Servant, Avenger,” the woman uttered coldly, “Summoned upon your request.” After a beat, she scowled. “. . . Hey, what’s with that look? Come on, here’s the contract.”

Kurai winced inwardly. While the memories were oddly faded, he still remembered her recent clashes with the ersatz Saber Alter—and “Avenger” was not a good title in the Fate universe. This could only end in pain and misery . . .

. . . But damned if she wasn’t gorgeous . . .








Foreigner (“What the hell, Moon Cell?!”)




“Hello!” said the suddenly-appearing little blonde brightly. “I’m Abigail—Abigail Williams. I’m from the, ‘Fo...reigner...class.’ Are you the Master? If it’s okay with you, please call me Abby. I believe we’ll quickly become friends.”

OK, this is bad. I’ve never heard her name—hell, I’ve never heard of her class—before! And that’s leaving aside the fact that she’s a little girl . . .!

Granted, appearance wasn’t everything; Ilya looked like a little girl, and she was terrifying—but he really hated the idea of hiding behind her in combat. Of course, that was assuming that she even was a direct-combat-capable Servant. He literally knew nothing about what he was dealing with, here.

. . . Except that she was looking at him earnestly (hopefully), waiting for a response.

“Hello, Abby,” he said gently, trying to smile earnestly. “It’s very nice to meet you. I’m sorry, but I don’t recognise your name or class—can you tell me more about yourself, so that I can command you as effectively as I should. If I’m relying on you, you should be able to rely on me, after all.”

He’d never really seen someone’s expression light up until now, but Abigail’s smile was the sort that really ought to have her surrounded in anime-type sparkles.

“Yes, Master!” she said enthusiastically, and he had to physically restrain himself from trying to hug her—mostly because if he startled her, she’d probably demonstrate the ability to break him in half. It was the way his luck worked.

Honestly, though, she was adorable—dressed in what looked like black lace like a little Victorian doll, with orange and black bows in her hair, and there was even a teddy bear in her arms.

What’s her Noble Phantasm? The ability to cause death by becoming even cuter . . .?








Additional Writer's Notes: Also under consideration, although not written, has Kurai playing Demi-Servant to Hakuno . . . Naturally, he's fused with a Heroic Spirit who's a near-perfect match - and about the most useless powers possible for a Grail War.

[Xamusel]

Who's Berserker supposed to be? I'm confused.

[Kieran]

Who's Berserker supposed to be? I'm confused.

Frankenstein - I couldn't come up with an easy scene on Kurai's part to introduce her, so I thought I'd try her side; I figured it was important to know how well I can handle it, since she's functionally mute . . .

. . . Is she your preference, then?

[Xamusel]

Uh... let me get back to you on that one. *goes to look over the choices*

...

Okay, it's a dice roll between Fran and Mordred. I'll roll for the choice, man.

...and it's Fran. Congratulations.

[Kieran]

*Chuckles* Surprising. I was (and am) actually expecting more votes for Archer, since:

A) An extra Archer class does fit the CCC setting

B) She's another purely TYPE-MOON character, which is always good.

and

C) They'd be an interesting pair in so many ways - arguably, Jeanne or Abigail are the only equals in that regard (Abigail having her "outer form" and being the whole "Threat to Humanity" in addition to being a cute little girl . . .). After all, Kurai's a cynic, but those Servants are entirely new levels of grim.



. . . And amusingly, she'd be the easiest to transfer from the Moon Cell to the Works' reality - the native Fujino could just show up at the Emiya or Tohno households, having fused with Counter Guardian ASAKAMI to become the Demi-Servant, Archer . . .

[Vigilantia]

I like Lancer more, but thats obvious because she has the "easily humiliated and embarressed" Rin appeal.

[Kieran]

And she is the easiest one to explain, story-wise: being on the Far Side of the Moon, Ereshkigal merely integrates the "junked" data of Rin from when she was "killed," creating a Demi-Servant form. Plus, like Archer, there's the "Demi-Servant" option to bring her in with, afterwards; it's a nice way to get Extra's Rin integrated into the Works' timeline without using up the original - or I could always use Luvia, in a pinch.

. . . Fairly mixed votes, so far: one for Fran (with Mordred as a second choice), one for Abigail (with Anastasia as a second choice) via PM, and now Ereshkigal - this really is a tricky decision.

[Xamusel]

Hey, Kieran, with the almost completion of the Trinity-verse, as it were, what's going to be your next entry in this universe?

[Kieran]

A question for which I have no answer - yet.

At least I'll have time to think about it, once Trinity is done . . .?

[Xamusel]

Okay, valid point, Kieran. Thanks for telling me.