The Grail Works Mission Dossier (Discussion & Ideas)

[Xamusel]

Kieran, you there? I'm hoping you can get back to this, man. I need some feedback about this.

[Kieran]

Somewhere beyond time and space








“Loyal child,” said a voice in the dark. Was it a familiar voice? It felt familiar, but if so, the appropriate name stubbornly refused to attach itself . . .

“Accept my blood,” whispered the voice, “and live again.”








Dilapidated Temple
Somewhere in Japan
Sengoku Period








The feeling of cold hit first. Cold, followed by rough hardness—stone, he thought, but something between the stone and his body . . . That felt kind of like a wicker basket? That didn’t make any sense. The blanket atop him did, but shouldn’t it be lining the basket? Whatever the case, he must’ve been sleeping on his left arm again, because it was totally numb—that nasty, beyond pins-and-needles stage that meant that rubbing feeling back into it was going to hurt like a bitch . . .

The next sense to kick in was scent—specifically, the smell of wood smoke. He normally enjoyed it, and did so now, even as he cringed, inwardly, waiting for his allergies to kick in . . . And was a little surprised that they didn’t—the smell was strong enough that he suspected wherever he was wasn’t especially well-ventilated . . .

Sound—the sound of something scraping wood; some kind of metal tool, he thought. Maybe a—what was it called, a rasp? And his own breathing, of course; from the sound of that, he’d just come out of one hell of a nightmare, but his heart wasn’t pounding, and nor was he sweating. It was just the quick, startled breathing—maybe his allergies were being more subtle, this time?

Finally, he opened his eyes, and once they focussed (really focussed—without his glasses?), he took stock of his surroundings.

I’m in a fire-lit cave, check. And . . . With an effort, he lifted his body up. I’m on a straw mat? That’s a Japanese thing—tatami, right? So I’m in a cave, in Japan, while—

He glanced over.

While Shirou Emiya, looking incredibly weird . . . Does wood-carving by firelight?

A memory chose that moment to surface, attaching a name to that particular look.

How and why in ALL THE HELLS is Gods-damned MURAMASA . . .?!

Deciding that he was dreaming, he sank back down and rolled over, determined to go back to sleep. Weird dreams unrelated to anything recent or relevant in his life were hardly unusual, after all—he’d had a “Back to the Future” dream not that long ago, several years after he’d last seen anything to do with the films.

. . . Of course, rolling over to get comfortable and adjust the blanket brought the object beside him into view—

“WHAT THE FUCK?!”

Aestus Estus, “the Embryonic (or “Original”) Flame” (otherwise known as a rose-red, flame-bladed sword that was nearly as long as its original owner was tall), was lying in front of him. And that was neither something that matched the style of his surroundings, nor really explicable, beyond accepting that what little he was able to recall of the recent past was not a dream . . .

“So, you’re awake,” noted a dispassionate voice, drawing his attention—albeit slowly—to the other man in the room, who held a chisel in one hand.

“It appears that death is not your fate,” the Servant-Who-Looked-Like-Shirou-Shirtless remarked, sounding a lot more like EMIYA (more specifically, the Liam O’Brien rendition of Archer) in tone, while gazing at him inscrutably.

“Not yet.”

That statement triggered a faint memory, and he was momentarily stuck between two different, though not unrelated, thoughts.

The first one was, “What the actual HELL . . .?”

And the second was “DAMN YOU, FROMSOFTWARE . . .!”









It took a bit for . . . Well, “Frid” was still as a good a moniker as any, he supposed. While it might be easier on the locals to call himself “Kurai,” it was still a bit of an insult, at this point. As before when he’d considered the idea, he’d gone from the dusky skin of a half-drow to the milk-pale flesh of a Caucasian—and he’d likewise be willing to bet money that he lacked the quasi-Asian features of someone of elf heritage, as well.

Therefore, calling himself the Japanese word for “dark” was far beyond a simple misnomer, even if it would likely be less trouble for the people around him to pronounce.

Then again, I’ve apparently been incarnated into the role of a Warring States-era shinobi; or ninja, to use the more modern and less flowery term—and if this was a Hollywood production, I’d swear I could hear the “whitewashing” screams from here . . .

Speaking of “here,” why am I, again . . .?

A shake of the head brought Frid’s focus back to the here-and-now—relatively speaking, at least; it was hard to think of this as “now,” since it was almost six centuries earlier than the Earth he’d left—and getting a clearer view of his surroundings.

He hadn’t been wrong about the firelight, save in scale; the whole place was lit with candles. The actual location, though, looked like a ruined temple, rather than a cave. Frid blamed waking up for his mistake; he’d never been much of a thinker prior to his morning coffee, and shaking off a prior case of certain death was at least as bad as the worst (lack of) sleep he’d ever had.

“. . . You seem oddly unsurprised by me,” Frid ventured at last, not exactly sure how to talk to the Heroic Spirit currently possessing his—well, he supposed Shirou was a friend, of sorts. Let alone a Spirit with Muramasa’s reputation; Frid suspected that he’d honestly be more comfortable talking to Carmilla.

“I’ve seen many strange things,” the smith (apparently turned sculptor) remarked. “A walking ghost doesn’t surprise me much. Given the legends of shinobi, it’s oddly appropriate, in a way.”

Frid blinked. “. . . That is a remarkably laid-back attitude.”

And confusing as hell, he added mentally as he processed the response.

. . . I suppose you might think I’m Dutch; they weren’t the only Europeans to deal with Japan during this period, he concluded. Assuming this what I’m seeing around me does mean I’m somewhere in the medieval ages, and not just somewhere really traditional—but I’m not anywhere near dark enough to pass for Portuguese. Regardless, neither ethnicity was overly well-thought of; and depending on exactly when I am, I might be lethally understating it. So why shrug it off . . .?

“You would prefer, perhaps, that I do my best to kill you?” Muramasa inquired dryly, echoing his unspoken thoughts. “Sorry—I’m not in that line of work, any longer. Besides, it would make all that effort of dragging you here a terrible waste.”

“I don’t understand why you bothered,” he answered honestly.

“Like I said, I’m not in that line of work any longer,” the sculptor replied bluntly. “And if I’d ignored you, I would have been.” The redhead shrugged. “And even if you were already dead, it would’ve been a shame to leave your body for the dogs.”

Now it was his turn to shrug. “Even dogs need to eat.”

The sculptor barked a noise that could charitably be called a laugh. “What a remarkably kind example of a shinobi you are.”

Say, rather, that I think more highly of animals than most humans—myself, most of all, he corrected mentally, even as the statement caused him to blink.

“. . . What exactly makes you think that I’m a shinobi?” Frid asked.

Again, he was a foreigner; so, merchant, diplomat, missionary, spy (or some combination thereof)—those were all professions that would make sense. But identifying him as one of the warrior caste, particularly the one that most people liked to pretend didn’t exist . . .

“. . . Your sword,” Muramasa said at last, “is a talkative one—and while it doesn’t precisely approve of your tactics, that didn’t stop it from expounding on them, at length. You seem to be more of a shinobi than a samurai, no matter how much of an emphasis you seem to place on swordplay.”

OK, Frid acknowledged, he would admit that subtle, Aestus Estus was not—but it hadn’t exactly been his idea to get the (sometimes-literally) flaming thing. His idea of a go-to weapon was something relatively simple to handle in melee, like a club; or a gun—and failing that, something gun-like and gun-simple to operate. His combat skills were better than they’d been (just by virtue of existing at all), but his preference was still to avoid fighting where at all possible . . .

. . . And now he understood the “shinobi” label.

Frid sighed. “I’m really not much of a swordsman.”

“And I’m not a teacher,” Muramasa countered. “I just carve the Buddha . . . Though every attempt I make comes out . . . Angry.”

Frid nodded, not sure what to say.

“I wasn’t looking for one, but thanks for letting me know,” Frid said. Under his breath, he muttered, “Mostly, I’m just wondering what to do from here . . .”

“I would have assumed,” Muramasa said indifferently, “that you would attempt to rescue your lord. Isn’t that the duty of most shinobi?”

“Unless I’ve lost some memories, I don’t have one,” he countered.

“Oh?” Muramasa said. “So you’re not the shinobi of the Divine Heir—the boy said to be locked away in Ashina Castle?”

“‘Boy?’” Frid repeated. “As in, a child . . .?”

Medieval hostage-taking had never been pretty, no matter the country or culture. If there was a kid imprisoned, then—

“Yes, though I’ve never seen him,” Muramasa replied. “They say that the Divine Heir possesses the power of the Dragon’s Heritage in his blood . . .”

Frid stared, once again caught between two thoughts.

The first was simple, “Damn it, Merlin—if I find out this is your doing, somehow . . . !”

Secondly, “What would a Japanese Arturia Pendragon actually look like . . .?”








Writer's Notes: For those curious, I have addressed Xamusel's concerns . . . And my apologies for both the lack of chapter/update last weekend, and possibly this weekend, as well.

It's been a rough . . . Month, really.

. . . In any case, I thought I'd play with an old idea, see if it could be expanded on some with the current setup. Potentially, maybe . . . What do you think?

[Xamusel]

What's the crossover this time, Kieran? I'm starting to get super curious.

EDIT: Scratch that, didn't read the title of the post earlier...

[Kieran]

Well, FromSoftware does seem to be releasing a lot of "remastered" games lately - nor are they the only ones . . .

. . . In any case, I still think this has some potential (even if a Bloodborne cross would be easier); the fact that the "Dragon's Heritage" exists, as well as certain things that I won't say for spoilers' sake, does lead one to wonder about Arturia (or perhaps, Okita Soji . . .?) - or maybe Musashi, since s/he is alive in this period - Nobunaga, as well . . .

. . . And considering that one of Sekiro's bosses is a huge, and terrifyingly realistic fucking SNAKE . . . *Shudders* Yeah, that would be a problem . . .

[Xamusel]

Uh-oh... not good. -_-

Well, I have more to reply to you about in PM, but I'm having trouble because of a number of issues on my end. I'm sure you'll understand when I get the reply sent to you soon.

[Kieran]

Fuyuki City
June 20, 1994








To many people, across many worlds, the end of the Fourth Holy Grail War was well-known.

As the tainted Grail began to materialise into the world, and on the orders of the War’s victorious Master, the full power of a legendary magical sword was turned against it. The resultant release of energy destroyed a good portion of the city, bathing it in fire and malice, leaving only a single survivor—and in time, the unused energy of the Grail would allow its system charge to full strength far more swiftly, ushering in the Fifth Holy Grail War a full five decades ahead of schedule.

Or so it was thought; and across many worlds—across most of them, in fact—it was even true.

But in a scant handful of possibilities, magecraft was trumped by logic. After all, the Grail contained the essence of six Servants, and summoned and supported seven; and in most cases, any one of those was capable of destroying a city. Indeed, given the relatively small amount of Fuyuki that had been destroyed (which was to say, not the city in its entirety), the merest fraction of the Grail’s potential had actually been used—which meant that, given the amount of energy that should have been released by the Grail’s destruction, the unrealised portion of it had to have gone somewhere . . .








Tachie had given up struggling, because she had no strength left, and it only increased the rate of her blood loss. She had given up hoping for rescue; the only person she’d seen moving out there had ignored her cries for help. Logically, Tachie supposed she shouldn’t blame them for that—while the smoke and her injuries made sight unreliable, even in her clouded vision, the figure had seemed quite small, like maybe an injured child. And if she couldn’t get herself out of this, what could a child do to help . . .?

Logically, Tachie shouldn’t blame them—but logic had very little place when you were trapped, injured, and didn’t want to die . . .!

And at seventeen years old, never having so much as kissed a boy, never mind any other milestone in life, she found that was going to die, anyway.

She might have wept, if her tear ducts hadn’t been seared dry.

Isn’t it sad, Tacchin . . .?

“This is completely outrageous!”

The sudden voice jarred Tachie to attention, pulling her from the darkness closing in around the edges of her vision. Someone was there?

“I agree,” came a lighthearted response.

There was—in fact, there were two people!

Tachie tried to call out, but she’d inhaled a lot of smoke over the last little while—her voice wasn’t up to even a whisper . . .

“You are subverting every possible rule in doing any of this!”

“That’s true,” admitted the second voice cheerfully, “but what’s the point of being a potential Grand Caster if you can’t ignore rules now and then? Besides, why should that vampire have all the fun?”

She tried and tried, but couldn’t muster the breath—the strength . . .

“For what possible reason could you ever expect me to agree with, much less participate in, such a farce?”

“Because terrible things have been done,” said the second voice, all levity gone from it, “both by our king, and in the name of our king, and our legend—and especially your part in it. I would think that a knight so pious as to return the Holy Grail to Heaven would find a ritual such as this to be distasteful, if not blasphemous; not least because of the cost in lives.”

The blood loss must have been getting to her again—they were making less and less sense . . .

“A fine statement from such as you,” the first countered.

“And yet, I say it anyway—and can you tell me I am wrong?”

Oh—it was getting to her . . .

“. . . No.”

“Then you must make your decision now—because she is all that can be saved, and time is running out . . .”

“. . . Damning you would be redundant, I suppose—but I am tempted, nonetheless! Very well, wizard: I accept your contract!”

“Great!” the other said, all cheer again. “In that case, by the power vested in me—by me—I now pronounce you and your new partner ‘Demi-Servant Shielder!’”

“Mocking the holy oaths of matrimony is not funny—!”

Tachie didn’t hear any more, as the darkness chose that moment to take her—before it suddenly turned bright . . .








Avalon
At the end of existence








Merlin smirked as his ritual went off. While he was no master of the Second Magic, you could get a lot of mileage out of Clairvoyance when you existed beyond the boundaries of time and space. It was how he’d heard of this concept in the first place, even though it wasn’t supposed to be part of his particular timeline (of course, it also helped that his legend included pulling off odd feats like that; he really owed that T.H. White fellow ) . . .

And in his opinion, “unpublished” should not mean “unimportant.”

As a result of that and other traits relevant to his nature, he could trick the Grail system with illusions into summoning an extra Servant—and as a Demi-Servant, no less--and, with the excess prana in the area, move the result into Avalon. After all, if she showed up too soon, it would cause problems with present magical society; to say nothing of potential issues with history as he understood it was going to happen . . .

And more importantly, it wouldn’t be funny—after all, what use was keeping his king’s “rival” around, when she herself wouldn’t appear for at least ten years?

Now, he mused to himself, will it be more entertaining to set her loose during the Fifth Holy Grail War, or afterwards . . .?








Writer's Notes: Ran across her on the TYPE-MOON wiki, and I liked the concept of "Fate's Sacchin" (to say nothing of her general look).

I don't know how well she'd go over, though, so I thought I'd try here first . . .?

[Xamusel]

Hmm... sounds like a sound concept to me.

[Kieran]

It's a bit of a cheat, I admit, because she'd basically be an OC; not unlike Fiore, except with abilities we know (and can use, really). However, going through her wiki entry, little details have already started occurring to me - like making her five feet tall as a human, but five-two as Shielder, because her costume has heels. And that they're the height they are specifically so that she can be taller than Arturia.

[Xamusel]

I understand that. I think it's a good idea.

[Arbitrarity]

Interesting. Are you considering using her as a Frid partner for future missions?

That's a clever workaround to your power-specificity issues with Fiore, plus it gives you some freedom with personality, compared to Sacchin. It is essentially an OC personality-wise, though you get some limited useful guidance. Seems like you might get a rocky entrance to the Works with Shirou there, given that's one of her major traits. Power set is conveniently defined already, the obscurity seems to work with the Works' inter-dimensional nature... yeah, it solves a few problems at once.

That she has less defined personality than Ayaka Sajyou seems kinda worrying, in that we hardly reference her due to obscurity as-is. This is even more obscure, and you have only the faintest guidance to work with as far as personality goes. I don't really know how well-defined Galahad's personality is, that snippet didn't feel especially accurate, but I have nothing to calibrate against (of course, neither do you). The stick-in-the-mud-ness is probably accurate, of course.

[Kieran]

I understand that. I think it's a good idea.

That's reassuring; thank you.

Interesting. Are you considering using her as a Frid partner for future missions?

I am.

That's a clever workaround to your power-specificity issues with Fiore, plus it gives you some freedom with personality, compared to Sacchin. It is essentially an OC personality-wise, though you get some limited useful guidance.

Yes. Plus, I'm not (theoretically) annoying anyone if I ever decide to try and turn the relationship romantic; it's unlikely (if not by any means impossible) that she's anyone's "waifu."

Seems like you might get a rocky entrance to the Works with Shirou there, given that's one of her major traits.

And one of the more interesting points about her, narrative-wise.

Power set is conveniently defined already,

And potentially ranked down, since she isn't "designed" to handle the load.

the obscurity seems to work with the Works' inter-dimensional nature... yeah, it solves a few problems at once.

Yes, yes it does. Of course, she's not without them, either . . .

That she has less defined personality than Ayaka Sajyou seems kinda worrying, in that we hardly reference her due to obscurity as-is. This is even more obscure, and you have only the faintest guidance to work with as far as personality goes.

*Nods* Agreed. By the same token, there are a number of "common" TYPE-MOON heroine traits; and the fact that Galahad is different enough to make her seem like a split personality is a clue . . .

I don't really know how well-defined Galahad's personality is, that snippet didn't feel especially accurate, but I have nothing to calibrate against (of course, neither do you). The stick-in-the-mud-ness is probably accurate, of course.

From what I recall of Arthurian legend, Galahad was the "purest, most perfect knight in all of Christendom," despite being a literal bastard. He had his own version of the "Sword in the Stone" given to him by Merlin - the Siege Perilous, or "Perilous Seat" (which would kill anyone unworthy who attempted to sit in it; I guess the wizard decided to up his game for the second time around). It's the sort of thing which made him the one worthy of finding the Grail.

. . . So, yeah, stick in the mud - deep into it. I admit to aiming for flowery, formal speech a bit; he does appear in the "romantic epic" portions of the mythos, after all. So, "Shielder" will probably be as strait-laced as Arturia, cranked up to an 11, but less aggressive about it . . . Which, now that I write it down, is basically Jeanne, isn't it . . .?


. . . Of course, given the state of the Grail at the time, I suppose that I could make him Galahad Alter . . .

[Kieran]

THE SEWERS
Fuyuki City Sewerage System








She didn’t want to die.

Even though she couldn’t feel pain—and thus, had no understanding of the pain of others—she understood that he meant to kill her, and she didn’t want to die.

And so, she ran.

Fujino didn’t quite understand how she’d gotten here, or where “here” actually was, for that matter, but the others she’d met around the strange campfire had told her some of what was happening before they’d all been pulled here . . . At least, she thought the others had been pulled here.

(She hoped they were pulled here, because she didn’t know what she’d do if she was alone . . .)

She’d been told that she was going to be hunted, by a Killer who couldn’t be stopped, and who, if they caught her, would sacrifice her to some giant monster by hanging her on a hook . . . Fujino wasn’t quite sure she believed them—it sounded like the kind of scary story you told around a campfire, after all—but if they were joking, they were the best actors that she’d ever seen. They’d seemed so scared . . .

Fujino stopped running abruptly, as she rounded a corner and saw what had to be the hook. Hanging from an overhanging pipe, it was a curved piece of metal almost as long as she was tall, and ending in a blade that looked wickedly sharp despite being so rusty—

No, wait—that was blood . . .

Fujino’s hand went to her mouth, stifling a scream. She didn’t really have a problem with blood (it wasn’t as though she got hurt, after all) but she’d learned that losing enough of it did make her weak, and well as making doing certain things harder, depending on where it was leaking from.

And to look that rusty, someone must have lost a lot of blood. And so would she, if she wound up there . . .

So Fujino wasted no time in setting off running again; across the narrow ledges, splashing through the puddles of sludgy water (she hoped it was water), squeezing through the narrow bars of the grates sealing the larger pipes shut—and always with that cold, stinking fog clinging around the edges.

Generators, she told herself, trying to ignore the pounding of her heart thundering in her ears. I have to find the generators; they said the exit is shut until we fix them—

It wasn’t until she heard the movement behind her that Fujino realised it wasn’t just her heartbeat she was hearing, but that “warning” of the Killer’s presence the others had spoken of.

Shock—that was the first sensation, and mostly because there was sensation: she could feel the blade digging into her back. Sharpness, heat—for the first time she could remember, she had real, tangible associations for terms she’d always known, but never really understood, as they radiated through her body like ripples through a pond after throwing a stone in it. And like those ripples, they were gone again just as swiftly; but the sense of them had been felt by her, and thus, she reacted to them like any normal girl.

“AAAAAHHHHHH!”

Fujino could hardly help it, after all—she was only twelve . . .








Ryuunosuke was having the time of his life.

Sure, the sewers weren’t exactly the nicest place he could’ve ended up, but it wasn’t like his hobbies were devoid of terrible smells, after all. And he got an unending supply of people to kill, who couldn’t hurt him, with no repercussions—and all for the low, low price of feeding them to a giant demon once he was done playing with them! Compared to that, what was a little filth?

Seriously, if confirmation of the existence of demons wasn’t cool enough, he was pretty sure he’d found confirmation of Heaven, too—he was pretty sure that would’ve pleased Caster . . .

His newest “playmate” was interesting; this was the first time he’d come across a girl this young here. Most of the ones he’d slaughtered were teenagers, but she looked like she was still in elementary school. That wasn’t as important as it once was—he had pretty solid proof that nobody in here except the Big Guy could hurt him, after all—but it was kind of nostalgic, to hunt a kid again. Kind of cathartic, too; the only way it could’ve been better was if her eyes had been blue . . .

As it was, Ryuunosuke was surprised at how fast the girl ran after taking a hit. Despite obviously having hurt, and with her bleeding all the way, it didn’t slow her down in the slightest. Ah, well—it just made the game more fun. And because she was a kid, he could use that bracelet Caster had made for him to its full effect.

It really was nice of the Big Guy to recreate it for him; the least he could do to show his appreciation was keep the guy well-fed, right . . .?

Dead By Moonlight

Writer's Notes: Because fog can lead to more than Ravenloft . . .

[Xamusel]

Kieran? You, my good sir, are evil! I'm torn between exorcising the evil from you or fanning the flames of it even further.

[Arbitrarity]

Yeaaah, the Entity definitely seems like something you'd find in the Domains of Dread. It's actually incredibly similar to the depiction of the Dark Powers. And if we have tentacle monsters looking for serial killers, no one better than Ryuunosuke. I'm not entirely sure why Fujino fits in, other than the KnK event currently being on, though, unless the intention is that she is actually going to become one of the Killers eventually. She might be a bit overpowered there, though.

[Kieran]

Kieran? You, my good sir, are evil! I'm torn between exorcising the evil from you or fanning the flames of it even further.

Thank you for the compliment, and use your own best judgement.

Yeaaah, the Entity definitely seems like something you'd find in the Domains of Dread. It's actually incredibly similar to the depiction of the Dark Powers.

Isn't it, though? I actually think you could run a (low-level) Ravenloft campaign with that setting.

And if we have tentacle monsters looking for serial killers, no one better than Ryuunosuke.

*Nods* He's certainly the obvious choice.

I'm not entirely sure why Fujino fits in, other than the KnK event currently being on, though, unless the intention is that she is actually going to become one of the Killers eventually. She might be a bit overpowered there, though.

It certainly put me in mind of her; and yes, she could be - but it's more that her abilities are easily translated to Survivor Perks. (Sacchin's the only other one I could adapt that easily.) "Remaining Sense of Pain" lets her take injury without slowing down, "Clairvoyance" to spot things, and her telekinesis could fix a generator faster . . . Or blow it back to square one. And at the time Ryuunosuke was active, she was young enough to be in his preferred target range.

. . . And, as we've seen, it's not impossible for Kara no Kyokai and Fate characters to co-exist and cross.

[Kieran]

. . . And as a bonus, of sorts, I think I'll share the Perks I had in mind for Sacchin (as a human, anyway) . . .


Isn't It Sad . . .? - Always meek by nature, Satsuki blends into the background so easily that people tend to forget she ever existed. This Perk allows her to escape even when she is the target of an Obsession, so long as she does not actually cross the Killer's line of sight. Use of her other Perks while this one is active cancels its effect, as using it while others are active cancels their effects, and it cannot be reactivated until its (long) cooldown is ended.


Unrealised Occult Savant (name temporary) - Despite seeming as ordinary as can be, Satsuki has hidden talents than can emerge under the right (or wrong) circumstances. This Perk grants a bonus to efforts involving dealing with totems, rituals, offerings, and anything of an otherwise supernatural nature. Why, if she were to become a vampire, she might actually be transformed into one of the most fearsome . . .!


Sempai, Save Me! (name temporary) - Satsuki is a petite, quite, ordinary schoolgirl, but she inspires feelings of protectiveness in more remarkable people. She gives a bonus to their efforts when aided by other Survivors, whether in healing injuries, repairing generators, or when a Perk of theirs is activated which would grant her a benefit (shorter cooldowns, maybe?). As with Unreleased Occult Savant, use of this Perk cancels out Isn't It Sad . . .? immediately.

[Kieran]

I'm not entirely sure why Fujino fits in, other than the KnK event currently being on, though, unless the intention is that she is actually going to become one of the Killers eventually.

Hopefully, this will answer that question better than my previous one . . . :D










Mifune City
Four years later







She moved quietly down the street, like a ghost. Once—for most of her life, if she was truthful—that would have been because she had no sense of feeling, even of herself. She might as well have been a ghost, for all that she could hear the breathing of her lungs or see the movements of her body; when there was no sensation connected to it, and the sense of unreality was the only palpable one. . .

Now, however, Fujino moved like a ghost because she had learned to move like one. Had learned that staying quiet and unnoticed (while always remaining alert to the world around her) was her best chance of staying alive; a state that was infinitely preferable, however ephemeral it felt, to a bloody and painful death.

She might no longer feel pain, but Fujino remembered it: the cold so deep it burned, as the razor tip of the Hook pierced her back, the grinding of meat and bone as its serrated edge was dragged through her body, propelled by her own weight—

(The ferocious heat of determined hands, prying her up and off, pressing the wound closed . . . The gentle warmth of the campfire, in those too-brief moments of peace—)

Fujino remembered pain, and terror, and the despair that they would never be free . . . And it was twisted, and terrible of her, but she felt grateful for that; it let her comprehend how hard it was to survive, and what it meant to live . . .

Even if they told her it had never happened.

She had passed out, they said, after the bus crash; the only one truly hurt, by a blow to her head. It was merely a dream, a hallucination brought on by the trauma . . . And Fujino had been willing to believe that, until she realised that she knew how it felt to get her leg caught in a bear trap—and how to splint it. She knew how to make tourniquets to stop bleeding, measure out dosages of painkillers and stimulants for dealing with electrical burns and induced sleep; how to fix generators that were more components than complete . . .

No mere blow to the head could implant an education in trauma medicine, pharmacology or engineering, after all.

But she let them believe what they wished, even as she took steps to prepare; after all, the end of the Entity (if ended it truly was) did not mean an end to its Killers. And even setting aside the fact that several of them had been Japanese, the Nightmare seemingly had only the limitation that its victims be asleep . . .

The better part of four years passed, in such a fashion. Fujino grew, and learned, and remembered. She went to a private boarding school when she reached high school age, where she was renowned for her elegant beauty, quiet diligence, and unshakable demeanor—and if she was isolated by her peers for such things, no signs of it troubled her brow. She was not wholly alone, even if her primary peer seemed far too boisterous for such a demure girl to find common cause with; and otherwise, she seemed relaxed by herself, even when lost within a sea of people.

(Because there was safety in numbers, both high and low—the Entity gathered no more or less than four, the number of death . . .)

Still, even her quiet life, as relieving as it was to what came before, was not without trials or perils—her health was frailer than it first appeared, and she required regular checkups outside of school grounds. “Regular” being another word for “predictable,” of course; in that regard, what happened would have been to a more jaded viewpoint, inevitable.

And because hers was one such, Fujino was prepared . . .

They came out of an alley, but did not surprise her; as ambush predators, their skills were far below even the more mortal Killers. Not even the Ghostface, self-aggrandising as he was, would’ve so easily allowed her to glimpse their reflections in the empty storefront across the street. The numbers were problematic, a dispassionate corner of her mind acknowledged, but there was one crucial difference between here and the Entity’s feeding grounds:

She was allowed to fight back.

Homemade bear spray was her first line of defence; easier to get her hands on than an actual weapon, it was mostly a mix of whatever insect repellents, cleansers and other such chemicals she could purchase legally, and without arousing suspicion. Figuring out how to get it into the aerosol can had taken some trial and error, but watching the first man collapse into a choking, writhing heap made the effort worth it. And a broad area spray as a follow-up certainly cleared the rest of them back several steps.

The next one pulled a knife, so she pulled a lighter—and the smell of burnt hair and flesh brought back several memories Fujino had long forgotten, causing her to freeze for a fraction of a second—

And the one with the bat swept her legs out from under her.

Fortunately, she knew how to take a fall—she’d taken aikido lessons, because she couldn’t judge how much force she was using in her numbed state if she was on the offensive—but even if she couldn’t feel it, the impact still drove the air from her lungs. And from the ground, she didn’t dare use the spray; she had no wish to subject herself to it, after all . . .

A moment of panic flashed through her, and Fujino swore she could hear her blood roaring in her ears—no, wait. That was from—across the street . . .?

The roaring continued, along with cries of pain and what she identified as the sound of wood striking flesh. By the time she’d made it to her feet, she knew what—or who, rather—the cause was . . .

And the disappointment was bitter to swallow, indeed.

Red hair, copper eyes, and otherwise Japanese features adorned her saviour, who while not tall, was quite obviously athletic. Had anyone else seen him, they’d have likely thought him quite handsome (well, perhaps not Azaka-san, but the point still stood) and objectively, Fujino had to admit he was, but—

“Are you all right?” the boy asked. “Are you hurt? Do you need help?”

But the complete lack of recognition in his eyes and voice put the final nails in the coffin of her hopes; he was simply not who she wanted him to be.

(And yet, some instinct insisted, there was something . . .)

A faint breeze blew as the last question left his lips, something she knew only by seeing her hair’s movements, and hearing the faint ringing of a bell charm on his wooden sword—

Insight became inspiration.

“Tiger stripes!” she blurted suddenly, causing the boy to draw back in abrupt confusion.

“What?” he responded, before shaking his head and trying again “I’m sorry, but what?”

“I . . .” Fujino hesitated, trying to explain it as much to herself as to him. “I once knew someone with an affinity for tiger stripes—like those.” She pointed at the charm, took a deep breath, and with it, a risk. “And a habit of passing through doors that could not have lead to the places he travelled.”

She fixed the boy with a look, and didn’t need to feel it to know that her heart was thundering.

“Would you, perhaps, be familiar with such a man, sir . . .?”

[Arbitrarity]

I don't know the survivors very well, so I don't know who the corresponding character is. I'm assuming from our side that's Shirou doing his heroic thing. Don't really have much else I can comment on here, I suppose that is the sort of experience that would be traumatic but also an opportunity to learn. Being aloof afterwards isn't too surprising.

[Kieran]

I don't know the survivors very well, so I don't know who the corresponding character is.

I suppose Fujino was somewhat vague; - in her defence, she's being circumspect in case she's wrong. If I added the detail that "white tiger" is one of the potential spirit shapes I keep wrestling with for my Lunar, does it make more sense?

I'm assuming from our side that's Shirou doing his heroic thing.

Yup - interesting that he was keeping an eye on her, when normally clients come to them, no?

Don't really have much else I can comment on here, I suppose that is the sort of experience that would be traumatic but also an opportunity to learn. Being aloof afterwards isn't too surprising.

And a way to develop her character (hopefully) realistically along similar lines as in canon, in a world where Ryogi Shiki doesn't have the Mystic Eyes of Death Perception (since apparently, only one person at a time can, as I understand it) . . .

[Arbitrarity]

I suppose Fujino was somewhat vague; - in her defence, she's being circumspect in case she's wrong. If I added the detail that "white tiger" is one of the potential spirit shapes I keep wrestling with for my Lunar, does it make more sense?

The lack of matches DID make me consider that, especially with the "passing through doors" part, but I wasn't sure enough. You fiend.

Yup - interesting that he was keeping an eye on her, when normally clients come to them, no?

Oooh, that's specifically Grail Works Shirou, of course. Now it all ties together.

And a way to develop her character (hopefully) realistically along similar lines as in canon, in a world where Ryogi Shiki doesn't have the Mystic Eyes of Death Perception (since apparently, only one person at a time can, as I understand it) . . .

I feel like that might be fanon, but I have heard that before as well. Having trouble citing it.