At the very least her feelings for him must be different now. He is, at worst, an absent brother who left for a better life.
At the very least her feelings for him must be different now. He is, at worst, an absent brother who left for a better life.
Keep in mind that Sakura in the VN would never say anything bad about Shinji and actually spends a lot of time defending him, even when Shinji was being the raping asshole that he was. In this story, we have an Shinji that not doing any of that and has done minor things to connect with her. If I had to take an educated guess, I would say that the reason that Sakura might die is because she might actually defend Shinji against his grandfather and would sacrifice herself to save Shinji if things go sour.
maybe the einzberns attack the matou family in the funeral.
Remember than Sakura not know how to fight.
Last edited by skulkidcachi90; December 28th, 2015 at 12:25 PM.
Well, we chose to save a life immediately rather than one later on… such as one of the Stone Cutter's or Sakura. Hopefully we'll choose well and keep Sakura from dying with good choices going forward… if only because Sakura's death would make Rin unhappy. Shinji may not value Sakura, but he values Rin.
Not Magus! Magic Emperor Magus!
As long as its not something like: give the diary to snape -> Dumbledore dies.
According to what Alf said on IRC it's supposed to be - go alone / with Zelkova, with one of the choices resulting in Salura's death.
If so then it's likely whether Shinji goes to the funeral alone or with Zelkova, which seems kind of off.
Will it be like, go alone leads them to see shinji is vulnerable so attacks him instead of her as some kind of ridiculous counter intuitive thing?
That's about the only thing I could imagine, since otherwise taking Zelkova seems like the most likely option for the group.
Chapter 2. Darkness and Starlight
The Boy-Who-Lived sat alone in the darkness of his cell, focusing on his breathing to the exclusion of all else. Now and then, other thoughts would bubble up – thoughts of the past, of the future, of how uncomfortable the stone floor was and how he missed being around his friends, but slowly, those thoughts would fade, and all that remained was the breath.
It had been almost a month since he’d talked to – since he’d so much as seen – another human being. In the beginning, the loneliness and lack of distraction had been almost too much to bear, and he’d found his mind wandering to those he’d left behind, wishing he could be with them, could explore the foreign land of Japan with them, could be out and about. But all those wishes were for naught, and as he woke and slept to the same surroundings alone day after day, the rest of the world began to fall away.
Whatever was outside the cell did not matter.
To him, it might as well not even exist.
All that mattered – all that existed – was what was within the stone walls of his single room, within the flesh and blood of his body, within the nebulous boundaries of his mind.
Such was but the first step of the long and arduous process required for a wizard to become an Animagus. Few in the history of Britain – or Europe as a whole, really – bothered with it at all, given that being able to transform oneself into a specific animal at will, without the need for a wand, was nice in principle, but lacked much in the way of practical application.
After all, given that most of them lived in villages and hamlets, not in the wilds, and most also ended up employed by a Ministry doing paperwork, becoming an Animagus wasn’t very useful for most people, since it wouldn’t boost their employability – or their abilities in anything beyond transfiguration.
Even then, among schoolchildren, quite a few were interested, given the exotic nature of the skill, and the fact that many wished to transform into birds or other creatures that could fly. Except that this interest faded once they learned that one who sought to become an Animagus wouldn’t – and couldn’t – know what one might become until one finally transformed for the first time.
…and no one wanted to invest an entire summer hoping to become a powerful, majestic beast, only to end up as a guinea pig or a rat.
Plus, there was the not-so-minor consideration that without complete isolation and focus, it would be easy for the transformation to go horribly wrong, with a prospective Animagus either stuck permanently between forms, or failing to transform at all, losing their transfiguration abilities in the process.
Given all that, perhaps it wasn’t such a surprise that in all of Britain, there had only been a total of seven registered Animagi during the 20th century – even if Harry knew that there had been a few unregistered ones as well, those who had found an animal form a convenient disguise.
…including his father and those James Potter had called his companions.
For Harry though, becoming an Animagus wasn’t about following in the footsteps of a father he’d never known. It wasn’t about fame or concealment or wanting to show off.
For the Boy-Who-Lived, it was a matter of ruthless practicality.
After the incident with the Acromantulae and his defeat at the hands of Matou, Harry knew that he needed a skill that would allow him to remain competitive with his brothers-in-arms. Here in Mahoutokoro, there were a few options available to him, including learning about more advanced ofuda – and of course, tutelage in the Dark Arts from Tomas – but in the end, he’d decided on his present course.
There was no way he’d be able to catch up with – or surpass – Matou if he simply followed in the other boy’s footsteps, after all. And somehow, he didn’t think greater mastery of Dark Arts was the answer either, especially not in a Britain that still feared the memory of Lord Voldemort.
His only hope was to take a different course entirely, focusing on what would be most useful for his position as Stone Cutter and Hogwarts’ Second for the Wizarding Schools Potions Championship. If, by some chance, Matou was incapacitated and Harry had to take the field on the ancient isle on which the competition was set, becoming an Animagus would give him the best edge.
After all, one of the little known things about Animagi was that beasts – magical and otherwise – did not generally bother to attack them when transformed, and that Animagi could in fact communicate with such beasts, in some cases even commanding them to aid him.
And while each of his competitors might be individually stronger than he himself, it was the unseen knife which bit deepest, not necessarily the sharpest.
“Italy is…a strange place,” Pansy remarked, feeling rather small as she looked out at the dome of St. Peter’s Basilica from the window of a rather austere room just outside the walls of Vatican City.
The room – and the townhouse as a whole – belonged to one of Lockhart’s friends, a woman he had addressed as Rafiq – a name which didn’t seem to match the young woman’s appearance – who had graciously offered them lodging without the need for payment or asking questions. Though of course, the fact that the townhouse had a large empty room for “training” – and the fact that the woman looked to Lockhart as a mentor – left her with questions she suspected the Professor was not about to answer.
“Yes, it is indeed, Miss Parkinson,” Gilderoy Lockhart agreed as he came through the door, carrying what seemed like a thick wand in his right hand, his formal Muggle attire of greys and blacks having been replaced with a set of robes. “This city especially, given its long history.”
“Oh?” the girl asked, raising an eyebrow as she turned to her teacher. “What do you mean?”
“You know by know how Italy has no magical government, I believe – but did you ever wonder why this was so?” the adventurer inquired.
“…no, Professor,” Pansy murmured. In truth, she really had no idea, except… “Is it perhaps related to the witch burnings in the fourteenth century?”
Lockhart’s lips tightened as the assassin sighed.
“You could say that, Miss Parkinson,” the man conceded. “I’m sure you have read about how our kind made attempts to burn us at the stake ineffective with the Flame-Freezing Charm, but those clumsy efforts were merely the tip of the iceberg.”
“…what’s an iceberg?” the Slytherin girl asked, tilting her head in confusion as she tried to puzzle out what it could mean. She’d never heard the word before, after all.
Lockhart just chuckled.
“An iceberg, Miss Parkinson, is a large piece of ice that has broken free of a glacier and floats freely in the ocean,” the man explained. “Most of the ice is hidden underwater, with only a small bit exposed.”
“So by tip of the iceberg, you mean…”
“That it is only a very small part of a much larger context.”
“Ah,” Pansy said, understanding now. “Um, but what’s a glacier…? Something to do with ice, given Glacius?”
“Very good, Miss Parkinson,” the Assassin noted. “A glacier is a rather large body of ice that forms over land over many, many years, with snow building up and compressing itself into ice. You’ll see enough of them when you go to Durmstrang this fall.”
“I see,” the girl said.
“Back to the issue of magical governments and Rome, however, is a bit of history that is not mentioned in any of your history books,” the Assassin continued. “A bit that the continental histories as a whole fail to mention, for that matter.”
“…what could that be?”
“War, Miss Parkinson. A terrible conflict which lasted centuries, ravaging our kind. That is the true reason for the Statute of Secrecy.”
“What.”
Pansy Parkinson’s voice was flat with shock. Whatever she’d expected to hear, it wasn’t that. Besides, what power could possibly threaten wizarding society as a whole? Granted, Muggles were much more innovative and adaptive than she’d given them credit for, but from what Lockhart had said, centuries ago their capabilities had been far less…robust.
“Look outside the window,” Lockhart all but commanded, with Pansy Parkinson turning to see the walls of Vatican City once more. “Do you know what that is?”
“A city within a city?” the girl hazarded.
“It is that. But is more. It is the Headquarters of the Church – which led the persecution of magical beings – and of an organization known as the Templars,” the Assassin explained, his voice almost growling out the name of the organization which he was sworn to oppose. “You ask what could harm those who wield magic? The answer is simple: others who wield it.”
“What? But why…?”
“They are different from us, Miss Parkinson. They are not wizards or muggles, but something else entirely. And to them, our kind are seen as heretics and abominations, as our powers do not derive from their beliefs or the power of their God.” The Asssasin laughed, but it was a mirthless sound, one that sent a shiver down the Slytherin girl’s spine. “And they sought to exterminate wizards.”
“Why…?”
“Because our magic can ‘infect’ future generations,” the man noted grimly. “It can be passed down from parent to child, if not always reliably. We are born from humans, and yet are not…pure in their eyes. Because of our magic, we are…filthy.”
“…so it’s like how some in Britain see Muggleborn, only worse?”
“Indeed,” the man said, his lips curving into a thin smile. “The Church’s Executors and the Templars worked to destroy anything they considered heretical or impure. And against their power and fanaticism, the wizards of Europe, scattered as they were, could not stand. We hid. We went to ground. We separated ourselves so that we would not be hunted, and forgot, even as others took up the struggle in our stead.”
Pansy’s mouth was dry as she listened to everything her mentor told her, trying to imagine what the world he described – and failing, as it went against everything she knew.
Wizards…were indomitable, weren’t they? That they could lose something of that magnitude…it…surely that was impossible…
“But if we…if wizards forgot,” she said after a time, “then how do you know what happened?”
“Because some did not give up the fight,” the man said, his voice quiet and sharp as a knife. “They fought with strange powers and abilities of their own, battling the Church and Templars to a standstill over centuries of bitter conflict. In time, the Church grew tired of fruitless battle and ceased its efforts at extermination, especially since they could no longer find us.”
“…and the Templars?”
“…with them, there can be no peace, Miss Parkinson,” the Assassin replied. “Not until every being on one side or the other is dead.”
Their eyes met, with Pansy frozen by the sheer passion in the man’s words. She’d suspected there were hidden depths to the Professor, more than were in his autobiographies, but this…
“You’ve fought them, haven’t you?” the girl whispered, taking a step back. “The Templars.”
“I have, Miss Parkinson,” Lockhart acknowledged easily. “I have learned many things since my first adventure, when I discovered the truths of the world from a mentor of my own. I have grown in my power, until I can face magical beasts, Templars, and Dark Lords alike.”
“…and why are you telling me this?”
Pansy Parkinson really had no idea. If the Professor really was so powerful, so skilled, so well-versed in the secret lore of the world, why reveal this to her?
“Because I think your mind is supple enough to understand the truth without breaking,” the man replied. “You have ambition, Miss Parkinson. You have some degree of skill. And deep down, you already believe there is more to life than the world you were born into. At least, Matou said as much when he recommended you to me.”
“Matou did…?”
“Indeed. He even paid for the dragonhide robe you have in your luggage,” the man remarked. Which was all quite true, even if the robe had been meant for Lockhart as a thank you for the design, as opposed for Pansy herself. “He was born into a family that knows the world of moonlight – the secret world in which I dwell. And he believes in you.”
“This isn’t just about being trained as an adventurer then…is it?” the girl asked quietly. “You wouldn’t have told me all that you did otherwise.”
“Correct, though the ultimate choice is yours.”
There was something unspoken lingering about the man’s words that had Pansy on edge. Choices always had consequences, she knew, so there had to be a consequence to refusal, right? There were only a very few things it could be, but she found that she didn’t much care what it might – because she had no intention of refusing.
“Teach me then, Master,” the girl said quietly, going down on one knee.
But the Assassin shook his head and bade the girl rise, which she did, questioningly.
“Mentor, Miss Parkinson, not Master,” Lockhart corrected with a smile as he pressed an item into her hands. “We are both students of the truth, after all, even if I have walked further along the road than you have.”
“As you wish, sir,” Pansy replied, looking down at the cold tube that had been pressed her hands. “But what’s this?”
“The next tool you will learn to use,” the man answered. “One that should come in handy, given that Scandinavian and Russian wizards are trained in the use of staves, which are effective at both melee and magical attack, in addition to wands.”
“Staves?” the Slytherin girl echoed. “But this isn’t—“
“Give it a sharp flick,” the man instructed, stepping back as the girl did so – and heat-treated metal telescoped outwards.
“This is…?”
“You would call it a collapsible baton, though this has been designed to lock together with a second like it,” Lockhart noted, removing another such unit from his belt. He handed this to the girl as well, and watched as she fit the bottoms of the two together and twisted, locking them into one. “Flick again.”
She did so, and the other side extended as well, locking into place with a smooth click.
“A handy weapon, if less immediately threatening than a blade,” the Assassin commented. “So far, you are familiar with the basic practices of dueling and Defense, but against some of the threats out there, magic alone is not enough.”
“…so, like a troll, for instance,” Pansy murmured, recalling the most recent Kobayashi Maru.
“Indeed, of which there are quite a few in the frozen north,” Lockhart noted. “As well, consider the weather.”
“The weather?”
“Yes, Miss Parkinson. Perhaps you think Hogwarts is cold in the winter? Well, at Durmstrang – and in Russia, it is far colder,” the Assassin continued. “Hence they tend to wear more in the way of clothing enchanted to keep them comfortable and warm. And as they are already wearing such things, they see no reason not to layer on charms of protection. So incapacitating a Russian wizard may not be as simple as a British one.”
“Why don’t Aurors wear that sort of stuff then?” Pansy asked, curious as to the differences.
“Protective garments are expensive, Miss Parkinson,” the man explained. “Besides, Britain's tactical doctrine is wand-focused, and designed for flexibility and mutual support. Historically, our main adversaries have been other wand users or beings who might be physically powerful, but do not have much magical ability. Thus we rely on mobility, with armor is more of a hassle than a necessity.”
“Huh.”
She’d never thought of it that way, never had any reason to think of it that way.
“What about Mahoutokoro?” the girl questioned, curious as to how Matou’s homeland trained its Aurors – or the equivalent thereof. “And their…ofuda, I think they were called?”
Lockhart chuckled.
“Ah yes, those do tend to be central to the Eastern schools,” the Assassin noted. “They tend to focus on training elite units instead of simply using larger teams, which is made possible by the use of their ofuda as a major force multiplier. As I understand it, ofuda require preparation in advance, but can be stockpiled and deployed in massive numbers, allowing a prepared individual to overwhelm most who simply rely on wands.”
“And you, Professor?” Pansy asked. “What do you prefer?”
“Ah, but that would be telling. Let us simply begin with teaching you the basics of something I call the art of movement, the foundation to everything I have to teach. And of course, its principles.”
“Oh?”
“Nothing is true. Everything is permitted.”
As she opened her eyes, Tohsaka Rin felt as if she had had a run-in with a Heroic Spirit and barely lived to tell the tale. Her head, her back, her arms, her legs, her chest – there was no part of her that didn’t hurt, and when she tried to move them, it felt as if they were made out of lead.
‘What…happened…?’ she wondered, but she couldn’t think clearly at all, not with her head throbbing and the world spinning all around her. ‘Wh-wh-wh-where am I?’
She couldn’t remember.
She just knew she felt horrible. More horrible than she’d ever felt in her life, even when the family Crest was being implanted.
…the Crest that was incidentally the only reason she wasn’t dead from alcohol poisoning, given that she’d downed an entire bottle of firewhiskey.
‘Water…water…’
Despite the pain, and the haze covering her mind, she groped for something on the…table?...next to her, her hand closing on something hard and cylindrical.
‘Glass.’
Without looking to see where it was, she brought it to her mouth, some of the liquid sloshing from the cup and spilling on her soiled top, with the rest going into her mouth – and burning as it went down her throat.
It wasn’t water, but it made her feel marginally better, at least, since mukae-zake, literally meaning "counter alcohol” or more colloquially, “hair of the dog” could help temporarily stave off the worst symptoms of a hangover.
Amusingly enough, the expression in English originally referred to a method of treating a rabid dog bite by placing hair from the dog in the bite wound to prevent evil consequences, though the earliest known reference in any language was for a hangover cure for a drunken god of Ugarit, a contemporary of the Assyrian Empire.
As her headache eased, Rin began to recognize where she was, and what she had done the night before. She was laying on the couch of one of Matou’s sitting room, with an empty bottle of firewhiskey – and a second, half-empty one – sitting on the table next to her.
And she reeked of alcohol.
She’d seen other magi drinking from time to time at the Tower, and had thought that maybe just a sip would help ease the worst of her frustrations with how things were going. She’d never tried alcohol before, and didn’t really care for the taste, but she’d thought that if she could forget everything, just for a while…
That sip had turned into several sips, had turned into several glasses, until the first bottle was empty and she’d started on the second.
Lord El Melloi II – her sponsor – hated her, wanted nothing to do with her, thought of her as “the worst Japanese.” Other magi looked down on her since she was young and from the East, to boot. And even Matou, who had told her to believe in herself, that she was fine the way she was – well, he wasn’t here, was he?
It had been months since she’d seen him, and in that time, she’d only had Mashu for company, with the strawberry blonde always being there for her, making her meals, cleaning up the house, and just being someone she could talk to – someone she could share her frustrations with – being there for her in this unfriendly, foreign land.
A sudden image from last night flashed into her head.
When she…she’d…
‘No…’
…she’d reached up to the other girl, who was just trying to clean her up, and had given Mashu a drunken, sloppy kiss, a kiss that had tasted like…strawberries.
Her first kiss.
And she’d whispered, or slurred, rather, as her cheeks had blushed a crimson red, “…I didn’t know…I liked girls…this much.”
The other girl had stiffened at the unexpected attention, and had pulled away, leaving Tohsaka Rin laying on the couch alone, with only a a bottle of alcohol for company.
‘What have I done…?’
But neither the half-empty bottle nor the empty room had no answers for her in the cold morning light.
And half a world away, Shinji came to a decision as he stood before Fujou Shiroe at the boy’s chambers at Mahoutokoro.
“I’ve made up my mind, Fujou,” the Matou scion said heavily.
“Yes, Matou?” Fujou Shiroe asked, nervous beyond words, as his golden eyes staring into Shinji’s grey. “And what have you chosen?”
For the boy who had once been called Emiya Shirou, this was his last hope of possibly curing his sister, since there was nothing else in the world that would work as far as he knew.
“I’ll give you the miracle you seek, Fujou,” Shinji said roughly, withdrawing the priceless vial of Water of Life from his robes. “The Water of Life, an elixir that can cure any ailment at all.” He paused, looking hard at the Fujou head. “Any ailment – even death.”
“…what is your price then, Matou?” Shiroe whispered. Something like this wouldn’t – couldn’t be cheap. But he’d already sworn to pay any price. Whatever it took to save his sister, it would be cheap – for him, even if it cost him his life.
Which was why the other’s response shocked him to the core.
“Nothing,” Matou Shinji said quietly, as he pressed the vial into Shiroe’s hands. “I give this miracle to you freely.”
“Wha—?”
The Fujou boy’s mouth fell open in shock. Surely he had misheard Matou, for he couldn’t have said—
“This miracle is yours. Take it and cure your sister.”
But the boy had, and the vial – the elixir – was in his hands.
“I…I won’t forget this, Matou,” Shiroe whispered, bowing low to the other boy. “I’ll make sure Kaiduka and Hijiri know of your kindness, and if there’s anything I can do…”
Matou Shinji just smiled, for what was rather what he thought Shiroe might say.
“…I’ll let you know.”
“Please do.”
And with that, the two parted, one returning to his chambers, and the other moving quickly to catch the next train to Mifune.
Choice 3: Matou Shinji knows that he must go to the funeral as part of his family obligations, but he is uncertain as to whether he should go alone. He knows that he shouldn't bring an outsider, of course, but surely his familiar would be an exception. Of course, he also doesn't want his grandfather knowing everything about what he can do, and the only way Zelkova could travel so far is to physically be there, so, he doesn't know.
[ ] Go Alone
[ ] Take Zelkova
Last edited by alfheimwanderer; December 29th, 2015 at 02:03 AM.
Take Zelkova.
Also it just dawned on me, earlier today, that Shinji could've grabbed Avalon for Rin. Chances are they will probably be allies and even if not I doubt Rin would kill Shinji. So that could've increased the chances of winning the war. As the ultimate goal is to dismantle the Grail.
[ ] Take Zelkova
So, it seems like the trade off is Zouken knowing more.
[X] Solo
Originally Posted by Mattias
So, Harry is off to isolated, lonely months, but perhaps for the best, given that our raid and Shinji besting him left him feeling a little lacking. Also, his justifications for the choice are pretty well thought.
Pansy of course, starts on the shaky path of Assassins and learns another part of the truth about the world. Also, I think she may be feeling more than a little grateful to Shinji for recommending her.
Bad Rin! Underage drinking is bad! Though given her experiences in Britain, I can sympathize. Also, Rin learns she finds cute girls attractive years ahead of canon. Which is good for her since with all of butterflies Saber may not be on hand to enlighten her to the Truth.
And Shiroe is left speechless at Shinji's generosity...
[X] Take Zelkova - Grandpa is already angry, Shinji gave off his bargaining chip to friend and really, secret of Zelkova's existence isn't worth Shinji's safety. At least this way we will have that one additional layer of protection against Fun Worms Times.
Shinji won't die on this vote, kind of moot to worry about that. Zouken isn't killing Shinji here. So keeping secrets still has value.
[X] Take Zelkova
LIVE SAKURA PLEASE LIVE
Also shinji need visit rin more this year, poor girl.
Ummmm..... I vote whichever choice will keep Sakura alive?
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Srsly, if ever there was a point to save-scum on...
I literally give no shits if this girl I have no feelings for dies. I no longer hate her now that I have found my own wayto be valuable and I do not resent her for taking the place as heir but she means absolutely nothing.
If she dies that's just one less complication right? A dead Shadow Grail is a good Shadow Grail, my pappy always used to say.
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I literally give no shits if this girl I have no feelings for dies. I no longer hate her now that I have found my own wayto be valuable and I do not resent her for taking the place as heir but she means absolutely nothing.
If she dies that's just one less complication right? A dead Shadow Grail is a good Shadow Grail, my pappy always used to say.
It seems that the be yourself advice that shinji have Rin failed completely.
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