Fate/Reclamation (IC)

[Reiu]

Arwyn Cadfael Penrith
15th of December, 2004
Night (Phase 1-3)
Lee Valley Park

Considering that you had already summoned a Servant and were trying to get rid of a witness, but…

—Eliminating a witness.
Was that it? Perhaps that was it, all there truly was to it. But who, no, what was that man? For what had he sought him out, only to meet the fate he did? How had he known what only one other could have?

Arwyn still didn’t know. He didn’t know, he hadn’t known, not anything and not even why, and yet, it was by his hand that—


“Here I come.”


As though by compulsion, Arwyn’s blank gaze was drawn back to the spectacle between the two Servants.

Saver and…Saber.

…Something was different about Saber. No, perhaps this was only what had lay hidden beneath. Another side to the girl whose acquaintance he had made, perhaps different and perhaps not, but one that was just as much her as the casual nonchalance he had seen up until this point.


“……”


Just as she was fulfilling her end of their partnership, he had his part to play, as well.


Breaths, in and out. Ebbing and flowing.


His mind was still again, but a different stillness from the suspended blank it had been before.
Similar, yet different.

Arwyn directed his focus once more to the young girl before him.

“It is my understanding that there are two coalitions participating in this War.” His voice enunciated each word clearly, devoid of the hitherto discernible wavering.

“…To which do you, and Saver, belong?”


Of course, the question immediately revealed a critical truth—that of his standing. After all, if he had truly been on the opposing side, there would have been no need for this question. Maintaining the confusion of his anomalous standing could no doubt have been a source of strategic advantage over the course of the war, and yet, it was a thought that simply never occurred to Arwyn.

A brief pause, and a belated hesitant nod of acknowledgement at the blank-eyed maidservant…who still appeared to be awaiting something. “I will return after I, um, retrieve the stick, for your companion…if you would be so kind as to give your answer by then.”

“Thank you.”

[Katie]

Erika Kanzaki
16th of December, 2004
East London - Creekmouth
Night (Phase 1-3)

As a city girl, I’ve never spent too long on a boat. I’ve had the novelty before—living on an island nation and never having the experience seems a bit shameful—but I’m certainly not someone who liked going to the beach, gazing at the sea. Way too hot.

Though, here, the situation’s quite the opposite. Choppy waves, mana in the air like thick fog, and it is cold enough to make me reconsider ever spending time next to the Thames ever again. And considering we were so close to death just before… You’d think it would be a miserable experience.

But really, I can’t stop shaking this giddy feeling in my heart. A Lecturer like myself is face to face with one of the most famous leyline points of all time, and I get to claim it? It’d be a dreadfully boring topic for most magi, especially the ones of my generation, but this is, without a doubt, a once in a lifetime opportunity that I can’t miss. There’s no room for error.

So, I have to calm down. Michael and Archer are here, and while Caster would most definitely let me indulge, and perhaps indulge with me, it’d be a rather awkward pairing of a suddenly energetic duo versus their rightly grounded vigilance. That, and I’m putting the cart before the horse. We need to get to the leyline, after all.

The feeling of a spring gale as it rustles through the tree leaves.

I trace the edge of the boat with my finger.

“海が凪ぐ.”

And waves that were once rough and choppy, aiming to pull the boat under the surface, gradually even out and become calm. All in a day’s work for someone whose magecraft elements are wind and water.

“This should work, but extra caution may be due.”

Wise up!

Smooth Sailing
Rank D
Individual Fundamentals

Enables faster movement by reducing the inherent drag around an object or person. Gases or liquids flow around the selected object in a much smoother manner, allowing for surprising mobility.

[I3uster]

Lancer of White
16th of December, 2004
Night (Phase 1-3)

The first impression had not been too positive. Sure, she had no need for excessive glamor, but this seemed closer to a peasant's tavern than even a bourgeois restaurant. The smell of tobacco that had already firmly seeped into the walls mixed with spilled alcohol, soap and a hint of bodily fluids to form a combined assault on her senses the moment she stepped in. For a lack of a handerkchief she covered her mouth with her new cloth acquisition.

Assimilation. Adaption. Simple politeness. If she wanted to negotiate, this locale was just a minor detail that should not bother her.

She took a deep breath, trying her best not to do so through her nose.

"Alright, you Jocks nurse these while I whip up some food for you," Freogan announced while downing his own bourbon in one big gulp. "Shouldn't take too long. Burgers and sweet potato fries okay with you lot?"

Upon entering the kitchen area she at least was offered an aromatic alternative to the pub stench. "Mhmm..." While this particular type of spirit was unfamiliar to her, the distinct smell of strong liquor seemed to have a cleansing effect on her nostrils, and her mood improved accordingly.

While her current form granted her some degree of immunity to the effects of alcohol, she still took only tiny sips. Appearances still had to be kept, no matter how run-down of an impression her current location had given off.

Her drink came with a show at least. The skillful work of the man that had just a few minutes previously been a mortal adversary was quite entrancing to watch. It displayed a great amount of routine that reminded her of her own chefs, not a move wasted. A feat that was usually only achieved by continuous repetition. Sure, the door made it hard to make out exactly what he was doing, but it was not a matter of seeing every little movement. His focused expression alone would have probably been enough.

"Your first time he is cooking for you, Servant?"

It was just a question of interest. The woman still seemed to not have quite warmed up to her. If this really would end in an alliance, however temporary, it would be imperative to get on that woman's good side.

"He seems quite energetic. While you certainly made an assertive impression, it can be nice to lose control to a more...forceful person like that sometimes, no?" A glance shot towards her own Master. "Some find it harder to accept than others, I suppose..."

-----

The thing that was presented to her a few minutes later seemed like someone abused an entire loaf of bread to fit half a pig. A pig that had clearly been made to suffer the ultimate consequence of rampaging in a field of vegetables. Now firmly bedded on the fruit of its misdeeds, its aroma beckoned the woman more than anything...

But she had to keep a clear head. No eating before the others. And yet it would be more than rude to refuse it. For now her hands just ran across it like a martial artist trying to find an opening, as the size of the bun far exceeded what she could elegantly hold between her hands.

"Are the English still as chatty as ever during their dinners? Or would you favor we save this for afterwards. I can at least already compliment you on the aroma."

The woman fidgeted in her seat, trying her best to analyze this strange piece of food from every angle. There had to be some way to eat it without sullying her clothes.

[Verg Avesta]

Freogan Deofolgeat
16th of December, 2004
Night (Phase 1-3)

"Oh for sure. I ain't judging if you chew and yap at the same time. Hell, I ain't the type hold back on something scrummy even if I've got to run my mouth," Freogan shot back, cracking open a beer for himself. "I mean guess some blokes like to sit in awkward silence, but the way I see it, nothing's better than scrunching on a burger and shooting shit with the lads. Throw some football on the telly and it's a regular night in a pub!"

As if inspired by his own words, Freogan got a devious grin on his face and downed half of his beer with one big gulp. He wiped his mouth, miserably failed to conceal a loud burp that came after it, and snatched a TV remote from the table. Then, like a wizard boy disarming his opponent, he brandished the thing and turned on the machine that had been hoisted up in the ceiling-corner of the main room with a rig.

Immediately the television blared to light, the screen showing a twenty-something moderately attractive woman next to a fast-scrolling chat log. The chat log in question was full of fast-paced conservation, most of them looking either a one-night-romp in their area of London or asking the host of the program to flash her mammaries. An awkward, and slightly irritated, look came upon Freogan's face and he switched the television off after just one minute of watching the insipid program.

Indeed, it looked like Freogan had forgotten just what time it was. During the late hours of the night, nothing but dating-chat shows ruled the airwaves.

"Bloody tossers," Freogan muttered as he returned to his beer. "First MTV died and now his crap takes over..."

Trying to recover from his failed experiment of introducing two Servants to the wonders of mass entertainment, Freogan happened to glance back at the table, where he saw Lancer sizing up her jumbo-sized culinary opponent. At first Freogan seemed to have no idea what she was doing, as evident from his ajar mouth and raised eyebrow... but even he made the connection eventually. With a slight chuckle and an expression that seemed to say: "I guess even Servants can be awkward" he ducked under the desk for a moment, rummaging through its contents.

What he eventually emerged with was a knife, a fork and a paper napkin.

"Here, some eating irons for you, sunshine," Freogan said and handed the items to Lancer. "It's usually the custom to just grab the bloody thing with your hands and bite in, no matter how much sauce sprays from the arse-end of it... but I guess that's a no-go for a ponce. I ain't judging though, not after a compliment on my grub! And wouldn't want to get the royal tracksuit dirty, eh? Want me to get some for your gaffer, too?"

The blonde man punctuated his words with a rough, good-hearted laughter. It seemed that since he began cooking, Freogan's mood had been rising slowly but surely in the rhythm of the sips he was taking from his beer bottle.

And speaking of, when had he opened another one? Or even finished the first one?

And why was he grabbing another non-alcoholic drink for Lancer's Master while searching for more utensils like she had been a minor???

[Mellon]

Arwyn Cadfael Penrith & Saber
15th of December, 2004
Night (Phase 1-3)
Lee Valley Park

Though given your… condition, it looks like? Or is it a curse? It looks like you’re the kind of man who can afford to be a bit reckless.

“The difference between a curse and a blessing seems to be just semantical, wouldn’t you say so, Saber?” Saver merely gave the Servant of the Sword a small grin. “Though you are correct on the recklessness front. My brother was the one who got all the sense in our family.”

“...They’re not paying attention.”

The lime-haired Heroic Spirit merely let out a brief chuckle.

“That they are not. Well, I must say that I kinda expected it from the Little Miss. You can say that its a part of her charm..” For a second, Saver’s eyes fell on Arwyn. “But despite how he looks, your Master seems to be somewhat of an airhead, no?”

“I suppose we both have our tribulations to bear, eh Saber?”

Magical energy suddenly burst forth from the oriental swordswoman as Saber tore off the burnt cloth and charred fabric. Her elegant blade rose as she assumed her stance, unfamiliar to all others on the wooded clearing, but one she had taken hundreds, if not thousands of times. The surge in magical energy could only indicate one thing. The activation of a Noble Phantasm. Yet Saver did nothing but watch the spectacle that was folding out in front of his eyes. Was it pure arrogance? No. one look at the spear-wielding Servant’s face was enough for Saber to completely put such an idea to rest.

Saver’s eyes glittered with an almost child-like expectation and curiosity.

Indeed, the Servant of Salvation wished for nothing more than to face Saber at her absolute best.

Saver snapped his fingers.

What could only be described as a thunderbolt shot forth from behind Saber. A second later, Saver’s spear, which had mere moments ago vanished into the depths of the forest leaving a trail of destruction behind it, rested on his extended arm once more. Small swirls of black smoke rose and static electricity cracked around its surface, as Saver brought it forward in a stance of his own, its tip aimed at Saber.

“Against an opponent who can stand before me, I’d like to see, just this once, how far I can go.”

“You are kind of putting me on a spot aren’t you? After all, something like that can only be as high as the "wall" in front of you!

Azure thunder erupted from Saver’s, wreathing itself around his form like a halo of destruction. Its force was incomparable to what you had seen earlier, as random arcs of electricity seemed to lash out and melt the very ground that surrounded the Heroic Spirit. For a moment, the very embodiment of lightning seemed to stand in front of Saber.

“Then come!”

Meanwhile…

“…To which do you, and Saver, belong?”

Ilya’s eyes flickered over momentarily to Arwyn and away from the Servant fight which had seemingly suddenly intensified. Her voice was non-committal and you felt that the main focus of her attention was still on the fight taking place between the two Heroic Spirits.

“...mhm? Ilya is, of course, a member of the Einzbern’s and therefore part of the White fac…”

Her eyes suddenly turned on Arwyn, the young man capturing her full attention once more.

“Mr. Doggie… Are you even a Master? Or did you by some random twist of fate usurp the Saber slot from the Association?” Her eyes clouded for a second. “But that should only be the case if the Blue Faction didn’t summon their Servants and I know, that is not the case…”

Ilya’s ruby eyes still followed Arwyn, as he suddenly rose and headed towards the treeline in the distance. A flicker of puzzlement passed through them, before narrowing in… pity?

“You are quite dimwitted, aren’t you, Mister? Or is it the shock of the situation that is getting to you?”

[Sei]

Aila Einzbern

16th of December, 2004
West London - Neasden Temple
Night (Phase 1-3)

As expected, the night is disturbingly quiet. The silence is one thing when you're enjoying within the space of small, familiar walls; however, it's a different beast entirely when coupled with a wide open space. When such a large area is devoid of auditory stimuli, the mind starts to crave it. It goes into overdrive- looking for even that slightest rustling. It wants to reassure itself. Reassure itself that the host body isn't the only source of noise on this vast plane. It gives rise to paranoia. It makes one's own ears hear things that aren't really there just to fill in the gaps. In a word, it's maddening.

I clench my fist, gingerly pressing my nails against the palm of my hand. I draw in a quick breath and refresh myself with the cool night breeze. Then, I look to the sky. I take in the clarity of the stars above and the tranquility of the surrounding area. I look to the trees, then the grass, and finally towards the temple. Without a doubt, there is a soothing atmosphere surrounding it. Whether this is a direct result of the land it rests upon or an effect of the field around it is something I can't say. However, I also can't shake the fact that there is something about it that also brings me unease. Almost as if something at my core is hinting that Aila Einzbern and this place are not compatible.

But... I have to be strong...

Regardless of the situation, nothing will come about if we idle and do nothing. Therefore, it's up to us to do something. Anything. So long as we act, the result will be better than if no action is taken at all.

"It appears as though we're safe for the moment," I speak up- trying to ease my own nerves in the process, "But I also think it's fair to remain cautious. After all, the tools of this war don't necessarily adhere to typical logic. For all we know an enemy could be right on top of us at this very moment."

I raise a hand to my chin in thought, desperately trying to mask my own trembling.

"Nevertheless, we shouldn't let that bar us from taking the initiative."

I set my eyes on the temple. I know a bit of details in regards to its purpose and its affiliation, but that's more or less hearsay. What I'm experiencing here- firsthand- is the most reliable information I have to go by.

"Caster... Mr. Ushabti... Would the two of you be able to tell me what you think of this land? Does anything seem off to you? Particularly with this temple?"

I take another look at the surrounding area and try to think of every possibility.

"Based off of what I know, I'd like to think otherwise... But... Do you think it possible that someone could have set up some kind of base here?" Thinking back to the museum, it doesn't strike me as unlikely that a notable landmark could serve as an enemy's base of operations, "It seems like the kind of space that could be beneficial to a properly aligned Servant and master."

[Reiu]

Arwyn Cadfael Penrith
15th of December, 2004
Night (Phase 1-3)
Lee Valley Park

—A broken wing, in the snow.



The song thrush was still, and mute. Perhaps another would have thought it already gone, but Arwyn had espied from his periphery the feeble movement of the thrush’s head, peering weakly about its awkwardly angled wing.

A small moment of quiet, before he knelt by it with unspoken intent, retrieving a cloth—a handkerchief of some kind?—from his inner coat pocket, gently laid it to rest over the fallen bird, and murmured a soft prayer.

As though bearing witness to yet another rite of departure, again, within this same impassively snowing night.

“Deus autem spei repleat vos omni gaudio et pace in credendo ut abundetis in spe in virtute Spiritus Sancti.”

Before long,
the bird stirred its wing, as though with a breath of renewed life.

Arwyn carefully removed the cloth, as he watched the bird gingerly stretch its formerly broken wing, spreading each small feather on display as it did so.

It cocked its head inquisitively at him, before taking flight without further acknowledgement of its rescuer.

With his gaze, he followed the bird's ascent. He was no naturalist, and did not know if it could regain and secure its bearings or survival after this, nor whether his intervention resulted in any better fate than leaving it to perish unbeknownst on the lonely forested path.

Even then, as he watched the bird flit away to depart the night—

He felt a small measure of solace.


—Ah, what arrogance.


His breaths in the frigid air blooming into fleeting white puffs, dried blood crackled slightly on his once-more stained left sleeve, as Arwyn stooped down to at last fetch the object that had been the original goal of his detour. With a last lingering look at the now empty path, he turned to return the way he had come, wooden stick tenuously grasped in a gloved hand.

He could only hope it was the correct one.

---

Wiseup

Equipment

Cloth of Paul
Effect: Heal Minor Injury 3 times a day; alternatively, convert Major Injury into Minor Injury over a rest phase, using up all charges for the day.

The cloth Arwyn retrieved from his pocket, in truth a minor but nonetheless sacred relic. The words he uttered were, in actuality, unimportant to its functioning: it was the sincere sentiment that had brought forth the wish embodied by the prayer, on which this relic relies.

“God did extraordinary miracles through the hands of Paul, so that even handkerchiefs and aprons that had touched him were taken to the sick, and the diseases and evil spirits left them (Acts 19:12).”


As a cloth that has been touched by the Apostle Paul, whose renowned powers of healing extended to such that he was said to have resurrected the youth Eutychus—the Cloth of Paul is capable of bestowing curative effects upon a recipient, under the condition that it is first touched by another who genuinely wishes well upon them. In other words, its nature is that of giving, for a simple reason: that one is able.

The precept of altruism, a selfless ideal.

As an aside, it was perhaps particularly fitting for this relic to end up in this War, as Saint Paul was the patron saint of London. And what better place for a relic of Saint Paul to be than a holy war in the city under his patronage for the most prized of all relics, one said to have once contained the blood of the very one whose gospel Paul himself had spread?

[Kirby]

Saber of 『　』
15th of December, 2004
Night (Phase 1-3)
Lee Valley Park

“But despite how he looks, your Master seems to be somewhat of an airhead, no?”

“You’re telling me.” A short laugh. “But I suppose you could say he’s having a very, very bad day. At this point, I’m convinced he summoned me by accident.”

My smile fades, as does everything. My senses, my presence, my existence, my self.

In the recesses of my soul, the Gate is opened—

—And I become one with the ███.




A silence settles on the forest glade. Seconds like eternities, frozen air and time.

And I draw my blade and strike—

[Leftovers]

Berserker of Blue
16th of December, 2004
Night (Phase 1-3)

It was Berserker's firm belief that if Freogan applied himself to winning the Holy Grail War as much as he did to having a bite, a drink, and a good time, the whole affair would be over in record time. Then again, such were the motivations of fighting men wherever one were to look for them. Perhaps the ideal method of harnessing Freogan's motivation would be for pub-crawling merriment and magical deathmatches to flow from one to the other to the point that he would not know whether to gut an overtly snooty garçon or fix up a burger and a pint to a mortal enemy.

As he was doing right now.

It wasn't that her resolution to see his decision through had wavered. She had simply underestimated the depths of his disregard for propriety - again. Sitting on the counter with a leisurely lounging Servant and a demure girl she should by all rights be fighting while the sounds of cooking and absent-minded humming drifted out of the kitchen she simply felt the need to share an acknowledgement of this peculiar situation, or even follow a self-conscious urge to apologise for how awry things had gone; though in truth she didn't really have anything in mind to say, that did not make the anticipatory silence any less awkward. But still and all, she was preempted before the words had even begun to form on her lips.

"Your first time he is cooking for you, Servant?"

There was something to be said for how comfortable Lancer had made herself out to be on a plain bar stool. Small sips of the amber spirit poured for her by Freogan elegantly filled the anticipatory silence on her end while Berserker fiddled with her own glass, staring at its gently sloshing surface as though the proper words would be dredged up from the bottom for her to say. In time, she gave a nod of confirmation.

"This is his first opportunity to do so," she answered. The tone she directed at the fellow Servant had for once shed its frost but it could not be called anything more than perfunctory, which did not deter Lancer's own conversational cadence in the slightest.

"He seems quite energetic. While you certainly made an assertive impression, it can be nice to lose control to a more...forceful person like that sometimes, no?"

Both eyed their glasses and the comings and goings of the self-styled cook rather than each other, and the words hung indefinitely between them. All the better for Berserker, as the confusion that momentarily flitted across her face would have been a delicious treat for the other woman.

She should be aware that I follow Freogan's initiative with specific goals in mind, no? And even more so considering the relation of power between Master and Servant...

"Some find it harder to accept than others, I suppose..."

If puzzlement could outwardly manifest, Berserker would have a question mark floating over her head right about now.

"He is certainly enthusiastic when it comes to entertaining others," she picked her words carefully, "but..."

Fortunately, she was spared from cryptic small talk by the return of the man in question: a very proud Freogan bearing his ridiculous creations, which he wasted no time lining up before his self-appointed clients with the giddiness of a child eager to impress his parents with his demonstration. And Berserker had to admit, if she had to feed an army with something equally appetising, filling, and packed with energy for professional soldiers to burn through, she would almost certainly stuff them with these monstrosities.

The only question was, how does one eat it?

No matter how she looked at it, the burger was an unassailable fortress of meat and greenery protected by sturdy foundations of bread and condiments ready to spray themselves at any invader willing to tackle it. Too big to take a comfortable bite, she imagined; stealing a look at Lancer assuaged her in that at least she wasn't the only one in this embarrassing predicament.

It seemed Freogan had noticed as much and produced a set of silverware for the Servant to wield. Curiously, he failed to extend Berserker the same courtesy. And wasn't that troubling...

Did he simply forget, or did he perhaps expect her to tackle this monument to gluttony on her own? Such thoughts ran through her mind as she watched Lancer daintily pick up the utensils and hold the culinary structure in place. Surely with these tools she would have no problem dismantling it, cutting it down to pieces and laying it out for all the world to see. And she--

Ah, Berserker understood. Freogan had provided this aid to Lancer precisely so that she could in turn prove that she could manage that much without need of these tools. He had orchestrated such a situation where she could test her mettle against the other Servant, and placed his faith in her ability to come out on top unaided. A fine stratagem, to be sure. She would make sure to praise him for it later.

But now, she gave a determined nod and wrapped her hands around the comically huge burger. It was time to do credit to the chef.

---

A few frantic minutes later, the robe-clad Servant polished off the last dregs of beer from the bottom of her mug with a sense of urgency directly in contrast with the dainty dabs of a napkin on her lips immediately afterwards. The result of the skirmish, if anyone else had truly noticed or cared in the first place, went by uncommented by the rest of the pub's exclusive patrons. In its stead:

"Well now. With hunger quenched and thirst abated, I believe the time is proper to tackle this occasion."

The voice issued forth cut through the lulling atmosphere with a sense of finality.

"What, precisely, do you have in mind in terms of an alliance?"

[Sunny]

Caster of Blue
16th of December, 2004
East London - Creekmouth
Night (Phase 1-3)

With a light step and lifted coat, the girl stepped carefully and demurely onto the vessel, ignoring the protesting creak of the rowboat. She took the closest seat to Erika, hands cupping her chin, and arms resting on her knees, rocking back and forth. Caster gave their bodyguards a winsome smile over her shoulder, but otherwise cheerfully left the task of steadying the vessel to others.

"A lovely find, both of you," Caster commented as she turned back to watching the waters ahead. She rather enjoyed the view from boats, but the tedious task of navigating them had never appealed to her, despite her lineage. Not that many would have entrusted her with manning a boat in life, for various reasons.

As Erika steadied the water, the lenses on Caster's visor rotated while she watched her master, switching to a yellowish one that narrowed and widened with a faint, nearly imperceptible whirr. Her expression was still and unreadable, but her uncovered eye was bright with barely-concealed energy and interest, and her fingers pressed tighter against her cheeks.

Caster tilted her body to the side afterwards, glancing down at the suddenly still, calm waters, resisting the urge to dip her finger in like Erika did, lest it disturb her master's interesting trick.

"Just like that, from living silver to dead," she murmured to herself in wonder, then giggled and looked upward. "Though I suppose the Thames is still a rather tarnished silver indeed."

“This should work, but extra caution may be due."

"Really? I daresay we've already merrily thrown caution to the wind, at this point..." Caster inched closer, sitting upright and leaning forward like a child barely restraining herself in her seat. "But bothersome as it is to wait, I suppose a bit of anticipation will make the spoils more rewarding."

Yes, she could stand to wait a bit longer. After all, she was quite interested to see the rest of Erika's plan brought to fruition, to say nothing of how it was done.

"...But only a bit, right? Right?"

[Mellon]

Erika Kanzaki, Michael Blackmore, Archer of Blue and Caster of Blue
16th of December, 2004
East London - Creekmouth
Night (Phase 1-3)

The tiny boat glimmered with a slight shine as Erika’s magecraft washed over it.

The boat, which was seemingly tossed around by the violent waves mere moments ago suddenly seemed to become almost deathly still. It was not as if the torrenting water had subsided. Far from it. The torrent of water carrying you forward seemingly intensified the closer you got to the raging heart of the Whirpool. However, your dinghy seemed to seemingly cut through the violent waves with an almost unnatural smoothness, the very force of the currents seemingly washing off from the sides of your boat. The effect was difficult to truly explain. It almost reminded you of two magnets of the same polarity placed next to each other.

It did not take you long to reach the center point of the Whirpool - the beating heart of the leyline. While the shaking did return somewhat as you approached the heart, as not even reduced drag could truly nullify the force that was applied to the boat by going directly against the incoming currents of water. Nevertheless, as the boat stopped mere meters away from the magical nexus, it was still holding. The swaying caused by the waves might have been uncomfortable, but its position was at least somewhat stable. Who knows how long that would last, however, as the massive quantities of od leaking from the could very well intensify if left unchecked.

And then, underneath the raging waves of the Thames, you could make out your goal.



A glint of light shone below.

Arwyn Cadfael Penrith & Saber
15th of December, 2004
Night (Phase 1-3)
Lee Valley Park

The spear of thunder met the blade of tranquility.

As the two Servants separated from their first point of contact, the fight between the two had taken on a completely new meaning. Saber was the first to react, launching herself towards her enemy once more, kicking up a cloud of charred dirt in the process. Saver, for his part, raised his left arm towards Saber and in a nigh-instantaneous azure flash, a massive bolt of azure lightning was hurled towards Saber. The sudden attack did not even seem to phase the elegant swordswoman who simply seemed to flow past the attack mid-stride, resulting in the errant bolt of electricity missing the side of her head by a hair. It struck one of the trees behind her, causing it to explode in a cacophony of force and fire. For a brief second, singed splinters of wood rained down on the clearing.

Saber, meanwhile, had already crossed the rest of the distance between them and was already bringing down her blade on Saver in an elegant arc. In a blade dance that seemed to flow from one strike right into another, a rain of blows fell onto Saver, with each strike seemingly harder to block than the other. One became six. Six became fifteen. It was clear that Saber had no intentions to give the other Servant any time to collect his thoughts or attempt to attack. Her aim was to overwhelm her opponent through her superior speed and newfound skill before Saver could fully adapt to the new circumstances.

Flashes of silver lit up the night, accompanied by the sound of clashing steel, the individual blows being only distinguishable by the two superhuman Servants.





“Cra..”

Their clash had lasted to what seemed to be a mere second, but the number of blows that Saber had launched numbered forty-five, before overwhelming her counterpart. In a flourish of steel, the swordswoman dragged a deep cut over her opponent's chest, causing rivulets of crimson to flow down her opponents teal tunic. Saber instantly moved into another attack, but through gritted teeth Saver drove down the pommel of his spear into the ground, causing the very earth beneath the two of you to erupt in a massive shockwave of dirt and sending the two combatants flying in opposite directions.

Transitioning his landing into a backflip hop, the spear-wielding Servant landed on one of the barren tree branches overlooking the clearing. As Saver raised one of his hand towards the sky, you could see the wound you had inflicted mere moments ago closing, with even the very fabric of his tunic seemingly knitting back together.

The clear moon suddenly clouded over and a deep, primal, rumble echoed from the sky.

And then, in a scene seemingly from myth itself, it rained thunder on the clearing below.

[Mellon]

Arwyn Cadfael Penrith & Saber
15th of December, 2004
Night (Phase 1-3)
Lee Valley Park

“... mmm… Wrong stick.”

From the look of slight disappointment that the innocent-looking maid was giving you, your choice had been an incorrect one. The young white-haired girl, who called herself Ilya, was now sitting underneath one of the barren trees on what seemed to be an embroidered blue and white picnic blanket. The clearing itself looked a great deal more scared than when you had left and now seems very lightning fell from the heavens themselves. The stern looking maid (who you were confident did not approve of your presence not one bit) had somehow produced an elegant-looking porcelain tea set and was now pouring out warm tea to the seated girl.

“... better luck next time.”

The slight pat given on your head felt like something one would do to encourage a young child after his or her first failure. There was no arrogance or maliciousness in the gesture itself. It was almost as if the maid in front of you actually thought that you might be distraught at your failure to bring back the correct wooden stick.

A bit behind her, Ilya let out a small giggle and waved for Arwyn to join her on the blanket.

“Tea?”



“....hmph!”

The stern looking maid did not even bother to wait for a response from Arwyn as she poured out the tea to one of the glasses laid out on the silverware plate that was lying between you and Ilya. From this distance, you could make out a distinct floral aroma from the cup next to you. Darjeeling.

Ilya’s eyes were transfixed on the fight unfolding in front of the two of you.

“I don’t think your Servant is really going to appreciate you heading off while she is trying to do her best to impress you. The young girl gave a playful grin. “Not only is she a Servant, but she’s also a girl so that’s double trouble for you, Mister~!”

“But really, Mister, you are not a magi and you are barely a Master.” Her voice sobered for a moment. “Wouldn’t you want to simply forget about it and go back to your normal life? Is there a reason for you to be here right now?”

“Is it simply due to the sense of obligation you feel towards the Saber that you summoned?”

“If so, I can easily take care of her. She seems competent as a Servant and with a clear head at that. Maintaining a contract with another Servant wouldn’t be an issue for me either.”

“So tell me… why do you even want to take part in the Grail War?

[zikari8]

Himitsuno Namae
16th of December
Night (Phase 1-3)


If there were a phrase to describe the events that had unfolded over the course of this one short day, “culture shock” would be Mori Shiori’s choice. If not to describe the few feelings of unfamiliarity she felt on her first time abroad, it could at least account for the comical sight of the two legendary heroes sizing up their monster meals. More so than their brief but eventful introduction, these short encounters of tracksuit and burgers had well demonstrated to Shiori the admirable flexibility of Lancer’s mind. Well, that or her deep tolerance for embarrassment. It really didn’t matter which.


Going back a few steps, Shiori had been relatively quiet since her earlier proposal, speaking little and only responding with the most standard gestures of thanks and nods. Her demeanor could’ve been likened to that of a horse after its rider had fallen asleep. The reason towards this lack of active presence could simply be summed up as “happiness”. To be precise, it was the state of being content that did her of the desire to speak out of place. For some reason, her random and irrational proposal for an alliance had been put to further consideration, which in and of itself was means for celebration. And so, Shiori had become satisfied with the situation. And since the scenario was satisfactory, there was no need for excessive verbatim.


“Yes.”


“Of course.”


“Thank you kindly.”


“Ara ara.”


“Well...”


Only such basic responses were needed for a time where everything was going well, so each and every reaction to the events from the streets to the pub was a variation of such standard replies. In some ways, her senses has dulled to the point where she didn’t pick up on small details like being patted on the head or not being offered tobacco. As long as everything was going good, she felt good even in enemy territory. No need to comment on every single thing...


Of course, not everything was perfect. There was, for primary example, Freogan, who in contrast to herself and perhaps the other two was surely all too at home. The man acted with such bravado and amicability that checking the food for poison had somehow dropped to the bottom of Shiori’s mental list of concerns. Putting aside the fact that he had shoved these greasy beasts onto three delicate (?) ladies, the food he prepared was the sort that seemed to provide the “shock” portion of culture shock. It is said there was a knight who could shock dragons with his tongue, but surely this food alone would be able to defeat one or two.


Nevertheless, even in the face of an EX-ranked Anti-Beast Noble Phantasm, the young girl was still all smiles and responded with faked enthusiasm as the man laid out the meals on the counter. One part of her was wondering how her stomach would feel after taking a trip to the meat dimension while the other hidden ojou-sama part was appalled that a gentleman would present such foul garbage to a lady and began compiling a list of nouveau profanities to utter. Her outward self, however, was just happy to pretend to be happy and dug in without a hint of trepidation...


“What, precisely, do you have in mind in terms of an alliance?”


Just as Shiori had conquered her burger monster and began assessing the damage to her internal organs, the other Servant had brought up the main topic of the night. Slightly caught off guard and not entirely in the most rational of moods, the girl known as Mitsuno looked up from her dish and faced the Servant.


“Well... if I were to speak my mind...”


The idiot Master who said things on a whim pressed a greasy finger to her lips and lightly furrowed her brows. It was plainly evident that she was actually thinking hard for a second and indirectly evident how little thinking she had done beforehand.


“Abandon convention, betray your allies, surrender your pride, and join me. In exchange, you will find survival, success, and a chance for personal victory. Something along those lines seems right.”


She spoke lightly while twirling a leftover fry like a magic wand. It need not be said that, like always, she was smiling.

[Kuroyuki]

Akechi Tohsaka
15th of December, 2004
Royal Opera House
Night (Phase 1-3)
P
I listened to that false thing’s laughter. Dry, lifeless. A mockery to living beings and their ability to enjoy life. 4

“Khahahah… This one is for sure yours, Tokiomi. Nice and polite on the surface, yet ready to sink a dagger in my back the moment my back is turned. Nagato must be rolling around in his grave at the sight of what his family has become.”

I would rather lie and deceive people for a living than for us to become like this living mockery of a human. The only reason why I wasn’t killing this thing was because I needed contact with the other masters. After that, I don’t need them alive. 3

“Thank you for the compliment Matou-sama.” W

Despite my exterior calm, Rin and Sakura were a lot more rattled by Zouken Matou’s appearance. They were really affected by the appearance of the barrier and this insult wasn’t helping them. h

“Now now, I would rather you didn’t provoke my daughters like that, Zouken. We are supposed to be a “team”, after all.”

Thank you father. You’ve shut up /that/ thing and its only response was to give that mocking fake chuckle. C

“Enough. This meaningless banter is merely a waste of time.”

I disagree with Jubstacheit von Einzbern. While seemingly inane and pointless, conversation builds trust. While later on in relationships, there are times where people can inherently understand each other without a word. In this very turbulent relationship where we can’t trust each other, this simple conversation will dictate if we’ll cooperate with full information or merely “allies” in name. I wanted to disagree verbally but that would too aggressive in our tedious relationship.

“You are correct, of course. No doubt if we do not go out, she will come to us.”

I obediently followed father while thinking about one thing. She? Who are they referring to? If the three families are here… Who could they be referring to? It took a moment for me to realize who SHE was. You can’t declare war without giving your formal declaration and there is only one woman who would be in charge of our opposition... S

My polite smile disappeared when I realized who was our last guest and who she probably brought. She wouldn’t bring a ragtag group like the enforcers. No, she brought something far worse. She brought her own personal death squad. Now everything makes perfect sense. The coordination, the required magic power, and means to do it instantly. x

I found the courage to smile yet again despite seeing the Vice Director, Lorelei Barthomeloi, on the other side of the door. My cover is bound to be blown now. Circuits inactive but that was going to change any moment now with the current atmosphere. I decided to sit back and observe. Highlighting any notable points in the hallway. Light sources, doors, windows, and various other means of escape. k

“I will have you fully explain this mess that you have created.”

“What is there to explain, girlie? The Association left us with no other choice. Since you had no intention of returning the Grail to us, no matter the number of our requests..”

“That “toy” of yours was placed under a Sealing Designation by the. You have no more right to it. It is under the safekeeping of the Association now.”

“Hmh… an amusing joke if I have ever heard one.”

“The Holy Grail is ours, Barthomeloi. We will not leave it in the hands of infants and charlatans.”

Oh lovely. We’ve thrown the first insult so negotiations will probably turn for the worse.

“Infants and charlatans? You dare?!”

“I will not be mocked by a member of second-rate failure of a family that could not even keep a hold of their True Magic, nevermind by their leftover toys.“

“Drag as much refuse with you as you want, Einzbern. Rabid mutts who bare their teeth towards their betters are to be put down, not rewarded.”

Mere refuse? Those on their gilded throne believe that they’re always better and superior to those that serve them. Yet what would occur if those “commoners” or in her words “refuse” decide to quit serving them?

“Now now, there is still time to come to a reas….”

“I refuse. I did not come here to barter or negotiate with you.”

Father tried to futilely play as a peacemaker between two sides but I realized something. Neither of the sides wanted to back down, negotiate, or even recognize the other as a worthy foe. We both viewed the other side as incompetent and weak. Assured of victory despite tonight being our first contact.

On the Vice Director’s side of the vestibule, the door behind her broke revealing a group of Magi clad in white. I hate it when I’m right. The Vice Director brought the Chelon Canticle Brigade. At their entrance, the Vice Director finally activated her circuits causing the air to pulse outwards towards us.

“By the powers vested in me as the Vice-Director of the Clock Tower, I, Bartomeloi Lorelei, hereby issue a

Order from the Administration
Director's Edict
with an indefinite duration.

The Einzbern, Matou, and Tohsaka families are to be eradicated and their Crests retrieved. Based on further examination, they will then either be destroyed or placed under a Sealing Designation, pending a decision by the Kalion Observatory.

Is that understood?”

“Yes, Marshal!”

Despite hearing all of that, I couldn’t help but be astounded. They played a majority of their hand and decided to declare that they were going to win. All they needed to do was eliminate all of us in one stroke. I needed to do the same thing in order to keep my anonymity. Our side was outnumbered, our teamwork is nonexistent, and we are surrounded. Despite all of that, I didn’t feel worried. While everyone was focusing on my father and the other two family heads, I telepathically spoke to Assassin.

‘Assassin remember how I said our first order of business of gathering intel and assessing our forces? I’ve changed my mind. Your first order as my servant is destroying this vestibule with no Clocktower survivors.’

And as the first spell flew, I fired off a quick succession of gandrs towards three light sources. The first two towards the lights most beneficial for our side and the final one… To the chandelier right above the Vice Director’s head in complete contrast to my earlier moves at changing the lighting of the area.

[Reiu]

Arwyn Cadfael Penrith
15th of December, 2004
Night (Phase 1-3)
Lee Valley Park

“…better luck next time.”

In contrast to the monotonous intonation they were uttered in, the words were accompanied by an unmistakably kind tone and smile, and…a pat on the head. That was to say, Arwyn's head.

Arwyn froze.

His wide gray eyes met the calm red ones, startlement clear for all to see.


“…”


At last, somewhat dazed, he opened his mouth, as though to speak, to say something in response to the smiling maid. But nothing came out.

For the first time in this peculiar snowy night at the woods, Arwyn was utterly bewildered.

In the end, he gave a slow, even solemn nod in answer.

Disturbances in the air, generated from the inhumanly clash nearby. Even in the slightly turbulent winds, the familiar aroma of autumnal Darjeeling wafted over to reach Arwyn.

And yet, for all its soothing familiarity, one that offered scant reassurance in these circumstances.

In the corner of his vision, he registered a motion from further off, and lower on the ground. A cheerful wave, from the girl on the picnic blanket.


“Tea?”


He hesitated. But it was perhaps predictable that he accepted—he was never one much for declining an expectation, never mind one made with bright eyes—regardless of the incongruity of the situation. Or, perhaps, especially so, for it only rekindled his troubled impression from earlier.

He sat down, and accepted the offered cup, taking a polite sip so as to not scald himself.


Curls of steam from the fragrant teacup drifted lazily upwards, in the cold clamorous air.

“I don’t think your Servant is really going to appreciate you heading off while she is trying to do her best to impress you. The young girl gave a playful grin. “Not only is she a Servant, but she’s also a girl so that’s double trouble for you, Mister~!”

In contrast to her playful expression, Arwyn’s brow furrowed slightly. He had diverted his attention with the recognition that he could not contribute to Saber’s own skirmish, but the mere possibility that observing with his untrained knowledge could have served any purpose had not occurred to him.

No, more than that—his mind was simply directed elsewhere, preoccupied with—


—double…the trouble?
Arwyn's mind paused on processing that phrase, but the young girl was already continuing on.

““But really, Mister, you are not a magi and you are barely a Master.”

He acknowledged this. All in all, barely was likely a more than apt descriptor of his entire situation, and involvement.

“Wouldn’t you want to simply forget about it and go back to your normal life?”
“Is there a reason for you to be here right now?
Is it simply due to the sense of obligation you feel towards the Saber that you summoned?”

But he couldn’t forget, not in any sense of the word. Perhaps not even if he was offered the ability to.

…No, if anything: Saber was the one who had accompanied him here out of obligation. Because her wish of clashing with the strong could not be realized without him at least alive. —And his wish, too, could not be answered without her.


And that was his reason.


A moment of wordlessness hung in the nonetheless raucous air, with only the sound of clashing spear and blade and thunder, as he saw that the girl had no more to say. Questions he would not have expected her to ask; and yet, of course, he had posed his queries to her first. It was only natural that she had every right to respond in like.

Child or adult, this was a dialogue between two participants of this strange war.


—Arwyn shook his head.


“I…need to know the true nature of this Holy Grail.
…No, more than that, man-made miracle or no…
If it is truly deserving of—capable of—”

"…………"

He took a breath.


This was, most likely, the answer all along, that he had denied to himself. The first step of his

wish

question

.


A flicker of light. But it was not from the street lights in the distance. Where there was once a dulled gray——now flared to life a paradoxical, iridescent blue.

“I wish to know the truth of how much this Holy Grail is capable of overturning. That is what I seek in this War.”

[Kirby]

Saber of 『　』
15th of December, 2004
Night (Phase 1-3)
Lee Valley Park

Forty-five blows. Heart, lungs, eyes, neck. Forty-five blows against twelve vital points, yet only one of them strikes true, a slash across the chest aimed at the lungs— even if it’s meaningless. The wound closes up before the next one is even launched, and yet Saver is fully on the defensive, unable to even launch attacks of his own. In other words, even now, he is unable to match me.

No, that’s not right. He’s done well to come as far as he has. Rarely has any warrior managed to last two or three blows before me, and yet he’s managed scores above that.

And yet…

I almost frown. And yet despite this difference, I am still disadvantaged in this fight. Not just disadvantaged— victory is certainly impossible for us here. Not by virtue of his own skill, but the strange properties of his body. A divine blessing, perhaps? Whatever it is, it grates on me.

In other words, I have yet to see the heights that swordplay can reach.


Lightning courses through the glade, lighting up the sky like midday. Crashing earth, and uprooted trees. The ground itself being split asunder by thunderbolts and shockwaves. I definitely do not envy whoever has to cover up for all this commotion.

It was just an idle thought, but an oddly appropriate one— as I look up to sky, as lightning bolts falling from the heavens.

—Like dodging drops of rain in a storm.

In other words, child’s play.

Wiseup - Saber

Parameters

STR (Strength) – A ⇒ B ⇒ A+
END (Endurance) – C+ ⇒ B+
AGI (Agility) – A ⇒ A+
MGI (Magic) – C+
LCK (Luck) – C ⇒ B
NP (Noble Phantasm) – B

Skills

Eye of the Mind (True): A
Heightened capacity for observation, refined through training, discipline, and experience. A danger-avoidance ability that utilizes the intelligence collected up to the current time as the basis in order to predict the opponent’s activity and change the current situation. When fighting an enemy, the Servant is capable of either his parry or dodge probability to 100% on two occasions. This only applies against attacks that the Servant would be normally capable of dodging/parrying and special attacks that the servant has witnessed previously (e.g spells, various techniques).

Mana Burst: A
The ability to increase performance by infusing one's weapons and body with Magical Energy and instantly expelling it.

Seeking the Truth of Martial Arts: A
A Skill granted to those who purely, wholeheartedly, refine their martial arts, ignoring social position, prestige, riches, and women… mostly.

Sphere Boundary: A
A meditation-based technique by which, through utilization of Qi (one of the culturally-specific names of Od), one may perceive the exact conditions of the immediate environment, and make use of the resulting perception so as to adjust and minimize the noticeability and the impact of one's existence. As with Presence Concealment, elimination of presence drops in efficiency when the user initiates an attack or poises for an offensive - even though invisibility is still effectively maintained.

[Katie]

Erika Kanzaki
16th of December, 2004
East London - Creekmouth
Night (Phase 1-3)

“I knew I should have taken a dip by myself.”

I voice the thought on my mind—this whole boat debacle, while possibly necessary for safety, is a waste. A boat won’t help us get to the bottom of this riverbed. Neither can Caster, based on what I’ve seen of her repertoire, and Michael and Archer are simply out of the question. It’s all up to me, and the miserable fact is even getting the boat here was another expenditure from me.

Well, there’s no point in complaining. They’re worried for my safety, so I should at least respect that. I stand up and peer over the edge of the boat, seeing the grand prize beyond but also remembering the nature of the waters surrounding it. It’s a good thing I dressed in my worst, or I’d be shedding tears right about now. Still, my Mystic Eyes can see the swirl of prana in its finer glory, a font where I can see the origin in unmistakable clarity.

“I’ll try to make it quick, alright?” I jokingly tap the face of my watch as it gleams off the London light.

I let the spring breeze fill my thoughts, cherry blossoms in bloom.

I trace the edge of my shoulder once, to avoid the swirling currents, twice to avoid hypothermia. Instantly I feel like sweating, but such discomfort is necessary for the task ahead.

And last but not least, I cover my nose and mouth with my hands, and then breathe in. That’ll do, I suppose. No need to worry about drowning either.

The preparations done, I give everyone a giddy wave and take a swim for a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

Wise up!

Kanzaki Erika
Clock Tower Faculty - (Assistant) Lecturer

Stats

STR: E
CON: D
AGI: D
PRA: B [140/500]
FIN: A
PRP: B

Aetherflow - Air to breathe (E Rank)
Aetherhalt - Body Heat (E Rank)
Against the Current

[Mellon]

Aila Einzbern
16th of December, 2004
West London - Neasden Temple
Night (Phase 1-3)

"Caster... Mr. Ushabti... Would the two of you be able to tell me what you think of this land? Does anything seem off to you? Particularly with this temple?"

"Based off of what I know, I'd like to think otherwise... But... Do you think it possible that someone could have set up some kind of base here?"

"It seems like the kind of space that could be beneficial to a properly aligned Servant and master."

Ushabti brought his fingers to his nose, almost as if attempting to catch an elusive scent in the air.



“The spiritual residue of this place feels foreign to London. The scent of a... lotus?”

“You are correct, girl. It would be a great boon for a Servant who has the right characteristics to take advantage of it. But…” The dusky-skinned man fell silent for a brief moment. “... it feels too loud and too big. They are not even hiding the presence of their wards. In a way, it is the very opposite of what a magi workshop should be.”

“There is no way that we are the first to discover this.”

“While Milady…” Ushabti gave a deep bow of utmost reverence to Caster before returning to an upright position. “...can probably far better analyze the magical structure of the actual wards themselves, there is no possibility that the magical owners of the land, and by extension the Association, is not aware of this. They either endorse its existence or simply have no choice but to tolerate it.”

“And it does not feel like something established by a solitary magus.”

Lapis spoke up from behind the suited man.



“Could it be the residence of those rumored magecraft users from the East?"

“There were some murmurings floating about that there is an embassy of sorts for Magecraft users who don’t fall under traditional western magecraft foundations… though I’m not sure how effective they can be, considering the strained relations between the Eastern foundations and the Association...”

Ushabti let out a small grunt, seemingly agreeing with Lapis's suggestion, but not wishing to say so out loud.

Erika Kanzaki
16th of December, 2004
East London - Creekmouth
Night (Phase 1-3)

As Erika dove into the bone-chilling winter water of the Thames, all sound seemed to wash out in her ears. The loud crashing of the waves above vanished completely, leaving behind only tranquil silence. Unfortunately, same could not be said of the swirling currents that surrounded you. It felt almost akin to being drawn into a belly of a great beast, as the violent motion of the surrounding water seemed to drag you deeper and deeper towards the riverbed.

Light drifted into the inky blackness. Not that there was much light to go around at this hour anyway, but even the slight glow of the moon seemed to dim and then blink out completely, leaving Erika with only the slight, magecraft-muted, chilliness of the water that surrounded her. Yet despite her dimming eyesight, the situation was far clearer for the raven-haired assistant lecturer than it ever had been above the surface. After all, while the riverbed may have been invisible to your normal eyesight, the flow of magical magical energy that surrounded you…

That was something you could make out as clear as day.

After taking a brief moment to focus and examine the leyline with her Mystic Eyes, Erika could immediately grasp the problem at hand. The massive flow of magical energy that poured out from the riverbed was a quirk of the leyline itself. Or to be precise, someone had created such a quirk. The magus who had first connected to this leyline point had clearly been someone with both exceptional strength and exceptionally little sense. To be precise, someone had just taken a normal leyline and cut what amounted to a spiritual hole into it. A feat that even the combined might of the Eulyphis department would struggle to replicate. Though Erika doubted they would ever even attempt it, as cutting into a leyline would have been like cutting into a pressurized pipe. The sudden discharge of massive amounts of magical energy would most likely flatten anyone who tried.

It was also the source of this whirlpool that surrounded you.

Unlike natural leyline foci, which typically just leaked trace amounts of mana into the environment and could then be expanded, this one was simply wide open and flushing your surroundings with ridiculous amounts of magical energy. Almost like a hose without a tap to adjust its output. In this manner, having a Second Owner most likely functioned as a necessary restraint that forced the magical energy to be poured into the owners Od and wards, rather than aimlessly into the surrounding environment. Once claimed, the Whirpool would probably die down and only occasionally manifest as a gentle swirl, rather than the massive torrent that surrounded you at the moment.

Erika’s fingers touched the focal point on the hard surface of the riverbed, which almost seemed to thrum with periodic pulses of force and magical energy. To your Mystic Eyes, it appeared as if a miniature, pulsating, star with a million translucent threads stretching forth.

[I3uster]

Lancer of White
16th of December
Night (Phase 1-3)

“Abandon convention, betray your allies, surrender your pride, and join me. In exchange, you will find survival, success, and a chance for personal victory. Something along those lines seems right.”

It had been a wise choice to forgo the offer of a drink earlier. If she would have had one, she surely would have spit it out at this point. An undignified look. Not that her dignified image had good chances of survival in this establishment, especially with the kind of clothes she wore. Her last refuge of any sort of ladylikeness was that she had been the only one to enjoy the meat monster the other Master had prepared with a knife and fork.

It was probably a smart idea to later sit her down and discuss the fine points of diplomacy. What she had offered them now was betrayal of six other Masters for the benefit of working with one more. Simple mathematics would make that an unwise choice, not to mention the risk involved in turning powerful magi against them that already had more than a passing familiarity with this team...

Her offer did carry one clear connotation that would be rather important in a negotiation though. Confidence. The feeling that this deal, if made, was obviously advantageous to them. A fact so obvious that there was no need to wrap it in any euphemisms. In that case, she had to hold back on reprimanding her for being too bold with this. It would weaken the basis she stood on. A bit more nuance would still be necessary though.

"Mister, We'll be frank here: you have been around magi for quite some time I assume. What makes you think they will not pick you off like a scab once you become the slightest bit inconvenient? After all, a relation to you is a matter of 'this world', a material universe most magi are rarely if ever concerned with." Her tone of voice shifted, now carrying quite a bit more resentment than her lead-in. "You could say they are a spiritual folk, in the worst possible way. However, as you can see by Our Master's choice of words she is an antithesis to this. She will see this alliance through. And there is absolutely no need for us to announce it to your...'companions.'"

"What is it you really want out of this war? To survive, or to make friends? Even just considering this as a contingency helps the former a lot. And Our presence seems to excite you enough that maybe we could also serve the latter function, if you so desire..." Folding her hands on the table she tried to lean in more, locking eyes with Freogan.

"There are advantages to an alliance with us I do not feel comfortable telling a stranger about just yet, but let me be absolutely clear with you: I despise the backstabbing nature of the magi, and as such, in an alliance with us I can guarantee you there will be no need for it once we stand above the rest of the rabble."

She leaned back.

"However, if you desire to see the blood of every other participant on your hands, a best possible case scenario We might add, feel free to forgo this offer."

[Mellon]

Arwyn Cadfael Penrith
15th of December, 2004
Night (Phase 1-3)
Lee Valley Park

Hearing Arywn’s words made the crimson-eyed girl burst out in a fit of giggles.

“Mister, isn’t that a bit too metaphysical of a question? Are you a philosopher by any chance?”

“Well, I won’t deny that the Grail has some limitations to its use. Hmm… actually, that phrasing is probably not completely accurate.”

“To put it more precisely the Grail itself is perfectly omnipotent. It's just that the terminal that interfaces with it are riddled with limitations. After all, the vast sea of magical energy collected in it holds no direction or will of its own. It can fulfill any wish, but the method by which it attempts to actualize the miracle is fully rooted in the understanding of the one who uses it.”

“Its a tool with no will. A blank sheet of paper, nothing more.”

Ilya raised her cup of Darjeeling.

“Let's say I wish for a cup of tea. The Grail would not simply manifest a cup of tea from thin air. Well, I suppose it could, but the more likely outcome would be that it would force Leysritt of Sella to brew a cup of tea for me.”

“Hmm… I hope its Sella though….” The girl gave an innocent grin to Arwyn. “Just between us, Leysritt is pretty bad at making tea.”

From behind Ilya, you could hear a victorious huff from the sharp-eyed maid, while her companion let out a barely audible sound of deflated disappointment.

“So I think the answer to your question would be…”

“The Grail can do everything you think it can and in exactly the fashion that you think it would.”

A mysterious glint flickered in Ilya’s crimson orbs.

“As it is normally used, that is.”

Finishing her cup of tea, Ilya placed it on the blanket in front of her. Almost as if on cue, the maid behind her started packing up the tea set (albeit seemingly allowing Arwyn to finish his cup at his own pace). Raising from the blanket with an almost inhuman grace, the white-haired homunculi girl gave a brief glance to the Servant fight unfolding in front of the two Masters, before turning her eyes back to Arwyn.

“But don’t simply take my word for it, Mister. Confirm it with your own eyes. A word of caution, however. The answer you seek cannot be obtained by simply observing the Holy Grail War”

“To fill the Cup of Heaven with the shattered dreams of others is the only way that the nature of that particular truth will be revealed to you.”

A brief smile flickered on Ilya’s face, completely bereft of any kind of ulterior motive or hidden mystery.

“You kinda remind me of Onii-chan, really. The same type of honest cluelessness and overtly honest nature.”

“Right. I have decided.”

With a couple of quick elegant steps, Ilya had moved from her position across from Arwyn and was now standing right in front of him. Before Arwyn could even react, Ilya raised her delicate-looking finger and it now touched the white-haired prosecutor's forehead. Despite the cold weather, Arwyn could feel a mysterious sense of warmth emitting from the finger, seemingly washing over his entire body.

“The answer you seek…. Can you truly find it on your own? No. Do you want to find it on your own?”

“After all, that is without a doubt, the path filled with the most bloodshed and tragedy.”

“This Grail War, more than any other, will require you to choose. To choose your enemies and to choose your allies. ”

“But a choice must be made either way. Avoiding it is not a possibility for you, I’m afraid. While individuals may differ in opinion, neither side will allow a random factor like you to roam about freely. The Association is shackled by its own structure and prejudices just as much as we are shackled by our own past, after all.”

“Keeping all of this in mind…”

Her finger retreated from Arwyn’s forehead and instead she extended her delicate looking hand towards the seated Master.



“Why don’t you join us, Mister?”