Fate/Reclamation (IC)

**Reiu** · September 2nd, 2018, 04:25 PM

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

The girl’s laughter startled him, and yet was not entirely unexpected.

Metaphysical. Philosophical.
…Perhaps. Once upon a time…perhaps, he too would have thought as much, as nonetheless close to his heart the beliefs that lay behind the question were.

He glanced at the makeshift grave of the unknown stranger, already seeming to have passed also from the minds of the majority of those present here.

He had to know what was, fundamentally, missing. His own life was the proof of that; for had it been there, he would not be standing here, now. And that man—

…Something, from this world that he had so believed in, had been lost all this time. Something that perhaps never existed.

He must know what that was.
Everything else would fall into place from there.

For that, he needed the Holy Grail—to confirm with his own eyes.

Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night; nor for the arrow that flieth by day;

He could not simply observe. Not after what had happened, not after what he had done.

Nor for the pestilence that walketh in darkness; nor for the destruction that wasteth at noonday.

No,

A thousand shall fall at thy side, and ten thousand at thy right hand; but it shall not come nigh thee.

What lay before him, was to determine——

Only with thine eyes, shalt thou behold and see the reward of the wicked.

……The words, when they came, transpired in scarce a whisper.

“——Who is this ‘us’ whom you speak of?”

Us. In all likelihood, that was the coalition of magi, white against blue. He knew that already, in a manner of speaking.
…That was not what he asked of now.

“Who…are you…?”

He recalled the snatches of her voice that he had briefly caught before his short departure and return, as he found himself almost faltering before those calm, bright, yet somehow inscrutable red eyes.

“Ilya——……?”

**Mellon** · September 4th, 2018, 04:22 AM

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

“Who…are you…?”

“Ilya——……?”

Despite the sounds of the furious battle taking place behind you, you could make out her silvery giggle with perfect clarity. A slightly mischevious twinkle flickered in her eyes, but her small hand still remained extended towards Arwyn.

“That is a silly question, Mister. I suppose I could give you the formal introduction... but I think you already have some general idea of what I am talking about, no?”

“Besides, that is not what you are really asking about, isn’t it?”

“But… boooo~!”

Ilya’s finger went to her eyelid and she stuck out her tongue at you in a supremely childlike gesture, something seemingly completely out of character to her previously serious words and the somber atmosphere that been there moments before.

“A girl has to keep her mystique! Its the lifeblood of every young lady!”

A brief silence.

“Ilya is Ilya. Nothing more, nothing less.”

**Verg Avesta** · September 4th, 2018, 08:03 AM

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

Finding himself suddenly locked into a contest of stares with Lancer, a blush crept onto Freogan's face until he was forced to turn his gaze away. While he might have been able to get back to his element while cooking and drinking, it seemed that being surrounded by three ladies did take its toll on the emotive man after all.

However, as Lancer's words echoed those of her Master, bringing a certain sense of diplomacy to what had been a rather ridiculous demand to begin with, the expression on Freogan's face began to change. The blush receded, his brow knitted together and his mouth turned into a thin line. Without saying a word the blonde man took another bottle of stout from the cabinet, opened it with his bare hands and took a swig that emptied half of the bottle in one go. After that, his hands reached for his jacket where he procured a cigarette that he proceeded to light. Soon enough a pinprick of light, like an eye of embers on his face, shone in the dimly-lit pub, with smoke rising towards the ceiling.

And the silence following Lancer's words was filled with the clinking of Freogan's zippo-lighter - a sound that Berserker had heard once before.

The night-sky outside the window threw its harsh shadow over Freogan when, after a moment of thinking, he finally started speaking. Worryingly enough, some of that joviality had disappeared from his tone.

"What sorta bellend goes to war to make friends? The moment this bloody thing started I knew I'd have to do what I'd have to do to survive," Freogan spoke rather harshly. "I ain't got no insipid little daydreams about getting along with all twits from here to Bristol. I mean, I might fancy a fag and a chat once or twice even with my worst enemy, but that don't mean we're gonna avoid duking it out in the end. It's just... I might have to fight you, but that don't mean I got to hate you. You ain't done wrong by me, so why should I? Don't know if that makes sense, but that's how I feel."

Freogan proceeded to take a drag out of his cigarette, satisfied that he had cleared up Lancer's misunderstanding. It was becoming clearer that while the man had been very friendly to the two of them, his supposed enemies, that had nothing to do with his willingness to fight. It was a rather archaic, almost barbaric way of thinking... yet at the same time, it fit him rather well. Do not blame your enemies, blame the circumstances that brought forth this battle... a philosophy of a warrior that rarely appeared in these modern times.

"And I get you, Sweatpants, I do. Magi are a right bunch of nobs who'd rather sell their mother than give up their secrets. I know that bloody well. Every morning I wake up is a morning I'm surprised I don't got a knife stuck between my ribs," Freogan continued. "So when you say you want none of that, I want to believe you. Of course, with that posh attitude of yours I can't help but to wonder... when the time came, would we be part of that 'rabble' you'll be standing above?"

The stern glare of Freogan moved from Lancer to Mitsuno, boring a figurative hole through her.

"I mean, you wankers say you're offering us green grass and high tides, that we'd be bloody morons for not throwing in with you lot..." Freogan took another drag, and this time the smoke he blew out framed his face. "... And meanwhile, one of you gives us the most insulting fake name possible."

The atmosphere of the pub changed ever-so-slightly.

"Trust is a two-way street, loves. And that road is a dead-end if one side can't even give us her real name."

**Reiu** · September 4th, 2018, 02:52 PM

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

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.
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.

Perhaps that was the case. —No, most likely, it was simply how it was. A foregone conclusion of what lay down that path.

“……”

But in the end, more than all of that, it was her final words that decided his answer.

More than any consideration of his own fears, of what lay before him, of the war. Those, he would ponder later, on his own time.

“Ilya is Ilya. Nothing more, nothing less.”

The words rang true; that he had no doubt of. Others might say didn’t tell the whole story of the young Grail War participant before him.

…Yet, instinctively, he felt that the girl meant those words.
And that was all there was to it for him.

His was a nonsensical decision, and even more nonsensical of a request to make in a war like this.

—Nonetheless, he had made up his mind.

“I am Arwyn. Arwyn Penrith…but Arwyn is fine.”

He glanced down at the cup of Darjeeling. In what time had passed, it was already beginning to become lukewarm, by now, in the bitter cold of this winter night.

He finished it, and set it down.

“…if it would be fine with you…”

When he spoke again, it was in a different tone, from how he had spoken. Honest, hesitant, unadorned words, and yet—with clear will, and perhaps the most genuine to his person any here had heard him speak so far.

“—I would like to join you, Ilya.”

“Not the White faction, nor Ilya of the White faction, but ‘Ilya’…and Leys…and Sella.
And…Saver, of course.”

He looked at each as he pronounced the names with care, sparing a brief glance at the battle to their side on the last; names gleamed only secondhand from the words she had spoken.

“…Not one person more, nor one less.”

Having given his own answer, he extended his own hand towards her outstretched one, just shy of reaching——and awaited hers.

**arkturus** · September 8th, 2018, 02:18 AM

Assassin of White
15th of December, 2004
Royal Opera House
Night (Phase 1-3)

Originally Posted by Akechi Tohsaka

‘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.’

Gladly.

Throughout the entire exchange, Assassin had been conducting reconnaissance, looking for alternate entrances while keeping an eye on her Master and her Master’s family. It wasn’t her place to interfere with familial bonding nor comment on the discourse between talking heads and their obtuse political maneuvering.

While hiding among the shadowy corners at the side of the opulent vestibule, Assassin considered her options. She could sense the presence of two-no--three Servants nearby. Their allegiances were undeterminable, that complicated matters somewhat, but Assassin had her mission.

And to an Assassin, a Hassan, the mission was law.

Brothers and Sisters, this is for you.

بِسْمِ اللَّهِ الرَّحْمَنِ الرَّحِيمِ
قُلْ أَعُوذُ بِرَبِّ الْفَلَقِ
مِنْ شَرِّ مَا خَلَقَ
وَمِنْ شَرِّ غَاسِقٍ إِذَا وَقَبَ
وَمِنْ شَرِّ النَّفَّاثَاتِ فِي الْعُقَدِ
وَمِنْ شَرِّ حَاسِدٍ إِذَا حَسَدَ

“ZaBaNiYa”

The lyrical, song-like chant flowed from Assassin’s tongue like a prayer, pregnant with divine meaning and spiritual content. Yet there seemed to be a malicious tint to the words.

Instantly a pillar of hellfire erupted from the ground underneath the Vice Director’s feet.

Assassin’s Master had given an order and Assassin would do everything in her power to make it a reality.

Wiseup - Assassin

**zikari8** · November 18th, 2018, 06:35 PM

Mori Shiori
16th of December, 2004
Night (Phase 1-3)

A clock was ticking. Shiori wasn’t sure if it was a clock in the establishment or just her imagination but she was made painfully aware of its existence as Freogan spoke. Its systematic hand reminded her that the night was dragging on.

Time was up. The atmosphere in the shop was changing. Her little masquerade had reached the limit and so was the silly, happy atmosphere that had been teetering from the start. With the midnight bells, the evening dance would die, and Cinderella’s dress will fade.

And so, making up her mind on what to do, the young lady wrung her plastic smile like a wet towel, melting the flowery expression. The happy haze in her eyes had cleared and so Himitsuno Namae would wrap things up, with the last remnants of her eloquence.

“Oh dear,” She exclaimed. “My words must have been unclear. Everyone seems to have misunderstood me. How embarrassing.”

Her body was nearly motionless. The girl spoke clearly and calmly. There were none of the dramatic gestures she had exhibited previously. Her words weren’t addressed solely to the opposing pair, but to all three of the people in the room.

“I’m sorry, Lancer. I should’ve talked things over with you beforehand.”

An understatement among other things she should apologize for. Looking back, she should probably submit a written apology for her blunders tonight alone. Would cutting her stomach open be enough to make up for all the humiliation the Servant went through tonight? Probably not.

Then, she looked solely at the other two: the magus who had been playing along and the Servant who hadn’t said much overall. To be honest, she wasn’t exactly sure what to tell them after her failed attempts at conversation, so she just settled on just being clear. Either way, they probably wouldn’t like what she had to say.

“You see, mister, missus. I never asked for your trust or friendship. I’m actually not fond of such things. No, I only suggested that you should join our side. Because I think that’s your best chance for your survival and I wouldn’t want you to just lose your lives.”

There was a sense of candor to her words. She was unconsciously keeping from looking either of them in the eyes, yet her blunt speech was coming from somewhere genuine. The more severe her intentions became, the more honest her tone.

“Not a proposal but an ultimatum. Not diplomacy but mercy. Not trust but faith. Blind, illogical faith. I believe that sort of thing is the best way to save yourself.” She admitted. “Well, I suppose not too illogical. After all, two is larger than one and eight is stronger than six. Then again, numbers don’t mean much unless you’re a computer. Still, I guess I need to work on my English skills, so people understand me better. Who would’ve thought foreign languages were so hard? Haha.”

The Master laughed lightly. Her gaze had shifted to her mostly-eaten plate while a faint blush creeped up on her cheeks. Was she embarrassed? Or just uncomfortable? There wasn’t much time to contemplate which as she suddenly leapt from her seat.

“Anyways, it’s getting really late and us ladies need our beauty sleep. Shall we go home for tonight, Lancer? Let’s just call it our loss and tactically retreat for the time being.”

Abruptly, she grabbed her purse and belongings, motioning for her Servant to finish up and follow. Giving barely more than a little wave to the others, she almost hurriedly said her farewells, paying no heed to any response to her sincerity.

“If you don’t mind, we’ll be taking our leave, dears. I’m sure you’ll never see me again, at least not as Mitsuno, but I doubt you were too fond of me, anyways, so there should be no problem. If you change your minds later, my offer is always open so think about it.”

Unless interrupted, she began to leave, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Without a word, the princess made her exit, without even leaving behind a glass slipper.

“Au revoir.”

**Mellon** · December 4th, 2018, 03:02 PM

Akechi Tohsaka & Assassin of White
15th of December, 2004
Royal Opera House
Night (Phase 1-3)

As Akechi fired off her first Gandr the marble handrailing in front of her seemed to almost explode as it was struck by a bolt of raging, azure fire. Sidestepping an incoming bolt of electricity, the young Tohsaka’s fingers were almost as a blur, as in an almost machine-gun like fashion the black bullet-like curses were fired off towards the distant lights. Even over the roaring sounds of spellfire, you could make out the distinct pops of shattering glass as the Gandr bullets sailed through them.

Seemingly instantly grasping your aim, Rin quickly deflected a vacuum blade that had been sent her way using one of her gems and let out a quick shout.

“Sakura! The lights!”

“Yes!”

For her part, the auburn-haired young sister pulled out a fistful of pitch-black crystals, no larger than a dime in diameter and threw them into the air. A brief mutter escaped from her lips, lost in the overall cacophony taking place, but the last word was something even you could make out clearly.

Führung!

Wise-up

With seemingly an almost a mind of their own, the handful of gems shot into the air, weaving through the flying spells and projectiles with an almost uncanny accuracy. A moment later, all of the remaining lights shattered in almost perfect unison as the dark gemstones released the magecraft stored within them as they struck their targets. This left only one target - the massive chandelier that overlooked the entire ante hall.

With another flurry of black bullets, you severed the reinforced steel connection attaching it to the ceiling and brought the entire thing down on the Vice-Director who was standing below it.One of the members of the Chelion Brigade, who had formed a protective circle around Lorelei, clapped her hands. Pillars of azure flame suddenly erupted all around in the room, bathing the entire area in a cold blue light. Another immediately raised his right hand towards the tumbling chandelier and started to incant a spell unfamiliar to Akechi. Theugia? The falling pillar of glass immediately halted in midair and seemingly started to unwind itself into its composite materials. The numerous glass shards that were bound together in a single massive fixture seemed, carefully, but purposefully detach themselves, almost as if someone was reversing the hours of effort that had been spent to create it in the first place.

A massive gust of wind buffeted Akechi, as Assassin burst into action from behind her, moving at a superhuman speed.

In an instant, the Vice-Director barely managed to raise her gauntleted hand before she was immediately engulfed in a raging tornado of blood-red flames. The intensity of the heat was such that it instantly set ablaze the members of the Brigade close to Lorelei, filling the room with heart-chilling screams as the blazing magi tore at their flaming robes, the defensive enchantments placed only managing to barely shield them from the supernatural flames. The spell that had unwound the falling chandelier suddenly stopped, causing half-disassembled pieces to rain down onto the raging hellfire, where they were almost instantly incinerated by the fiery torrent.

However, amidst the raging fire, Assassin could make out flashes of clearest azure.

Wise-up - Lorelei Barthomeloi

STR - C
CON - D
AGI - B
MGI – B^ServantPRP – N/A (A++)

Blue Blood

The legendary Magic Circuits of the Barthomeloi family, who are said to reign supreme over the modern era of magecraft. Exceedingly outstanding in all areas of circuit quality, quantity, and efficiency, it is not a stretch to say that the magical strength possessed by the members of the family more closely resembles the magecraft practitioners of long-lost eras, rather than contemporary magi.

In a manner similar to Servants, the users PRA and FIN attributes are replaced by a single MGI score. The rank is dependant on the inherent capacity of the character in question, but for Lorelei, one of the most outstanding magi ever to be born into the Barthomeloi family, it is equivalent to B-rank. In addition, the strength and power of the Lorelei’s magecraft surpasses that of Masters and exists in a tier reminiscent of the supernatural abilities of high-ranking magical creatures, such as Dead Apostle Ancestors and Heroic Spirits.

Sorcery Trait -Almighty

The Barthomeloi family possesses the magical attribute of Almighty. The conceptual weight woven into the very essence of her magecraft means that spells cast by Lorelei cannot be hampered or interfered with by spells or supernatural abilities that have a basis in contemporary spiritual foundations used by modern magi. Defensive barriers are instantly shattered and even the very weakest of Lorelei's spells are capable of overwhelming even Instant Contract-type spells cast by other, less prestigious, magi. Even usage of spells that border on the level of True Magic, such as Reality Marbles, would struggle to directly influence Lorelei's magecraft with their inherent concepts. Its scale is such that even Heroic Spirits, whose spells are based on modern methodologies of magecraft, could potentially find themselves overwhelmed by the conceptual nature of the Barthomeloi family magecraft.

A ludicrous magical attribute that borders on the level of ridiculousness, suitable for one who is known as the Supreme Magus of the Modern Era.

A deep blue cocoon-like shell stood in the middle of the hellstorm, no less imposing than the flames outside. Perpetual deadlock seemed to be the outcome, as the cursed flames would not subside before their target was snuffed out, but nor were they powerful enough to penetrate the defensive enchantments that Lorelei had surrounded herself with. A number of the white-robed magi that had evaded Assassin’s initial burst of aggression started chanting spells clearly aimed at dispelling or at the very least restraining the flames surrounding their Marshal.

The rest clearly aimed to provide covering fire.

Finishing his chant, one of the members of the Brigade gestured in front of himself. A silver sphere, almost looking akin to a ball of hair-thin threads, suddenly appeared near the staircase, on top of which most members of the Three Families were standing. A moment later the orb whirled into life, spinning at a maddening pace. Hundreds of ultra-thin strands cut through the air throughout the entire staircase, slicing through everything in their paths, almost as if meeting no resistance from the hardened wood or stone pillars. Shards of stone and wood flew into the air, each bisected from their source by cuts of unnatural smoothness.

Ribbons of floor tiling, glowing with an unnatural hue, suddenly shot up from around Assassin, clearly aimed at restraining her position, while at the same time a wave of cutting crimson light flew at her in a manner reminiscent of a whip, fired off by an auburn-haired magi whose robe showed clear signs of fire damage. Snaking through the air, the ruby attack slipped past the countless silvery threads cutting through the area with an almost inhuman grace, seemingly ignoring both the laws of physics, as well as those of human reaction.

Wise-up

Alexandra Chimaregenos
15th of December, 2004
Isleworth Ait
Night (Phase 1-3)

It was done.

The actual magecraft behind attenuating a leyline to its owner was relatively basic. Despite claims made by certain Second Owners, being an administrator of a leyline was no great magical feat in itself. One of prestige perhaps, but certainly not one of skill. Dealing with the Tenth Faculty, the traditional supervisors of West London, would be a hassle in itself, but considering the rather unusual circumstances, your hand was somewhat forced by the situation.

The Jigmarie head would simply have to accept it for the time being.

With your superhuman senses you could make out the smell of wet grass, mud, and rustling leaves, but all of it was overshadowed by the sea of magical energy that you could now sense humming beneath your feet and flowing towards the center of the city. Both the quantity and quality of mana present in the leyline was exceptional. Obviously, even a child could parrot out that London was the best Spiritual Land on the planet, but it was a wholly different thing to actually feel it for yourself. But… something was off. Traditionally, the mana present in the leyline was unaligned and pure. Nothing more but a colorless river flowing underneath the surface. This was not the case here. You could not immediately identify it, but you could definitely sense that the leyline itself had gained some type of Attribute, almost as if something was altering the very spiritual land of London itself.

Alexandra suddenly caught wind something in a nearby underbrush.

Not something you could truly see, but rather something whose presence you could instinctually feel with your ancient senses. It could, of course, be a spiritual assassin summoned by one of your many, many rivals, but considering the timing and the location, it was most likely one of Trivian’s faerie familiars. This was confirmed a moment later, when the invisible figure emerged from the trees and stopped a meter or so from Alexandra, still no more visible to the eye, but emanating a small pulse of od that made it eminently identifiable to any magi.

A moment later, the dark-haired lecturer’s voice filled the clearing. Although the Vlastos family head usually prided himself on his impeccably unflappable nature, Trivian’s breathing was now somewhat ragged, almost as if he had just undergone extensive physical exertion.

...haa...haa… Department Head, I hope you have managed to wrap it up on your end.”

“Because we have a bit of a problem on our hands.”

On the background, you could hear the muted sounds of explosions and howling wind play out.

**Mellon** · December 6th, 2018, 03:44 PM

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

The young white-haired girl grasped your hand with a soft smile on her face.

“So be it, Arywn Cadfael Penrith.”

A moment later, Ilya gave the white-haired man a playful wink.

“No takesy-backsies now, Ari.”

Behind Ilya’s back, Sella let out a deep sigh while rubbing her forehead in exasperation. It was clear that the prim and proper looking maid did not wholly approve of the situation at hand. Leysritt for her part gave Arwyn a thumbs up… while at the same time wiggling another wooden stick in her other hand. It was clear that the slightly airheaded maid had gotten completely the wrong idea about the situation.

Or perhaps she was simply horrifyingly perceptive of the situation you had just gotten yourself into.

Letting go of your hand, the young girl turned around and started to stride towards the still fighting Servants. If anything, the fight had intensified even further to the point where you were incapable of making out even the figures of the two clashing Heroic Spirits. A rain of lightning and thunder was all that was visible and somewhere in the middle of it, you could sense the presence of Saber. Not through your eyes or ears, but through a connection that felt as if it ran deeper than anything else you had ever felt.

In the distance, you could hear a clap and Ilya’s youthful voice.

“Right, right. Time to wrap up, you two.”

The earth around Saber was exploding.

With fluid motion more reminiscent of dance than actual combat, Saber weaved through the seemingly endless torrent of azure. The power of each singular bolt of electricity wasn’t much to speak about, but it was the quantity that was truly terrifying. More than enough to overwhelm most Heroic Spirits, no doubt. But to Saber’s eyes, it was too simplistic and founded on raw quantity. Too… straightforward. Compared to the exchange Saber had just had with Saver, the roaring thunder moved only in a straight line.

And as you were now, something like that could never strike you.

A nearby bolt struck the earth next to the sword maiden, propelling some half-molten fragments of the ground towards Saber at supersonic speeds. Not even bothering to glance at the incoming fragments, a single casual flourish of Saber’s blade shattered all of them en route, as the raven-haired swordswoman suddenly moved towards her target aiming to take advantage of the gap before the next wave of attacks. With a whoomp that signified the breaking of the sound barrier, Saber accelerated towards Saber, buffeting the entire charred clearing with violent winds.

Saver barely managed to block your incoming blow in time with the butt of his engraved spear, stopping your blade a mere inch from his throat. The servant of salvation had a joyful, almost exuberant grin on his face the other end of the spear came up from below in an upwards swing, seemingly aiming to take advantage of Saber’s positioning!

“Right, right. Time to wrap up, you two.”

Only to be instantly stopped mid-air by the words of a young girl.

Saver let out an exasperated, albeit filled with a hint of amusement, sigh as he lowered his spear and took a step back from Saber.

“It would seem that while the fight between us remains inconclusive, your Master has lost the clash of wills. Not surprising, I suppose, cons...”

Ilya’s eyes suddenly narrowed in suspicion.

“Hmmm… and why would you say that, Saver? Would you kindly explain what kind of a Master do you think I am?”

As the teal-haired Saver suddenly fell into a spluttering of excuses, Ilya merely gave a huff and turned away from her Servant, leaving the thunder flinging Servant to rub his own hair in a rather sheepish fashion.

Now facing the sword-wielding maiden, the ruby-eyed homunculus gave the Servant a rather cheery wave.

“Nice to meet you, Saber. My name is Illyasviel von Einzbern. And this ungrateful guy...” The white-aired homunculi points towards the spear-wielding Servant, who simply shrugged his shoulders with a grin. “...is Saver.”

“Pleased to be working with you!”

**Kirby** · December 11th, 2018, 12:17 AM

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

I weave. Not through the storm, but the tempest. A raging firestorm lighting up the forest like the sun, molten earth and debris whipped up into the air, no inch of the glade spared from the torrent of lightning and flame. Trees uprooted, carbonizing and charring, sending streaks of fire screaming through the clearing. Like dodging droplets of rain that would kill on the barest touch.

Like I said, child’s play.

I make no strikes, weaving my way through the lances of lightning, watching him in the storm’s eye. Analyzing the movements, the trajectories. Calculating the outcomes. A thousand possibilities cross my mind. Reduce them to a hundred. To a dozen. How many steps can he take, can I take, to lead to this dance’s conclusion?

One possibility remains.

I act. I charge through the clearing, a bare gap in the storm of lightning. The barest fraction of a second. My sword screams. His lance begins to move. A blade to his throat. He’ll block it, of course. A seemingly weak spot for him to target, exposed. As planned, of course.

I know what you will do.

I can see it.

Then, I’ll—

“Right, right. Time to wrap up, you two.”

◆

We freeze, instantly. My blade at his throat. His, positioned to strike me from below. Our Game, cut short just before our climax. Dust settles, lightning flickers out.

The forest’s still on fire, though.

He lowers his blade, and I lower mine.

“It would seem that while the fight between us remains inconclusive, your Master has lost the clash of wills. Not surprising, I suppose, cons...”

“Hmmm… and why would you say that, Saver? Would you kindly explain what kind of a Master do you think I am?”

I sigh. A little huff, a little grin. “You flatter me. I am a mere swordswoman, and nothing more. As I am, it would have been impossible for me to truly injure you in the first place.” Another sigh. “What a pity, though. It’s a first, but I wasn’t even able to take that eye of yours.”

“I suppose the two of you had a little chat while we were busy? I had intended this to be his first lesson, a demonstration for him to watch, but he’d seemed distracted. I don’t know. I wasn’t listening much, but heard something about dogs.”

“Well,” I say with a bow, “Then I’ll introduce ourselves. The Masters in this War have colors, no? Banners of one’s allegiance? Then I guess you could call us the— hmm… what are we, really? The Colorless? Now my Master, he may seem a little hard-headed, a little hopeless, but…”

I smile. “We’ll be in your care.”

**Leftovers** · December 11th, 2018, 04:37 PM

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

"There was no misunderstanding, girl."

Whatever her thoughts were, whatever she might have wanted to give voice to, did not materialise. In their stead, the act that she had taken on became unfeigned. The mask of the Servant - the killer, the monster - that she had worn with such an ill fit on her face until that point slid into place with an ease that would have frightened her had she been conscious of it.

The words that Berserker threw at the retreating Master's back were cold steel wrought into speech, the rime upon it unveiled enmity. In that moment, the one who spoke in the wake of the girl's declaration could not be considered anything other than an enemy.

"You spoke of alliance and we would hear your terms, yet it seems that your grasp of negotiation is deficient to a degree not even your Servant can salvage. As it is, there was only a waste of our time."

In the low light of the pub, there was no way for the luminescence that set her golden eyes aglow to go unnoticed.

"A warning to you on whom advice would be wasted: do not tempt the Fate that cuts your thread of life."

**Reiu** · December 14th, 2018, 08:50 PM

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

He stood.

And so it was done. No takesy-backsies. Unbidden, a kindling of the smallest of smiles flickered to life on Arwyn's face, in reaction to those words—only for none other than the maids to see, with his new ally having already strided off to interrupt the titanic duel between the Servants.

He was not quite able to make sense of what she had called him for a moment there…a nickname? In either case, that would be a question for later.

For now…it may have been expected of one of his profession to desire to set out the terms of this partnership, as one ought with a proper contract. But no, this was different.

Just as his pact with Saber was founded not in the words of contract exchanged, but in their peculiar meeting—along with all of the ensuing confusion and chaos—so he would choose to believe, that in the taking of his hand, rested the heart of this fledgling alliance with Ilya.

One chance encounter after another, each with its own nascent promise. That was where he found himself now…or, more accurately, found by others.

—Perhaps, one could call it fate.
Or…would it be arrogant for him to think so…?

"…"

A brief, distant gaze; one that seemed both to look far in the distance and yet, at the same time, at nowhere in particular. He gathered himself from his reverie as he mechanically dusted off the snow from his coat and gave a simple quiet nod of acknowledgement to Sella and Leysritt.

Proper procedure to all things. He had already exchanged introductions with the two women, and Ilya.

There remained only one.

“Then I'll introduce ourselves. The Masters in this War have colors, no? Banners of one’s allegiance? Then I guess you could call us the— hmm… what are we, really? The Colorless? Now my Master, he may seem a little hard-headed, a little hopeless, but…”

…He stopped in his tracks. Hard-headed? No, that was…certainly not…not…not untrue, and yet it was the first time he had heard such a thing spoken aloud of him. He had always strived to uphold professionalism above all in the workplace, and in private life—insofar as he had one, at least—he had never spoken much of himself or his thoughts.

For someone who had only met him scarcely half a day ago to see through that was surprising, to say the least, and it elicited a strange sheepishness in Arwyn.

…He supposed he should give Saber's demonstrations his full diligent attention come another time.

Arwyn shook himself lightly, and took another step forward from where he had been standing…until he was face to face with the armored, spear-wielding Servant.

He held out his hand lightly, but resolutely.

“Arwyn Penrith. I am honored to make your acquaintance…Saver.”

**Verg Avesta** · December 19th, 2018, 10:11 AM

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

"Oi, Bridezilla, ease up a little."

Freogan's voice cut the dim lighting of the room and straight into the tense atmosphere that had been created thanks to the two women. Calmly setting aside the dishes, the blonde magus took his time to light up yet another cigarette. Slowly, smoke snaked its way up towards the ceiling, framing his face and becoming a wispy, nigh ethereal veil that slowly spread its tendrils everywhere. The blue eyes of the man glanced at Berserker, but settled upon Mitsuno one last time, watching as she headed for the door.

While the look on his partner's face was openly hostile, Freogan's expression was more... subdued. Hard to pin-point, all things considered.

"At the end of the day, though one of 'em might be a right bellend, they still ate my grub and gapped with us for moment or two. It'd be bloody rude to just off them now," Freogan said nonchalantly. "So no need to rev your engines just yet."

Freogan shot a look towards Lancer, one that seemed to imply the same thing to this Servant as well. While he was in no position to request anything from the two beings, he still did so. Perhaps as he had been something like a 'host' for tonight's... event.

"Still... Mitsuno, or whatever your name is. Don't get me wrong. It ain't that I didn't like you. Hell, act or not I liked this 'you' hell of a lot better than most magi I know," Freogan continued, this time addressing his words straight at Mitsuno. "I mean, at least until you started yapping on about faith like you were one of 'em turtleneckers at Ludgate Hill. Ain't gonna win yourself much success that way, hun."

Freogan cackled at his own words, taking a deep drag off his cigarette. Just like the smoke, his words were shifting, and their meaning was two-fold. Not having success meant only one thing in this scenario; instead of allies, one would be making enemies. And the last thing anyone needed at a Holy Grail War is more opponents to worry about.

"Anyways, you go and get outta here. I'll clean up the mess. Just remember one thing, you two."

Suddenly, one of the kitchen knives let out a loud sound as Freogan buried it halfway through a wooden cutting board, almost splitting the thing in half. His face was deadly serious as he lifted his eyes to look at the two.

"You ate my food under my roof. Those are some old, old traditions ladies."

Something was off.

"Remember that you owe me."

**Kuroyuki** · December 24th, 2018, 09:34 AM

Akechi Tohsaka & Assassin of White
15th of December, 2004
Royal Opera House
Night (Phase 1-3)

Was it too much to expect for the Vice Director to die from Assassin using her Noble Phantasm? She was actively resisting the reason why Assassin was placed on the Throne. Anyone else would’ve died as seen by the members around her. However for the time being, she’s suppressed so that means…

Meanwhile, on our side, Assassin was being hampered by a spell. I’m sure they could break out of it, while she isn’t a knight class she should be able to break out of most mage spells. I personally need to heal my thigh before engaging myself. While I wasn’t bleeding profusely, it was going to complicate my spellcasting on the move. That needs to be fixed but not now. I needed to go see who was injured in that usage of Argentum Filum. It would be an issue if anyone important from the Family leaders died. However, at the same time Assassin needs support so she can properly take out the Vice Director.

“Rin, Sakura support our Servant.”

‘Assassin eliminate the other mages while the Vice Director is struggling against your Noble Phantasm. Preferrably the Mercury mage first.’

I ran up the stairs and took in who was injured. Triaging them based on their importance to our Alliance coherence and then how severely injured they are before working on them. My mystic code briefly turning green before working on my first patient.

Wise Up!

Action: Run upstairs and heal someone preferably someone important first.

**I3uster** · December 26th, 2018, 11:22 AM

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

It was as if she had been carved into stone. Not a single uncontrolled twitchwould ruin her completely blank expression. There had been worse possible outcomes she could have envisioned. A fight that ended with them licking their wounds, barely escaping their enemies perhaps. Or even the possibility of a shameful early defeat.

But those content with the median result were not fit to rule the rabble. It was their duty to be an exemplar in every area, to fulfill their god-given duty to the best of their abilities, not to simple satisfactory results.

As such, her doll-like blank stare was a mere facade hiding disappointment and even a hint of rage.

Still, there was one thing that her Master definitely had gotten right. She had not fallen victim to false humility. She, after all, still was in league with a most splendid Servant. To remind them of this had been a necessity.

On the other hand, to make the negotiations fail because of it was foolishness.

It was a lesson to be taught in their private chambers however. If there was one thing she could not show it would be discord between them, especially not in a situation where it could be taken advantage of as easily as this.

"A warning to you on whom advice would be wasted: do not tempt the Fate that cuts your thread of life."

"She is quite receptive, Servant. She already understood that the only victims of fate are those that surrender to these supposedly set paths. The great bend it to their will like a ruler would a river."

Her hand was at the ready to defend herself as the atmosphere grew tenser and tenser...until it was defused by the host.

"You ate my food under my roof. Those are some old, old traditions ladies."

As he finished, the Servant smiled gently at him, her expression finally softening.

"In my country it would be considered a privilege beyond belief to dine with someone of my status. At best I would say we are even...however, considering the quality provided I am inclined to indulge this little tradition of yours for the time being."

She stood up.

"If you seek to be a subject to a prosperous new way, removed from the antiquity of whatever your cabal has in store for you, we thus would be willing to pretend your refusal never occured. Until you come to your senses however I fear we must depart as enemies."

A wave of her hand towards the door signaled her Master that she had finished her talking.

"Farewell. I shall pray for your survival and for you to come to your senses. Should the Lord not guide you onto the right path, at the very least I wish you a swift death."

**Mellon** · January 29th, 2019, 05:02 AM

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

“What a pity, though. It’s a first, but I wasn’t even able to take that eye of yours.”

“Well, there is always the next time, eh? Though that might be a while off, I suppose."

The teal-headed Saver simply gave Saber a boyish grin and a wink. However, it didn’t really feel as if he was making light of Saber with such a lighthearted gesture. Rather, the fight itself had already passed from his mind. It almost reminded you of a child who had finished playing with one toy and then moved onto another without nary a thought.

In other words, someone who purely lived for the moment he was in and not much else.

“Then I'll introduce ourselves. The Masters in this War have colors, no? Banners of one’s allegiance? Then I guess you could call us the— hmm… what are we, really? The Colorless? Now my Master, he may seem a little hard-headed, a little hopeless, but…”

“Colorless… Boooooooo~! So uncool.”

Ilya’s face was set in a pout that could only be described as childish.

“Well, you’re with us now! So that makes you a part of the White Faction.” The girl in white let out a ringing giggle. “As I said to Ari. No takesy-backsies, Saber!”

“Well, Old Acht might not like it, but…” The white-haired girl gave a shrug, seemingly completely disregarding that specific concern. “Considering he isn’t even a Master this time around, it's not really his call to make.”

“Arwyn Penrith. I am honored to make your acquaintance…Saver.”

“Aah, no need to be so formal. I’m not really someone who puts a lot of stock into things like that.”

A gauntleted hand grasped Arwyn’s extended one. That brief contact was more than enough to remind you that the armored figure standing in front of you was fundamentally inhuman. Not that it was an uncomfortably hard grip or anything, but rather even from this much you could tell that the man in front of you could shatter your hand in an instant. However, no malice or ill will was excluded from Saver. The opposite actually. His face was set in an easygoing smile as he gave Arwyn’s hand a firm shake.

“Likewise. Let's knock ‘em all out of the park, Master of Saber."

**Reiu** · January 29th, 2019, 02:18 PM

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

“Likewise. Let's knock ‘em all out of the park, Master of Saber."

Arwyn nodded; a ghost of an expression, dry and distinctly unserious, as though sharing a small joke with Saver.

“…No better place for it than here, I dare say?”

He briefly met Saber’s eyes, glancing sidelong and down to discern her condition, a slight worried look, before he turned once more to Ilya.

“As for your earlier words, if I may…”

He looked into Ilya’s eyes.
A gray, steady gaze that was not hard or steely by any means, and yet far from soft and yielding.

“It is you, Ilya, and all those here that I have thrown in my lot with—rather than your faceless associates I know only as 'the White faction.'"

He gave a small smile. “I had said as much, had I not? Not the White faction, nor Ilya of the White faction, but ‘Ilya’…”

“It may be a small, trivial distinction; one that does not affect matters in any practical way, perhaps,” he said softly. “But I would ask to let me have it, if only as a matter of semantics, and shared awareness.”

“In the meantime, it matters little to me whether Saber and I are known as the 'Colorless' or what have you in this War, so long as—…for example, well…” he paused, a small thoughtful look on his face before he asked, with utter seriousness:

“…what is your favorite color, Ilya?”

**Spinach** · January 30th, 2019, 06:59 PM

Alexandra Chimeragenos
15^th of December, 2004
Iselworth Ait
Night (Phase 1-3)

Even Lord Chimeragenos took pause to marvel at the sensation of claiming ownership over the land. The scope of its quantity was only matched by quality. But there was something amiss. The time spent admiring the newly acquired asset was pruned from thought as the white giant turned its attention to a perhaps not pressing, but curious, observation.

A drop of color had found its way into the colorless leyline. A transparent sea, dyed with an Attribute foreign to tradition, to purpose.

An effect of the Grail?

“Vlastos.”

The white giant’s statuesque stillness came to an end as its lips parted, its voice breaking the silence.

Her voice projected across the entirety of the tiny Ait. The leaves of a nearby bush rustled back and forth, as if her word itself had swept over it. From within emerged a shadow, formless, but projecting od completely intentionally to the Magus standing tall before it.

The familiar stopped before the Lord. The voice of its master echoed from within.

“...haa...haa… Department Head, I hope you have managed to wrap it up on your end. Because we have a bit of a problem on our hands.”

Beneath that voice, the chaos of battle played its song. Wind howled and destruction roared in the tune of an explosion.

From his panting, Trivian himself had likely found himself caught in the skirmish. For him to have found a chance to contact her, there must be at least two other parties, which were now occupying each other.

“On this night, your priority is survival, Trivian Vlastos. Retreat. I will hear your report when you have ensured your safety.”

They were not orders of benevolence. The order given was merely a matter of practicality. There would be nothing gained ordering a subordinate to toss his life away for intelligence on an enemy that may never make it back to Alexandra. Often, throwing aside the lives of those who had proven loyalty and capability was only a losing move. In her world, the aid of those that can be trusted had held her position securely, and their loyalty had afforded the opportunity to flourish.

“If a Servant battle has begun, you will perish. There is little I can do to support you if that is the case.”

**arkturus** · February 6th, 2019, 02:02 AM

Akechi Tohsaka & Assassin of White
15th of December, 2004
Royal Opera House
Night (Phase 1-3)

Unbelievable.

To think that a mere mage, an infidel, could survive the full brunt of Assassin’s Zabaniya was unthinkable. Was it magus trickery that caused her divine miracle to not meet its mark? Were they enlisting the aid of unholy forces to repel the might of Allah? Or was it her own faith that was lacking?

Assassin pushed these thoughts to the back of her mind. The mission was not yet over. Her attempt to crush the queen bee had failed and now they had to deal with the hive.

Originally Posted by Akechi Tohsaka

‘Assassin eliminate the other mages while the Vice Director is struggling against your Noble Phantasm. Preferrably the Mercury mage first.’

‘I wAs JUsT tHiNkiNg ThAT.’

A burst of hot air erupts from Assassin’s feet, her mana rejecting the spell that attempts to hold her down.

In a single fluid motion, Assassin crouches and leaps to the side. She draws two dirks from within her cloak and flicks them at the crowd of mages that have gathered around the Vice Director.

Wise up

Action: MGI check to break the binding spell. Throw one dirk at the mage that cast the Mercury spell. Throw a second dirk at the mage that cast the binding spell.

**Mellon** · February 18th, 2019, 03:46 PM

Arwyn Cadfael Penrith & Saber
16th of December, 2004
Einzbern Gardens
Morning (Phase 2-1)

Rays of light streamed through the massive glass panels of the pavilion, bathing everything inside in a soft, almost ethereal, glow. Outside the windows, one could make out the almost endless-looking treeline as crystal-white, almost picturesque, snowflakes were gently falling from the sky.

Beneath the atrium of glass, however, laid a garden that seemed almost out of a fairy tale. Roses, tulips, orchids and more - countless flowers seemingly transfixed in a state of perpetual bloom, completely unheeding of both seasons and locations. Each flower, tree, and bush was perfectly maintained - a feat that no doubt required countless hours of painstaking effort. And there, in the middle of this breathtaking yet unnatural beauty of nature stood two figures, locked in what seemed to be an intense struggle for superiority.

On the one side was a white-haired prosecutor from the Crown Prosecution Service - Arwyn Cadfael Penrith. A look of intense concentration could be seen on the white-haired man’s face, coupled with a tint of frustration, as he attempted to deal with what seemed to be an endless and utterly overwhelming onslaught. His opponent, on the other hand, was the very image of tranquility and peace. If Arwyn had to put a finger on it, it was almost akin to the glasslike surface of a quiet lake. The mysterious and beautiful figure he had met… no summoned, yesterday - Saber.

After yet another clash, Arwyn felt his feet slip on the gravely surface of the ring they were at. How Illya had managed to create something like this in a single night was a mystery in itself. It surely wasn’t here yesterday, when you had first passed through the area. Most likely it was through the same “supernatural” that you had now found yourself mired in. Arwyn’s eyes flickered to the Servant standing nonchalantly in at the other end of the ring. The distance between them did little to comfort him, however. If yesterday hadn’t already more than aptly demonstrated the fact, this morning made it more than obvious that it was not a distance that could, in any way, protect Arwyn from the Servant of the Sword.

In the distance, you could make out a figure in a maid uniform sitting on an elaborately engraved white wooden bench. While Sella, the rather… direct maid had clearly let you know that Illya would not be joining you this morning (most likely since she was still sleeping), someone would be there to, at the very least, keep an eye on you. And so, Leysritt, who Arwyn was still convinced considered him to be some kind of street pet that had Illya adopted, was sitting in the distance looking a the pair fighting it out. Wait… was that some kind of souvenir flag that she was waving?

The brief loss of attention proved to be nearly fatal, as the Welsh prosecutor barely managed to claw his attention back to his overwhelming opponent as their next round of clashes began.

Kanzaki Erika & Caster of Blue
16th of December, 2004
The House in Misty Village
Morning (Phase 2-1)

The eggs sizzled on the pan in front of her, filling the entire kitchen with the sound of crackling oil. In the distance, the oriental Magus could make out the vague buzzing of the television. It was unlikely to be Natsuki, considering her tendencies to sleep in. No. There was only one possible culprit. Caster. No doubt that your excitable Servant was once again glued to the glowing box. Well, at least she wasn’t trying to dismantle it? ….right?

As you flipped the egg in your pan, Erika’s mind slowly wandered to the real thing that had been bothering her this entire morning.

The core, the anchor, that was fastening you to the sea of magical energy flowing into London burned almost like a star in your chest. Physically, it had no effect of course, but spiritually? It was almost overwhelming, even to a specialist such as yourself. And while you had gone to great pains to ensure that the flow of magical energy would continue uninterrupted towards the main campus… Holding it felt dangerous, somehow. Almost akin to a poor man finding a priceless diamond on the street. People who hadn’t even known Erika’s name would likely take note of her now, whether she liked it or not. And while your actions could be considered to be justified considering the circumstances…

There were individuals from whom even Alexandra Chimaregenos and Marisbury Animusphere couldn’t fully shield you from.

Suddenly, a calm knock echoed throughout the house, causing Erika to almost drop her spatula in surprise. It was a calm and collected sound, completely bereft of any urgency of any sort, but carrying an undertone of forcefulness that could not be denied.

A second of silence later, the sound repeated.

Gendou Matou & Rider of White
16th of December, 2004
Sanny’s Mini Market - East London
Morning (Phase 2-1)

Stepping inside the dingy little corner shop felt almost like salvation to Gendou as he felt the snowfall off his shoulders. The relatively soft snowfall of yesterday had been replaced with a far more thicker curtain of snow which made everything as wet and as cold as humanly possible. Behind the counter stood a rather lazy looking man, Indian from the looks of it, chewing on something as his eyes were solely focused on the magazine in his hands, Empire, by the looks of it.

Most of the cover seemed to be taken over by the huge red cartoon figure on its surface.

Walking through the shop revealed the selection to be… well shit. Crisps, coke, and all manner of junk food seemed to make up ninety percent of the products on offer. The rest was magazines and week-old pastries from the looks of it. Oh, and of course the “Two bottles of red wine for only 3£!!” offer that the nearby sign was not shy about advertising. Most likely because they were as close to the expiration date as humanly possible. The newsstand wasn’t much better, honestly. Gossip rags and tabloids, with a sprinkle of “adult” magazines on top. Despite the large “variety” on offer most of the front pages covered exactly the same topic. From the looks of it, a fire had burnt down the most Royal Opera yesterday, which had gleefully been picked up by every single rag in London. Horrible puns and bad references to the London Fire for most of them.

Or if you were the Daily Sport… “BOMBS ON THE ROYAL OPERA?! HAVE THE GERMANS STRUCK AGAIN?”

As he saw you examine the newspapers the shopkeeper finally deigned to grunt out out a couple of words.

“No browsing. You want something, you pay for it.”

Mori Shiori & Lancer of White
16th of December, 2004
Central London - The Ritz
Morning (Phase 2-1)

A new dawn rose over London, accompanied by a curtain of white. From the wide, elaborately detailed window of your room, you could make out the buzzing outside on the streets. The flow of traffic on the seemed jammed somehow, almost as if the natural flow of traffic had been irreversibly halted by the soft falling snow. Even normal pedestrians, what few remained, seemed to be somewhat confused by the situation they had found themselves in. It was all rather comical, honestly. Almost as if it was their first time seeing snow. Well, hopefully, they would learn fast.

It was likely to get even worse as the days went on. At least based on the calm and almost impersonally polite speech of the BBC weatherman, who was quietly speaking on the background of the room. In front of the window, stood a small beautiful antique-looking white round tea table, flanked by two fauteuil chairs. Next to the table stood a small trolley, covered by white cloth and filled with a number of delicious-looking breakfast items. Belgian waffles, fluffy pancakes, fruits, toast and more.

While it wasn’t quite comparable to the number of dishes available downstairs in the restaurant, it was more than sufficient for the two of you. And more private in any case.

Outside the window, brilliant white snow just kept falling.

Alexandra Chimeragenos & Berserker of Blue
16th of December, 2004
Clock Tower (Fifth Faculty) - Alexandra's Office
Morning (Phase 2-1)

What a joke. It had taken one single night for all the well-practiced calm of the Tower to fall completely into pieces. There was already a number of notes on your desk from both the members of the Fifth, as well as from your “other” agents in different parts of the Campus, each one seemingly more urgent than the last.

First were the meeting requests from a “number of concerned voices” from the Tenth Faculty. “A number”, indeed. The only requests that came out of the Tenth were those of Marie Anne and no-one else. Yesterday’s loss of their leyline had no doubt been a blow to the prestige of the Department of Curses. Not as bad as the hit that Valueta and the Ninth took, whose Second Ownership actually passed out of the control of the Association, but still. Well, it was unlikely that the brash woman even really cared about the leyline in the first place. But she had a good nose for opportunity, if nothing else. At the very least, she would try to extract her pound of flesh from Alexandra for slighting her.

The second issue, which took up the vast majority of the reports, were the movements of the Seventh Faculty. The relationship between the Fifth and the Seventh had always been a tumultuous, one which had even blossomed to a brief but brutal inter-department war in the 16th century. While that conflict had been forcefully suppressed by the Director of the Clock Tower, it did nothing to actually treat the hostilities between the two factions. In any case, the Botany Department had gotten more and more aggressive over the last couple of weeks, with clashes becoming more and more common between the students. Not to mention that there were some troubling rumors floating around that Lord Yumina was meeting with a number of other Faculty Heads on a permanent basis. None of these “other” Lords had ever been identified, but that fact in itself was more suspicious than anything else.

One needed to go to great lengths to hide themselves to that extent in this city of eyes.

And finally, there was the issue that Vlastos had mentioned to you and which had taken over the entire Tower by storm. Waver’s worst predictions had come to pass. Apparently, the Vice-Director had mobilized the entire Chelion Canticle Brigade yesterday and clashed with members of the three families behind the construction of the Grail, burning down the entire Royal Opera building in the process. Information suppression was already in effect, but considering the scale, they were stretched thin and rumors were already circulating. Though the rumors that were circulating amidst the lecture halls were even worse.

Alexandra’s eyes fell on a simple white card filled with breathtakingly beautiful calligraphy drawn in golden ink.

The Assemblée.

Neither the Meluastea nor the Trambelio had wasted any time. The last time an Assemblée had been called was over fifty years ago. And now there was one scheduled for tomorrow evening. A grand meeting of all the department heads and various Lords of the Tower. While the gathering possessed no formal authority, it was an event that could, hypothetically, allow the two other factions to at least somewhat attempt to call the Vice-Director to order. Besides, it needed no formal authority, for it was the prime way to sculpt public opinion within the Clock Tower itself. Though how effective it would be against the head of the Barthomeloi family was... questionable. At the very least, it would allow them to take stock of their own supporters and to draw battle lines, if necessary.

A battleground of a wholly different sort from this clash of Heroic Spirits, perhaps, but a battleground nonetheless.

**Kirby** · February 18th, 2019, 04:50 PM

Saber of 『　』
16th of December, 2004
Einzbern Gardens
Morning (Phase 2-1)

A blooming garden in midwinter. A ring of glass wreathed in flowers and snow. There, across from each other at the ends of the ring , they stood.

He holds a gun in his hand, his arm shaking and unsteady, his chest heaving with harsh breaths. You’d think that he would have collapsed by now, but he’s apparently more resilient than he looks. I take a step forward, empty-handed, my arms spread open. He looks almost as if he was about to take a step back.

“I want you to try kill me.”

That is what I had told him.

An interesting face he made back there. I almost wish I had a camera then— that’s what those things were called, right? “Kill me, with any means necessary. With anything you think you have at your disposal. If you can even make me draw my blade, I’ll call it your victory.” I smiled, back then. “I saw your work yesterday. Sloppy, but impressive in a certain way, especially given what you had on hand. You called yourself a killer, did you not?”

“Then show me what you can do.”

I said that at the start of the session, thinking that this would motivate him. And yet…

I sigh and take a few more steps forward, unarmed and unguarded, the entirety of my defenses completely exposed. He seems unnerved. Is he even taking this seriously? Of course, there’s no way he could actually hurt me, least of all here. For the most part, he seemed to be using that thing gun, or whatever it was called, like some sort of hand-held cannon, but those have been simple enough to dodge. As was everything else. Whatever he had thrown at me, I barely even had to move for.

“Is your heart really into it, Master?” I frown, at that. He still keeps that gun leveled at my head. “Y’know, I thought it’d be, like, every guy’s dream, to get all hot and sweaty with a cute, charming girl like me? Are you afraid? Or not afraid enough? Or…”

“...Do I need to make you afraid?”

I disappear from his view, taking a single step forward unlike the ones before, kicking up sand and fallen petals in my wake. I cross the arena in a single bound, leaving us face-to-face, mine just inches away from his. Close enough for me to lean in, to whisper into his ear, and smile.

“Hey, Master. What would you do, if I were to really decide to kill you here?”

Thread: Fate/Reclamation (IC)

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