Sage's Storeroom.

[Sage of Eyes]

Place to post all my semi-serious Type-Moon works.

Holy Crap I Actually Made An Index, Index

The Passing Lily. Oneshot, Completed

The War, Chapter 2

The Hand Of Death. One-shot. Complete. Tsukihime X-over

The Prismatic Edge. Chapter One

The Bachelor Party. Crack

The Bachelor Party. Crack. Part Two.

The Bachelor Party. Crack. Part 3

The Bachelor Party. Crack. Part 4

The Work Of Blades. One shot?

The Bachelor Party. Crack. Part 5

The Monster. Killer Rabbit Of Caber-UAH GETITOFFGETITOFFF!!!. Crack

The War. Chapter 3

The War. Fourth Chapter. Last.

The Clock Tower Guild. Chapter One

The Clock Tower Guild. Chapter 2.

The Prismatic Edge. Chapter 2

The Clock Tower Guild. Chapter 3

The Prismatic Edge. Chapter 3.

The War: Re-Ignited. Chapter 1.

- - - Updated - - -

The War.
…

Disclaimer: I have no legal claim upon any licensed material used within.

…

Chapter: 1

...

The world was crumbling all around him, light coming from the heavens itself and striking the land without qualm or hesitation. Lofty clouds swirled in the night sky as magic hidden for so many years, cascaded down from the heavens to cause suffering. A mockery of divine or even demonic might, it struck the land and the earth trembled underneath his feet as he walked. The magic was not demonic or divine it was mundane, enacted by a ritual made by men.

The sodden man beholding the cataclysm of the world was unable to stop it, and it was quite simple to state and illogical to disprove that it was because of his actions that it was all happening. He was covered in ashes, coat and clothing covered in soot just as his was his sharp face that betrayed a lifelong of severity and his shaggy hair. The only color upon the person that continued to walk amongst the ash and rubble was the streaks of dried blood upon his mouth.

It was a law that he had not expected, a truth that even the simplest mind could comprehend, but he had forgotten as he ordered the destruction of the container. Nothing disappears, but all things simply change form. The Servants of the men he fought were but catalysts, fuel to create the miracle that they had all sought to grant their dearest wish.

The heroes were summoned across the ages, sought the same device for one purpose or another, they were pinnacles of humanity and were each powerful in legend and name enough that when seven were sacrificed any wish could be granted within the bindings of the user’s perception. Energy that he did not wish to use as the champion of the war, but rather to erase as it was corrupted by the embodiment of all of man’s evils. He sought to champion the six billion others who dwelled the earth and erase it from the world using a magic that his unwilling servant wished to use to destroy it utterly.

But power does not die, and most certainly power of such magnitude that used such spirits as its catalysts. It was created to power wishes of human minds and mentalities, it was created with the purpose to find the center of all creation and knowledge by a man who was more well learned than any man who ever lived. It was a device without feeling, and as such only sought to grant the wishes of the man that was granted its power.

It was never thought that it would be rejected at the height of its power for any reason and that power was simply unleashed in a way that its closest influence would be at the moment. The man who’d designed it simply thought if such a thing would happen, some animal of sorts would receive some food created from nothing out of the sacrifice of the Heroic Spirits and was quite entertained at the thought.

But the closest being to the Grail was not a simple animal, and it was not content in some seeds and nuts at the moment. It wanted every being on the world, to suffer. For every child to roast slowly upon pikes, for every mother to be raped by beasts, for every man to be castrated and fed his own organs as all they fought for burned before their eyes in conflagrations of horror and brutality, for every elder to see their sons and daughters to commit the acts as they were crucified to walls made from the bones of their ancestors. It wanted friends to betray each other, for lovers to tear at each other in frenzy. It wanted murder, rape, pillaging, and destruction only for the sake of murder, rape, pillaging and destruction.
It was called Angrya Manyu, and it was all the evils of the mankind, and it held limited power over the dispersing energies of the most powerful ritual ever concocted by progeny. It sought suffering, endless suffering to all people and it could do no better than what it already knew it could.
And so, the hopes of dreams of mankind fell from the heavens only as suffering because of one man. A man who could see the clouds gather and spew hell upon the world, again and again and again and again and again and again.

The man that walked the rubble was only a machine that sought to find someone that he could save, someone that breathed, someone that survived the terrible atrocities he created without thought. He ignored the heat of metal as it burned his flesh as he pried it off of families, he tried to nurse a boy as the corpse last spasms of life hacked the curse he unleashed onto him, he was alone as he dug and dug and dug through material that he could not discern was dirt, ash, or human remains.

Until he saw a hand reaching for the sky where the malevolent clouds still hung like a terrible curse upon the world, only then did he become a man once more as he grasped the boy’s hand and repeated over and over again ‘thank you’ as the fires conflagrated and shook the ground as it expanded through the entire world without qualm or hesitance.

With the same countenance of the magic destroying the world he pulled from his jacket another magic, the same he summoned his almighty servant with, and pressed it against the boy. It melted into him without pause and as the boy began to heal, and once the poor child closed his eyes in slumber, the man took him into his arms and sought refuge amongst the rubble wrapping the boy safely in his arms as ash continued to fall to choke the ground and scrams tore into air around them more and more and more.

His name was Emiya Kiritsugu and all he wanted was to be a hero.
…

Chapter Two: Prologue.
…

“Please, Emiya-san, be reasonable.”

“I do not wish my son to be fettered in to such a life, Yamada-san.” Emiya spoke softly, but there was unwavering steel in those words.

“And I do not want the people I lead to be fettered to a miserable existence upon this mountain.” Yamada groused, bringing his fist sharply upon the wooden table. The frustration was building up to a climax within the chosen ‘Leader’ of the collection of survivors housed on what had once been temple lands. Thanks to the natural Leyline within there was no lingering residue of the cursed fluid that drenched the lands only two years ago, washed away by the strength of the nature itself.

Kiritsugu Emiya had personally led the collection of survivors that made up the bulk of the remnants Fuyuki city, before the government agent arrived from Tokyo twelve months ago. Yamada Karachi had expected to only be an advisor to the Magus when he arrived, especially when he did not find the remnants of the Police force within the communities’ protection finding the man’s leadership lacking even with the public backing of the seedier remnants that made up the bulk of the communities’ protection program.

Most of the people within the boundaries of the community carved into the mountain would still defer to the soft-spoken, tired man before him, rather than himself. Karachi could hardly blame them as well. Of the two thousand living inside the wooden city, he could hardly name a couple dozen who did not owe some sort of debt- ranging from food to their very lives- to the black-haired Magus, and they were indebted to the foreign Magus Waver Velvet who had been extracted to help his own country two months ago.

Though, the rather young leader doubted that if Waver Velvet had saved the majority and Emiya the minority, he would be the pseudo-leader of the group. Despite the boy’s soft-spokeness, he had a terrifying effect to create light amounts of fanaticism among those he saved. Seeing the young man lead a search party in the ruined city after a pillar of camp-smoke had been sighted had been an inspiring day, the difference was like night and day when the young man was in a situation where there were lives on the line.

Completely unlike the professionalism exuded by Kiritsugu Emiya when he risked his life everyday into the ruins of the city and saved lives so casually. The difference between the two was like night and day, the only thing they had in common was the subject of the current conversation.

The red-headed boy, gently sleeping on cot attached to the wall.

“Shirou is a ward of the state,” Yamada stated lowly, lifting his hand from low table. Feeling bile rise in his throat as he executed the threat he had planned.“You have no legal claim upon him, Emiya Kiritsugu, it is under my power as the ambassador to this town from the Japanese government to decide for his best interests.

“If that is such, I will go to a place where he and I cannot be bothered of such things.” Kiritsugu stated calmly, as always, before picking up the cup of tea that had been poured from the steel in the middle of the table. The heater inside worked to keep their legs warm as well heat the tea, a Japanese innovation that was steadily making its way through the world now with the strict rationing of Natural Gas. The cup reached had only reached the man’s lips when the normally dull tone and empty eyes sharpened to a razor edge alongside the next words. “You know better than to try and threaten me, Yamada. I am not as easily cowed as Waver Velvet by national ties.”

Then, almost suddenly, the man’s eyes returned to its normal dull luster as he sipped his tea contently, allowing the young man in the suit’s heartbeat to return to normal in the moment of silence later on, but he couldn’t help but feel relieved that he could say that he would be able to actually ask the man this time in his report to his superiors this time around.

Who knows, maybe when the Matou and Tohaska finally decide to go public Kiritsugu would turn his mind around.

…

[Olive]

This looks interesting.

So, the city was quite properly destroyed this time and Kiritsugu is leading a band of survivors in a way that seems vaguely reminiscent of that one Roland Emmereich movie where the city is destroyed.

Anyway, cynicism aside, I will be watching this.

[ILurkNoMoar]

Interesting... Very interesting indeed.

From what I understand most of Fuyuki was destroyed by the grail as oppossed to only downtown as in canon and Kiri isn't taking any shit from the government about not having any legal right to Shirou's custody.

I wonder where this will go from here, please continue.

[Sage of Eyes]

The world has gone to shit, not just Fuyuki.

On a side note:

Guess which meglomaniac king decides to carve out his own country?

[lethum]

The world has gone to shit, not just Fuyuki.

On a side note:

Guess which meglomaniac king decides to carve out his own country?

Iskander, of course. Everyone else is already living in Gil's kingdom, whether they know it or not.

[Sage of Eyes]

Chapter Two, Part One.
…
I awoke to a gentle shake on my shoulder, I tried to rub my eyes only that it was a fruitless effort with the combination of glass and composite material that covered my eyes from the harsh landscape’s effects. As the dregs of sleep slowly filtered away, I carefully activated the twenty-seven circuits housed within my spine. The sudden buzz of magic alongside its familiar aches washed away the ebbing remnants of my sleep, the only remainder of my rest was the remarkable clearness of my thoughts.

The gloved hand left my shoulder after I lowered my hand and gave a short nod. A glance over the hood, past the pair of mounted fifty caliber turret mounts, of the uncovered pickup truck my compatriots and myself rode upon greeted me with the reason why I was currently upon a hastily refurbished American pickup truck that was easily older than I was.

“Any ghouls?” I inquired, the filter-mask making it awful to speak after my mouth went stale, but I was already used to that given the amount of time I spent having the piece of equipment on. Thankfully it wasn’t like the stock gasmasks my companions wore that was were more akin to rubber facemasks with tubing connected to a less than optimal filter wrapped around midsection. My own was a more expensive filtration system that just scrubbed whatever air I was about to breath in through the two scrubbers composed of layers of fabricated material held by ceramic composite lined with rubber and held in place by a magnetic link system housed within non-abrasive cloth that wrapped around my neck.

It was good to see my Tracing was still in order after my rest, sleep came by with such rarity I was sometimes convinced I would forget everything I learned the moment I closed my eyes.

“A few dozen,” The Staff-Sergeant replied, idly checking her semiautomatic rifle, a refurbished weapon from the World War 2 era. The only change from the refurbishment was that it was now chambered for rounds akin to slugs, a hasty necessity when limbs needed to be blown off to stop a target. “Nothing worth waking you over, though.” She jutted her chin towards the Corporal sitting next to the rear-most fifty caliber. “Nagisa was pretty convinced you were dead when you kept sleeping after he went to town on the last batch with his turret, mind sharing the secrets of your miraculous revival?”

“Sleeping next to a Helicopter rotor a few times helps,” I deferred lightly, earning a few chuckles from the fire team I was officially an attaché for the moment. “What’s our time of arrival?”

“ETA is around five minutes.” The Staff Sergeant said simply, before pointing at one of the buildings that surrounded the remains of the chemical plant. “My team and I will deploy in the second story after we destroy the stairwell and park this diesel guzzler a few clicks out with some camo-netting as protection.”

I shook my head. “Make that only a click,” I advised, changing their plans to keeping the car a few minutes away to a single minute. “If the Apostle gets past me, chances are you’ll need to gun it out of here.”

“But that won’t happen right- sir?” The man across me inquired hesitantly, as the Sergeant relayed orders to the driver, and I had to pause at his apprehension at my advice. I did not remember his name similarly to the Staff Sergeant, and his nametag was faded enough to make mistranslation a very dangerous option, so I didn’t know to address him.

“It never hurts to be prepared for any situation.” I stated simply, giving a nod towards the man. “I am prepared to give it my all, but these enemies we face are not to be taken lightly.”

As if my words weren’t ominous enough we hit a pothole at the end of the sentence, making our vehicle’s hull to creak. I made a mental note after I analyzed the truck to tell the mechanics to loosen the axles.

“You’re quite different from the last Magi we dealt with,” He seemed to flounder for a name I had not given, as in accordance with the orders I had been given.

“Hotshot.” I added helpfully, the my apt-designation within the small collection of Magi employed by the state. Truth be told none of us knew each other’s names, or even each other’s faces, moments in time when I met a fellow Magus was rare beyond measure since there were only 17 of us in the district. Each one of us had a nickname given to us for identification purposes.

I had enough luck to get assigned to a Rapid Deployment Unit compromised mostly of Japanese Self-Defense Forces on my first mission, and with their mostly passive nature when in battle, my… exuberance in the first battles and the subsequent conflagration that concluded them led to my nickname and it subsequently stuck through the report afterward.

It was better than Number 06 at the very least, and that gasoline truck should have definitely been siphoned for its contents and not left somewhere it was liable to get shot at.

“Hotshot.” He mulled the nick name over, before giving a nod. “You’re quite different from our last Magi, Hotshot, for one you’re-”

“Personable.” The Corporal stated.

“Normal.” The man across from him agreed.

“Human.” The last man snickered before the Staff-Sergeant clammed them up with a fierce glare behind the visor of her mask.

“-what they said.” The man across me stated weakly, and I took a moment to full out my own goggles from my coat as the winds picked up and began to blow dust onto us. “Clear Eyes wasn’t exactly the envy of socialites everywhere,” He flinched at the Sergeant’s glare. “She was very… apathetic to us.” He finished weakly as the other’s, even the Sergeant, scoffed.

“She didn’t give a damn if any of us survived,” Nagisa stated bitterly, “couldn’t even get a bit of Intel about what the hell a Ghoul was, yet alone a Apostle.”

“That must’ve been quite some time ago.” I speculated, counting the years that must have passed at the incident. The man nodded as he methodically counted the numbers of bullets in his magazines.

“’Round four years ago.” He admitted, “Clear’s probably your age by now too, not that it made a difference when the eleven year old started chopping things up like a machine the moment we touched down.” He finished bitterly, jamming the magazine into the receiver, had it not been a refurbished gun from the World War era it would have probably broken it. “One moment we’re trying to puzzle why we’re flying on fumes into a refugee camp, the next we get told we have to start shooting anyone that’s bleeding with a little girl spreading blood and launching limbs everywhere.”

I tilted my head forward, “Please accept my apology on her behalf, Nagisa-san.” I stated lowly, “As children we’re taught to subdue our feelings since they could cause fluctuations within our bodies that may end up killing us.” The back of the truck seemed quieter after my declaration, but I continued. “It is only after we’ve trained extensively, is when we can hope to open ourselves up to others and feel.”

My tinted wind buffers prevented him from seeing my eyes as I stared into his own. There was humility in there, and a touch of shame, I didn’t need to hear his acceptance, but I could hope.

The truck stopped and the driver gave a few raps on the window. The soldiers burst into motion, the first four quickly disassembling the four mounted guns while the driver and the Staff Sergeant quickly hefted the two cases of surplus fifty caliber ammunition.

I moved to make my own preparations off the truck when Nagisa stopped me, fifty caliber hefted on his shoulder with a degree of difficulty. On the ground I was suddenly aware that he was quite the giant, almost a foot taller than myself.

“I’m glad to know that she didn’t mean to act like she did.” He stated simply, before he poked a finger into my vest, it was almost the size of a bullets his gun was using. “And that means you don’t need to apologize, Hotshot.”

He was gone before I could reply, but I couldn’t help but chuckle as he made his way up the building obviously less grim than was while speaking about his mission with Clear Eyes.

It was humorless though, mainly because I knew Clear Eyes and she was almost exactly as he described. Cold, ruthless and without a care beyond what she could cut up with that blade of hers.

I didn’t like thinking about having to tell Command about another squad she couldn’t get placed in but it was their orders that anything ‘unsavory’ be reported so it wouldn’t conflict with what Public Relations were cooking up. Truthfully, I disliked the lies that were told about me and my kind, and what we did and how we acted. As if we were the answers to everyone’s problems.

I glanced around the disparate landscape, the lack of green or life upon the dark soil and sighed softly.

I only had to look in the distance to know why people needed the lies that they were told.

Because it is a lie that kept people alive.

A fake hope, that kept people alive and working.

It didn’t make it any less bitter.

I only wished someone would actually accept my apologies.

Wind blew past me and I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stiffen when the stench of my prey reached my nose. A combination of rotting corpses and metallic iron, the stench came from the northeast and very, very far away. It was not a pleasant thought that I could sense the beast from such a far distance, only mature and therefore experienced Apostles had scents like this.

Given the fact my last experience with something similar almost got my arm lopped off, I was more than a bit wary of facing something that was accustomed to the near-unstoppable body and regenerative abilities that were inherent to nearly all Dead Apostles.

Not even counting whatever Mystic Code they managed to keep running after they went under, they were certainly more than what a rifle squad could deal with and even those were high in demand to maintain the civilian zones. With resources spread thinly the only reason the potential slaughterers were only targeted when they decided to take residence near a large population center or something classified as vital to the economy.

The Uchinagi Steelworks complex was a gigantic compound dating all the way back to Imperial Japan’s war buildup for the second World War. After the war it was shut down, the economy had no chance to support it. It was recommisioned two years after the sundering and its people flocked to man it, alongside the steady job that it promised it was protected by a platoon of troops making it one of the safest places in the world.

Well until two weeks ago when the platoon was slaughtered alongside the families they protected and turned into ghouls. The first signs of the demise of over a hundred men were when ghouls started appearing on the borders of the refugee town a few miles away, until the beasts came upon the town people thought that the factory was just experiencing radio problems again.

Militia caught unaware, the town was ravaged after they were consumed, the supply caravan hit the first wave of spreading ghouls thirty miles away from the town. They almost got overwhelmed but managed to make a retreat and consolidate with a patrol to wipe out the mindless bodies.
The threat was reported after the battle and now I was here, the closest available magus. The closest person that could have a chance to actually kill the being without launching a dozen cruise missiles into the vital factory.

To be completely frank, my training under my father made me very good at killing a lot of things, it was only error in application that could hope to get me killed.

Errors like not checking my equipment before entering combat, I dully reminded myself, cutting off my train of thought and removing my long coat to begin the process ingrained into my bones.

The ballistic vest needed new planting for the lower left abdominal side, a rifle round slammed into it around two days ago from the group of bandits that were hanging around my district. The shell was stopped by reinforced skin, but would’ve torn through without the ballistic vest’s ceramic plating. The chances of a bullet entering the entry point was slim though, so it wasn’t that high of a priority.

A quick reach into the side pouch strapped to my thigh and I retrieved my medical kit. The throwaway syringes were mostly painkillers, but had blood-clotters in the mix. Its kept me from bleeding out more than once, and stopped bleeding faster than bandages or stitches could, though the medical stapler was available if the cut nicked an artery and I had an two clips of the sterilized metal staples, enough to patch together the entire squad. The only problem was that I was at two of six of the syringes at the moment, not an ideal number to be facing any sort of creature beyond humans in prolonged battle.

I already knew I was in even worse straights when I felt the weight of my revolver, only double the number of syringes in bullets in its six chambers. The ammunition pile on my left thigh only amounted to a single one of my specialized rounds bringing me up to one short of a full cylinder.

Not good, and I only had six shots in my other gun’s magazine. If this Apostle was like the other one I faced, I would have to decide to unload the rounds from both my guns either into the Apostle itself or its familiars.

Whatever I chose though, I would have to face the other with either my bare hands or whatever projection I could manage. Kiritsugu would actually be rolling in his grave if he found out I’m planning to face something with swords of all things, while I was so horribly low in ammunition…

A frigid breeze caught my arms, and I grabbed my coat and reapplied the only protection I had against the wind rolling from the north before I got sick.

Natural Immunity to small caliber bullets didn’t come with protection to Influenza, and that killed scores of people every day.
I raised my hand towards the second story of the building, receiving a flash from a flashlight as a response. A communicator would’ve been a more efficient way to communicate, but ammunition was a higher priority than a sat-uplink and a whole lot easier to replace if things went south and we all died.
…

[lethum]

And the plot thickens...

[Olive]

This seemed to give me feelings of Fuyuki 2033

[IhaxlikeNoob]

Hrmm, I like it, but I wish you could do more world building in another post.

I love me some delicious world-building...

[Sage of Eyes]

This seemed to give me feelings of Fuyuki 2033

...Links please?

And the plot thickens...

Part one of Chapter TWO! Imagine the rest!

Hrmm, I like it, but I wish you could do more world building in another post.

I love me some delicious world-building...

A very nice proposition, I want to incorporate the world building into the story, but I'll keep something like that in mind!

[Olive]

...Links please?

Ah, sorry, thats not actually a thing, it just seemed like that was the impression you were trying to give.

[Sage of Eyes]

The Passing Lily. (Part One of Five)

…

Disclaimer: No monetary gain is made from this, I actually lose money due to electricity costs…
…

“Our lives are not our own, we are bound to others, past and present. And with each crime every kindness, we birth our future.” –Cloud Atlas
…

-“It’s the oddest thing, you know?”

-(No I do not)

-“There are hundreds of universes that are exactly the same, except they’re not, you know…”
-(No…)

-“Sometimes, the eternal spirit of some universe mingles with the one in the next, kinda like a glitch of sorts, correct?”

-(Not really…)

-“Sometimes, the flow of time isn’t worth a jar of excrement in those universes, and some couples start boinking incarnations before they’re supposed to.”

-(I should’ve taken Lord Melloi’s classes…)

-Wizard Marshall Zeltrech, A Class on Fractures of Reality. (Attendees: 1)

…

The wagon was a rickety affair as it traveled upon the rough road. Pulled by two oxen, however, the horrible form of transportation was the most tenacious of the many wagons that traversed the dirt snake that flowed across the green hills of Britain. Like a single stream of ants the carts carried their payloads with diligence, but the one pulled by the brawny oxen was one of the few who stayed at the very forefront, untiring even as many pulled aside to rejoin at the end when their beasts of burden were fully rested.

However it was not the animals that made the wagon special, nor was it their odd tenacity that markedly made them different. Amidst sacks of potatoes, a page slept soundly clutching contently upon the two and a half short sword that was held against rough cotton. Against all odds, it seemed, the page was lucky enough to choose this singular wagon that miraculously did not need to stop, and therefore not have its stocks checked.

The page would not be discovered until the wagon arrived at the town, but the merchant driving the wagon would be so pleased he would simply leave the child there and return the page later on.

The page clad in a brown tunic, a rough cotton long sleeve, leather breeches and gloves, it would be Arturia Pendragon’s first and last adventure.

…

I doubted I would ever see such kindness from any merchant. The fact that he had promised to return me to my village baffled me soundly. The many merchants I had met, would tirade endlessly upon discovering a stowaway had been present upon their wagon.

The situation was so bizarre that I decided to leave before the merchant acted as I expected of him and enter the town at the end of the pathway. I wondered if I could truly return to the trading depot to request a ride home, but the conclusion to that train of thought rested firmly upon the outcome of how well the merchant would be able to sell his wares.

If his good spirits and light demeanor carried over as he sold his wares, as well as his advantage of being the only wagon currently present with the important foodstuff, potatoes, that many families depended upon. Concluding that logical train of thought, I found that it was very likely he would be in a very optimistic spirits when I hazard my request for my passage home.

A great weight lifted from my shoulders at this conclusion, though I still worried lightly if it was a forgone end; it was nowhere near the weight that dropped beforehand. Excitement started to bubble within me as I saw the sharp steeple of the church in the distance.

So engrossed upon those thoughts, I did not hear the footsteps upon the muddy terrain I was steadily working myself through. Work towards all the forms of combat aided me in my steps, keeping me steady as my leathers sank into the muddy pathway.

It was another matter entirely for the person who crashed onto me however, and quite suddenly I was tumbling down the side of the hill upon grass. The world becoming a steady, yet chaotic, twirl of red, green and blue. I have no doubt, had I not been trained by my mentor so fastidiously to shield my neck even at the slightest provocation of falling I would have most definitely have died.

As the ground finally stilled after my tumble, I was able to get myself upright within a moment. My state of dress was abysmal, scratches by rocks along the ribs and stains of grass on my brown tunic made me look like one of those children that roughhoused the day away. Sir Ector would undoubtedly say the same and have me mend it myself, and his inquiries would undoubtedly lead to my plan’s ruin within the day’s end.

I quickly sought out the being who was responsible, my eyes scanning the area with righteous fury.
I spotted the edge of a red scarf within a bush, and it’s rustling gave the person away, and I strode confidently as I realized that the cause of my future punishments was hiding and had no thought upon apologizing.

I was more than ashamed of myself when I met pitiful gold eyes as I looked over the bush. The boy had the long, wild hair of many peasant families, a vivid red in color, and was clad in a thick canvas sweater that was patched with a multitude of other colors. The article was many sizes larger for him, possibly belonging to the his father rather than himself. It pooled around him as he splayed himself out arms determinedly holding himself up, and noticeably keeping his weight away from his legs.

If my oath had not forbade it, I would have sworn in the Holy Father’s name right there.

I could not harm someone in need of help, with good conscience, especially if I was to become a knight alike Sir Ector.

I ignored pitysome look with a sigh.

“Are you hurt, badly?” I inquired, attempting to harden myself against my emotions.

He shook his head thoroughly, attempting to reach for something. My eyes followed his grasping’s, maybe he was a cripple and required a crutch? It was unlikely, since the force that sent me tumbling over was much too fast for a cripple.

My eyebrow raised at the tablet lined with clay a few feet from his grasp, a wooden stick with a pointed stone attached to it with a piece of twine. I deftly reached the object with a few strides, the aches from the fall steadily registering themselves as I walked. They were worth noting, merely because I would have to hide them from sight later on, they were negligible otherwise. The warnings of Sir Ector to properly clean wounds rang from deep within my mind, however, and I realized I may have to ask this boy to lead me to the town’s well should I wish to do so.

Once the tablet reached his hands, I was awarded to the interesting sight of him quickly writing upon the clay tablet. I was flummoxed when he handed it to me, however, and returned it to him after a quick glance.

“My training in the literary works begins the next solstice.” I stated as he looked aghast at me. I felt a twinge of discomfort at his countenance, but that was swiftly crushed at the remembrance that I but one of the majority that was unable to read. Not only did I hide my pride under the multitudes, but also under the premise that I would most certainly learn how to read later on.

It took me a moment to realize the importance of the tablet, but when the marks connected I voiced my thought into the air.

“You are unable to speak.”

The boy gave a nod and a smile given by mother’s when their children learned something quickly. The smile was alien to me, and I was left dumbfounded for a split second. The boy just found that his only source of help could not understand him and his inability to speak aired out, yet he smiles? His demeanor was undoubtedly even more confusing than that of the merchant, since I could find nothing benign upon his plight.

As I was engrossed upon my thoughts, he attempted to get up. His face contorted in pain and his legs shook with effort. It was not until he almost fell, quickly grasping onto a tree for support did I break out of my stupor and aided him wrapping my arm around his waist and pulling another over.

I almost wish I had not.

I was well aware of the famines that plagued the land I was within at the moment, information brought forth by listening to the many boisterous voices and avarice-laced claims of the merchants that followed the wagon I had chosen. A marauding band of bandits burnt the town’s crops months ago, to spite them for repelling their attack yester-year.

The boy’s body felt like bones wrapped upon skin to my hand, and the shift of his scarf as he stumbled into my arms revealed the silvery hue of scars across the front of his neck. They were the same I had seen countless times upon the burly arms of Bram, the blacksmith Sir Ector had commissioned to craft my blade. The boy’s still had the strange luster that accompanied Bram’s newer burns, signifying their recent manifestation.

I was disgusted by my own disgust at the sight, and when my eyes trailed back up to his face I was surprised to see the smile once more, as he pulled up the scarf with the hand holding his tablet. It was a sad smile, but understanding, I had the strangest feeling he wasn’t wearing the scarf for his own sake but for others.
I did not understand it, when I look at him…

I pointedly looked away, swiftly awarded with a small sigh from the benefactor of my aide. Whether it was one of contentment, or of disappointment of my actions I did not know.

“I will aide you to your home.” I had not even finished my sentence when he started to shake his head rapidly, pointing in the direction of the Trade Depot with the hand not hooked over my shoulder.

“You are harmed,” I stated pointedly, and when our eyes met I couldn’t help but feel smaller at the ferocity within them. “It would be unwise to wear your body any further, unnecessarily.”

His continued glare made me want to swear, my patience was quickly being steadily worn away by this odd boy. I had half a mind to simply leave him and guard him out of sight, but fear crawled into my bowels at the thought that he might attempt to climb up the steep hill with his bare hands should I not aid him.

Despite the improbability of such a thing, I could not help but to fear the drastic measures he may take should I leave him to his own devices.
I had just met him…

Someway, somehow I felt as he was telling me that he would do exactly as I feared without my aid.
The only question was why I was not troubled the least about aiding him, or why I worried more of his health and his inability to speak more than I did of his displayed stupidity. It felt odd, but correct at the same time to support him. Each step helping him, made me feel more at ease, while each gasp of pain made me worry more and more of his health.

When we reached the road where he knocked me over, I had already forgotten of my own aches and pains. When my boots touched the muddy pathway as his did, I had already forgotten that I was not supposed to be there and I beamed at Sir Ector as he stood furiously upon the pathway where I slipped and fell.

I could only help but care only for the boy I was helping, and I hardly cared of anything else.

…But I have fallen in love.
…

[IhaxlikeNoob]

Man Shirou how can you do that when appear to be just as altruistic as your modern counterpart? Also, he knows how to write? Must be real well off.

- - - Updated - - -

Also good snippet, seems interesting.

[ILurkNoMoar]

This was a great little snippet Sage... you will be continuing this right?

[Sage of Eyes]

This was a great little snippet Sage... you will be continuing this right?

Yup, 4 More Parts to Go!

Man Shirou how can you do that when appear to be just as altruistic as your modern counterpart? Also, he knows how to write? Must be real well off.

- - - Updated - - -

Also good snippet, seems interesting.

Back then, Orphans were raised in churches. Though the likelihood was low it would still have been a high chance for a mute to be taught how to right by a monk.

Yeah, Pretty well off.

[Sage of Eyes]

The Passing Lily. (Halfway finished) *Part One has been edited in this version*
…
Disclaimer: No monetary gain is made from this, I actually lose money due to electricity costs…
…
“Our lives are not our own, we are bound to others, past and present. And with each crime every kindness, we birth our future.” –Cloud Atlas
…
-“It’s the oddest thing, you know?”
-(No I do not)
-“There are hundreds of universes that are exactly the same, except they’re not, you know…”
-(No…)
-“Sometimes, the eternal spirit of some universe mingles with the one in the next, kinda like a glitch of sorts, correct?”
-(Not really…)
-“Sometimes, the flow of time isn’t worth a jar of excrement in those universes, and some couples start boinking incarnations before they’re supposed to.”
-(I should’ve taken Lord Melloi’s classes…)
-Wizard Marshall Zeltrech, A Class on Fractures of Reality. (Attendees: 1)
…

The wagon was a rickety affair as it traveled upon the rough road. Pulled by two oxen, however, the horrible form of transportation was the most tenacious of the many wagons that traversed the dirt snake that flowed across the green hills of Britain. Like a single stream of ants the carts carried their payloads with diligence, but the one pulled by the brawny oxen was one of the few who stayed at the very forefront, untiring even as many pulled aside to rejoin at the end when their beasts of burden were fully rested.

However it was not the animals that made the wagon special, nor was it their odd tenacity that markedly made them different. Amidst sacks of potatoes, a page slept soundly clutching contently upon the two and a half short sword that was held against rough cotton. Against all odds, it seemed, the page was lucky enough to choose this singular wagon that miraculously did not need to stop, and therefore not have its stocks checked.
The page would not be discovered until the wagon arrived at the town, but the merchant driving the wagon would be so pleased he would simply leave the child there and return the page later on.

…

I doubted I would ever see such kindness from any merchant. The fact that he had promised to return me to my village baffled me soundly. The many merchants I had met, would tirade endlessly upon discovering a stowaway had been present upon their wagon.

The situation was so bizarre that I decided to leave before the merchant acted as I expected of him and enter the town at the end of the pathway. I wondered if I could truly return to the trading depot to request a ride home, but the conclusion to that train of thought rested firmly upon the outcome of how well the merchant would be able to sell his wares.

If his good spirits and light demeanor carried over as he sold his wares, as well as his advantage of being the only wagon currently present with the important foodstuff, wheat and oats, that many families depended upon. Concluding that logical train of thought, I found that it was very likely he would be in a very optimistic spirits when I hazard my request for my passage home.

A great weight lifted from my shoulders at this conclusion, though I still worried lightly if it was a forgone end; it was nowhere near the weight that dropped beforehand. Excitement started to bubble within me as I saw the sharp steeple of the church in the distance.

So engrossed upon those thoughts, I did not hear the footsteps upon the muddy terrain I was steadily working myself through. Work towards all the forms of combat aided me in my steps, keeping me steady as my leathers sank into the muddy pathway.

It was another matter entirely for the person who crashed onto me however, and quite suddenly I was tumbling down the side of the hill upon grass. The world becoming a steady, yet chaotic, twirl of red, green and blue. I have no doubt, had I not been trained by my mentor so fastidiously to shield my neck even at the slightest provocation of falling I would have most definitely have died.

As the ground finally stilled after my tumble, I was able to get myself upright within a moment. My state of dress was abysmal, scratches by rocks along the ribs and stains of grass on my brown tunic made me look like one of those children that roughhoused the day away. Sir Ector would undoubtedly say the same and have me mend it myself, and his inquiries would undoubtedly lead to my plan’s ruin within the day’s end.

I quickly sought out the being who was responsible, my eyes scanning the area with righteous fury.

I spotted the edge of a red scarf within a bush, and it’s rustling gave the person away, and I strode confidently as I realized that the cause of my future punishments was hiding and had no thought upon apologizing.

I was more than ashamed of myself when I met pitiful gold eyes as I looked over the bush. The boy had the long, wild hair of many peasant families, a vivid red in color, and was clad in a thick canvas sweater that was patched with a multitude of other colors. The article was many sizes larger for him, possibly belonging to the his father rather than himself. It pooled around him as he splayed himself out arms determinedly holding himself up, and noticeably keeping his weight away from his legs.

If my oath had not forbade it, I would have sworn in the Holy Father’s name right there.

I could not harm someone in need of help, with good conscience, especially if I was to become a knight alike Sir Ector.

I ignored his pitysome look with a sigh.

“Are you hurt, badly?” I inquired, attempting to harden myself against my emotions.
He shook his head thoroughly, attempting to reach for something. My eyes followed his grasping’s, maybe he was a cripple and required a crutch? It was unlikely, since the force that sent me tumbling over was much too fast for a cripple.

My eyebrow raised at the tablet lined with clay a few feet from his grasp, a wooden stick with a pointed stone attached to it with a piece of twine. I deftly reached the object with a few strides, the aches from the fall steadily registering themselves as I walked. They were worth noting, merely because I would have to hide them from sight later on, they were negligible otherwise. The warnings of Sir Ector to properly clean wounds rang from deep within my mind, however, and I realized I may have to ask this boy to lead me to the town’s well should I wish to do so.

Once the tablet reached his hands, I was awarded to the interesting sight of him quickly writing upon the clay tablet. I was flummoxed when he handed it to me, however, and returned it to him after a quick glance.
“My training in the literary works begins the next solstice.” I stated as he looked aghast at me. I felt a twinge of discomfort at his countenance, but that was swiftly crushed at the remembrance that I but one of the majority that was unable to read. Not only did I hide my pride under the deficits of the multitudes, but also under the premise that I would most certainly learn how to read later on.

It took me a moment to realize the importance of the tablet, but when the marks connected I voiced my thought into the air.

“You are unable to speak.”

The boy gave a nod and a smile given by mother’s when their children learned something quickly. The smile was alien to me, and I was left dumbfounded for a split second. The boy just found that his only source of help could not understand him and his inability to speak aired out, yet he smiles? His demeanor was undoubtedly even more confusing than that of the merchant, since I could find nothing benign upon his plight.

As I was engrossed upon my thoughts, he attempted to get up. His face contorted in pain and his legs shook with effort. It was not until he almost fell, quickly grasping onto a tree for support did I break out of my stupor and aided him wrapping my arm around his waist and pulling another over.
I almost wish I had not.

I was well aware of the famines that plagued the land I was within at the moment, information brought forth by listening to the many boisterous voices and avarice-laced claims of the merchants that followed the wagon I had chosen. A marauding band of bandits burnt the town’s crops months ago, to spite them for repelling their attack yester-year and the merchants had in stock the resources that would undoubtedly save the town and intended to sell it at exorbitant prices.

The boy’s body felt like bones wrapped upon skin to my hand, and the shift of his scarf as he stumbled into my arms revealed the silvery hue of scars across the front of his neck. They were the same I had seen countless times upon the burly arms of Bram, the blacksmith Sir Ector had commissioned to craft my blade. The boy’s still had the strange luster that accompanied Bram’s newer burns from his billowing forge, signifying their recent manifestation.

I was disgusted by my own disgust at the sight, certainly I could respect someone who could endeavor despite his wounds instead of feeling weak at the knees. That disgust gave away to surprise when my eyes trailed back up to his face to see his smile once more, as he pulled up the scarf with the hand holding his tablet. It was a sad smile, but understanding, I had the strangest feeling he wasn’t wearing the scarf for his own sake but for others.

I pointedly looked away, swiftly awarded with a small sigh from the benefactor of my aide. Whether it was one of contentment, or of disappointment of my actions I did not know. The mixture of surprise and disgust threshing my nerves fairly, and it was not until my beneficiary made a feeble attempt to clear his throat.
The odd sound startled me at first, and terrified me the next. It was guttural sound that I was sure that no man should make, vaguely reminiscent of the

The sound was so dissonant to his smile and features I nearly lost my nerve and left him to seek aid. Preferably from the confines of the castle I resided and not this imbecilic property that allowed him to traipse in its territory as if he was in complete control of his linguistics and not suffering from malnutrition and maybe even starvation.

“I will aide you to your home.” I stated, fully intending to forsake my attempt to conceal my identity and demand the right to take him from where he resided and return with him to make sure he is under proper care. However, I had not even finished my sentence when he started to shake his head rapidly, pointing in the direction of the Trade Depot with the hand not hooked over my shoulder.

“You are harmed,” I stated pointedly, and when our eyes met I couldn’t help but feel smaller at the ferocity within them. While certainly not one that I expected from one of his countenance and disabilities, I could not shake the feeling that such an expression held true to the personality he most likely utilized the most. “It would be unwise to wear your body any further, unnecessarily.”

His continued glare made me want to swear, my patience was quickly being steadily worn away by this odd boy. I had half a mind to simply leave him and guard him out of sight, but fear crawled into my bowels at the thought that he might attempt to climb up the steep hill with his bare hands should I not aid him.

Despite the improbability of such a thing, I could not help but to fear the drastic measures he may take should I leave him to his own devices. The ferocity of gaze, his continued pointing toward the Trade Depot, only strengthened the fear that someway, somehow he would do exactly as I feared without my aid and bullheadedly rush up the mountain without even a care for his own countenance and safety.

“So be it.” I muttered in such a dark fashion I feared Sir Ector would bend reality to simply chastise me for my tone. I gave him a pointed look, that I hoped conveyed my true displeasure at his choice, but otherwise let no bone in my body convey my displeasure.

The only question was why I was not troubled the least about aiding him, or why I worried more of his health and his inability to speak more than I did of his displayed stupidity. It felt odd, but correct at the same time to support him. Each step helping him, made me feel more at ease, while each gasp of pain made me worry more and more of his health.

I could only acknowledge it as the teachings from Sir Ector shining through as if a revelation upon the true joy of helping others as a knight.

When we reached the road where he knocked me over, I had already forgotten of my own aches and pains. When my boots touched the muddy pathway as his did, I had already forgotten that I was not supposed to be there and I beamed at Sir Ector as he stood furiously upon the pathway where I slipped and fell.

It seemed when I was being taken away, I could not help but have my thoughts continuously brought back to the boy. Even Sir Ector’s continuous rambling about the sword that was no longer at my hip could not bring me out of my stupor.

I didn’t even know his name, yet I could not help but feel fond when I think of him. The way he attempted to speak through his tablet even as Sir Ector carried me as if I was a bushel of wheat to his horse, despite the fact he was doing it through a godly amount of pain. There was no doubt in my mind that he was truly grateful for what I had done, my first true attempt to aid someone culminating fruitfully as he furiously sought to clear my name despite my actions.

Sir Ector would not allow me leave of the castle for months afterward, not even for the hunts for provision in the wilds. I found myself unable to loathe my choices, even as I slowly forgot about the boy himself. I found myself slowly warming to the staff and befriending the men and women who cared for me my entire life, and even seeking out to aid them in menial duties.

Some nights I would, of course, be unscrupulously asked what instigated the change in my relations with the servants and the lower classes and truly I was only able to grasp at straws.

Though an odd smile and the color of gold was always brought to the forefront of my mind whenever the question was asked, I thought nothing of it and favored replying most befitting a noble squire to a favored companion by soaking said companion with a pail of water.
I began to make friends.

…

“Sir Kay…” I muttered a tad spitefully, “A tournament with the rule of the kingdom on the line and you forget your sword?” I sniffed egregiously as I passed the garbage dump of the encampment, “You have most certainly done this to simply spurn me for revealing your romances to Sir Ector.”

How many weeks must we stay at this rapidly rotting place? All for the sake of some sword buried within a stone, for the sake of a wizard’s words. As the story went, a being that went by the name of Merlin appeared amidst thunder and lighting and thrust the sword into the stone. Then he declared that that whoever pulled the sword from the stone was rightful ruler of Britain.

What a load of bollocks, the wizard had probably enchanted the stone to never relinquish it and simply wanted to be entertained for moment’s time. Once the Holy Order of the Church arrived, the wizards folly would be unraveled and he would be put the pike like the rest of his kind that intruded upon the lives of well-meaning.
Maybe they would even ask for the help of the Sirs and Lords present, and Sir Ector would allow me my dagger Carn once more. It has been a fortnight since I had last seen the blessed knife, given to me by the foremost-priest in the Monastery a week’s ride from my home. It had been a boon when seeking that witch in her pitch-black cave, and aiding an old friend of Sir Ector’s to marry his lover.

It would be undoubtedly helpful to finding whoever was causing this maddening, meaningless tournament that was an absolute waste of time.

Though I was quite sure that Sir Ector would consider my own machinations to continuously seek my companions to be the same. I could not help myself to allotting time to my numerous relations, it was a ghastly thought to even suggest that I ignore my acquaintances in favor for something as trivial as this tournament.
By all means, at this rate I’ll never find out if Tolle finally gets it past his perplexingly dense head that Scylla was nearing the end of the rope when romantic advances were in question and was pondering on strapping him onto a bed and having her way with him to convey her affections.

So distracted was I upon the spite; I was unable to notice the quick movement ahead of me. One moment I had been upright, the next I was upon the well-trodden grass with an uncomfortable weight upon me. My eyes met those of the trollop that had follow onto me, all intents upon trouncing him soundly with both fists and speech suddenly draining away as a wave of strangeness engulfed me.

He left my grasp almost immediately, pulling us both upright and between the spaces of a canvas tent. Thunderous footsteps and boisterous yells erupted from where we were previously occupied. His actions alongside the lack of ringing metal told me all I needed to know, the tournament’s collection of unsavory proprietors had grown tremendously the past week. The town would have been ransacked had there not been an overwhelming presence of knights in the area.

Still, anyone carrying anything vaguely of any worth would be pursued and beaten for whatever they had.
Truthfully, I had cared very little of the occurrences of this town, due to my abhorrence to the festivities and its overall un-necessity. For some reason or another however, I found myself caring very much of the increase in the town’s crimes this day and the inherent stupidity of the fellow for even traversing the outskirts of the tournament where criminals roamed and hunted.

I did not even bother with introductions, I immediately pulled down his red scarf and glared right into his surprised golden eyes.

“You should not be out here.” I hissed plaintively, glaring at him for all my worth. Taking in his features akin to a sponge to water. Despite the years that had passed I recognized him the moment he entered my proximity. His features were noticeably filled out, his eyes less sunken and his cheeks less prominent. His hair was trimmed, far from the excessive length I now remembered with extreme clarity, akin to Sir Kay’s despite being more lengthy and of the color of red.

His eyes widened further when he took in my own features, undoubtedly remembering me as well. He fumbled for the briefest of moments, before suddenly starting as though a torch had lit him. His gaze left mine and I instinctively glanced to where he brought his own vision.

Upon the muddy ground, was the selfsame cay tablet I had seen years ago. At this point in time, it was completely within my ability to understand all but the most complex of literary works and communication between the two of us would have come as easily as breathing.

The only complexity at this plan was that the tablet lay in pieces, the stylus broken into twigs and the clay returned from the earth from whence it came.

I had not felt such an urge to swear since my dagger had been taken away, the only solace I found was from my erstwhile companion who seemed far more depressed about his undoubtedly assured lack of communication until he procured another. Given the majority of the populace’s view on the art of literature and inscribing, I doubted that he would be able to procure it easily. It would be facetious for me to be presumptuous of the fact, but tablets such the one lying broken were most commonly found in monasteries where monks rewrote literature for future generations and could make no mistake in each transcript. The process of repetition that they tenaciously employed in their teachings dictated that without the tablets they would swiftly consume far too much parchment and ink to be self-sustained fiefs that they were.

Due to these multitude of reasons they also held a monopoly on the tablets and would rather eat their own extremities than give one away without a great deal of hazardous bickering and bribery. My own education at the behest of Sir Ector only came to fruition due to the knight’s un-doubtable reputation as the keeper of the lands surrounding the castle and sheer force of presence in full armor and equipment.

Coincidentally I was already planning on procuring one from the nearest source available in a similar manner, despite the inherent costs and time the endeavor will consume upon its course I did not find myself mitigated from the flow of thought. Despite the un-doubtable tedium the procurement will produce I did not find myself the least bit demotivated at the simple behest that I would be able to communicate with my companion.
The plan already set within my mind I turned to the boy who just finished his sigh of dismay.

“Do not fret.” I assuaged him simply, gaining his attention. “Such things are easily acquired.”

The sight of his face as it contorted into a picture of dismay was a memory that I would not sell for anything in the world. He obviously knew the tablet’s importance, and was in dismay due to the knowledge that attaining another would be nearly impossible.

At my behest however, attaining one would only be a tedious affair that I should undoubtedly hasten to accomplish to save both my precious time and his own. I could even fetch Sir Kay’s sword as I changed into more appropriate attire for dealing with monks.

Coincidently that brought the wind behind my sail of thought to peter out. Changing would most certainly reveal my hidden gender to my unlikely compatriot, yet at the same moment I could not find it within any territory of my mind to suggest he make his way without aid to the church within the town.

Oddly the revelation of my gender to my unnamed companion did not strike me as odd, especially under the remembrance of his actions to clear my name against a furious Sir Ector. The feeling that he would not share my secret even under the direst of threats should I tell him to keep it, assuaged the little fear I had of the revelation that I had planned. Having saved his life I was assured that he would not say anything, even when taken into account his way of speaking was through the written word.

I looked him up and down, making note of his superior height, the shorter length of the slightly patchier sweater, and the woolen trousers that fitted him akin to an oversized saddle upon a mule with larger boots to match. He would be akin to a piece of coal amidst stones if he walked alongside me in the more populous areas of the encampment, and seeing as the crest upon my chest marked me as a Page of Sir Ector, the situation would be called upon by a bevy of sly eyes and passed on by dozens of mouths by the end of the day.
Notwithstanding my plot to demand a ways for my unlucky ward to communicated with me by threatening the local parish within full armor and armaments afterward, which I had planned to do with him in tow.

…bah, I cannot simply gave up in the face of such meager adversity. I’ll ascertain a way to explain the rumors that will filter to Sir Ector’s ear after I had acquired my companion another inscribing tool to communicate with.
My mind set in resolution I beckoned for him to follow me through the maze of tents, his long stride easily keeping him within arm’s reach should he somehow slip and fall. I could not ascertain, as of yet, the condition of his leg, but taking into account the fact that many towns hardly gave adequate treatment of any wounds I would not be at all surprised if his leg was improperly healed and he was coping with the pain the past years.

Maybe an appointment with a the towns surgeon may be in order, but given the inconsistency between towns of the professionalism and skills of doctors I would be more at ease if I took him to my own physician rather than one I hardly knew. The doctor here could be mad and think that amputation would be necessary to relieve the pain, and that was certainly not a thought anyone would find at all pleasant.

So I made sure he was within arm’s reach as we steadily made our way to the tent that was the quarters I resided in with Sirs Ector and Kay.

I hesitated briefly as I let him in, and my features must have contorted at the hesitation more than I had imagined as his eyes quickly caught my own.

He cocked his head for a second, before a light I recognized lightly as realization illuminated his cheeks akin to a hot fire.

My own face felt as if I had pressed it far too close to the fireplace as I attempted to reconcile my features and heartbeat into something more presentable. Could I truly have been so transparent so that he could see through my disguise without even seeing me undressed? The thought truly made me wonder solidly about the entire method of my practice of keeping my gender discrete.

His pointed finger at my Squire crest, and a gesture towards areas of the body that usually depicted the anatomy of a woman, managed to both infuriate me yet cause my cheeks to feel as if there were coals merely inches away and my heart to start imitating a horses gallop.

“I-it’s a complicated matter.” I almost swore when I heard my own stammer, and I turned away from him as I crossed my arms of my chest. No matter what I did I could not regain control over my heart or where my blood continuously boiled. “My gender must remain a secret, I expect only this in return for my aid.”

Much to my chagrin he did not even pause before giving a nod and pointing to the table where a few slices of bread had escaped the ravenous bowels that had assailed the table just this morning. The remnants were but paltry remains that I considered scraps, but at the begging look upon his face and intermittent glances as he awaited for my conclusion made all too clear that underneath clothing and the height he was still the starved boy from years ago.

My heart stilled and I found myself assailed by feelings I could not accurately describe as they were truly foreign to me. When I acquitted to his pleadings his smile was so radiant that the feelings intensified and I desperately missed the gallops that my heart had been doing only moments ago as it was replaced by the feeling of cracking glass within my chest.

The feeling only continued to grow as he did not eat the paltry offerings left behind by the ravenous appetites of two Knights and a Squire and regarded as scraps. My red-haired companion merely packed them into his pockets with a beatific smile that I could only describe as saintly.

I could not bear to watch another moment as he consumed to smallest piece that had been left behind, and I regretted consuming the rest of the loaf at Sir Kay’s teasing behest mere hours ago. If I had only left that singular piece intact he would have been able to take that and consume the rest…

I decided that if I pondered upon the matter anymore I would go mad, and strike out. Given the fact the nearest solid object was one of the poles that lifted the grandiose tent up, such a bout of anger would only threated the integrity of the structure.

As I undressed and began to equip my armor and arms, I could not help but wonder about my mysterious golden-eyed companion. He seemed to readily radiate a seemingly benevolent aura whenever I glanced at him, his features were kind and fair, his build towering akin to the many knights I had seen despite his youth and lack of nourishment and the selfless nature only seemed to continuously grind against my conscience if he was the one that received the benefits I had readily reaped.

The only conclusion that I found completely and irrevocably sound was that he would make for the perfect knight.
…

[IhaxlikeNoob]

Oohh, foreshadowing? I really wan't to see where this goes, Shirou as a member of The Round Table.

Anyway you cut a sentence off prematurely.
"The odd sound startled me at first, and terrified me the next. It was guttural sound that I was sure that no man should make, vaguely reminiscent of the"

[Sage of Eyes]

Oohh, foreshadowing? I really wan't to see where this goes, Shirou as a member of The Round Table.

Anyway you cut a sentence off prematurely.
"The odd sound startled me at first, and terrified me the next. It was guttural sound that I was sure that no man should make, vaguely reminiscent of the"

Knew I missed something, it'll get fixed by the next installment I swear!

[ILurkNoMoar]

The only conclusion that I found completely and irrevocably sound was that he would make for the perfect knight.
…

Go on~ If Arturia falls for him it's going to make the AurthurxGuineverexLancelot love triangle way more complicated.

[Chojomeka]

Go on~ If Arturia falls for him it's going to make the AurthurxGuineverexLancelot love triangle way more complicated.

Makes you wonder what kind of complex will Mordred develop this time around.