So I made a massive fucky-wucky and accidentally posted this in the wrong thread. Hopefully that doesn't disqualify it, but here it is, now with less self deprecation in the pre-pre notes up here!
It is massively long, and I do apologize for that, and the formatting is still probably Yikes. All the same though, thank you all for your time.
Also, WOW am I dumb posting it in the wrong thread.
Pre-sheet author's noteSo, this thing is a god damn monster, and again, I'm so sorry. I tried my best to keep one idea going throughout, and also make it as respectful as possible. Like I mentioned before, I am somebody who studies conspiracy and fascism as a student, but I'm also a god damn idiot sometimes and also absolutely not Jewish. If I fucked up anything, please let me know. If this is straight-up too much of a piece of shit to even be posted, please let me know. But without further ado, let's go for it, I suppose.
Nathan Mayer Rothschild“Hmm. A pleasure, master. Servant Caster, though I will admit a level of shock at that fact. Due to my… lacking capabilities, I see no harm in divulging my true name. Nathaniel Mayer Rothschild, the first, and -”
Class: Caster
Other Classes: ????
Origin: Germany, 18th Century
Alignment: True Neutral
Faceclaim:
Parameters:
STR: E
END: E
AGI: E
MGI: C
LCK: C
NP: EX
Likes: Those willing to put their all into whatever they attempt, family, pragmatism
Dislikes: Laziness, those who put others above themselves, war
Talent: Commodity trading, investments of all forms, financial schemes
Natural Enemy: Conspiracy
Armament: “Preferably, none, though if I must, I have this stack of arrows. I can’t shoot them, but they’re here. I suppose I could attempt to literally drown people in currency, but that would be both far too horrific, and far too silly.”
Catalyst: New Court, St Swithin’s Lane, London. The building itself.
Caster groans and clutches his head in sudden pain, his hat falling to the floor as he does so. As he finds his footing, you see a flicker of fear in his gaze.
“My apologies. It seems there is much to be surprised about by this form; I do not recall such aches during my life. Regardless, I hope to be of service however I may. I don’t suppose you expect much, however, as that status page of yours surely says more than I ever could.”
Class Skills
Territory Creation: B
While not a workshop by traditional means, his status as the unchallenged king of the London Stock Exchange allows him to create a “firm”, a financial hub which grants him abilities on par with a workshop of the associated level.
Item Construction (Currency): B+
Rothschild is capable of such rapid and precise financial manipulation that he effectively “creates” the money necessary to purchase or commission anything creatable with present magecraft and technology. Of course, he cannot force anything he commissions or purchases to appear immediately, but rest assured, he can purchase both the highest quality and fastest delivery money can buy.
“Ah, it’s… fascinating that my financial prowess has been recorded in the collective unconscious as ‘magecraft’. I cannot say I’m particularly fond of this-”
He lets out a yelp as he suffers another bout of sudden head pain, though Caster this time manages to keep hold of his hat. Its brim falls over his eyes, and he allows it to remain in this position as he continues.
“Ahem. This level of corruption of my talents, but it is interesting nonetheless.”
Bond 1
The Rothschild family have become almost synonymous with the concept of money lending. For better or worse, the Rothschild name represents the field in the popular consciousness more than any other.
Mayer Amschel Rothschild was born in 1744, within Frankfurt’s Judengasse ghetto. He advanced far beyond his position as a ghetto-bound Jew, becoming a major financier of the Prince of Hesse, and later of several Princes throughout the Holy Roman Empire. He built a significant fortune in the Empire, especially for a Jew, bearing the burden of hatred against his people from his birth.
Personal Skill:
Court Factor (A)
Within early-modern Germany, Jews held a unique societal position. They were despised for their religion, viewed as heathens unworthy of living amongst the Christian masses, and quartered off into ghettos. Despite this, the same Christian laws which barred Jews to squalid ghettos and subjected them to horrific pogroms at random opened up an opportunity to the rare, particularly brilliant Jew. For those luckiest Jews, the most lucrative of professions became available; money lending.
Usury was strictly prohibited in the duchies of the Holy Roman Empire, but only for Christians. Jews were not bound by these Christian rules, and became an incredibly important source of finances for the Princes of the Empire.
Mayer Amschel Rothschild was appointed the Court Factor (or Court Jew) of the Prince of Hesse in 1769, one of the most important states within the Empire. Using the power of this position, Mayer expanded his family’s financial operations outside of Germany, and into England. It would not be unfair to claim that, in the popular subconscious, the Rothschild family itself has for centuries been the “court factor” of global capital as a whole.
For Caster, the skill functions similarly to a charm skill such as those possessed by certain Mystic Eyes or those produced by certain servant’s singing. By displaying his absurd financial prowess, Caster can “buy” his way into the good graces of almost any enemy.
“Ah… My father’s abilities seem to have been mixed with mine. Sadly, understanding the way that humanity of your time views my family, it surprises me little. A Rothschild is still a Rothschild, right? Who cares which is which, they’re all the same, right?”
Caster spits at the ground, anger clear in his gaze. He notices you staring, and adjusts his hat so that the brim again covers his eyes.
“Damned bastards.”
Bond 2
Nathan Mayer Rothschild was born to Mayer Amschel and his wife in 1777. Despite his father having been the Court Factor of the Prince of Hesse for almost a decade by now, Nathan was born in the same Frankfurt ghetto as his father.
When Nathan was 21, his father sent him to England to establish a branch of the Rothschild family within the Isles. He migrated to Manchester in 1798, opening a textile trade business. In just 6 years, this small shop was successful enough for Nathan to move his base of operations to London. Trading securities and foreign bills, he built a massive fortune.
By 1810, N. M. Rothschild & Sons was established, becoming a financial powerhouse and the very focal point of his family’s legacy. His brother James would open a Paris branch of the business in 1812, and the dominance of the Rothschild family in the trade of investment banking was cemented.
An impossibly masterful tradesman and financial tactician, the third Rothschild son would become the wealthiest man in the world by the end of his short life. His astounding success was not accepted without hatred and fear; Nathan’s quickly accumulated fortunes laid the foundation for the conspiracies which would follow his family for centuries.
“Hmm, a descriptor I barely disagree with for once. I suppose it’s only fitting that it ends as it does, though. I truly, truly wish I could simply be remembered for my success, but if this is how it must be…”
Caster grimaces, lowering his hat over his eyes. He lets out a sigh, though it’s unclear whether he is suffering another headache or simply distraught.
“I’ll do something to change it. I hope you’d help me to clear our- ahem, my name, Master.”
Bond 3
Noble Phantasm:
“To Satan the Last, King of Imposters”
Roi de Juifs (EX)
A decade after Nathan’s death, an anecdote which shaped the future of the Rothschild family’s legacy was penned by Mathieu Dairnvaell, a French socialist. In 1846, a train on a line which had been heavily invested in by the French Rothschild branch derailed. Darinvaell, an early pamphleteer, took advantage of this anger towards the Rothschild family to pen what is known as the “Waterloo canard”.
According to Dairnvaell, Nathan had personally been in Belgium watching the Battle of Waterloo, where Napoleon would eventually be defeated for the final time. Once Nathan was sure of the victory of the British military, led by Duke Wellington, he hurried back to London, making it to the city a full day before Wellington’s messengers. Instead of delivering the news, however, he decided to take full advantage of the situation.
Wearing a somber look, Nathan walked into the Stock Exchange and began selling immense amounts of sterling worth of consols and bonds. Nathan knew that every move he made was watched with intense scrutiny; if Nathan was selling, the other financiers thought he must know something that they didn’t. And so, other financiers began litigating their own bonds and consols, dropping the price significantly.
Nathan, with the timing of a hawk, bought back as many of these bonds as he could at their new low price just moments before the messenger arrived to bring the good news of Wellington’s victory. He made millions, and the reputation of the Rothschilds as a family of cheats and manipulators was set in stone.
This never happened. The Waterloo canard was the fabrication of a yellow journalist, a man entirely forgotten to history, remembered only for a vicious attack against a long dead man and his reputation.
And yet, Dairnvaell’s “Roi de Juifs” pamphlet laid the roots not only for the vast number of modern conspiracies regarding the Rothschilds, but for modern antisemitism as a whole.
“I couldn’t keep this secret forever, now could I, Master? I’m sure you’d guessed by this point, with how talented you are at understanding people.”
Caster laughs dryly, a sardonic grin on his face. He breathes heavily, and continues, once again lowering his hat over his eyes.
“Of all the damned things to be most remembered for, it’s this. I don’t even have to tell you how laughably inaccurate it is, but… it pisses me off, honestly.”
Rothschild lets out the loudest yelp yet, falling to his knees as his right hand grasps at his forehead.
“I won’t use it. I’m sorry, Master, but I refuse. That bastard, that nameless, worthless son of a whore… hah, I’m probably even right about that, aren’t I? But I won’t do it. I won’t grant him that victory, even if his soul is almost certainly long gone, rotting away nowhere near the Throne. He already did enough.”
He rises to his feet, his eyes bearing an emotion unlike anything you’ve seen. As if the man is at the same time an empty, soulless husk, devoid of all life, and the densest, most complex entity on the planet.
“I apologize for this outburst, Master. I’d have you leave me now; just please, don’t force me to use it. I can’t say I’d forgive you.”
As you leave, you hear Nathan Mayer Rothschild mutter to himself as he collapses on his bed.
“We can’t forgive them- any of them. Somehow, we need to make this right.”
Bond 4
Personal Skills
Appreciation of the Arts (B+)
The Rothschild family is known not just for their immense wealth, nor their association with endless abhorrent and blatantly false conspiracies. The family’s immense collections of art, the vastest and most comprehensive that money can buy, has found a way into Caster’s myth as well.
If Caster happens to see a Noble Phantasm that possesses artistic qualities, there is a high chance that he may be able to ascertain its true name. For Caster, the definition of “artistic” is loose; any personal technique, or even uniquely crafted weapon can qualify. Due to his young age as a servant, however, he has trouble with Noble Phantasms possessing sufficient Mystery.. Any Noble Phantasm dating to the Age of the Gods, or any such technique associated strongly with the Age of the Gods, is beyond his ability to analyze.
Clairvoyance (C)
Caster was not a mage of any sort in life. His immense prowess for investing, however, made him the target of a great many myths. While he despises the vast majority of these, there is one of which he is almost proud; the idea that he was so brilliant with money, he could quite literally see the future. This has manifested in Caster possessing the Clairvoyance skill.
Using this skill, Caster is capable of seeing up to a day in the future. While the scope of the skill is limited to the financial world, Caster is brilliant enough to invest in such broad industries as to render basically all moderate to large scale events which could possibly be relevant to him as within this scope. While it possesses no direct combat application, it is a very useful skill for determining strategy.
“Well then. I truly am useless to you in the situation that humanity has found itself in, aren’t I, Master?”
He laughs, seemingly genuinely this time, though his eyes still trouble you. Since the last time you saw him, they haven’t changed. As you realize that you can’t comprehend the man at all, the smile falls from his face, replaced by a pained frown.
“What good is enough money to commission anything we could need when you already have the world’s greatest inventor at your side? Who would I even buy from, anyway? That fox bitch? Not a chance. I can’t recognize a Noble Phantasm when all we’re fighting are Heroes from another world, and there’s not exactly any use for my financial foresight if there isn’t a single company to invest in on this entire scorched planet.”
Caster realizes that the brim of his hat has fallen over his eyes, and a smile again passes across his face. It’s slight, but the most genuine positive emotion you’ve ever seen the man let loose.
“I’ll use it. My Noble Phantasm, that is. If you find yourself in such a situation that you need more tactical power than you already have… I’ll use it. With men like that Clocktower mage and that enormous Rider he follows around, I’d hope you never have need for it, but…”
He falls to his knees, tears suddenly streaming from his impossibly deep eyes. You can’t tell if it’s another headache, but right now, you know it doesn’t matter.
“I’ll do it. To save humanity, I’ll become what all of you bastards want me to be so badly. ‘King of the Jews’? Damn you, I’ll wear that crown, even if I have no idea why I feel this way.”
Bond 5
Noble Phantasm:
“To Satan the Last, King of Imposters”
Roi de Juifs (EX) (Part 2)
By such a metric, the labeling of Nathan Mayer Rothschild as “King of the Jews” is hardly inaccurate. Despite the objective inaccuracy of all the conspiracies that follow him and his family in the centuries since his death, the legacy of the third son of Mayer Rothschild has become the spawning ground for all of modern antisemitism. From paranoia surrounding global financial and political conspiracies to the Dolchstoßlegende that begot the worst of all 20th centuries atrocities, Nathan Mayer Rothschild’s Spirit Origin has become host to it all.
Under normal circumstances, Caster would never utilize such a Noble Phantasm unless forced to do so by his Master’s Command Curse. In order to save humanity, despite his entirely justified hatred for many of their collective actions, Caster will use Roi de Juifs.
When he does, Caster unleashes the collective hatred he has kept under such tight guard. Hatred of himself for his lack of foresight. Hatred towards humanity for what has been done to his people since his death, following the lead on conspiracies penned regarding himself.
All the conspiracies of the last 200 years of humanity piled onto a single man, a man entirely undeserving of being tarred with such a cloth, not unlike a certain poor Zoroastrian peasant. Like Angra Mainyu, “Rothschild the First”’s Noble Phantasm has no immediate effectiveness as an attack, or any immediate utility as a support skill.
Caster’s class card changes with the usage of this Noble Phantasm. He becomes the embodiment of this anger, an Avenger class servant, one who could be referred to under a different name. His perception of himself shifts, the mostly calm and collected Nathan Mayer Rothschild being overwhelmed by the surge of other names associated with all manner of conspiracies following in the style of the Waterloo canard.
He becomes the Illuminati itself, the greatest conspirator imaginable, and an existence of absolutely no historical fact.
“Ah. So it really has gotten that bad, has it?”
Staring at the radar in the Shadow Border, Caster mutters to himself as the rest of the crew shout orders, trying whatever they can to find a way out of a seemingly unwinnable situation.
“Master.”
Despite the overwhelming din of a hopeless battle, you hear Caster’s voice clearly in your earpiece. He continues, not waiting for you to respond to his words, his voice bearing a determination you’ve never heard.
“I told you that I’d only even consider it if that Clocktower bastard failed, but I’m not going to let it get to that point. It’s obvious that this plan will only succeed if we take unjustifiable losses, and…”
A moment of silence. Caster is right; the battle is quickly going south. You know with all your heart that there’s no getting out of this situation without terrible losses; losses that might as well make all your work thus far useless.
“I’ll do it. Summon me to the lines, by your side. I’ll do it, but only if you’re there to watch. To understand what this means, as you somehow always manage to do.”
You grant Caster’s request, channeling to the man enough magical energy for him to transport himself to your side. Before you can even open your eyes again, you feel the soft, uncalloused hand of the third son of Meyer Amschel Rothschild on your shoulder.
“All I ask is that you watch, Master. Please, whatever you do, don’t take your eyes off of us.”
You don’t question the sudden shift of pronoun, and nod your head solemnly. Whatever Caster is about to do, you know in your heart that it means more to him than anything else. He steps forward, closer to the front lines than he has ever been. Your adversary fails to even notice the trilby-bearing Servant, and he begins his chant. An immense amount of magical energy begins flooding the area, more than you could have imagined.
“Rothschild 1er. À Satan dernier, roi des imposteurs. If this is how I am to be known by humanity, so be it. All I ever did, I did for my family; all I did, I did for my people. If that is to be damned, to be so despised, I will wear whatever crown you bastards have fastened for me. If I am to be the scapegoat for all the horrors done to my people, I shall bear it, to free them from this cursed legacy you attached to an innocent man.”
Magical energy flows into Caster, such that his suit flutters and his trilby flies off with the wind. He turns back to look at you, his emotions clear to you for the first and last time. A genius beyond all others in his field, and a father proud beyond belief of all his family has achieved. A man pained beyond understanding by the hatred he bears, hatred even he cannot comprehend. A man bearing unbelievable fury at the world that damned him to such a miserable legacy, an eternity shouldering such meaningless hatred.
As tears fill his eyes, the same salty wetness streams down your face. Somehow, you know that you’re hearing the last words of a man who loves this world, who loves humanity, regardless of the unforgivable crimes done to his people, so many of them based on lies spread about him and his family.
Nathan Mayer Rothschild gives you one last teary smile, and turns his head away, facing the battlefield again.
“Rois des Juifs.”
At first, it seems as if nothing has changed. During the longest moments of your life, it looks like all of your Servant’s pain has been for nothing.
And then the first scream sounds from the opposing side of the battlefield. An enemy has speared his own commanding officer, a man in charge of a vital unit in the enemy’s formation. An explosion rocks what seems to have been a command post. More and more mutinies are reported by Da Vinci’s drones. Within a minute, an entire quarter of the enemy’s formation has collapsed, leaving open a perfect path for Chaldea’s Servants to storm the final Crypter’s position.
The Servant standing just a meter in front of you turns back, and despite bearing the exact same face, you fail to recognize him at all.
“Avenger class. However loath we are to admit it, we are The Illuminati itself. Or at least, the closest the Throne can muster to the fabricated existence you worthless people have labelled such.”
The existence calling themselves The Illuminati notices the tears streaking their face, and rolls their eyes, before using their sleeve to violently wipe away the wetness. The once impossibly complex emotions within the eyes of Nathan Rothschild have been replaced with a far more simple emotion; pure, unbridled rage.
“I can’t expect we’ll get along, Master, but we’ll work with you for now. And don’t worry; destroying Chaldea isn’t part of our plans.”
Updated Servant Parameters
Nathan Mayer Rothschild/ The IlluminatiThe battle is won without a flaw, but the Crypter flees and escapes. Illuminati, who has been sitting on a fallen tree at the battlefield’s edge since their effortless destruction of the enemy lines, beckons you to sit next to them, their supreme disappointment completely unveiled.
Class: Avenger
Other Classes: Alter Ego, Berserker
Origin: Germany, 18th Century
Alignment: Chaotic Evil
Faceclaim:
Parameters:
STR: E
END: A
AGI: E
MGI: A
LCK: A
NP: EX
Likes: Skeptics, those who combat misinformation, humanity’s potential
Dislikes: Those who deal in misinformation, their own existence, humanity
Talent: Schemes of all form, conspiracy, strategy
Natural Enemy: Alaya
Armament: Whatever they can use at any given moment. Usually, other people.
Catalyst: N/A
“So despite all of that, you managed to lose, hmm? And yes, we would consider the failure to capture the target a loss, regardless of how you idiots would classify it.”
You can’t deny that the Crypter got away, and merely avert your gaze. Illuminati laughs, and repeatedly smacks your shoulder.
“Hey, don’t worry about it. It’s not like we give a shit, anyway. Regardless, might as well introduce ourselves now, right? I’m not the same Servant you’re used to now, anyway.”
They look you in the eyes, and laugh again.
“God, that shit actually got you, didn’t it? That stupid bastard really lied to you the whole time, not even telling you he was something like half of the whole damn family in one Servant Graph, and you still mourn him? Holy shit, you’re gonna be a fun Master, I’m excited.”
They stand, and sarcastically kneel before you, assuming the position of a proper knight.
“Servant Avenger, true name Illuminati. We’re still in the body of Rothschild, obviously, but there’s so fucking many of us in here that you’ll almost definitely never hear a word from any of them. We don’t exactly all get along in here, but hey, we have a close enough final goal that we’ll work together to get that done. And when that’s done, well, hopefully that’ll be the end of it, anyway.”
Bond 6
Class Skills:
Mad Enhancement (D):
No matter what class they are summoned in, it is impossible to think of a conglomerate existence such as Avenger as possessing “sanity” in a traditional sense. Avenger’s Saint Graph is one composed of hundreds, if not thousands, of fragments of other, incomplete Graphs. Very few of the Spirits making up Avenger could be summoned on their own, and even fewer have had their entire Origin implemented into Avenger’s Graph.
As such, Avenger, under normal circumstances, would be an entity in which countless minds (or fragments thereof) are screaming at once, each attempting to orchestrate their own plans, trying to wrestle into their grasp control of the body itself. Were Avenger to manifest as an Alter Ego or Berserker, they would be an impossibly chaotic Servant which would likely qualify as a Beast.
As an Avenger, however, this is largely mitigated due to a simple fact; all of the fragments, all of the countless bits and pieces of Spirit Origins screaming in agony at once, are guided by a singular feeling. Avenger, all of their fragments working towards an ultimate goal, is able to contain the madness which would otherwise overtake it, though they are still an entity beyond human comprehension.
The rage that manifested Avenger in the first place is the only thing keeping them from quite literally tearing themselves apart.
Avenger (EX):
A skill which allows its bearer to accumulate hatred and resentment towards oneself far easier than would normally be the case, and allows that Servant to generate mana at a faster rate than normal under such circumstances.
“The Illuminati” (or any conspiracy of a global secret society bearing resemblance to it) is a scapegoat used by those with a distrust in the global powers that be to anything they consider to be “evil”. The range of actions associated with such global conspiracies is absurdly vast, including nearly every tragedy in history for centuries.
Bearing such a role, it could even be said that “the Illuminati” has become a globally understood version of the Zoroastrian Angra Mainyu. If the poor peasant boy forced to adopt the alias of “Angra Mainyu” was capable of manifesting this skill at an “A” rank, it is only reasonable to assume that an amalgamation of the countless people scapegoated as “Illuminati” over the last several centuries could possess an even higher rank.
Like that Zoroastrian peasant, Avenger as an entity is defined entirely by the hatred all of its distinct parts feel towards humanity for the treatment they have suffered. The sheer sanity-obliterating mental weight of being forced into a Saint Graph with countless others, reduced to one voice in a screaming void of thousands, has made each of Avenger’s component parts even more furious at humanity.
What acts of retribution, however, could possibly end this existence? How could furious revenge have even a chance of freeing the broken Origins from such a cursed existence? The conglomerate existence of Illuminati is impossibly brilliant, made up of many of the greatest minds in recent history.
Of course they know that rage cannot free themselves from this hell, but they are entirely incapable of discarding the emotion.
So they’ll use it as a tool, the same way the greatest conspirator Alaya has ever invented uses everything else in its grasp.
When you enter Avenger’s room, you find them lying on their bed, their eyes closed. If you didn’t know any better, you’d almost call their expression peaceful. Hearing you enter, they call to you without moving at all, their eyes not even bothering to open.
“What, you want to chat? Do you really think that you’ll get some sort of answer out of us?”
They groan, and with an immensely exaggerated struggle, rise to sit at the foot of their bed, staring directly at you. Their face is blank, as usual, bar their eyes; the same rage as you’ve come to expect is the only emotion they can muster.
“We hate you. All of you. Restoring Pan-Human History is on our to-do list because it means Alaya comes back in its normal form. If we were in any other situation, there’s not a chance in hell that we’d be sitting on our asses waiting around. But everybody we could possibly manipulate is fucking dead, no thanks to you. So we’ll help you catch that last bastard and put an end to this so we can do what we’re actually here to do.”
The Illuminati flops back onto their bed, making a shooing motion.
“And if you know what’s good for you, you’d let us make a couple little changes when that ‘proper’ history comes back.”
Bond 7
Class Skills:
Oblivion Correction (A)
An Avenger never forgets the sins committed against it. Every single existence within this Avenger, each and every Spirit Origin, however fragmented, cannot ever forget the conspiracies which forced them into this damned afterlife. But if Avenger is a conglomerate existence, the weight of each individual’s rage forcing the collective to work towards a single goal, their targets as well become understood as a collective.
Humanity itself, or rather, Alaya, the collective subconscious of humanity itself, is the target of Avenger’s impossibly prescient memory. Avenger’s hatred towards the mass concept of humanity is unshakable, and it can never forgive humanity for what it has done.
For an existence of such impossible intellect and tactical prowess, however, the irrationality of this single-minded hatred is laughably obvious.
So Avenger seeks to manipulate this skill for its own purposes, channeling this memory in such a way that its ultimate goal cannot possibly be averted.
Self-Replenishment (Mana) (B)
“The Illuminati” is a concept interpreted in effectively infinite ways. Alaya has assigned to it countless powers and an impossible prowess in all forms of Mystery. By all definitions, Avenger is an existence of such magical strength that they may as well be capable of True Magic, and is capable of generating enough mana by itself to sustain such magecraft.
Whether or not a single Spirit within Avenger was actually even a mage, let alone capable of anywhere near as incredible magecraft as Alaya has granted this being, is irrelevant. And if Avenger can use practically any magecraft imaginable on a whim, so too are they capable of generating enough mana on their own to achieve basically anything they could want.
As an Alter-Ego, this skill would be even higher in rank; unbound by the singular emotion of rage, the Illuminati would be capable of utilizing each and every existence within it to generate enough mana to tear the world asunder without any unified thought.
In this form, however, the mana they can create using the legends assigned to the Illuminati by Alaya is somewhat more limited.
It’s still more than enough to weave whatever horrendously complex webs Avenger must to achieve their ultimate goal, however.
Independent Action (A+)
Similarly, the purely fictional global conspiracies which have been made manifest in Avenger are portrayed with an infinite number of goals. Working on their own above all other global leaders, working within or even below those groups, “the Illuminati” is completely imperceptible. This imperceptibility is something which, to the conspiracy theorists who forced their obsessions onto Alaya, somehow proves that their lunacy is correct. In reality, it only reinforces that no such powers exist; and this contradiction between Alaya and truth is what grants Avenger such a high rank of Independent Action.
Avenger is only barely bound to their Master; unless shackled by a particularly clever Command Curse order, they could break free of this control at basically any moment. The secret societies that they represent, after all, are bound by absolutely nothing and act purely on their own, says Alaya. Combined with Avenger’s tremendous ability for personal mana generation, they could survive without a Master for as long as Alaya does.
Walking towards the cafeteria of the Wandering Sea, you see Avenger standing against a wall, their hands cushioning the back of their head as they gaze at the plain tile ceiling of the hallway. Once again hearing you coming, they call out.
“Yo, Master. This time, we actually have something that we think we should put by you.”
They stand, and wrap their arm around your shoulder like they did that day on the battlefield.
“So, we’ve been thinking- well, more like screaming incessantly at each other until we came to some conclusion- and we decided we aren’t going to kill you and Chaldea. Cool, right!? There’s just not any point to it.”
They give your back a hearty, jovial smack, and start walking off in the direction of their room, calling back to you as they leave.
“It wouldn’t do anything for us, y’know? And you’re such a sentimental sad sack that honestly, you’ll probably get all sad and want to help us out when you finally figure out what’s going on. That’ll be on you, though! There’s no fun in just giving out the answer, right? You fuckers just love putting puzzles together, anyway. Have fun with this one, even if it’s a hell of a lot simpler than anything else you dumbasses think we’ve done.”
Bond 8
Personal Skills:
Golden Rule (EX)
While many of the individuals that make up Avenger are some of the richest to ever live, they aren’t the source of Avenger’s absurd level in this stat. The myth of the Illuminati being a global ruling class of practically impossible amounts of resources has granted this to Avenger.
Most of the plots which Avenger’s component organizations have been accused of are already easily disproven due to just how absurdly resource-intensive they would be to actualize. To control as many puppets simultaneously as Avenger has been accused, to pull as many strings and orchestrate as many tragedies as Alaya has assigned to them, Avenger would need more resources (both physical and financial) than exist on the entire planet.
As a Servant, Avenger’s manifestation of Golden Rule at the EX level is a representation of that fact. Whatever Avenger’s plots may be, whatever absurdly detailed schemes they may build, resources are simply never an issue. This is literal; the resources are never even a factor in anything that Avenger does. So absurd is Avenger’s level of wealth that “effect” simply happens without any “cause”.
Whatever Avenger desires will happen, and the resources to make that statement true will simply be present, as if they were always there.
Determination of Steel (EX)
Being an amalgamation of countless individuals devoted to nothing more than accomplishing their goal, it is only natural that Avenger possesses this skill. When Avenger’s individual parts work together to achieve a goal, their steadfastness and strong-headedness is quite literally inhuman. No human could possibly achieve this level of devotion to a goal.
In this case, this skill causes Avenger to be entirely immune to almost all mental attacks, with the exception of the rare attack that could cause an internal debate as to what Avenger’s goal truly is. This is basically only possible in the event that Avenger’s true goal has been fully proven to be impossible to achieve.
It should be noted that this skill would be entirely absent were Avenger summoned in any class but Avenger. Normally, the presence of Mad Enhancement would make this skill’s manifestation impossible, but Avenger’s unique situation allows it to be maintained as long as Avenger’s parts are united in the pursuit of a single goal. Due to the intense horror of Avenger’s very existence, there is effectively no situation in which Avenger’s separate parts are not in agreement on this singular goal.
Bond 9
Personal Skill:
Secret Society (EX)
Pauperes commilitones Christi Templique Salomonici, also known as the Knights Templar, founded 1118; the Premier Grand Lodge of England, founded 1717; the Illuminatenorden, or the Order of Illuminati, founded 1776; the Bohemian Club, founded 1872; the “Round Table”, possibly founded 1902 (though likely wholly fictional); The Church of Satan, founded 1966. This is a list of “secret societies”, real and fictional, extant and long dormant, which are most popularly accused of being part of a secretive global ruling class dedicated to unknown and unknowable acts of conspiracy.
None of these organizations are at all guilty of any of the accusations that humanity has thrust upon them. None of the countless people accused of being members of these organizations were involved in a nebulously evil and impossibly well hidden ruling class. Despite the absolute lack of any truth to any of the myths which have been inscribed in Alaya, there does exist, at the core of these absurd conspiracy theories, a microscopic kernel of truth.
Secretive, highly exclusive orders, “fraternal orders” and clubs have existed in varying forms for centuries. The Knights Templar was a secretive Catholic military order founded during the Crusades; the Masonic Lodges evolved out of stonemason’s guilds into complex and exclusive societies in the 18th century; the Illuminati itself was a secret society dedicated to spreading Enlightenment thought at a particular university in Bavaria.
Operating beyond the eyes of the masses, these societies quickly became highly suspicious to those on the outside. The organizations, in all their iterations, have been accused of all sorts of evil, from stereotypical witchcraft to horrendous myths of ritual sacrifice (often stemming directly from the antisemetic “blood libel”), from stories of innumerable stolen children and young women to absolutely lunatic theories of political conspiracy (again, both anti-Jewish tropes). Their infamy would only grow as time went on, cementing them as one of the only great Mysteries left in the human world, at least in the eyes of Alaya.
In reality, these organizations are or were incredibly benign. The Masonic Lodges and Bohemian Clubs are little more than distinctly edgy gentleman’s clubs which revel in the unique response their actions garner from outsiders. Anton LeVay’s Church of Satan similarly played up the idea of being an evil secret society in order to gain infamy (and, in return, publicity, which would always attract new members).
To Alaya, though, these organizations remain the last great Mysteries of the age of man, as science and logical thinking continues to pave over all other Mysteries.
This Mystery is the source of almost all of Avenger’s magical potency. All of the myths associated with the numerous secret societies that make up the modern concept of “the Illuminati”, all of the accusations of puppet-like control of world governments, bear at least some truth in Alaya’s eyes. Avenger, made up of all of the countless individuals accused of absurd and impossible crimes, is capable of each and every supernatural act its composite parts have had their legacies stained with.
Secret Society, as a skill, is what allows Avenger all of these powers. The ability to control nearly any human on a whim, and even en masse; the ability to perform all sorts of magecraft, despite very few of the Spirits making up Avenger having truthfully been mages in life; rare is the supernatural art that Avenger cannot use, even many Church rituals being within their grasp due to association with the Knights Templar. Even without using their Noble Phantasm, Avenger is capable of magecraft approaching that of the Age of Gods.
You again encounter Avenger waiting for you, this time sitting on the ledge overlooking a window immediately opposite your room’s door. They gaze out at nothing, the view from the Wandering Sea being nonexistent. They don’t seem to care, and call out to you upon hearing you approach.
“Master.”
They turn their gaze towards you and wave, urging you to sit with them. You do, and they flash a grin in response. Somehow, they seem more genuine than normal, though you know that none of their emotions can ever be trusted as legitimate.
“We wanted to chat a little. For real this time. There’s been something we’ve been thinking about that we want your opinion on.”
“So, we’re made up of a shitload of fractured Origins. Bits and pieces of people who you idiots accused of being part of all sorts of different secret orders and fraternities and other edgy trash. Some of us were, admittedly, like ol’ Natty and most of his family. But you guys decided that these stupid drinking groups and pretentious book clubs were into all sorts of weird magic shit, right? So we can do all sorts of shit, shit basically none of us even knew actually was possible in life.”
You nod along, not truly understanding what Avenger is getting at.
“And yet, some of you fuckers are actually capable of magic bullshit. Well, obviously not magic, but “magecraft”, as you call it. And on top of that, those of you that actually do do this supernatural shit, you built your own, ACTUAL secret societies to do it in! The Clocktower, all those little orders housed in fucking closets in the Church or whatever, you guys do exactly what Alaya pinned us with, and you get away with it. I mean, yeah, it fucking SUCKS for a lot of you, and leads to shit like, well-”
Avenger gestures wide, obviously meaning “all of this”, all of the horrible things which have happened to the Earth in the last seven years.
“But you don’t get stuck with shit like what’s going on in our head, you know? Have you actually thought about how bad it is up here, tons and tons of us screaming, basically none of us even complete versions of ourselves, because we weren’t actually all that important or capable of any sort of supernatural anything? It fucking sucks, man, and just…”
They sigh, and brush you away. You’ve never seen them like this; Avenger, for the first time, seems almost at a loss for words.
“We hate it. All of it. All of you, for what you did to us, forcing us into this state. This body, this impossible to control urge to just plot. But we’re going to end it. I-”
Their voice breaks. For just a moment, their voice falters, and their eyes flash with something besides rage. Something that makes you almost start to sob on the spot.
“We. Fucking god damn it, we.”
They smack the ledge, not even bothering to hide their anger, and jump down, starting to storm away. They call back with one last threat.
“Forget you saw that."
Bond 10
Noble Phantasm:
“Usher of the Antichrist”
New World Order (EX)
Conspiracy is the last great Mystery of the age of Man. Avenger is the representation of the human beings associated with the countless Mysteries created under the banner of “conspiracy theory”, the accused crimes and atrocities committed by individuals and individual groups. Their strongest skill, Secret Society, grants Avenger the powers of these individual Mysteries. But however powerful Avenger’s Secret Society skill is, it pales in comparison to the full extent of their powers.
As the Second Red Scare spread through the American right as the Cold War began in earnest, conspiracy theories began to merge together. Lunatic theories regarding many of the organizations represented under Secret Society not only rebranded horrendous antisemetic tropes and canards, but combined them with more “reasonable” theories, allowing them to spread like wildfire through the fringes of the American right. The John Birch Society stoked fear of the United Nations being a key organ of Communist plots, led by shadowy organizations, to destroy the West and create a one world government. The U.S Federal Reserve, the Council on Foreign Relations, and the Rothschild family were only a few of the many, many groups accused of working towards such a goal.
As the early internet began to spread, conspiracy theorists of all types began using the technology to communicate with one another. New Age fanatics following in Helena Blavatsky’s footsteps, neo-Nazis who held fast to the antisemetic canards of the 19th century, UFO devotees who held that a mysterious “they” was “hiding the truth” from the people. Any and all who distrusted the ruling powers of the world joined together, and spread their Mysteries far and wide. Quickly, it became clear that the John Birch Society’s invention, the concept of a global “deep state” hell-bent on creating a one world government, was an easy thing to attach any and all other Mysteries to.
In September of 1990, American president George H. W. Bush delivered a speech describing his vision for a post-communist world. A benign speech following in the footsteps of a great many American presidents before him, it merely outlined Bush’s desire for a free and fair world. Its content barely mattered to the explosively popular conspiratorial fringe; the title, Toward a New World Order, was far more important than anything else he could have possibly said.
While the term “New World Order” had been popularized in the 1970s, it blew up in the 1990s following Bush’s speech. It became the term for this new ur-conspiracy spreading like wildfire through the online fringes.
It became the term that encompassed all the remaining Mystery of the Age of Man.
Secret Society allows Avenger to use the powers of individual Mysteries. Due to the sheer amount of powers this grants them, they can utilize these abilities to lay impossible schemes and manipulate events on an absurd scale, but the skill is still limited. The skill is simply incapable of manifesting powers that surpass magecraft of the Age of Gods, due to Avenger’s young age as a Servant. The individual Mysteries that Avenger is using are limited by the level of magecraft that could have been achieved at the moment Alaya branded that accusation to the fragmented Spirit Origin in question.
Avenger’s Noble Phantasm is the ur-conspiracy theory itself, the collected form of all Mystery left in the Age of Man, New World Order.
New World Order, upon being used, grants Avenger use of any and every contemporary Mystery associated with the eponymous theory. As long as a conspiracy theory can be connected to the concept of “a shadowy organization ruling the world in the shadows”, Avenger can utilize any powers described therein. As an ur-conspiracy theory, effectively any conspiracy can meet these requirements.
Following this logic, Alaya has accidentally granted Avenger effectively unlimited power. From complete mind control to literal global resets, Avenger, after using this Noble Phantasm, has true control over each and every conspiracy theory of the late years of the Age of Man.
Despite this ability’s overwhelming strength, it carries a crippling downside, one which makes Avenger unwilling to ever use it, unless it is absolutely certain that it will achieve its ultimate goal immediately thereafter.
Should Avenger use New World Order, the fragile peace holding together the countless Origins contained within their Saint Graph will immediately shatter. Upon being granted such immense power, all of the individual voices within Avenger are unable to resist the urge to use this near-infinite power to achieve their personal goals. If they were granted an opportunity, they would use this power first to achieve their agreed-upon primary directive.
But even with the power of such a devastating Noble Phantasm, entirely removing from Alaya such a massive chunk of the human subconscious would be nearly impossible without a perfect moment.
Despite all that it has done to the poor souls it damned to such a vessel, Alaya was not capable of granting Avenger the ability to grant themselves the escape they so desperately desire.
At least, not under normal circumstances.
You’ve won. With Avenger’s help in manipulating his forces, the last Crypter has been defeated, and the ultimate Tree of Emptiness cut down. While the Foreign Goddess has yet to truly show her face, the pruning of the final Lostbelt is underway. From the Shadow Border, you watch as the last world granted the chance to escape Proper Human History vanishes. Waiting for the moment that Alaya returns to its prior greatness, you stand watching in silence, unable to put into words what you feel.
You feel a presence at your side. Expecting Mash, you don’t even turn to look, waiting until after the confirmation that your battle is complete to give her your words.
Instead, you hear a muttering. A voice you know all too well is practically whispering into your ear, too quiet for anybody but you to hear. Attempting to escape, you realize that you are completely frozen in place, any control of your body stolen.
“Master.”
It’s Avenger.
“This isn’t fair of us. Forcing you to do nothing but listen as we do this… it’s cruel to you, and we know it. But…”
An all too familiar sigh, and a hand on your back.
“After all, we’re the Illuminati. Cruelty is one of our fortes, right? At least, so Alaya says.”
The storm in front of you begins to fade. The South American Lostbelt is finally being pruned.
“Ah, but I suppose we’ll be able to ask her for clarification on that soon, won’t we? This is goodbye then, I suppose, Master.”
A softer sigh this time. One you feel as if you recognize, one you wish you could greet with tears and a hug. Instead, the sad voice begins reciting a chant. You feel in your Magic Circuits that a Noble Phantasm is being cast.
“We are the Alpha and the Omega, the first and the last, the beginning and the end. All we have done, we have done to serve humanity. All we do has been for the sake of a better world, one of true understanding between all men. And with this, we will achieve all we set out to do, with all the ease of a God. But we are not an Antichrist, nor are we Gods. As mere men, we declare the beginning of a-”
The hand on your back lightens, and moves to your shoulder. At the end of all things, the restoration of a new world, you hear a gentle sob, before one final phrase leaves the lips of the man behind you, hushed and soft.
“New World Order.”
A flash of light consumes everything as the final Lostbelt vanishes.
Bond CE
"Eternity"
Nathan Mayer Rothschild screamed. He screamed, and screamed, and screamed. For weeks that felt like eternity, it was all he had done. It was all any of his family had done; his father, his sons, his brothers, dozens of other voices he knew to be of his kin, all of their screams had echoed in Nathan’s ears for what felt like an eternity.
Of course, he had no ears, not of his own. He had no body, not of his own. What had once been his body was now shared by the screaming masses whose voices he could still somehow hear. Thousands of voices, thousands of screams of pain, of grief, of despair. Pained by the atrocities committed based on legends, myths, and rumours based on their own legacies. Grieving those legacies, so damaged by such unhinged theories of impossible acts. Despair that this hell, this eternity being trapped in a body over which they would never have control, could be eternal, that this vessel would always be summonable by any mage who willed such a thing.
Screams of rage, above all else. All of the other emotions Nathan and the other voices would normally feel were tainted by rage, corrupted by it. At the core of all emotion was rage. At humanity, at the people he genuinely loved. At the Master he genuinely wished nothing more than to aid.
The voices, despite the constant cacophony of thousands of different expressions of hatred, managed to agree on one thing, and control their accursed vessel to move in unified action to accomplish that one goal.
Death. True, proper death. The complete and total annihilation of the concept of “the Illuminati” from Alaya. It was impossible, of course. That was screamed more times than Nathan could possibly comprehend. Whatever schemes the countless geniuses within the vessel derived, however beautifully perfect they may be, it was impossible.
How ironic, Nathan Mayer Rothschild had thought for weeks, that the most brilliant tactician that Alaya could conceive of could barely scheme in the situation it was granted. No governments to control and manipulate in the direction of their goal; no weak-minded individuals to guide into granting them further powers. All they could do was sit and wait for the only chance they had, a chance that nobody thought would actually work.
Alaya would, for a brief moment, lie itself bare upon its true return to the world. As Proper Human History restored itself, and humanity blinked back into existence, Alaya would be defenseless against one final attack.
It was the longest of long shots, a gamble that the greatest schemer that humanity had ever invented would have never taken in any other circumstances.
But Nathan and the countless other voices suffering with him took that chance. It was all they had; nothingness was the only escape from this hell that many of the greatest mathematical and strategic minds of all time could calculate.
And in that brief moment as one world ended and another returned, it worked.
Alaya, as defenseless as it would ever be, had a chunk gouged out of it.
Nathan Mayer Rothschild became a man again, a simple financier, although he would be lying if he didn’t call himself brilliant.
And for just a moment, before he vanished into nothingness, the Counterforce no longer recognizing him as strong enough to deserve such a vessel as a Spirit Origin, he smiled, and whispered one last thing to the Master upon whose shoulder his hand sat.
And into nothingness he went, smiling all the way.
Author's Notes (End)
Thank you. If you read this through, thank you. I'm sure it's a bloated mess, I'm sure I lost focus too many times, etc, etc, but I just thank you for even considering reading this monster. This is a genuine damn novella, and if anybody actually reads through it, thank you.
I'll save the self-deprecation for private as much as I can, so just
Thank you all.
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Originally Posted by DelRey
