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Thread: [QUEST] - Fate/Blumenkrieg: The Threefold War of Flowers

  1. #181
    So Many Ideas, So Little Time SleepMode's Avatar
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    Seems to be the best of the three options.
    The Act of dozing off in the afternoon is a luxury indeed.
    Coffee would be nice, though.

    [Collection of my Servant Sheets]
    Now Revamped!

  2. #182
    love warrior <3 world-0 the god of world-0's Avatar
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    here is a list of my servant sheets(new and improved format for my servant sheets)

    Come explore the White Library, and reach the bottom of this Abyss
    Fate / White Memoria

  3. #183
    闇色の六王権 The Dark Six Bird of Hermes's Avatar
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  4. #184
    2. Don't have anything to add, but here's my vote.

  5. #185
    死徒 Dead Apostle zikari8's Avatar
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    Yeah, gotta be 2


  6. #186
    吸血鬼 Vampire Wyvern's Avatar
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    Magus Profile!
    Origin: Vessel
    Element: Vessel
    Sorcery Trait: ???
    Crest: Second Foundation (Entomopathy)
    Circuits: Core
    Foundation: Shamanism
    Mana Output:400 Units


    Inventory
    Linchpin (100%) - Rechargeable
    Mana Jewels (5 / 100%)


    Relationship Index!

    - Suibhne the Bronze: Ally
    - Harfang B. Kingsworth: Ally
    - Berserker ???: Enemy
    - Caster ???: Enemy
    - Master 1: Enemy
    - Master 2: Enemy
    - Dominika von Martinitz: Ally
    - Linus Rosenberg: Enemy
    - Victorio Bellefronte: Enemy
    - Bram Nuada-Re Sophia-Ri: Ally
    - Marcus Rosenberg: Ally
    - Penelope Damnatia: Ally
    - Animusphere Family: Unknown
    - Lorelei Barthomelloi: ???- Department of Summoning: Unknown




    Day 1 - The Department 3



    Lord Belfeban smiled. It was a grim thing, and definitely unpleasant to look at, but he did.

    “I hope you won’t mind my dear, but I’m afraid that, that’s your cue to leave. Worry not though, I’m not so distanced from my manners that I’ll send you out into the cold on your own.” He opened up a desk drawer and pulled out what looked like a thermos. “Come now! I’ll walk you to the road.”

    As they left his meeting room, Suibhne twisting between her legs, the duo found another five Magi falling in around them.

    “Old Man.” Their leader only bothering to nod at the head of his department. That, in turn got a snort of dismissal from said Lord.

    “Ungrateful brat. I take it that our cute little Caster left us a gift then?”

    “Gifts. A couple dozen undead. Pretty good work, all told.”

    Dolores nearly stumbled.

    Caster? Here?

    Well, not the servant, but her minions were already on the move. Clearly she’d hit the nail on the head when she concluded that Berserker’s light show of doom was a distraction meant for the high brass of the Clock Tower while the more cunning of the group went about dismantling it from the inside.

    “Well, I suppose we should prepare our own presents. Such a cooperative young girl, sending us so many new toys to break! Well then, chop chop, let’s teach this witch why a modern Magus is dangerous.”

    That was a sentiment the shaman could share in.

    ‘Round 2 it is.’ She smiled, a thrill of vindictive excitement running down her spine as Suibhne led the way.

    Stepping out of the department, that being a simple crossing of a threshold that was the designated boundary of a Bounded Field, they found themselves standing on a small field of grass. The air was heavy with clouds, thunder rumbling off in the distance, with all the mundanes currently seeking shelter from round two of this freak storm. That left the ground heavy with undisturbed dew, the night otherwise silent as wind bent the boughs of the trees and carried the echoes of a battle yet to come.

    “Oh my. You’re an ugly fellow.”

    One of the Magi that had come with their group tore open his trench coat, even as a suddenly snarling dog leapt from where it had been lying in a small ditch to try and tear out his throat. What leapt from inside his clothes was a giant, black sack. The shapeless thing opened up with the sound of a zipper being pulled down, just as the dog reached him.

    Said sack and dog both disappeared into the man’s coat as he buttoned it back up, not a single ripple or disturbance in the cloth showing where the zombie had been swallowed.

    “Sample secured, body bag seals holding steady! EX grade materials confirmed!”

    The man’s voice was ecstatic, sounding like nothing more than a child on Christmas morn, even as she stared in shock at something that seemed like it had come from one Bram’s erotic reverse picture books.

    “I… uh. Suibhne?”

    She looked at her cat, even as Belfeban cackled madly, lifting the thermos up and unscrewing the cap.

    “Fly my pretties, fly!”

    From her perspective, the only thing that had changed was a sudden gust of wind from the tip of the container. It was the cait sidhe’s suddenly tensing fur that told her what she was seeing. Of course, the zombies weren’t waiting around either. At least four other rotting, half decayed hounds leapt from patches of tall grass or a drainage ditch, rushing at them with a speed that, even in life, would have been impossible to achieve.

    Not that, that was the only attack, because hands suddenly broke through the soft ground at their feet, clawing at the mortals standing above them, as at least sixty or seventy other undead began shambling, crawling, and clawing their way towards the small knot of mortals.

    Dolores blinked.

    ‘Were the other departments always this… strange.’

    And then one of the men pulled out what she could only assume was the massive cousin of a squirt gun. Promptly shooting a mist of green jelly like liquid in the air, where it coalesced and formed into what seemed like the most generic specter Dolores had seen in her entire life.

    Seriously, it was like something out of a 90’s movie.

    The faux spectral jelly floated idly before pouncing at the closest zombie, Dolores’ ears filling with the hiss of acid as the thing ate away at the rotten flesh, its form bubbling and fizzling as not even bone was left behind.

    And that was before one of the other men pulled out a honest to goodness baseball bat out of seemingly nowhere.

    ‘What was that inscribed on it?’

    Anti-Creep Stick.

    Smacking another zombie in the face, it seemed to suck out all of the magic in the construct reducing the thing to a pile of ash.

    This opened up a bit of space, allowing a fifth member to let several pieces of folded paper drop out of her sleeves. Taking a deep breath, she screamed as several ghostly bird-women, clearly harpies, formed around the paper charms. Snarling and hissing they lashed out with talons and claws, ripping a few of the undead to pieces.

    Amusingly, the last of the Magi simply pulled out a semiautomatic handgun, with a surprisingly shiny ivory grip, and fired what looked like wooden pellets at several hostiles. These pellets then began to turn into masses of twisting, choking vines, which forced themselves into every available orifice before leaving behind only choking, ruined husks.

    Well, she’d better not fall behind.

    “Suibhne, sic them!”

    It was a thing of beauty, to watch as her familiar vanished in a blur of warm bronze, afterimage fading away as a duo of zombies ran at her, only for one to blow up into a shower of blood and gore. As if someone had shot it with a cannon.

    The impact was so strong it sent the other zombie bowling over its own carcass, slipping on the now blood splattered ground.

    That was not to say she was staying idle either.

    Fingers arching with lightning as her circuits lit up underneath her skin. A ball of shadow formed, firing off like a bullet at the downed creature. Its entire front half was stripped apart in a flash of light, rotten muscle, blood, and bone erased as the stump fell forward, legs still kicking and scratching at the ground even without its upper half.

    The shaman clicked her tongue.

    Only half? She was getting out of practice.

    ‘Mother would have made me practice till my nails fell off if she saw that disaster.’ Pointing her index finger towards her next victim, Dolores mentally nudged her family as it zipped through the courtyard, a burst of wind warning of her arrival as Suibhne tore through another zombie.

    Slicing it clean in half.

    Which were both promptly erased by a much stronger blast of green death.

    ‘Now that’s more like it.’

    Her circuits thrummed with the steady beat of power. Controlling her swarm was easy, the specialized insects stinging and biting useless, but their ability to destroy soft tissue giving her a cloak of protection from any physical attacks. This left her free to support the other Magi from range, blasting away with her basic attack spells as the others used mystic codes or, in the case of the Lord, what were quite clearly bound spirits… that she strongly suspected were phantasmals.

    “Rip them apart, but make sure to bring back samples, hearts and brains my pretties!”

    Little more than distortions in the air, the ghosts ripped limbs from sockets, crushed skulls, and tore huge rents in flesh and dirt alike - nothing able to stop their invisible claws. And so this little ambush turned into a massacre. Without someone to direct the undead, and facing seven fully rested Magi, mindless zombies simply couldn’t pose a threat. Though, if Caster had been there, she had little doubt that things would have been different.

    And if she wasn’t here… that means she was probably scheming something.

    Never good when it came to magi, especially ancient ones.

    Of course, this being a caster, that meant there was a catch to her trap too. Sigils of blood-light forcing themselves to consume reality, perverting the nature of existence to better suit her whims.

    “Fi, fi, fo, fum.” A loud sound echoed from a drainage ditch, something like massive feet smashing against stone flagons. “I smell the blood of an Englishman.”

    Just as massive fingers wrapped around the edge of the concrete pipe, all of the Magi collectively turned their weapons on what was obviously a shadow spirit. And, despite literally squeeing with delight, every single Summoner also turned their weapons on the coming threat and utterly opened up.

    For her part, Dolores took a deep breath, drowning out the roars of an ancient monster of bedtime stories being given physical form.
    Before, she had been defenseless.

    When Berserker descended with lightning and thunder.

    When she had been chased like a rat in the sewers of London.

    When she’d face the Vice Director and been effortlessly slapped down.

    She hadn’t been able to do anything but run and cower. Yet things now were different. She had her loyal familiar. She had back up from others. She wasn’t surrounded on all sides or in the presence of a quasi-divine being.

    Here and now, it was just her and these unholy abominations.

    A shaman fighting evil spirits just as she had been raised to.

    The Soul is the Key to the Lock.

    The Lock is the Key to the Spirit.


    Against an enemy like this she only needed two lines, her bond with Suibhne doing the rest, and the otherwise normal house cat doubled inside. Her fur turned thick and shaggy, fangs and claws snarling as the pussycat charged the troll. As a large, ugly, snarling head began to snake its way out of the tunnel, a long, serpentine, scaled neck stretching behind it to a bulbous, misshapen body, the feral sidhe raked its claws across the monster’s face.

    “Come ye great rat! My belly rumbles, into my stomach you go!”

    Shrinking back, hissing and spitting, the monstrous thing made to escape down the tunnel. Only to tie itself into knots, seemingly unable to tell which way was up and down.

    “Puss-In-Boots was mine get and thou art no Marquis! Cease your whimpering and die!”

    Fangs once more flashing, the terrible monster shrieked in fear, shapeshifting his head and neck into something smaller to escape, only for Suibhne’s mouth to stretch impossibly wide and bite the thing’s head clean off.

    Shadows dispersing into nothing and a small burp from the kitten, now licking her paw, was the beast-to-be’s dirge.

    Dolores, for her part, simply wobbled at the toll enhancing her familiar had taken on her.

    It was a basic skill all Shaman could perform with their bonded spirits. Something akin to a Reinforcement skill applied to a spiritual entity instead of a physical object. Much more specific than the one used by beginner magi.

    “It’s only a shame your familiar took the head. I mourn the loss of such a precious specimen.” Lord Belfeban lamented as he huddled closer to where she stood.

    As a Shaman she couldn’t care less. But as allies, she was obligated to pay lip service.

    “You might yet be able to harvest something from the remains. Perhaps it will help you come to a conclusion on Caster’s identity.”

    He waved his hand dismissively.

    “Most likely not. This was a standard bogeyman, maybe even a composite nightmare. More like an imaginary friend than a true spirit. All this tells us is that she comes from a tradition steeped in stories, hardly irregular for that part of the world even today, and she knows how to let regional monsters manifest.” He tapped his fingers against his chin. “Still, best to see you home safely young lady. Here.”

    Holding out his thumb, a large double decker bus appeared silently out of nowhere.

    Like something out of a stereotypical story book.

    “Step aboard Lady Morello and let it know where you need to go.”

    Dolores gave the older magus a small bow in thanks, opened the door of the the red two floor bus, and walked in.

    Choice Time!
    MacAdder's Finest Figgy Puddings, the front for the most eccentric of the departments is actually a rather famous shop established sometime in the 17th century. There are a number of routes to reach Bermondsey, and the safety in that old neighborhood, and they're all likely to be blocked in some way.


    Which one should Dolores choose?

    1. Through the City proper. Ancient and modern at once, it's the heart of much of the mundane world's corruption and degeneracy. Going this way means you'll cross the east bridge and approach home from the North.


    2. Cross the Thames. Old, but much less filthy than it used to be, the sheer number of deaths that have occurred in and near mean it's almost guaranteed to have something big and nasty waiting for you.

    3. Go south, coming closer to the Clock Tower proper, and cross through Westminster. In this case, you'll be skirting what's likely to be the main battle. But the chaos and noise is likely to offer you a certain kind of security.

  7. #187
    So Many Ideas, So Little Time SleepMode's Avatar
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    The Act of dozing off in the afternoon is a luxury indeed.
    Coffee would be nice, though.

    [Collection of my Servant Sheets]
    Now Revamped!

  8. #188
    闇色の六王権 The Dark Six SpoonyViking's Avatar
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    My fanfics:
    The Gift (F/SN): The last duel between Cú Chulainn and Scáthach.
    Passion Acknowledged (F/SN): Shinji X Shirou lemon
    He Was a Good King (F/SN): Was Beowulf a good king?
    A Fairy Tale of Love and Death (F/SN): A meeting between Scáthach and King Hassan.
    Palingenetic Descension (Tsukihime): The origin of the Tohno family's hybrid nature.

  9. #189
    闇色の六王権 The Dark Six Bird of Hermes's Avatar
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    2 sounds fun~

  10. #190
    死徒 Dead Apostle zikari8's Avatar
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