No.
No.
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Yes.
The Act of dozing off in the afternoon is a luxury indeed.
Coffee would be nice, though.
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Sorry, Raff, Spartacus. Yes.
You destroy the Yes-No chain, I feel mad.
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Westinghouse Family Residence, Astoria, QueensThe Midday Phase
Four years before Fimbulwinter
BGM
“The fuck my door did to you?” were the words Maria’s grandmother used for a greeting that afternoon. As usual the words did not fit the elderly woman’s beautiful, melodious voice, with only the barest hint of a rasp.
Maria had thrown the door closed in a huff, unabashedly flung her schoolbag to the corner of the bedroom and dropped her butt on the bed. The old lady never lifted her face, and never took it off the glass of water standing full on the woman’s circular coffee table.
“Why so angry?” asked then the woman, to which Maria responded with a snort.
“What do you think?” The teenage girl’s sassy response, a single hand gesturing at the ceiling, where meters of copper wire had been laid out in several turns across the perimeter of the room.
“Of course mom figured out I bought you all this wire; who else would?” Letting herself fall on the old queen-sized bed, Maria followed the lines for a few seconds until swift boredom. “So whoop-dee-doo, I get the speech the moment I set foot home.”
“Ah, so that was all the ruckus Heike was making downstairs,” said grandma with a hint of a sardonic smile. “You rolled your eyes at’er.”
Maria rolled her eyes at that.
“Whatever. You didn’t tell me you were going to pull this…whatever it is.”
“The beginning of a new, stronger bounded field.” A shrug. “I hafta do it with whatever I have available. Can’t have them divining where I am.”
Maria rolled her eyes a second time (well, third).
“Right. Them. Ya know, if they’re so powerful as you always say they are, I dun’ think a few rolls of wire are gonna stop’em.”
Grandma’s eyes narrowed as if she wanted to boil the water in the glass with her mind…or just make the glass explode.
“…shut the fuck up, girl. And I also got my share of yelling from Heike, so suck it up until you get a brat of your own for stress relief.”
“Gross.”
The single-word comment was duly ignored by the old woman.
“So my magecraft makes my family think I’m insane; that’s nothing new.”
“Um, no, grandma. You are insane. It’s just you also happen to be a magus.”
“I should curse you until you learn some respect,” spat the old woman, her trembling hand stopping before reaching the glass of water.
“Grandma, you already taught me ‘bout curses. Using a curse just to chastise me would be, like, the shittiest, scariest, most exaggeratedly cruel idea.”
“Huh? Think I can’t do it? Think I can’t bind you and myself with a curse just so I’ll get some respect?”
“That’s the scariest part! I think you’re probably that petty!”
The old woman laughed. Unlike her beautiful voice, her laughter was most certainly an old person’s laughter.
Maria liked it when her grandma laughed, but this time she was pondering something that, admittedly, had intruded her thoughts more than once since she discovered magecraft.
“Grandma, correct me if I’m wrong, but, um, aren’t ya makin’ things too difficult on yourself?” She finally said, gesturing towards the ceiling and the many wires. “Couldn’t ya, you know, hypnotize mom and the others so they don’t mind this stuff? You have a special power, why don’t ya use it?”
The old woman, who had just closed her hand around the glass of water, finally glanced at her granddaughter and pulled away from the table, easing her back on the rocking chair.
“Come’ere, girl.”
The firm, stern tone reminded Maria that this was, indeed, her mother’s mother. After a gulp, Maria did as told and walked to her grandmother and magical mentor’s side, only to flinch away after a violent slap on her face.
“Ow! Grandma! What was that for!?” complained the teenager with tears in her eyes. How the hell did that woman’s feeble arms pull off that a mean blow?
“Correcting you when you are wrong, stupid girl.”
Clicking her tongue, the elderly woman tapped her right cheek with a single finger while looking out the window, even if there was nothing worth seeing out there.
“Get this clear in your head, girl: I am not special, and neither are you.”
The woman was still looking away, so Maria could only see her stern profile.
“There’s nothing special about magecraft; it’s just another way to do things, and just like every other way, some people can do it and some cannot. You’re a magus, so what? You still suck at math and will be forever remembered as the girl who broke the face of her first kiss.”
“He asked for it.” Maria gave her rote answer while still rubbing her cheek.
“And I’m a magus, but I still can’t stop my stupid hands from shaking all the time. I extended my life with magecraft, but it can’t help me not forget things.”
The old woman turned back to look at her pouting student. Her hard expression showed no remorse, only severity.
“I’ll say it as many times as I have to until it gets stuck in your head: magecraft is nothing special. It’s not some all-purpose tool to remove all obstacles and solve all problems. It can only do what can already be done with time and effort.”
A feeble, shaky finger pointed at the young Maria.
“Magecraft doesn’t make you special. The things that make a person truly special are more amazing, and simpler than that.”
With that, the old lady turns her efforts back into grasping the glass of water. Her lips took a dark grimace, as if her mouth were filled with a bitter taste.
“I don’t ‘hypnotize’ my family because that would turn me into what I hate the most. And because my mental interference sucks nearly as much as your math.”
Maria noticed the change because the hand reaching for the glass stopped again. Two wrinkled, feeble hands fell on two very small knees.
Her grandmother was small, and very, very thin; as if death had decided to start with her flesh, eroding at her muscle mass little by little. Most of the time, however, that feebleness was smothered by her mean words and strong personality.
When Maria’s grandmother migrated to America, she declared her age to be eighteen when she was in fact over three times older. She could pull it off because in her youth she was a magnificent beauty; an Aryan exemplar. The fake age in her ID became the reality she taught her husband and her children.
Only the teenage Maria Westinghouse was privy to the fact that her grandmother was close to 120 years old. But Maria did not like to be reminded of that; that her grandmother’s body no longer could match her powerful will. And she was no more reminded of it than in moments like this one, when her gran’s body closed in itself, and her old, tired mind drifted to a different time.
Maria knew that she no longer existed in her grandmother’s perception. She was trapped in the prison of her own making; in the memories of the past she shared with no one, not even her apprentice, for the act of reminiscence was as terrifying as it was inescapable.
“And because…”
When the old woman spoke softly, her beautiful voice seemingly having aged to match her actual age, Maria listened attentively, for this was one of the rare windows into the past that tortured her infuriating, beloved grandma so.
“…because I am the kind of woman who deals with problems by running away from them.”
*** ***Unknown Location
Day 02
Midday Phase
Severe Cold (-15 °C/5 °F)
BGM
Maria Westinghouse opens her eyes. She was never really unconscious. With the awareness that she was safe from Archer for the time being, all the adrenaline in her system lost its effect, and she drifted into a relaxed state like the moments leading to slumber.
She had broken through the ceiling of some sort of derelict building. It had many shattered windows, and plenty of snow had seeped it to create a white carpet for her landing.
It is cold, just like everywhere else, but the chill kinda feels good on her aching wounds. She had not lied when she told the Herald they would heal, but it would certainly take more than a few minutes.
“Ah…” Maria utters when the thought of the Herald of Fimbulwinter reached her mind.
“Forgot to ask if she’s really Hel.”
There is something awkward in the thought of a goddess of death trying so hard to keep her alive. Maria is struck by a lukewarm feeling, so she thinks back on the scarred Servant and her fate.
“She’s alive,” she declares. “She’s gotta be alive. Because she’s way stronger than me.”
That is the issue. She is not strong enough to worry about the Herald right now.
“How…what do I have to do so I can use your full power, Saver?”
She refuses to believe she had only received superhuman prowess from the agent of the planet. Being super-strong or super-fast would not cut it against legendary warriors.
“That Archer…is the real thing.”
By that, she means Archer is not some absurd “Nazi Servant”—another thing she needs to figure out at some point—but a legendary figure of the more distant past, capable of feats greater than fiction.
She can declare that with confidence because she caught a glimpse of it.
When she was airborne, she caught a glimpse of Archer.
Still lying prone on the snow, surrounded by ruin, Maria quickly processes those few images, as if a dream she could quickly forget.
A very tall white building, way uphill; about halfway to the top, where that weird halo still wraps the outline of Valparaiso’s hills with its radiance. Even from the considerable distance, she caught a glimpse of a figure standing there, on the rooftop, and the hundreds of arrows were fired from that spot.
She saw that the figure did not fire the arrows one after the other in quick succession. Whole groups of them just appeared out of thin air around him, and they appeared already in motion. Archer did not conjure them and then fire them; they appeared already carrying momentum.
She saw Archer conjure-and-fire arrows in groups of variable size, but also in consecutive single shots, without apparent limitation to either method. Differences in shooting method were likely to adjust for his target’s actions. Without further information, Maria would have to assume Archer could theoretically fire all his available ammunition in a single volley if he so wanted. The area bombardment he pulled off earlier felt a like a single bunch of arrows fired all at once. As for the actual number, Maria could only tell it was in the several hundreds.
It makes her groan.
“How the fuck do I beat that?”
Stealth is the obvious idea, but she is not an Assassin, and Archer likely possesses superior perception capabilities, what with being able to fire arrows from a kilometer away.
She might be faster than him, which would allow her to catch up in a straight pursuit, but there was no way she would made it to close range before becoming a living pincushion.
Not with her current skill.
For all she knows, Saver was an ultra-badass swordswoman who could parry arrows with her blade. But Maria doesn’t have any concrete sword-fighting skill.
It all goes back to Saver’s Personal Skills and Noble Phantasm. It makes Maria feel like an amnesiac, desperately trying to remember the skills she used to earn a living.
But, there is another possibility, which had begun to materialize back there, in that graveyard.
Maria sighed. She could have stayed there the rest of the day, or at least until her wounds closed, but she has no such luxury, does she?
“Alright!” She whispers right before jumping to her feet— “Ow…”
Carefully, just in case her Luck is indeed so bad that Archer is already scanning in her direction with his hawk eyes, Maria approaches the nearest entrance to take a look at her surroundings. What she sees is an unfamiliar square, framed by dead palm trees. A small fountain stands on its center; naturally, it is frozen. But even if she does not know where she is, she knows in what direction she flew, and she remembers her flight gave her brief sights of the hostel, the Yugoslavian Promenade, and that big, main-looking square right after that.
She just has to go eastward until she finds one of those familiar sights.
“Alright,” she repeats to herself. “Let’s keep at it.”
She smiles, even if there are few reasons to do so. Like her teacher used to do, her mind briefly drips to a time that already feels too distant. But she acknowledges that it is not the time to lose herself in reminiscence, and shakes the warm thoughts away to place herself in the cold, hard present. She has stuff to do.
“Don’t worry, grandma,” she says quietly. “I don’t plan to die before I have avenged you.”
The incomplete pseudo-Servant steps back into the fray.
Location Unlocked!
END OF MIDDAY PHASE
Warning!
This is a Save Point.
If your quest reaches a Dead End, you may choose to resume it from this point.
*** ***
DAY 2 – AFTERNOON PHASE SETUP
Character & Base StatusSingularity Map (Opening in new tab recommended)Choice Time
Last edited by Daneel Rush; August 18th, 2018 at 10:13 AM.
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ARCHER CONFIRMED EMIYA AS SECOND CANON CAMEO
Running into Nazis would be the worst possible option since Maria doesn't run from Nazis, and Maria is also half-dead. Resting is appealing, but we can afford to be reckless since the Save Point's right behind us now. So I'll say try to find Javier.
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Also reading this and many of your old sheets is a pleasure Daneel, if I haven't said that before.
Originally Posted by Arashi_Leonhart
I had a feeling the Herald was actually Balder, but after she seemed to be hurt, I wasn't so sure anymore. The Archer made me think of Eric the Victorious, but probably not all the Servants will be Norse-themed, right?
Anyway, I vote for Maria to try to find Javier, too.
The only safe(?) choice is to Find Javier, so...
Yeah.
The Act of dozing off in the afternoon is a luxury indeed.
Coffee would be nice, though.
[Collection of my Servant Sheets]
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Find Javier
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This is stupid, but Return to Pantheon Hill and find the Herald.
Likes attention, shiny objects, and... a ball of yarn?
F/GO Supports
I joined two years too late...
I don't have much beyond a wikipedia-level grasp of Norse myth, but between her being called the Herald of Fimbulwinter, her profile quote (+ other references to some female master), and dog-like behaviour, I'm guessing Garmr, Hel's doggo. No clue who anyone else might be tho.
Jumping on the bandwagon of trying to find Javier. I mean, he's probably fine, but it would be good to get back together.
Oh, nice catch! I was thinking Balder because at first I thought her high damage resistance might have been actual invulnerability, and Balder's death is supposed to be the final omen for Ragnarok, but Garm's howl is also noted as signaling the beginning of the battle. Yeah, I'm with you on the Garm theory.
When I was ten years old, I met a fairy.
There are plenty of stories like that in the old romances: the traveling knight chances upon a beauty while she’s bathing in a pond or stream. She may be a princess, or a nymph, or some other manifestation of beauty. In those stories, the knight and the beauty either fall in love at first glance, or the knight gets the beauty through some form of trickery or outright bullying.
Of course, I was no wandering knight, and no such plots took place. I was just a young boy, enjoyably wandering through the peaceful, wild outdoors of my hometown, who happened to find a young girl, placidly bathing in one of the region’s countless small streams.
I was at an age at which I had no qualms about getting naked and swimming with a naked girl my age. Really, such innocent times.
She was truly like a fairy, that girl. She never did say much—really, our “conversations” were completely one-sided—, but she listened to my childish ramblings in almost-laughable enrapture. She was not just being polite; she seemed utterly fascinated by whatever pointless things I told her. It was difficult to get her to smile, but her laughter…God, her laughter.
Her laughter was like the spring sun. Like the scent of grass in the morning. Like cotton candy and fireworks, like the fur of a milk cow and the thrill of scoring a goal in a soccer match.
On the rare times I think back on my childhood, the first thing that comes to mind is her beautiful laughter.
I was too young and stupid to understand back then, but I probably had a crush on her.
What happened to that girl? Why did I stop seeing her?
I…I wanted my other friends to meet her, and play together.
So, I took Diego and Magdalena to that place…
…
…what happened after that?
*** ***
Unknown Location
Day 02
Afternoon Phase - 01
Severe Cold (-15 °C/5 °F)
Character Status
I wake up slowly, not at all like when I wake up in the mornings. My head is groggy and my sight is blurry, but at least it’s somewhat comfortable.
I saw a dream. It’s hazy, but…it was, about…
…hmm, it’s been a while, since I thought of my childhood days.
I was born in Concepción, and my parents currently live there, but for the first eleven or so years of my life, we lived in a small city called Villarrica, at the base of the volcano with the same name. It’s one of those cities that were raised in the major German, Swiss and Austrian migration at the end of the 19th century. In the part of the city we lived in, there were so many people of European ancestry that it felt like we lived at the base of the Alps, not the Andes. My own grandfather arrived to this country after the Second World War, together with a whole group of Germans seeking a new life away from the ravaged Fatherland.
A small, lovely city at the shore of a lake, and surrounded by nature. My parents loathed it, and I…well, that’s no longer important. More importantly, where am I? Last I remember…
I remember, and adrenaline kicks in.
My sight clears in an instant, and it becomes obvious I am inside an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar bedroom. I hear nothing but the all-too-familiar howl of the chilling wind outside, and a quiet, dull, and regular striking sound from somewhere other than this room. My mouth feels dry, and I do feel thirsty.
Looking around, there is no clear hint of the owner of this bedroom; it is a very bare space, the only furniture other than the bed being a plain table and a standing closet with double doors. The boarded windows are fairly large stretching almost from floor to ceiling; a characteristic of houses in the “historical area” of the city. It is likely I was not taken very far.
I feel wobbly for a moment when I stand up. I’m very, very tired—I guess I kinda overdid it with the magic, keeping it turned on to keep warm, plus Sthūla-Śarīra…
…I’m…not wearing my clothes. These…are fairly warm and comfortable, but also one or two sizes too big.
Did…did Sakura change my wet clothes?
Huh.
There is only one way in and out of this bedroom, so any attempt at planning is pointless. The door to this bedroom rests against the wall next to it, the hinges probably broken by the deep freeze Maria mentioned, at the very beginning of this mess. Really, there’s no way to hide here, so I might as well step outside.
From this central location acting as a dining room, I can see the doorframes connecting to a second bedroom, what is probably a bathroom, and a staircase going downstairs. So, I am in the second floor of a two-story house.
Of course, I am not alone in here. There is the woman who knocked me out, placidly laboring at the kitchen with a sweet smile on her face. And there is an unexpected second person, most likely the owner of the clothes I’m wearing.
I…where have I seen this person before?
“Ah, you’re awake, Mister Javier,” says Sakura without taking her eyes off her work. “Please, sit down. Lunch will be ready soon.”Spoiler:
I hate it that my stomach voices its approval of the idea. I was kidnapped, damn it.
The man has not even acknowledged my presence. He…looks like he’s had better days. Can’t blame him for a foul mood in this place; if anything, Sakura’s light-hearted tone is more unsettling.
All windows are boarded to keep the wind out. However, there is plenty of light, from something that looks like a paper lamp. However, even if a candle could be lit in this weather, there’s no way it could produce this much light. Just what is that thing?
Right now, nothing’s really stopping me from just dashing downstairs and running away. Sakura’s not even looking at me, and a low wall separates the kitchen from this dining room. Now, would she be able to catch me if I start running now…?
…probably. I don’t know where I am, but I know Valparaiso fairly well; I would be able to figure that out the moment I step outside. However, I’m feeling really tired, and running in all that snow is not easy.
For now, let’s just sit down. Indeed, the boarded house is being filled with the scents of cooking. She’s a tricky human, this Sakura.
*** ***
Maria Westinghouse is back at Atkinson Promenade.
“The wind…is picking up.”
Indeed, tracking Javier through the connection between their magic circuits proved to be trivial. She wonders if that is because she is not a Servant. Would it have been as easy were she still an ordinary magic user? Then again, in that case there would have been no reason to make that connection.
Really, there is no point thinking about it. Perhaps she is just bored.
She could not make this trip the easy way, jumping for ceiling to ceiling; that would offer Archer a clear shot, if he is still sniping. That was why it has taken her so long to close the distance. She also hoped to catch a glimpse of the Herald, without luck. Noon has been left behind. The sun is hidden behind a canopy of grey clouds, but Maria knows it has begun its descent. And the wind is picking up.
This is a going to be a harsh afternoon, followed by an even colder evening.
It makes Maria worry about Javier’s health, and his lack of suitable winter wear.
Awareness of Archer’s sniping spot makes a gigantic difference. She is confident she has maintained cover throughout the whole trip, but she is conscious of the possibility that he has changed his spot. Certainly, that white building where she saw him earlier was not the same spot he used during the fight against Rider. The firing angle was completely different; if anything, yesterday’s sniping spot was probably close to the place where the Herald flung her.
Eventually, her search takes her to a rather non-descript house.
Like many such buildings in Valparaiso, it has a family business—a jewelry shop—on the ground floor, and the actual family residence upstairs. All windows are boarded, and the main entrance is partially barricaded with furniture.
“Isn’t this kind of bad?” Maria mutters. “I mean, it’s like, pretty much saying ‘we’re here’.”
She guesses it was a necessary measure to block the wind from outside. Unlike the large hostel building, this was a rather small house, even with two floors.
Unless her low Luck-rank kicks in right now and Assassin happens to be there, Maria has ascertained that there are no Servants in that house. At this point she might as well make her presence known.
*** ***
We eat in silence. It is a standard Western meal: beef, salad and rice. But it is truly very well made, above the standards to be expected in this frozen city. Miss Sakura is quite talented.
However, there is no conversation. The other man in the room projects a powerful aura of rejection. He would rather not be here, but he eats because he must. Sakura does not insist, or even make the slightest attempt at a conversation. To be honest, I can’t quite get a grasp of the relationship between these two.
So, we eat in awkward, tense silence: kidnapper, kidnapped, and some gloomy guy. Or maybe I’m the only awkward one; Sakura carries herself with the same calm demeanor she showed in the kitchen, enjoying the results of her labor.
That…is the confidence of one who feels herself entirely in control of the situation.
This bitch. But my body’s asking for food, so I’ll first my stomach first.
However, I am not the first to act when lunchtime is over. The other man slams both hands on the table to push himself up. Leaving downstairs without saying a single word. Sakura, who was gathering the dishes to take them to the kitchen, only looks at his back with a sad expression.
“So? Are you ever gonna tell me why you knocked me out and carried me here?”
Attacking at a moment of weakness is just basic tactics.
Sakura doesn’t like being put on the spotlight, which is exactly what I hoped for. Her smile fades, now looking like her puppy just died.
“Um, yes, that was…a little reckless of me, wasn’t it?”
Well there’s one way to put it.
“I wonder if Luvia’s rubbed off on me a little too much.”
Now she’s mumbling to herself.
“But, there was no guarantee we could meet again if I let you run away, and you owe us an explanation of what’s going on, Mister Javier.”
Sakura pauses, looking down at the pile of dirty dishes long enough to gather her wits.
“Let us start properly this time.”
No, no, the kidnapper doesn’t get to say that.
“I am Sakura Edelfelt.” She pauses for a moment, considering her next words. “The person who just left is the owner of this house, Mister Oliver Drake. I know he’s not in his best mood right now, but, his wife…”
She says nothing more, but it’s easy to get the idea.
“And now, Mister Javier, please tell me about the Holy Grail War.”
Well, that’s kind of the problem. It’s not just that I’m not as familiar with the details as Maria. I’m not really competing for the Holy Grail, and I’m pretty sure Maria isn’t either. How do I begin explaining that—
“Heeeeeeeey! Princess Javier!”
An annoying, jolly, yet strangely-accented voice reaches us from outside. Is that supposed to be Italian?
“It’s a me, Maria!”
Oh, for fuck’s sake, woman.
And why are you looking at me like you expect me to decide what to do, Miss Kidnapper!?
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2.
2
Though abandoned, forgotten, and scorned as out-of-date dolls, they continue to carry out their mission, unchanged from the time they were designed.
Machines do not lose their worth when a newer model appears.
Their worth (life) ends when humans can no longer bear that purity.
2
The Act of dozing off in the afternoon is a luxury indeed.
Coffee would be nice, though.
[Collection of my Servant Sheets]
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Oh hey, it's the normie.
Also 3, since it's funny and not as actively detrimental as 1.
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Sakura Edelfelt, huh? That's an interesting tidbit.
Sakura... Edelfelt? Interesting. Very interesting.
3 sounds good to me as 2 is expected and 1 will likely mean Sakura wrecks us.
Also I'm guessing that One Guy's wife either is missing, got nommed or turned into a zombie.
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I figure she's just frigid and waiting for Javier's heated touch.
I don't think we're going the route of the NTR doujin.
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