Lancer held up her hand - wait! She was, after all, changing.

Shining light burned away her armour and panoply. In its place she adopted modern civilian clothes - a soft violet vest over a crumpled white shirt with rolled up sleeves and a partially undone forest green necktie. A laurel wreath sat atop hair that artisans might have worked for hours to get so casually messy; a tangled bun pierced through with multiple hairpins. Green-edged half-rimmed glasses took the glare off the dark circles beneath her eyes and an old and heavy book appeared in her hand. The combined look came together to imply that she was a librarian and a scholar, but with an implicit Imperial destiny - like the 'nerdy' girl who only needs to take off her glasses and let down her hair in order to become a heartstopper.

"I have no interest in your death, Northerner," said Lancer, snapping open the book and reading from it as she spoke. "But I read that your people became loyal friends to Rome. That is all the recommendation I need."

She snapped the book closed and looked up, green eyes burning bright. "This world sought to crush us. Four Servants in alliance sought our deaths as their opening gambit. I say they did not bring enough! So I offer you an alliance: swear by the Old Gods to fight as my Varangian and I will exalt you and yours above all others."