Outside, the native breeze of Germany gently kisses the rotted wood of the wilted barn that a dejected black van is parked underneath, standing on its loft is a man - Caucasian, black turtleneck, black cargo pants, carrying a heavily customized MP5 with a magical seal inscribed on its reflective surface. He adjusts his baseball cap, slipping it off and wiping his forehead with it, these Magi, however young were also heavy, one hundred pounds is one hundred pounds, no matter what form it comes in, and carrying them up a tedious century old ladder had left him a little winded. All six of them are placed in a neat circle in front of arduously carved summoning circles, each of which are, with out a doubt to the eye of a magus, meant to summon Servants in the event of a holy grail war. The man looming over them keeps the same complexion he had worn through the entire process, annoyed grimace, bored eyebrows, unfurled nose, upright posture, he circles around them slowly, a hunting knife blinking into existence in his right hand "Okay." he says to himself, squeezing its handle "Awaken." he commands, the breeze turning to a mighty gust for a split second.

The moss covered barn shudders and shakes as Prana ceases to exist with a ghastly shriek, sailing through the humid atmosphere, and dispersing with a hiss similar to ember colliding with water. Each of the Magi may have been restrained in different places, but the memory is all the same - a firm hand on the back, in between their shoulder blades; and the cold sensation of their circuits being invaded by a stranger. It was unpleasant, in every sense of the word, and the process of awakening from their slumber even more so, the magical hangover is so intense, in fact, that each Magus finds it hard to notice a wrist being gripped by the same icy hand. The unforgiving edge of a blade licks the surface of each Magus' palm, and draws blood endowed with Prana, which drips on their assigned summoning circles. The immediate reaction from each rune, each narrow line the crimson liquid touches is a fiery flash of energy, which travels through the circle and envelopes it in blue flame, the contract is made, and each circle reaches out to the Throne of Heroes, and calls upon six servants: Archer, Saber, Lancer, Assassin, Berserker, and Caster. The MP5 disappears, and the 'Ashen Mandrake' stands in front of the barn's single window with his arms crossed. Moonlight floods into the loft, and the long shadow of Executioner dances across the moss covered floor boards beneath each Master. "Hello." he greets with a gruff, hollow voice "And welcome to the Sixth Holy Grail War."

Lycusio slowly awoke with a grimace plastered on his face, his stern eyes slowly swept over the area around him, glancing at the other surrounding magi before finally placing his gaze on the Executioner. Shaking his bleeding hand slightly with a frown, he slowly sits up with a heavy slouch, smacking his lips with a sigh of discomfort. "Okaayy..." Lycusio mutters with a slur, his eyes staring at the Executioner as his situation comes back to him, "So, Holy Grail... what? Sorry, I'm kind of busy on vacation, y'know? No offense but I don't really have time to play pretend." He muttered to himself, his voice heavily accented and somewhat apologetic.

Lycusio eventually stood with a heavy grunt, his stiff muscles protesting at his every movement. As he scanned over the other magi, he slowly tensed, realizing the oddity of the situation. Pressing his lips firmly together, Lycusio straightened his suit with a swipe of his hand and looked the structure over for any escape routes.

Darryl appeared dazed and confused like everyone else, but in actuality he'd been jolted wide awake by a sudden burst of adrenaline the moment the spell was released and had been trying to adequately piece things together since then.

First I was in the Clocktower. Then I went to the library. This doesn't look like London or even England, and it sure as bloody fucking hell isn't a library. So something must have happened. What next? I checked out a book. Okay, what kind of book? Anything dangerous, forbidden knowledge man was not meant to know. No, it was a book on nordic runes vs. celtic ones, and I fell asleep reading it in the librar. Does that mean this is a dream then? No, too real. I wouldn't have the contingencies I came up with for situations like this if it was a dream. Which means...

Darryl's mind raced with the possibilities. So it's true then...

Doing everything he could to not let on that he was awake and self-aware, Darryl quietly drew runes over the circle in front of him, chanting in Gaelic. If someone was going to use his blood to summon a Servant, it was going to be one that he wanted.

It was all like a distant dream for the Spirit resting upon the cradle of the Throne of Heroes. Everything, her life, the times when she had been, is and will be summoned to service by Gaia, all of that just a vague dream that lasts for eternity.

And then she heard a call, like the sound of a thousand chimes ringing in harmony. Yes, she knew what that meant, someone other than Gaia was trying to bring a shard of her into the world with some complicated magic ritual that was beyond the Spirit's grasp, for it was always one who lived by the blade and spear, instead of by the book and staff. To the Spirit was promised the chance to have a wish, anything that she might desire, in reward for her servitude to a human that she would be calling Master until this summon had ended.

The Spirit accepted the deal, not because she had any strong wish that she needed fulfilled, but because she wanted once more to thread the lands once ruled by her in times long since gone on the mortal world with her own feet, despite knowing that only a mere projection of her would be taking part in the ritual known as The Holy Grail War. To the Spirit were granted both knowledge of the world and of languages, everything that she would need to not be shocked into inaction when confronted with the advances that humans have reach over the course of the history, as well as a class, the definition and restraint of her abilities while the summoning lasts.

From now on, the Spirit of the once brave hero would be Saber, the Knight of the Sword, most skilled of all Servants to take part in the Holy Grail War "Fitting." Saber thought as her vision faded to black.

Once she regained sight, Saber was inside of a dark chamber were many humans, no doubt magi were around summoning circles meant to draw other Servants into the world. The men in front of her -her masters, very much probably- were curved in a lanky posture, as if he had been hit with a strong blow in the head and so were all of the others.



The small girl clad in a suit of heavy plate armor scanned the room once more before addressing her master and noticed an imposing man looking outside of the windows with his arms crossed behind his back. "This is not how this should work, Gaia didn't told anything about this situation. For now I think that it's better to just wait and see what happens." Saber thought before finally turning around to address the men in front of her.

"I, Servant Saber, came forth in answer to your summons." Saber said with a firm voice as she stared both men with the imposing eyes of one who once ruled one of the greatest empires of human history, before continuing "Thus, I ask of you. Art thou my master?"

---

@OldManWong@SlamJamcity

Perhaps events would run smoothly this time, and maybe her wish could finally be granted. These were the thoughts that swum through the minds of the servant that would be known as Caster as the aspect of her being that was recorded in the Throne of Heroes was emulated and fit into the class container most suited for mages. As the grail bestowed upon Caster necessary knowledge of the modern world and the basic workings of the grail war ritual, Caster immediately felt apprehension in regards to the capacity of this ritual. Even though the amount of prana harnessed from this ritual would surely be massive, would it truly be enough to displace her true existence that was nestled outside of the very throne itself? Regardless, there was no downside in participating and trying, and Caster was never one to dwell on trifling subtleties. Her goal was clear: slaughter the other servants and obtain the holy grail. Quite a simple one, and Caster felt from her well deserved pride confidence that she would not strain against but the most splendid of heroes. It was quite the thrilling anticipation to have the opportunity to test the steel of heroes from all ranges of culture and land, and Caster, though she was well versed in the manners of heroes and could be said to have become all too accustomed to greatness, could not turn down the thrilling rush of combat where both mind and body were pushed. She also possessed a distinct pride that lent her towards expressing the fruits of her training with great confidence, and what better stage to perform than on a platform designated for a clash between the cusps of human accomplishment?


As her form materialized in a shower of grainy bistre energy to produce the image of an imposing woman with mellow red hair, crimson colored eyes and a form garbed in a flowing black robe that obscured all of her body aside from her neck and face, Caster immediately perceived the atmosphere around her room was not one in orderly conditions for summoning. There were six other summoning circles, and already there was another servant summoned. As soon as her crimson red eyes locked onto the form of this little girl, Caster immediately tensed her body instinctively, her hands balling into fists as she realized she had no weapon to wield under the Caster class. Would it be prudent to strike down all those in this room immediately? Certainly Caster had the means to do so, discounting that the knight classes did not possess magic resistance of sufficient rank. Even so, the masters around her that were enfeebled in some way would not emerge unscathed, while Caster was rather confident that her trump card would allow her to emerge unharmed. But then again, there was the problem of her own master, who would be caught in the fray. And also such means were not exactly the most appealing to Caster, who desired atleast some sort of battle from this gathering of heroes. Her fate had been sealed long ago, and despite harboring regrets about how it concluded, she did not possess an anguish ardent enough to compel her to seek the grail by any means to alter her fate. The past was finished, but the present was ripe with novelties as Caster would think. Then what she would have to be aware of would be an assault by other servants. Of course, Caster thought with a complete confidence that probably would be thought of as conceit by others that she would be able to hold her own regardless of any situation. However, she was not one to let her mind be clouded by hubris, though her judgement could become skewed in that regard. She still had to consider the burden called her master, and of course, form a contract with him in order to sustain her existence.

Imperceptibly sighing at the inconvenience, Caster faced her master behind her and walked up close to him, eyeing his worth. His bearing indicated that he was not one completely devoted to the path of magecraft, so it was reasonable to assume his expertise was either shallow or completely specialized in one or two fields. A quick visual run through of his physique indicated a trained form that had experienced combat, but not one that was particularly exceptional to the point of being beyond human scope in that regard. A well rounded combatant, and satisfactory to Caster as long as his mindset was competent. Towering over Darryl at slightly over two hundred centimeters in height, Caster invoked the line that would seal their master and servant contract.

"Are you the one who has summoned me?"

__________
Tharana was hard at work preparing the necessary tools to proceed upon her assignment. The exact location of the Ashen Mandrake was not known to her, but enough investigation should elucidate this predicament. Her current workshop was in a dilapidated cottage in the outskirts of Idalia which had housed a natural bounded field that repelled the average person from desiring to tread around the area about the cottage. Nobody had dwelled in this residence, and it had appeared abandoned for quite some time. With the help of a few of her companions, Therana had renovated the cottage to a bare minimum to function as a living place and working area. In the meanwhile, she was hard at work preparing specialized familiars for patrolling. One of her companions had already captured over twenty songbirds, and utilizing her family magecraft Therana had implanted remnants of human personalities leftover by the recently deceased into the birds, brainwashing them into being familiars under her control but at the same time completely inconspicuous.

She had already released around five of these birds to patrol her immediate area, but more would be needed to form an active scouting force. She would play an idle and dormant role in this war as she distinctly understood that she would not be able to stand against a servant in direct combat. It would be best to silently eliminate the Executioner without the interference of the masters he had kidnapped. In exchange, Therana herself was a completely unknown presence for now.

Darkness.

It could be described and used in a number of unique ways. One could say the the room was dark, or all he saw was darkness. Despite its many uses in reference, it all meant the same thing, "the absence of light of visual stimuli."

That is what Lee felt at that moment, the absence of visual stimuli, despite being self aware. When lacking ones vision, one could assume two things, he is blind, or he is in darkness. Some could say that there is a third, but that would mean the being is asleep, dubbing any of the other theories wrong. By process of elimination, one could say that he was blind folded, but Lee could feel that his eyes were closed. He was self aware deep in thought, which meant that he was awake. Lee found his answer to be very simple, he was awake, but refused to open his eyes.

Why? Out of fear most likely. Lee remembered the icy hands of his kidnapper on his back. The foreign magic the invaded his Circuits, effectively throwing him into unconsciousness. The ordeal was not traumatizing at all, as a member of the Mik Family, he had faced such an ordeal more than once in his life. But what made this different. What it the fact that he had felt no hostility from his kidnapper as it happened. No one kidnapped in righteousness, that is a fact, but his reasons for doing so seemed that way.

Lee finally opened his eyes, squinting at first before opening them wide. He found himself in a barn, filled with other people his age it seemed. On the ground in front of him was a magic circle, buts it's runes was one he recognized. Lee frowned, a Summoning Circle?

Before Lee could think about his ordeal any longer his hand was jerked away from its place and over the circle. A gash had appeared on his palm, one that he did not remember being their before. His crimson blood dripped on the the circle, suddenly light emanated for it. It's power reverberated through Lee's body, shaking him right to his core. His heart danced, his mind tried to comprehend what was going on, hundreds of emotions flashed in his head, only one showed on his face, excitement. Then it all stopped, and the light was replaced by smoke.

Silence.

Lee grimaced as he stood up, he did not care about anything else at that moment. He had finally realized what the magic circle was, a servant summoning circle, one. meant for the Holy Grail War. Lee saw other server at begin to appear, but he did not care for that, he wanted to know who or what he had summoned.

Darkness, blood, a flash of red on the ground. That's all Mesman could see from his one functioning eye. His eye lazily drifted around, gazing at the other poor sods assembled here against their will. Or maybe he was just the unlucky one to get hit with the hard-end of a stick. Groaning, he realized his hand was cut and being held, eyes going wide as he saw the circles on the ground. "...The Grail..." he thought to himself, too hung-over from the awakening to be rightfully angry at whoever the fuck had gathered them.

Realizing what position he and the others were in, Mesman was prepared to cast a curse of blindness, his free hand attempting to do...something to the circle. Anything. Hard for him to imagine that he was having time off in Holland, and then suddenly here, in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. His addled mind deemed it necessary to stop preparing to cast the blinding curse, given that he seemed unable to form the proper incantation. Glaring at the circle, he wondered who or WHAT was going to come out of it, given that any Heroic Spirit from the Throne could answer the call with no artifact to focus on pulling one. For all he knew, Adolf Hitler could come marching out. "God dammit, if I keep thinking it, its going to happen." he cursed to himself, pushing his body up with his not-bleeding-hand as he layed his single eye on what would come from the circle.

It was unexpected. Well, not too unexpected. Perhaps, it was just a bit more sudden than expected. That seemed reasonable to think. No. No. It was unexpected. No-one expected to be called upon at dinnertime, after all - summoned from one's own world and one's own time into that of another's. Looking around, the one called Archer frowned.

'This again?' she sighed in her thoughts, wiggling the meat bone in-between her lips. There were others, already here. Servants. Masters. She was late. That was no good. Where did she go? To who did she go? As she scanned, her eyes fell upon one... 'He looks so curious, so afraid. Of me, perhaps?' she wonders, amused. 'How curious, he's but one eye that functions.'

Amused, she stepped over to him, and dropped her bare ankles; a mess of crimson hair flowing around her, covering bare shoulders, and framing her soft, smiling face. "Hello, sir," the redhead says, "Are you to be my Master?"

A cold chill blew up Jakob's spine as he awoke from his slumber. He had been dreaming of his days as a child in the Netherlands. The days when he had no idea that magic existed. Back then things were so simple. Now he found himself in a dark room surrounded by several other unconscious magi. His vision was red with blood from a deep gash on his forehead. That would explain why his head was throbbing so intensely. "Where am I" He grumbled loudly as he attempted to push himself up. That, however, was a bad idea. When he put force onto his left arm he was greeted by a shocking pain. "GYAAAA!!!" He let out a high pitched scream as he fell back down to his side. From what he could tell his left shoulder had been dislocated and several of his ribs broken. He heaved the contents of his stomach onto the damp, hay covered ground. He tried to move his hands so that he could heal his wounds, but with every movement a shock of pain was sent throughout his entire body. With how much pain he was in, Jakob hardly noticed the feeling of a blade digging into the palm of his right hand. Fading out of consciousness, the last thing Jakob heard was a cold voice welcoming them to war.

The next time Jakob awoke there was a small-framed girl with white hair staring down at him and another man. She was clad in heavy plate armor that did not belong to this century. When she spoke she addressed herself as Saber. This meant only one thing. The war that voice had been talking about was the Holy Grail War. Jakob struggled to his feet and resisted the urge to scream at the top of his lungs. Nothing had changed since the last time he awoke. He was still greatly injured. Placing both hands over his wounds, Jakob put all of his magical energy into healing himself. The white hair girl had asked him a question some time ago, but Jakob was too busy tending to his wounds to pay her any mind. "This can't be happening. This isn't how the war is supposed to be." After he finished tending to himself he turned towards the man that was next to him. "Are you wounded? Do you need me to treat you?" The man looked to be okay, but Jakob asked just to be safe. If he was bleeding internally that would cause some problems. It wasn't until now that Jakob remembered the question the girl had asked him. "Am I your master? I can only assume so. I don't remember summoning you, but I do feel a connection between us." Jakob still couldn't remember anything. Why was he in this barn? This was supposedly the Holy Grail War, but it was nothing like he had read in books. It was nothing like what Lord El-Melloi II told him. Who was the man who had brought them here?

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
@KoL@OldManWong

As her head stirred, the bandage-clad magus that laid on the ground similar to all of the others shuddered and wiggled quite noticeably as she recalled the memory of foreign mana entering her body. Despite how tight her bandages were and how well they covered her skin, no matter how she recalled it, the hand that took her down was on her skin and invading her circuits. Janiyah raised herself from the ground, wincing when one of her palms touched what was below her. Her head swiveled in a quick look around to see other people, presumably magi, in a similar predicament to hers but there were also what appeared to be mana-rich beings appearing from the summoning circles that she hadn't noticed previously on the floor.

"Wait.." She quietly said. Then her eyes widened greatly and she scooted herself backward from the summoning circle. She definitely didn't get far, as one scoot away from the circle she stopped and grabbed her left hand to see that her palm had been slashed across. Her thoughts quickly turned quizzical and she began wondering why she was brought to where she was, and where she was in at all.

Apparently she was a bit too late to the draw with the recalling of her hand. The runic circle she'd been laying in this time glowed and quickly snapped her out of her stint of mental questioning and attempted memory recollection. Of course she knew what was happening. Whoever had brought them there was attempting to begin a Holy Grail War.

Janiyah grasped the back of her left hand with her right and held them to her chest as she stared towards the circle, waiting to see who would make themselves known to her. Whoever it was, she hoped that they wouldn't be a handful.

Darryl watched the circle come to life. The runes he had prepared would hopefully be a useful catalyst. Algiz, Nauthiz, Ansuz, Inguz. Once he had formed the Ford of the Forked Branch, he had invoked the history and heritage of the Red Branch Knights of Ulster, setting a distinct time and place in history for the Throne to pull a hero from. He'd been thrown in blind, but that did not mean he could not alter his fate and obtain a powerful Servant.

A Red Branch Knight or hero of Ulster would certainly make a fantastic Knight-class Servant. I can't be too greedy and hope for Saber, but I'd certainly settle for a Lancer or a Rider. Though hopefully it's not a Berserker, having to deal with a riastrad could get out of hand...

Other circles came to life around him. Considering the circumstances in which they'd come together, it seemed like they'd all been brought here against their will by someone for some unknown reason. Probably that damn priest over there. Darryl knew he was an Executor, but there was effectively no difference. He was a priest of the church of violence sent forth to purge demons and heresy and slaughter the infidels. So what does he want with the Grail? What does he intend for us? Will he kill us once our Servants have been summoned?

One of them puked. Darryl's face crinkled. Really, dude?

He saw a form take shape somewhere to his right in front of pukey, a young girl, younger than some of his preteen cousins. She very obviously was a knight of the sword, and she carried a shield with the crest of a lion. British then. Definitely Saber. Darryl sighed as his own circle continued to process the information it had been fed. The runes. His blood. It had indeed been too much to hope for Saber. Seeing how he didn't desire Archer, it didn't disappoint him much when he saw one materialize next to the half-blind magus.

Lots of women here. You'd think stuff like Genghis Khan being female would've gone down in the history books. Then again, with how they probably treated women back then... man, tumblr would have a fucking field day with this.

That's when his own Servant materialized. A tall robed woman with red hair and crimson eyes emerged from a cloud of smoke or energy the color of oak, and Darryl was immediately intimidated by her. She was a hero of quite some stature. Literally. She had to be, what? Eight inches taller than him? Ten? Twelve? She was a beauty too, what little he could see of her beneath that willowy black cloak.

I think they'd call this "a tall glass of water" down South, Darryl thought nervously. He had no intentions of oppressing his Servant. If anything, he'd probably fawn over them. These were his idols after all. But still, he didn't want to be treated like some peon, and it was hard to make a good first impression and impress them when the other party towered over you by a full foot.

Well I guess I'll just have to impress her the old-fashioned way then. And hey, at least she can't complain when I don't look at her eyes, right? he thought dryly.

That's when Darryl noticed a conspicuous lack of a weapon on her person. A bow or a lance couldn't be concealed in a set of robes like that, and Saber had already been summoned. Rider then? Who was she?

"... Cé go bhfuil tú?" he said hesitantly, testing her in his (admittedly rusty) Gaelic. "Is é mo ainm Darryl. Tá mé do mháistir. I think..."



----------------



Lancer felt her spirit being drawn from the Throne. Ooooh, this is tingly!

The circle glowed with a bright orange flame. Out of it walked an indiscernible figure wreathed in fire. Not that they couldn't be seen, but... they couldn't be recognized. It was if they had no shape, or that the shape they had was constantly in flux. Details like facial structure, height, hair length, everything couldn't be pinned down. All that you could say for certain was that it, they were human. That was all.

"Hmmmm... so this is what the physical world feels like. Is this my body? I don't like it."

Finally this anonymous being settled on a form, the flames flickering away as they stepped out of the circle, their geta clopping on the cold stone floor. They stopped in front of Lee, who they instinctively knew was their Master.



"Hello hello, this is Servant Lancer, reporting for duty! Are you into maids or S&M? My personal preferences are shibari and Chinese water torture, but I'm flexible! I'm also totally up for a ménage à trois if that's what you're into! Call me 'Iwami-chan', kay?"

This Servant clearly wasn't taking this seriously.

@Cinderella Man

It begins

The blinding light that is the ambient lighting within the throne of heroes went out for a moment. He did not react physically to this disturbance; he simply acknowledged what it meant. "It's time to try again." the man thought. This was the last thing he was able to do before being ripped from his place and sent flying, though he wasn't moving at all the sensation of being broken down and moved and reassembled was very similar to it. He is confused for a brief moment, he feels no change in his head but is able to recall information that he surely never learned before death. "Holy grail... war...", the servant said aloud in an accent that was completely unfamiliar to him. His voice has been changed, his default alphabet had been switched around and he now spoke backwards. He finally could see the environment he was summoned to, a dark place with rotting planks for walls. But something far more interesting caught his attention when he looked down to see a child wrapped in bandages and clutching her hands to her chest. The servant kneels down and extends his hand, palm facing up and assures her, “Do not fear child, fear clouds judgement and stifles hope in those around. BE BRAVE! And no monster no matter how ferocious will make you falter. Strength can be made given enough bravery! So fear, nothing!” The massive silhouette is obscured by the darkness in the room, but the hand it extends and the points at the tips of the fingers are very visible. Looking up the arm is just more darkness which leads up to a porcelain mask stained with dark brown splotches all across its surface, where at the edges are covered by the rubber that makes up the rest of the suit leads down the to the humongous torso, below that, the robes end inside the thick leather sap sealed boots. No part of his skin is visible; nothing is exposed to the air. No skin, no hair, nothing, just endless rubber that encases his body, eternally preserved by cloth sealed by the life-blood of trees.

Caster scrutinized her soon to be master with a reserved look, as if assessing the quality of fresh meat. Her gaze shifted to his face as she read its nuances. Certainly it seemed that no unpleasant vibes emanated from this young man, nor did he seem to be the controlling type in any manner. His bearing did not possess the subtleties inherent towards those more versed in artifice, and his expressions seemed rather clear towards the side of frankness. He did not make eye contact with her out of awe perhaps, Caster would never know and had no inclination to. Her hasty analysis eventually summarized the character in front of her in a rather crude manner, but a shabby or unclear image would still be preferable over none at all.

"Boring, but acceptable", thought Caster with a slight nod, agreeing with herself. The speech that spouted from the man's mouth however surprised her. It seemed that he had intentionally summoned her, or, judging by the lack of a catalyst present, he had merely narrowed down his scope of summoning so as to invoke one from Caster' age and land. It was frankly rather amusing to hear this man speak in Gaelic, and in response with the minor hints of a smile tugging upon her lips, Caster replied, "The contract has been made with your response. I will be your servant for this war. To your first question, I will say that I am of the Caster class, and your master's clairvoyance should reveal my true identity and abilities as you are my master. I cannot reveal my name in this room for the other masters to hear, and I pity your intelligence if you thought I would. Also, you need not address me in Gaelic as the grail grants me the capacity to speak English with perfect fluency and if you had thought otherwise then I question your common sense in coming to this war without preparation, though I do suspect that you have been forcefully brought here. This leads me to my question: Do you actually believe that you desire the grail and are willing to put in all, no, more than the entirety of effort your mediocre being can provide?"

As she said this, Caster stooped down and helped Darryl up, making a mental note to herself to provide a healing spell to him later when not in the presence of her enemies so as to not reveal the details of her skills. The minor physical interaction this necessitated presented a clear image to Caster of her master's health, which seemed largely fine.
"A tough little one eh? Maybe this one isn't completely devoid of potential".

Caster, huh? Well that was disappointing. Still, she felt strong. He'd have to trust in that feeling.

Darryl grunted.

"In case you didn't notice, I was kind of kidnapped and dragged here by that asshole priest. He looks the type..." Darryl muttered, holding back any further comments about altar boys or unmarked vans. "Anyway, my knowledge of the situation is about zilch. I'll admit though, the opportunity excites me. Now that I know this is the Holy Grail War, I'm itching to get started. It feels like I'm about to jump out of my skin here. As for the details..."

He tried out the clairvoyance she'd spoken of. Let's save those for later. Right now, let's hear what crazy has to say. I don't really like being stuck in a cramped room with a bunch of other Masters and Servants, but this guy knows something we don't, and I don't like that. There's a reason he brought us all here, and if I know types like him, he's going to tell us. I've got an Azoth sword, a few Mystic Codes, and a bag of rune stones hanging off my belt. We can use them to distract him and the other Masters once he's finished monologuing.

He looked up at Caster for the first time. You do have a way to get us out of here, right?

Lee gazed at the Servent in which his blood summoned with scrutinizing eyes. He has not expected to summon a woman, much less Lancer. Lancer was one of the Knight Classes, which also consisted of Saber and Archer. Lee heard stories of former Grail Wars, stories of battles between Lancer and Saber. Some were beautiful, others brutal and savage. Lee glanced at someone who seemed to be Saber's Master who was directly across from him, hopefully things would not end up the same way.

Lee focused on the situation at hand, his Servant. Lee could not help but grin he had to admit, she was a funny one. It peaked his interest, who was she? It was obvious she was Japanese, unfortunately, Lee's extensive knowledge did no reach the to the shores of Japan. He would have to do research on this at a later date.

"Hmm, if you could find anyone in the room interested in that ménage à trois stuff..." Lee let his mind wander for a few seconds before shaking his head. This was neither the time or the place to be thinking of such a thing.

Lee glanced at the man that had brought all of the Magus here. How could he had known of the Grail. None of the families said anything about this, despite that fact that the Grail was something so converted by all. Something had to be up, something with the Church, could they have been hiding this all along? How would the families react to this.

"Anyway, my name is Lee "Lao" McLloyd, it is a pleasure to meet you Iwami-chan." Lee did not understand the meaning of "chan", but if that is what she wished to be called, so be it.

Casting his half-gaze to the woman that had been summoned before him, he was glad that it was neither an insane beast, nor someone easily identifiable as a previous dictator or fascist. Rising to his knees, he looked her in the eyes and said: "I...Suppose I am." as he extended his non-bleeding hand out, noticing a symbol now imprinted onto the back of his palm, the skin of his hand gaining a rather odd sigil in a set of three, with what appeared to be a large, crystalline arrow depicted on it, winding up to his middle-forearm. It was clear that the seal was seperated into three, and the whole design seemed somewhat chaotic.

Looking at it curiously, he said: "Yup. That seals it. Looks like we're in this together, Partner." and cast a glance to the man who'd brought them all together. "...No rosary...no indication of who he is. Is this guy a Magus or a Priest? He can't just be some schmuck off the street. No way anybody could have just FOUND the Grail by accident." he thought before rising to his feet. "...So...why's the Grail here?
I don't think you dragged me to another Country just to cut my hand and give me a Servant."

Archer smiled, taking the hand. Poking at it. "Poke. Poke. Poke..." murmured the redhead, as she traced the design up with every poke, as if tattooing it. "Master..." Archer's soft features suddenly hardened, twisting into something of great violence and blood-lust. "Let's kill them all," came the request on a sultry, yet sadistic tone, "bloodily..."

Suddenly, she was sweet again. "And, not die! Yeah!" she chirps, holding his hand and bouncing on the balls of her naked feet, flashing painted toes beneath her light gown. "Oh, and let's do our best... always..."

As the other servants materialized, Caster could not help but perceive that they were as of now all women. Well, Caster supposed that she probably was tired of viewing radiant male heroes. It was somewhat of a new experience to witness other female champions from all edges of the globe, and Caster wondered whether they had been accepted in their perspective cultures as Caster herself had been. But the more pressing matter aside from extraneous ruminations was the needs of her master and her future cooperation with him. She listened to Darryl's telepathic response with a slightly cocked head, her incandescent but coldly dull crimson eyes focusing upon Darryl to gauge the veracity of his statements. She found his honesty satisfactory, and his rather casual manner reminiscent of someone she had known in ages long past. Yet he held no traits about himself that would mark him to be one exceptional, but still a cooperative master would be best. Caster herself could aptly teach this young man skills at the level servants would harbor with one of her own exceptional skills if he was hardy enough for the challenge of Caster's tutelage.

"Alright then, I will cede to your wishes and just remain placidly here and observe the others. The mastermind behind this should as you say reveal his intentions which you desire to know and which would likely aid me as well. The more I know of this ritual, the more likely I will be able to scrutinize its workings and perhaps interfere with its systems in my own time. Well, traditional magecraft always struck me to be boring, so I probably won't be as much of a witch I was made up to be."

Stepping back from Darryl, Caster began to twist her head and observe the other servants and masters. To her acute perception, it seemed that none of the masters exhibited any familiarity with this situation. The other servants appeared to fit certain archetypes with the young blonde girl being most likely a saber class with her ironclad figure. None of them exhibited blatant weakness, which rather excited Caster and raised her hopes. How wonderful it would be to clash with the Saber and Lancer classes in pure, brutal and pressing combat. This perceptive scanning had taken only around a second, and immediately Caster telepathically responded to her master once more.
"Well then, so you don't know why your here but you feel riled. Quite impulsive I must say as nicely as I can, but still I respect your drive. Somewhat nostalgic if I say so myself. Anyways, your equipment is light and not suited for any real action here. Your also limited to incantations which will immediately give away your intent. Your Azoth sword is probably just an amplifier mystic code, meaning your actions here are limited to one large scale attack through a rune stone. I myself am an expert in the area of runes, and unless your rune stone is directly hewn from some great mystery in my age, it will not be able to cause a ruckus large enough for us to escape reliably in. Buuuut, I was renowned as one of the greatest witches to have lived, so I have more than enough ways for us to escape."

The summoning awoke him form his slumber. Realization came to his mind as he slowly opened his eyes: it was time. The Holy Grail War. The name suggested it is supposed to be the most sacred of all struggles, but he knew the truth was different. There was nothing holy about the butchery that was to take place, it was just a dance macabre of the power hungry heretics. Again, he will be bound to serve a Master who tramples over the True Faith. Again he will be bound by an oath which only death will be able to break. At least, this time around, he will not fight his brethren.

He straightened up as the white light enveloped him, injecting him with the knowledge of the modern world. The summoning was in its full swing. Now was the time to fulfil his wish, that one wish which he held his entire life, yet against whose fulfilment the circumstances forced him to work. He finally has a chance for redemption, after so many centuries.

The light began changing its colour as it swirled around him, slowly getting darker and darker, until it became pitch black. A fiery hot sensation coursed through his being. Ah, he knew this feeling, to be consumed by the madness of rage. He indulged it so many times during his life. Many have perished before his fury-filled onslaught, incapable of matching his great strength led by his blind blood-thirst, and it seemed many more will soon.

Madness ate at him rapidly, burning his reason to cinders. His wish, his regret, his faith, all were melting away. They were unnecessary for the Servant of the class Berserker, and that's what he was now: a mad beast, to be chained by the power of the Holy Grail, unleashed in the direction of his Master's foes to bring them devastation and carnage.

The process was quickly over.

------------------------------

Black light surged from one of the summoning circles and a tall figure clad in black armor walked out of it, shaking the entire room with each step taken.



Berserker stood in front of the young, teenage girl with straight dark hair who looked like a halfling compared to his height, and said no word. The only sign of him noticing her presence at all was his two blue eyes staring at her. There was no shred of reason in them, only a cold fury.

Needless to say, a barn. It is indeed unfitting for a lady like person such as Rika who expected the setting to be extravagant and representable than being in a farm like setting. It felt like ancient witchcraft for a setting like this but nevertheless Rika could not careless about needless details, all masters are in the same room and are here for the same thing, the commonality of the grail war, victory, wish, and strife among servants like a killing sports. She could not bother about it.

Most certainly that today is the day that Rika will shut down the resemblance of any Tohsaka Tradition to her because according to the family history; her predecessors were known for summoning the Archer servant and unwittingly getting themselves killed or in big trouble and as much as the Archer class are powerful based on the word of mouth especially the Goldie. Rika does not want to have history repeat itself and face the same fate of having receive a trolling tradition curse that is even worse than a Lancer's badluck. Indeed, Rika took her superior's advice not to have an Archer especially if you are a Tohsaka due to their uncontrollable nature and betrayal. Regardless of that what matters now is the right servant.

Rika began to feel a sudden rage internally like the paranoia swallowing one from insanity, virility as such feeling is rejoicing and her magic circuits is reacting somewhat in a malice manner which she can't explain. The jewel on her necklace is also glowing. She also heard voices as she makes connection with her servant. Voices that taints the soul as her servant is summoned. As usual, Rika is not bothered but this time she is curious to see whom she have summoned. "You are..."