---

"Did you really have to make them leave? They both seemed like they wanted to stay here."

"Of course they did, but I can't let them risk their lives. Byakuya unsurprisingly wasn't selected by the Grail, and without a Servant he'll only be at risk. And Shinji...I know how much he wants to be of use, but given the scale this war will be at, it's too dangerous to keep someone who can't even use magecraft here."

"Still, though, it seems..."

"I know, I'm not comfortable with it either, but this is for the best. If we succeed, then there won't be anything to worry about, but if we fail then I want them to live on instead of dying because of the mistakes of an old fool."

"Old? You barely look a day over three hundred."

"Ha, you're hardly one to talk."

"..."

"..."

"...so, it's finally happening, huh? It's, well, all of this is finally starting to set in."

"It is, but don't worry. This time...this time, we'll definitely reach it. For everyone's wishes, and for her."

"...You've still never answered me, you know. What was she to you?"

"..."

"A-Ah, I'm sorry, it didn't mean to come out like that, I just-"

"-Have I really still not? I could have sworn..."

"I, um, no...I don't think so."

"Hm. Well, she was...ha, if I had to sum it up, I suppose you could call her my salvation."

---

DAY ONE

Welcome.

As a Master, you have come to this city in pursuit of the 726th Holy Grail and the wish that it promises. As a result, there is only one path to follow: the destruction of all Masters other than yourself. All alliances that you forge are fragile, ready to shatter at the slightest touch.

Some of you have summoned your Servants already after arriving in Fuyuki while some have yet to do so, but what is shared amongst you is that you have arrived in foreign spiritual land. Such things as workshops, integral to a magus, will need to be built from scratch, if at all. Given that this is the case, most magi will likely turn their eyes towards one of the four fallen leylines of the city, the highest-grade spiritual land which serves as ideal locations for creating a base of operations.

The Foreign Church that the overseer of the war presides over.

The mountaintop temple that stands as the greatest spiritual land of the city.

The Fuyuki Park in Shinto, the most public of these domains.

And lastly, the abandoned house that lies south of the Matou estate, the former home of a forgotten line of magi, under constant watch.

So go forth, fight for your goal of that omnipotent cup which can grant any wish. Perhaps this time, a miracle will occur. Perhaps this time, a more beautiful world will be created. Perhaps this time, the endless search for an ephemeral dream will come to an end.

Perhaps.

"I...am finally finished," Lorelei said with a slight huff of tiredness, dropping the dead body of a chicken she had bought earlier to the side, also backing up from the summoning circle she had just finished making on the ground before her with blood in the back yard of this abandoned home.

The Holy Grail War had finally begun, and the black-haired, fair-skinned homunculus was ready to get her servant summoned as soon as possible. She was no military strategist, but if she could summon her servant first and attempt to secure a base of operations, it would give her all the more advantage in surviving the entirety of this conflict. Though as for the idea of securing a leyline, she did not know whether to do so or not. To take a fallen leyline would be to place a target on her back, but would also make for being able to provide for her servant especially well in regards to mana. Still, just "summoning and running" might be a better position to take up for her, and/or perhaps trying to ally with one of the two magus families that were orchestrating this Grail War could be of use. She was still thinking over the ideas at the moment. After all, if she were attacked here or the like she would have to adjust plans for fleeing to a safer area first.

Whatever her initial actions and decision would be, she was summoning her servant here where one of the fallen leylines were. She had just arrived here the other day, getting in some rest and planning where to summon her servant if nothing else. It was a start, a small one, but a start in her quest for the Grail and to survive. Why had she been chosen for the Holy Grail War as a master, though? It was an odd thing, as she could not recall having any specific wish she would want to search for in a conflict like this. Yet all the same, her family had sent her here to observe the Grail War and its details, and to participate as well to try to get a chance to observe the rumored chalice itself. Were the Holy Grail to be too dangerous of an object...well, she understood fully what that meant for her.

But for now, beginning the ritual to summon was of most importance. With that in mind, the homunculus picked up a small wooden box she had brought with her and placed on the ground while she had been making the summoning circle for the ritual. Cracking it open, a piece of old and worn iron sat inside, something that according to the people her family had bought the artifact from was from the weapon of a great hero. A strong hero, one who slew monsters and rode upon a great and powerful steed. This was who she, with the help of the Baggett family archives, had picked to try to summon as her servant.

Placing the piece of simple and incredibly old iron into the center of the summoning circle, Lorelei stepped back once more to begin the incantation she had memorized for this very occasion...



As she chanted aloud the incantation, Lorelei saw the circle before her begin to glow with what at first was a faint red light. Yet as she spoke each line of the incantation, the circle seemed to glow brighter and brighter, and the command seals on the back of her left hand began to glow as well. Brighter and brighter the glowing became as she continued on, until upon finally delivering the last remaining line of the ritual...the summoning circle erupted with power in front of like an explosion, causing the homunculus to pull her arms up to protect her eyes and head.

Had she...done it? Had she managed to summon a servant? The servant she wanted?

The wheels of the limousine slowed to a halt. Inside, Ernest took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. It had taken a considerable amount of time and money, but everything was now in place. Across from him sat a hunched figure, hooded and masked, with a submachine gun lying across its lap. Arming the Thrall so heavily this early was likely an unnecessary precaution, but one could never be too careful. The other Thrall, likewise concealed beneath its clothing, was currently serving as the limousine's driver. Having arrived at his destination, Ernest buttoned his coat and glanced toward the armed Thrall across from him. “Conceal your weapon... and bring the birds with you.” The undead minion did as it was commanded, folding the stock of its weapon and hiding it within the folds of its long coat in a series of near-mechanical movements. The Thrall then reached to its side, picking up a simple bird cage. Within the cage were a pair of doves, recently purchased. Their blood would serve as the medium for the summoning ritual. Human blood might have been preferable, but Ernest lamented that such a thing was not nearly as easy to come by in Fuyuki as it had been back home. Still, it would do. It had to.

Ernest exited the limousine, along with his two undead companions, and viewed what would likely be his residence for the entirety of the war. A rather small, Western-styled house stood before him. The property, which resided in the eastern part of the city, was a far cry from the lavish manor house that the mage had been used to. In addition to this inconvenience, its location was not as advantageous as it could have been. There were certainly more opportune locations within Fuyuki, but Ernest had no intention of becoming a target, and such places were certain to become points of congregation for the other Masters. No, he would play his hand as carefully as possible. The location was inconsequential, after all, he had taken special precaution to ensure he received his desired Servant... if his alteration to the incantation worked. The property did have one advantage: a large basement. This suited Ernest perfectly. He had always preferred to practice his Magecraft underground when possible. There was a certain irony to that that the man was not entirely ignorant of. With a silent motion, Ernest beckoned the Thralls to follow him into the house. For the time being, they would serve as his assistants.

After a considerable amount of time and effort, the summoning circle had been completed. All that was left was to place the relic and begin the ritual. One of the Thralls produced a steel case from its coat and held it out towards Ernest. With sure fingers, the mage opened the case, revealing a clay brick, which seemed incredibly old and worn. The brick was said to have been used in the foundations of a certain ancient tower, and Ernest had taken great care to ensure its authenticity. With an air of cold reverence, the mage took the brick from its case and gently placed it in the center of the circle. Motioning the Thralls away, Ernest took a deep breath, and extending his hand over the circle, began the incantation. “Fill. Fill. Fill. Fill. Fill...” The incantation began as normal. As the mage recited the words, he felt a great warmth flare up inside of him, like a surge of flame in a cold furnace. An eerie glow emanated from the circle and from the Command Seals atop his right hand. The pale red light filled the basement, and the air began to rush outward from the circle, whipping at Ernest's coat. The mage recited the summoning ritual perfectly, but as the last line left his lips he clenched his fist and appended his own alteration to the summoning contract:


The line was meant to ensure specificity. If Dante was to be believed, that line should've had meaning to one spirit and one spirit alone. Ernest's eyes squinted as the room was rocked by an explosion of blinding light and heat.

---

Even for a Servant the figure that arose from the circle of chicken blood was alarming. Many heroes of antiquity possessed great stature, warriors blessed with brawn comparable to a god, mighty conquerors and rebellious slaves who stood a head taller than the common man, raging demigods who stood a head taller than even that. In the end though, each of these would have been still recognizable as a human.

What now stood before the Homunculus Lorelei Baggett could not be called human at all anymore. It was clearly some kind of giant.

At the last pronouncement of the sacred ritual, the call of the Grail had rung out reaching deep within the Throne of Heroes, intent on pulling one of the residents into the real world. Around the circle a phantom wind had picked up, hot and dry like the desert, carrying with it the smell of horses, steel and fragrant oils. As a glowing mist began to coalesce into a figure, prana began pouring out like a geyser from the circle, a beacon of energy that would be visible to any remotely prana sensitive being for miles around.

Then it was all over, and in front of Lorelei was a man of truly inhuman proportions. It was fortunate that the Magi had chosen to summon him out of doors, for the Servant would not have fit inside a house, and would have torn through to the second floor just by standing.

He towered over her now, a mountain of muscle that defied belief. His broad chest was like a castle wall, his bulging arms seemed bigger around than the trunks of trees, certainly bigger around than the torso of an ordinary man. Had he been naked, this juggernaut of flesh and bone would have seemed unassailable from a glance, but encasing his impossible frame was a suite of scaled armor that would have been more in place on a tank. Between this and the fiery red and orange cloak of dragonhide that he wore swathed about him, it would have been hard to imagine a more alarming figure to suddenly appear in the modern age.

The picture was completed by the large horned skull that was perched atop his head, empty hollow sockets seeming to stare at whatever he turned his attention to, while the wolflike teeth of the skull rested around his lofty brow.

The giant looked down on Lorelei for a moment, solemn and ponderous. His face, conventionally handsome though larger and thicker set than any humans, seemed older, streaked here and there with the beginnings of wrinkles. Between these and the thick lustrous black beard that dominated his lower jaw, it was difficult to tell if he looked old or young.

Slowly the giant sunk to one armored knee, and though he still towered over his Summoner, he bowed his head slightly and managed to convey deference.

"You who have called me forth, I ask of you... are you my Master?"

---

---

Muttering to himself in frustration, squatting over on the dirty floor, the Magi in the faded green fishermans jacket squinted at the circle of cards that he had laid out in painstaking order over the other, more traditional magic circle. Lead based paint, silver shavings, the blood of a parasitic blind fish that fed only on Kelpies, all these and more had been sacrificed in what was seeming more and more like a pointless exercise in Formacraft.

Biting his thumbs and takeing another few puffs on his cigaret Alex Bradan spat out the taste of lead and prodded at the still wet circle unhelpfully, smearing the pattern into a new shape that would hopefully be more conductive to what he was trying to attain.

The promised signs had appeared on his hands almost as soon as The Scuttle had pulled into harbor at Fuyuki City a few days earlier. They had burned coming in, but that was to be expected considering the tremendous freight that they carried with them. Since then Alex had been laboring in vain to bring about the miracle that they made possible. Maybe it was that he was unused to this sort of circle creation, maybe it was because he had no relic with which to work with. More likely however, it was that for the past few days he had been in fierce debate with himself.

Why take this risk? Why belive the cards this time when they were so often wrong? Why choose to gamble it all now? Here? When he still had a good twenty or thirty years ahead of him as a Magus?

Now though, those questions had finally dropped away. He had been staying up later and later each night going over the plans for the circle and reading his cards, and now all he felt was tired.

Tired was apparently preferable to internally conflicted by whatever incomprehensible metric the Holy Grail used however, for when he at last began to chant the rehearsed words of summoning again, this time something happend.

Alex felt his eyes widen even as he chanted. The dingy, rusty interior of his shipboard workshop was being illuminated by the prana that was suddenly swirling forth from the circle of bloody paint and arranged tarot cards. Old paint, far too long neglected was flaking off the walls as a sudden wind sprung up inside the cabin. Dank moldering papers flew everywhere, while on the walls snakes and other less pleasant amphibians writhed in their grime speckled tanks, trying to get away from the light.

Benight him the ship listed slightly, as if the waters where the Mion river and the sea joined were rising to try and greet the coming hero.

"...Come forth from the ring of restraint, Protector of the Balance!"

---

@Holy Grail @Cu Chulainn

---

A magus. How droll.

The first thoughts of the Babylonian king in this iteration of his self were not impressed ones. The tall man stretched a hand out as the aftermath of the ritual began to fade, clenching a powerful fist experimentally, his limb shuddering from the amount of pressure he was putting into it. He was youthful, summoned at a time prior to his greater ambitions, when he was the Hunter before anything else. He drew his hand back, bringing his gaze down to the summoner. It was a picture of contrast; where the summoner was a poor postured lanky, sickly pale thing with inky hair, the Servant he had summoned was a giant among men, his body filled out with muscle. He was by no means a hulk of a man, more akin to a perfectly sculpted statue of Ares or Zeus, his skin a dark coloration. His hair, a short and spiky mess, was silver in coloration, and his eyes a cold blue not too dissimilar from the summoners.

He tilted his head back with a slight cant off to the side, eyes still peering down at the magus. A silver brow raised, curious, a self-assured and cocky grin on his youthful features. There was a process to these things, something which was meant to be said in response to the summoning. He refused. He would conduct negotiations as he desired, and no tradition of finger-licking book savants could stop him from doing that. He allowed a silence to rule between them, uncomfortable and uncertain, before breaking it with his own version of a Servant's greeting.

"You moved very intentionally, trickster. Your choice of words were offensive, to say the very least. Were I not intrigued by your intent, your fate would have been less than pleasant," The King's hand moved to his waist, taking up a very relaxed pose despite the threat - or rather promise - behind his words. His tone too reflected it, a sort of lackadaisical disinterest, as if he was obliged to say such things to the magus. He appeared somewhat amused, even. "None the less. I respect the audacity to think you were deserving enough to summon I. As such, I conditionally accept the terms of this contract.

"I ask of you, are you my 'Master'?"

Nimrod, King of Babylonia, the Hunter Against God, had been summoned. He had very little interest in the perceived farce about to take place, but what did intrigue him was the very different world he now found himself in. A world where his vision was realized. Surely, being able to experience it for two weeks was nothing short of a wondrous occasion.

---

@DrowsyPangolin

What had appeared standing before the Magus, Alex Bradan, was a man, a few inches taller, with a slim, athletic build, wearing a loose, black tunic along with a white cloak, a hood pulled over. The man had begun to look over his Summoner with his sleet grey eyes, forming a rather judging expression. A few mere moments after, his mouth contorted into a slight frown, before he lowered his hood, revealing his silver hair. His features were sharp, and while he wasn't a youthful man, nor did he looked aged, it still had appeared to be hard to judge his exact age specifically.

The figure looked away from his Summoner, his eyes shifting around as he got a better sense of his surroundings. He had seem to be in thought, judging from his expression, as if he was recollecting memories of his past, his frown gradually growing as he gained a better understanding of what exactly he's in. He then closed his eyes, lowering his head and letting out a sigh.

"It's as if the tides themselves had whisked me away from my destination, once again. If I hadn't known any better, I would have assumed the God of the Seas had taken a hold of my fate, once again..." the man gritted his teeth at the mentioning of this God, before opening his eyes, looking back to his Summoner. His voice, despite him speaking rather softly, had a commanding tone, with a tad bit of roughness mixed with it. The voice of a man who has braved through an entire war, and perhaps even worse...

"At the very least, this chance arrangement will bear fruit for the both of us... yes, I do believe we can work a few things out, after all." The man crossed his arms, nodding a few times, slowly, and with his eyes closed. A small hint of a smile curved at the side of his lips, just for a moment.

"Before we start making arrangements, however," He stopped nodding, his eyes opened as he shifted his focus back to his Summoner, his face shifting into a more serious countenance.

"I ask of you, are you my Master?"

@Beloss

The searing light of the summoning ritual faded, and Ernest beheld the impossible figure before him. The ritual had succeeded. Deep within Ernest, a long dead voice made an exclamation of triumph. 'I've done it, Marie. I've actually done it.' The magus himself, however, barely seemed to react at all despite the great accomplishment. Ernest surveyed his Servant with a discerning eye. The great Hunter was every bit as impressive as his legend suggested. With such a Servant, even the most absolute of obstacles might be challenged. The magus' hands fell to rest upon the head of his cane.

Nimrod's initial threat was met with little more than the slightest twitch of the eye. Such behavior was to be expected. One did not summon a man hailed as a veritable god of rebellion expecting subservience. No, if anything Nimrod's attitude was reassuring. No mistakes had been made. After a moment, Ernest raised his eyes to meet those of his Servant and gave a courteous bow before making a sincere effort to straighten his posture. “I appreciate your interest... and your cooperation.” The words were somewhat stiff, as if they had been practiced time and time again. Ernest's eyes remained focused on the towering man that stood before him, as if he was still trying to discern something. After another moment of silence, Ernest nodded. “Yes. I am your Master. My name is Ernest LaCreux.” He tapped his cane against the floor of the basement. “Welcome, King of Babylonia.”

As Ernest welcomed the arrival of Nimrod, the two Thralls crossed the room, taking positions on either side of the magus and kneeling before the great hunter. It was difficult to make out their features beneath their hoods, but they moved as one unit, with machine-like rigidity. Ernest maintained his stiff, overly aristocratic stance, a stark comparison to Nimrod's relaxed posture. Despite the success of the summoning, there was one thing that still troubled the mage. His modifications to the ritual had allowed him to summon the specific Servant that he had sought, but the King of Babylonia had an extensive reputation, and the question of what class of Servant he had materialized as was still uncertain. “But, King of Babylonia, your reputation is storied and extensive... Your feats are numerous, so tell me, in which class have you been summoned here?” The question risked an appearance of foolishness, but it was necessary nonetheless. Surely Nimrod qualified for a number of classes, and while Berserker or Assassin was incredibly unlikely, any of the other classes seemed quite possible. Going by Nimrod's legendary hunting ability, Archer or Lancer seemed the most likely.

Hisoka sat on a wooden chair, leaning forward and examining recently completed summoning circle that had laid before him. As he took a rag to wipe the blood clean from his hands, he took a few moments to recollect what exactly he did to prepare for the war. To prepare for this exact day.

Four years ago, the Command Seals appeared on his hand. It was then Hisoka had resolved to return home to his family estate in Osaka in order to prepare for the coming war. Once home, he had begun to do his research on heroes of myth and yore, important figures of history, and many warriors and magi of the past. Within the time he had prepared for the war, he had gained an interest in learning to emulate some of the skills the heroes of the past had accomplished. He had learned to ride on a horse, to shoot with a bow, and to duel with a sword.

Forty seven months ago, Hisoka had returned to his old Karate dojo in Osaka in order to complete his training. He had almost finished his training in order to attain the rank of Shodan before he had left many years ago to accomplish his work abroad. Despite being a prodigy at his martial arts, he was still the subject of light abuse and had to help around the dojo by his Sensei, in order to make up for 'lost time.' This had gone on until a mere few weeks before the beginning of the war.

Thirty months ago, Hisoka had finally pinpointed the location of the Gaoling Mausoleum of Wei, within Xigaoxue Village, in the Henan Province of China. He sought the tomb of a well-known, oft romanticized tyrant, in order to obtain an item connecting to the aforementioned tyrant. The tomb, however, had already been robbed before he got there, and all he did find was stone tablet, bearing the inscription "King Wu of Wei."

Fourty seven months ago, Hisoka had returned to his old Karate dojo in Osaka in order to complete his training. He had almost finished his training in order to attain the rank of Shodan before he had left many years ago to accomplish his work abroad. Despite being a prodigy at his martial arts, he was still the subject of light abuse and had to help around the dojo by his Sensei, in order to make up for 'lost time.'

Eighteen months ago, Hisoka had made sure to get the rest of his logistics in order, purchasing a few reagents in order to use for various rituals, including to summon his Servant for the Holy Grail War, such as office equipment and lab tools for both mundane uses and to study different signs of Magecraft. He had also made sure to stock up on ammo for his sniper rifle, an unscoped PSG1.

Sixteen months ago, Hisoka had made contact with an American arms dealer in order to find himself a firearm suited more for medium to close ranges. He was shown a prototype of an improved model of the Korean DP51 handgun currently in development by a new, unknown firearms manufacturer not made to release until approximately eight years later, known as the Lionheart LH9. After trying the pistol out, he was impressed with its performance. He decided to purchase two of these pistols.

One year ago, Hisoka had come into contact with a family friend of the Matsunagas who owned property in the Northwest part of Fuyuki. He utilized the rest of his funds in order to purchase this estate to use it for his base of operations.

Two weeks ago, Hisoka had finally achieved the rank of Shodan in Kyokushin Karate.

Three days ago, Hisoka had settled in to the estate, which happened to be a small farmhouse, complete with an even smaller storage shed, and basement.



A few moments ago, Hisoka had gathered the proper reagents, including fresh chicken blood, to use for the ritual. He formed the summoning circle within his basement, placing the relic, the stone tablet, into the center of the circle.

Hisoka stood up after gathering his thoughts, putting his hand out, and preparing to commence the ritual.



He had continued to say the incantations as the light from the summoning circle suddenly filled the once dim basement. Winds originating from the Circle began to blow away the gathered dust and cobwebs. Hisoka had also added a verse, in Mandarin.



Hisoka had hoped that those lines may also aid in summoning his desired servant, should the stone tablet not be enough. The results of his labor, however, will appear before him after the brightened light of the summoning circle dims, and a Heroic Spirit appears...

@Psyker Landshark

It was only reasonable.

Four locations. One controlled by the overseer who represented neutrality, one which stood in public view. As a result, the remaining two could be called the only fallen leylines worth pursuing.

Had Lorelei not considered it, or had she simply been confident that her abilities would be enough to cope? It had been fortunate that she was not even a step closer to the house than she had been at the time of the summoning ritual; were this the case, then those countless Bounded Fields that wreathed the house would have surely cut her off from the world's magical energy.

Ah, regardless, regardless, orders had been given. "Do not attack until the Servant is summoned". "Do not launch an attack on the nodes of the Spiritual Core". No, while his Master was certainly confident in his abilities, there was no such thing as an omnipotent Servant. A Holy Grail War was one in which the dragon-slayer would fight the one who killed a demon king, where the hero beloved by the gods would fight one who slaughtered gods.

In that sense, shooting to kill at the first opportunity might seem to be optimal, or even attempting to kill the Master before the summoning ritual was completed in order to "hijack" it for one's own gain, but those sorts of ideas were counterproductive to his and his Master's goals. While the Servants did need to die in due time, it was far better if...

Ah, that's not important right now.

The Rider-class Servant who had been summoned here would notice it immediately upon being summoned, and as Lorelei Baggett's Marks of the Chosen condensed into Command Seals, she too would notice as she felt them burn.

A Master and a Servant.

The harsh twang of a bowstring rang out as "something" streaked out from within the house, poised squarely at Rostam. Space seemed to bend around it as it flew at a speed that seemed patently ridiculous even by the standards of a Servant; as if it was made of light, the travel time between the arrow being released and it reaching Rostam was so minute that, even to a Servant, it may as well have been zero.

That single arrow sang as it sliced through the air, intent on taking Rostam's life.

@Beloss @Holy Grail

---

Almost immediately after having knelt, and before even having received an answer from his summoner, Rostam was suddenly aware of a hostile presence, followed shortly by the music of a bowstring. Faster than it had any right to, an arrow darted from the shadows of the nearby dwelling he had emerged next to. Experienced archer as he was, he was able to follow the missile with his eyes, but its speed was to great to react to otherwise. Besides, dodging or deflecting arrows had never been his style. Instead he used his miniscule window of time to brace himself, confidant in the protection which his heavy armor and Noble Phantasm provided him. To injure him, the dart would have to penetrate both.

At the same time he began to scan the shadows, looking for his first assailant, his arm outstretched as the enormous mace of Sam materialized in his hand...

---

---

"I ask of you, are you my Master?"

Alex took a few quick steps back from the Servant who has appeared so suddenly in the midst of his circle. His cigaret would have fallen out of his mouth had he not been forced to set it aside for the sake of chanting the ritual.

Nevertheless he made a quick reply to the Servants question. of "Yeah. I summoned you, I am your Master."

It was an instinct which most Magi who dabbled with inhuman creatures were wise to cultivate, and though he he was no specialist in that sort of thing, he had, over time developed it as well. If a contracted creature asks you if you're in charge, you say yes, and you say it quickly.

The man who he had called up had a fair enough complexion, one he would have sneered at ordinarily, but it was mixed with something that prevented it.

Well, he seems a likely enough fellow, he thought to himself.

"So... you're here then. It took you long enough to show up didn't it?" Alex indicated the numerous stains of paint and other dangerous fluids which had flecked his clothes, showing proof of the long hours he had committed to the task of bringing the stranger here.

He leaned against a low chair that littered the galley watching his new guest and business partner like a hawk.

"But make yourself at home I suppose." He said gesturing to their surroundings. Aside from the strange tanks full of slimy, quietly slithering things the galley they were now in looked as if it could use a few good years of repair and housekeeping. A dusty unkempt floor, rusted piping covering the walls and all around cracked chipping paint and stained metal.

"I have already invited in you aboard in a sense, so that's done. But, if you don't mind, I would like to know who you are. It's a strange situation. I usually like to know before I have someone aboard and standing in the middle of my workshop."

---

@Holy Grail @Cu Chulainn @Moonlit Sonata

...foolish. All too foolish.

Yes, there was no doubt that, among the Servants of this Holy Grail War, in terms of physical offense and defense, Rostam was superb. No doubt, he was secure in that notion, and rightly so. However, in this instance his actions could only be called overconfident.

Yes, that monstrous arrow's speed meant reacting to it would be difficult, but at the very least an effort to dodge or deflect it would have been enough to mitigate the force behind it; namely, with the strength that Rostam boasted, it would be reasonable to think that even a hasty attempt to deflect the arrow would at least make it a notably lesser threat. Instead, though, he had simply chosen to rely on his physical defenses, allowing that arrow to strike him at full force.

Unfortunately, if Rostam stood at the peak of Heroic Spirits in terms of physical capacity, then the enemy Servant stood at the peak in the art of the bow.

As if that absurd defense worthy of the title "Noble Phantasm" did not exist, the arrow struck Rostam and bored a hole through. Piercing the great Servant's midsection, the sheer force behind the arrow was something that seemed to be utterly impossible. No...even if his mace and that arrow had collided at full force, something told him that the arrow would have, inexplicably, come out as the victor. If one were to convert its strength to the standard scale, then it could be said to have left the realm of that very scale; in other words, such codifiers as "an A rank blow" had become irrelevant.

Was this the result of a Noble Phantasm? There certainly hadn't been the release of a true name, but perhaps the enemy Servant passively possessed such a thing, or perhaps it was an innate capacity that defied logic. Regardless of the cause, that blow which could be granted the moniker of "EX" struck Rostam, barely slowed down by the obstruction of his Noble Phantasm.

This is a death sentence. Even with Rostam's level of constitution, this lone arrow is enough to bring him to an early grave. Or at least it would have been, were it not for that simple capacity of the Rider's to endure in spite of possessing fatal injuries. And yet, even that would fail him were another such blow from the unknown assailant to come down.

However, that attack did not seem to come. The enemy Servant and Master were still nearby, likely watching from within the layers of protection that the Bounded Fields surrounding the abandoned manor afforded them, and yet they did not seem to wish to pursue another attack. Was it because they simply did not intend on killing Rostam, or was it because that lone arrow was something with a proportional cost, leaving them unable to act for the time being?

Regardless, with an injury that should have been fatal were it not for Rostam's own abilities, and indeed that would become fatal were it not healed before reaching such a state, a new crossroads was now present before the Master and Servant. To advance forwards with a Servant who could no longer fight, or to fall back in the face of the enemy.

@Beloss @Holy Grail

In the dusty basement, a blue-robed man opened his eyes, rising from his kneeling stance as knowledge filled his mind. Knowledge of the era he was in, of the conflict he was slated to participate in, and of what his assigned role was...Servant Assassin?! Why? This was absurd. There had only been one instance in his life and legend where he attempted to be a stealthy killer, and he'd failed miserably.

The Servant knew instinctually that he had been summoned in the Class least suited to himself. If he had been summoned as Rider or Saber, the situation would be different, but the Noble Phantasm he had incarnated with...no, he could make do with this. There was no point in lamenting over a circumstance he could not control. He would simply have to accept it and use what was available to him. For his wish. For the land governed by reason and truth that his successors had utterly failed to achieve.

His land, the land now known as China, had undergone centuries of the same cycle of golden ages and eras of chaos. The world may have advanced, but people remained emotional, illogical, and fallible. The people had not changed. And they never would with incompetent men appointed to guide them.

This was why he had entered this War. To achieve the same dream that he'd had from the beginning.

"Servant Assassin." The man uttered in a rich baritone. "Are you the man who is to be my Master?"

A look of slight surprise washed over the servants face before rose his head and let out a laugh at the question, lowering his head afterwards with a smile.

"I'm sorry, I am just surprised that you have managed summoned me without nothing as simple as an idea for who or what you wanted." The man nodded, slowly, before looking back up to his Master.

"And lucky for you, due to the circumstances of how I was summoned, I will not take being summoned on a vessel such as this as a mere insult..."

The Servant raised his head, gesturing towards himself with one hand, and resting his other arm onto his hip.

"I am a Heroic Spirit of the Archer class. As for my true name, I'm afraid I will have to withhold that information until I am sure our location is secured. I can assure you, however, that you have summoned one of the most cunning servants of them all."

Archer had begun to look over his Master, again, with a judging gaze, placing a hand on his chin, and making various hm sounds.

"I have learned in my time that you can tell alot from a man by how he presents himself, but I have also learned that there are many things that may lie beneath the surface of a man..."

"So tell me, my Master, who exactly are you, and what would make you worthy of being my master?"

@Beloss

A purple-clad foot collided with the edge of the hotel room bed as it swung into place, sending a pained shudder through its owner's small body, one of his crutches looking as if it were about to lose balance, only to regain it at the last second. His pale hands gripped onto the leather sealed pouch as he threatened to fall, the powdery grey contents dusting out into the air a little as he did an odd shuffle to refind his footing. Singular.

"Ah... ow."

Lord Cartisius did not have the poise of a Lord. In part because of his absent limb- which could potentially be fixed with something like a puppet leg, something which has yet to happen,- in part because of his personality. Still, he was a growing and competent magus in his own right despite that, and it was that fact he hoped to use to see himself through the war. He had questions, ones which he had not found answers to back home in Europe, not with the friends of his family nor the Professors at the Clocktower. There was a void in knowledge, one which he needed to fill.

The (Supposedly) Omnipotent Wish-granting Device could provide him with the means to fill that void of knowledge. A simple request for knowledge would undoubtedly be easy for something which is presented as omnipotent. If only he thought it to be so easy; there were two 'Holy Grail Wars' prior to the one he was participating in, and the result of these seemed to not yield and notable result - not that he would be able to tell immediately, given the nature of omnipotence - but there would be a record of something, somewhere. Stirner Cartisius did not believe the Grail could grant him his wish, and as such his goal was twofold, to make this hopeful venture more 'worth it' in his eyes.

He did not desire power, or to change the world. He just wanted to know if the system set up by the families actually worked as intended. If he survived to the end, and indeed got to observe the results of his own wish, he would make note of it. He had left quite the trail of his own research into the void of knowledge, so the sudden influx of knowledge would indeed be evidence of sorts for the Grail System.

The research of his mother was largely an enigma to most, even the 'allies' of their family and those she spent time under in her youth. All he had to go off of was the result of her experiments, her and his leg vanishing, along with the room she was conducting the experiment in. Spacial transport maybe? Different worlds? It wasn't out of the realms of possibility, but recreating it in any safe manner had not yielded any good results, or even a result at all.

Stirner frowned as his thoughts dwelled on the failure of his mother. It had made life... harder, to say the least. It was a great shame for the life's work of a magus to backfire as violently as it had on his mother, and for it to also damage her heir in the process was nothing short of an idiotic oversight - hubris. Where the Cartisius family was generally viewed in a favorable light by the community at large, there was something of a funny stain on them now.

He hated thinking about life in such a way. Being a political animal, moving as if alliances and fake friendships were the way of the world, but it was expected of him as the head of his family. He wanted a life of researched above all else, the joy of turning the pages of a new academic piece was among the highest for him. Talking about such matters, the exchange of ideas, came second. Formulating new ideas from the collision of individual truths and findings came third.

To be a magus was not that. Sometimes it could be, but the rest of the time it was like dancing on a knifes edge, and his mother had slipped and cut him in the process.

Stirner leaned on his left crutch, allowing the second to become a bit loose under his right arm as he reached into the pouch. On the floor before him was the summoning circle he had been working on for some time - the difficulty in setting it up was mostly a result of how hard it was to move around the hotel room without messing it up. The final touches, marble dust.

At the center of the circle was a simple piece of faded, old paper. On it was a handwritten proclamation by a particularly eccentric fellow from the 1800s. It... was something of a phone in vector through which to summon a Servant, the only thing he could readily afford with what money his family had. He actually found it on one of the 'website' things, one where people bid as if they were at an auction house, only thousands of miles away from one another. There were no other bidders, despite the pieces claims of authenticity and import to a character who called himself an Emperor.

Stirner knew all too well that such claims were dubious and a tad ridiculous, and he may have been better off simply letting the System decide on a Servant for him, but that would not do. That made the matter a random variable, one he had no control over. However, like this he could do something. He could alter a line, and in full knowledge know that his Servant will be altered.

Maybe the Servant in question was mad in life, and he counted on it. Hopefully he would lend himself to the class which would be good for the both of them. He would not be summoning a great legend like King Arthur, Herakles or Houyi, but a man of folklore. In a way it was appropriate for his status, as he was no great family head, not a great name at the Clocktower. He was just a boy.

And so the boy spoke. He spoke the incantation which was tradition among the participants of the War, and he spoke the altering words - the words of the Berserker. Light filled the small, two bed room, the blue-tint of the summoning magics overriding the lighting of the bulbs and momentarily blinding the one-legged magus, his crutch falling to the ground as he covered his eyes, teeth grit in uncertainty. While he doubted himself and his purpose in being in Japan, he knew one thing;

The next two weeks would be dangerous.

He could only hope to be as dangerous as the war required him to be.

---

The King once again allowed silence to rest between them, an intentional move, a subtle test of character. Indeed, Ernest had done himself a service by first reffering to him as the King of Babylonia, and showing acceptable levels of respect. Enough to forgive him his summoning, and enough to allow him something to ease his spirits. Although in his haste to summon an entity worth its salt, he had foolishly failed to specify a class, he none the less was happy with the form he was given.

"Pleasantries can be disposed between a King and their friend when in private, Ernest. These puppets hardly seem to count as actual life," He inclined his head to the kneeling thralls. "You have a disposition not dissimilar from my closest advisor and friend in ages past. Terah called me Nimr. You may call me the same. Not Nee-murh, that is a failure of the tongue. Nimr, roll of the tongue, purr like a cat - as it only appropriate for the word 'Panther'." He took on a calm, relaxed tone as he spoke, rolling his shoulders with an experimental intent, looking down at his bare body. He was stark naked, nothing covered on his sculpted body. It was not too surprising for him to be summoned in such a way. He snorted in amusement at his own lack of clothing, finding some sort of humor in it.

"You have summoned me as the Lancer. At your command, I can be garbed in that which grants me authority over beasts. At your command, I can call upon my greatest weapon. Naturally, I need not listen, but consider this an offering of good faith, 'Master'! Tell me our first course of action, and I shall listen. How often I listen shall be based on the merit of your ideas - and I will be kind enough to offer my own advice to you. For example, I appear to be in need of clothes." He gesutred down to his body, smirking all the while. He was proud of his form, and he made no effort to hide it from the sickly man. "May I recommend what is considered the 'finest' in this era? Nothing gaudy, mind you."

He was one of those Servants. The truly unwieldy ones with an immense amount of self-determination. Such was not ideal to some, but to others it could be a great benefit - even if they do not realize it. A Servant capable of putting up a fight against the will of their Master forced different perspectives to be considered, but as to if those perspectives were helpful would be a different matter.

Hopefully Nimrod would be the helpful sort.

---

@DrowsyPangolin @Berserk Gene

Hisoka was taken slightly aback by the class of the summoned Servant. He had began to think of the possibilities that had lead to such a result. Regardless, however, whatever emotions he felt on the inside, it's as if he didn't care to show them outwardly. He looked over to the Servant, giving a short nod.

"Yes, I am indeed your Master." Hisoka had said, speaking in Mandarin, before giving a bow. "Matsunaga Hisoka."

"We will have to keep our voice down. I'm not too sure if I had been followed here, and I didn't have the time to create any bounded fields or other means of securing our position, yet." Hisoka mentioned, as he looked around the basement they were in.

"I didn't intend to summon you as Assassin, but now that you are here, and we can't change what's already done, I'm going to need you to use your Presence Concealment to scout the perimeter for any Masters, Servants, or at least Familiars."

Hisoka had began to ready a bounded field that will allow him to better control mana while within the vicinity of his estate. Before he could start to work on more spells, he had to make certain he had a steady supply of mana for both himself and his Servant.

@Psyker Landshark

Berserker Totally-Saber Emperor Norton

But let thy eyes be clouded by chaos.
Thou who art trapped in a cage of madness...

█̡̡̀͘▇̵͞҉̕͢▇̶̡▉̵͡͡͞▃́̕͟͝͠▉̨͏̷̷̡▉̨͏̷̷̡▉̨͏̷̷̡▉̨͏̷̷̡▉̨͏̷̷̡ ▇̶̡▉̵͡͡͞!!!

Such is what could have been expected to be heard. The standard greeting/confirmation was meaningless to the Berserker class, and no Master of previous Grail Wars had provided records of chatting pleasantly with a Berserker, to say the least.

_{"What dismal wheeze of a walking stick is this?"}

Sleek with muscle and heroic sinew telling of hard-fought conquests and victories, shining with otherworldly power and grace...that was not what Lord Stirner had summoned. As the light of summoning a Heroic Spirit into a Servant container, a miracle in and of itself, faded, there was a somewhat portly gentleman with an 1800s Navy uniform, an umbrella in one hand, a peacock feather tucked into his top hat, and a truly rich set of facial hair.

A mustache brimming with vigor! A beard that spoke of...of... the Servant had already picked up his Master's crutch, and was curiously turning it over in his hands with a frown. Stroking his beard, the man scrutinized the crutch, poking it a few times, then shaking it as if expecting it to suddenly reveal some secret majesty. Then his eyes lit up, the completely mistaken brilliant Emperor's insight cluing him to the- oh no nevermind, he'd snapped it into three pieces. One stayed in each hand, while the third whirled through the air, bonked off the ceiling, and landed on the bed.

...

"Sorry, lad! That was yours, wasn't it? I've gone and broke the silly thing. Not as sturdy as they used to make them, are they? Here!" It was only fair he provide suitable replacement until something more fitting could be used, so the even-minded Emperor didn't hesitate to offer his umbrella, which his Master's sight could probably recognize as linked to his Noble Phantasm. "Oh, yes, proceedings! Servant..." The portly gentleman patted himself down as if trying to remember where he'd put his keys, before his eyes zeroed in on his umbrella, knowing of the sword it concealed. "Saber! Emperor of the United States, Norton the First!" He wasn't trying to deceive his Master, which would be pointless anyway, but since the Emperor was clearly perfectly sane just then as he was in life, he couldn't possibly be Berserker, right? Thus, since he had kind-of-a-sword, that made him Saber! Flawless logic.

"Are you my Master, lad?"

"Yes, i am your master-" Lorelei had said, barely having the words leave her mouth to confirm their contract as master and servant, before the immediate burn of her newly-formed Command Seals stopped her in her tracks.

There was someone here, who had apparently taken the time to wait for her to summon before attacking. It was the worst-case scenario she had hoped to avoid by getting here early and summoning before anyone else perhaps came to this area. But why had they not attacked her before? Why had they not stopped her from summoning, and why had they not attacked her instead of her servant? Surely killing her would easily remove the competition from this conflict, especially if she was attacked before summoning a servant. Though at this point in time, it was really not in her or her servant's best interests to stick around here any longer. As such action was needed.

The moment she had felt her Command Seals burn, she instinctively begun uttering a Ten-Count Healing Spell aimed at her servant specifically. Perhaps it was that she felt confident he would dive in front of her if she was the one being targeted. Perhaps it was because she felt he would be the target if an enemy had waited so long to attack them. Whatever the case really was, as her servant was visibly impaled through his center of mass by the seemingly faster-than-light attack, Lorelei continued to chant the Ten-Count spell as best as she could. She was going to pull out the best of her healing spells for this, as holding back at such a venture as this was not something she could afford to do in regards to her servant. The damage was abysmal looking, and if she lost her servant this early into thing it would only serve to force her out of them unless she could get another servant.

She was also not too sure how these enemies would feel if she tried to summon another servant as well, albeit she wouldn't do so here if it came down to that.

Eventually, however, the homunculus would finish casting the Ten-Count spell onto her servant, with Lorelei herself being thankful for the thirty second cast time as compared to the one minute it would have taken for others. Visibly she could begin to see the spell shimmer over her servant's body, and it would immediately begin knitting up the damage to Rostam's physical form and body the moment she had finished casting it really. The spell would last for a while, thirty minutes, though the female homunculus was not too sure if her servant could move right now so they could get away to heal after what had just happened.

"I wish to give no disrespect," Lorelei said to her servant after finishing casting her spell over his body, her eyes darting around the windows and other areas of the abandoned house to see where the attack could have come from, "But it seems we need to retreat back into the nearby forest for now. I have cast a healing spell on you, but if we are attacked again i do not know if my magecraft can keep up with the damage."

It was safe to say this event had caught her off-guard, even despite her having come here knowing the risks. However, at least her summoned servant seemed to be hardy enough to survive a brutal attack like this that seemed to pierce through all and deal absurd damage in just one blow. Not true name had been called out, however, so unless this was the result of some passive Noble Phantasm this enemy was likely not using their best attack on them. To retreat for now would be paramount to their survival as master and servant, and Lorelei hoped that her suggestion to retreat for now would not be offensive to her servant. If nothing else, she hoped the tactic would make logical sense enough to them that they could get out of here without the use of a Command Seal. After all, she was unsure as to if she had summoned as stubborn servant or not at this venture, though his initial kneeling before her was a good sign to the homunculus if nothing else...

@Beloss@Moonlit Sonata

Ernest nodded. Apparently his initial greeting had been satisfactory. “Very well, I shall call you Nimr then.” The magus took exceptional care to pronounce the name correctly, as mispronunciation seemed to be one of his Servant's pet peeves. Nimrod's comment regarding the Thralls got another nod out of Ernest, who clicked his tongue in a disapproving manner. “Yes, I'm afraid you're correct in that aspect. These Thralls are pale imitations of actual life. Still...” He tapped his cane on the floor of the basement, leading both Thralls to rise. “I manage to get a fair amount of use from them.” He glanced toward one of the Thralls disapprovingly. Nimrod's observation had actually struck rather close to the root of Ernest's current predicament. He could raise the dead, but he couldn't give them life... though that hadn't stopped him from trying. Still, if the Grail could truly grant any wish, then there was a chance.

Lancer. Excellent. The class seemed to fit Nimrod quite well. “Lancer. Good. If it please you, I shall refer to you by that title when we are in the presence of our enemies, so as not to reveal your identity.” 'Nimr' was less likely to let the secret out than 'Nimrod', but there was always the chance that one of the other Masters was particularly scholarly. Lancer was the safer bet. Ernest kept up his characteristic nodding as Nimrod spoke. Two Noble Phantasms. Very good. As Nimrod took note of his current state of undress, Ernest tapped his cane, leading one of the Thralls to rush upstairs. “Ah yes, of course. I will send these two to purchase clothing for you... though sizing might be a bit difficult...” The Thrall returned with what seemed to be a completely ordinary notebook and pen. Ernest scribbled on the page, occasionally looking back toward Nimrod, then scribbling some more. “Right, then.” He tore the page from the book and handed it to the Thrall. He then placed his hand on the construct's head and began muttering something in French. The creature froze for a moment and then rushed up the steps, followed shortly thereafter by its companion. That chore out of the way, Ernest turned back to Nimrod.

“I've sent them to procure you a suit. I can assure you it will be of the highest quality. In the meantime, though, you may gird yourself with one of those sheets, if you wish.” Ernest pointed toward a shelf in the corner of the room upon which rested several folded sheets. “I apologize for not having something prepared beforehand, but there are no records of your measurements in the legends.” That might have qualified as a joke. Ernest turned and began walking toward the far wall of the abnormally large basement. “As for our first course of action... I believe we should familiarize ourselves with this city, our battlefield.” He motioned toward a large map that had been very recently pinned to the wall of the basement. “This is a map of Fuyuki. We are currently here.” He pointed his cane toward their current position in the eastern section of the city. “You may notice that there is a cemetery nearby. That is somewhat... we'll say 'beneficial' to my purposes.” Ernest tapped the location of each fallen leyline with the tip of his cane. “The other Masters are likely to be around those locations, though some of them surely know better.” Ernest looked toward Nimrod. “It is my guess that all of the Servants will have been summoned by the end of the day.”

@Player 2

Alice de Arcobaleno.

---

Humming to herself, she straightened one of the dolls on the shelves, meticulously going over their appearance to make sure nothing was out of place.

It had been a hassle trying to gain a good place to stay here in Fuyuki, especially considering she wanted a house without anyone around. After some negotiations, she manage to buy off an old house somewhere in the eastern fields, and then had it renovated before she arrived. It seemed like a good choice at the time; it was isolated enough for her privacy, but was also public enough that it didn't immediately stand out from the other houses. It was easy to find your headquarters if your headquarters was a castle in the middle of nowhere after all. Then again, some bounded fields and a large expanse of 'nowhere' worked as a deterrence as well, which could be effective at hiding your castle from discovery.

The house she bought was a simple two storey house, with a large basement cluttered with the junk of their previous owners. As of now, it was still sparsely furnished, with barely anything in defensive measures save the rudimentary bounded field she had managed to put up to ensure a scene of normalcy from outside. Just enough for her to prepare for the summoning. Alice had already given gifts to her neighbors and suffered through some trivial pleasantries with them, thus there was little chance anyone would come to disturb her.

After ensuring all the doors were locked, she descended into the basement, where a half finished magic circle awaited her.

A chance, finally, to achieve her dreams. A chance, to regain some of her family's lost glory. A chance, to finally perfect her art. Even if this was just some small ritual in some backwater town, her curiosity and the prospect of furthering and measuring her arts against others was too much to resist.

Finishing the circle, she stood back and admired her work for a moment, before starting on the chant. With every word she spoke, the circle started to glow, and then stronger and stronger. A sense of joy and anticipation started to well up from her bosom, her words starting to gain more and more emotion as the feeling grew.

"If you will submit to this will and this reason... then answer!"

(Southern Miyama, Riverside Cottage)

The new homeowner walked aimlessly through the corridors, taking note of the house for the umpteenth time that day. It was, he mused, far from an ideal location, but it was also far from a terrible one. A few other houses dotted the landscape here and there, but it was far more isolated than any apartment or hotel suite he would have managed to acquire within the confines of the city – just how he preferred it, thankfully enough.

It was not the first time he had made such observations that day – his heartbeat quickened as he chanced a glance in the direction of the staircase that led to the attic and the thought of what lay within. A strange mix of excitement, agitation and perhaps just that bit of giddiness swirled within his breast, and he took one moment to got to the bathroom and splash cold wáter on his face. Breathing out, he looked towards the face staring back at him from the mirror.

Sandy blond hair fell down past his ears, some particularly messy strands clinging to his face. Brown eyes stared from their sockets, bags of tiredness under them as he muttered some choice words about the backwater the Ritual took place in. His usual jacket had been discarded, leaving him with only a white shirt with the sleeves pulled up to his forearms, hands stained red. Hardly an image befitting the heir of a family like his own, but he supposed it was fine so long as nobody else caught a glimpse of it. Without delay, he endeavored to wash the crimson off his hands before combing his hair in an attempt to make himself look more respectable, deciding to pick his usual ensemble before going through with his task.

Dress shoes, slacks, white shirt and a jacket to go along with it. They would not do much for his tired features, but he supposed it was the best he could do considering the circumstances.

First meetings, after all, were everything. It would not do to appear as some sort of vagabond, he mused as he straightened his appearance, nor would it do to give the impression of an overeager puppy, was the thought as he calmed himself and schooled his features.

Nonetheless, as he glanced towards the object he had managed to gain as catalyst for his summon in satisfaction. It was a helmet – or rather, the remains of one, battered by the wear of both battle and years – which had once belonged to one of this land’s most famous heroes. Though he would be the first to admit that his first choices would have laid with some closer to his home (heart), the fact remained that he was here to win.

And that meant ruling himself through logic rather than letting childish admiration make his choices for him.

Picking it up from its resting place on his table, he climbed upstairs with a certainty that, should he be honest with himself, he did not truly feel. Nonetheless, he had commited himself to this course of action, and he would see it through to the very end.

Opening the door to the attic, he saw the fruits of his earlier labor during the day, the summoning circle, drawn in blood, perfect down to the smallest detail. He had already disposed of the animal carcasses, so with as much care as he was able to, he placed the relic before it and then stepped back, eyes flashing to check if the blinders were correctly closed.

He observed the setup for a moment, trying to discern if he had made a mistake somewhere, but there was none.

“…Ah, well. Let us stop dawdling. There is a task at hand.”

Lifting his left hand up, palm facing the circle, he began his chant.



He could feel it, the slight shift in the air as the words left his mouth, but he closed himself off to all distractions and continued on with the incantation.



His was not a wish borne of selflessness, but neither was it a destructive one borne of hatred. His was simply the desire of a man to leave a definite mark, the desire to advance his family and the desire to gain recognition.
Just another small, selfish wish.



But is it so bad to be selfish? Such is human nature. If anything, it is true selflessness what is unattainable, like a distant, impossible dream.
And so, for the sake of his selfish desires, for his own sake and no one else’s, he will participate in this War for the Holy Grail.



The circle, which had steadily become brighter with each spoken line, with each syllable leaving the magus’ mouth, suddenly released it all in a single, dazzling flash.

@Ijoyen