Yuri Fyodorovich Romanyuk, Team Black Provisional Base, Inside
With a quick shifting of metals, the entrance to the Black Team’s Provisional Base, hardly a shabby existence for a team taking on another with the resources of an entire nation behind them. Perhaps that could be considered their position as the underdogs in this war; an existence that hardly had the logistical ability to permit such grandeur presentations such as a bierhall feast, but that was simply the nature of their mission, and they had chosen to sign up for this.
Not that someone like Yuri would know any of this. Or would have signed up willingly for this without some sort of profit. But having been thrown into something he could not comprehend, it was not as if he could simply give up what he had been given.
Perhaps to the white-haired man, the person to enter was not listed in any of the documents he held on his person. It would have been impossible for anyone to grasp the entrance to this war. A person who had no reason to be here, yet seemed rather confident about being in this run-down factory, as if he knew this meeting was to take place. And with the entrance of this man of Slavic origins, clearly drunk despite night being a while away and the first glimpse of twilight filled the air.
“I’ll be damned, I guess this place did exist” his rather gruff, demanding of those who heard it. Regardless of his rather odd presence, his stumbling posture, and his somewhat slurred speech, he seemed to exude an energy that seemed to state he “belonged” here. He knew “something” was supposed to happen in this room.
While he was out of place, most of the other magi not having clear liquor stains on their dress, it appeared he did not show up as an antagonist to the Black Team. He seemed like no mage; at the very least he did not seem like the sort of person the association would send to fight against the Germans and their allies.
*record scratch*
*freeze frame*Perhaps you were wondering why this man had appeared in place of the regularly scheduled clocktower lord? Well, let me start from the beginning.
Yuri Fyodorovich Romanyuk, Wolfhausen Pub, Bar (Earlier in the Morning)
It happened to be a rather standard day for someone in Yuri’s profession. After all, while he was a vagrant by all stretches of the imagination, this was by choice rather than circumstances. And for people in his profession … a “trafficker” of sorts. That was just a fancy way of saying “smuggler” of course, or at times even “thief”, but his current job seemed less complex than that.
According to the information he received on his client, Yuri knew him as some big-shot English nobleman and politician who claimed: “saving the world” and other such nonsense that Yuri didn’t care too much about. The good appeared to have been some sort of relic, perhaps wishing to donate it to a museum in a show of good faith, or more likely, a collector who would rather be seen dead than give up any amount of his possessions to those who needed it more.
A typical nobleman.
But this supposed image of the man was all in Yuri’s approaching drunken, or perhaps well past that point, head. All Yuri knew was that the man was several hours late from their predetermined meeting location and Yuri would be billing him for all the alcohol he had consumed already.
Suddenly, as if out of nowhere and appearing from thin air. A younger man than what Yuri first suspected him to be, he appeared to be a student hardly in his twenties rather than some sort of snobby, top hat wearing, dapper sort of nobleman he had expected. The more shabby clothing the man wore, meager compared to the idea that had been brought into Yuri’s fantasy seemed almost comical in retrospect.
“Greeting,” The man said to Yuri. He could hear this man rather clearly, but his voice never escaped more than a whisper. Perhaps the deal he was given was, in fact, shady like his previous dealings, but Yuri braved through those without too much hiccups. However, the man seemed to open up (in Yuri’s eyes) when he ordered two drinks for both himself and his courier.
“Don’t worry, my treat,” he said.
A sound as sweet as the autumn breeze. To someone who lived and drowned their regrets in the bottle, to get something without charge was clearly a change of pace.
“Do you have the delicate … thing ... I asked you to procure?”
Yuri thought that though he was the courier, he didn’t really know what it was that he was asked to bring. It was not his business snooping in other people’s personal purchases, and it wasn’t as if knowing whether it was stolen art or opioids or something.
“I suppose. Don’t really know what this … ‘thing’ would be, but I was given this package to give to you, Mr. Fairchild,” Yuri said, reading what it said was his name on the box.
“Please, call me Jeremiah,” he responded, taking a drink of the ale he had ordered in unison with Yuri.
“Don’t worry. Don’t worry. We are all friends here. I’d surely pay for a friend’s drink, no?” Jeremiah said, as he began to move towards where the barkeep was, spoke a few words to him, seemed to slip him a note of sorts, and the two nodded.
“See? No worries about that, you hear.”
And with that, the nobleman left, seemingly satisfied enough to pay for a few rounds of drinks he had not been a part of. So in the end, Yuri really ended up the winner. A light smile appeared on his face. Normally Yuri’s clients ended up being complete assholes that he would rather wish for another great war than run through hoops listening to their whims, but a quick, curious meeting was always preferable to one that ended in strife.
At least, that is what Yuri thought for but a few moments, before the bartender walked up and asked if he was ready to pay his tab.
“I was sure my friend was going to pay, no?”
“Well, your friend said you were going to pay since you owed him for that. He also said to give you this paper.”
As Yuri unraveled it, it simply said the following phrase that brought him into a near-frenzy that he almost thought he heard that smug Englishman’s laugh in his hysteria-driven insanity, storming out of the bar and refusing to pay the barkeep. Not that he was going to frequent this place anymore. He wanted out of Germany anyway, the strange looks his Slavic appearance seemed to get him on the street was something he wished to avoid anyway.
“Thanks for the Drink,” in plane letters was all that was written on the paper.
Normally, it would not be personal. But this - this was personal to the former Cossack. It would have to be a do, or die. And he was willing to bet he knew who would be doing which rolls.
With some “investigation”, also known as punching enough people and making them tell Yuri if they had heard or seen anything about a Jeremiah Fairchild, and eventually someone said he was in a nearby hotel. However, the amount of time it took to find this clue and the subsequent hotel took until the next twilight, the morning air warming compared to the nightly breeze, dew setting itself upon the land.
On the way there, Yuri began fantasizing about how he was going to mess that pretty boy's face so much that he’d better have money because no one will ever love him with that sort of face, but something strange had occurred when he had picked the lock to the door Jeremiah was supposed to be, but what he found was strange.
Perhaps if he had noticed it at first, he wouldn’t have lunged forward with his fist, bashing the back of this trickster’s head, a bit of his blood splashing the strange, glowing circle upon the floor. Jeremiah might have wished for a simple summoning, But that isn’t what had occurred, and the appearance of the Command Seals upon the hand of Yuri might have confirmed that if there was any attention placed upon this fact. But there was something that Jeremiah was attempting to pull out from his possession. Something that from Yuri’s various degrees of fighting in bars and other dubious situations.
A weapon.
A knife.
There was no way that
And suddenly, a flash of light appeared.
A great flash of power that metaphorically blew Yuri away as he shielded his eyes from the flash. Or at least, he would have, had he not been in a tussle with Mr. Fairchild. In the event it were to be a fair fight, and had Mr. Fairchild decided to perhaps notice the Slavic man enter the premise, but he had decided to summon his Servant before setting up a bounded field in his hurry to see if he could capture the Servant he desired with the piece of the roundtable as his catalyst.
The Knight of the Sun, Gawain, would be his first selected Servant. A magnificent Servant whose legend equated him to the mighty Lancelot in terms of combat.
A massive man stood in the center of the room, appearing, in Yuri’s lack-thereof knowledge of Magecraft, out of nothing. A beast who from Yuri’s perspective dwarfed all others. Not because of his height, though he was a rather large man, even taller than Yuri who reached around 185 cm, but rather because of a “feeling” that he comprehended. As if a sixth sense, he knew this man was something above what should be possible of a person.
He would have to fight against this new challenger as he came, as currently, he was fighting for his life as to prevent the dagger from being unsheathed, but the destruction of the man had allowed Yuri’s judgment to lax and to allow Jeremiah to get into his coat pocket and properly grasp the knife there. And Yuri understood it might be a bit more dangerous to follow through with his revenge plan than he had originally thought.
He expected the blood. He expected him to perhaps place the knife against his skin and flay it,
.But this did not occur.
Instead, he felt a gust of wind, and as he looked back up, he noticed that the strange, tall man who had appeared out of nowhere lifted Jeremiah by the neck and proceeded to pry the item out of his hands.
… Was he not on Jeremiah's side? At first sight of the second person and the knife, Yuri felt it would be hard to get out of this hotel alive. A suicidal, stupid action that would cause him to be found in the river a few weeks down the road, but this wasn’t the case.
The sly nobleman Jeremiah was squirming and attempting to break his grip It was impossible in Yuri’s eyes. He had just fought against this person to a standstill in his rather rough close-quarters combat, and though Yuri had not utilized “that” ability, the two were struggling to outmaneuver each other or overpower one another until his lul of judgment for the moment of his awe over the larger man.
The strange giant took the dagger in his hand and began to contemplate for but a moment, before focusing his attention on the man in his hand, as if he had forgotten he was struggling there until his sounds of struggle reached his ears.
“This isn’t yours, is it? I know this blade. I’ve seen it several times before, though I always thought it was a bit less dull.” The man said, walking towards the curtained window in a long, methodical stride. The sun was now sitting in the sky, and the morning was in full swing compared to the embers of morning seen by Yuri as he first learned of this hotel as Escanor saw whilst he opened the curtains of the window.
He stood looking out the window as if contemplating. The same sort of face a scholar makes as they study their discipline. The sort of concentration that can only come out of someone who was learning. Receiving his bearings, he gripped the dagger with all of his strength.
“Lugh Belenus: Authority of the Shining God!”Words that meant nothing to Yuri, but a bit of knowledge and recollection seemed to wash over Jeremiah's face.
Yuri couldn’t “see “ what was happening with Escanor. His physical appearance seemed to change, perhaps becoming, even more, intimidating in both height and body, But none of those mattered to what Yuri had “felt”. If his ability was a sense, then this would have felt as if he stood directly next to the sun, feeling a burn that he eventually became more accustomed to. But he still comprehended the magnitude that this “ability” trumped his simple redirection of energy; This was the creation of power.
And with that, Escanor “lightly” dropped the struggling Jeremiah to the floor, formerly struggling and now trying to catch his breath on his new position.
But Escanor also took a position. One of a runner, right before the kickoff. But instead of the gunshot denoting his run, the second he was brought back to his standing position, he tossed the knife that almost found itself in Yuri’s heart just prior.
It was like a jet.
It was like a comet.
It was like a bullet.
Perhaps more accurately a massive artillery stronger at propelling than even the Paris gun.
It was like watching a shooting star in reverse, entering the sky outside of something Yuri felt was able to return back to the earth.
“Maybe I overdid it a little bit,” Escanor said to seemingly no one but himself, holding his shoulder with his other hand. “No matter. I simply took it away from a thief, after all!”
Glass was on the floor. The side of the building had shattered off into the street, revealing himself to the world and having several morning goers look up at the giant man’s destruction and noise as if he was a terrorist of sorts whom of which had destroyed the side of the building. Perhaps in a few moments, the hotel staff, or perhaps the police, would be showing up.
“M-My dagger!? What did you do to it!!?” Jeremiah choked out, in awe, and his voice cracking in seemingly fear at the feat of the giant.
But for someone like Yuri, whom of which never felt such an incredible amount of what he never understood to be magical energy being exuded from his person. It was like being a man in front of a god. It was impossible. Yuri simply stood there, shaking. Perhaps it was the alcohol in most situations, but he felt almost sick at “sensing” that kind of magic being expelled.
No … that wasn’t just the feeling of a massive expense of mana. He looked to his hands, a burning sensation on the back of his hand causing great discomfort as a symbol had appeared on his hand as a sort of tribal tattoo that resembled the mane of a horse.
“I simply returned it back to the person who originally owned it! A mere man like you should not hold an object fit for a king! Wahahaha!”
A bellowed laugh escaped his mouth, shaking his arms in conjunction with each laugh that escaped his mouth.
“Ah I see, this is a Grail War isn’t it?” Escanor said “So one of you is my Master, aren’t you. So, which one is it,” the Giant asked the two men in the room, one of them dumbstruck and the other one seething with rage.
“You aren’t the person I tried to summon, I attempted to summon the noble knight Gawain. You are an imposter. A trickster who had defiled a duel. You are no Servant of mine. And with the order of my command spell, I command that you take your life!”
…
But nothing happened. Of course, nothing had happened. Mr. Fairchild was not the one to summon the Servant. Sure, he was the one to set up the ritual, but right as he attempted to summon the Servant Gawain, an “unseen” force had began to tussle with him, causing the ritual to instead be completed by the interrupter. Perhaps this was an act of God, or an act of change, but either way, it was unfortunate for Jeremiah, but he had no power in this situation.
And he was livid.
“So that must mean you are my Master, kid,” Escanor said to the dazed and confused Slavic man, not completely understanding what was going on, aside from the fact that he was perhaps an ally of this strange … “man” … of sorts.
But Jeremiah refused to accept this outcome. And rushed against the Slav with a larger sword as opposed to a knife in his hand. However, this action was quickly ended as Escanor flicked the Clocktower lord lightly, causing him to fly across the room and knock himself out on the wall as he collided.
“So Master, what is the plan?”
“I, uh, have no idea what you’re talking about. I know I drink, but this is a pretty trippy hallucination. No, it is impossible for this to be a hallucination. This is reality, isn’t it? I suppose we should leave before the police show up, You did just destroy half of a building, after all. I’m sure someone called the police by now. Maybe you would want to get a drink with me?”
And here we are today.
