GeneralConfused

Fate/Iliou Persis

Rider of Red - Cao Cao

Cao Cao turned as he was spoken to, raising an eye at his newfound companion. Berserker, was it? One of those..."Christians" at that, if his murmurings about God were to tell. What an odd belief system, but apparently it and those related to it comprised of the majority of world religion. How curious.

"Yes," He replied finally, nodding to the long-haired man. "There is always a risk of looking down from above, exposing yourself to all the world." Rider chuckled briefly. "Were I alive, I'd likely feel the need to relieve myself right over the edge, simply to amuse myself. Doing so atop cliffs always was good for a cheap laugh back in the day."

The idea of allying himself with an utter madman as the Berserker class dictated left a sour taste in Cao Cao's mouth, but Berserker seemed more or less...alright without the influence of Mad Enhancement. Rough around the edges and wild, certainly, but some of his greatest generals during his lifetime had been that way. Xu Chu, Dian Wei...

A frown passed briefly across Cao Cao's face before disappearing just as quickly as it came. There were more important matters at hand than wallowing over his mistakes. Such as understanding those he would fight alongside better. He was no unchallenged leader of this coalition. Not yet, at least. But he would play his part for now. Until his worth and suitability was recognized by the others.

"Tell me, Berserker." Rider finally spoke, turning to his fellow Servant. "What makes you a madman? Devotion to your God? The Grail imparted knowledge of your...Christianity, but I find that knowing is not the same as understanding. Your faith never reached my land during my lifetime, but from what I have gleaned, your heavens disapprove of violence and murder, yes? Why join this war?"

@Psyker Landshark

The big, lanky Servant in the shabby jacket eyed his compatriot sidelong for a moment. . . and then he snorted, shaking his head and making his heavy tail of hair sway against his shoulders. He had forgotten just how different his companions were. Even when they seemingly hand so much in common, things like this could just jump out and surprise him. He leaned forward and spat over the edge of the roof, tucking his hands into his pockets.

"If God hated war so much as folks say," Rockwell growled calmly, "He wouldn't a' done so much of it." He turned to face Cao Cao as he spoke. "The prophet said that if any nation, tongue, or people proclaim war against you, and refuse peace, then go to God and he will give you a commandment, and justify you in goin' to war against them."

He smiled; a happy, serene, entirely mad little grin, white teeth barely showing through the thickness of that long beard, eyes bright as burning coals. "These folks are tryin' to turn back the clock on God's plan, friend. Take us back to the age a' beasts and devils - and that's not to be borne. The Lord gave this world to his chosen people, an' no pack of misbegotten sorcerers will take it away. No, sir. God saw what was goin' on, and how the unrighteous were workin' against his holy purpose, and so y'see what he did? He asked the prophet to set things right, and Joe tapped me on the shoulder an' sent me back down here to settle accounts."

There was a moment's pause, and then Rockwell looked back over the city, towards the slowly-lowering sun. "But first," he said contemplatively, "I could do all kinds of murder to a steak. You comin'?"

Fate/Iliou Persis

Berserker of Red
_________________________________

There was already somebody on the roof, it seemed.

Rockwell paused just in the doorway for a moment, considering. The other spirit was off at the edge of the roof, looking out over the city - much like he had planned to, for that matter. That earned the man a point in Rockwell's book; you could never be too careful. Yes, his master had told him that nothing was likely to happen before nightfall on account of the need for secrecy, but there were a dozen ways to kill someone inside a building without breaking cover. An arrow, a bullet, hell, a bomb. After all, who would think to blame a bombing on wizards?

Rockwell stepped out onto the roof and walked up to the parapet, a few feet off to Cao Cao's left, tucked his hands in the pockets of his slacks and looked out over the city with a low grunt of acknowledgement - giving the other Servant some room. To anyone watching, there might have been an interesting comparison drawn between the two. A pair of men in suits, both bearded, both long-haired. One tall and massively-built in slightly-faded brown, his beard spilling down over his chest almost to the waist, hair raked back and tied efficiently into a long, wild tail, face shadowed by a wide-brimmed hat; the other cleaner-cut in a neat black three-piece.

After a long moment, Rockwell spoke.

"I don't like sittin' here," he said slowly, as if to the city below him. "Feels like I'm about to get shot." The mountaineer's eyes moved across the horizon, hunting for the mansion on the other side of town. "But then if these loons are trying to re-do the war, I suppose snipin' us out the first night wouldn't accomplish much, right?"

@Psyker Landshark

Fate/Iliou Persis

Late afternoon - the bright sun, the constant low roar of people and vehicles in the streets. The hotel's front door stood wide open, letting the cool fall air circulate freely through the lobby. Even with this much town between himself and the coast, Rockwell thought he seemed to smell a hint of ocean air. . . Oh, probably not. He was fooling himself, doubtless.

He'd snagged a small table and chair from the cafe next door and set them beside the entrance, the better to keep an eye on everyone going in and out while he smoked. His summoner was back in the hotel, hidden away in a room upstairs - which seemed a touch over-cautious when the fighting hadn't even really started yet, but Rockwell wasn't minded to criticize. It just meant he might have a freer hand.

He tipped his head back and blew a thick stream of smoke up to waft away into the clear blue sky, the weight of his tied-back hair swaying against the backrest. He'd get back up to the roof after this cigarette. As far as he knew it wasn't likely that anything would kick off until nightfall, but, well. A man could hope.

Fate/Iliou Persis

Berserker of Red

Class: Berserker

Team: Red

True Name: Orrin Porter Rockwell

Appearance:


Rockwell is a tall, powerfully-built man with long hair and a thick beard. He dresses in plain, old-fashioned suits, or in battered buckskins, and walks with a slight but noticeable limp because one leg is a little shorter than the other.

Sex: Male

Alignment: Lawful Neutral

Attribute: Man

History

If any person was ever born to be a Servant, it was Porter Rockwell. His whole life was spent in following Joseph Smith, the man he considered a prophet of God, and his chosen successors. As a child in New York Rockwell befriended Joseph Smith and from then until he died was the devoted servant of Smith and his church. Baptized at age sixteen in 1830, the youngest among the first group of converts, Rockwell followed Joseph Smith and the growing congregation as they moved across the country, and quickly his reputation grew. By the time the Mormons were expelled from Missouri in 1839 Porter Rockwell was already well-known among the members of the new Church as a powerful protector against the attacks of their jealous 'heathen' neighbors, and infamous among other settlers as the Mormon Assassin, a deadly and pitiless gunfighter. When he was imprisoned for a year and charged with the attempted murder of the governor of Missouri, Rockwell presented a blunt and simple defense, saying "I never shot at anybody - if I shoot, they get shot! He's alive, isn't he?". The grand jury was forced to concede the point and release him.

Alone, Rockwell trekked after the Mormon exodus, doggedly returning to the side of his friend and commander, Joseph Smith. Upon his arrival, emaciated and sick from the strenuous journey, the religious leader was so moved by Rockwell's unshakable faith that he rose and laid a prophecy upon him; as long as Porter Rockwell did not cut his hair, like Samson of old God would defend him from all weapons.

The rest of his life, Rockwell kept to that commandment, and he was thus defended. When Joseph Smith was martyred after sending him away and surrendering to the mob, Rockwell transferred his allegiance to his successor Brigham Young and led the Mormons to Utah. There he became a federal marshal and famous wilderness scout as well as personal bodyguard to the Prophet, a feared enforcer whose relentless pursuit terrified outlaws and apostates alike. It is unclear how many people Rockwell killed - some claim hundreds - but through many gunfights and ambushes he was never touched by bullet or blade, and when he died it was at home, in his bed, with his boots off.

Personality
Rockwell at ease is a boisterous, hard-drinking, rough around the edges frontiersman, always willing to join - or start - a party. Without the benefit of any formal education, he is extremely knowledgeable about certain fields - wilderness living, tracking, gold-mining, and other such topics on which he has personal experience - but is also quite innocent of many subjects, having had very little experience of the greater world in life. He is centered by an intense faith in God, as well as an unbreakable sense of loyalty; once Rockwell gives his word, he will never go back on it no matter the temptation. To anyone he considers a friend or an ally he is generous and willing to help at any time.

However, Porter Rockwell is also a pitiless murderer. He considers oathbreakers and apostates to be utterly contemptible, and will kill them without hesitation. As far as he is concerned, he and his Master are doing God's work; and therefore, of course, anyone who opposes him obviously deserves to die. Furthermore Rockwell never forgets an insult or a grudge, and will go out of his way to revenge himself for any such perceived slight.

Armaments

Rockwell wears no armor, relying entirely on his blessing to protect him from harm. He carries his most famous weapon on his belt - a five-shot Colt revolver, with the barrel cut down to make drawing it from its holster faster. He also possesses a heavy lever-action hunting rifle, a double-barrelled coach gun, and a long Bowie knife.

Parameters
Strength: B
Agility: C
Endurance: A+
Mana: E
Luck: C

Class Skills
Mad Enhancement: D
Rank-up Strength and Endurance, but reason is reduced. Communication is slow and difficult - but then, maybe that's just how Rockwell is?

Personal Skills

Robust Health - C
A large and powerful man of legendary endurance, Rockwell's body is tireless beyond human limits. END parameter is ranked up and attacks received have their damage reduced slightly.

Jacob's Limbs (False) - C
A powerful self-taught method of fighting, gained from sparring against one who possessed the true art. At it's core it is nothing but an instinctive understanding of the mechanics of wrestling and unarmed fighting, further enhanced by living close to and competing against a man with real angelic power for more than a decade. Because of his unusual size, strength, and experience, therefore, Rockwell gains a significant advantage in hand-to-hand combat.

Marksmanship - A
Rockwell was one of the first and most famous gunslingers - it is said that Wyatt Earp and Wild Bill Hickock both wore their hair long in imitation of him. His supernatural skill with firearms allows him to hit his target with perfect accuracy even if the target is moving and it is completely dark, and makes the bullets he fires strike with such speed and force that even Servants or other powerful magic beings will suffer greatly from being hit.

Nature of a Loyal Bodyguard - A+
Rockwell's trust and loyalty are beyond question, and he will immediately break from whatever he is doing to defend his Master from harm - almost as if under the effects of a Command Spell, his fierce devoted nature will push him beyond his normal limits to protect his Master.

Noble Phantasm:

Prophecy of Divine Protection
Then No Bullet Nor Blade Shall Harm Ye
Rank: A
Type: Anti-Unit(Self)
Range: 0
Targets: N/A

The prophecy that Joseph Smith pronounced upon Porter Rockwell when he returned from prison - a promise of protection from God, so long as he keeps his oaths. If he does not cut his hair and remains faithful to the Church, no weapon of his enemies can harm him.

This is not really a 'noble phantasm' in the usual sense; it is more like a miracle, a blessing of divine providence that intercedes to save Rockwell from harm. It is a passive effect that simply causes the attack to fail. Whether it is an arrow, sword, spear, or bullet, no weapon made by humanity can injure Porter Rockwell; any such attack either inexplicably misses, wasting its force on some object other than its intended target, or stops dead against his jacket and inflicts no damage.

Fate/Iliou Persis

Destroying Angel of the West

Class: Berserker

Team: Red

True Name: Orrin Porter Rockwell

Appearance:


Rockwell is a tall, powerfully-built man with long hair and a thick beard. He dresses in plain, old-fashioned suits, or in battered buckskins, and walks with a slight but noticeable limp because one leg is a little shorter than the other.

Sex: Male

Alignment: Lawful Neutral

Attribute: Man

History

If any person was ever born to be a Servant, it was Porter Rockwell. His whole life was spent in following Joseph Smith, the man he considered a prophet of God, and his chosen successors. As a child in New York Rockwell befriended Joseph Smith and from then until he died was the devoted servant of Smith and his church. Baptized at age sixteen in 1830, the youngest among the first group of converts, Rockwell followed Joseph Smith and the growing congregation as they moved across the country, and quickly his reputation grew. By the time the Mormons were expelled from Missouri in 1839 Porter Rockwell was already well-known among the members of the new Church as a powerful protector against the attacks of their jealous 'heathen' neighbors, and infamous among other settlers as the Mormon Assassin, a deadly and pitiless gunfighter. When he was imprisoned for a year and charged with the attempted murder of the governor of Missouri, Rockwell presented a blunt and simple defense, saying "I never shot at anybody - if I shoot, they get shot! He's alive, isn't he?". The grand jury was forced to concede the point and release him.

Alone, Rockwell trekked after the Mormon exodus, doggedly returning to the side of his friend and commander, Joseph Smith. Upon his arrival, emaciated and sick from the strenuous journey, the religious leader was so moved by Rockwell's unshakable faith that he rose and laid a prophecy upon him; as long as Porter Rockwell did not cut his hair, like Samson of old God would defend him from all weapons.

The rest of his life, Rockwell kept to that commandment, and he was thus defended. When Joseph Smith was martyred after sending him away and surrendering to the mob, Rockwell transferred his allegiance to his successor Brigham Young and led the Mormons to Utah. There he became a federal marshal and famous wilderness scout as well as personal bodyguard to the Prophet, a feared enforcer whose relentless pursuit terrified outlaws and apostates alike. It is unclear how many people Rockwell killed - some claim hundreds - but through many gunfights and ambushes he was never touched by bullet or blade, and when he died it was at home, in his bed, with his boots off.

Personality
Rockwell at ease is a boisterous, hard-drinking, rough around the edges frontiersman, always willing to join - or start - a party. Without the benefit of any formal education, he is extremely knowledgeable about certain fields - wilderness living, tracking, gold-mining, and other such topics on which he has personal experience - but is also quite innocent of many subjects, having had very little experience of the greater world in life. He is centered by an intense faith in God, as well as an unbreakable sense of loyalty; once Rockwell gives his word, he will never go back on it no matter the temptation. To anyone he considers a friend or an ally he is generous and willing to help at any time.

However, Porter Rockwell is also a pitiless murderer. He considers oathbreakers and apostates to be utterly contemptible, and will kill them without hesitation. As far as he is concerned, he and his Master are doing God's work; and therefore, of course, anyone who opposes him obviously deserves to die. Furthermore Rockwell never forgets an insult or a grudge, and will go out of his way to revenge himself for any such perceived slight.

Armaments

Rockwell wears no armor, relying entirely on his blessing to protect him from harm. He carries his most famous weapon on his belt - a five-shot Colt revolver, with the barrel cut down to make drawing it from its holster faster. He also possesses a heavy lever-action hunting rifle, a double-barrelled coach gun, and a long Bowie knife.

Parameters
Strength: B
Agility: C
Endurance: A+
Mana: E
Luck: C

Class Skills
Mad Enhancement: D
Rank-up Strength and Endurance, but reason is reduced. Communication is slow and difficult - but then, maybe that's just how Rockwell is?

Personal Skills

Robust Health - C
A large and powerful man of legendary endurance, Rockwell's body is tireless beyond human limits. END parameter is ranked up and attacks received have their damage reduced slightly.

Jacob's Limbs (False) - C
A powerful self-taught method of fighting, gained from sparring against one who possessed the true art. At it's core it is nothing but an instinctive understanding of the mechanics of wrestling and unarmed fighting, further enhanced by living close to and competing against a man with real angelic power for more than a decade. Because of his unusual size, strength, and experience, therefore, Rockwell gains a significant advantage in hand-to-hand combat.

Marksmanship - A
Rockwell was one of the first and most famous gunslingers - it is said that Wyatt Earp and Wild Bill Hickock both wore their hair long in imitation of him. His supernatural skill with firearms allows him to hit his target with perfect accuracy even if the target is moving and it is completely dark, and makes the bullets he fires strike with such speed and force that even Servants or other powerful magic beings will suffer greatly from being hit.

Nature of a Loyal Bodyguard - A+
Rockwell's trust and loyalty are beyond question, and he will immediately break from whatever he is doing to defend his Master from harm - almost as if under the effects of a Command Spell, his fierce devoted nature will push him beyond his normal limits to protect his Master.

Noble Phantasm:

Prophecy of Divine Protection
Then No Bullet Nor Blade Shall Harm Ye
Rank: A
Type: Anti-Unit(Self)
Range: 0
Targets: N/A

The prophecy that Joseph Smith pronounced upon Porter Rockwell when he returned from prison - a promise of protection from God, so long as he keeps his oaths. If he does not cut his hair and remains faithful to the Church, no weapon of his enemies can harm him.

This is not really a 'noble phantasm' in the usual sense; it is more like a miracle, a blessing of divine providence that intercedes to save Rockwell from harm. It is a passive effect that simply causes the attack to fail. Whether it is an arrow, sword, spear, or bullet, no weapon made by humanity can injure Porter Rockwell; any such attack either misses, wasting its force on some object other than its intended target, or stops dead against his jacket and inflicts no damage.

Fate/Iliou Persis

Rider of Getting Paid

Class: Rider
True Name: Sir John Hawkwood
Sex: Male
Appearance:


Alignment: Chaotic Neutral
Attribute: Man
Team: __________

History: Born a commoner in England in the early 1300s, John Hawkwood rose to prominence in the early days of the Hundred Years War as a mercenary. At a relatively young age he had already become captain of the White Company, a band of English men-at-arms in northern France, and many say he was knighted by the Black Prince himself after the Battle of Poitiers; shortly thereafter the Company traveled to Italy, and began to take service with the various Italian cities. It was here that Hawkwood earned his fame; playing one city against another time and time again, the man the Italians knew as 'John Sharp' waged war under half a dozen banners and walked away with another fortune after every campaign. Though the size of his company fluctuated with the years, Hawkwood's keen sense of strategy and uncanny financial instincts ensured they were never on the losing side for long and that they always received a sizeable payday whenever they took the field, whether they earned it by crushing their employers' enemies on the battlefield or they were bribed in order not to fight.

Unlike virtually all mercenaries, Hawkwood did not fall in battle. After leading the most famous company of the age for nearly forty years, he finally died peacefully in one of several rich villas he had purchased with his vast fortune, and was given a state funeral by his last employer, the City of Florence.

Personality: Hawkwood is charming, upbeat, highly articulate and well-educated, an excellent person to hold a long conversation with. He keeps himself amply supplied with the finer things in life - high-quality clothes, food, furnishings, and other creature comforts. Beneath his pleasant demeanor, however, he is a mercilessly self-interested man. Very few people are capable of gaining true affection from John Hawkwood; nearly all of his relationships are the result of a cold-blooded calculation of profit and risk, and in most cases he would slit a 'friend's' throat with a smile if he were to receive a tempting enough offer. To Hawkwood, questions of life and death have almost no moral dimension; his own profit is of paramount importance, far more than honor or virtue. Whether he keeps or breaks a particular pledge is merely a question of business sense.

Armaments
Hawkwood typically fights from horseback in 'white armor'; an elaborate suit of plate in the Italian style. The armor includes a full-face hounskull bascinet with aventail, cuirass, faulds, tassets, fully-articulated arm and leg guards and sabatons, with mail layered beneath the joints. It is worn without any identifying marks or heraldry. His horse, likewise, is barded in undecorated plate and chain.

In battle Hawkwood goes armed with the traditional knightly weapons of lance, long sword, and rondel dagger - though if he expects to fight on foot, he may instead wield a pollaxe and exchange his sabatons for boots.

Abilities

Str: C
End: C
Agi: B
Mgc: C
Lck: A

Riding: C
Hawkwood’s soldiers moved mounted to maximize strategic speed, and Hawkwood personally led more than one famous cavalry charge from atop a mighty destrier. However, Hawkwood is not associated with any particular legendary mount, and does not have the ability to ride magical creatures; he is simply a skilled rider of normal mounts, particularly horses.

Magic Resistance: D.
As one who lived in a ‘recent’ time when magic was uncommon, Hawkwood has no particular ability to resist magecraft beyond that conferred by his container.

Personal Abilities

Nature of a Rebellious Spirit: C
As the perfect ideal of a mercenary, it is virtually impossible to bind or dominate Hawkwood entirely. His very nature is to be self-interested and driven by profit rather than true loyalty to a master. At this rank he will not commit treason wantonly or without good reason, but if someone makes him a better offer . . .

Golden Rule: B
In an age when the average person rarely saw more than a few coins Hawkwood’s mercenary exploits made him famously wealthy, including once being paid 130,000 gold florins by the city of Tuscany just to persuade him not to attack. As such, Hawkwood is never found to be without money, luxuries, or valuable items, and all his possessions and harness are of the highest quality.

Ambuscade: C+
The skill of a warlord who fights by subterfuge and misdirection, disdaining honorable combat to crush the enemy from ambush. This skill functions as a variant of Presence Concealment - while the enemy can detect Hawkwood's presence, they cannot determine his true location with any accuracy. In addition, he gains a significant combat bonus when attacking by surprise or from a flank.

War For Profit: A
A mercenary fights not for honor or principles but for profit, robbing their enemies and plundering the battlefield in order to improve their own station. As the legendary 'unsurpassed mercenary captain', Hawkwood's strength grows steadily as he fights at the cost of everything else around him. This skill passively draws magical energy from Hawkwood's surroundings and transmutes it to strengthen him; any enemies nearby will find their parameters and health gradually decreasing, while Hawkwood's own power and vitality increase in direct proportion to the amount of magical energy he steals. Furthermore destroying an enemy in battle allows Hawkwood to claim a portion of their power, much as the men-at-arms of the 14th century would take a defeated knight's warhorse and harness as prizes; this provides a significant additional increase any time Hawkwood kills another Servant, and a small increase for killing any enemy.

Noble Phantasm

Carne!
Sweep Them Away, White Company
Rank: C-B+
NP Type: Anti-Army
Range: 30
Maximum Targets: 100

The battle that crystallizes John Hawkwood's military legend; at the fields of Castagnaro, after baiting the army of Verona into a rash attack on his infantry line, Hawkwood leads his hidden men-at-arms out of a patch of woods to their flank. He casts his commander's baton into the ranks of the opposing army, ordering his troops to fetch it back for him, and with the war-cry 'Carne!' - Flesh! - the elite condottiere of the White Company, though outnumbered twenty to one, destroy the enemy in a single devastating charge.

When activated, Carne! calls forth the spirits of six hundred knights of the White Company in mid-charge, lances already leveled as they burst out of cover and fiercely assault every enemy within range - each one striking with enough force to threaten even a Heroic Spirit. It is a charge meant to be the 'decisive blow' of a battle, a sudden and unexpected onslaught that will shatter the enemy force and rout them from the field. If Rider is detected before he can order the charge, a very swift enemy might escape damage by fleeing before the incoming ranks of horsemen; however, if the charge is launched from ambush, it is guaranteed to hit and inflict even more devastating damage.