BerserkerInteracting with:
@Turboshitter Albert Prelati
“Pfft,” Berserker threw her head back at the sight of her Master’s panicked expression. It’s not like that bottle was in any
real danger after all. All she had to do was hit with more fin-
“...Of course I knew that,” she lied, giving an awkward dismissive handwave to further her false point,
“I know… mathematics and... natural philosophy, and all that rot.” She tapped her head and gave a thumbs up..
“Grail stuff.” She paused setting down the AZOTH slowly enough that it seemed she wasn’t intending to, but quickly enough that it would seem… suspicious.
“But, I admit, perhaps a Servant’s force is too much for an ancient bottle. I shall leave this to you.”Fortunately, the conversation topic shifted away from this particular faux pas. Inwardly, Berserker pumped her fist triumphantly, determining that her deceptive talents had been capable of sufficiently swaying her Master’s opinion. Truly she was a Servant of many talents. (It was still pretty suspicious, to be honest)
Unfortunately, the result of this shift in topic had become far more troublesome in nature. He’d asked if she would not assent to orders that were offensive to her sensibilities. A troubling question on multiple levels. The first, as a prelude of statements to come. The second, as a test of their Master-Servant pact. The third, as a dangerous situation where any verbal misstep could spell calamity. As far as oration went, Berserker had always left that to the likes of Emperor Charles and the second, Olivier. She was a leader through actions, not words; else she’d be armed with a pen over a sword.
So Berserker bit down on her teeth, opting to observe rather than provide swift and decisive (one way or another) answers to Albert’s rhetoric. Silently, she repeated the triad of prayers in her head: one for patience, one for understanding, and more importantly, one for wisdom. Nevertheless, her Master continued on as the words played themselves in her head, a droning soundtrack underlying her Master’s words. An intent to fight. A focus on practicality. Strategy. Intelligence. A needed warrior. And then two statements that made her heart stop and mind go blank:
A general on the battlefield never leads the charge, and a general will do everything they can to keep their men alive.
Berserker felt her fingers dig into her seat, sundering fabric and wood like Saracen mail. Her expression, thus far one of distant contemplation, contorted into a barely restrained rage. Even the magical energy drain - thus far practically unnoticeable - increased in severity as prana surged, before quickly ebbing. Eyes closed and breaths deep, before an utterance with an unsettling serenity.
“I would pick your next words carefully,” Berserker stated,
“Your point is made, but I need not remind you that rhetoric can be effective for different reasons.”Was her Master ignorant of circumstance? Or perhaps, was this a measured tactic meant to sway her resolve? She could tolerate the former. The latter, less so. She was more than dumb muscle to be swayed by the goading of others. Whatever the case, it remained to be seen. She allowed him to continue without further interruption, observing his movements with keen eyes, eyes that carried a dreadful shadow rather than the careless shine of minutes prior. Finally, when he had made, his last statement Berserker responded thusly:
She leaned forward and poked him in the forehead with enough force to tip his chair over.
“You’re gonna have to try harder next time, kiddo,” Berserker wagged her finger, lifting the glass of bordeaux as she did so,
“I think the wine’s gone to your head.” She took a tentative sip of the supposed peak of the batch, recoiled slightly, and swirled the wine around.
“Hm! this is pretty good,” she nodded before taking another drink,
“What is this? Six-hundred years old?” She took small sips, savouring the taste with each. Wine like this needed to be appreciated.
“As I was saying,” Berserker said,
“The whole carrot or stick thing isn’t going to work out well for you, Master. Be fortunate that the Lord preaches forgiveness above all things.” She set the crystal down and to the side. She’d taken on a more serious tone, and continued forward with it:
“If you wanted to know, you could have just asked.” She sighed and scratched the back of her head.
“I admit, I may have been unfair in this regard, but there’s no point in this partnership if we cannot be frank with each other. We are both, as you said, Frankish. ‘Tis even in the name.”She shrugged.
“I suppose then, I ought to answer that which you wished so much to know.” She leaned back, clapped her hands together, and lifted her index finger.
“The first limit is loyalty: I will not backstab an ally to gain the upperhand, as you so elegantly put. Nor will I violate an agreement settled on by the adjudicators of this war, or between parties in good faith.” Its brother rose to join it.
“The second is benevolence; a hero who sacrifices the masses that venerate him is a corrupt and false one. If you wish for me to sacrifice innocents, you’ll have to spend a Command Spell. The same extends to an unaccompanied Master.” Finally, she lifted her third.
“The last is honor in battle. If I am challenged to a duel, I will accept and act accordingly, excepting extreme circumstances. If I am to ambush an enemy, I will stay to reap what I sow.” Berserker spread her arms out and leaned forward, as if doing a little bow in her seat.
“That is what I deem inviolable. I trust there is sufficient leeway that there shan’t be any issue? Of course, we could discuss ethos all night. Or..." A shark-like grin, with a desire to kill a man. "
...you could see such a thing firsthand. Tell me, have your familiars found anything noteworthy?” 
Snowdrops,
Izurich,
Bombardier,
ChronoBovino
