Grey — Roleplayer Guild

Ilse Koenig
Prima Materia
Location: Urquhart Castle, Scotland
Interacting with: Rider of Red @KawaiiKyouko, Red Faction Masters and Servants (Indirectly)
Magical Energy: 492/500


Staring into the contents of the velvet-lined box in her hands, Ilse Koenig couldn’t help but experience a strange and ironic sense of kinship with the concept of a “Servant”. The trappings of the Holy Grail War aside, the ultimate purpose of these magical simulacra drawn from the Throne of Heroes was to serve as sacrifices in order to fuel the wish-granting capacity of Holy Grail. To earn the title of supposed “victor” would become hollow the moment the suicide Command Spell was issued and the ruse revealed. 

For a Heroic Spirit, even the vestigial shadow of one stuffed into a fragmentary container, such a sacrificial existence was a tragicomedy with a cruel end. For her, it was a fate she had long since accepted; her only purpose was to grant her mother’s wish, and her only birthright would be death - but whether that be her own or Ayondale’s had yet to be seen. 

Yet Ilse held no pity for the poor Servant-to-be, the legendary Khagan slain by the aged and tarnished arrow lying amidst the box’s soft, red fabric. There was no room nor need for such a sentiment here; her objective lay not with the Grail and world beyond, but with the world that is. She would summon the Servant and use it to destroy Arieh Ayondale, his research and all of his supporters. After that point, her Servant could fight as it wished, and the rest of the bunch could squabble for the wish to their heart’s content; her goal would be accomplished - no “sneaky Tohsaka shit because she wanted to the Grail all to herself” required. 

But first, she had to summon the Servant.

Ilse set down the case and lifted the relic from its resting place, transferring it to a makeshift altar of collapsed stonework. The ground before it was unmarked - an intentional choice. A gem may fetch a heavy price, but an uncut gem was worthless; for that reason, she would draw the ritual formula herself. 

From one of the pockets of her coat, she withdrew a vial of attuned mercury and uncapped it, allowing quicksilver to flow into the engraved template. As the metal flowed, filling the four patterns of departure within the circle of erasure, she chanted:

“Ye first, O silver, O iron. O stone of the foundation, O Archduke of the Contract.
Hear me in the name of my great teacher, the Archmagus ■■■■■■■■.”

For a ritual so fervently and judiciously prepared for, the actual summoning of a Servant was a surprisingly trivial affair powered mostly by the Grail itself. The evocation needed no need no elaborate incantation nor perfect circle - such things were for the vanity of magi. All the Grail required was a catalyst and the will to use it.

“Let the descending winds be as a wall.
Let the gates in all directions be shut, rising above the crown, and let the three-forked roads to the Kingdom revolve.”

With the final drops of hydrargyrum slowly dripping from their vessel, Ilse took her position at the fore of the circle and drew a gloved hand to her chest. Slowly, deliberately, she removed the dark glove from her right hand, umbilical wires retracting seamlessly back into her sleeves of her clothes, to reveal the crimson stigmata, a fetal Command Spell, that had marked her as the Grail’s chosen long before this fateful night. 
     Fill.       Fill.       Fill.       Fill.        Fill.
“Shut. Shut. Shut. Shut. Shut.
Five perfections for each repetition.
And now, let the filled sigils be annihilated in my stead.”

Moonlight glinted off the ritual circle’s silvered surface as the dull thrum of magical energy began coursing through it. Of course, Ilse was well aware that the ritual was little more than a meaningless affectation. But being ‘meaningless’ did not necessarily make something ‘worthless’. She lifted her arm above the summoning circle. They had already come this far, and Prelati boy had made his bold declarations; what reason did she have not to play along and put on a good show?

“Set.”

In an instant, the circle was alight with a scarlet radiance.
                                                                                                  fate
“Let thy body rest under my dominion. Let my doom rest in thy blade.
If thou submitteth to the call of the Holy Grail, and if thou wilt obey this mind, this reason, then thou shalt respond.”

With every syllable the metaphysical weight pressing down on her grew. Within the field of the formalcraft circle, it was hard to tell, but she could feel her circuits responding. She could feel her outstretched hand burning with mystery as the vague red shapes coalesced into the three crimsons strokes of the Command Spell. But that sensation was transient, as gone as quickly as it came. Most of all, she could feel a mighty presence channeling itself through her body, growing stronger as she neared the climax of the ritual. 

“I make my oath here:
I am that person who will become all the virtue of Heaven.
I am that person who is covered with all the evil of Hades.”

Growing surges of mana-saturated wind circulated around her circle, threatening to force her back with greater force as she continued the aria. But she refused to yield ground. Firm and unrelenting, she forced her hand into a tight fist, as if to throw force behind a metaphysical blow and she reached the apex. 

“Thou seven heavens, clad in a trinity of words, come past thy restraining rings, and be thou the hands that protect the balance!”

A pillar of blinding white erupted from the circle as roaring waves of magical energy tore through the courtyard, sending detritus flying outwards with its mighty gale. Caught within the maelstrom, she could not feel, see or hear what was going on around her, but she understood well what the steady tug of magical energy along the artificial leyline meant. 

Within the epicenter of the dispersing fog, amidst the fading light and the dying wind, was the Servant she had summoned. 
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