@vancexentan We've seen Saber, Lancer, Archer and Berserker. Assassin I believe is being summoned elsewhere, so we're just waiting on Caster and Rider.
King Cosmos
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As Thomas watched the abrupt end to the meeting, his own arrival going more or less unnoticed by those gathered, he couldn’t help but note that the dynamics that were at play in this group were… interesting, to say the least. A motlier assortment of mages could hardly be imagined, which begged the question of why the director had chosen to recruit this particular group to combat the Grey’s as opposed to simply forming the Black Faction using like-minded and trustworthy magus from within the Clocktower.
Perhaps Orson was the type to value individual strength over team cohesion, and though their particular talents were worth the potential issues that might come from infighting or disagreements between them. Or maybe he had other motives in mind. The presence of back-up Masters at this summoning, not to mention the fact Orson apparently had at least one catalyst on stand-by, did nothing to assuage Thomas’ suspicions; they only proved that the Director would be more than capable of replacing them if need be.
Thomas nodded in greeting to both the young student and the American casino owner as they were introduced, reaching up to adjust his glasses as he examined both of them in turn. Back-up Masters, prepared in case one of them should have failed to arrive, refused the invitation or should one of them, per chance, expire before this war was over?
How interesting.
Walking over to one of the pre-prepared summoning circles Thomas examined the ritual diagram laid out before him; not how he would have drawn it, not the medium he would have used, but unlike the mathematician of the artist he was not overly concerned with such details. “It’ll suffice.”
Placing his heavy carrying case on the ground, laying it flat, the Magus undid the clasps and opened the lid. The inside was lined with red fabric, most of the interior filled in so that the object inside wouldn’t jostle as he carried it, not that he would be able to damage the thing in any way if it did. Reaching inside the case Thomas pulled out a heavy oaken club, clearly quite old, six feet in length, banded with iron and bearing the scars of battle; notches and grooves lined its length, where it had clashed with swords and axes and other weapons and won, dark stains covering most of it where blood had soaked the weapon and not been wiped clean afterwards, the hue of the wood changing over time.
“Twelve hundred years old and still on one piece... whether or not this is the genuine article remains to be seen. If it is, then I’ll have Zealand’s mightiest King on my side.”
The club was placed in the centre of the circle, or as much in the centre as it could be when it was nearly wider than the diagram itself. Stepping back, Thomas cleared his throat and began to intone the words of the summoning ritual.
Let silver and fury be the essence.
Let stone, and the archduke of contracts be the foundation.
Let black be the colour I hold the standard for.
Let rise a wall against the wind that shall fall.
Let the four cardinal gates close.
Let the three-forked road from the crown reaching unto the Kingdom of heaven itself rotate.
Let it be filled. Again. Again. Again. Again.
Let it be filled fivefold for every turn, simply breaking asunder with every filling.
Let it be declared now;
Your flesh shall serve under me, and my fate shall be with your might.
Answer, if you would submit to this will and this truth.
Wind howled within the confined space of the hall, centred around the glowing lines of Thomas’ summoning circle so as not to disturb the others despite its intensity; only Thomas’s clothes were whipped up, only he felt their chill as it ran down his spine. It was an unusually violent reaction, perhaps due to the unusually violent nature of the Servant being summoned.
A boom of thunder tore the air apart as the Servant appeared. There was no fanfare, no sparkling lights or glorious entrance; just what was once an empty space finding itself suddenly occupied by a bloody-minded Viking as a sound like the world exploding rang out. The mana which had lit the circle slowly faded out, seeing to take some of the light out of the room with it, at least in the vicinity of the summoning, the red marks on Thomas’s hand and the glint of barely restrained fury in the Servant’s eyes glowing all the brighter for it.
The new arrival stood tall, taller than Thomas, and imposing; he wore nothing but a fur pelt around his waist and a cloak fashioned from the plundered fur of a bear, the rest of his body bare to expose a muscular form untouched by blade or spear or arrow. Not a single scar could be seen. Berserker, for with that appearance he could be nothing else, wielded a solid oaken club in each clenched fist, the weapons held with white-knuckle intensity as if the warrior was already eager to bludgeon something. The weapons were nearly identical to the one still lying at the Servant’s feet.
“I am your Master.”
From the moment he had been summoned Berserker’s eyes had been locked on Thomas’ own; the Servant gave no impression of understanding the sentence that had been spoken, there was nothing within his eyes to suggest comprehension, acceptance or rejection of the declaration. Only rage.
Perhaps Orson was the type to value individual strength over team cohesion, and though their particular talents were worth the potential issues that might come from infighting or disagreements between them. Or maybe he had other motives in mind. The presence of back-up Masters at this summoning, not to mention the fact Orson apparently had at least one catalyst on stand-by, did nothing to assuage Thomas’ suspicions; they only proved that the Director would be more than capable of replacing them if need be.
Thomas nodded in greeting to both the young student and the American casino owner as they were introduced, reaching up to adjust his glasses as he examined both of them in turn. Back-up Masters, prepared in case one of them should have failed to arrive, refused the invitation or should one of them, per chance, expire before this war was over?
How interesting.
Walking over to one of the pre-prepared summoning circles Thomas examined the ritual diagram laid out before him; not how he would have drawn it, not the medium he would have used, but unlike the mathematician of the artist he was not overly concerned with such details. “It’ll suffice.”
Placing his heavy carrying case on the ground, laying it flat, the Magus undid the clasps and opened the lid. The inside was lined with red fabric, most of the interior filled in so that the object inside wouldn’t jostle as he carried it, not that he would be able to damage the thing in any way if it did. Reaching inside the case Thomas pulled out a heavy oaken club, clearly quite old, six feet in length, banded with iron and bearing the scars of battle; notches and grooves lined its length, where it had clashed with swords and axes and other weapons and won, dark stains covering most of it where blood had soaked the weapon and not been wiped clean afterwards, the hue of the wood changing over time.
“Twelve hundred years old and still on one piece... whether or not this is the genuine article remains to be seen. If it is, then I’ll have Zealand’s mightiest King on my side.”
The club was placed in the centre of the circle, or as much in the centre as it could be when it was nearly wider than the diagram itself. Stepping back, Thomas cleared his throat and began to intone the words of the summoning ritual.
Let silver and fury be the essence.
Let stone, and the archduke of contracts be the foundation.
Let black be the colour I hold the standard for.
Let rise a wall against the wind that shall fall.
Let the four cardinal gates close.
Let the three-forked road from the crown reaching unto the Kingdom of heaven itself rotate.
Let it be filled. Again. Again. Again. Again.
Let it be filled fivefold for every turn, simply breaking asunder with every filling.
Let it be declared now;
Your flesh shall serve under me, and my fate shall be with your might.
Answer, if you would submit to this will and this truth.
Wind howled within the confined space of the hall, centred around the glowing lines of Thomas’ summoning circle so as not to disturb the others despite its intensity; only Thomas’s clothes were whipped up, only he felt their chill as it ran down his spine. It was an unusually violent reaction, perhaps due to the unusually violent nature of the Servant being summoned.
A boom of thunder tore the air apart as the Servant appeared. There was no fanfare, no sparkling lights or glorious entrance; just what was once an empty space finding itself suddenly occupied by a bloody-minded Viking as a sound like the world exploding rang out. The mana which had lit the circle slowly faded out, seeing to take some of the light out of the room with it, at least in the vicinity of the summoning, the red marks on Thomas’s hand and the glint of barely restrained fury in the Servant’s eyes glowing all the brighter for it.
The new arrival stood tall, taller than Thomas, and imposing; he wore nothing but a fur pelt around his waist and a cloak fashioned from the plundered fur of a bear, the rest of his body bare to expose a muscular form untouched by blade or spear or arrow. Not a single scar could be seen. Berserker, for with that appearance he could be nothing else, wielded a solid oaken club in each clenched fist, the weapons held with white-knuckle intensity as if the warrior was already eager to bludgeon something. The weapons were nearly identical to the one still lying at the Servant’s feet.
“I am your Master.”
From the moment he had been summoned Berserker’s eyes had been locked on Thomas’ own; the Servant gave no impression of understanding the sentence that had been spoken, there was nothing within his eyes to suggest comprehension, acceptance or rejection of the declaration. Only rage.
Oh, I see. Well, Bryn was banished before the end of the Age of the Gods for sure, otherwise Odin wouldn't be meddling in the affairs of the mortals as directly as he does in her backstory. Or at least I think this must be the case since you know... the Nasuverse likes to be vague about lots of things.
Hmm, that's a good point but it does make things a little bit iffy as far as Harald's backstory is concerned. He supposedly received divine guidance from Odin before all of his battles which allowed him to win decisively each time despite the fact that he lived in what should be the Age of Man, having been born in the 7th century.
Either way what's certain is that Sigurd's story takes place around the the tail end of the 5th, to beginning of the 6th century. No matter how you look at it, Bryn was sleeping under Odin's curse for at least a few centuries before her beloved knight came to wake her up.
Nevertheless, if Harald ever fought with Sigurd (as his backstory states) it's more or less certain that they would know one another.
That was a different Sigurd; Sigurd Hring, father of Ragnor Lodbrok. Harald was king of Sweden and Denmark during the 8th century, so after the time Brynhildr was still around and well after when she was still taking warriors to Valhalla from the sounds of it.
Bryn was a really well known figure during that time, after all. Plus, her armor and spear are canonically made of mythril, a metal that doesn't exist on this world but anyone involved with Norse mythology probably should be able to recognize on sight.
Brynhildr is really a super distinguished figure in the lore.
Harald would absolutely know who Brynhildr was, as I expect most vikings would, although given his current mental state it's likely a bit of a moot point. He's not a raving madman all of the time though, so maybe there will be some recognition there.
Thanks for the input.
I know the basics of Brynhildr's story but I couldn't find anything that suggested when it happened, in terms of what year or even what century.
I'm mostly just trying to figure out if Bryn was still a Valkyrie when Harald lived, ruled and died and whether she would have any idea of who he was because of her duties. It's not important, since Berserker won't show her any recognition either way, just wondering.
I'm mostly just trying to figure out if Bryn was still a Valkyrie when Harald lived, ruled and died and whether she would have any idea of who he was because of her duties. It's not important, since Berserker won't show her any recognition either way, just wondering.
Does anyone know roughly when Brynhildr lost her divinity and was cursed? I'm trying to figure out to what degree she and Berserker would be aware of each other, or at least to what degree she would know of him.
Though, Harald escorted himself to Valhalla for what it's worth. He wasn't collected by a Valkyrie like most.
Though, Harald escorted himself to Valhalla for what it's worth. He wasn't collected by a Valkyrie like most.
@floodtalon We're still expected to summon our Servants first, I believe.
I was going to write a post, but anything I have to say at this point would just be to push us towards the summoning.
Honestly, I don't see any reason why we can't just skip ahead to when we arrive at the base in Poland. Unless anyone has something they want to do before that point?
Honestly, I don't see any reason why we can't just skip ahead to when we arrive at the base in Poland. Unless anyone has something they want to do before that point?
“Well, isn’t this a lively gathering? I could hear your shouting as soon as I turned the last corner.” The door to the office opened once to admit yet another magus, a late arrival this time and judging by the small smile on his face a completely unrepentant one as well. He wore a black suit with a white tie and gloves, one hand resting on top a cane that he clearly did not need to help him walk while the other hand held a large metal case, almost as long as he was tall; and he was not a short individual.
“Pardon my late arrival, and my abrupt entrance, it took longer to acquire a suitable catalyst than I anticipated. The former owners were rather reluctant to part with it.” Thomas accented his statement by lowering the large, locked carrying case he held to the ground; the sound the steel container made as it touched the floor was one that indicated the excessive weight it held. His bespectacled eyes swept over the room, pausing slight on each face he found before finally coming to a stop as he locked eyes with the director sat at his desk.
“I overheard the end of your explanation; I can catch myself up on the rest later, but... I must ask. Do you truly expect us to just throw our Servant’s and ourselves into this forest and hope for the best? Not to disparage the efforts of your scouts, but surely given appropriate time we will a way through this forest the Greys have prepared for us? ”
“Pardon my late arrival, and my abrupt entrance, it took longer to acquire a suitable catalyst than I anticipated. The former owners were rather reluctant to part with it.” Thomas accented his statement by lowering the large, locked carrying case he held to the ground; the sound the steel container made as it touched the floor was one that indicated the excessive weight it held. His bespectacled eyes swept over the room, pausing slight on each face he found before finally coming to a stop as he locked eyes with the director sat at his desk.
“I overheard the end of your explanation; I can catch myself up on the rest later, but... I must ask. Do you truly expect us to just throw our Servant’s and ourselves into this forest and hope for the best? Not to disparage the efforts of your scouts, but surely given appropriate time we will a way through this forest the Greys have prepared for us? ”
"Okay, let's get this started." That was the words the teacher heard as she looked up embarrassed. “O-oh sorry for making you wait.” She said red faced as she fumbled her deck a bit as she slotted it back in duel disk after standing there in contemplation before his approach.
“R-right ground rules. The rule we were told to tell you is that you get to decide to go first or second. If you want to go first that's ok.” She said meekly. Her eyes looking down at the ground as if embarrassed to have all the eyes staring at her. This wasn’t her native country after all and her japanese was a little rusty.
Kaito took his time preparing his own deck, retrieving it from his pocket and slotting it into his old fashioned duel disk with deliberate care as he considered whether to go first or second. In all honesty it wasn’t a difficult question and his answer was always the same whenever it came up anyway, but he liked to at least give the appearance of considering his options instead of jumping into things hastily. ”In that case I’ll go second.”
“R-right ground rules. The rule we were told to tell you is that you get to decide to go first or second. If you want to go first that's ok.” She said meekly. Her eyes looking down at the ground as if embarrassed to have all the eyes staring at her. This wasn’t her native country after all and her japanese was a little rusty.
Kaito took his time preparing his own deck, retrieving it from his pocket and slotting it into his old fashioned duel disk with deliberate care as he considered whether to go first or second. In all honesty it wasn’t a difficult question and his answer was always the same whenever it came up anyway, but he liked to at least give the appearance of considering his options instead of jumping into things hastily. ”In that case I’ll go second.”
@vancexentan any comment on my Master?
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