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    1. Player 2 9 yrs ago

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Interested! How will we be going about in the RP? Will it be a sort of 'player party' deal, or will we be bringing troops to assist us and so on?
Pellinore
Servant Rider
Some Local's Basement?


A plated set of hands reached out to grab the pale construct by her cheeks, a singular wide and almost manic eye staring down at Plain. With a few experimental tugs at her cheeks, the Servant appraised his master with a hum, lips pursing behind the feature obscuring mask. The silence between the two only grew more and more awkward with each passing moment, but if the Servant before her noticed or even cared was a different matter. The blonde haired servant's gaze finally faltered.

"... Cute."

Plain's cheeks were free from the pinch of the armoured man's fingers, back turned to her. Bringing a hand to his chin, he tapped his foot on the basement floor, coming across as truly exasperated, muttering under his breath. With a clear view of the Servant, the extent of his plated form became clear, his tarmac coloured chest plate placed over a royal red knight's tabard, subtle golden highlights and details found across his armour. Most striking about her new servant, however, was the aforementioned mask, covering every inch of his face besides his left eye and the sunken area around it. The mystery servant had the build to pull off the look too, standing at roughly six-foot-two (give or take) with a rather lean muscled body.

"Master is cute. Inappropriate, unbecoming! A master is meant to be an unattractive hedge wizard, recently abdicating from their musty magus home, abandoning the comfort of their books to, in this rare instance, dirty their hands with the vigors of work..." He rambled in accented English, gesticulating as he talked to himself. He peeked over his shoulder at the woman for but a moment, squinting. "Abandoned not the pages of a study, but a hall of fine dining. No - no. Nothing changes. Formalities!" He declared in accented English, turning around with a flourish, pointing his finger at plain and speaking with a dramatic flare.

"You! Are you my Master?"
Santo
Wednesday, November 17th, 2015
00:00 AM
A home in the slums of Cusco


The moon was high above Cusco, the sound of insects and wild dogs having overtaken that of man in the hill-side slums of the city, the hours now steeping into wednesday. The home the boy hid away in was hardly complete, more of the outer-shell of a house with a basic floorplan, the dusty ground he sat on cold and without any heating to amend that. But it was home, only a single lantern to light it.

Rested, and at the optimal hour, and having consumed maiuka not an hour prior - the effects running strong but not obscuring his vision of the earthly realm - there was unlikely to be a better time for Santo. Even now, the Tsentsak were quiet with the raw dominion Santo was exerting over the spirits, usually a roudy bunch demanding their immidiate use. But they knew what was to occur tonight, and Santo was not to be disturbed.

Before the ash-haired boy was the circle drawn in salt, a vial of misty water in one hand and a shrunken head in the other held by its once lustrous head of blonde hair - now frayed and course. It'd been the head which had told him how to do this, an accompanying bit of information along with much more. To take part in this supposed War, he required a soldier. To this end, this British man (or French? Possibly American? What was the difference really) had brought the water. Settling the vial at the centre of the circle, Santo stood, brushing the dust off his backside. Crimson eyes took stock of the room: Reagents present both here and at the other house, a selection of clothes of varying sizes both for himself and whatever great spirit he may produce. All that was left was for him to begin the ritual.

The time was right. All that was left was to begin. He took a breath.

"I, I, I, I, I, I, I..."

The boy clasped one hand over the other, the head of the magus dangling by its hair between them. Santo's eyes shut as he repeated the same letter. He had a basic understanding of this ritual, the basis behind it. He needed no incantation to summon the great spirit, only what he already had before him. But this incantation was not for the sake of the war, no. It was for himself, to reaffirm his goals.

"I am like Tsunki,"

To remind him of what this whole war would be fought for.

"When I take natem,"

Not for honour. Not for glory.

"My body becomes cold."

Not for any imagined wish, victory was a wish in and of its self.

"I, I, I, I, I..."

It was for the land, and for his creator.

"I am sitting with Tsunki."

It was for her.

Although not mentioned, Corbonek is sealed and its manifestation destroyed for the rest of the war on the use of the Beast, and in turn the benefits of No Sane King are lost.

I don't have to mention its intelligence to you, or how it will look. You'll find out when it's used.

It's controlability is a given, considering Pellinore's riding rank.

It's stronger than you. Figure it out.
It's almost like a group of heroes would benefit from teaming up to fight a monster which is, at face, more powerful than them.
If you can't notice the rather glaring flaw, you deserve to lose to it.
Your fear is not unjustified, as Achillies.


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