Even with the blessing leaving his lips, all it did was reinforce Gin's soul for the moment of impact. But even Xerxes could not protect him from the damage done, as the glasses all began to crumble. The madness it seemed was gone, but even then, the danger was still clear. Those creatures were still active, and this man was the only one who may be able to get the masters together for a grand ritual.
Taking a step back, Xerxes couldn't help but growl. He could feel that nagging issue creeping up again. That annoyance with how all these monsters just showed up. He'd probably blame it on Benita or maybe one of the other masters. He'd have to see how it all ends up. Because despite his nature, Xerxes found himself with only one clear objective. Survive. And that meant working with the others who may very well be responsible with this to shut it down.
"If anyone here is proficient in the art of Spiritual Surgery or healing the spirit, your assistance is required immediately." "You're in luck. I'm a qualified Doctor." Xerxes said, kneeling down to Gin's level. From his belt, he pulled one of only a few flasks, and he began to swirl the mixture inside. It looked like some kind of tea, with visible bits of bark and leaf swimming about. "First, what's your weight?" He made some rough guesses on the man's height, but weight... That was tricky. Once he knew that, he pulled the cork off, and raise it to Gin's lips.
"Drink. This is a herb from my homeland. We used it for strengthening the soul, and repairing it after long journeys. It will make the healing go faster." He traded a glance with the other medically inclined individual. It was a simple message. You stitch the wounds, and I focus on the growth. It was clear the damage wasn't shallow, but it was important they work together to get Gin back in business as soon as possible. "So, I don't think I caught your name earlier. I am Xerxes, and you?" Small talk while working, took some of the stress off the situation. "I realize you expected... More of a classic war when you arrived. I assure you, it was going well on the first day."
_________________________________Saber Class_________________________________ The Beautiful Land @Sageage@Paradox Witch
Well... Fuck. Guess that meant Roland wasn't going to just grab his master and run. Mind you he probably should have done more to keep him in check. Bad days for everybody to be honest. But that wasn't going to stop Roland. Not at this point. Not when he'd gotten so far. The sunglasses fell apart, and the hero couldn't help but laugh. This whole situation was just the tip of the iceberg of crazy. Crazy enemies. Crazy stuff. And they were trying to remove his arm at the top of it.
"You know... If you guys do anything to my master..." The look he gave them wasn't even funny. The cheer in his eyes was gone. It was dark now. He had been pulling punches. And now without that man to hold him back, Roland had entered that place. That place he had gone so rarely, but when he had, it was devastating. Horrifying. At the very least he was wearing clothes this time.
The two minions holding his arm were dead. It was faster than any of them could react. Their torsos freed from their bodies, and the other three dead just the same. How?
In that moment, Roland had charged. His arm retracting. His body shifting, and a double kick was aimed right at the chests of the two holding his arm. But it wasn't just a kick. It was two forces pulling them in opposite directions. He yanked back with that cursed arm, full force. And as their torsos went in one direction, the upper halves of their body the other. He was freeing them, in the most violent way possible. Freeing their body parts from their cores. Their magical energy stripped from them. It didn't matter what authority they had. This was Roland's authority. His hand let go, and two halves fell to the ground, splattering onto the flowers and crushing them beneath the weight of their own death.
The next three fared no better. A foot slamming onto their own, pinning it as Roland grabbed their arms. Yanking one in two directions till even an aptitude for survival meant nothing. SQUELCH! Like a Wishbone. The other two were showered in that blood before their limbs were ripped off in an equally gory fashion. Body parts smearing the ground and their skulls crushed under the weight of Roland's boots. CRACK! Blood shooting out and smearing all over the flowers, until it was all soaked in blood. Roland's armor shimmering with red in those moments, and he raised a hand to wipe the stained crimson from his cheeks.
They could deny civilization all they wanted. But something primal like that? Nothing could save them. Nothing that they seemed to possess anyway.
"Master, if you can hear me, tell me where you are. And let the one that kidnapped you know something. I wanted to save their lives. But now, I'm going to murder every single one of them." He didn't raise his voice. It was done in a cold way. A cruel way. A way that screamed nothing but death.
This was the paladin who had beheaded the enemies of his lord. This was Roland. Gone was the idiot hero. Now was the war hero. Killer of dragons and men.
The forecast called for rain tonight. Of course it did. Of course it would. And when it rained, the snow would come. They had all expected it. And it would delay any flights into the state, or out of it once the war had begun. But that was still several hours away, and it was a busy day for plotting, meetings, and possibly starting the war off on a strong foot.
As the sun rose, the light bathed over the flat fields, and the roads, and the houses. Bathing the waking people in the light. And from a spot, the war's lone observer watched. From a field, then the roof of a house, and so on, Ruler watched the people coming in. Be it plane, or train, or by automobile. They would all come, and they would fight for their dreams. It was so strange that they'd fight so violently for such a thing. But Ruler couldn't judge. Instead, as a flask of water touched Ruler's lips, they had only one thought.
Fight. Fight because that is what humanity does best.
And with that, the flask found itself back on Ruler's hip. A bronze shine, battered and beaten by scorch marks, but weathered by ice and cold, could be clearly seen in the early morning light. Then... It, and Ruler, were gone. ________________________________________________________________________
"Are the preparations made?" Arthur didn't need a response. He already knew the answer. Since in the two weeks he'd had since he arrived at Fort Owen. The soldiers that flanked either side of him had been prepped for what was going to happen. They didn't know everything. But they didn't need to. They just had to be there. What would make sure he won the war was not an army at his beck and call, but his servant, and the tactics he had cut his teeth on years ago. "Of course. But, what about your... Associate?" The man to his right said, stumbling to keep pace with the man in near black. "We're aware you're in charge, but are you sure they can accomplish what you want?" "Are you suggesting my servant isn't willing or able to win this war?" Arthru's eyes focused on the man, who shrunk back. There was something about all this that didn't settle right with some of the military. How they had expected nothing, until a group of men had shown up, declaring themselves agents of the government, and that they were at war with a terrorist cell. "I meant nothing of the sort. But... They've been on the observation deck, and it's weirding out some of the others." The soldier finished, and with a sigh, Arthur had to admit that even he had been surprised by his own servant.
"Very well, I will check in with them." There was a moment where he dragged his hands through his hair, and made a turn. Stairs ahead, he began to ascend, and in time, he reached the tower. It was empty, with the windows open so cold morning air escaped into the room. Outside the window the last visages of the moon could be seen, and Arthur leaned out the window. "You know, we can't start until the first night, right? You're getting a bit ahead of yourself with all this pre-emptive scouting." His head in his arms as he looked out, and his words directed at his servant, who at moment was probably occupying the roof, and posing dramatically.
_________________________________Saber Class_________________________________ The Beautiful Land @Sageage@Paradox Witch
Well um... There wasn't any... Cutting going on. In fact, Durandal didn't seem to do much of anything. Honestly a bit of a bummer. You get a sword from god, have something to do with Hector, and... It just... Stops. At least he learned two things. One, there are shields that he can cut through easily. Two. The quills didn't spook them. But the actual arm itself did. Three... They were terrified of pigs. Yep, that was it. That was the only important thing he learned from this. Now to take advantage of that fear of boards. Side note, look for boar piglets. Might be useful later.
But no matter how rooted the attempts to keep Roland frozen might be, it lasted for barely a moment. Less than that. If anything, it paused him for less than the time it took for the Lyaeus to acknowledge he had been frozen in such a way. His presence, his heroic legend had long been surpassed. Roland, with shades reflecting light like a discoball, was surpassing everything in this war. He knew they knew, so he had to make sure to take them all out as fast as possible. Before their... Planning could be used against him.
But his arm, that had lashed out at the backrow, was not done. Nor was it going to stop. Instead, Roland kicked back, leaping away from the duo. But his arm, continued to stretch, and as Roland was falling back, the two in the frontline would feel a grip. The arm had split in two, with hands like fangs, it gripped the two from behind, and began to feast. But not flesh. Not armor or skin. But the grudges. The magic. The curses and blessings that had taken their bodies. Roland was taking a page straight from the same book. He was cutting their connection to the one controlling them, by devouring it.
By leaping back, he landed besides his master, sword raised as if ready to strike back at any of the creatures that made a move on the man. Roland knew that if he couldn't devour the monsters with his arm, and he couldn't simply cut them apart... Then he'd have to retreat. Get some distance, and probably get his master to safety. He couldn't risk leaving him out there like this. "Master, we should get you to safety. These things are invulnerable to my sword. And I don't want to risk them attacking you while I'm punching them to death."
Xerxes could not just sit by and watch. He had to act. And he had something in particular that could help. It was a blessing from his homeland. He could see that man, Gin trying to help the other masters. A hand on his shoulder, and a surge of his magic.
"May there be health and long life, complete Glory giving righteousness! May the visible yazads and the invisible yazads and the seven Amashaspands come to this fair offering."
It was a holy prayer. A blessing of life, and righteousness. A holy rite and hymn that echoed through the room. A prayer to restore strength to Gin against the challenges ahead.
"For many years keep them worthy to perform worship and utter prayers, to give charity and offerings, being just. May they have health to fulfill all their duties! May they be liberal, kind and good!"
Name:Arthur Thompson Title(s): Agent of Freedom Gender: Male Age: 45 Alignment: True Neutral Rank: Fellowcraft - Knight Templar Objective for the Grail: Arthur's goal is to establish domination over the Root. For himself and the Freemasons to have a connection to the root that allows them to dominate the magical fields.
Personality: Arthur is a full-time believer in the idealogies that have been preached to him. A full-time killer for those beliefs as well. He is not an evil person, but that is only because he believes so firmly that he not. As a result, he is a neutral force by sheer force of belief, who overcomes all adversity with the firm beliefs he holds, and cunning that was drilled into him by those beliefs. Among people he is a tad... Uncomfortable. He often finds it difficult to sit in one place for too long. Often preferring to keep his hands busy, either with some kind of writing, or focus on other stuff. It's a nervous habit, since his nerves are almost always aware. This can backfire on him, as he can be too anxious to notice other dangers.
Bio: America, 1985, Arthur Thompson is born. It's a small home in the state of Arkansas. The Thompson's are Americans, at least they have been since the early 1920's. Famine in Ireland of all things. It was strange then that they managed to get into a masonry. After all, the freemasons were even then a strange group. And Arthur was raised in that society. That strange society. With his magic, and their interest in him. He wasn't exactly all that high priority. In fact, they saw him as an asset. Not really a true American, despite never having left the country, and was born there to boot. Thus, when his parents passed away, car accident, he was trained to be their agent. Guns in particular became his favorite tool. Since mages still struggle when dealing with any kind of metal suddenly lodging itself into their fleshy bodies. He acted as a hitman of sorts. Or better, an executioner. Ask no questions. Make no promises. Just find the target. Kill them, move on. Just accept that it makes the organization better. That it spreads the goals. No matter what they are. In that result... Arthur has no idea what his desire is. Why the grail chose him. Or what he even wants. He's pretty much a gun with a name. A killing machine that is merely that. If he could make a wish... Maybe he'd wish to know what he wants out of life.
---
Number of Magic Circuits: B
Quality of Magic Circuits: C
---
Elemental Affinity: Wind / Origin: Calculations
Magecraft:
America is populated by familiars. When mages traveled to America from overseas, they brought with them the familiars and mystical creatures and customs of those lands. America, despite being heavily industrialized, maintains great sweeping landscapes that still teem with spirits. Ghost towns, imps, pixies, spirits. The creatures live in the woods, or in our houses. All it takes is a clever mind to unroot them all.
Familiar Binding The act of an American familiar is the kind of familiar that does household chores. Small creatures to nail shoes, do ones laundry, and even do spying. These familiars are of a low quality, and usually weaker spirits of small animals bound to the will of the creator. They are best utilized in binding them to objects, that act independently of the mage, while preforming a single task. Larger, more complex familiars can be created for more complex tasks. Often used for more complex housekeeping, or patrolling the area around the mage's household. These use larger animal spirits, or in more morbid cases, human spirits. As a familiar mage, Arthur can be considered a once in a life-time genius in the art. Probably a result of living with them for so long. He can bind familiars of others mages to his will, usurping the control of lesser masters. Though this is usually a waste of resources and far more time consuming than merely making a regular familiar. His familiar specialty is birds, but he can create familiars in the forms of other animals.
Talismans While less advanced than his skills in familiar-craft, Arthur utilizes a simple system based off American folk-magic. Bound fields can be cheaply established, and then reinforced later, by setting up pre-arranged stakes. This pre-arranged style of magic delves into a great deal of magical fields. From healing, to cleansing, and protection. Arthur utilizes a series of protective talismans under his clothing as a defense against most traditional magic branches. Providing easy, cost effective ways to spread such defense to others if needed.
Crest: 700 years, Celtic origins. Eventually deteriorated upon moving to America, and reconstructed over time.
Weapon:
Heckler & Koch MP7 The MP7 is a fairly traditional weapon that can be held in one hand. Modified with a standard grip, and belt fed clip that is connected to a box on Arthur's hip. The goal of the MP7 is strictly suppressive fire, as it can catch more typical mages off guard. Since fireballs don't stop bullets.
Smith & Wesson Model 29 This is the go to gun for killing. Mostly because it packs power, accuracy, and can be loaded with a flick of the wrist and a secondary cartridge on stand-by. With hours of practice, Arthur has worked his reload time down to 1.5 seconds.
Spiritual Ammo A fairly simple trick. By binding spirits to bullets, they can guide the bullet mid-flight. While this cannot completely undo a bad shot, it can curve a shot, and redirect bullets to specific targets. Each bullet for the Model 29 is treated this way. While individual clips for the MP7. Mostly because MP7s use a lot of ammo, and binding spirits to every single bullet is both time consuming, and overly frustrating.
Various Explosives Utilizing evil spirits, or other kinds, various cursed explosive weapons can be created. Grenades, C4, and even smoke grenades utilize this principle.
Digital Devices When a man can’t rely on guns, they rely on cameras. Recording devices. Things of a digital nature that would be ignored in a grail war. Some would call it a cheat. He calls it practical.
Exceptional Benefit: ???
_________________________________________________________________________________________ Name: Sargon of Akkad Title: King of Battle, Sargon the Great Class: Rider Gender: Male Birth and Death Dates: Mesopotamian Era Alignment: Chaotic Good _________________________________________________________________________________________ Personality: This is a conqueror. A true king, a powerful king. But not arrogant. Rather he is proud, like a lion. He is a man who rose to the top to become the perfect king. He is not a tyrant, but rather a man who shares his wealth with the people of his city. But it is not because he cares for his people, but rather his city. As long as they are in his city, they are welcomed and beloved, but if they are an outsider, or an enemy, he will attempt to subjugate them. To control them and make them a part of his city. Like another treasure. To him, people are treasures. Things to collect. Collect and add them to his treasury. But he is not heartless, and keeps his treasures cleaned and well treated. In a way, if a treasure is reduced to having no value, he will raise it up. Because it is valuable to him. This kind of mentality may be why Ishtar loves him so.
Bio: He is Sargon. Conqueror and King undisputed. But he did not start this way. No. For he often claimed, and many around him agreed that his origins were humble, and his life simple. A blessing in a way for such a great man. Because life began in a temple. His mother was a changeling priestess of Ishtar, who was so heavily hidden by cloth that their gender remains unknown. Only that one day, there was a child, with their partner unknown. Some believe he could have been birthed from the divines. But a temple is not a place to raise a child, and wrapped in a blanket, and placed in a basket, he was sealed in tar and sent down the river. This is called the Ordeal. A challenge for convicts and those seeking divine blessing. Very few survive, and none a child. But Sargon did, and he was took in by a gardener of the royal palace. raised as a child there, he became the cup-bearer of the powerful king of Akkad. A man named Ur-Zababa.
It was a peaceful life, until the nightmares. Every night Sargon was besieged by dreams sent to him by Ishtar. In these dreams he was the lover of the goddess, and in those dreams he would see the king Ur-Zababa drowned. He refused to sleep, least he be tormented by these dreams of the king drowning, and his service slipped him. Eventually, even Ur-Zababa took notice of Sargon's fatigue, and while the youth refused to speak, he eventually relented. And he told Ur-Zababa of his death by drowning. In fear of the youth's dream, Ur-Zababa outlawed all bathing. But his fear only grew, and he saw Sargon as a threat. Turning to his trusted advisors he sent Sargon off to be butchered by bandits, but with the blessing of Ishtar he returned. Several times this happened, until Sargon returned to a furious king Ur-Zababa, who sought to kill the young man himself. Attacking Sargon, the youth protected himself, and in their duel he was forced to drown the king in a pool of his own blood. The people of Akkad were without ruler, and Sargon united them. For he was beloved by his people for his humble origins, and his kindness to those beneath him.
And yet his kingdom was not well. They were a poor kingdom built on clay, and the poorest starved almost daily. Going into the storehouses, Sargon offered daily bread to any who would join his army. Making no exception on weak or ill. He created an army of five thousand, almost all of his subjects, and he began a campaign of conquest. Striking out against his neighbors, his kingdom began to grow as he usurped others and took their possessions. By adding their fields and crops to his own army he was able to further protect his people, by rebuilding Akkad with this new wealth.
His conquest continued, and those that irked him faced his wrath. In certain tales, those that insulted his honor would have their entire civilization wiped form the face of the earth. Until he finally set his eyes on brilliant Babylon. The gods came to him, telling him to abandon his lust for the golden treasure vaults of legendary city, but he ignored them. He saw the black soil, and craved it for his own lands. Over the course of a year he besieged Babylon until it finally collapsed beneath his power. In order to commemorate his victory, he had his armies carry the fertile black soil to Akkad, where they would grow grand gardens. He took the hanging gardens, and emptied the vaults of all their belongings. But this was a truly evil action before the gods, and they cursed him.
They sent gods and divines to slay him, and yet Ishtar still loved him. He won every battle, and while his kingdom did suffer famines, he ruled as a fair and beloved king that was viewed as the greatest of his kind. In time, even Sargon passed on, and his people fell to tears. He had ruled for 55 years, and laid the ground works for an empire that lasted for over two thousand more. But in history, that was just a blip in time... But none forget about Sargon.
Normally, Sargon would appear in a different form. But as the love of Ishtar, who loved Gilgamesh as well, he has been changed to fit the form she adores most. This changes him to appear more like Gilgamesh, something he isn't fond of.
Weapon: Sargon is summoned with an armory of weapons. Swords, shields, and armor can all be summoned to him. What he doesn't have he can always create using his noble phantasm, all of which can be dematerialized until he summons it again to himself. Certain structures though, like builds cannot be dematerialized in that way. _________________________________________________________________________________________ Parameters: Strength: B Endurance: B Agility: A Mana: B Luck: B _________________________________________________________________________________________ Class Skills: - Rider A+: Creatures on the level of Phantasmal Beast and Divine Beast can be used as mounts. However, that does not apply to members of the Dragon Kind. - Magic Resistance C: Cancel spells with a chant below two verses. Cannot defend against Magecraft on the level of High-Thaumaturgy and Greater Rituals.
Personal Skills: - Affection of the Goddess A: Sargon came from humble beginnings, being an orphan in basket sent down the river. But as fate would have it he grew up to become the ruler of an Empire. Rider attributes all this to the patronage of Ishtar. All Parameters are Ranked-up and he gains Divinity at C-Rank. This has the secondary effect of changing his appearance to that of Gilgamesh. Ishtar's other love. - Military Tactics B: The tactical knowledge used not for one-on-one combat situations, but for battles where many are mobilized. Bonus modifiers are provided during use of one's own Anti-Army Noble Phantasm or when dealing against an enemy Anti-Army Noble Phantasm. - Golden Rule A: Sargon pillaged many cities, and became the first true emperor of the ancient world. He once ransacked ancient Babylon, and claimed all its prizes for himself. But by that time, many of Gilgamesh's treasures had been scattered. Leaving Sargon with only the scraps of what the king of heroes left behind. But he still maintained a wealth that far outreaches even kings of other great nations. - Conqueror's Charisma A: An advanced form of Charisma, born from the man who established the concept of building an empire. His presence can be considered an aura. A crushing weight of a man who all others copy. To the surrounding people, the strong intimidating air results in an intense "heavy pressure" that lowers the rank of their full capacity. In the case of an ordinary human, even seeing will prove to be difficult. It is possible to subvert this skill with a charisma of B, or a skill that nullifies the effects of charisma, like Nature of a Rebellious Spirit at a rank of B as well. _________________________________________________________________________________________
Name:Arthur Thompson Title(s): Agent of Freedom Gender: Male Age: 45 Alignment: True Neutral Rank: Fellowcraft - Knight Templar Objective for the Grail: Arthur's goal is to establish domination over the Root. For himself and the Freemasons to have a connection to the root that allows them to dominate the magical fields.
Personality: Arthur is a full-time believer in the idealogies that have been preached to him. A full-time killer for those beliefs as well. He is not an evil person, but that is only because he believes so firmly that he not. As a result, he is a neutral force by sheer force of belief, who overcomes all adversity with the firm beliefs he holds, and cunning that was drilled into him by those beliefs. Among people he is a tad... Uncomfortable. He often finds it difficult to sit in one place for too long. Often preferring to keep his hands busy, either with some kind of writing, or focus on other stuff. It's a nervous habit, since his nerves are almost always aware. This can backfire on him, as he can be too anxious to notice other dangers.
Bio: America, 1985, Arthur Thompson is born. It's a small home in the state of Arkansas. The Thompson's are Americans, at least they have been since the early 1920's. Famine in Ireland of all things. It was strange then that they managed to get into a masonry. After all, the freemasons were even then a strange group. And Arthur was raised in that society. That strange society. With his magic, and their interest in him. He wasn't exactly all that high priority. In fact, they saw him as an asset. Not really a true American, despite never having left the country, and was born there to boot. Thus, when his parents passed away, car accident, he was trained to be their agent. Guns in particular became his favorite tool. Since mages still struggle when dealing with any kind of metal suddenly lodging itself into their fleshy bodies. He acted as a hitman of sorts. Or better, an executioner. Ask no questions. Make no promises. Just find the target. Kill them, move on. Just accept that it makes the organization better. That it spreads the goals. No matter what they are. In that result... Arthur has no idea what his desire is. Why the grail chose him. Or what he even wants. He's pretty much a gun with a name. A killing machine that is merely that. If he could make a wish... Maybe he'd wish to know what he wants out of life.
---
Number of Magic Circuits: B
Quality of Magic Circuits: C
---
Elemental Affinity: Wind / Origin: Calculations
Magecraft:
America is populated by familiars. When mages traveled to America from overseas, they brought with them the familiars and mystical creatures and customs of those lands. America, despite being heavily industrialized, maintains great sweeping landscapes that still teem with spirits. Ghost towns, imps, pixies, spirits. The creatures live in the woods, or in our houses. All it takes is a clever mind to unroot them all.
Familiar Binding The act of an American familiar is the kind of familiar that does household chores. Small creatures to nail shoes, do ones laundry, and even do spying. These familiars are of a low quality, and usually weaker spirits of small animals bound to the will of the creator. They are best utilized in binding them to objects, that act independently of the mage, while preforming a single task. Larger, more complex familiars can be created for more complex tasks. Often used for more complex housekeeping, or patrolling the area around the mage's household. These use larger animal spirits, or in more morbid cases, human spirits. As a familiar mage, Arthur can be considered a once in a life-time genius in the art. Probably a result of living with them for so long. He can bind familiars of others mages to his will, usurping the control of lesser masters. Though this is usually a waste of resources and far more time consuming than merely making a regular familiar. His familiar specialty is birds, but he can create familiars in the forms of other animals.
Talismans While less advanced than his skills in familiar-craft, Arthur utilizes a simple system based off American folk-magic. Bound fields can be cheaply established, and then reinforced later, by setting up pre-arranged stakes. This pre-arranged style of magic delves into a great deal of magical fields. From healing, to cleansing, and protection. Arthur utilizes a series of protective talismans under his clothing as a defense against most traditional magic branches. Providing easy, cost effective ways to spread such defense to others if needed.
Crest: 700 years, Celtic origins. Eventually deteriorated upon moving to America, and reconstructed over time.
Weapon:
Heckler & Koch MP7 The MP7 is a fairly traditional weapon that can be held in one hand. Modified with a standard grip, and belt fed clip that is connected to a box on Arthur's hip. The goal of the MP7 is strictly suppressive fire, as it can catch more typical mages off guard. Since fireballs don't stop bullets.
Smith & Wesson Model 29 This is the go to gun for killing. Mostly because it packs power, accuracy, and can be loaded with a flick of the wrist and a secondary cartridge on stand-by. With hours of practice, Arthur has worked his reload time down to 1.5 seconds.
Spiritual Ammo A fairly simple trick. By binding spirits to bullets, they can guide the bullet mid-flight. While this cannot completely undo a bad shot, it can curve a shot, and redirect bullets to specific targets. Each bullet for the Model 29 is treated this way. While individual clips for the MP7. Mostly because MP7s use a lot of ammo, and binding spirits to every single bullet is both time consuming, and overly frustrating.
Various Explosives Utilizing evil spirits, or other kinds, various cursed explosive weapons can be created. Grenades, C4, and even smoke grenades utilize this principle.
Digital Devices When a man can’t rely on guns, they rely on cameras. Recording devices. Things of a digital nature that would be ignored in a grail war. Some would call it a cheat. He calls it practical.
Okay, so it was brought to my attention that some people have trouble understanding what a Lostbelt scenario is. For a Lostbelt, you're essentially twisting a character almost till you can't recognize them as who they were before. Read my hider below, for more info.
A lostbelt scenario is "The world has come to ruin" Scenario. It is where something has happened on such a catastrophic level that things are no longer following the rules. Swords a hero might have wielded no longer exist. It's extreme history alteration that ends in the devestation of the world where no new legends are being made.
Examples: Ozymandias is a Rider Class servant who has the protection of the Sun God, Ra. He is a great leader, who knew Moses. He summons mini Sphinxes to fight for him, and he rides a badass vehicle. Lostbelt Ozymandias is far different. Instead of Ra, it was Set, the god of chaos and foreigners who became Ozy's chief diety. Under the eyes of Set, Ozymandias changed. His body slowly being taken over by the divine being. His divinity raises to A, instead of B. His class is changed to Archer, and he no longer is associated with the light of the sun. In his world, without Ra, Apep devoured the sun. Leading to a barren world, ruled by the eternal pharaoh Ozymandias, the puppet of Set. His soul long replaced by the chaos god. Egypt has become less a great kingdom, and now the kingdom of slums. As an Archer he would spread chaos through his bow and arrows, applying a mental corruption to any he hits. No longer does he gain the protection of Ra, but the protection of Set. In fact, he may as well just be called Set at this point.
Or, Lostbelt Gilgamesh. He became the immortal king, and his treasures were never spread across the world. Instead, Gilgamesh horded them, and no new legends were formed. Instead, the world degraded under the gaze of the world's only hero. The world degraded, and the king Gilgamesh became the villain. His gates of Babylon holding all of humanities souls, rather than their treasures.
So to finish this off, be creative with Lostbelts. Like if this happened, or something was avoided, what changed about them and their world that would lead it to stagnation and inevitable decay. A stop to legends.
_________________________________Saber Class_________________________________ The Beautiful Land @Sageage@Paradox Witch
The field was quiet. Even before they arrived it was quiet. Peaceful. An idyllic sight amidst all the carnage of the world. The petals began to fall from the flowers, and caught on the breeze. Catching in the air and circling about like a halo before they dispersed. But there was nothing from Roland. Nor his master. No word on the battle that went on between them, their souls colliding. Striking with such a force that the foundation of who they were may as well cracked.
It wasn't until they arrived that anything happened. All six of the Lyaeus did only one thing. They ruined the mood.
Roland stood, that horse mask still resting on his head. He reached up, and pulled the mask back. Hiding his face from behind, and exposing only his face. There was no reply... Not yet at least as he flicked his wrist, and a pair of shades clicked loudly into an unfolded state. The glitter of light caught the lens, and if the monsters could die from presence alone, Roland was the coolest motherfucker in a hundred miles. With the shades resting on the bridge of his nose, the hero spoke.
"You know... Here's my thought process. What you said sounds good. But then, I got stuck on that last bit. Meaningless deaths. Meaningless deaths. Meaningless Deaths." Roland's foot tapped against the ground, as if each time he said those words there was something fundamentally wrong with how it came off. As if each time he said it, he became more and more disgusted with every syllable. "What gives you that right to judge the meaning of something you've never understood. It's simply disgusting. You see... Was my death meaningless? I had to think on that long and hard since I arrived in this war. When I dead, I didn't think so. But when I lost my arm, it sure felt like I was leading towards a meaningless end. But no. You see. Death is just a thing. It SUCKS! But you know what. I died for a reason. Olivier died for a reason. Everybody dies for a reason. It's not easy. People suffer. But get this... People are not stagnant. We change. This arm changes. I change. I adapt. I grow. And me? I'm 100% human. From my bones, to my heart, and beyond."
"So... After that thought, I had another." He turned, and as he did so he pulled on the horsemask. It fluttered through the air, landing uselessly on the floor. But then came a shock of realization. Roland had changed. The shades could do little to hide the blood red eyes, and his hair. Glorious blonde hair had turned white. White as could possibly be. Then, the mark on his cheek.
"There are six of you! That means... I've got you scared. Because right now, I'm running at 5000%, and that number... IS ONLY RISING FROM HERE!"
Durandal was drawn in a moment as he sized each of them up, as if soaking in the moment. "Now, why don't you all do me a favor and tell me your weakness! That way I don't have to hack you all into little pieces to figure it out!"
His hand swished through the air, and the front line was attacked. Quills from the boar. Like daggers they struck at them, as if baiting out a defense. Or for them to scatter and try to get around him. But Roland didn't wait for that. No, he was a reckless hero he charged forth with full force. The air exploded, filling in the place where he had just been standing. If they blocked, that was perfect for Roland. His blade, Durandal, the blade of miracles came in a full arc. As if aiming to slice clean through the nearest two. That demon arm though, it wasn't an arm.
Instead, it was like a chain. Lashing about, teeth forming as the head of this chain became the head of a boar. Teeth snapping like blades, as if seeking to devour the flesh of those who stood before the hero Roland. That arm, ready to feast not on magic, but curses, divinity, or whatever these creatures had to offer.
"I am a hero of the people! And I will not tolerate the idea of meaningless deaths! Not from you! Not from a god!"
"Thank you for joining, Miss Matou." Xerxes said as Reiki joined him, and soon enough a few others did. It felt good to be honest, not just walking out alone. His familiars had already begun to spread out, checking the route ahead of them, but already they could spy on the group gathering. The creatures. He could tell these were the things Tesla had warned them all about.
His familiars spread out, looking for the creatures, and steadily making their way towards the now revealed greater grail. It was important that if things were going south, that the greater grail's existence be secured at the very least. No doubt he expected some of these creatures to already be swarming.
"Miss Matou, you and the other three families understand the grail best. It is important that you secure and protect it. When it properly materializes, you have to use a wish. Use that wish to help us fight this... Whatever it is. Do you understand?" Xerxes was thinking a hundred miles and hour, unsure what exactly should be done. He directed part of this to the Maid, so that the Einzbern master could be aware. Should she survive, her use in protecting the grail would be invaluable.
It was then that standing outside, he noticed them. The creatures and the things they were creating. "Berserker, get Tesla and get here immediately!" He shouted, already feeling their power come in. Shades snapped around his eyes, and he fought against the crushing insanity. He was Xerxes Kaveh. He had cheated death for over three hundred years. He was born in a cave and grew up to be an influential man. He possessed the ability to make men into slaves. He was, the coolest thing others could think about. Well, at least he thought he was cool.
