@Cu Chulainn @Crusader Lord @Kyoka @Seirei No Hai @ReflectionSome sparks flew, although that was to be expected. War was war, and the founding families were the ones who knew the dangers that they presented to each other the best.
That rider was impressive indeed he acknowledged as he saw his strength with the master’s clairvoyance. Yet to simply be strong was not enough as the defeat of Saber proved. Perhaps it was his own failing as a master, perhaps not. In the end he did not think too much of it, and even the loss of a command seal, of the greatest symbol of Roland’s legend, his sword which granted him his class container did not bother him too much.
For he knew that his servant was a hero, a servant whose essence was in struggling against hardship. Wallowing in despair, pining over the losses of his recent time in the modern age. It was nothing that he could be begrudged. He had suffered much, he had gained little. Yet…
He did not think it would simply end there, in moping. In jealousy, in regret.
Even as he clapped his disciple on the shoulder with a firm pat while looking to the servants, Til listened. “Hideyoshi, I’m glad you are well. I went to your manor during the fire, and picked up a few things you left behind. Unfortunately I did not find you there, but in the end it all ended before I could ask if I could be of use to the Second Owner.” A wistful sigh came out from him, the man simply lamenting that he could do little for the tragedy. Yet he was not held down. Nor should Saber.
"I am without my sword." He said, before turning to his fellow Saber. "And for once, I have no clear future. How exciting. What a glorious thing to add to my story when I conquer the odds."
And when he heard Saber, no, Roland’s words, Til could only smile. Indeed he picked a man who embodied the west, always marching forward.
A man led the way, but a horse marched and strode forth. A servant of the past would open the path to the future but a modern man would have to walk that path. Together they would journey, together they would arrive to what awaited them. Was that not the essence of the Journey to the West? Of their pact?
There was a wise enlightened monk who had traveled west with a number of companions. His (her) fate was in their hands, and their fate was swept along by the journey and the quest of the monk.
Was a master and servant not like that?
“It occurs to me that I have never met the Einzbern. Of the old lord Matou, and of their current representative in the war I know and have met. But never have I met the creations from Germany, the ones who are made and visit for the war.”
He did not lament their purpose. But he found himself curious. He had met familiars here and there, but he had never met a homunculus, an artificial life-form in the shape of a man that could serve in such an independent function.
Or perhaps to call them independent was a mistake to begin with? Something about them, with what he had been told… Well, it was hard to form an opinion as of now.
“I would indeed like to meet her.” were his simple words.
Words that he directed to the Rider that had given Roland a gift. “Yet before that I must thank you. Sometimes there are those who do not know of what else the world holds, or where to walk the path. That is why friends and teachers exist. I am a practitioner and traveler. As such I will thank you in food and stories! Perhaps as a test I shall have my disciple recite some of them also.” Then he suddenly sighed. “Stepping stones, perhaps in a sense one could call the lineage of magi and of dojos to be like that as well. Yet there are no kings among us of the present. Saber and I shall climb together. But for that to happen…” He may have to tap upon that knowledge. He had meant to test himself as a practitioner of that path, of martial arts. For he had accepted the duty of pursuing that from Tohsaka Nagato.
Yet…
Despite his mask covering his face to Hideyoshi it was clear the turmoil that his mentor was dealing with, the dilemma, the matter of pride, or rather respect and his straight-forward path. Yet what was the most respectful path to tread at this point? Tilpo looked to Hideyoshi, head nodded in acknowledgement. The man had lost much, and carried a great burden despite being a youth. But he would hold, he would withstand it. He was trained, but training could only improve upon that which existed in the first place.
He had his faiths, he had his hopes as any teacher had. But what then were his hopes for his servant, of the war?
There are stories, tales meant to entertain. Then there were the meanings to the stories, or rather the effect that the stories should hold. Like the meaning of runes, the mysteries of stories, the crystalization of legends.
A story is told for many reasons.
But a story should have an effect on people, on the world.
Were servants not the proof of that? Til was a man who continued to see the world, to see stories. He told stories but he had not truly created nor woven a truly great story.
He wished to go west. He wished to go west like those Conquistadors who discovered a new world. From there they brought riches and new things of wonder to the world of the west. To those who lived in that western world. To those like his ancestors they visited upon them crimes, suffering, terrible things. Yet wondrous things appeared.
Because they were told that the world was larger than the one they saw.
The world was large. Asia, America, Europe! Antarctica! The moon, the galaxies! His heart swelled in jealousy and joy that he could learn of so many things that exist in the world, and that he could only see so little of it.
He was a teacher, yet he was an infant compared to these heroic spirits. Yet Roland did not look down upon him. Together they traveled a world different from the one they grew up in, and together they will fight.
Ah, it was not yet time for him to weave his own story of the west. Or so he thought. But he felt something strange. There was something for him to meet, or rather, someone. The spirits in his mask swam, attracted and almost bent in the face of a spirit much greater than all of them. If a servant was equal to thousands of human souls, then the one who roamed this forest was indeed a heroic spirit of horses.
He had raised a hand, without thinking to Rider whether it would be an insult to treat him in such a way and began to speak “What do you enjoy eating? Do you enjoy eating italian? Japanese? Dutc-...”
He looked towards the outskirts and let out a loud whinny. The sound was not that of a man, but that of a beast, a horse.
There was another legend he had to meet.
