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    1. Unoedipal 9 yrs ago

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???

Palais Omnisports de Paris, Bercy, Residential District
@Player 2




The wind, sound, and light all faded, but the radiance of the room did not fade.

Stepping from the summoning circle was a regal man, clad in a shining armor. Tousled blonde hair, a confident smile, and the brilliant shine of a Heroic Spirit. He, without question, gave off the aura of a prince, or rather a king. The mere presence he possessed was nothing short of absurd; even among Heroic Spirits, it could claim to stand at the peak, enough that a normal human would feel the need to prostrate themselves simply on sight.

At his side was a sword. A dazzling, golden sword forged from the dreams of mankind and the prayers of the planet. A divine Last Phantasm that knew no equal in this world.

Even the eyes of Master's Clairvoyance would confirm his nature.

STR: A
CON: A+
AGI: B
MGI: B
LCK: B
NP: EX

He took in the sight of his summoner with a smile, and spoke.

"I ask you--"



"-Is it not a farce?!"

The 'costume' shattered. Armor became cloth. A Last Phantasm became a mere knife.

A King of Knights became a trivial clown, ranting and raving and screaming for all to know.

"And so they say unto us- put on the costume, the powder, and the paint! And so, swallow down your heart, change your tears and anguish into clowning, and into a grimace your sobbing and your pain! Laugh, they say, at your shattered love! Laugh at the sorrow that has rent your heart!"

A dark madness glinted in his eyes, dredged up by the words that had steeped his summoning. With each sentence, his form changed.

An idiot spaniard who dreamed of chivalry. A misguided princess destined for the guillotine. A grand knight struck down by his dearest. A black god who dismayed at his path.

The clown returned with their end. At a speed beyond the realm of mere humans, he darted forwards, expression manic, hateful, paranoid as the tip of his knife lined up with the jugular of the girl who had called him into this world.

"Yes, precisely! But even then, the man reclaims his right, the heart that bleeds wants blood to wash away!"

I am Pagliaccio.
I am not Pagliaccio!

That grand tirade came to a halt. That knife dissolved into motes of magical energy. That raving clown took a simple step back.

"As he would say: The comedy begins. Do not disappoint me, Master."

A stage bow, as if that was all that needed to be said.

Cerzelium Orchelas

Seine Right Bank, Business District
@Phonic




"Yes, the world truly is a beautiful place. Humanity continues moving forwards. Innovating, dreaming, casting off evils as they grasp for a reality that grows nearer and nearer. Ah, but such lofty things are a digression; forgive me, Rider, I'm far too used to speaking of such things with my family. Indeed, we have a mission in the here and now, but so too do we have a duty to enjoy our lives. I would be remiss if I did not take aims to allow you and the Lady to enjoy your life in this world to the best of my abilities."

Cerzelium couldn't help the laugh that formed in his throat at the interjection of the third voice, laugh lines carved over the course of two centuries evident on his face. At his Servant's question, though, he paused for a moment in concentration.

"I am unsure as to if we'd be able to obtain seats at this time, but if you'd care to sample the modern day's foods, I noted some areas of interest. Alternatively, this body of mine would not fit in well with 'nightlife', I am sorry to say, but if you-"

The Orchelas representative froze, his breath catching in his throat as he felt a burning sensation from the seals that had condensed when his Servant had been bound. For a moment, his heart stopped, the realization of what that meant clear to the Master. He hadn't expected it to occur so quickly, surely, but there was no doubt- a Master was nearby, and with them, a Servant likely was as well.

That terrible act, the sin of taking another life, loomed on the horizon. The mere thought made his blood run cold. His hand moved into a pocket, settling around something as if it was a security blanket, as he looked to his Servant.

"...it seems we have company. What say you, Rider? Shall we seek them out to converse, shall we retreat, or shall we begin the war in earnest?"

Cerzelium Orchelas

Seine Right Bank, Business District
@Phonic




...the chance is minute. I will likely die here. What descends upon this land is a swarm of genuine magi, of storied families bred for research and war. The theory behind what they utilize certainly has me outclassed, the refinement of their foundations is likely leagues beyond the parlor tricks I throw around, and even if they are magi, I am certain no shortage of them have learned of combat. That young girl is not one I had information regarding, and even she had a presence mired in 'death' enough to make my eye sting.

Pale hands wrung together, the visage of an elderly man walking forwards, lines of thought creasing into his face.

Not to mention, the Servants. My own Servant is mighty, to be sure, but we could not prepare a catalyst. What if another had managed to obtain a scrap of the Nemean Lion's pelt, a shard of the Round Table, a chip of the grand Oliphant? I should hope that my partner, for all his abilities, is not at the bottom, but nor should I expect him to accord me any advantage that is not canceled out by those of the others'.

Yes, there was no doubt- if one looked at this objectively, coming here had been a fool's decision. However...

"The odds are against you. You know this. You'll be going up against killers. They won't care about you as a person, they'll just seek your death for their own goals. Are you certain you are comfortable with being selected?"

"We must send someone, after all. The youngest are too inexperienced, and ones like you are too important."

"...You're a good father, Cerzelium. Better than I."

Yes, if there was even a fraction of a chance to push the family forwards, to hope that he might witness his own descendants reach Enlightenment before his soul started to rot, then he would stake his life on that claim without a moment's hesitation. He would swallow his fear at his impending death, he would swallow his apprehension at the notion of having to kill another, and he would push forwards.

"What do you think of the city, Rider? I had the chance to familiarize myself with the lay of the land at least slightly, but if there's a sight that interests you, don't hesitate to let me know."

For now, though, it would do to simply understand the city and the hero he had summoned.

If they were disturbed, they would cross that bridge upon coming to it.
Welcome.

As a Master, you have entered this city to obtain the Holy Grail, and with it, the title of Second Owner of Paris. As a result, your goal can be said to be the elimination of all candidates other than yourself. Only through unquestionable victory may your desires be realized.

For these eight days, the eyes of the Holy See, of the Mage's Association, and of the myriad forces of the Moonlit World are all fixed upon Paris. To a magus, this land alone is enough to die for. Its prestige and history matches that of Rome and London, and its quality as a spiritual land can be considered unsurpassed in all the world. Without a doubt, any magus who were to own this land, regardless of blood or prior standing, could stand alongside even the greatest magi of the Association without a single worry.

Compared to such a thing, the device purported to grant any wish is but a mere afterthought to most.

Nonetheless...

Night has fallen. Your preparations have been made. Your status as a Master has either been cemented at this time, or shall be within the coming moments.

There is no grand mission at stake, save for that which you appoint to yourself. Do not veil over your desires with mere sophistry- your ideal future stands before you, and so you must reach forwards, and take it with both hands.

Charge forward into the night, and take this city- take your city. Burn up brilliantly in pursuit of your goals. The Moonlit World watches on with bated breath, awaiting the appearance of a new king.

Welcome to the First Holy Grail War for the 727th Holy Grail.

May your dreams give birth to a miracle.


Master's ready!

Here’s my Servant! Character motivations and NP have been PMed. I felt like it made sense for the NP to be hidden given what it is, but just let me know if that doesn’t work!

I’ll try and get my Master ready soon.

Interesting hook! Can I ask what the deal is with the other countries in the aftermath of the war? Are they in a similar situation as NYC, under America's supervision, or is it more of a no-man's land?
I'll toss my hat into the ring.

Rolling a few ideas around, but a Warforged who's really, really enthusiastic about painting is the current frontrunner.
Oh, it's Muv Luv.

I'll toss my hat in if there's room.
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