Yukitamas

Fate/Factitious Paradigm

@Breo

In The Woods, Church Outskirts

Fall of a King

The wall crumbled.

Ah.

He was defeated again.

He knew that even before the hit landed.

This would be a ruinous blow, a blow to kill, to destroy. It is a blow that would be fatal to a servant, a blow that would break him even if he rallied all his strength against it.

So knowing that he would be defeated he struggled to the end. Darius swung his axes, the blazing spiral of blue light of lightning and fel green flames raining two comets upon Achilles. It would not hurt him, but rather his actions were like a stake pounding a hammer. The full force of Darius who accepted his defeat and paradoxically struggled against it slammed into Achilles while the fist of the great greek hero blew through his chest.

Drive him lower and lower. If this great hero would climb past himself, he would push him down even further and smother him. A parting gift. Together they would travel the path to ruin.

The speed of Achilles and the strength of achilles was that even the singular moment needed to strike his heel was one that could not be attainable. Indeed, to hurt Achilles was in a way a miracle.

So he would accept death in exchange. The mire concentrated its strength, aiming for that miracle that Darius attempted to bring forth in exchange for accepting the punch that he could not deny.

The wall faded away, the army faded away. All that was left was the mire that was the last bit of defiance of Darius.

He was not a normal servant who would immediately stop fighting, or fade away even with damage to his core.

He flew. His chest exploded, his spiritual core damaged and the a full quarter of his body blown away. Yes, this battle was without a doubt a loss for the king who knew only defeat.

But he didn’t stop.

No, to simply kill him, to defeat him was not all that it took. He was the king who ruled over the immortal army who knew only defeat. To lose again and again and again, to be defeated so many times that he was sick of it, that it was the only aftermath he knew. Yet he was still alive, he was still able to fight again and again and again.

To simply defeat Darius was a matter of course.

To slay Darius was a given.

But this fatal damage too could be returned from. What should be death was not death to him. He was no great king, and yet the symbol of his legend were the famed Immortals. The warriors who were the never diminishing, never weakening elite force. The most famous soldiers of the Persian Empire in this modern day.

The armor he was granted broke. Not that it mattered with his body shattered as well.

Yet his skill, Battle Continuation which gave him the tenacity needed to shrug off such a state, to keep his army present in even such a state, to fight until he was extinguished kept him in this world.

The wall crumbled, the comet shined through and the dream of the warrior stood supreme. So what? He would try again. He would build that wall again. For most men it would be an empty boast, but for this stubborn king it was simply his reality and existence.

With his disengage his retreated, the power of Achilles added to his will to survive and ability to flee from battle, not that this was truly a fight anymore. Darius retreated to his tomb, entombing himself in his place of death, of his ultimate defeat.

Yet it was a symbol of life for him as well. For a man who abandoned his own hopes and ideals and dedicated himself as a wall, what could truly be said of his life. It did not live to fulfill passion, but to deny it. Yet that denial held as strong a passion as the actualization of a dream.

Was that not beautiful in of itself? To create the ultimate struggle, to make something beautiful into something truly admirable? It wasn’t enough, it wasn’t enough. He wasn’t done yet, his foe wasn’t done yet. Iskander was not done yet.

His broken body that was dead repaired itself. Spiritual Core damage, fatal damage. None of that mattered. In this place, where he was entombed he would be reborn to fight again. He had been slain, he had been defeated. But that was a given.

He rose from defeat. He was not one who overcame, but rather one who forced himself to be what others had to overcome. A stepping stone he was called? How true it was. How laughably true. What pain was there in being told what one was? Especially if that’s what he himself consciously made himself into. No, it was a reaffirmation of his existence. What should have stung to any legend, to any hero was simply a validation of his purpose.

Ah, he had been seeing a dream. A dream in which he could overcome himself. Or was he simply looking at himself the way his foe saw him? How he wished to be seen? For a moment he dreamed that he was the challenger.

Achilles was indeed a great wall, while he was a mere stepping stone. But that was not proper at all, that was not how it was supposed to be. The hero does not block the ascension of others, the hero was one who had to rise. He’d been making a blunder.

He was never about victory.

The energy of the tomb, gathered from the spirits that had been harvested and the vast power released from the conflict between the Persian King and the fastest hero was almost overwhelming.

If Achilles had armor who would deny his injury, that would deny harm and deny defeat. Then it was only perfect that he held an army that would accept harm and embody defeat, only to rise up again.

Both were immortal in the polar opposite of ways. Yet for Achilles it was more than just his armor, it was his body, his own self as well. So he had to match that didn’t he?

Darius accepted defeat. With that his path became clear. A moment of clarity brought by the damage of his saint graph, by the overwhelming push that was Achilles, by his own thoughts reaching the conclusion that they sought all this time. He knew what he then had to do. A new path was opened.

As soon as he had entered the tomb the army remanifested. Or rather, the Anathanoi took upon a new meaning, a new shape in accordance to his resolve that swelled up in the face of that hero that he could absolutely not defeat.

The Athanatoi surrounded the tomb, or rather, they became part of the tomb, part of Darius. His army was never about the army itself. He was not the Conquerer who stood with equals and friends. He was a king who stood alone, who defied greatness by himself, when all others would not. It was a defiance that went beyond common sense, it was a defiance that went against even his own dreams. It was indeed a form of defiance that could be called madness.

This Athanatoi then was him. Death, death, death. He would accept death and strive with the vigor of life. The Athanatoi wrapped around his tomb, became one with his tomb, with Darius. It was no longer an army.

His army was for facing that man, upon the field and in the manner of combat that he shone in. That glorious conflict was for him and him alone. It wasn’t proper. IT wasn’t proper at all. He had to fight Achilles in the way that best suited him if he was to be the ultimate obstacle.

So ten-thousand became one.

The mire disappeared as they too were called to Darius after spending all their strength to maim and hold Achilles. The complete Athanatoi became a garb of defeat and death for Darius who was entombed. His entire legend, his entire self would become one to become Achilles’s foe. His standards in walls were high, after all… that city known as Troy. Was there a city with walls as great as that? It was impossible to match them, wasn’t it?

Well, good thing he wasn’t a city.

Monachikós Athanatos Darius

Lonely Deathless Darius

Nikiménos Éndoxo Táfo

Glorious Tomb of the Defeated

“ISKANDER!”

The roar shook the forest as a birthcry came from Darius.

He survived simply so he could be defeated and slain again and again.

He was never about being alive. But with that dedication, with that madness. It would be an insult to his way of life to say that Darius the Third did not live.

Overflowing with energy and passion to match the fast-burning comet, he loomed over the forest as a giant.

This was the final round.

Fate/Factitious Paradigm

@Breo

In The Woods, Church Outskirts - Site of the Spear

The comet descended upon Persia. It was an inevitability, and so even in his madness he prepared himself for that inevitability.

Even in his madness the truth of what Achilles was something apparent to him. It was a tale branded in the acknowledgement of even those who drifted from common sense or sanity. There was no human that could not understand what that comet meant. To defeat Achilles was to overcome the fastest. In terms of trickery the king was nothing like the clever Archer at the church, nor did he have the gift of the gods, or even the ability of a great hero. What he held were the stations and gifts of the empire.

In the face of that strength why then did he run instead of marshaling his entire army? Why did he run when it was impossible for a mere king to escape that comet? Surely even he knew that the man’s ire was roused. That Achilles would stop at nothing and descend upon him with no mercy. Or was he so blinded by his battle against “Iskander” that he could not see the truth of his foe? It was true, an army could not simply stop Achilles.

No, that was not the case. The flight of Darius was not an attempt to escape. Rather it was part of the battle. It was inevitable that the great noble phantasm of Achilles would blaze through the Athánatoi in pursuit. So the Athánatoi would have to take its original place as a obstacle that struggled against a greater legend and being.

A wall met Achilles to separate him from the King. Prepared, waiting for this exact moment, able to block that speed that was practically teleportation by that virtue, along with the work of the wheels and fodder that funneled Achilles. The giant Berserker was covered by the frames of soldiers even larger than him. Seven legions had been shaped into giants, a hundred skeletons for each woven together to become titanic warriors carrying shields equally as large. Locking together to support each other they pushed against Achilles’s charge, preventing him from reaching Darius for the lariat, able to block his flight. They slammed into his form, flaring with their overflowing magical energy that came from the Lancer’s spear in a battle that resembled more the charge between two magical beasts than a battle of humans.

To compete with the speed of Achilles and his charge was impossible, so it was matter of making sure that he would run straight at the wall, at Darius. The enraged Achilles funneled by the army. A rampage and self-ruinous drive was something that he know too well. Yet this time it became his weapon, rather than his defeat.

They could not stop him forever, and four of them crumbled from the sheer impact from his charge. Yet it was enough. For they were intended to keep Achilles there before the king. The ground itself had become a pit of death, a macabre land of the undying presented enveloping the one who was immortal. Thousands upon Thousands of warriors had been mixed as the soil of Darius’s persia. Mired in it like mud, it would restrain even the Achilles who wore that god armor.

But it was more than just an attempt to weigh him down and halt him.

A king stood above their men, supported by their empire. If so to challenge a king was to challenge the weight of that empire. Achilles was one who led the fight against the legendary Troy. But he was a slayer of people, not nations. In the end Troy fell after his death, and in the end he was not one who conquered a kingdom. To snuff out a lands heroes, its warriors, was different from taking its throne. The kind of battles that Achilles fought were different from that of the one who admired him.

Mixed in together as a mire, as soil, as mud. The legend of a loser king sought to grab, to stop a star for a time. Grabbing at it with the passion and desire that he could not voice. They covered the bright shine of that legend with their own desire. Persia would break the Comet. The soil did more than try to combat the light of the fastest star.

Perhaps he would be called a sore loser. Perhaps he was a mad man trying to defy that which he admired himself. He was not a avenger who burned with resentment at the world, he was not a despoiler who dragged things down to his level. So he tried to rise, rise and rise. Rise and conquer, like that man, overcome the obstacles to your dream and ideal.

He was simply a stubborn man. So he wouldn't admit defeat no matter what, even against this greatest of lancers.

Darius raised and brought down his axes, swirling with crackling lightning and their blazing green flames as the three giants continued to push against Achilles, striking while protected by his wall and the mire.

The weight of an empire crushed and pierced the exposed heel, and the feet of Achilles with strength that could confront even that armor. The power of that soil and the energy that overflowed doing more than just holding him down

The felling of his immortality, the crippling of his speed, the strike of a king, the restraint of a wall. One may call it a crippling blow. For many servants the individual components of this clash would be enough to threaten or even destroy them.

But to Darius who lived his life struggling against a radiance that was greater than him knew. That such a “loss” would only mark the true beginning of his struggle. To strike the heel of Achilles was simply something that lowered him to the level that made him defeatable. It was not a victory in of itself.

That radience shined the brightest in one of the greatest wars in human history. He could not quell it with just the hell. He could not reach that man with just the first opening blow.

Retreating after his blow, even as his forces continued to battle with Achilles, he prepared for the next encounter. For he was never a king who finished a war in one climatic fight. A most unheroic way to wage war.

But that was how one defeated a great hero.

Fate/Factitious Paradigm

@Breo

In The Woods, Church Outskirts

Loser king.

Defeated king.

A rain of arrows that could not harm him splintered before they could even reach him in the wake of his speed. A dozen soldiers were scattered like toys in his wake, not even having the chance to disperse into magical energy as Achilles passed through them.

The sound of bugs and the forest disappeared as the army of Persia swarmed.

Strange weapons were brought upon achilles. A storm of lightning raining down upon him as various skeletons fired guns that shot echoes of the Archer of Lightning’s own shots. Spraying across the ground, only part of them actually were aimed for the heel. The distinction was clear. The truth of his heel was known, yet in madness it was not an overwhelming truth that the heel must be struck no matter what. It was a piece that shifted the flow of a river, but it could not dictate the entire flow.

There was no hero of the bow who were behind these volleys. Yet it was as much of a danger of not more. Even to Achilles the blows that rained down upon him had a small risk out of sheer volume. The emperor held the yolk of madness, and yet his army still wove together as a singular unit worthy of the title of the legendary immortals.

A blast of lightning struck his thigh uselessly, a blow that he did not need to parry or block.

Yet every once in a while even that great hero would have his hand forced to block, to dodge, to acknowledge the blows of the anathanoi.

No matter how mad he was not the berserk hero who charged in with only himself. Darius ran, as he often did in the face of overwhelming odds. Yet it was not a matter of simply running away. Using his disengage skill he retreated, all the while more and more soldiers emerged between Achilles and Darius.

Balls and wheels of skeletons rolled out, faster than any car of the modern day, with weight and power to strike fear in any army of chariots. Of course he outsped them, but he was one comet surrounded by an army. Crowding him, surrounding him. They both struck at him and funneled him, both directing his attention towards Darius and slowing him down so that he could not simply reach the king. Egging him on, distracting him. It was inviting the recklessness of Achilles, a costly attempt to invoke in him the small errors that could be capitalized upon made by him in such a state.

A trio of worm-like monstrosities rose from the ground, hundreds clinging together, magical energy and arms both overflowing from them as they crashed into Achilles to bear the strength to attempt and force past the protection of the armor, not satisfied with just stopping his charge.
Even as Darius retreated more of his army gathered up, preparing for clash after clash with Achilles.

If there was one thing that Darius could pride himself upon without any hesitation, then it was his ability to survive and return. His battle was not that of a single climatic clash.

No.

To face him would be an entire campaign, even for the fastfooted.

Fate/Factitious Paradigm

@Breo

In The Woods, Church Outskirts - Site of the Spear

The army of Persia swarmed over the forest, swarming like locusts and devouring all that was present. Idols and talismans were thrown into the door. Skeleton warriors clutched various spirits in their hands and dived into the tomb that was the final resting place of Darius the Third, adding the energy of the spirits to their liege. More and more the Athánatoi regrew, warrior after warrior manifesting in response to the magical energy claimed, plundered and redistributed.

But it all paled to the grandeur of one prize.

He stood before the spear, a ragged growl of a breath coming from him, his chest heaving for a bestial growl. The spear was a work of beauty. A peerless treasure among treasures. As a relic, as a legend it was certainly unmatched. Connected to one of the greatest heroes in the world whose name was celebrated everywhere the light of civilization reached. Any would hold it in awe, and any hero would hold it in high regard out of respect for that man. Even those who held him as enemies, those who absolutely detested him and died with their last moments dedicated as a grudge to him would feel awe at the weight of his legend.

Yet what he saw was something that was more poginant, more valuable to him.

What was a legend? The muddled thought went through his mind.

Iskander…

Iskander..

Iskander. . .

A legend was something that struck awe, that one admired. The spear before him was indeed a legend of humanity.

But more importantly it was a legend to that man

"ISKANDER!"

His roar shook the forest, sending a few of his men flying. Passion, absolute passion was filled in him as he took the spear in hand. This time he would strike at what was valuable to him. This time he would plunder that which formed his dreams.

To go beyond his legend.

To go beyond opposing the dream of okeanos to plunder the dream of the man who dreamed of the Iliad.

The spear sunk into the door. Achilles saw the spear.

It disappeared.

In its place came the legend of Darius, in full strength. No, exceeding the power that it held as a legend.

The magical energy that surged was enough to blind as suddenly the ten-thousand immortals walked the earth once more. Wreathed in a potent magical energy that exceeded their normal limits. He would become more than just a wall that withstood the dreams of that man.

No.

Darius turned towards the man who would no doubt come to avenge the plundering of his spear.

He would destroy the adored dream of that man.

He would never accept that king's authority. He would never allow him to conquer and win peacefully. It was not a matter of hatred, it was not a matter of jealousy as that man ruled in the way that he himself admired and longed for. In a sense he opposed his own ideal, that man similar to the First King that he saw as the station of a ruler to emulate as an ideal.

He became a king that existed as something to turn his emperor into an engine of war.

He was the final wall, the wall that contained an ocean, the world.

So long as he lived the man who conquered so much of the world would be denied and defied.

That was his hatred.

That was his love.

His axes crackled with electricity and his army formed themselves into a menagerie of monsters. Twisting the various works of Persia into that which slaughtered, that which warred.

The door that held the riches that allowed him to defy the greatest conquerer. The tomb where he rested after that long endless battle, undefiled even as he was slandered by all the people. The mercy, the respect and acknowledgement that he earned from his rival with his life.

The army that stood before him as an endless sea of war. Undying, unrelenting. If they had to match the endless war of the Illiad they would do so. If they had to overcome it they would do so.

Athanaton Ten Thousand

Immortal Ten Thousand Soldiers

The noble phantasm’s name was declared. It was not an invocation for the army was already there. But it was a challenge. This was his power, this was his empire that would conquer the dreams of the conquerer.

So he turned towards Achilles.

Even if he could not put it to words. Even if it was a twisted thought. Earnestly for this moment he believed fully. “I will defeat you.”

Fate/Factitious Paradigm

Church Outskirts

What remaining soldiers remained had taken to looting a number of houses with their lord as they waited for further instructions. To be a servant was to stand as an exemplar of humanity as a star, yet subservient no matter how many lands one owned in life to a modern man.

Well, whatever the case it hardly mattered whether or not he was subservient or in-charge. With more than half his army decimated in mapping out the marshes, Berserker faced a large deficit that needed to be covered. In the short team he would be able to fight, even if he would be a pale shadow of the heights he could theoretically reach. But a solution was required, either one for the long-term or of a plunder great enough to take care of all such issues.

...and there so happened to be a treasure, a great weapon that was a peerless weapon. As a spear alone it was priceless, but as a crystallization of myth, a piece of a legend it was beyond simple monetary value.

Berserker moved without any hesitation, taking the straightforward-most path, heedless of who may notice him, and bulldozing even homes in his wake as he charged for his prize. It would not matter who came, even if it was that hero who was the fastest and the mightiest of one of the most famous wars in human myth. The power of that spear would give way to the power of Persia, and even with his mind clouded, he was certain that even that man could not stand against his immortal army.

It was certainly reckless.

Yet a charge like that was only fitting to grab at the spear of the man who lived life as a comet.

Fate/Factitious Paradigm

@BlueHelix@Reallydumb@Kyoka@reflection

In The Woods, Southern Moor

Athánatoi Number 3001

Directed by that man he marched forth without fear in a batallion with a hundred more of his allies. In a sense they were unlike the men of that one general, being one of many, indistinguishable from each other. They held a willl and could easily meld together, yet could also become individual soldiers. The undying army that held a form that was not strongly defined. What shaped them then was the will of their Emperor.

Various pit traps were revealed by the careful poking of soliders, and the ground-shattering shots of Archer. At times boulders that rolled into their ranks were repulsed due to advance warning by the Athánatoi gathering and forming massive giants to push back against them.

Yes, thanks to the guidance of Archer things were going well.

Athánatoi Number 236

The snapping of bones, the whine of metal. Darts that punctured through them and broke them apart came from the bushes. Darts that killed invading soldiers. Laid by a heroic spirit by that virtue they were tools that struck as a mystery. Even with all their sweeps, various Athánatoi walking in one by one, they could not quite clear it all. No easy path existed and so each meter was gained at the cost of shattered soldiers, fading into wisps of ether as they felt the terror of the defiance of a hiding lord.

Athánatoi Number 7449

A most dangerous stretch of land that the Emperor certainly could not have discovered. Even if it was something that he would have figured out soon enough after the first wave of casualties, there was little he could do to find where this stretch of land that was hostile to those who advanced into the heart of this territory ended in a spot of respite.

But with the guidance of that man they knew. With that knowledge they crossed.

Giant towers rose into the ground. Macabre and yet prideful. They had no will and yet they held a sense of luxury and regality that carried the power of the Persian Empire. Giant pillars of bone and metal of soldiers clinging together. Thousands gathered to form a construct with their bodies, one that cast a shadow over the horizon of Fuyuki. Silently it arched, falling with a large crash that sent a powerful shockwave through the moor that ripped through the land and sent cracks and fissures that broke apart various traps, and drained pits of mud and quicksand.

But that was not its purpose.

The elephant of the Emperor crossed first, then came the rest of the soldiers. Holding the weight of the rest of the army, the bridge formed out of the Athánatoi.

The army was the might of the empire. The empire grew by supporting the reach of the one who stood as the man who reigned above it. It was only natural then it could support his march as a bridge.

Athánatoi Number 3862

It walked forward as a scouting party. Searching for the master, searching for the servant. Slowly they were mapping out the moor.

Number 994 disappeared. Number 13 found itself bashed to bits by a launched log.

It walked forward.

It also disappeared as the world became a murky brown as it sunk into the trap that hid a pit filled with water. As he fell his body crumbled at the holes edges and caused a reaction of the tumbling of rocks that buried him inside.

Number 3862 dispersed.

Athánatoi Number 391 disappeared.

Athánatoi Number 2501 disappeared.

Athánatoi Number 33 disappeared.

The numbers of the Athánatoi were whittled More than half of the army had faded away and the mighty elephant that Darius rode upon was now but a chariot pulled by two “horses” made out of a number of skeletons forming a mimicry of the beasts..

The invasion was by all means a most costly one, but also one that was going better than expected.

But-

There was a matter even more important.

He was the emperor. But the emperor had a cornerstone that he could not do without. His master. The situation at the church, of the Archer who was their ally who engaged in hostilities with that shining hero who was known as the fastest.

The heart of the war-effort of Darius was under incredible danger. Despite the losses that had be incurred, despite the fact that the battle was over he made to retreat. Taking his leave of the marsh. The Athánatoi left in the shame of defeat.

But defeat did not matter. As long as they remained, as long as he could rebuild it did not matter.

Leaving the land of Rider, Darius made to pillage a number of homes, taking cues from the riot that now rampaged through the city.

To recooperate and to be close enough to protect his master. The campaign was that of loss, but it was information that they could use for another invasion in the future.

Fate/Factitious Paradigm

@BlueHelix@Reallydumb@Kyoka

In The Woods, Southern Moor

A capable general.

That was something that some stories did not describe him as.

Yet he was a man with many things. It was only natural then that he gained things that he did not originally have. Sporting the armor that was the creation of the man of the era of electricity, and sporting the various sacks and vials of the dreaded poison that laid down even the greatest of heroes. What he held was a bounty indeed for any hero, but it was simply a small part of the hoard that would become the power of Persia.

That power, for now was partially on loan. The man beside him was clever, but he was not Iskander. No, despite acting now as a general with the help of Darius, this man was not Iskander.

An ally, a general under his control. He was not a enemy worth facing, an enemy worth devoting one’s existence towards. The hero Odysseus was indeed one of the most celebrated and famous of the modern era. Together they marched upon the swamp, and as they rode, Darius on his elephant of the dead, looking towards the Archer from time to time to consult him wordlessly as though playing at the role of a leader while being a berserker he found that it was a great hero at his side. A hero certainly on the level of him

Yet.

He was so incredibly different. The two men were both clever, and masters of war. Yet they were heroes of a different cloth, birds of a different feather. Even if Odysseus were to be the greatest military tactician in existence, Darius would not see him as a great foe.

For he did not have that drive, that burning drive like that one man.

Would he see Iskander? Would he see that drive?

In his madness, the drive and Iskander were one and the same. Similar to that knight who saw saint and knight as the same individual, the same soul.

Oh Iskander, oh Iskander. Who would be Iskander?

He felt the appearance of a servant as a master called their partner back with a command seal.

Was it you? Iskander!

Fate/Factitious Paradigm

@floodtalon

Family History: The Aesworth are a offshoot family of the Aesaurum, when a set of twins was born during the third generation of the Aesaurum family. The "younger" twin was cast out to begin a new branch family uder the Aesworth name, while the Aesaurum continued with the "older" twin. The Aesaurum family is five generations old by now, with a crest age of 400.

Branch families work by someone who is beginning a new family/making a new crest being given a donation of a small part of an established family’s crest. This helps them skip the labour and problems of starting from scratch. In exchange they tie themselves to the donor family and sorta serve them like vassals to an extent.

What normally happens in this sort of scenario you’re describing is something like Sola-ui or Sakura. Aka something to tie them to another family for political connections, and also they get to sorta continue a line of magi.

People within the Spiritual Evocation department noticed her talents and recruited her quickly, giving her plenty of materials to work with and better herself with. 30 years passed since her birth, with the Clock Tower recognizing her achievements and awarding her with the title of Pride after heading a joint project within the Spiritual Evocation department

It seems a bit of a stretch to go from dead apostle hunts to becoming a lecturer. Sure she might be good, but I don’t think she’s really going to get the chance to show that off to the extent needed for that with her set up and background. Furthermore she doesn’t have the political standing for this.

The Clocktower provided extremely rare materials to facilitate the experiment, handing the project off to her to test if she was as good at Spiritual Evocation and Spiritual Surgery as others claimed. The combination of a Nature Spirit and a young dead boy, an exceedingly rare event that can only be done by human hands. To give human values to something not human, very few of these "Guardian Spirits" exist. They must be bound immediately if they are to continue to exist in this world, so the newly made Guardian Spirit was quickly bound to the Leyline of another Aesworth's land in Germany. It would likely take another few hundred years for the spirit to properly "become human" so to speak

Why was there a project to make a guardian spirit. Like what’s its purpose? Why is this a group project. If it’s being made by the department then it has to have some sort of reason. Magi don’t just make things for no reason, they especially don’t get together for big projects for no real reason. I don’t really see the purpose or need for them to make a guardian spirit, especially if they’re handing it to someone unrelated to the project.

So she makes a Guardian Spirit (with the help of other magi)

They offer her a nature spirit as something just to test if she is capable of doing something she claims she can do.

I’m afraid this just doesn’t really present a convincing line of reasoning.

Spiritual Evocation: The ability to evoke and control spirits, from the lowliest wraiths to even Guardian Spirits.

Please remove this bit.

Overall I am rejecting this sheet in its third iteration.

Once more I suggest that at this point that you go with another concept.

Fate/Factitious Paradigm

@BlueHelix@Reallydumb

In The Woods, Southern Moor

Too long had he been idle, too long had he waited before returning to his battle. His eternal war with that man would never end, and every moment of peace was simply a break for him.

His emissary had not been successful, simply being plundered himself into the fuel of the enemy. Yet he was a man who was not like the many heroes of this war. He was one who was surrounded by defeat, who knew many failures and retreats. Such a small loss would not bother him, for he was the ruler who like a bird of fire rose again and again. Like a weed he propagated and withstood. He was a wall who defined himself in opposition to other great legends.

Yet his awaited foe did not come. The man called the Great did not come. He did not come he did not come he did not come. No matter where he waited, no matter how he awaited his arrival to the place that held a great bounty (fallen leyline) no matter how he waited by the ocean he did not come he did not come he did not come. Why was he not here, why did he not come with his unquenchable desire and greed?

The power of the empire was like the fuel for a legend that burned bright enough to cast its flame into the future as a great beacon to light the path. An anchor that helped to define human history.

He struggled against the man that could not be denied in his quest for the end of the world. Even the Persian Empire falling before him and claimed and repainted as his.

A failure, a terrible failure built upon the countless losses.

He had done his role diligently, but now he walked out as the conquerer. If that man would not come then he would lash out and search for him. So the army marched. A manifested army of the dead, or rather the undying marched. Their sights set for that moor, that marsh of the Rider who was the lord who defended his land.

He did not know of that servant, nor of his history. But in a sense there were similarities in their nature.

Riding upon a great elephant, accompanied by his vast legion. With a need to wage war verging on the need of madness, he descended into the moor, trampling a gouged path into the land with the arms of the Persian Emperor.

Iskander!

Oh Iskander!

Where are you?

Fate/Factitious Paradigm

Rank: Brand

@floodtalon

Much too high. Her abilities and political standing is far from being worthy of the title of Brand.

For comparison, Lord Archibald Kayneth El-melloi is from a most prestigious family of 9 generations. He is a notable lecturer in the Clocktower said to be have entered the position at the youngest age in the history of his department. On top of being set up with immense talent and political standing, he also happens to be talented in furthering his relations and managing said political standing. He is a man who both was given all the tools to succeed, and held the talent to utilize said tools to their full potential.

He is a man stated to be someone who could have revolutionized a field of magecraft if he had not died prematurely.

Even then it is only due to his connections and his political marriage that connects him to the family of the head of a Clocktower Department on top of his abilities as the head of the Archibald family that he has become a lord and Brand.

Of course Kayneth does deserve his ranking as a magus, and potentially he could reach a very high level of Brand but…

The point is that you definitely don’t qualify for Brand.

Objective for the Grail: Elizabeth has no wish for the Grail, being sent by the Mages Association to destroy it with the assistance of the Servant she has summoned.

Alice will send you a PM with your objective for the grail. However what can safely be said is that your goal isn't to destroy the grail at this point. Please simply say that you're going to Fuyuki as a agent of the clock tower following their directive.

Each time, she came back with less injuries, more people returned from each hunt as she improved her Spiritual Surgery.

Spiritual Surgery does not keep people from dying to vampires. You also cannot heal people from having their heads crushed, or just straight up killed in numerous manners even if Spiritual Surgery did work for healing flesh wounds. Which it does not. (Citation for such.

Spiritual doctors are said to heal the soul and not the body. I guess this priest here is the real thing, in contrast to his looks."

Interlude 10-4 F/SN Heavens Feel Route

For guidelines on what Spiritual Surgery can do look at Kotomine Kirei. While he is overall not good at magecraft, he holds the trait of spiritual surgery and is very talented at it. Examples of what he has done are remove worms from Matou Sakura, because worms are circuits. Albeit with the help of command seals. Graft a spiritual thing onto the spirit of an Emiya Shirou (Heavens Feel spoilers I guess. If you know about it, you'll get what I'm referencing) Also transferring command seals.

Eventually it was determined that she was the best in the Clocktower at it and so she was given the legendary title of Brand. 70 years passed since her birth and she became one of the youngest Magus to ever achieve the title of Brand.

She would be far from the youngest to achieve Brand, if she achieved it at the age of 70. The organization known as the Clock Tower that has existed for 2000 years has seen many freaks after all.

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Number of Magic Circuits: A

Quality of Magic Circuits: A

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Elemental Affinity: Average One

Inconsistent with your backstory. She’s someone from a branch that had to prove herself yet she’s got god tier circuits and a super rare trait that’s considered very valuable.

Also too high quality yeah. If you were part of the main family it could be argued for but I’m not allowing this.

Otherwise remember that affinities aren't just I cast fireball. The different elements have meanings that are added to magecraft, and also are the font of different magecraft. Average One is amazing because it can mix those different meanings. Consider for example Kayneth using his mercury with his affinities of wind and water because of their meanings of flow.

General Magecraft: A Brand level Magus on top of being an Average One, Elizabeth has mastered every element to it's fullest and mastered most general Magecraft over her life.

I don’t know why you’re talking about elemental magecraft under General Magecraft. It’s also impossible to master every elemental to its fullest. It wouldn’t be possible even if you were like a 2000 year old dead apostle ancestor. It’s not happening.

Spiritual Surgery: The art of healing, to remove a wound without ever touching the flesh. Indeed, it is the act of "cursing" someone to remove infection. A technique that both the Archibalds and the Archisortes are famous for, Eizabeth has taken to a new level. There can be nobody in the Clocktower who rivals her skill in healing wounds of the body, the only thing she cannot heal would be the "soul" itself.

Spiritual Surgery does not heal the body. The Archibalds are not famous for it. she is definitely not the best at healing wounds within the Clocktower either.

Spiritual Evocation: The ability to direct things of a spiritual nature,

As the name suggests it is actually about evoking spirits.

to even a dematerialized Servant's spiritual core,

You’re not messing with a servant’s spiritual core when they’re astralized. You’re not messing with spiritual cores with this to begin with.

Elizabeth has mastered this to a degree unknown to the Archibalds, taking many wraiths and stitching them into a sort of artificial intelligence bound to her will. She then pushed that intelligence into her Mystic Code, turning it into an autonomous attacking device.

This is very far from unknown to the Archibalds and isn’t really that exceptional by their standards. It's a useful ability of a spirit medium, but it's not groundbreaking.

Crest: 700 Years old

The Archibald family has the age of 9 generations.

The Archisorte family being a branch family is at a maximum around 6 generations old.

700 isn’t gonna happen

Reduce it to 200-400

Imaginary Space: A Mystic Code utilizing imaginary number space to store anything. The Mystic Code itself is her gloves, simply channeling Mana into either glove lets her deposit or withdraw anything she wishes, within a reasonable size of course. She has a variety of weapons stored in the Imaginary Space to supplement her skill with all sorts of weapons, along with a few pre-stored spells in case she needs to get out of a pinch quickly.

Her affinity is not Imaginary Numbers. As such she cannot operate this mystic code.

Pre-stored spells do not exist. Spells don’t work like that. The Edelfelts have their method of jewel magecraft for a reason as an example.

You can instead utilize high-speed arias (talk real fast) for faster spell casting. Or utilize magic circles to prep the formula of spells that are higher level and then just add an aria/cast like normal.