Yukitamas

Fate/Charonioi Klimakes

@SSW @Yankee @Gracefully

Overlooking a Flow. District V

A sudden burst of speed, faster than her run? Ridiculou- Cracks in wood and metal from his-, the shadow’s arm that raised to block the blow. A single blow? A claw parries and breaks, his black keys like toothpicks in her wake.

He… (beyond)

Couldn’t… (his)
See… (sight)

Battered down, the ghostly but oh too real arms (weapons) of the shadow were already breaking apart, and the sheer force at which splinters and shards were sent flying from his weapons was enough to whip forth and cause skin-rending gashes through him. His robes were painted where the snow was untouched, having no time to spill onto the ground with his blood.

It was ridiculous.

The kidney punch that rushed past his shattering defense was intercepted by an ash-lock clad fist. The weapon, and his hand with it shattered in a explosion of shards and blood.

None of his puppets would get there in time, and none of the would have any use, any purpose against them. Perhaps if it was one of the greater heirs of the history of the Lacrignoia then there’d be a chance with their one and only trump card.

He had met such force before. He was taught by such force, but this was something that held more than just that force. A heretic with the raw power to contend with mage-killers was something all the more dangerous and damning than a zealot with, as much as it could be called that, ‘only’ physical brawn and faith.

How much did she know of magic, to what end did she use it? As far as he could tell she wasn’t utilizing anything notable, and she was far beyond the means of mere reinforcement. Was she a monster born with a body that simply had as a given the heights that those crazed prayers attained with their resources and training? Or was she simply a link in the chain that bred true in their own ways to mimic a family? Or was there some trick, some technique that gave birth to a miracle? Something of this level could not be born from something as paltry as a tool supporting one. Could it be the gifts of the servant? No, she was moving too normally, too used to this. This was simply how she was at war.

If he could put his feelings in one word, it was loathing. He loathed this woman who was gifted with a body that was strong. He loathed that confidence of knowing that she was able to do what was asked of her, by others, herself.

I.

Hate.

You.

A cold sort of scorn, yet it was the only thing that perhaps truly riled his blood. To a man such as he there were three courses. To hate others, to hate magic, or to hate one’s self. To hate one’s self was simply a waste of time, to hate others could be fuel, as legends showed.

To hate magic, was in truth, the idea of hating the past, or was it hating humanity? His answer was it was both. The present was built on a countless amount of pasts. Of course the present simply existed without caring about the past. The present was simply the present and it existed because it was the present. But one who lived in the present with simply just the present was not a human, and one without a future. To hate the past was human, but to know of the past was also human. He did not hate the past or magic, for it was not the past, or the future, or even the present that led to his lacks. It was simply that he was.

He did not hate humanity, he simply held no interest, for it would not be meaningful. IT would simply be a pointless expenditure of his already storyless life.

The one to blame then...

Another punch was blocked as he put in his best attempt at an escape. A function of his shadow was divulged as one of its claws burst out as a missile as soon as they clash, heading straight towards her chest while the claw tried to occupy one of her fists for that moment. Would it even slow her down? He wondered as, lashing out with the puppet, he moved to propel back towards the streets, behind his crusading soldiers with a speed that while not matching that of the priestess, was greater than what he could normally achieve.

Perhaps the only solace was that even in such a short pitiful… clash, that at least his servant was one that was strong enough to wage an entire war in that time.

“Already useless after one blow…” he stated on the condition of his hand that he’d have to take a good amount of magical energy and time to heal. To begin with something like the curse of self-restoration was not going ot hela something like that so swiftly for even someone above his level. "This one isn't that much better either..." as he looked upon the condition of his shadow.

“Are the tight gun laws in the east a courtesy to your sinners and criminals?” he called out, as he recalled the showcase of an Ash Lock blocking a Wesson’s Magnum with ease. “Brawn over faith, or is brawn faith? Regardless..”

The question would be how he could survive long enough for an entire battle with such a thing, let alone at all. It didn’t matter how powerful Rider might be, or how weak that opposing servant might be if it was impossible for him to be at the field.

“...”

Would they have to retreat so soon? Could they even retreat? Would one of those have to be used?

If he were here…

Could he oppose her at all? The thought crossed his mind as a possibility even as his knowledge gave an answer “Of course not.” Somewhere deep inside he imagined, and hoped.

Fate/Charonioi Klimakes

@SSW @Yankee @Gracefully

Overlooking a Flow. District V

A formula painted in the ground with magical energy, a magic circle formed within the snow, out of the snow. Ice that laid the foundation, filling the circle that was made by the virtue of the snow being displaced out in that shape by the magical energy. A simple creation. A quick preparation as he could only hope to assume that the very basics of theory and magical energy could be applied as countermeasures with how it was likely that this was an eastern practitioner.

To call it a trap was hardly correct, but as she closed in from the streets came soldiers. Not human, but soldiers nonetheless. Scarred armor, flowery flags and heraldry, exotic blades and blood-soaked rags. Walking in pairs of two, the sound of blades rusting from being stained in blood from endless battle began to fill the air.

A strange macabre sight, two fake men tied by their waists like conjoined twins, walking together towards the same goal even as they attacked each other, completely matched with the same conviction, no, same bloodlust. They sported ugly violence against each other in the name of their own, same, god. But was that the reason, or was it just a justification? Something to scream for to profess themselves as superior even as they simply wished to kill.

Strange puppets, strange indeed. The warriors of Islam, the warriors of Christ. The Holy Romans and the Saracen. It just so happened that they marched to involve her in their violence. A battle of the sacred devolving into ugly secular means. They were puppets meant to tell a story, and a weapon to slay those who were “not us”, an enemy to repel “outsiders”.

But it would take time for them to reach, and in that time he could take her measure.

He moved, not as fast as her, but with two more bullets launched from his knuckles as his other hand grabbed two more claws out of seemingly nowhere. Closing in he swiped,, two of the blades striking out at her with the shadow behind him mimicking, forming an overlapping formation of slashes that hunted her down and repelled, utilizing the differing reaches and length that they held. The wide sweeping arcs of the long gastly claws of the puppet swiped more fiercely and faster than him while holding greater range and area. But closer as he was, the slash of his left hand claw with its two black keys was more precise, while the single held blade in his right held her at bay as if it were a rapier.

She was fast, and likely strong. But nothing showed that she was a monster, not like the mage hunters he knew, or the one that became his sword.

Fate/Charonioi Klimakes

@SSW @Yankee @Gracefully

Overlooking a Flow. District V

A man walked out of the streets, all that could be seen of his face that was covered by a hood whiter than the snow extending from his robes being the frown of the frail. Thin lips and pale, pale skin were silent as he looked upon her and found what he was looking for.

The air of someone confident, who believed themselves great. Beyond that it was the presence of those who believed themselves able. Talent was one thing, but the ability to do at all, to be capable… It was the simplest of things, denied to him and perhaps him alone

A man may dream of flying like a bird, but such a fantasy to a land-dwelling creature was different from the bitterness of a bird born with featherless wings.. There was no need to talk. That’s what he thought as he gave Rider a simple command. “Win.”

His hand ran through his sleeve and swiped forth, a fan of steel forming in the grip of his knuckles even as one bullet flew forth. He did not have the sheer physical power of the knights of the Church, but such techniques were readily shared with the Lacrignoia. Battle was known, if only for at least the purpose of knowing how to be the director of knights.

A Black Key of Providence, one of the weapons of the Christian Church’s hidden side. An obscure strange weapon hardly popular among the members of vampire-hunters. It was not the first thing to think of when one considered a mage hunter, yet… Well, it didn’t matter. As a foreigner from the east he wouldn’t be surprised if she was ignorant to any of these tools, or their meaning. Now would they accept the attack and deal with it themselves, or would the servant act?... with or without the recognition or permission of their master? Their personalities, their means, both could be gleaned by a simple throw. His clairvoyance activated, Lauchme ready to take in all the information that he can from the caster.

“Meaningless chatter.” he dismissed her words. Why should he not? She clearly held no interest in them to begin with. It was never his role to give interest and meaning to something that others couldn’t bother to present to him as meaningful A story held only the most scandalous or greatest parts of a life after all. Humans didn’t need to live, they simply needed to give birth to stories. Or rather, a human that cannot give birth to stories was not living at all.

His shadow stood with him as he broke away from Rider, fan of blades numbering three. He was not so far that anything in the league of Rider could not be intercepted. His speed was barely faster than a normal human, both to preserve his strength and bait out the opponent… Is what he’d like to say, but it was more than his limits in purely his mundane means. So it was more importantly a matter of preserving his strength as he moved closer to the streets that led into the city like veins.

The snow was a prison of flow, water and earth, wet and cold. A fact that he took in as a consideration as a potential way that the enemy may alter their tactics. Or more importantly, a element that he could utilize to foil them. Just in case he began to speak an incantation.

Perhaps she is a monster that knew even more than he did. Perhaps she the a monster that he should be the most envious of. He did not need the grail to tell him that he was the lowest of them all.. Save for a fluke perhaps. Perhaps a spare was prepared as the eighth that had no ability whatsoever. An absolutely normal bystander dragged in. But he would have no mercy for such an individual as well.

So which number were you?

Come and show me.

Fate/Charonioi Klimakes

@SSW @Yankee @Gracefully

Team Rider

A moment in the past...

“There are three rules that you must follow.”

“First. I am not a strong magus. You will completely align with the orders of the Command Spell, for we cannot win otherwise. To waste their power is something that will lead to our defeat.” It was soon after Rider was summoned . “Second, I will be on the battlefield with you. This is merely out of necessity for I am not a strong master.” The words came with a clinical voice, hardly cheerful, cold. “Third. Do not expect great help from me.” He did not repeat the reason as to why the third time.

It was simple enough, it was clear. I cannot win, so you will have to swear yourself as a blade for victory. You will have to fight with myself as a weight and shackle, for without that we cannot even fight to begin with. Some may have called it a self-deprecating self-evaluation, but it was spoken in a matter of fact way that came with objective observation and seasoned knowledge, almost dismissively of any potential ego that would have been related to the subject matter.

Those were the first words he spoke in that theater as he was greeted by two.

A man who did not even stand on the stage with him.

A person (hero) who stood before him as a fellow starring role.

“Hello, Rider is it? It is nice to meet you.” The same voice, yet it was warmer. Hollow and yet warm all the same in comparison, for even if it wasn’t quite human… It was precisely because of that, that it wasn’t cold like the words of the frail magus.

Beautiful, shining. Even if their faces were so similar... He was the same as the magus who hid as the director. Yet, to someone with the senses of a heroic spirit, let alone to someone who held the senses inherited from that mother… It was clear enough that it was not a human. Not that the magic layered upon him truly tried to hide that. The wrongness of a puppet simply was turned into a spotlight. It was only natural for him to be different, just like how Rider was different from humans to begin with.

A hero was one that stood separate from normal man.

“My name is Roland.” A hand with no flesh, yet garved in flush and taut youthful skin reached out, offered with a smile. “Will you not fight along with me?” The shadows of the theater focused around the two, or perhaps the darkness of the shadows already existed, with only the light of the two finally showing it to the world?

“...In any case, I am your master.” called the man from the audience. “I will share with you my abilities which are few. However there are things I know, and if you are not educated then you will follow my word on the workings of the world and the mystery. Whether you are long for the world or not does not matter, Ghost Liner. Simply that we bring a fall to stars and crown them false.”

A touch of bitterness… and the eagerness that such poison can bring finally filled his words, even if he himself did not notice. Ah, he was indeed human.

“Shall we march to war?”

The servant on the stage, Rider, looked from the contraption standing beside him to the man seated in the audience. So, this type of magus summoned him. Someone who, perhaps, yearned to be something they were not and lived by proxy? Or maybe just the paranoid type, as many were. Not only that, the demanding type. Right to the point.

Rider smiled.

"Of course," he said, his voice smooth and light. "You can leave everything to me."

Three rules, as Rider understood them: do not defy his master's orders, protect his master who will always be nearby, and finally to look after himself. That was fine. Compared to other heroes, Rider was good at following orders. It wasn’t something he was particularly proud of, but it was a simple truth. His whole life he'd fulfilled the requests of others, up until... well.

When Rider spoke it was with conviction. If there was a hint of anything else there, chagrin or otherwise, perhaps the magus sensed it but it was drowned out by confidence. His smile was as genuine as his words - the expression girlish, and nothing if not a little feral. Eager, but reserved. Rider flexed his hand. He thought that first impressions weren't everything, and spoke again.

"I'll give you everything you need to know about myself, and I will deliver us to victory. You don't have to worry about your partner being some rogue."
He looked again to the thing on stage with his master's face. "And this one?"

“Roland. A puppet. Do you know of the legend of the Paladins? My family is that of a magus line that creates puppets and theater based upon their legends. He then is-”

“I may be but a creation, but my name and my role is that of Roland. Whether or not it is something that is given to me, it is a life and name I strive to live out fully. Perhaps to someone from the ancient age of the gods it might not seem so grand, but I do not believe I pale in intent to any hero of man at least.”

A touch of humility, yet not to an extent that belittled himself. If he was believed in as the work of five centuries then he will carry himself as a hero fitting such a work.

Acting as if he wasn't interrupted, the magus continued where he left off- “Roland is my representative. In truth he poses as me, and fulfills my role. So long as he is able to cover it he fulfills the need of being Roland, and being myself. Things that are not my concern yet demand my attention can be left to him. Anything that does not relate to proper research. Although both of our responsibilities will be different in this war. I have not come here to spend my time in this city idly after all.”

"Understood." Then this puppet was an extension of his master. Rider was not very familiar with this character's inspiration, knowing only the most vague of things that came with being summoned into this era. 'Roland,' his creation, seemed much more personable than the man himself, and that brought a small amount of amusement to Rider's face. It could be that his earlier thought was correct, and his master was a man with some deep seeded wish in his heart. Ah, of course that was true - for why else would he summon someone such as Rider to compete in this little war?

Though this small knowledge about his master was endearing, the man in question seemed anything but. Rider glanced his master's way before he finally took Roland's hand, "then Roland, master, let us begin."

Present Time District V

The aching burn of the seals, the presence of another servant. Both were clear indicators that another participant was close. The two walked together, even as puppets moved forth, hiding away, and otherwise moving into position in intercepting locations.

Roland in this case stayed behind, a trump card to be hidden later, a hero to be shown another time. A bit of subterfuge. Present the weak magus, and then present the puppet that was him another time. Normally revealing himself would be something he wasn’t keen on, but the reality was that he required proximity to his servant for the sake of their connection.

“Water carries the flow, it brings, or rather illuminates change. You can figure out the shift of the moon and stars from the water, and reflect the color of the sky upon it. The change of water is in truth the change of the world around it…

He offered no polite smile even as he raised a hand towards the famed river. “Then battle will paint it red. Magical Energy will cause it to swirl and run like the fury of battle. Yet ultimately we have no true advantage with it, and it is harder to avoid attention there, harder to break away. The town is better to fight in. Most heroes will stay their hand slightly if it will spare bystanders, correct? Then we will evaluate them from that, and utilize such a weakness.”

His hands, surprisingly slender were covered now in jagged claws, adorn by a twisted cross. Ash Locks, a weapon of the church. Rider was shown the curious process of taking pages from the book that was in this day and age, considered the standard and image of sacredness, and applying them to his limbs to transform them into weapons.

“I trust you have no objections.” he remarked as mana strings, hardly noticeable by most, but perhaps in Rider’s awareness rose to connect to a gastly figure, slightly floating from the ground, tattered and clawed apart legs becoming a ghost-like skirt of tattered cloth. The shadow of the magus rose before fading away, replaced by the puppet that took its place as the director’s shadow.

He hoped that his enemy would have the good sense to repel those who would pry and watch matters that were out of their world. After all, to someone like him preparing a bounded field along those lines was beyond his ability to do in short notice in a normal space.

“I am weak. But that does not mean I am useless… Not yet, anyway." But we'll see how far that carries him. He took that thought into mind as out of his sleeves came a strange thin blade. A strange, awkward throwing blade that was a heavy point that he held in his knuckles.

"Fuir les aveugles"

It flew, propelled like a bullet into the sky before it burst into a sparking show of noise and light.

A spell to scare those who knew not of the world beyond their lives, one to scare those who had no business into hiding and to close their eyes.

A very basic thing.

He leaned across the side of a building to rest himself. He would need this small moment for what was to come.

Fate/Charonioi Klimakes

---

Stillborn Star

Name: Lauchme Lacrignoia

Title(s):Stillborn Star

Gender: Mal

Age: 66

Previous Alignment(s): Mage Association (Clock Tower)

Motivation for the Holy Grail: An accomplish that could be called his own. A special victory that could be called his own and an affirmation of his own life story. Furthermore it would be a means to advance their craft through the analysis of the grail that can bring forth such a great phenomena of Heroic Spirit Summoning.

Yet perhaps there's something more that he desires for the grail unknowningly.

Personality: (I expect sufficient exposition. Fundamentally, every master summoned for this Holy Grail War was selected because they were incomplete, flawed existences. Please, try to remember.)

A clinical, cold man. A man who does not mince words, or hide behind many lies. One would not expect him to be a proper player in politics or have proper relations... and truth be told one would be for the most part? correct. There is a experienced and knowledgeable despair behind his coldness beyond his natural tendencies, and despite his words switching either from disinterest to some coldness, there is a certain feeling of, if not wisdom, then potential that can be felt that leaves one listening to his words.

Perhaps it is empathy to understand a person like him that lingers within the hearts of people? Or perhaps more importantly, it is the fear to avoid being such a person. Passion that rotted away to apathy from a lack of nurturing. His greatest emotion could be called a seething, a cold indignation that lingers subtly.

It is hard for most to tell what he appreciates, and he hardly is interested in sharing. However, perhaps as a break from his own works at creation, he prefers to consume the works of others, rather than create his own. The sort who would flip through your diary rather than make one of his own.

Perhaps the thing he would delight at the most is to see the fall of something that would not even trip upon even a pebble.

History

A man blessed in position, yet cursed with the inability to carry the weight of such a position.

His body was given gifts valuable in the magic world, his blood worth more than its weight in gold. A magus blessed with the resources and lineage, along with such a special talent could forge a path, whether or not their magecraft was compatible. If their home did not provide a path then they could always walk a new path.

But Lauchme did not have the wings to let him fly along such paths. Born with a frail constitution, and a talent as poor as health. He could not achieve what most would expect of him, what should be within his grasp. Falling further and further below expectations, his growing understanding as he consumed further and further knowledge to try and find the path that could bring forth his talents. Eventually he however was told what he had long understood himself.

“You hold no talent. Yet your abilities are valuable and you are good at understanding. You will not be a great practitioner. Turn your efforts to seeding the future, and you shall become a celebrated heir”

To entrust one’s hopes to the future was the path of all humans and magi. But for him perhaps he was not allowed to have that hope in the first place. Too intelligent, too experienced. If anything he was a genius at going through information and experimentation. A talent that only served to further crush any hopes.

If one lives in despair, then knowledge and truth serves not as a balm to soothe one’s pain,b ut as a merciless light that extinquishes the hope known as uncertainty. Funny that he could extinguish such for himself, when his own abilities were well suited for manipulating and utilizing that space, that unknown.

Ah, but perhaps it was because he was the one who peered into the unknown and carved a possibility out of it that he led such a life? A man who lived according to his origin (alignment). A strength that hungered without sustenance, a pride stubbornness that would not allow him to stop.

His fate was to feed and fatten his descendants while he furthered his family as an attractive tool to other families. Normally the Lacrignoia would not be so easily married into, let alone in conditions that were so sweet to a magus.

The heir, the one crowned as king within his domain and yet the one without a future or a say into the path of the family. He was one who would put in the work that could be done by anyone, with a greater, but thankless ability. He would reaffirm and reject theorem. He would refine and create patents and prepare more than even he had been born for, for his child…

His child…

What was the meaning of his life? What was his story? A mere background piece, a convenient deus ex machina meant to forgive and allow a grand story?

He grew disillusioned with life.

No.

His story.

His main creation that could be said to be a personal one was a puppet. His Roland, the grand hero, but also himself.

A magus that lives only in their workshop, never leaving their territory and study was not an uncommon one. In that case the familiar that represented them would be the magus in a functional way to society and others. Yet his model was both the great hero, and also himself.

It was the him of the outside world, that could live among other people, that carried the weight of Lacrignoia.

Perhaps it was in a way the true final end of his life as a normal human as well. For what need was there for him if he could have a puppet, a familiar and representative that acted both autonomous and with his direct input at times? For it was an independent puppet.

He worked as needed, managed the family relations with political allies and enemies, and friends in the Christian Church, and was eventually given a fiance.

The news of a Holy Grail War, a ritual and gathering of heroes was eventually presented to him by a friend. Interested, he decided to participate, utilizing the excuse of it being a ritual firmly relating to the family's path. Truth be told it was not a lie. After all, he was still a magus and scholar. A strong academic interest, the possibility of gain and human desire brought him to Budapest, relic in hand.

Here he will be pray for rebirth into the glory of victory.

Magical Information

Elemental Affinity: Perspicere

Magic Circuit Switch: (We shall grant you this knowledge.)

Number of Magic Circuits: (We shall grant you this knowledge.)

Quality of Magic Circuits: (We shall grant you this knowledge.)

Magecraft

Sacraments and Heretical Magic of the Hidden Church:
The forgiven miracles of the church that sees what should not exist, and the techniques and thamuaturgy of the church utilized in its war of fighting fire with fire. Spells and formulas shared with the family by their allies in the church.

Beyond this there is a vast amount of knowledge of all sorts of things provided by executors, and knights as they share what is taken from those they destroy. It is thanks to this that Lauchme so exhaustively came to explore every option possible to understand that there was no path to greatness.

Tricks such as the concept and utilization of Black Keys, Ash Locks and various other things come in handy as well. Theoretically he even knows how to swing a sword... although his physical aptitude leaves it quite wasted out of theory.

Heroic Spirit Summoning (Puppets)

Not the forming of Ghost Liners and independent familiars of great power using heroic spirits like servants in the Holy Grail War, but the more typical use of Heroic Spirits utilizing Puppets as a medium. The path and magecraft of the Lacrignoia born from the tradition of puppet theater.

To create a great hero who can achieve the possible, to act out a story that would reach the root. Puppets are created both in the guise of heroes, and also as vessels for heroes. Information and abilities based on heroes are imbued into the puppets as they take on their roles. Some puppets can switch, being star actors that shine brilliantly in any situation, yet some are more limited, and yet perhaps more optimized as they are created to be a singular part of a tale as their sole existence. Whether they are the star role or a two bit.

Reconfiguration is possible, but to a point it is akin to rebuilding the puppet.
The star actors that are able to switch, reconfigure and at times even mix through the mutation of acting and storytelling that transforms the story of heroes are sometimes created with personalities ad egos to allow for independent activity. For Lauchme who does not have great skills of a director, lacking talent as a magus, he finds it easier to create a number of directing actors that are assigned to troupes rather than manage everything by himself in the manner of his grand ancestor who woved completely accounted for epics.

For him his ability lies in rather managing to direct the general shape of his goals and intentions. Really, to him it is akin to the difficult task of dealing with humans.

Grand Guignol:

Born of his affinity, and his own disposition. Heroes exist, and grand tales have certainly happened even as stories and storytellers transform those events. What a hero was, and what a hero becomes is simply up to the actor and writer.

Within the truth of stories are the many maybes that are unspoken. Feelings never said but simply hinted at, conjecture bringing forth all sorts of pains, delights, and darker feelings that complicate and enrichen as a spice the drama upon the stage. The hero is a gloryhound whose deeds rain greatness upon himself even as that splendor hides the darkness and foul bestial baseness that lies within the heart.

Lovers speak lies, tragedy claims lives. Where there is room to interpret there is a possibility. Things that could exist but do not take form.

All Imaginary Possibilities, Numbers.

The Theater is in truth a catbox, filled with ad-lib acting and interpretation. No one actor is the same, and no performance, or even rewrite of the same story by different playwrights the same.

Lauchme brings out the darker parts of stories. Alternatives that twist almost maliciously the original tales. The truth at the base empowers the lies, and gives them substance, even as it becomes more and more obscured. Who is to deny these possibilities after all?

Weaving in heroism and tragedy, villany and empathy. The abilities are at times twisted, and yet the core of the roles still exist. It certainly adds a sort of flexibility but… Really, to heroes and servants it might seem to be a hobby in bad taste.

Yet there is one puppet that as an exception shines brightly as a untainted pure example...

Imaginary Number Storage: While teleportation through conversion of the self to imaginary numbers, or traversal into imaginary numbers space is not something that can be done normally. Utilizing beacons, and proper formulas. Storage in Imaginary Number Space can be possible.

Very useful for bringing all sorts of things around without effort, or preserving things without fear of the degradation or effect of time, temperature or anything really.

Tools/Equipment

Blood-Watered Wood: Aged wood harvested from trees taken from the sites of old battlegrounds. The memory of battle, loss, death and grudges lingering leave it an ideal material for darker villains or bloodthirsty heroes.

Puppeteer's Armory: Various sorts of old armor and weapons. While not full on tools made to be magic, there is some degree of mystery from age, and use. While it is technically equipment, it is functionally part of the ingredients that helps construct or reform puppets and roles. They work as a good channel for abilities and mystery.

Mystic Code

Puppeteer’s Phantom:
A macabre shadow floating behind, everwatching its owner. Dressed as a high-class man of the dark nights, with a impersonal mask that only highlights its mechanical existence as a tool as a face. It s
A mimic, a shadow. Strings connect a puppet that seem almost as though they control the puppeteer as its movements follow the one it is connected to. It is not a fully autonomous puppet, but rather an echo that echoes and bolsters one’s actions.

The Phantom that directs the director of the opera, the shadow underneath the stage. It is in a sense a straightforward combat-augmentation tool that protects the user and serves as an outside source of strength.

Prana Strings link the user and the puppet, although to account for the difference in specs and the lack of limitations of being confined to a human body, a supporting rudimentary intelligence is installed into the puppet for supportive, corrective-calculations to moves.

Its strength in being an extension and mimic of the user however means that it cannot serve the function of being an automatic and autonomous defense. A rarity in a puppet that takes the distinction of a tool that bolsters your own fighting power and gives you power, rather than a creation that has power and fights in your stead.

To match with Lauchme’s fighting style it’s hands are akin to the existence of Ash Locks, while its claws are able to be flung forth like throwing weapons, while also being easily replaceable with new blades.

Ah, but really, who is the true puppet master?

Logistille’s Bible: Dedication of Ink

A book that holds the sacred and heretical. The reverse side of the bible. The holy word and the magic that it denies. Created by Lauchme, at its base it is not a typical mystic code, but rather the compilation as a copy of his years of research and study as a one-book library written as the reverse side to a bible.

Hundreds upon hundreds of magical formulas and magic circles are made into the profane shadow lingering beneath the holy book. Upon that the concept of the book of Logistille the fairy that embodies wisdom was imbued. Man and God, the miraculous and heretical. Combined with his affinity it in a sense is a book that embodies the possibility of magic, and understanding that rules over it.

A bible that contains “all” circles and formulas. While not on the level of course of the book it is modeled after, it has ended up a mystic code of protection, breaking and utilization of all sorts of spells. It is at the least more useful than a typical Magic Resistance Amulet.

Of course such possibilities yet include things that are far divorced from the western world’s doctrine and theory, and there are many gaps in more specific and developed foundations. But it is the nightmare of a budding generalist.

Frozen Heart of Angelica:
A puppet’s heart to be carried. The indifferent heart of the princess Angelica who in turn is tormented and chased by love (madness).

A sane, and yet uncaring and inhuman heart. The core of what should be a puppet that was instead simply abandoned, and repurposed as a supplementary tool.

Something that staves away passion, and love (madness). It is a focus that substitutes for one’s heart for things that sway and influence one’s feelings, and tempers one’s feelings.

Really, it is nothing special. It’s just a tool to help one focus.

Orlando-Lauchme:
Would it not do to spend my efforts on the one that would attend to our various ties Those… efforts that take away from work and value?”

Such was his justification when he set upon the treasure of his family, their puppet of Orlando the hero of their theater, to modify it into a mirror of himself and the true representative of the Lacrignoia.

While his skills as a magus were not great, and the Lacrignoia are far from reaching the level of making puppets that are indistinguishable from humans, or one’s self, that is both covered up and used to the advantage of the puppet in the case of Roland.

Illusions and tricks are used to make it look more human, more and more like Lauchme and yet more… and different. Differences that bring attention, tricks and magic born of the crowning of a star and a hero to make what should be the discomfort of a human being around that which is a pale imitation into the adoration of someone beyond them.

In other words, the discomfort of a puppet passing off as human is turned into the recognition of a hero.

Uncommon in puppets is the personal taste of Lauchme placing artificial personalities in them. Although usually it is more of an origin and driving impulse, born from the story that they wear and represent rather than a full fledged and complete ego. A simple matter of a puppet that acts out the role of a hero, or villain or side character as they are shaped into. As is natural.

Going beyond that is Orlando. Holding an artificial personality utilizing Lauchme himself as the base. One could say it is in fact, a second Lauchme. Yet he possess greater abilities as a puppet, and even more from borrowing the guise of the hero Roland. He is a kinder, more confident and open soul. Perhaps ironically he acts more human, even if it is only a guise indeed.

Studying his behavior the purity of a hero and machine can at times become clear even born from a twisted man. Yet perhaps because his creator is such that he acts in ways that suggest a proper ego. A reflection of his master, and a true representative.

Right To Rule: (Blessing to the King)
The Three Broken Relics.

Three mystic codes that further empower and support Roland. A prop, a blade corresponding to three relics, and three kingly symbols.

Gram, the blade in the tree, shining bright like the sun with the greatest sharpness and biting wrath.

Shattered by the king of gods, and reforged, not lost and only brought to new heights quenched in the blood of a dragon.

Caliburn, the sword in the stone. The one to choose the great perfect king, broken with the failings of the dragon.

Naegling, the blade that failed its owner, its wielder holding greater strength than even it could continue, broken by the hands of a king.

Broken by the strength, the wisdom, and the failings of great kings.

Yet those broken shards hold meaning. Together they are a crown of broken blades. Together they crown the unbreakable blade, the blade that stands above kings in godliness. Durandal.

The relics themselves are three swords that, while above the level of an Azoth Blade, are fine but not exceptional relics. But it is as ingredients that their worth shines through. Three combine to become Durandal, and with that blade in hand a puppet becomes the great hero.

As fitting the work of a puppeteer, it is possible for both Roland and Lauchme to divide up the blade into three and control two of them independently. A flurry of legendary blades, the onslaught of the godly king. Although really, one should let the fighting be handled by the familiar…

Fate/Charonioi Klimakes

Player Name: Yukitamas
Randomization Results:

Family Age: 500
Mystic Code Quality: Average
Mystic Code Quantity: 1

Magical Crest Age: 500
Magical Crest Quality: Very High

Magic Circuit Quality: Average
Magic Circuit Quantity: Average

Elemental Affinity: Perspicere [Abnormal/Unique]
Magical Experience: Maximum
Magical Talent: Minimum

Magical Paradigm: Opera dei Pupi

---

Stillborn Star

Name: Lauchme Lacrignoia

Title(s):Stillborn Star

Gender: Mal

Age: 66

Previous Alignment(s): Mage Association (Clock Tower)

Motivation for the Holy Grail: An accomplish that could be called his own. A special victory that could be called his own and an affirmation of his own life story. Furthermore it would be a means to advance their craft through the analysis of the grail that can bring forth such a great phenomena of Heroic Spirit Summoning.

Yet perhaps there's something more that he desires for the grail unknowningly.

Personality: (I expect sufficient exposition. Fundamentally, every master summoned for this Holy Grail War was selected because they were incomplete, flawed existences. Please, try to remember.)

A clinical, cold man. A man who does not mince words, or hide behind many lies. One would not expect him to be a proper player in politics or have proper relations... and truth be told one would be for the most part? correct. There is a experienced and knowledgeable despair behind his coldness beyond his natural tendencies, and despite his words switching either from disinterest to some coldness, there is a certain feeling of, if not wisdom, then potential that can be felt that leaves one listening to his words.

Perhaps it is empathy to understand a person like him that lingers within the hearts of people? Or perhaps more importantly, it is the fear to avoid being such a person. Passion that rotted away to apathy from a lack of nurturing. His greatest emotion could be called a seething, a cold indignation that lingers subtly.

It is hard for most to tell what he appreciates, and he hardly is interested in sharing. However, perhaps as a break from his own works at creation, he prefers to consume the works of others, rather than create his own. The sort who would flip through your diary rather than make one of his own.

Perhaps the thing he would delight at the most is to see the fall of something that would not even trip upon even a pebble.

History

A man blessed in position, yet cursed with the inability to carry the weight of such a position.

His body was given gifts valuable in the magic world, his blood worth more than its weight in gold. A magus blessed with the resources and lineage, along with such a special talent could forge a path, whether or not their magecraft was compatible. If their home did not provide a path then they could always walk a new path.

But Lauchme did not have the wings to let him fly along such paths. Born with a frail constitution, and a talent as poor as health. He could not achieve what most would expect of him, what should be within his grasp. Falling further and further below expectations, his growing understanding as he consumed further and further knowledge to try and find the path that could bring forth his talents. Eventually he however was told what he had long understood himself.

“You hold no talent. Yet your abilities are valuable and you are good at understanding. You will not be a great practitioner. Turn your efforts to seeding the future, and you shall become a celebrated heir”

To entrust one’s hopes to the future was the path of all humans and magi. But for him perhaps he was not allowed to have that hope in the first place. Too intelligent, too experienced. If anything he was a genius at going through information and experimentation. A talent that only served to further crush any hopes.

If one lives in despair, then knowledge and truth serves not as a balm to soothe one’s pain,b ut as a merciless light that extinquishes the hope known as uncertainty. Funny that he could extinguish such for himself, when his own abilities were well suited for manipulating and utilizing that space, that unknown.

Ah, but perhaps it was because he was the one who peered into the unknown and carved a possibility out of it that he led such a life? A man who lived according to his origin (alignment). A strength that hungered without sustenance, a pride stubbornness that would not allow him to stop.

His fate was to feed and fatten his descendants while he furthered his family as an attractive tool to other families. Normally the Lacrignoia would not be so easily married into, let alone in conditions that were so sweet to a magus.

The heir, the one crowned as king within his domain and yet the one without a future or a say into the path of the family. He was one who would put in the work that could be done by anyone, with a greater, but thankless ability. He would reaffirm and reject theorem. He would refine and create patents and prepare more than even he had been born for, for his child…

His child…

What was the meaning of his life? What was his story? A mere background piece, a convenient deus ex machina meant to forgive and allow a grand story?

He grew disillusioned with life.

No.

His story.

His main creation that could be said to be a personal one was a puppet. His Roland, the grand hero, but also himself.

A magus that lives only in their workshop, never leaving their territory and study was not an uncommon one. In that case the familiar that represented them would be the magus in a functional way to society and others. Yet his model was both the great hero, and also himself.

It was the him of the outside world, that could live among other people, that carried the weight of Lacrignoia.

Perhaps it was in a way the true final end of his life as a normal human as well. For what need was there for him if he could have a puppet, a familiar and representative that acted both autonomous and with his direct input at times? For it was an independent puppet.

He worked as needed, managed the family relations with political allies and enemies, and friends in the Christian Church, and was eventually given a fiance.

The news of a Holy Grail War, a ritual and gathering of heroes was eventually presented to him by a friend. Interested, he decided to participate, utilizing the excuse of it being a ritual firmly relating to the family's path. Truth be told it was not a lie. After all, he was still a magus and scholar. A strong academic interest, the possibility of gain and human desire brought him to Budapest, relic in hand.

Here he will be pray for rebirth into the glory of victory.

Magical Information

Elemental Affinity: Perspicere

Magic Circuit Switch: (We shall grant you this knowledge.)

Number of Magic Circuits: (We shall grant you this knowledge.)

Quality of Magic Circuits: (We shall grant you this knowledge.)

Magecraft

Sacraments and Heretical Magic of the Hidden Church:
The forgiven miracles of the church that sees what should not exist, and the techniques and thamuaturgy of the church utilized in its war of fighting fire with fire. Spells and formulas shared with the family by their allies in the church.

Beyond this there is a vast amount of knowledge of all sorts of things provided by executors, and knights as they share what is taken from those they destroy. It is thanks to this that Lauchme so exhaustively came to explore every option possible to understand that there was no path to greatness.

Tricks such as the concept and utilization of Black Keys, Ash Locks and various other things come in handy as well. Theoretically he even knows how to swing a sword... although his physical aptitude leaves it quite wasted out of theory.

Heroic Spirit Summoning (Puppets)

Not the forming of Ghost Liners and independent familiars of great power using heroic spirits like servants in the Holy Grail War, but the more typical use of Heroic Spirits utilizing Puppets as a medium. The path and magecraft of the Lacrignoia born from the tradition of puppet theater.

To create a great hero who can achieve the possible, to act out a story that would reach the root. Puppets are created both in the guise of heroes, and also as vessels for heroes. Information and abilities based on heroes are imbued into the puppets as they take on their roles. Some puppets can switch, being star actors that shine brilliantly in any situation, yet some are more limited, and yet perhaps more optimized as they are created to be a singular part of a tale as their sole existence. Whether they are the star role or a two bit.

Reconfiguration is possible, but to a point it is akin to rebuilding the puppet.
The star actors that are able to switch, reconfigure and at times even mix through the mutation of acting and storytelling that transforms the story of heroes are sometimes created with personalities ad egos to allow for independent activity. For Lauchme who does not have great skills of a director, lacking talent as a magus, he finds it easier to create a number of directing actors that are assigned to troupes rather than manage everything by himself in the manner of his grand ancestor who woved completely accounted for epics.

For him his ability lies in rather managing to direct the general shape of his goals and intentions. Really, to him it is akin to the difficult task of dealing with humans.

Grand Guignol:

Born of his affinity, and his own disposition. Heroes exist, and grand tales have certainly happened even as stories and storytellers transform those events. What a hero was, and what a hero becomes is simply up to the actor and writer.

Within the truth of stories are the many maybes that are unspoken. Feelings never said but simply hinted at, conjecture bringing forth all sorts of pains, delights, and darker feelings that complicate and enrichen as a spice the drama upon the stage. The hero is a gloryhound whose deeds rain greatness upon himself even as that splendor hides the darkness and foul bestial baseness that lies within the heart.

Lovers speak lies, tragedy claims lives. Where there is room to interpret there is a possibility. Things that could exist but do not take form.

All Imaginary Possibilities, Numbers.

The Theater is in truth a catbox, filled with ad-lib acting and interpretation. No one actor is the same, and no performance, or even rewrite of the same story by different playwrights the same.

Lauchme brings out the darker parts of stories. Alternatives that twist almost maliciously the original tales. The truth at the base empowers the lies, and gives them substance, even as it becomes more and more obscured. Who is to deny these possibilities after all?

Weaving in heroism and tragedy, villany and empathy. The abilities are at times twisted, and yet the core of the roles still exist. It certainly adds a sort of flexibility but… Really, to heroes and servants it might seem to be a hobby in bad taste.

Yet there is one puppet that as an exception shines brightly as a untainted pure example...

Imaginary Number Storage: While teleportation through conversion of the self to imaginary numbers, or traversal into imaginary numbers space is not something that can be done normally. Utilizing beacons, and proper formulas. Storage in Imaginary Number Space can be possible.

Very useful for bringing all sorts of things around without effort, or preserving things without fear of the degradation or effect of time, temperature or anything really.

Tools/Equipment

Blood-Watered Wood: Aged wood harvested from trees taken from the sites of old battlegrounds. The memory of battle, loss, death and grudges lingering leave it an ideal material for darker villains or bloodthirsty heroes.

Puppeteer's Armory: Various sorts of old armor and weapons. While not full on tools made to be magic, there is some degree of mystery from age, and use. While it is technically equipment, it is functionally part of the ingredients that helps construct or reform puppets and roles. They work as a good channel for abilities and mystery.

Mystic Code

Orlando:
Would it not do to spend my efforts on the one that would attend to our various ties Those… efforts that take away from work and value?”

Such was his justification, and yet what would be called average by the standards of his family was created as his greatest work with painstaking labour.

Uncommon in puppets is the Lacrignoia’s personal taste of creating artificial personalities in them. Although usually it is more of an origin and driving impulse, born from the story that they wear and represent. A puppet that acts out the role of a hero, or villain or side character as they are shaped into.

However going beyond that is Orlando. Holding an artificial personality utilizing Lauchme himself as the base. One could say it is in fact, a second Lauchme. Yet with greater abilities as a puppet, and the guise of the hero Roland, he is a kinder, more confident and open soul. Perhaps ironically he acts more human, even if it is only a guise.

Studying his behavior the purity of a hero and machine can at times become clear even born from a twisted man. Yet perhaps because his creator is such that he acts in ways that suggest a proper ego. A reflection of his master, and a true representative.

Right To Rule: (Blessing to the King)
The Three Broken Relics.

Three mystic codes that further empower and support Roland. A prop, a blade corresponding to three relics, and three kingly symbols.

Gram, the blade in the tree, shining bright like the sun with the greatest sharpness and biting wrath.

Shattered by the king of gods, and reforged, not lost and only brought to new heights quenched in the blood of a dragon.

Caliburn, the sword in the stone. The one to choose the great perfect king, broken with the failings of the dragon.

Naegling, the blade that failed its owner, its wielder holding greater strength than even it could continue, broken by the hands of a king.

Broken by the strength, the wisdom, and the failings of great kings.

Yet those broken shards hold meaning. Together they are a crown of broken blades. Together they crown the unbreakable blade, the blade that stands above kings in godliness. Durandal.

The relics themselves are three swords that, while above the level of an Azoth Blade, are fine but not exceptional relics. But it is as ingredients that their worth shines through. Three combine to become Durandal, and with that blade in hand a puppet becomes the great hero.

As fitting the work of a puppeteer, it is possible for both Roland and Lauchme to divide up the blade into three and control two of them independently. A flurry of legendary blades, the onslaught of the godly king. Although really, one should let the fighting be handled by the familiar…

Fate/Charonioi Klimakes

Theorization begins.

Someone speaks. This is more than just a format for presenting info isn't it?

Fate/Charonioi Klimakes

I'm interested in participating in this story.

Player Name: Yukitamas

Family Age: X
Mystic Code Quality: X
Mystic Code Quantity: X

Magical Crest Age: X
Magical Crest Quality: X

Magic Circuit Quality: X
Magic Circuit Quantity: X

Elemental Affinity: X
Magical Experience: X
Magical Talent: X

Magical Paradigm: Opera dei Pupi

Fate/High Rollers

@Kala @seirei no hai @DarckLeon @Breo @GreenGoat

Red Archer

Las Vegas - Spring Valley Community Park Exhibition of the Strong [II]

A number of things came together, aware and yet not, regardless... His body moved. If it was his brother maybe he'd call it the guidance or will of god. Archer would simply turn his nose up at that. This was the talent he had, the path he could walk because he was him. Thanking someone else for that made his gut twist. But still, he he couldn't deny that even with the theft of the first blessing, the favor of his father still filled his spirit and body.

In this battle he showed his pride and his truth. Where Berserker's mind raced, bestial instinct refined slowly by the edge of a hunt. Archer considered his attack and then lost himself to the flow. How similar, how different. For a enemy like Berserker he paradoxically didn’t need to think. An enemy with overwhelming power, with inhuman power that man needed wit and the divine to compete with. He held both, and yet instinct fought with instinct. It was an instinct gained from becoming a beast against the instinct of a man born as a hunter.

Shifting so Lancer and Berserker got in each others ways, blows colliding between kick and punch, while his own fist bashed into the wolf's face. A light hit, but more importantly Archer's fist didn't pull back. He grabbed at Berserker, pulling him in, struggling and exerting himself to grab the raging servant into submission. Berserker was stronger, but the man born red was the king of the land, whose descendants became the king of the world. His own gifts, his way of life and sin, coming together with the hope and gift of his father.

Berserker was overwhelming. But so were Archer and Lancer.

Berserker was pulled off his feet as Archer fought to hold him, and batter him with strikes. Archer shifted in correspondence with the propelled bricks, forcing Berserker into their path, pinning him between his own fist and Lancer’s strikes.

“When you made this into a wild attack this became something different from a duel you know. You should know well, interruptions build upon interruptions. A hard-fought victory over a meal soon becomes a humiliated escape from a brand new predator that waltzes by and decides to butt in. But keep your eyes on me, just like that. Yeah, you know who to look at. You’ll know who to fear.”

Both his hands grabbed at Berserker as he smiled, even as he risked exposure to those powerful blows in doing His master’s blow was coming, so he’d have to answer in kind.

Berserker flew, thrown by Archer, with the aim and power befitting his class and identity. Hound and Owl took flight, and the violet and yet welcoming collision of two lights was akin to a game of the gods from long ago.

”...He’s tough, he’s fun. What class do you reckon he is? Rider? Berserker? But whoo, that’s something yourself, master. I won’t have to coddle you too much, won’t I? Good.”

Fate/High Rollers

@Kala @seirei no hai @DarckLeon @Breo @GreenGoat

Red Archer

Las Vegas - Spring Valley Community Park Exhibition of the Strong

“"It's a good thing to have a big mouth don't you know? If you can't measure up to how wide it is with talk or enough food to shove it up, it just shows that you're not as strong as you should be. Isn’t that natural?”

The statement came with a matter of fact air, distant from the arrogant words of self-affirmation and praise that had set off Berserker in the first place. A simple, almost childish and bestial logic. “Besides it’s better to be able to eat faster so you can enjoy more quicker. When you’re busy and in danger you can eat quicker so you can move on too. Having a big mouth is good!”

The declaration of Berserker and his raw palpable hostility however brought him back to his readied stance. Excitement and consideration coarsed through Archer as he locked gazes with his new foe.

“Hm, eyes however. You’ve got a point.”

The power of Berserker exceeded even Archer in his current state grasping for supremacy. But that was a given and a truth known to a hunter like him. So he didn’t clash, not directly anyway. He was faster, he was stronger. But step in here and thrust out your hand so and bring to him defeat!

He weaved low, away from the blow while his own fist held itself up like a shield, grinding against the side of Berserker’s fang as it pushed against the inside of his arm to redirect the blow.

“You’ve got good eyes, I like them. It’s more of a bite than your teeth. I’ll cut them away and show them off as my first trophy.”

He didn’t back away. In fact Archer advanced, a step forward grinding into the ground and taking him even closer to the wolf. One didn’t fight a beast head on, fist on fist. But that didn’t mean a hunter couldn’t advance or push ahead against them. To get caught in his fangs was dangerous, even if he had the confidence to get out or even turn it on him. But underestimating a being like this was foolish, and even if he couldn’t see through the tricks that his brother would be able to present when it came to a hunt he was as serious. His gut told him that this was a foe he couldn’t cautiously parse overtime.

“Hraaaaah!”

A jab, light by his standards, yet bristling with enough power for even the mighty hero to take note of as a proper blow flew towards Berserker’s neck while with a extra burst of activity he tried to unbalance him with a shove of Berserker’s extended arm away to throw it to the side.Entrap him, narrow his movements and take his measure. That was the usual tactic for preying on great beasts and men but… This guy would come at him in a full measure of power. So he had to put him on the back foot.

A punch led to a lash coming out from knee. He retreated with a flinging of his head like a skull-formed mace before slipping to Berserker's side, adamantly refusing to back down from him, then advanced again with a flurry of blows. Mixing it up without much of a pattern and thought, simply going with what felt right with the position of his body. Predictable and yet in its smooth flow, the anticipatory movements that struck on a whim managed to fit within the frame of his plan. He circled Berserker, trying to wear down at him and shift their role as aggressor and defender.