Thomas paused in his work, glancing again at first his right hand, the crest that adorned the underside of his wrist there. Then at the photo sitting on the deck, weighed down by stones. Four boys, of unusual hair color, posing before pyramids of some sort. The magus shook his head once more, wondering idly if his research was wrong, and that this crassly mundane item was not in fact the artifact his sources had suggested it was. As he etched his circle in the earth with careful yet quick strokes of his staff, he wondered if this was going to be a fool's errand. After all, if it was, in fact an artifact, what could a relic of only slightly old make possibly bring into being?
It was, he decided amidst his work, irrelevant. He'd been chosen for this most exclusive of contests. The chance to place his hands on the Grail, and seize the wish shared by many of his peers. The Root.
He paused in his task, looking over the circle, carved into stone with a rod of metal. He'd chosen this property to rent for several purposes, it's relative seclusion, and it's place near the shore. The surface was granite, carved complete from its place, a vein of quartz woven with gold still visible on the face aimed towards him. No, it didn't matter the quality of the artifact. He was an excellent magus, and possessed the knowledge and skills to use whoever answered his summons. His circle was etched on a slab taken from the tallest of mountains. His foundation lay outside, prepared over the day for this one, most important task.
Setting his staff aside, he paused to apply his craft, reinforcing spells arcing along his body. He bent at the knees, taking a firm grasp of the slab, three inches thick, and a meter and a half in diameter. With the slightest of breathes, he lifted it as effortlessly as a merely heavy load, instead of the impossible task it should have been. Carrying it the ten meters away, he carefully laid it across the prepared surface, one third of raw soil, a third of sand, and a third of a shallow pool of water. Stone, metal, earth, water, and the dust so easily carried on the wind, representations of all the elements to add harmony and balance to the ritual about to come.
After a moment to once against check over his circle's structure, a traditional styling, he went back to the deck, taking the photograph from its place. Carrying it back to the circle, he laid it at the center, then stepped back. A glance about this sheltered yard, and then he stepped back, producing a knife for the final alteration from tradition he would perform. A quick strike across the right palm, dagger cast aside as he flung out his hand, and began to chant.
"Let silver and steel and blood be the essence.
Let stone and the archduke of contracts be the foundation.
Let red the color I pay tribute to.
Let my great Master William be the ancestor."
His circle ignited with power, the crimson droplets from his hand soaking into the assembled materials, turning the white light the hue of blood.
"Let rise a wall against the wind that shall fall.
Let the four cardinal gates close.
Let the three-forked road from the crown reaching unto the Kingdom rotate.
I hereby declare."
A wind breathed to life, ruffling the leaves of the trees around the yard, sending his hair into a small storm.
"Your body shall serve under me.
My fate shall be your spear.
Submit to the beckoning of the Holy Grail
If you will submit to this will and this reason…Then answer!"
His voice remained firm, hard, his will iron, unwavering. The glow brightened.
"An oath shall be sworn here!
I shall attain all virtues of all of Heaven.
I shall have dominion over all evils of all of Hell!"
The power seared shut the slash across his palm, and his cadence, ever rising, rose to a roar.
"From the Seventh Heaven, attended to by three greet words of power,
Come forth from the ring of restraints,
Protector of the Holy Balance!