The Country Side West
- Thread starter Knosis
- Start date
As Written by Script & Knosis
The darkness clung to this place like death to a warzone. The old mansion, from a distance at least, looked well kept. But up close one could see the neglect the years had dealt it. Roof tiles hung loose or were missing entirely. Disheveled bushes were in bad need of trimming. Weeds in the flower beds threatened to take over completely. The man walked up taking note of all these things. He straightened up his leather jacket and knocked on the door.
“My name is Broch Asvaldr. I was requested.” He stated, his voice booming despite him speaking softly. Something did not feel right about this place.
The decrepit old door swung inwards at Broch’s touch, creaking on rusted hinges and allowing the moonlight to spill into the lobby. The interior of the building wasn’t much better kept than its exterior, the tiles of the entrance hall were grimy and dusty from disuse, and the once-extravagant rug that laid a path inside was damp and moulding at the edges.
From his perch on the balcony that overlooked the entrance hall, a figure watched the Iverian giant step inside, silent and contemplative. He was confident his masking wards would keep him hidden until he decided to announce himself, and so he took the time to observe the brute of a man from a distance, assessing him for several long moments as the silence following his words hung heavy in the air.
Just when it seemed like nobody was going to reply, the young mage stepped forwards from the darkness onto the stairway leading up, letting the light from outside illuminate him. “Hey, Ruler,” he called out, tilting his head at Broch and quirking one eyebrow. “I have to say, you aren’t what I was expecting.”
The servant was slowly coming to suspect he may have taken a wrong turn down the road somewhere. He had just about decided to turn around and leave when the voice called out to him. His weathered brown hues cast a gaze upward to glance at he young lad who had called him by his class.
A frown furrowed his brow. “And yer not wot I was expectin’.” He replied bluntly, his accent thick. “Well. I’m ‘ere. Yer ‘ad some questions to ask me, was it?”
His gut told him something was off still, and the old warrior gazed around once again.
“Just one, actually. But I have a confession, first.” Max stepped further into the light and down the stairs as he spoke, his hands in his pockets. The old wood creaked beneath his weight, as though it might give at any moment. “I’m not Thomas Reinsen. My name is Max Foster, and I’m not a Master.”
A small smile flickered across his face at that, as he went on. “Well, at least not yet. I was hoping you could help with that. I know about this war. I’ve studied it for years, prepared for it, waited for it. I even have an artefact for a servant.” There was a pause, then, and the smile faded to be replaced with a frown. Max stopped at the foot of the stairs and leaned onto the bannister, sighing. “There’s just one problem. I haven’t been given any seals yet. And it’s getting pretty close to the deadline, right? So… my question is pretty simple. What gives?”
The man somehow made his already massive stature seem even more enormous at the news. He narrowed his eyes, his brows furrowing further. He did not like tricks.
“‘Tis the Grail itself who decides if yer worthy enough to bare the seals. An’ ‘tis the Grail itself tha’ decides if yer worthy to ‘old it. If yer ain’t got any, yer ain’t been chosen to compete.” The old badger boomed. “I’d suggest puttin’ that artifact back where ya found it an’ give whoever it is a fair shot, eh?”
Max folded his arms, seeming unimpressed at the answer - though not surprised. “What makes a person worthy, in the grail’s eyes, then?” he asked, a sharp edge to his words betraying a hint of anger through his casual mask for a moment. “Are you going to tell me you believe that some elitist, self-serving mage who wants nothing more than to be better at magic than anyone else for the sake of their own inflated ego is worthy? When all they likely want that power for is to subjugate others? To play at god? You can’t honestly believe that, can you, hero?”
The old man folded his massive arms over his chest, listening to the youth. “Wot the Grail decides is a mystery to all of us. If ya’ve done yer ‘omework like ya said, ya know that.” He started off. “My beliefs, great as they may be, don’t matter in a ‘oly Grail War. If they did, it’d be called the Great Brawl instead or sumthin’.” He frowned further. “It ain’t up fer us to decide ‘ow the Grail chooses. Only fer us to to follow the damned rules.”
Chuckling at that, Max gave Broch a wry look. “I have to wonder at that. Seems like every time one of these things happens, someone breaks the rules somehow,” he remarked. “But I get it. It’s kind of the answer I was expecting, anyway. I just wanted to try the nice way first.” Pushing himself off of of the bannister, Max wheeled around so that he was facing Broch again, sighing heavily and looking down at the ground. “See, I didn’t come here planning to take no as an answer.”
Before Broch could react, the young mage’s eyes flicked upwards, glinting with magic as he barked a command word. “Praeligus!”
The entire ground floor of the lobby lit up with brilliant light, as a binding circle - masked by the energy of the leyline upon which this mansion stood - activated. Runic symbols flashed in the air and cords of magical energy lashed up from the carefully drawn seals throughout the circle, wrapping themselves around Broch’s body and limbs and pulling him down to his knees.
The man reacted, but it was a second too late. He struggled against the spell, the bindings grabbing his arms and legs in the attempts to pull him down. He stretched the very bounds of the spell itself, testing its limit to its fullest. He sounded an angry half roar half shout echoed in the abandoned mansion, causing several places of floor and ceiling to collapse within. The floor itself began to crack under the strength the old man exerted in the attempts to free himself from the bonds.
Eventually, though he still struggled, the man fell to a knee, his arms outstretched beside him. He panted heavily, glaring heatedly to the young boy who had tricked him so. It reminded him of another bygone time. “Well, now yer’ve done and pinned me down fer a bit. ‘Ow long do you think you ‘ave boy to try to convince me to ‘and over wot you want? Cause I don’t think ye’ve got enough lives fer that. An’ I dun think yer cheap spell is gonna ‘old me that long.” He growled.
Max shrugged, giving Broch another wry smile. “Sorry, I’m not planning on asking. I didn’t expect to be able to change your mind.” He took a few steps around the bound servant, moving out of sight behind him. “The grail is a creation of magic, after all. It only stands to reason it would do what it can to keep me away from it.”
Coming to a halt behind Broch, Max looked down at the command spells marked onto the hero’s back, and held a hand out towards them. “What do most people want from the grail?” he asked, continuing to speak as he began to draw on the magic necessary to pry the command spells he needed from their current host. “Power, control, or some naive nonsense that they have no other means of realising. All of it’s ultimately selfish, because that’s what magic is. That’s what magic makes people.”
The energy of Max’s spell began to crackle between his palm and Broch’s back, painful jolts of energy dancing across the markings. Broch’s back arched in agony as the Magical pulses raced down the seals on his back, the man gritting his teeth to keep from shouting out.
“Mages by their nature are something other than human. It’s said you have to leave that part of you behind if you want to be successful in the world of magi. The part that cares for right and wrong, that loves, that cherishes life… and by all I’ve seen, I’d say that’s true. Power corrupts. Mages are responsible for the worst evils this world has seen, and they’ll be responsible for many, many more.”
He paused, taking a long breath. “Unless I win this war. When I do, I’m going to fix it. The corruption that is magecraft, that is magic. I’m going to make sure it doesn’t taint humanity ever again. I’ll use the grail to eliminate magic from this world entirely, and it will be a better place for it.”
“Y-yer not gettin’.. Anywhere near.. The G-grail..” Broch spat through gritted teeth. The man seemed to suddenly pulse, his eyes turning a bright red in color. Fur began to sprout from exposed skin, and the large man seemed to start growing. Sickening creaks and pops announced what was coming soon.
“I take it you don’t agree, then,” Max noted, frowning slightly, before shrugging. “I suppose that’s fair. You spirits won’t be around once magic’s gone, either, so I suppose there’s an element of survival instinct I can’t argue with. Humanity will be better off, though. And there’ll be no more of these destructive wars.”
The crackling around Max’s hand crescendoed in time with the beginnings of Broch’s transformation, the energy fluctuating around the command spells on his back. Max narrowed his eyes with focus, gritting his teeth as the spell did its work. He needed to have them before the hero transformed, because he wasn’t sure how long his spell would hold him afterwards.
Tense moments passed, then, with a growl of effort, Max yanked his hand back. There was a brilliant flash on the back of his hand and on Broch’s back, as three command seals transplanted themselves across from the spirit to him. Max took a couple of unsteady steps back, breathing heavily, and grinned. “Ah… it worked. I wasn’t sure it would.”
Taking in the scene of the still transforming Broch before him, the young mage took another step away. “I’ll be taking my leave, now. And for what it’s worth, Ruler, I’m sorry it had to be like this. I can’t afford not to have a chance, though. If I die now, then at least I’ll have died fighting for a better world. I expect next time I see you, you’ll try to kill me, but till then… happy hunting.”
With that, Max turned and sprinted from the building, to where his bike was waiting around the side. The roar of its engine announced his departure moments later, disappearing into the night as fast as it would carry him.
The man fully transformed mere seconds after the roar of the engine began to fade in the distance. The creature easily broke through the spell with a mighty heave. A cry of an angry creature echoed across the land, the mansion beginning to quake as well. The entire place toppled down soon after, an explosion of dust shooting into the air that could be seen for miles.
--Before the Servants Were Summoned--
The darkness clung to this place like death to a warzone. The old mansion, from a distance at least, looked well kept. But up close one could see the neglect the years had dealt it. Roof tiles hung loose or were missing entirely. Disheveled bushes were in bad need of trimming. Weeds in the flower beds threatened to take over completely. The man walked up taking note of all these things. He straightened up his leather jacket and knocked on the door.
“My name is Broch Asvaldr. I was requested.” He stated, his voice booming despite him speaking softly. Something did not feel right about this place.
The decrepit old door swung inwards at Broch’s touch, creaking on rusted hinges and allowing the moonlight to spill into the lobby. The interior of the building wasn’t much better kept than its exterior, the tiles of the entrance hall were grimy and dusty from disuse, and the once-extravagant rug that laid a path inside was damp and moulding at the edges.
From his perch on the balcony that overlooked the entrance hall, a figure watched the Iverian giant step inside, silent and contemplative. He was confident his masking wards would keep him hidden until he decided to announce himself, and so he took the time to observe the brute of a man from a distance, assessing him for several long moments as the silence following his words hung heavy in the air.
Just when it seemed like nobody was going to reply, the young mage stepped forwards from the darkness onto the stairway leading up, letting the light from outside illuminate him. “Hey, Ruler,” he called out, tilting his head at Broch and quirking one eyebrow. “I have to say, you aren’t what I was expecting.”
The servant was slowly coming to suspect he may have taken a wrong turn down the road somewhere. He had just about decided to turn around and leave when the voice called out to him. His weathered brown hues cast a gaze upward to glance at he young lad who had called him by his class.
A frown furrowed his brow. “And yer not wot I was expectin’.” He replied bluntly, his accent thick. “Well. I’m ‘ere. Yer ‘ad some questions to ask me, was it?”
His gut told him something was off still, and the old warrior gazed around once again.
“Just one, actually. But I have a confession, first.” Max stepped further into the light and down the stairs as he spoke, his hands in his pockets. The old wood creaked beneath his weight, as though it might give at any moment. “I’m not Thomas Reinsen. My name is Max Foster, and I’m not a Master.”
A small smile flickered across his face at that, as he went on. “Well, at least not yet. I was hoping you could help with that. I know about this war. I’ve studied it for years, prepared for it, waited for it. I even have an artefact for a servant.” There was a pause, then, and the smile faded to be replaced with a frown. Max stopped at the foot of the stairs and leaned onto the bannister, sighing. “There’s just one problem. I haven’t been given any seals yet. And it’s getting pretty close to the deadline, right? So… my question is pretty simple. What gives?”
The man somehow made his already massive stature seem even more enormous at the news. He narrowed his eyes, his brows furrowing further. He did not like tricks.
“‘Tis the Grail itself who decides if yer worthy enough to bare the seals. An’ ‘tis the Grail itself tha’ decides if yer worthy to ‘old it. If yer ain’t got any, yer ain’t been chosen to compete.” The old badger boomed. “I’d suggest puttin’ that artifact back where ya found it an’ give whoever it is a fair shot, eh?”
Max folded his arms, seeming unimpressed at the answer - though not surprised. “What makes a person worthy, in the grail’s eyes, then?” he asked, a sharp edge to his words betraying a hint of anger through his casual mask for a moment. “Are you going to tell me you believe that some elitist, self-serving mage who wants nothing more than to be better at magic than anyone else for the sake of their own inflated ego is worthy? When all they likely want that power for is to subjugate others? To play at god? You can’t honestly believe that, can you, hero?”
The old man folded his massive arms over his chest, listening to the youth. “Wot the Grail decides is a mystery to all of us. If ya’ve done yer ‘omework like ya said, ya know that.” He started off. “My beliefs, great as they may be, don’t matter in a ‘oly Grail War. If they did, it’d be called the Great Brawl instead or sumthin’.” He frowned further. “It ain’t up fer us to decide ‘ow the Grail chooses. Only fer us to to follow the damned rules.”
Chuckling at that, Max gave Broch a wry look. “I have to wonder at that. Seems like every time one of these things happens, someone breaks the rules somehow,” he remarked. “But I get it. It’s kind of the answer I was expecting, anyway. I just wanted to try the nice way first.” Pushing himself off of of the bannister, Max wheeled around so that he was facing Broch again, sighing heavily and looking down at the ground. “See, I didn’t come here planning to take no as an answer.”
Before Broch could react, the young mage’s eyes flicked upwards, glinting with magic as he barked a command word. “Praeligus!”
The entire ground floor of the lobby lit up with brilliant light, as a binding circle - masked by the energy of the leyline upon which this mansion stood - activated. Runic symbols flashed in the air and cords of magical energy lashed up from the carefully drawn seals throughout the circle, wrapping themselves around Broch’s body and limbs and pulling him down to his knees.
The man reacted, but it was a second too late. He struggled against the spell, the bindings grabbing his arms and legs in the attempts to pull him down. He stretched the very bounds of the spell itself, testing its limit to its fullest. He sounded an angry half roar half shout echoed in the abandoned mansion, causing several places of floor and ceiling to collapse within. The floor itself began to crack under the strength the old man exerted in the attempts to free himself from the bonds.
Eventually, though he still struggled, the man fell to a knee, his arms outstretched beside him. He panted heavily, glaring heatedly to the young boy who had tricked him so. It reminded him of another bygone time. “Well, now yer’ve done and pinned me down fer a bit. ‘Ow long do you think you ‘ave boy to try to convince me to ‘and over wot you want? Cause I don’t think ye’ve got enough lives fer that. An’ I dun think yer cheap spell is gonna ‘old me that long.” He growled.
Max shrugged, giving Broch another wry smile. “Sorry, I’m not planning on asking. I didn’t expect to be able to change your mind.” He took a few steps around the bound servant, moving out of sight behind him. “The grail is a creation of magic, after all. It only stands to reason it would do what it can to keep me away from it.”
Coming to a halt behind Broch, Max looked down at the command spells marked onto the hero’s back, and held a hand out towards them. “What do most people want from the grail?” he asked, continuing to speak as he began to draw on the magic necessary to pry the command spells he needed from their current host. “Power, control, or some naive nonsense that they have no other means of realising. All of it’s ultimately selfish, because that’s what magic is. That’s what magic makes people.”
The energy of Max’s spell began to crackle between his palm and Broch’s back, painful jolts of energy dancing across the markings. Broch’s back arched in agony as the Magical pulses raced down the seals on his back, the man gritting his teeth to keep from shouting out.
“Mages by their nature are something other than human. It’s said you have to leave that part of you behind if you want to be successful in the world of magi. The part that cares for right and wrong, that loves, that cherishes life… and by all I’ve seen, I’d say that’s true. Power corrupts. Mages are responsible for the worst evils this world has seen, and they’ll be responsible for many, many more.”
He paused, taking a long breath. “Unless I win this war. When I do, I’m going to fix it. The corruption that is magecraft, that is magic. I’m going to make sure it doesn’t taint humanity ever again. I’ll use the grail to eliminate magic from this world entirely, and it will be a better place for it.”
“Y-yer not gettin’.. Anywhere near.. The G-grail..” Broch spat through gritted teeth. The man seemed to suddenly pulse, his eyes turning a bright red in color. Fur began to sprout from exposed skin, and the large man seemed to start growing. Sickening creaks and pops announced what was coming soon.
“I take it you don’t agree, then,” Max noted, frowning slightly, before shrugging. “I suppose that’s fair. You spirits won’t be around once magic’s gone, either, so I suppose there’s an element of survival instinct I can’t argue with. Humanity will be better off, though. And there’ll be no more of these destructive wars.”
The crackling around Max’s hand crescendoed in time with the beginnings of Broch’s transformation, the energy fluctuating around the command spells on his back. Max narrowed his eyes with focus, gritting his teeth as the spell did its work. He needed to have them before the hero transformed, because he wasn’t sure how long his spell would hold him afterwards.
Tense moments passed, then, with a growl of effort, Max yanked his hand back. There was a brilliant flash on the back of his hand and on Broch’s back, as three command seals transplanted themselves across from the spirit to him. Max took a couple of unsteady steps back, breathing heavily, and grinned. “Ah… it worked. I wasn’t sure it would.”
Taking in the scene of the still transforming Broch before him, the young mage took another step away. “I’ll be taking my leave, now. And for what it’s worth, Ruler, I’m sorry it had to be like this. I can’t afford not to have a chance, though. If I die now, then at least I’ll have died fighting for a better world. I expect next time I see you, you’ll try to kill me, but till then… happy hunting.”
With that, Max turned and sprinted from the building, to where his bike was waiting around the side. The roar of its engine announced his departure moments later, disappearing into the night as fast as it would carry him.
The man fully transformed mere seconds after the roar of the engine began to fade in the distance. The creature easily broke through the spell with a mighty heave. A cry of an angry creature echoed across the land, the mansion beginning to quake as well. The entire place toppled down soon after, an explosion of dust shooting into the air that could be seen for miles.
Last edited:
TheGreenerGrey
Self-proclaimed everything expert.
@Lobos
Steel rent and crashed, echoing throughout the dark and empty tunnels as thick metal bars scattered and clanged against stone. A figure, pale white and almost ethereal in the darkness, stepped from where the bars had emerged. Clad in nothing but its underclothes, the figure sagged for but a second as its corded and muscled body reached out for the nearby wall to steady itself.
Fingers flexed, and in its free hands a spark of flame burst into life, spreading into the recognisable shape of a pistol as the weapon materialised and solidified from embers to warm to the touch metal, small flames emerging from the rear of the gun and casting light in tunnels that had not seen it in uncountable years.
Wild, manic eyes focused upon the light. The precious light. Peering out from shaggy, unwashed and unkempt dark hair, the eyes flashed a ghostly yellow as lips curled backwards to reveal stark white teeth. Hunching further, Nameless sets off down the tunnel, guided by the light of his weapon as he sought those that had done this to him.
His movements resembling that of an animal's more than a man, jagged and manic as they were, the broken man made his way through the ancient tunnels. It took time, but eventually worn and damp stone gave way to burnished marble, and that into solid oak as he emerged into the manor proper.
But it wasn't right. As he gazed around, Nameless was forced to shake his head to disperse them. The memories. They clawed and they itched, telling him that this was not normal. That something was different. That this... this wasn't right. Images of activity, of hurried bodies and bowed heads illuminated by the sharp light of electrical light clashed with the sight before him, dark and silent, the only evidence of the world being there the creak of wood and the flicker of his weapon.
A gutteral growl rumbled from Nameless' throat as he violently shakes his head, hair whipping throughout the dark as the man broke into a sprint yet again, form steadily losing its animalistic quality as long since buried and once thought forgotten memories re-emerge and make themselves known again. Corners were checked and shortcuts taken as the man sped his way througout the mansion at a breakneck speed.ppp
Kitchen. Dining Room. Sports. Bedrooms. Masterroom. Servant Quarters. Archives. Stu-Study. The Study. Pausing in his search, Nameless shattered the door to the room. Idly a memory drifted up from the bottom of his mind, chuckling at how this had once been the goal. Stupid.
Nameless raised his arms high in the air, pistol disappearing as the whistling of wind could be heard. A hammer coalesced into existence in his hands, the flat head larger than his torso yet to him as light as air. With a savage roar, Nameless brought the weapon down onto the desk placed in the centre of the room.
The room shuddered as a powerful explosion of force emanated from where the hammer struck, wood splintering and shattering as papers tore and metal shrieked, the explosion of wind ripping the room apart.
Panting, Nameless stands and dismisses the hammer as he gazed at the room. The destruction of his tormentor's work... it sent a shiver through him. But it wasn't enough. No where near. They would learn his pain, the burning agony that coursed through him even now.
Growling, he turns on his heel to continue his search and makes his way for the door. But before he could leave, he caught sight of something... odd. Even to him. A bow, unblemished from the wind and the rubble it was beneath. He did not care a out what it looked like, but if it survived that... it was of obvious importance to them.
Crouching, the man hurls the rubble on top to the side before snatching the bow. Not even thinking to look for arrows, he clutches it within a once powerful grip, now weakened from malnourishment, and resumes his search just as a powerful force shook the mansion. Whipping around, Nameless narrows his eyes. It came from the recreational area. Of course.
His target set, the man stomps his feet as he sets off sprinting. Earth formed around him in a facsimile of armour as he burst through the mighty oaken walls. As he followed the sound however, crahsing through all that stood between him, his found himself being drawn there anyway.
A thread of light. A string of fate. A mere whisper at the back of his mind, enticing him. It taunted him and danced out of his way, drawing him closer with each and every step. So focused was he upon this call and the targets of his anger that Nameless was unaware of the appearance of a strange and intricate symbol appearing over his chest, directly on top of his heart as he sprinted.
Bursting through the last wall, Nameless feels his armour disperse as he is overcome by the sight before him. The whole family, the tormentors. The people that had done this to him. The people that had opened him and put the pain inside.
They stood in the dark large hall, organised in a loose circle around an intricate diagram of drawn lines, crossing and circling each other in simple yet complex ways. The lines glowed a pale blue, wisps of power floating out into the darkness and illuminating the people around the diagram, arms out and brows furrowed as they focused, voices talking in unision.
"...
Let grey the colour I pay tribute to
A cry interruped the chant as the four are snapped out of their reverie, the oldest male, the father, staggering with a shout of pain as he clutched at his bleeding arm. Three more shots rang out from the steadily approaching Nameless, his form composed while his face snarled in hatred as the father collapsed with a rattle.
"NO! Any time but no-" Starts the mother, face in a rictus of fury before it splits under the blade of a wind enforced knife, blood spattering the floor as she collapses. The remaining two, grandmother and son, waste no time talking and instead raise their arms.
Flames burst forth from their palms far too late, as Nameless' eyes flash and two more knives pierce the veil of flames and spear through the old woman's palms. Crying in pain, she holds them together and begins to channel the magic needed for healing. Yet it did not come. The energy rushed through her, but she found herself unable to cast. The last sound from her was a gasp of fear before a water wreathed blade flashed and took her head.
As the corpse slumped to the floor, a small bump sound coming from where the head collided with the floor, Nameless turns his blood spattered body to look at the second to last remaining target of his vengeance. "YOU!" Cried the son as he fell backwards to the floor, magic all but forgotten as he stared in terror at the test subject."HOW?! How did you esc-" he starts before his face blooms into a burst of pain.
Reaching forward, Nameless grabs the smaller teen by the hair as he rears his arms back again, bow in its grasp. Bringing it forward, the weapon collided into the teen,s face with an oh so satisfying crunch. Reaching back, Nameless brings the bow down on the young man's head again. And again. And again.
Over and over the bow flashed in the ethereal light cast by the diagram behind Nameless as he wreaked his vengeance. The teen stopped struggling soon in, but it was only until the bow, still undamaged yet coated in the crimson of blood, struck the wooden flooring did he stop.
Standing up, Nameless cracks his back and drops the bow next to the shattered corpse. Only then did he hear it once again, as the tide of red receeded. That whisper. Turning, the shirtless and bloodied man faced the diagram in front of him. A summoning circle, he felt himself being told.
Raising an arm towards the circle, in the centre of which a piece of metal floated, twisted and covered in intricate carvings that read in a language long since gone from this world. Not entirely sure what he was doing, Nameless opened his mouth and spoke for the first time in almost a year, hair flapping and whipping in a powerful wind as a voice as smooth as it was when he first came to this accursed place filled the empty hall.
Steel rent and crashed, echoing throughout the dark and empty tunnels as thick metal bars scattered and clanged against stone. A figure, pale white and almost ethereal in the darkness, stepped from where the bars had emerged. Clad in nothing but its underclothes, the figure sagged for but a second as its corded and muscled body reached out for the nearby wall to steady itself.
Fingers flexed, and in its free hands a spark of flame burst into life, spreading into the recognisable shape of a pistol as the weapon materialised and solidified from embers to warm to the touch metal, small flames emerging from the rear of the gun and casting light in tunnels that had not seen it in uncountable years.
Wild, manic eyes focused upon the light. The precious light. Peering out from shaggy, unwashed and unkempt dark hair, the eyes flashed a ghostly yellow as lips curled backwards to reveal stark white teeth. Hunching further, Nameless sets off down the tunnel, guided by the light of his weapon as he sought those that had done this to him.
His movements resembling that of an animal's more than a man, jagged and manic as they were, the broken man made his way through the ancient tunnels. It took time, but eventually worn and damp stone gave way to burnished marble, and that into solid oak as he emerged into the manor proper.
But it wasn't right. As he gazed around, Nameless was forced to shake his head to disperse them. The memories. They clawed and they itched, telling him that this was not normal. That something was different. That this... this wasn't right. Images of activity, of hurried bodies and bowed heads illuminated by the sharp light of electrical light clashed with the sight before him, dark and silent, the only evidence of the world being there the creak of wood and the flicker of his weapon.
A gutteral growl rumbled from Nameless' throat as he violently shakes his head, hair whipping throughout the dark as the man broke into a sprint yet again, form steadily losing its animalistic quality as long since buried and once thought forgotten memories re-emerge and make themselves known again. Corners were checked and shortcuts taken as the man sped his way througout the mansion at a breakneck speed.ppp
Kitchen. Dining Room. Sports. Bedrooms. Masterroom. Servant Quarters. Archives. Stu-Study. The Study. Pausing in his search, Nameless shattered the door to the room. Idly a memory drifted up from the bottom of his mind, chuckling at how this had once been the goal. Stupid.
Nameless raised his arms high in the air, pistol disappearing as the whistling of wind could be heard. A hammer coalesced into existence in his hands, the flat head larger than his torso yet to him as light as air. With a savage roar, Nameless brought the weapon down onto the desk placed in the centre of the room.
The room shuddered as a powerful explosion of force emanated from where the hammer struck, wood splintering and shattering as papers tore and metal shrieked, the explosion of wind ripping the room apart.
Panting, Nameless stands and dismisses the hammer as he gazed at the room. The destruction of his tormentor's work... it sent a shiver through him. But it wasn't enough. No where near. They would learn his pain, the burning agony that coursed through him even now.
Growling, he turns on his heel to continue his search and makes his way for the door. But before he could leave, he caught sight of something... odd. Even to him. A bow, unblemished from the wind and the rubble it was beneath. He did not care a out what it looked like, but if it survived that... it was of obvious importance to them.
Crouching, the man hurls the rubble on top to the side before snatching the bow. Not even thinking to look for arrows, he clutches it within a once powerful grip, now weakened from malnourishment, and resumes his search just as a powerful force shook the mansion. Whipping around, Nameless narrows his eyes. It came from the recreational area. Of course.
His target set, the man stomps his feet as he sets off sprinting. Earth formed around him in a facsimile of armour as he burst through the mighty oaken walls. As he followed the sound however, crahsing through all that stood between him, his found himself being drawn there anyway.
A thread of light. A string of fate. A mere whisper at the back of his mind, enticing him. It taunted him and danced out of his way, drawing him closer with each and every step. So focused was he upon this call and the targets of his anger that Nameless was unaware of the appearance of a strange and intricate symbol appearing over his chest, directly on top of his heart as he sprinted.
Bursting through the last wall, Nameless feels his armour disperse as he is overcome by the sight before him. The whole family, the tormentors. The people that had done this to him. The people that had opened him and put the pain inside.
They stood in the dark large hall, organised in a loose circle around an intricate diagram of drawn lines, crossing and circling each other in simple yet complex ways. The lines glowed a pale blue, wisps of power floating out into the darkness and illuminating the people around the diagram, arms out and brows furrowed as they focused, voices talking in unision.
"...
Let grey the colour I pay tribute to
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.
Your body shall serve under me.
My fate shall be your weapon.
Your aim shall be my guide.
Submit to the beckoning of the Holy Grail
If you will submit to this will and this reason…Then answer!
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-"
Let the four cardinal gates close.
Let the three-forked road from the crown reaching unto the Kingdom rotate.
I hereby declare.
Your body shall serve under me.
My fate shall be your weapon.
Your aim shall be my guide.
Submit to the beckoning of the Holy Grail
If you will submit to this will and this reason…Then answer!
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-"
A cry interruped the chant as the four are snapped out of their reverie, the oldest male, the father, staggering with a shout of pain as he clutched at his bleeding arm. Three more shots rang out from the steadily approaching Nameless, his form composed while his face snarled in hatred as the father collapsed with a rattle.
"NO! Any time but no-" Starts the mother, face in a rictus of fury before it splits under the blade of a wind enforced knife, blood spattering the floor as she collapses. The remaining two, grandmother and son, waste no time talking and instead raise their arms.
Flames burst forth from their palms far too late, as Nameless' eyes flash and two more knives pierce the veil of flames and spear through the old woman's palms. Crying in pain, she holds them together and begins to channel the magic needed for healing. Yet it did not come. The energy rushed through her, but she found herself unable to cast. The last sound from her was a gasp of fear before a water wreathed blade flashed and took her head.
As the corpse slumped to the floor, a small bump sound coming from where the head collided with the floor, Nameless turns his blood spattered body to look at the second to last remaining target of his vengeance. "YOU!" Cried the son as he fell backwards to the floor, magic all but forgotten as he stared in terror at the test subject."HOW?! How did you esc-" he starts before his face blooms into a burst of pain.
Reaching forward, Nameless grabs the smaller teen by the hair as he rears his arms back again, bow in its grasp. Bringing it forward, the weapon collided into the teen,s face with an oh so satisfying crunch. Reaching back, Nameless brings the bow down on the young man's head again. And again. And again.
Over and over the bow flashed in the ethereal light cast by the diagram behind Nameless as he wreaked his vengeance. The teen stopped struggling soon in, but it was only until the bow, still undamaged yet coated in the crimson of blood, struck the wooden flooring did he stop.
Standing up, Nameless cracks his back and drops the bow next to the shattered corpse. Only then did he hear it once again, as the tide of red receeded. That whisper. Turning, the shirtless and bloodied man faced the diagram in front of him. A summoning circle, he felt himself being told.
Raising an arm towards the circle, in the centre of which a piece of metal floated, twisted and covered in intricate carvings that read in a language long since gone from this world. Not entirely sure what he was doing, Nameless opened his mouth and spoke for the first time in almost a year, hair flapping and whipping in a powerful wind as a voice as smooth as it was when he first came to this accursed place filled the empty hall.
"I shall have dominion over all evils of all of Hell!
From the Seventh Heaven, attended to by three greet words of power,
Come forth from the ring of restraints,
Protector of the Holy Balance!"
From the Seventh Heaven, attended to by three greet words of power,
Come forth from the ring of restraints,
Protector of the Holy Balance!"
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Lobos
The Big Bad Wolf
Sevenfold faces turned as one to the beckoning light, yet even as they were distinct, they were one. A rare spirit was this, one who held the facets required for each of the calls, yet only could be chosen. As the light increased in time with the ritual happening in another time, another place, one began to overshadow the rest, the singular entity rising to meet the light as features rose from the formless, as shapeless power took identity. The gap was closed, and the journey was made.
Power erupted from the circle, a pillar of energy surging like a waterfall in reverse. The incantation completed, the pathway to the Thorne of Heroes was open, and flowing down the link was the materialization of the summoner's call. A darkness in the light emerged, as the ritual's surge faded into ethereal mist.
A figure on one knee, head bowed in abeyance, the contract between this Servant and his Master forming as he took his first breath of the air. The one summoned was solidly built, dressed in clothes and armor of black hue. Pale skinned, with shoulder length, silvered hair draped against the collar of his long open coat. A wide brimmed hat sat atop his head, a scarf around his throat and lower face. Something between a gauntlet and a glove covered each hand, a barbed band ringing his right wrist.
"Your summons is heard, the call is answered." A deep voice rose from the Servant as he brought his head back, revealing startlingly brilliant eyes, a blue so pale as to nearly be white, that bored into the face of his Master, meeting his eyes and penetrating his gaze as though with spears. One hand snapped across to strike a fist over his heart, a salute that shifted the jacket on his right side, revealing the curved handle of a single revolver of massive size. "My body is your weapon, my will is your right."
He rose from his stance, rising to his full height of six feet. His boots scraped across the floor as he settled, bowing slightly towards the magus who'd summoned him.
"I am Archer, and my arrows will strike at your foes."
Power erupted from the circle, a pillar of energy surging like a waterfall in reverse. The incantation completed, the pathway to the Thorne of Heroes was open, and flowing down the link was the materialization of the summoner's call. A darkness in the light emerged, as the ritual's surge faded into ethereal mist.
A figure on one knee, head bowed in abeyance, the contract between this Servant and his Master forming as he took his first breath of the air. The one summoned was solidly built, dressed in clothes and armor of black hue. Pale skinned, with shoulder length, silvered hair draped against the collar of his long open coat. A wide brimmed hat sat atop his head, a scarf around his throat and lower face. Something between a gauntlet and a glove covered each hand, a barbed band ringing his right wrist.
"Your summons is heard, the call is answered." A deep voice rose from the Servant as he brought his head back, revealing startlingly brilliant eyes, a blue so pale as to nearly be white, that bored into the face of his Master, meeting his eyes and penetrating his gaze as though with spears. One hand snapped across to strike a fist over his heart, a salute that shifted the jacket on his right side, revealing the curved handle of a single revolver of massive size. "My body is your weapon, my will is your right."
He rose from his stance, rising to his full height of six feet. His boots scraped across the floor as he settled, bowing slightly towards the magus who'd summoned him.
"I am Archer, and my arrows will strike at your foes."
TheGreenerGrey
Self-proclaimed everything expert.
@Lobos
Nameless watched as the mansion burned to the ground, pillars of flame roaring and gushing out of windows and into the cool night air as he stood far back, at the edge of the light cast while he viewed his handiwork. Between magic and the materials of the house, it hadn't taken too much time to soark a boaze such as this.
Watching a pillar crumble and fall, collapsing a portion of the west wing, he turned his thoughts to what he would do now. He wasn't entirely sure what was happening at this point in time, but really all he needed to know was that there was one remaining survivor of the Gauchever family. It was from his... old... life, but unlike the majority of memories there he found it burning like a beacon at the forefront of his mind, the light it cast making it almost dofficult to focus upon anything else. Not that he would want to of course. Any lapse in concentration and he would begin to feel The Pain again.
Behind him was that... thing. The one that had appeared when he completed whatever the family had been doing. He didn't know why, but he felt that he had little to fear from him right now. Without looking back at the... Archer, he speaks.
"Who are you and why have you come?"
Nameless watched as the mansion burned to the ground, pillars of flame roaring and gushing out of windows and into the cool night air as he stood far back, at the edge of the light cast while he viewed his handiwork. Between magic and the materials of the house, it hadn't taken too much time to soark a boaze such as this.
Watching a pillar crumble and fall, collapsing a portion of the west wing, he turned his thoughts to what he would do now. He wasn't entirely sure what was happening at this point in time, but really all he needed to know was that there was one remaining survivor of the Gauchever family. It was from his... old... life, but unlike the majority of memories there he found it burning like a beacon at the forefront of his mind, the light it cast making it almost dofficult to focus upon anything else. Not that he would want to of course. Any lapse in concentration and he would begin to feel The Pain again.
Behind him was that... thing. The one that had appeared when he completed whatever the family had been doing. He didn't know why, but he felt that he had little to fear from him right now. Without looking back at the... Archer, he speaks.
"Who are you and why have you come?"
Lobos
The Big Bad Wolf
@TheGreenerGrey
Archer had followed his Master through his activities, silently watching as he not addressed in turn. His Master seemed...unwell. He'd assumed that the place of his summoning was the man's home, but his attire was more damaged that he would imagine one might live, and the zeal demonstrated in burning the building down was unlikely to be born of attachment.
In the absence of instruction, the Servant merely followed the man around, and so found himself watching the building burn from a distance. He detected one Servants nearby, approaching with some speed but still not in view. One hand gripped the revolver in its holster, and while he kept checking the surroundings, his gaze kept fixing towards the unknown Servant's approach.
His Master's question caught his attention, and he glanced at the back of the man's head.
"I am Archer, the Servant you summoned for the Holy Grail War. You used my catalyst and spoke the incantation, so I am come. With my help you will claim the Grail, and so be granted your wish, for that is the prize you called me for, is it not?" Spoken levelly, Archer's keen eyes watched his Master.
"Another Servant approaches, Master. I know not which it is." Archer returned his gaze to the one who came. It felt like...on foot? "What are your orders?"
Archer had followed his Master through his activities, silently watching as he not addressed in turn. His Master seemed...unwell. He'd assumed that the place of his summoning was the man's home, but his attire was more damaged that he would imagine one might live, and the zeal demonstrated in burning the building down was unlikely to be born of attachment.
In the absence of instruction, the Servant merely followed the man around, and so found himself watching the building burn from a distance. He detected one Servants nearby, approaching with some speed but still not in view. One hand gripped the revolver in its holster, and while he kept checking the surroundings, his gaze kept fixing towards the unknown Servant's approach.
His Master's question caught his attention, and he glanced at the back of the man's head.
"I am Archer, the Servant you summoned for the Holy Grail War. You used my catalyst and spoke the incantation, so I am come. With my help you will claim the Grail, and so be granted your wish, for that is the prize you called me for, is it not?" Spoken levelly, Archer's keen eyes watched his Master.
"Another Servant approaches, Master. I know not which it is." Archer returned his gaze to the one who came. It felt like...on foot? "What are your orders?"
TheGreenerGrey
Self-proclaimed everything expert.
Nameless wasn't sure what this 'Holy Grail war' that this... Archer spoke about actually was, but with what they said about being granted a wish... well, his time in the hands of the Gauchever had revealed many world shattering truths at once. To be able to have any wish granted, as long as he presumably won this war... He could be free. Free of the pain.
He was snapped out of his unusally coherent thoughts as Archer, the... Servant that he had been given by the thread to aid him in being free, spoke once again. Shaking his head in annoyance, he watched as Archer turned to face a seemingly random direction.
At the mention of another Servant approaching, Nameless felt that familiar wave of anger wash over him as his fingers flexed yet again and an automatic pistol materialised in his hand, flame once again spurting from the barrel. However, before he could do more, the Servant's request for orders pierced the veil and the man found himself receding nack towards another time as memories flashed through him, thoughts that had once been marred by agony and hatred now given a brief respite.
"Fall back into the shadows. Hide. Hide. Shoot on command." He mutters as another pistol appeared in his off hand, this one gleaming like precious stones s he turned to face the direction Archer had been looking, weapons pointed.
He was snapped out of his unusally coherent thoughts as Archer, the... Servant that he had been given by the thread to aid him in being free, spoke once again. Shaking his head in annoyance, he watched as Archer turned to face a seemingly random direction.
At the mention of another Servant approaching, Nameless felt that familiar wave of anger wash over him as his fingers flexed yet again and an automatic pistol materialised in his hand, flame once again spurting from the barrel. However, before he could do more, the Servant's request for orders pierced the veil and the man found himself receding nack towards another time as memories flashed through him, thoughts that had once been marred by agony and hatred now given a brief respite.
"Fall back into the shadows. Hide. Hide. Shoot on command." He mutters as another pistol appeared in his off hand, this one gleaming like precious stones s he turned to face the direction Archer had been looking, weapons pointed.
Lobos
The Big Bad Wolf
Archer cast a disbelieving glance at his Master. Did he not reali-
Sudden realization crashed down on Archer, almost drawing a curse from the Servant. It fit, both the man not knowing who he was, or why he was standing beside him now. Now the mage bared fangs at an impossible foe. Somehow, some way, someone who had no idea what he'd even stumbled into was now a participant. The only consolation Archer could find was that he demonstrated commendable, if foolish, ferocity.
"I'm afraid that won't be possible, Master. To do so, I'd need to carry you, and I cannot do both that and take action to ward off a hostile Servant. Just as I can sense them, they can sense me. I can hold them here, you make for that glade behind us."
Archer's eyes caught a glimpse of movement cresting the top of the next hill. A figure, running on foot, it's size making for a reasonable guess on which of the others summoned was approaching. This did draw a muttered curse from the man, as he snapped up his weapon, fully as long as his Master's forearm and almost as big around.
"Go now if you want to live. I think that's Berserker."
Sudden realization crashed down on Archer, almost drawing a curse from the Servant. It fit, both the man not knowing who he was, or why he was standing beside him now. Now the mage bared fangs at an impossible foe. Somehow, some way, someone who had no idea what he'd even stumbled into was now a participant. The only consolation Archer could find was that he demonstrated commendable, if foolish, ferocity.
"I'm afraid that won't be possible, Master. To do so, I'd need to carry you, and I cannot do both that and take action to ward off a hostile Servant. Just as I can sense them, they can sense me. I can hold them here, you make for that glade behind us."
Archer's eyes caught a glimpse of movement cresting the top of the next hill. A figure, running on foot, it's size making for a reasonable guess on which of the others summoned was approaching. This did draw a muttered curse from the man, as he snapped up his weapon, fully as long as his Master's forearm and almost as big around.
"Go now if you want to live. I think that's Berserker."
The miles passed by rather quickly. He had felt it, a servant had been summoned and soon after there were plumbs of smoke in the air. If it had not been for previous events, Broch wouldn't have batted an eye. But they were too close, and too many things had gone wrong already. With any luck, it would be the boy from the night before, and Ruler could end his search quickly and efficiently. However, the warrior knew the boy wouldn't be so ignorant nor foolish to summon his servant so close to where he had attacked Broch.
Still, the old man hoped.
The one down side was he had no way to show he meant no harm, and he knew he would be mistaken as an enemy servant. And he also knew he had the profile fit for a Berserker class. So as he grew closer, he slowed his pace a tad and pulled out his battleaxe, his golden brown hues locked on two figures in the distance.
Still, the old man hoped.
The one down side was he had no way to show he meant no harm, and he knew he would be mistaken as an enemy servant. And he also knew he had the profile fit for a Berserker class. So as he grew closer, he slowed his pace a tad and pulled out his battleaxe, his golden brown hues locked on two figures in the distance.
Lobos
The Big Bad Wolf
As his master headed for the treeline behind him, Archer noted the closing Servant draw his weapon, slowing. His eyes burned bright, the distance between them almost as nothing. But, it was also slowing down. A puzzled frown crossed his face, and on a whim he shifted his aim slightly, still only hefting the weapon at chest level. He pulled the trigger.
A meter long tongue of white fire erupted from the barrel, a blazing line instantly cut across the not quite two hundred yards to burrow a furrow through the earth six inches in front of the Servant's leading step, a crater eight inches across. He paused before resuming fire, waiting to see the reaction of this unknown figure, nonchalant in posture. It was a display for his master as well as a test of theory, for no human should be capable of so accurately placing a shot, with a handgun, at such ranges. More so, one that was not equipped with suitable sights for such a task, and even more, done without properly lifting to sight his target at all.
Such was the qualities of Servants such as himself. For his part, he watched carefully, for an intelligent Servant would quickly realize that could have been just as easily the head or the heart.
A meter long tongue of white fire erupted from the barrel, a blazing line instantly cut across the not quite two hundred yards to burrow a furrow through the earth six inches in front of the Servant's leading step, a crater eight inches across. He paused before resuming fire, waiting to see the reaction of this unknown figure, nonchalant in posture. It was a display for his master as well as a test of theory, for no human should be capable of so accurately placing a shot, with a handgun, at such ranges. More so, one that was not equipped with suitable sights for such a task, and even more, done without properly lifting to sight his target at all.
Such was the qualities of Servants such as himself. For his part, he watched carefully, for an intelligent Servant would quickly realize that could have been just as easily the head or the heart.
@Lobos @TheGreenerGrey
The old man halted entirely at the warning shot, his brow narrowed. Archer class. So this may well be just a normal summoned servant. Ah well, Broch liked a challenged occasionally. Straightening up and popping the battleaxe up, he chucked it as hard as he could muster towards Archer. The huge thing spun in the air until it landed, blade down, into the ground 3 feet to the right and front of Archer.
"Next time, it'll be yer 'ead if ya shoot at me again, boy!" The old man shouted, his voice easily carrying the remaining distance.
The old man halted entirely at the warning shot, his brow narrowed. Archer class. So this may well be just a normal summoned servant. Ah well, Broch liked a challenged occasionally. Straightening up and popping the battleaxe up, he chucked it as hard as he could muster towards Archer. The huge thing spun in the air until it landed, blade down, into the ground 3 feet to the right and front of Archer.
"Next time, it'll be yer 'ead if ya shoot at me again, boy!" The old man shouted, his voice easily carrying the remaining distance.
Lobos
The Big Bad Wolf
Raising a brow as he followed the path of the thrown axe, he didn't even flinch as the axe landed off to one side. Archer regarded the other Servant with a calculating eye. Glancing at the axe, he discarded Saber from his list of potential candidates. Berserker was likewise improbable, this one not only spoke, it spoke with purpose. Lancer wasn't an option. Rider seemed unlikely, unless the mount was as brutish as the man. Wrong build of body for a Caster, and no self-respecting Assassin would have made their presence known at this distance. That left...
His eyes widened slightly, before he slipped his gun into the holster. Craning his head around, he searched the tree-line, taking only a few moments to spy his master. He beckoned with one finger, his body posture relaxing. He relaxed that arm, resting it against the grip in an open manner. Of course he had his tricks, but he felt confident he knew which Servant drew closer.
And he'd rather not tangle with the mess that came with it.
His eyes widened slightly, before he slipped his gun into the holster. Craning his head around, he searched the tree-line, taking only a few moments to spy his master. He beckoned with one finger, his body posture relaxing. He relaxed that arm, resting it against the grip in an open manner. Of course he had his tricks, but he felt confident he knew which Servant drew closer.
And he'd rather not tangle with the mess that came with it.
TheGreenerGrey
Self-proclaimed everything expert.
Nameless was... surprised, at the power of this being. If he hadn't witnessed it himself, he would have thought he was under fire from some sort of artillery or tank. For a moment, he toyed with the idea of shooting Archer with a tank, but the idea escaped from him when the axe came sailing forward. Same angle as the shot, yet to accurately hurl something such as that takes skill and no small measure of brute force.
At his servant's signal for him to reappear, Nameless hesitated. He didn't trust it. He certainly didn't trust whatever had thrown the axe. But, he supposed as long dormant synapses fired up and logic prevailed, if Archer truely was malicious, he would have simply shot him and not tried some sort of ruse to lull him into a false sense of security. That didn't mean he wouldn't try to take precautions however.
De-materialising, Nameless grunts in pain as his body surges with the energy, feeling like his veins all wanted to make a clean exit at one time. Ignoring something he had long since gotten used to, he frowns as he stands and concentrates at the same time, forming a suit around his body. At first it seemed as if nothing happened, but when he raises an arm past his head to announce his intentions he caught the whistling of the wind. Hopefully it would be enough if whatever it was here goes south. He couldn't afford to dawdle. The last of them was still out there.
Straightening, Nameless forces his body back into the stride of the old days, resisting the urge to hunch. He would need to blend in, and that meant taking every chance to practice as he could. Idly he noticed that he seemed to be thinking clearer now that most of the family were dead. Maybe he slaughters the last he would improve back to the old him.
Reaching Archer, he turns to face where the axe had come from. If it was another Servant... he had thought they were enemies, by his Servant's tone. But after a single axe throw (which, really, meant it had tobe a Servant) Archer had readily put down his weapon. Curious.
At his servant's signal for him to reappear, Nameless hesitated. He didn't trust it. He certainly didn't trust whatever had thrown the axe. But, he supposed as long dormant synapses fired up and logic prevailed, if Archer truely was malicious, he would have simply shot him and not tried some sort of ruse to lull him into a false sense of security. That didn't mean he wouldn't try to take precautions however.
De-materialising, Nameless grunts in pain as his body surges with the energy, feeling like his veins all wanted to make a clean exit at one time. Ignoring something he had long since gotten used to, he frowns as he stands and concentrates at the same time, forming a suit around his body. At first it seemed as if nothing happened, but when he raises an arm past his head to announce his intentions he caught the whistling of the wind. Hopefully it would be enough if whatever it was here goes south. He couldn't afford to dawdle. The last of them was still out there.
Straightening, Nameless forces his body back into the stride of the old days, resisting the urge to hunch. He would need to blend in, and that meant taking every chance to practice as he could. Idly he noticed that he seemed to be thinking clearer now that most of the family were dead. Maybe he slaughters the last he would improve back to the old him.
Reaching Archer, he turns to face where the axe had come from. If it was another Servant... he had thought they were enemies, by his Servant's tone. But after a single axe throw (which, really, meant it had tobe a Servant) Archer had readily put down his weapon. Curious.
The old man snorted slightly as he finally approached the pair, pulling the axe out of the ground with a single pull and latching it back across his back. Large symbols stretched across his back, Archer would realize that his hunch was correct. The old man's eyes studied Archer, then the nameless magus. As he had come to suspect, these were legitimate contenders of the Grail War, albeit the Magus not who he had expected for this role. He suspected some sort of foul play involved, glancing over at the burning mansion. "My name is Broch Asvaldr of Iveria, an' the Ruler overseein' this Grail War. Well met, Archer an' master magus." He outstretched his broad, callused hand towards the pair.
"I only wish it were under better circumstances we met." He muttered in his thick burr of an accent.
"I only wish it were under better circumstances we met." He muttered in his thick burr of an accent.
Lobos
The Big Bad Wolf
Nodding to the Ruler Servant, for that's what he indeed was, Archer smiled somewhat somberly. With his True Name, he realized that they had both been summoned from the same time and place, though they'd never met. More importantly, staying his gun had been the intelligent choice, and he chuckled ruefully before answering, offering his own hand.
"Likewise, Broch. As you know, I'm Archer, and this is my ma-" He scowled a moment, realizing that he did not yet even know the man's name. "...Master. I'm starting to realize I think he doesn't fully, if at all, understand what's going on."
"I've only been summoned for a short time, yet we've had little chance to speak. I'm honestly not sure what his name even is, even as I swore my oaths."
"Likewise, Broch. As you know, I'm Archer, and this is my ma-" He scowled a moment, realizing that he did not yet even know the man's name. "...Master. I'm starting to realize I think he doesn't fully, if at all, understand what's going on."
"I've only been summoned for a short time, yet we've had little chance to speak. I'm honestly not sure what his name even is, even as I swore my oaths."
The old man grabbed Archer's arm firmly in greeting. "Hrmmm..." He pondered, eyeing the unnamed man. "It does not seem 'e was the one originally intended to join this war." He admitted to Archer. "Then I 'll will be keepin' this as brief as I can. First, I'll try 'n' explain wot you've landed yerself into, boy." He addressed Nameless. "This is a war fought by servants and their masters for the chance of claimin' the ancient relic, the 'oly Grail. The Grail itself, is a wish granter, and only the worthy are granted tha' right to ask their deepest desires."
He held up seven fingers. "There are normally seven servants, each a different class. Four calvary servants, Berserker, Caster, Rider, an; Assassin. And three Knight classes. Saber, Lancer, an' yer Archer there. They bind themselves to mages who've been chosen by the Grail. You should 'ave some markin' somewhere on ye that showed up on yerself when Archer was summoned, tha's proof yer a Master." He paused and tilted his head. "Archer will explain the seals further later, I'm guessin'."
"At least, tha's 'ow things normally work." Ruler grumbled. "There is some issue this time. Before the war began, I was attacked by a mage." He explained turning his attention back to Archer, fury clear in his expression. "Lil' shit trapped 'n' stole three command seals. There is an eight servant tha's joined the war."
He held up seven fingers. "There are normally seven servants, each a different class. Four calvary servants, Berserker, Caster, Rider, an; Assassin. And three Knight classes. Saber, Lancer, an' yer Archer there. They bind themselves to mages who've been chosen by the Grail. You should 'ave some markin' somewhere on ye that showed up on yerself when Archer was summoned, tha's proof yer a Master." He paused and tilted his head. "Archer will explain the seals further later, I'm guessin'."
"At least, tha's 'ow things normally work." Ruler grumbled. "There is some issue this time. Before the war began, I was attacked by a mage." He explained turning his attention back to Archer, fury clear in his expression. "Lil' shit trapped 'n' stole three command seals. There is an eight servant tha's joined the war."
Scarlet
resident marshmallow lover
The trip home from the mountains was an adventure in itself. Valerie hadn’t come down from them since the day her father had banished her into them. A decade later, and the scenery felt a lot more... hopeful than it had that wretched first week. Everything felt hopeful actually, because she had been called home.
Home.
She had been braced for the call since her father’s visit three years ago, when he had brought her the family circuits. She had so many questions, so much she didn’t understand. But she hadn’t asked them. The second born banished child did not get to ask questions.
She wasn’t banished anymore.
The trip took half the time it should have, her muscles aching in protest as the tall mountains gave way a rolling countryside. She had forgotten the sky could so big, unencumbered by an oppressive mass of rocks stretching overhead. She found herself looking upwards as she traveled, banishing all her trepidation by basking in the unfiltered sun. And so she noticed the smoke a lot sooner than she would have otherwise. It was just a thin stream in the distance, like a campfire, except she knew she shouldn’t be able to do see campfire hours away. As she walked, it got thicker, and an uneasiness filled her. The only thing in that direction was her family home.
She broke out into a run, fingers clutching a pin on her cloak.
It was impossible. That was the only thought that could trickle through her as she broke through the treeline of her family groove, and saw it.
Her family home? Destroyed?
Impossible.
Her lungs burned as she scrambled up the path and circled around the charred structure. The south wing of the mansion was still burning slowly. The east and west were hot smolders, and it was only the north wing that had burned itself through. It was there, she knew, that the fire must of started. So it was there that she started her search.
The crumbling woods and metals were still hot under her feet. She could feel her shoes burning through and her hands sizzling as she tried to peel back debris.
‘Have you learned nothing, you stupid child, channel your magus.’ Her mentor’s old chastising broke through to her, grounding her through the wave of panic clouding her thoughts.
Gasping in pain, she pulled back and cursed herself. Emotions are weakness. She clenched her fists and took a deep breath. She climbed back out of the rummage, over a fallen pillar and back to the front door. She uttered her grandmother’s healing spell as she went, the burns leaving her body.
She stood on the ashy steps, her jaw rising and her fists unclenching as she considered the mess before her for a moment … and then lifted her hand.
The remaining fire went out.
That was the easy part. She took deep breaths to ground herself, and then began the meticulous task of carefully moving aside columns and chunks of stone with magus. By the time she had reached their bodies in the center of the grand entryway, she had already picked her way through the waitstaff. She knew what was waiting for her.
The scene painted a clear enough picture for her, their bludgeoned forms crumbled around the intricate summoning markers on the marble floor, and the servant nowhere to be found.
She fell to her knees, a chunk of molding being released from the magus the wielded it, and she screamed.
The night air was crisp on her skin, making the wet trails down her face sting. The grand foyer was cleared out as best as she could manage, her family's bodies lined up in a row on top of fresh planks of wood. A new object sat in the center of the summoning circle-- the pin from her cloak. It was round and silver, composed of leaves and branches. It was not her families first choice, but it was entrusted to her all the same. And now it was all she had.
She didn’t give a final farewell look towards her family, her jaw wavering as the pyre erupted in fire. The light from the flames gave the space a warm glow. She shuddered, closing her eyes to dried blood stains as she started chanting.
Her voice grew stronger, resolve filling her.
She would find who did this. And she would kill them.
Home.
She had been braced for the call since her father’s visit three years ago, when he had brought her the family circuits. She had so many questions, so much she didn’t understand. But she hadn’t asked them. The second born banished child did not get to ask questions.
She wasn’t banished anymore.
The trip took half the time it should have, her muscles aching in protest as the tall mountains gave way a rolling countryside. She had forgotten the sky could so big, unencumbered by an oppressive mass of rocks stretching overhead. She found herself looking upwards as she traveled, banishing all her trepidation by basking in the unfiltered sun. And so she noticed the smoke a lot sooner than she would have otherwise. It was just a thin stream in the distance, like a campfire, except she knew she shouldn’t be able to do see campfire hours away. As she walked, it got thicker, and an uneasiness filled her. The only thing in that direction was her family home.
She broke out into a run, fingers clutching a pin on her cloak.
It was impossible. That was the only thought that could trickle through her as she broke through the treeline of her family groove, and saw it.
Her family home? Destroyed?
Impossible.
Her lungs burned as she scrambled up the path and circled around the charred structure. The south wing of the mansion was still burning slowly. The east and west were hot smolders, and it was only the north wing that had burned itself through. It was there, she knew, that the fire must of started. So it was there that she started her search.
The crumbling woods and metals were still hot under her feet. She could feel her shoes burning through and her hands sizzling as she tried to peel back debris.
‘Have you learned nothing, you stupid child, channel your magus.’ Her mentor’s old chastising broke through to her, grounding her through the wave of panic clouding her thoughts.
Gasping in pain, she pulled back and cursed herself. Emotions are weakness. She clenched her fists and took a deep breath. She climbed back out of the rummage, over a fallen pillar and back to the front door. She uttered her grandmother’s healing spell as she went, the burns leaving her body.
She stood on the ashy steps, her jaw rising and her fists unclenching as she considered the mess before her for a moment … and then lifted her hand.
The remaining fire went out.
That was the easy part. She took deep breaths to ground herself, and then began the meticulous task of carefully moving aside columns and chunks of stone with magus. By the time she had reached their bodies in the center of the grand entryway, she had already picked her way through the waitstaff. She knew what was waiting for her.
The scene painted a clear enough picture for her, their bludgeoned forms crumbled around the intricate summoning markers on the marble floor, and the servant nowhere to be found.
She fell to her knees, a chunk of molding being released from the magus the wielded it, and she screamed.
The night air was crisp on her skin, making the wet trails down her face sting. The grand foyer was cleared out as best as she could manage, her family's bodies lined up in a row on top of fresh planks of wood. A new object sat in the center of the summoning circle-- the pin from her cloak. It was round and silver, composed of leaves and branches. It was not her families first choice, but it was entrusted to her all the same. And now it was all she had.
She didn’t give a final farewell look towards her family, her jaw wavering as the pyre erupted in fire. The light from the flames gave the space a warm glow. She shuddered, closing her eyes to dried blood stains as she started chanting.
Let silver and steel be the essence.
Let stone and the archduke of contracts be the foundation
Let silver the colour I pay tribute to / Let my great Master Gauchever be the ancestor
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.
Let stone and the archduke of contracts be the foundation
Let silver the colour I pay tribute to / Let my great Master Gauchever be the ancestor
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.
Her voice grew stronger, resolve filling her.
Your body shall serve under me.
My fate shall be your sword.
Submit to the beckoning of the Holy Grail
If you will submit to this will and this reason…Then answer!
She yelled, hot tears spilling down her face as she opened her eyes to behold the mist falling out of the circle, dancing eerily in the light of the flames that engulfed her family.My fate shall be your sword.
Submit to the beckoning of the Holy Grail
If you will submit to this will and this reason…Then answer!
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!
From the Seventh Heaven, attended to by three greet words of power,
Come forth from the ring of restraints,
Protector of the Holy Balance!
I shall attain all virtues of all of Heaven.
I shall have dominion over all evils of all of Hell!
From the Seventh Heaven, attended to by three greet words of power,
Come forth from the ring of restraints,
Protector of the Holy Balance!
She would find who did this. And she would kill them.
The fires outlining the runes of the summoning circle flared with violent white fire at the complete of Valerie's call. Wind rushed sending the flames sizzling up higher with every gust while the air itself began to crackle, alive with mana. The light grew bright and in a singular flash extinguished in a swirling breeze that came buffeted the area in a surprising gentleness.
It was the air that she felt for first. Hot...acrid with the smell of smoke. Not an unfamiliar smell. What fresh hell had she been brought to? Her body was given further substance... a breath of life... into to a physical form, long since gone. The slight weight of her silver armor felt true and the slight difference in that weight to her right hip was a welcome sensation. The blade was warm and waiting for her. She opened her eyes.
A set of blue green eyes set with long lashes fell on Valerie. Those eyes accompanied a pale, fair face framed by long waves of honey colored hair, partially bound in a simple braid down her back. A full set of light, segmented armor covered her tall frame, marked with the insignia of the Laurel on each pauldron. The summoned spirit shifted, her gloved hand searching for the companion who accompanied her in life and death. It inched downward toward the silver pommel sitting on her left hip, bound by a blue leather scabbard. It was there. Her fingers curled around the hilt feeling the warmth of the blade under her grip. She spent a moment to take in the scene around her. Air was thick with the smell of fire and torched flesh, the source being the smoldering remains of a building and charred corpses. Those were not unfamiliar sights to her either.
Her eyes returned to the woman in front of her again. Ashes blown by the wind were stuck to the wetness on her cheeks, and her eyes were puffy with more tears. This was the woman who called upon her with the cry of pain, and she'd answered. "You have called and I have answered, Mistress. What is it you would ask of me?"
It was the air that she felt for first. Hot...acrid with the smell of smoke. Not an unfamiliar smell. What fresh hell had she been brought to? Her body was given further substance... a breath of life... into to a physical form, long since gone. The slight weight of her silver armor felt true and the slight difference in that weight to her right hip was a welcome sensation. The blade was warm and waiting for her. She opened her eyes.
A set of blue green eyes set with long lashes fell on Valerie. Those eyes accompanied a pale, fair face framed by long waves of honey colored hair, partially bound in a simple braid down her back. A full set of light, segmented armor covered her tall frame, marked with the insignia of the Laurel on each pauldron. The summoned spirit shifted, her gloved hand searching for the companion who accompanied her in life and death. It inched downward toward the silver pommel sitting on her left hip, bound by a blue leather scabbard. It was there. Her fingers curled around the hilt feeling the warmth of the blade under her grip. She spent a moment to take in the scene around her. Air was thick with the smell of fire and torched flesh, the source being the smoldering remains of a building and charred corpses. Those were not unfamiliar sights to her either.
Her eyes returned to the woman in front of her again. Ashes blown by the wind were stuck to the wetness on her cheeks, and her eyes were puffy with more tears. This was the woman who called upon her with the cry of pain, and she'd answered. "You have called and I have answered, Mistress. What is it you would ask of me?"
Scarlet
resident marshmallow lover
Valerie had fallen to her knees, today’s exertion hitting her like as blow as the white flames soared… then dissipated in a soft gust of wind. She studied her servant, and the woman opened her eyes to study her back. In Valerie she’d find a girl, barely a woman, her skin leathered and her eyes dark. Beyond the tears and the pain there was anger. Anger and burning determination.
“Answers,” Valerie whispered, the gusts of winds settling, her dark hair falling into her eyes. She pulled herself up, banishing the shaking from her limbs. “Answers,” she repeated, her voice strengthening in a demand. She pointed to the ground with a sharp jab, her face contorting in her anger. “A summoning was sabotaged here. How is this possible? What happened to the servant? Where is the one responsible? Do you know? Can you tell me?”
“Answers,” Valerie whispered, the gusts of winds settling, her dark hair falling into her eyes. She pulled herself up, banishing the shaking from her limbs. “Answers,” she repeated, her voice strengthening in a demand. She pointed to the ground with a sharp jab, her face contorting in her anger. “A summoning was sabotaged here. How is this possible? What happened to the servant? Where is the one responsible? Do you know? Can you tell me?”
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Lobos
The Big Bad Wolf
@Knosis @TheGreenerGrey
"We'll bear that in mind. If that's all for unexpected developments, I'd like to escort my Master elsewhere, to try to explain more in depth in a place more secure than open hills." Archer glanced to his master. "If that's acceptable with him, of course."
The gunslinger was under no illusions on how serious a breach of protocol the news was, but there was little time he could offer Ruler without adversely detracting from his Master's path to victory. Without Ruler's intervention to crush the out of place Master and Servant, the war would carry on, though with an extra, unsanctioned player.
"We'll bear that in mind. If that's all for unexpected developments, I'd like to escort my Master elsewhere, to try to explain more in depth in a place more secure than open hills." Archer glanced to his master. "If that's acceptable with him, of course."
The gunslinger was under no illusions on how serious a breach of protocol the news was, but there was little time he could offer Ruler without adversely detracting from his Master's path to victory. Without Ruler's intervention to crush the out of place Master and Servant, the war would carry on, though with an extra, unsanctioned player.