[IC] Fate/ItP: the Fifth Holy Grail War Redux

[lord pringle]

"-the murders were committed, the fire was lit. Only ten of the bodies were recovered, despite it being a relatively minor fire at a packed restaurant. If you know of anyone who was dining at Saito's Bistro yesterday, please call the police at their hotline.
In lighter news, Fuyuki's very own Matou Rin is returning to Fuyuki for a few weeks. We managed to catch an exclusive interview with her as she arrived this morning, which we will bring to you now.
"Ms. Matou! Ms. Matou! What brings you back to your hometown?"
"I am trying to get to my hotel, will you just-"
"Ms. Matou, rumors are that your health is failing-"
"That is a moronic notion. Can one not simply return to a city without a conspiracy being formed?"
"Ms. Mato-
The priest switched the television off. He had hoped to gain an insight into the city around him, but had only been reminded of why he didn't watch the news. The newscasters (and, he figured, the people at large) cared more about success stories than unsolved murders. He supposed that it made his job easier, that people would be too busy mimicking the newest fashion trends to notice the secret war going on throughout the city, a war that he had pledged to maintain the secrecy of. Sometimes he questioned the necessity of this whole system, but he tried to not doubt things. He was startled out of his thoughts when a device on the table behind him whirred to life. He smiled weakly and moved over to it. He read over the device, running a hand through his shoulder length hair (one of the few earthly pleasures he allowed himself) and let out a sigh. All seven servants had been summoned. The war, the fifth of this kind to ever take place, was finally starting. He was nervous, probably more nervous than he had ever been, but his beloved late father had trained him well. Father Kotomine took a sip of his fine wine (another of his earthly pleasures) and went down into the church's main hall. He sent out one of his familiars before flopping down into a pew. He was on the clock now, and would have to savor every moment of leisure time he could get from now on.
~~~~~
Oliver Windsfeld sat in the mausoleum holding a book. He had painted the circle of blood, he had said the invocation, he was in the place in town where his mana was strongest so why hadn't he gotten his servant? He pushed the blood around until he was completely convinced that the circle was truly unbroken. "D-do I have to say the invocation again?" he asked no one in particular. As he took a deep breath, preparing to channel his mana once more, the circle erupted with a bright white light. A tall heroic figure clad in brilliant armor emerged from it, "Who has summoned me?"
Oliver jumped back, smiling. The holy grail war had begun.

[THEChanger]

A small house on the outskirts of Fuyuki

Eivind sighs, looking out from the front porch. He had been in Fuyuki all of a week, and already he was growing to loath the place. The only tolerable portion of the city was here, near where the forest began. The center had too much noise, too much light.

Too many eyes.

It had been easy to procure a small plot of land for a man with as much wealth as the Lord possessed. Far more difficult was securing permission to secure it how he was accustomed to. Still, the traps had been laid, the alarms set, the defenses raised. His workshop was shielded, more to prevent stray magic from leaking out than keeping anything from getting in. Only one thing remained.

Eivind lights a cigar. A bad habit, to be sure, but he had survived eighty six years. He was allowed to have a few.

The mage descends to the chamber he had prepared for the summoning. A hidden door behind a bookshelf in his proper workshop. Cliched, of course, but it was tradition for mages to have such hidden passages, and far be it from him to break from a useful tradition. As he descends, the air grows colder. Colder. Colder. Eivind could feel his magic begin to flare and shift in his blood. Cold sparked his power, and as such, it was only appropriate that his most difficult conjuration would take place at near freezing temperatures.

The room itself was bare, the floor, walls, and ceiling comprised entirely of shimmering blue ice. Carved into the floor were the notches which would hold the seal, a construct of silver and iron Eivind had personally forged. Normally he would have disdained anything to do with fire magic, but he had learned just enough over the years to have actually completed the forging himself. A stronger bond with the seal would produce a stronger servant. Hopefully.

He places the catalyst in the center of the seal, and takes a few steps back. He centers himself, one arm outstretched. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Feel the flow of power. Make it still. Lock it into place. And then, the words. Flowing, almost unbidden, with practiced perfection.

"Silver and iron form the seal. Ice and the archduke of contracts forge the bedrock. The ancestor is my great master Vollen.
Let there be a wall against a falling wind. The gates of the four directions close. From the Crown, follow the three-forked road that leads to the Kingdom.
Fill and fill and fill and fill and fill.
Repeat five times.
And when each is filled, it is destroyed.
Let a contract be made.
Heed my words: my Will creates your Body, my Fate is in your Blade.
In accordance with the power of the Holy Grail, if you abide by my Will, by my Desire, then answer.
Here is my sacred oath. I shall be all which is good in the world. I shall end the greatest evil in this world.
You, seven heavens clad in three words of power, come forth from the cirle of binding! My Servant, come forth, and let us end this War!"

[Malthan]

The fire was dying, its last embers flickering in the midnight air. The open window gave out a gentle breeze, air flowing past the sparks, softly carrying them to the crone who stood illuminated by the fireplace. She looked beautiful, of course, covered in her purple veil. But if you dared look to her shadow, you’d see it hunched and twisted, a figure more terrible and obscene than the hooded sacrifice she’d left in the centre of the room. The wicked witch, the pale skinned innocent shivering by the fire and a wolf skin rug; a gothic scene of horror. And then the door opened and more evil entered.

The blue haired man walked up behind her, stepping neatly over the pentagram and the shivering sacrifice; and gently kissed his beloved witch upon the cheek. He was aristocratic, rich, assured. A modern Matou through and through, Shinji had found himself both enriched and dependant on his newfound family fortune.

“Are you ready, my dear?” Shinji said.

A pair of familiars flew by his flank, lazily glancing at the crone, the Matou and the prisoner. They’d been summoned by a master without true magic, who’d called them up as an experiment using that infernal book of his; so naturally they were mana-starved. For Shinji, keeping them was more about status than anything.

Not that it bothered them. There was no threat here, surely, they thought as their imp-like wings carried them to the fireplace. The crone was bought and paid for by Matou gold. And a servant would soon be summoned for their Master; Shinji Matou, a venerable man from a venerable house, opulent and imperial, his magister’s cane held in a firm, yet nervous grip.

But what of the hooded sacrifice? The familiars sniffed at him, his shuddering pale body rippling and soft with sweat, muscle, fat, veins and blood. And circuits. The boy was a true Mage. This made the familiars uncertain. One of them tugged at their master and hissed.

“This is the sacrifice?” Shinji asked.

The crone nodded, a ringed finger pointing at the prisoner’s arm. Three blazing emblems, forming a winged skull, were etched onto his skin.

“He will provide the power you seek.” The crone whispered, rubbing Shinji’s shoulders reassuringly.

“Good. The grail made a mistake picking someone like that. Look at him. Brawn and bloat – ha! The sacred seals are wasted on common, foreign filth. No brains, no heritage.”

He kicked at the prisoner, who groaned softly.

“With these, you will take your rightful place as the representative for the Matou family line.” The crone reached down for the captive’s wrists, a blade flashing in her hands.

“Yes. This is just the beginning beloved. Once we summon the Servant-“

“Do you have it? Do you have the catalyst?”

Margaery Grimm interrupted, her piercing yellow eyes wide with excitement.

“Of course!” Shinji scoffed, turning to the fireplace. “In fact, you’re standing on it.”

The crone Margarey looked down before giving out a sigh of relief. She stepped backwards off the wolf pelt laid before the fireplace, gentling running her fingers through it. In her shadow, the two familiars back away in fear.

“Trust you to leave something so valuable lying around as a trophy.” The crone grinned.

“Hm. That my dear is why I am in charge. Superstitious women such as yourself and weak boys like that whelp you’ve brought – they cannot master the grail! Just like my beloved sister. Soft, infirm, unfit to lay claim to what is rightfully theirs. No matter. Soon, when the ritual is over, I will enter the Holy Grail war as the TRUE Matou Master.”

The crone reached for her sacrifice, gently running her curved blade over his skin in an almost reassuring motion. His breathing ragged, the boy’s body heaved blue and red in the fire light. His head rested atop the Wolfskin rug, so close yet so far to his own dreams and ambitions.

“Besides, with you, the last member of that mongrel Grimm line as my sorcerer, the grail itself will decorate this house as my true trophy. Our trophy. No one can stop us.” Shinji gave a smug grim to the crone, Margarery.

“No. Not anymore.” She agreed, before cutting the captive’s wrist. He struggled slightly against his restraints, but not enough. The arm which held the command seals quickly began to drain of blood, their brilliance fading with his cries. He spasmed, twitched and then lay still, blood seeping from the wound. He let out a muffles scream of fear and frustration. All things he’d felt before. But never again, he swore.

“Quickly,” the Crone smiled, springing to her feet and offering the blade to Shinji. “Drink deep, your destiny.”

He watched her, almost warily, worried that the blade might suddenly lunge at him. But his familiars were here to protect him. And soon a servant too. He had nothing to fear, he reassured himself. So Shinji simply smiled and took the knife, slowly running his tongue over its edge. Drinking deep the tainted blood.

Grandmother Grimm, slowly began to trace a pattern over his right arm, where a Command seal would normally go. She whispered the words of some ancient tongue, eyes glowing as she chanted an offering to whatever dark powers granted her the ability to manipulate the will of the grail.

Then she looked up and smiled. Shinji sighed a breath of relief, stiff air escaping from blood stained lips. And then the blade fell dramatically, its edge embedding itself by the fireplace, into the wolfskin.

“The words.”

She whispered to him. He nodded and waved her off, feeling woozy. The excess mana of the ritual saturated the very air of this ancient place. The ritual would have to be done quickly. He couldn’t seem weak for his new servant. Shinji staggered to the circle, his hand and arm throbbing where the newly formed marks were growing. Slowly he positioned himself before the pentagram, by the wolfskin which smouldered even in the dying light. Then he began to speak;

“Beast of beauty, beast of war we call you-“

“Red in tooth and claw.” The hooded corpse finished. Victor Grimm sat upright, no longer screaming, no longer crying. No longer a sacrifice.

And then all the lights went out.

[Rhaegar14]

Claudia Lucia Estevez stood atop the Center Building in Shinto, the highest point in Fuyuki. With the wind on her side and her physical enhancement magic, scaling the exterior of the tower had been easy enough. A magically controlled current whipped around her in a lazy barrier, ensuring she remained warm and dry in the rain. Claudia was well-dressed as always, with a simple, red top, a cropped, leather jacket in black with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, dark, form-fitting jeans, and red Doc Martens. Her sword hung from her right hip, belted around her waist. While she could move well enough in her chosen attire, she was not truly dressed for battle, and her raven black hair danced unbound in the storm.

Scribing the circle here would not have been easy even had she written it normally; carving it with her sword added another layer of complexity, but also added another link from herself to the summoning circle. Here, high in the sky, in the middle of an afternoon rainstorm, as the wind roared around her -- that was where her mana was at its strongest. The ink poured into the carving had been mixed with the earth of her home city of Toledo, as well as shavings of steel forged by its finest swordsmiths, to further improve the alignment with her mana. She reached into her jacket and produced the catalyst her father had provided her; a leather-bound tome containing a centuries-old manuscript. There could be no doubt to who she would summon. Lord Estevez had chosen his daughter's Servant to match her own skills. She would have preferred an Archer, but the Heroic Spirit she would soon greet would do. She trusted his judgment.

Her boots squeaked wetly against the concrete as she stepped forward and placed her catalyst in the summoning circle. As she returned to her position facing North, she put her right hand on the hilt of her saber. "Trace on," she whispered, reinforcing the blade, feeling it out with her magic. The familiar steel comforted her, steadied her. She took a deep breath and lifted her left hand, bearing a set of command spells reminiscent of a rose. She cast out her fingers as her Magic Circuits began to glow with blue light, the ink of her summoning circle taking on a similar azure hue.

This was the moment. All her preparation, all her decades of training, had come to this. Her voice rang out clear and strong as she began the incantation.

"For the elements, steel and dust.
For the foundation, wind and the Archduke of Contracts.
For the ancestor, my great master Estevez.
Close the four gates. Come forth from the Crown and follow the forked road to the Kingdom.
Fill, fill, fill, fill, fill. Repeat five times, and when each is filled, destroy it.
Heed my words. My will creates your body, and your sword creates my destiny.
If you heed the Grail's call, and obey my will and reason, then answer my summoning!"

Her power surged as she stopped for a breath, feeling the mana rage through her circuits.

"Embrace thy thirst for knowledge and thy memory of magicka,
Thou, the seeker of the Root, and I, the summoner, who would bear witness!"

The wind roared in a vicious cyclone around her, capturing the rain and whipping it into a fog, reflecting the light of her magic and blinding her to all outside her immediate surroundings.

"Seventh Heaven clad in the words of power, come forth from the circle of bindings, Guardian of Scales!"

There was a brilliant flash of blue light as a wave of magical force went out from the circle, rippling through the rain. The wind died down as Claudia fell to one knee, fatigued from the effort of her summoning. She felt the rain on her skin, her barrier forgotten with the effort.

Claudia Lucia Estevez took a deep breath, pushed her hair out of her eyes, and stood to greet her Servant.

[FriendlyLich]

Cedric

The rear of the estate had a large section of open ground, screened by trees from the nearby road.
It was here that Cedric would perform his summoning.

Normally he preferred the conveniences of modern magery. A circle of solder on circuit-board in an air-conditioned room would work just as well but for something like this...

Something bearing this weight, this import, demanded a certain amount of ceremony. A certain amount of tradition.

And so, the circle, triple drawn. Surrounded by the four cardinals, sword and staff and cup and gem.
Cedric checked the relic one last time, running his hand over the ancient piece of ships wood before laying it down in the circles centre.

He moved outside the circle, careful not to disturb it, and began.
He favored his native tounge for workings such as this, the almost lyrical words spilling forth as he worked the summoning.
The circle glowed, the braziers flames took on a greenish hue and the mana swirled and condensed in the circles heart.

“I call you into the world, Warrior on the red plain, Traveler under the burnished sky, king of the green land, come forth, Archer!”

[Malthan]

Without the fire, the moon is all that stands against the night. And its brave shine is the only light that dares illuminate the towering figure rising from the darkness. The wolfskin slowly stands, its emerging body swallowed by shadow, the slight scraping of metal coming only seconds later.

And then the two familiars restraining its master fall, their severed limbs and skulls clattering onto the blood soaked ground.

“Wh-wh-at have you…. No…”

Someone whimpers. Shinji. He backs away and begins to turn. He sees Margarery grin, a weathered smile splitting her face.

“You treasounous dogs…”

Shinji whispers in Japanese.

A loud howl sounds out against the night and Shinji suddenly bursts into a sprint, fleeing as fast as he can from the scene.

That’s when Berserker begins to hunt.

Scraping and snapping follows him through the hallways and stairs of the Matou estate. He turns frequently as he flees but sees nothing. Only the occasional shape, a shadow stalking him, too fast for human eyes to see.

But he hears everything. Every groan and whimper and snort and howl. Its only when he reaches the main entrance that everything goes quiet. Eyes darting as he pulls at the door, he falls backwards onto the floor, the door handle slipping from his bleeding hands. Sliding and struggling on the cold marble, he finally sees past the throbbing mark and discovers that his own wrists are cut in the same manner as the sacrifice, covered not just in Victor’s blood, but his own.

“I…”

He turns slightly and screams in shock, collapsing backwards as he stares straight into the wide, cold dead eyes of the Wolfskin beast. It stays very still, a shadow consumed in fur and fangs and little else, a heavy chain or collar nestled over its chest. Beneath the bestial hides and dried blood, one might hope to glance at something human but the nights shadow only hints at lean muscle bulging against blackened hides. And a long handled blade, embedded in the hard marble floor.

Covered in the corpses of monsters immemorial, the Berserker ***** its head curiously at its next trophy, staring as Shinji stumbles backwards, his bloodied hands raised in a feeble defence.

A slight guttural growl bleeds from the beast’s throat, a rumbling noise that echoes in the night.

“I command you… Berserker! Spare me!”

Shinji screams. It seems to obey. At first. Then strong, muscled arms reach suddenly reaches for his legs, dragging him into a smothering embrace, long fingers seizing him by the throat. And a blade pins him to the ground.

“Victor. Stop this madness.” A distant voice commands. The crone.

Up at the top of the stairs, the two last members of the Grimm family look down at the spectacle.

“We need him as a hostage. Do you have any idea what kind of advantage it would bring us if we had leverage over his sister?” Grandmother Grimm says to her grandson who shrugs impassively in response.

Shinji lets out a laugh of relief.

“Thank you- baby I -I knew you wouldn’t… wouldn’t really…”

“Quiet, please.” Victor sighs. He holds his arm out, exposing a recently regenerated cut over his wrists and three smouldering command seals.

“We thank you for your donation, Shinji. None of this could have happened without your help. It’s a shame I can’t offer you much in return. Still, at least you got a laugh out of seeing me at your mercy.”

A faint smile plays across Victor’s lips.

“Well you’re not laughing now, are you? “

Then he turns to Shinji’s captor.

“It seems we have yet to be formally introduced, Berserker. I am –“

“A mongrel! An upstart, not good enough even to procure his own relic! What a joke! When Rin finds me, she’ll burn you like your gypsy ancestors!” Shinji shrieks, his bruised pride and ego overcoming his cowardice as Berserker tightens her grip to silence him.

Victor sighs and walks down the stairs, still slick with sweat.

“I am your Master. Not him, or anyone else.” Grandmother Grimm clenches her fist at that.

Victor stops by the two figures, trapped in a hold so intimate it might in any other case be considered a lover’s embrace, hands wrapped around each other in an overpowering yet futile struggle.

“You’re a funny guy Shinji. But in the end, the joke’s on you.” Victor whispers softly.

“Keep your creature under control. We don’t even know its true name – we still need Shinji alive!” His grandmother insists, following him down the steps.

Victor lets out an insolent sigh and then nods in acknowledgement.

“Very well. Berserker-“

“You still have a soft spot for me, eh?” Shinji hisses, staring up at the veiled witch.

“I command you –“ Victor says through gritted teeth, visibly hesitating to save this man who would have killed him without a second thought.

“I knew I felt something all those nights, something other than your wet-“

Schlick.

Shinji’s whole body contorts, a wicked edge embedded in his heart. Blood gushes from the wound, drowning out his silent scream. His twitching form is lifted up as Berserker stands, the bleeding man propped up only by her blade. Bulging eyes stare down at the suffering Shinji, impaled like a stuck pig.

And then his body bends and splits, blossoming into a crimson flower that expands across the room. The pain too extreme for him to even comprehend, Shinji’s last thought is that the worst thing about dying alone, in the dark, drenched in your own blood and waste, is that his sister might just have been better suited to this magic business after all.

The two Grimms stare in silent shock at the panting, gore soaked monster stood before them. Wide-eyed, Victor glances at his command seal, still not spent. She was too fast. His hesitation had cost someone his life.

“Enough talk.”

The Berserker advances on her Master, moving with the prowl of a beast possessed by murderous intent. Then a hand emerges from her patchwork pelts, pale skin coated crimson. Victor pauses before offering her his own, trembling only slightly as he remembers his oath to never fear again. Already broken. Just his luck.

“I came to kill.”

A pact is sealed in blood.

[THEChanger]

Cedric's Estate

The wind picks up, beginning to whip around and around the mage. The crash of thunder fills the air, though the sky is clear, stars and moon gazing down upon the proceedings. The wind grows more wild, almost threatening to rip Cedric off his feet. More sounds, now. Waves, crashing against rocks. The creaking of a ship. More thunder. The sound of blades clashing, iron ringing, wood splintering. Fire crackling. The moaning of wounded men. And the wind, howling, growing ever louder.

There is the suggestion of a man screaming threats against the gods themselves.

And with a final boom of thunder, the wind ceases. Standing in the center of the circle is a man. Clad in brass armor, simple leather breeches and a black cloak, he takes a careful step out of the circle. His hair is black, though showing signs of gray, cut clean and short, with a well trimmed beard framing his face. His eyes are a deep amber, and glow with just a little inner light. A massive bow is slung across his back, and at his belt is a patchwork hide bag. He glares at Cedric.

"And once again, I am called to a war that has nothing to do with me. You are to be my Master, then? Name yourself."

[Morcleon]

Rozen Minatlas
Fuyuki City Hyatt Hotel

Rozen glances down at his watch. Two minutes until midnight. He stares out at the Shinto skyline, sighing and standing up from his balcony. With the resources of Atlas, it had been child's play to get a hotel suite registered under a false identity. Even though his own knowledge of technology was still woefully inadequate, it would have to suffice for this War.

Turning and walking back into his suite, he shuts the door and curtains. One minute until midnight. The circle had been drawn hours prior, a massively complex monster of a sigil, with detail going down to millimeter resolution. For anyone not as well-versed in mental speed magics, it would have been impossible to properly process all of the information held within this circle. But for Rozen, such a circle was not only a possibility, but a necessity. His own magic circuits were less than many Clock Tower mages, and only the ridiculously boosted efficiency of this circle would allow him to generate the proper power for a Servant.

The circle is ready. The time is right. His right arm extends and a faint haze of light descends upon the glyphs under his feet.

"Sulfur and mercury, be the element.
Salt and the Archduke of Contracts, be the origin.
My great master Atlesia, be the ancestor."

The light flows among the lines, racing through and flashing in patterns better portrayed in five dimensions.

Let the wind become a wall. Let the gates from the four directions close. Coming from the crown, enter from the three-forked road that leads to the kingdom.
Shut (fill). Shut (fill). Shut (fill). Shut (fill). Shut (fill).
Repeat every five times.
Simply, shatter once filled.

Fully filled, the circle pulses from gold to a blazing silver.

"――And so!
Your essence is bound to me, my fate is bound to your sword.
In accordance with the Ritual of the Holy Grail, if you abide by my will, my desire, then answer!
Here is my oath. I am the one who becomes all the good of this world, I am the one who removes all the evil of this world."

His voice crescendoes, from the starting whisper to a strident call.

"You, seven heavens clad in three words of power, arrive from the ring of bindings, O keeper of the balance!"


A small house on the outskirts of Fuyuki

Eivind sighs, looking out from the front porch. He had been in Fuyuki all of a week, and already he was growing to loath the place. The only tolerable portion of the city was here, near where the forest began. The center had too much noise, too much light.

Too many eyes.

It had been easy to procure a small plot of land for a man with as much wealth as the Lord possessed. Far more difficult was securing permission to secure it how he was accustomed to. Still, the traps had been laid, the alarms set, the defenses raised. His workshop was shielded, more to prevent stray magic from leaking out than keeping anything from getting in. Only one thing remained.

Eivind lights a cigar. A bad habit, to be sure, but he had survived eighty six years. He was allowed to have a few.

The mage descends to the chamber he had prepared for the summoning. A hidden door behind a bookshelf in his proper workshop. Cliched, of course, but it was tradition for mages to have such hidden passages, and far be it from him to break from a useful tradition. As he descends, the air grows colder. Colder. Colder. Eivind could feel his magic begin to flare and shift in his blood. Cold sparked his power, and as such, it was only appropriate that his most difficult conjuration would take place at near freezing temperatures.

The room itself was bare, the floor, walls, and ceiling comprised entirely of shimmering blue ice. Carved into the floor were the notches which would hold the seal, a construct of silver and iron Eivind had personally forged. Normally he would have disdained anything to do with fire magic, but he had learned just enough over the years to have actually completed the forging himself. A stronger bond with the seal would produce a stronger servant. Hopefully.

He places the catalyst in the center of the seal, and takes a few steps back. He centers himself, one arm outstretched. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Feel the flow of power. Make it still. Lock it into place. And then, the words. Flowing, almost unbidden, with practiced perfection.

"Silver and iron form the seal. Ice and the archduke of contracts forge the bedrock. The ancestor is my great master Vollen.
Let there be a wall against a falling wind. The gates of the four directions close. From the Crown, follow the three-forked road that leads to the Kingdom.
Fill and fill and fill and fill and fill.
Repeat five times.
And when each is filled, it is destroyed.
Let a contract be made.
Heed my words: my Will creates your Body, my Fate is in your Blade.
In accordance with the power of the Holy Grail, if you abide by my Will, by my Desire, then answer.
Here is my sacred oath. I shall be all which is good in the world. I shall end the greatest evil in this world.
You, seven heavens clad in three words of power, come forth from the cirle of binding! My Servant, come forth, and let us end this War!"
Lancer
A Small House, Outskirts of Fuyuki

A blinding light fills the room as clouds billow out from the summoning circle, swirling in around in concentric circles. A guttural roar sounds from within the mists as debris rains from the seal as the materials sacrifice themselves to complete the summoning. Flashes of golden light laced with the sounds of battle resonate throughout the room and a deep ringing gong lances through it all. Scents of animals and a crisp mountain stream. Shadows of countless demons and soldiers.

As everything slowly dies down, a single figure is left. Clad in a fancy golden and red brigandine, he holds a black iron rod almost as tall as he is. His face is angular and breaks into a smirk as he sees you. "...heh. I guess you're my master then?"

[FriendlyLich]

The man who stands in the center of the circle is quite tall, a blue coat wrapped around his thin frame.
Pale blue eyes behind small lensed glasses take in the circle, the skyline, the lights of the city below and the clouded heavens above.

Both splattering rain and exhausted magus are entirely disregarded as the man’s eyes dart from sight to sight, seemingly trying to take in the whole of the world at once.
After a few moments he stoops to examine the circle more closely, long fingers running into the carved grooves.
Seemingly satisfied he stands and turns at last to the one who summoned him.

“Fine work that, A little atypical but then ours is an art that provides many routs to the same conclusions. Good use of sympathy I note, perhaps a little heavy on the theatrics but still quite solid, Aha.” He thumps his chest with one hand

“Quite solid indeed.”
He smiles then, blue eyes glimmering as he continues to ignore the rain splattering the rooftop.

“But where are my manners, you would be my summoner, my master for this period and I am..”
He looks down at his hand examining it as he flexes it experimentally.
“Oh yes, I am delighted to be Caster”

[Rhaegar14]

Rider
Fuyuki City Hyatt Hotel

Rozen Minatlas
Fuyuki City Hyatt Hotel

Rozen glances down at his watch. Two minutes until midnight. He stares out at the Shinto skyline, sighing and standing up from his balcony. With the resources of Atlas, it had been child's play to get a hotel suite registered under a false identity. Even though his own knowledge of technology was still woefully inadequate, it would have to suffice for this War.

Turning and walking back into his suite, he shuts the door and curtains. One minute until midnight. The circle had been drawn hours prior, a massively complex monster of a sigil, with detail going down to millimeter resolution. For anyone not as well-versed in mental speed magics, it would have been impossible to properly process all of the information held within this circle. But for Rozen, such a circle was not only a possibility, but a necessity. His own magic circuits were less than many Clock Tower mages, and only the ridiculously boosted efficiency of this circle would allow him to generate the proper power for a Servant.

The circle is ready. The time is right. His right arm extends and a faint haze of light descends upon the glyphs under his feet.

"Sulfur and mercury, be the element.
Salt and the Archduke of Contracts, be the origin.
My great master Atlesia, be the ancestor."

The light flows among the lines, racing through and flashing in patterns better portrayed in five dimensions.

Let the wind become a wall. Let the gates from the four directions close. Coming from the crown, enter from the three-forked road that leads to the kingdom.
Shut (fill). Shut (fill). Shut (fill). Shut (fill). Shut (fill).
Repeat every five times.
Simply, shatter once filled.

Fully filled, the circle pulses from gold to a blazing silver.

"――And so!
Your essence is bound to me, my fate is bound to your sword.
In accordance with the Ritual of the Holy Grail, if you abide by my will, my desire, then answer!
Here is my oath. I am the one who becomes all the good of this world, I am the one who removes all the evil of this world."

His voice crescendoes, from the starting whisper to a strident call.

"You, seven heavens clad in three words of power, arrive from the ring of bindings, O keeper of the balance!"


The horse's hooves beat loudly against the cobblestones as he returned to the city of his birth, the proof of his victory hanging from his saddle. Oh, how the people cheered... then wept as they saw their hero's grievous wounds. He brought the horse to a stop in the town square, where his sons awaited his return. They, too, wept to see their father so wounded, and knew that his time drew near. His face offered a pained smile; he was an old man, at the end of a life well-lived, full of heroic deeds. His name would be remembered forever, though he did not know that. He lifted his prize over his head to present it to the gathered people, then fell to one knee. He was so tired, and so cold. And then... darkness.

There was a flash of pure, white light from the center of the circle as Rider appeared amid a din of hooves, religious chanting, and an earth-shaking roar. He knew darkness no longer. The knight before Rozen stood tall and handsome, with curly, platinum blonde hair cascading down to his shoulders, fair skin, and bright blue eyes. He was clad from neck to toe in gleaming, silver armor, accompanied by a red cape and a white surcoat bearing a red cross.

David? he thought first.

No. The boy was not his youngest, though there was something of a resemblance. Understanding flooded him before he could even open his mouth. The knight fell to one knee, bowing his head in deference.

"Greetings, Master. I am your Servant, Rider," he said respectfully, "and I have been called back from the Lord's side by the Holy Grail to be your guardian in this war."



Claudia Lucia Estevez
Center Building, Shinto, Fuyuki

The man who stands in the center of the circle is quite tall, a blue coat wrapped around his thin frame.
Pale blue eyes behind small lensed glasses take in the circle, the skyline, the lights of the city below and the clouded heavens above.

Both splattering rain and exhausted magus are entirely disregarded as the man’s eyes dart from sight to sight, seemingly trying to take in the whole of the world at once.
After a few moments he stoops to examine the circle more closely, long fingers running into the carved grooves.
Seemingly satisfied he stands and turns at last to the one who summoned him.

“Fine work that, A little atypical but then ours is an art that provides many routs to the same conclusions. Good use of sympathy I note, perhaps a little heavy on the theatrics but still quite solid, Aha.” He thumps his chest with one hand

“Quite solid indeed.”
He smiles then, blue eyes glimmering as he continues to ignore the rain splattering the rooftop.

“But where are my manners, you would be my summoner, my master for this period and I am..”
He looks down at his hand examining it as he flexes it experimentally.
“Oh yes, I am delighted to be Caster”

Claudia looked her Servant up and down. He seemed quite unassuming, but of course, he was a Caster, and she knew how looks could deceive. She bowed her head, then dipped into a perfectly graceful curtsy. "Greetings, my lord. I am Claudia Lucia Estevez, fifteenth head of the Estevez family. As I would prefer you thought of me as your partner, rather than your Master, you may call me Claudia," she said in perfect English, though her Castilian accent was unmistakable. "And I already know who you are, on account of the catalyst I used, but if it is all the same to you I shall call you Caster."

The beautiful woman straightened up and smiled pleasantly, offering him her hand. "While I recognize the importance of these pleasantries at our first meeting, I would suggest we move quickly; this was a rather exposed location for a summoning, and any of the other Masters may have noticed us," she suggested.

[FriendlyLich]

Cedric

"I am Cedric, Fifth Magus of the house of Willow Leaves.”
He gave a bow to the bow wielding spirit.
“I have called you to this time and place to be my champion in this conflict. The war for the grail.”

He gestures to the manor behind him.
“There is much we should discuss and many reasons not to do so in the open, there are also some refreshments if you care to sample them.”
At a gesture the manor doors swing wide open as Cedric walked up the short path towards them.

“If we are to achieve victory there is much I need to know of you, and you of me. Although I would fancy myself somewhat of a strategist my grounding is in the conflicts between mages, not in the more physical confrontations between servants.”


-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Caster

"Aha yes, I think we will get along quite well indeed Claudia."
He reached out and took her hand.
"By all means let us be away."

[Malthan]

What have I gotten myself into. What have I done…

Victor stares at the command seals absently, the sounds from the fairground distant even as the crowd swarms around him. Their high-pitched laughter, the slight screech of machinery and the steady build-up of a rollercoaster rumbling by; all Victor can hear is Shinji’s screams and the never-ending slaughter.

Carnival: Phantasy lies on the outskirts of Fuyuki city, a mess of bright lights, rickety rides and rampant crime, all blossoming in the night time air. It wouldn’t close for quite some and would remain an eye sore and source of noise pollution for at least another month. His grandmother had made sure of that.

But now he’d entered a new, violent and savage arena with a dangerous new ally, one that even his sorcerous grandmother might not be able to manage

A couple approach his booth. A smile plays across Victor’s lips as he calls out to them, recognising the girl and boy from his class.

“Grimey!”

Jeers the boy Hiroko, a skinny kid that Victor remembered as one of the few people he’d managed to maintain small talk with in the last few months. Not that Hiroko could pronounce Victor’s real name – the name Grimey had become an odd mixture of nickname, insult and persona in Victor’s school life. Not that Victor cared.

It was his girlfriend that had really caught Victor’s imagination anyway. A bookish girl called Hana who’d helped Victor with his Japanese. He still stumbled and pronounced almost everything wrong, but in the few years he’d spent here his skills had steadily improved

“Welcome to the freak show.”

Victor says, trying his best to smile. Flashing images of blood play in his mind. A gaunt beast lumbering in the night.

“Are you a part of it?”

Hiroko laughs, which makes his girlfriend giggle. Victor does his best to smile.

“In more ways than one. My grandmother runs this side of the fair.”

“Woah, what’s that?” Hana asks, her dark eyes looking behind Victor at one of the cages.

A dark wolfen shape leers through the torn bars. They’d been reinforced earlier before but it hadn’t made a difference. She just tore right through them, no matter how much he protested. Now they were just part of the scenery. The broken cage only made her seem more threatening.

“The monstrous mongrel from Mongolia.” Victor mutters.

“Is she … dangerous?” Hiroko asks. Victor gives a blank, thousand yard stare as he visualises Shinji’s body ripped open, bleeding, blossoming…

He nods slowly. His servant growls. Both Hiroko and Hana step back slowly.

“I’ll … see you guys later. She needs to be fed, I think.”

Disappearing behind the booth and into one of the red striped tent, Victor waits for his servant to emerge. She's always following him, stalking his every move. He’d tried in vain to explain why she’d made a commotion when she’d burst into one of the male porta-potties but it didn’t matter.

His Servant was stubborn to a fault. She wouldn’t talk, not after hours of interrogation about who she was and what she wanted. Now she wouldn’t even return to Astral form.

When they’d gotten here a few hours earlier, she’d stalked around the fair, prowling and growling and snarling at anyone in sight. They’d eventually given up on trying to disguise her and had simply settled playing her off as a particularly frightening attraction. Now you’d have to pay double the normal rate to see the white wolfwoman.

They hadn’t settled on a name yet.

“Do you eat?”

Victor asked, throwing her a bag of candy floss. Berserker catches it in one clawed fist, the bag ripping under the force of her nails. Pink gunk sticks to her pelts as she sniffs it curiously.

“You really are mental, huh?”

He didn’t know why he bothered to ask. It was part of the ritual.

Red in tooth and claw.

His grandmother had suggested it. She was the mastermind of this whole endeavour really. A Berserker would compensate for his youthful inexperience, make it easier to win without having to get his hands dirty. A readymade killer, without the complications.

But this Berserker seems … different to what he expected. Clearly bloodthirsty, she’d started more than one brawl since her arrival at the Carnival. But it wasn’t as if she was some raving lunatic, cursed or crippled by mental sickness. More like a savage or a beast… a creature committed completely to Darwinian struggle and endless violence. It was obvious she didn’t enjoy any of this waiting.

The only time he’d seen her smile was when her lips were painted Shinji’s special shade of scarlet.

Not that Victor especially minds having a loose cannon for a Servant. He just hadn’t realized quite how difficult she’d be. Controlling her would be a nightmare. And he’d have to do it how to do it soon. His grandmother’s criminal agents had alerted them that strange incidents were being reported across the city.

And Victor could feel the crackle of mana in the air.

His grandmother had warned him to stay inside the fair ground. It was public, crowded and stocked with allies. Any attacks would be in full view of the fair goers. And in such a situation, there would be plenty of ready souls for Victor to siphon from. His unique curse required special precautions like that.

But he still felt restless.

“Come on. Let’s have some fun.”

[THEChanger]

A small house on the outskirts of Fuyuki

Lord Vollen tilts his head slightly. "Lancer. I must admit, I wasn't sure which of the classes you would come in. I thought Lancer's predilection for bad fortune might push you towards Caster. Still, it is no matter." He bows, low, formal. "Great Spirit who comes with the name of Lancer, I am Lord Eivind Geirr Vollen of the Clocktower, and it is with humbleness I welcome you to this Holy Grail War. I regret that the accommodations are as simple as they are, but I have had limited time to prepare. Please, shall we move upstairs, and discuss how this competition shall unfold?"




Cedric's Manor

Archer pushes brusquely past his new...Master. The term made his skin crawl, but he would suffer the indignity for now. "Forgive me, Master, but I already know everything I shall need to know about you for a successful campaign. If you have questions regarding my skills, that is another matter. And I have no need for refreshments. The Mana you supply will be all I require. No, my interest lies in the other Masters participating in this war. I assume you have taken the time to do your research before entering into such a deadly conflict?"

[Morcleon]

Rider
Fuyuki City Hyatt Hotel


The horse's hooves beat loudly against the cobblestones as he returned to the city of his birth, the proof of his victory hanging from his saddle. Oh, how the people cheered... then wept as they saw their hero's grievous wounds. He brought the horse to a stop in the town square, where his sons awaited his return. They, too, wept to see their father so wounded, and knew that his time drew near. His face offered a pained smile; he was an old man, at the end of a life well-lived, full of heroic deeds. His name would be remembered forever, though he did not know that. He lifted his prize over his head to present it to the gathered people, then fell to one knee. He was so tired, and so cold. And then... darkness.

There was a flash of pure, white light from the center of the circle as Rider appeared amid a din of hooves, religious chanting, and an earth-shaking roar. He knew darkness no longer. The knight before Rozen stood tall and handsome, with curly, platinum blonde hair cascading down to his shoulders, fair skin, and bright blue eyes. He was clad from neck to toe in gleaming, silver armor, accompanied by a red cape and a white surcoat bearing a red cross.

David? he thought first.

No. The boy was not his youngest, though there was something of a resemblance. Understanding flooded him before he could even open his mouth. The knight fell to one knee, bowing his head in deference.

"Greetings, Master. I am your Servant, Rider," he said respectfully, "and I have been called back from the Lord's side by the Holy Grail to be your guardian in this war."

Rozen Minatlas
Fuyuki City Hyatt Hotel

Reaching his one gauntleted hand out to Rider, Rozen smiles confidently at him. "Hello, Rider. It's an honor to meet you. I am Rozen Minatlas, your Master for this war."

"We're in my room at the Fuyuki City Hyatt Hotel. It's been registered under a false name so our enemies won't be able to find us. We'll want to both familiarize ourselves with the city in the morning, since no Master will attack us in the middle of the day."


A small house on the outskirts of Fuyuki

Lord Vollen tilts his head slightly. "Lancer. I must admit, I wasn't sure which of the classes you would come in. I thought Lancer's predilection for bad fortune might push you towards Caster. Still, it is no matter." He bows, low, formal. "Great Spirit who comes with the name of Lancer, I am Lord Eivind Geirr Vollen of the Clocktower, and it is with humbleness I welcome you to this Holy Grail War. I regret that the accommodations are as simple as they are, but I have had limited time to prepare. Please, shall we move upstairs, and discuss how this competition shall unfold?"

Lancer

"Perhaps? But I've never seen myself as much of caster. I am a warrior at heart, after all." Lancer grins and grants his master a small, almost imperceptible bow. He stretches out and nods.

"Sure, that works. Lead on~"

[FriendlyLich]

Cedric

"I have some information. Most participants keep their preparations deathly secret of course; but there is a cross section of age, skill and lineage that narrows the field down considerably.
I have notes on most of those that you may peruse. There is always the chance of some relative outsider or lucky local edging in of course, it's impossible to know ahead of time when such wildcards will arise."
Coming into the dining room, the long table had at one end an assortment of foodstuffs, at the other a map, several books and a folder stuffed full with sheafs of paper.

"Of the three major families the Von Einzbern lack a suitable heir to my knowledge, the Tohsaka and the Matou both have one however.
In fact the Matou theoretically have two, but the male is a useless magus lacking any real talent, if he enters the contest he'll be an easy mark."
He gesturse towards the folder of papers.
"Help yourself Archer. I must ask though for my own tactics, what terrain do you find the most favorable?"

[Rhaegar14]

Claudia Lucia Estevez
Center Building, Shinto, Fuyuki


Caster

"Aha yes, I think we will get along quite well indeed Claudia."
He reached out and took her hand.
"By all means let us be away."
"Thank you, by the way, for complimenting my spell work. That's high praise coming from you, and summoning isn't even one of my specialties," Claudia said as she turned and gestured for Caster to follow. She elected to enter the building and take the elevator down, as simply jumping would be too revealing.

"Our first priority, of course, should be to establish a base of operations," the mortal mage continued, "I have a place in mind; an observatory on the edge of Fuyuki. It's an elevated, isolated location situated almost directly over a ley line, and it shouldn't be hard for us to convince the local employees to take a vacation."


Rider
Fuyuki City Hyatt Hotel



Rozen Minatlas
Fuyuki City Hyatt Hotel

Reaching his one gauntleted hand out to Rider, Rozen smiles confidently at him. "Hello, Rider. It's an honor to meet you. I am Rozen Minatlas, your Master for this war."

"We're in my room at the Fuyuki City Hyatt Hotel. It's been registered under a false name so our enemies won't be able to find us. We'll want to both familiarize ourselves with the city in the morning, since no Master will attack us in the middle of the day."

Rider bowed his head in reply, then stood, towering over Rosen. [COLOR="#ADD8E6"]"Very well, Master. As a Servant I require no rest, so I shall stand guard while you sleep," he offered. Rider looked around the room; it was jarringly different from how an inn would have appeared in his time.

"Master, if I may be so bold, I do not see a catalyst obviously linked to me. Do you know my identity as a Heroic Spirit?" he asked.

[Malthan]

“None of this interests you huh?” Victor stares off into the distant lights of Fuyuki city. His servant stalks impatiently around him, her movements anxious and animalistic, furs shifting in the pale moonlight. With each step, the passenger car creaks and shifts, the iron cage barely containing her unceasing movements.

Who is she really, Victor wonders, wracking his head for heroes – or villains that could resemble this bestial thing with white skin trapped in monstrous hides. She didn’t seem at all impressed with the glittering view they had of the city from the abandoned Ferris Wheel, nor by the rusting machine itself. A chance accident that Victor swears had nothing to do with him had forced the Carnival to abandon the morbid monument, leaving it as a rusting remnant until the gypsies were driven out of time.

“What now?” Victor sighs impatiently, Berserker’s body suddenly tensing. She gazes off into the distance, a low growl emitting from her throat.

“Is there someone coming?” Victor peers over the edge but can’t see anything. The whole area nearby seems dark and uninhabited this late at night. All Victor can see is a distant chapel, with a set of sombre looking graves far from the fair.

“Can you … sense something? Mana or a mage?” Victor turns to her but she’s already gone, her bare feet on the edge of the carriage.

“Wait what are you-“ Victor asks, his gut suddenly wrenching as she slowly but surely dives off the edge, her immense weight forcing the whole carriage to lurch along with Victor’s stomach – and then she was gone.

“No!” He shouts, rushing to the edge. Was his luck really that bad that his servant would rather kill herself on the first night than fight with him?

At first Victor still sees nothing. Then a silver shape soars through the sky, a flash of gunmetal grey hurtling like a comet before landing with a heavy crash into the distant tree line.

“You can fly?”

Victor asks incredulously.

“You can fly!” He exclaims, watching her leap and dive towards the distant chapel.

“Now how do I get down from here?” Victor asks himself, as he starts to clamber down the rickety ride.

Berserker gets to the Graveyard first, but doesn’t engage until her master arrives

[lord pringle]

The cemetery is a bit of an oddity for this region, though it says a lot about Fuyuki as a whole. It's a fair sized christian cemetery with more than a few large mausoleums. Most of the graves are fairly recent and there are still plenty of empty plots. The entrance to the place has a few open plots where someone seems to have been preparing for an upcoming funeral. With Berserker's senses as a servant, she can tell that there are a few barriers strewn haphazardly across the entrance, though they have very little mana put into them. They could probably be taken down with a stern look.
As Berserker looks around, she feels eyes on her. Several crows are glaring at her from various trees. One lets out a mutilated caw and immediately two bloodied and mangy hounds come charging out of a nearby crypt. There's something strange about the that she can't quite put her finger on. At first it seems that it's because they're dead and moving through mana only, but then she realizes something.
They're servants.

[Malthan]

Victor

Victor falls two times before reaching the bottom of the Ferris wheel, his leg fracturing in his rush to get down. He can't see berserker anymore, but her presence is an absence that is virtually burnt into his soul, the mana tether between them tightening like a leash. She was slipping away - and it was at that moment he fell completely off and hit the ground hard.

"You okay mister?" A concerned girl gasps, her gaggle of whispering in shock as Victor stands tall, some blood splattering his jeans.

"Yeah, I will be." He says, drawing slightly on their life force, shadowy (yet to them invisible) tendrils reaching out to them. Their confused expressions turn into confusion and weariness as he walks through them, and when he's gone they suddenly feel exhausted, like they'd been stuck in school or jet lagged after a long journey.

That was wrong, Victor thinks as he reaches the stable, swinging his newly fixed legs over a crappy scooter - his crappy scooter. Scar pink, its wheels crooked and the engine almost bust from a dozens of breakdowns and repairs. I shouldn't do that, I shouldn't drain innocents he mutters to himself. But the dark , prideful part of his soul justifies it all the same; the Mark demands sacrifice - his or theirs. And this was a war. He needed to get to Berserker before she did something really stupid. A part of him was scared of what he'd find but for now he was more worried about what his grandmother would say when he bust out.

Checking over his kit quickly he runs his hands over the scarred helmet, its runes carefully placed on the inside. Without it all the accidents and fights he'd get on in the road would have killed him a dozen times but his grandmother had made it specially to insure he'd survive almost any head injury that could straight out kill him through cranial means before his regeneration could kick in. His vision was blurred while wearing it though and that in its own way caused even more accidents. But that was a sacrifice of its own.

The only other thing he needed was his "Horror Bag", a rucksack with all of his favourite toys in. Cursed dice, burrowing darts and other wicked weapons all stolen from the Carnies and supplemented with his own mana weeks before the war. Personally he was most fond of a cheap plastic lightsabre knock off that he'd reinforced with the Curse of Mammon. It had little durability and would snap after maybe one prolonged duel but the blade hummed with hidden power. To ordinary onlookers though, Victor would just look like another immature hooligan who'd just gone to the fair. Which in a way, was true Victor thought with a smile.

"Hold on Berserker, your knight in shining armour is coming!" He muttered as he kicked his shrimp like scooter into gear and zoomed off onto the main road.


The cemetery is a bit of an oddity for this region, though it says a lot about Fuyuki as a whole. It's a fair sized Christian cemetery with more than a few large mausoleums. Most of the graves are fairly recent and there are still plenty of empty plots. The entrance to the place has a few open plots where someone seems to have been preparing for an upcoming funeral. With Berserker's senses as a servant, she can tell that there are a few barriers strewn haphazardly across the entrance, though they have very little mana put into them. They could probably be taken down with a stern look.
As Berserker looks around, she feels eyes on her. Several crows are glaring at her from various trees. One lets out a mutilated caw and immediately two bloodied and mangy hounds come charging out of a nearby crypt. There's something strange about the that she can't quite put her finger on. At first it seems that it's because they're dead and moving through mana only, but then she realizes something.
They're servants.

Berserker

Prowling, sneaking and snuffling, Berserker clambers through the treeline. Her eyes widen under her wolfhood as the crows begin to circle. A memory comes flooding back to her but she tears her focus from it and instead lets out a slight snarl which is instantly matched by the hounds. The bestial Servant lowers into a crouch, eyes locked with the closest creature.

A smile spreads across her cheeks. This was a good day to die. With a leap she bounds closer to the gate, noticing the mana infused entrance with a feral snort. An easy trap that only a fool could trigger. This would be a slaughter.

It was at that moment she heard the muffled, gasping and retching of some sort of primeval engine rushing her from behind, headlights coating her pale figure before neatly swerving to the side just shy of ploughing straight through her

"Berserker!" Victor shouts in surprise as his scooter careens out of control, swerving and sliding before smashing straight into the mana cursed gate.

[THEChanger]

A small house on the outskirts of Fuyuki

Eivind pulls a chair for Lancer in his study, drawing forth the files full of his research. "Six other Masters, six other Servants. I've identified a few likely candidates for the other Masters. Rin Matou has almost certainly joined the battle - she is shrewd, cunning, and ruthless. Given her family's history, I would be unsurprised if she had summoned Assassin or Berserker. There are a few others I have heard of. A welsh mage whose name I have never been able to pronounce, who specializes in wind and thunder magic. A young mage who wields sword and sorcery in equal measure. An Atlas mage - they are masters of information gathering, and split-second planning. Sadly, the information I have is lacking. Therefore, I would request that we begin by scouting. To succeed in this war, we need to first know what we are up against."

-------------------------------

Cedric's Manor

Archer grins. "Any place I have freedom to move. I hate close quarters. Other than that, places to hide are preferable. I favor what you would call guerilla tactics. Wearing my enemies down, giving them no time to rest. To recover. To sleep. If we can avoid collateral damage, that would be ideal, but we are of course at war." The Servant takes the files, and begins to look them over. "What do you know of our battleground? Defensible positions? Areas strong in natural Mana? I already know which of the other Servants would be my first target."

[lord pringle]

[Pet Cemetery]
As Victor crashes into the wards, a noise like a massive bell rings out through the graveyard. Three human bodies come running out of a mausoleum, charging at Victor. To Berserker's senses, they all seem like servants. Meanwhile the dogs leap at Berserker, trying to rip her to shreds.
Then, in the middle of the cemetery a tall, tanned, white man clad in shining white armor and bearing the St. George's cross on a tabard materializes. "Let me guess, you're Assassin," he bellows in an English accent, drawing his gleaming sword. "My class is Saber, but you can call me-" he is then interrupted by the arrival of a short British man, dressed in workman's clothes and carrying a shovel dashing out of a mausoleum. "IDIOT! Don't reveal your name to the enemy!"
"But that goes against my kingly virtues! I am no mere skulking killer! I bear the divine right to rule and conquer!"
"Saber, we can have this discussion later. There's an enemy servant right here!"

[Malthan]

Victor

Victor stumbles to his feet, dazed but thanks to his helmet virtually unscathed. Unfortunately the flip side of its curse acts up just as the ghoulish things get near him, the shadowy cracks on its visor blurring their bloodied bodies.

“Oh sorry was this your gate?” He says just as the first charges him, the corpse like creature stumbling over the scooter in its eagerness to reach him. They scuffle briefly before Victor gets the hint that this thing might not be totally friendly.

“Hey hands off the bike, idiot!” Victor snarls, slamming his helmet down in a vicious head-butt, the massive motor head cranium enhanced with all sorts of unholy curses, ramming into the creatures skull and throwing it backwards, giving Victor the opportunity to correct his bike and scoot backwards a bit, narrowly avoiding the next ghoul by driving over its leg.

“Oh sorry mate are you…” He starts, noticing for the first time the undead aspect of these things, the ghoul seemingly unaffected by its broken leg, limping towards him, atrophied jaw hanging loose. Victor stares disbelievingly at the ravenous zombies, stuttering,

“B-b-berserker!”

Berserker

Meanwhile, Victor’s servant reacts far more quickly to the chaos of combat. While admittedly in all her years of warfare she'd never seen a crazed gypsy charge a creaking scooter into a wall before, the undead animals barely seem to faze her. With a snarl and a playful bite she stalks around them tensing just as they break into movement.

She jumps upwards as they charge, descending downwards onto the first with seismic force and swinging her glaive at the second. Her frenzied attacks only continue as they rip at her, matching their ferocity with a torrent of silent strikes, using the length of her weapon to counter where pure strength and ferocity alone cannot be matched. They may be servants but she was just as bestial as them, and better armed in both blade and knowledge – she had obviously ample experience combating creatures like these.

I’m going to add your pelts to my collection, she thinks through the maddening visions. Her world is an endless and eternal war waged forever on the horizon, the very sky ablaze in an apocalyptic chaos that churns and dwarfs any conflict on earth. The entire crypt lies ablaze in her mind’s eye, its venerable mausoleums nothing but mass graves and craters, sanctified only by edifices to a false and angry god.

It's only when the lone knight steps out, steeped in the symbols of the enemy, that her heart truly beats. He speaks words she barely understands but she's not here to talk.

Ignoring the shouts of her master, she raises her blood slick blade at the knight and smiles.

A worthy opponent awaits.