[@Shadow Daedalus]
[b]Amina[/b]
Amina nodded in affirmation, walking forward slightly behind James. She noted his own preparations for conflict and wondered at them. He had quite the varied assortment of weapons, with many being firearms. So many things to do and so many little things to manage. She couldn't help but wonder how any of it was at all efficient. Firearms seemed clumsy and prone to mechanical error. In contrast, a well trained blade or bow could work wonders with limits determined almost solely by its wielder's own skill. 

Of course, she thought, she was probably biased. She didn't use firearms since she didn't need any. Firearms were crutches for humans to use to compensate for a natural lack of strength. Amina didn't have this weakness, so she inherently saw no use for them. Amina shrugged. She could rationalize why humans did what they did, but she couldn't fully understand it. And it wouldn't help to try, so she didn't.

Before they entered, she saw Saber start to give a warning to James. During this, Amina scanned Saber's figure, sizing him up as a seasoned fighter would. She couldn't decipher anything. This was unprecedented, as Amina had incredibly perceptive eyes that could measure up the physical capabilities of an opponent in a glance. Yet when she looked at Saber, attempting to size up his musculature, form, and poise, she found what she saw distorting every so often, preventing her from accurately pinning down what Saber was actually capable of.

Perhaps an ability of some sort on Saber's part. She couldn't dwell on that fact, though, and simply trailed behind Jonathan, curious to see if he would respond to Saber or simply walk in. 

[b]Lancer
[/b]
Lancer sat within the sprawling foliage of a tree. The time was six thirty during the winter, meaning that night's dark greeting had touched much of Fuyuki already. It was a greeting that Lancer welcomed. The night and its darkness awakened the disease that lay within him, causing his ashen white skin to flash with golden streaks as divine microbes danced in his body, altering him at the spiritual level. 

The feeling was at once thrilling and uncomfortable. There was a distinct sense that Lancer was losing himself. Knowledge that was not his own swirled in his mind. Physical prowess that was not his own pulsed in his muscles. Even so, Lancer was all too happy to lose himself to this disease, this manifestation of the god he had so faithfully worshiped. To lose his imperfect human self and to attune himself with the Dagda, the lord of life and death, was a blessing beyond compare.

Lancer stretched out his hands and viewed them. They were armored, but he could still see the disease's effects. Claws black and glistening like obsidian sprouted from his fingertips, punching through the metal that gauntleted them. Shadows danced around his hands in wispy curls, spreading out and wreathing them in a haze of black. It seemed that his concealment was starting to activate. As long as the night lent its support, Lancer could move about unnoticed, hidden from the lives around him that worshiped the day. 

Suddenly, his master's thoughts beamed into his head. Lancer materialized his spear, a nondescript silver lance, and grasped it. The spear's handle moved like a living creature, twisting around Lancer's left hand and rooting itself to it. Lancer felt pinprick points of pain as the handle injected more microbes into him, sustaining the divine disease that made up the brunt of his power. 

"I will keep watch, master, do not worry." Lancer put a palm on the tree he was on and began whispering out a song. The song held words incomprehensible to any person near enough to hear it, with the sounds and enunciation so sharp and jarring that it would be difficult to believe a human being was uttering them. The song drew on for almost ten seconds before winding down to a whisper, then silence.

Lancer hummed. The tree's underground root system expanded rapidly, branching outwards into a ravenous cobweb that spanned almost thirty meters in radius. Unfortunately, the roots were not able to fully penetrate the church due to some interference, but around that area and outside it, the roots comfortably settled. Magical energy flowed through these roots, relaying basic information about the lifeforms on the ground above it.

The tree was now Lancer's familiar, claimed through Druidic magecraft enhanced by the patron god of the mystical arts himself. 

"Very, very good watch."