none of yall lift. amina is disappointed
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Amina
@Shadow Daedalus
Amina listened to James as he responded to Saber, and nodded to herself. His way of speech and methodology hadn't changed much, if at all, since she had last worked with him. Her hand left the handle of her sheathed rapier, resting calmly at her side now as she felt more reassured by James's reliability as an ally.
When she heard James mention teams, her eyes flitted around the church, taking in those present. She sized them up immediately. Togami represented the quintessence of high class magi. In other words, an overconfident fool. She had spent too much time hunting his kind to really get along with him. Leon, on the other hand, held a certain human earnestness within him even as a magus. Even so, his untrained body didn't appeal to Amina.
Then there was the woman, Brynhilda. She, too, appeared to be a typical magus. On top of that, she also seemed to have an untrained body. Amina realized her criteria in judging people basically came down to the awfully simple metrics of not liking magi and liking physically trained people, but she believed she had good reason for her bias. After all, she herself had rejected the path of magecraft due to how reckless and selfish it was. She could only imagine how utterly self absorbed and amoral those in the higher paths of magecraft would be.
She also held the belief that a well trained body equated to a strong spirit, but that was a personal rule that she could give more leeway to when considering others. As long as a magus appeared to break from the selfish mold the profession typically cast, she was willing to give him or her a chance. So Brynhilda for now was a potential ally, as was Leon. Togami, though, just seemed to embody the magus stereotype a bit too well.
When her eyes landed on Jonathan, she got the impression that he seemed quite similar to Leon. Amina hadn't heard him say anything or doing anything as of now, so she reserved judgement on him for later. The newcomer, a foreign magus apparently, just gave the same magus-y impression. Particularly untrained body. Perhaps a bit eccentric, but eccentricity seemed to go hand in hand with magecraft much of the time. All in all, quite average impressions. Really, this was something Amina had expected. The holy grail war was a ritual for mages, and so mages would make up most of its participants. It was obvious from the beginning that a magus hunter such as Amina wouldn't fit in well in such an environment.
Even if she interacted with these mages, the moment she let out that she had worked with enforcers would instantly raise eyebrows and cautions. Knowing all this, she put a hand on James's shoulder and drew him to her. She stretched her head forward and leaned into his ear, stopping when she was close enough that her breath gently brushed his skin.
She whispered so as to not be heard, "Teams there may be, yes, but I personally am against them. They are all, as you can tell, mages. We hunt, or have hunted, them. We won't get along. That is my opinion, what is yours?"
Lancer
@Loki Odinson
For now, Lancer simply relaxed on the crook of a branch, resting his materialized spear point down on the branch, letting the ecstasy of the disease flow through him. His mind wandered as the disease worked its wonders, flashing him with memories of both his and the Dagda's pasts. It felt like an out of body experience to have his mind shift between his own and another's, eventually all coming back into one mind that drew from both beings. It was a spiritual, and perhaps physical, high that Lancer enjoyed, letting loose a drawn out sigh of satisfaction.
When the high subsided and the disease stopped growing within his body, Lancer sat up. He felt invigorated in both body and mind, feeling like he could challenge the world and come out on top. He placed one clawed finger on his breastplate and began drawing. The black claw easily slid through the armor, creating a neat little inscription that could best be described as a scribble.
Lancer whispered out another song, this time one more melodious and pleasing to the ears, but still full of words alien to modern man. The song lasted almost a minute, and when it ended, the streaks of golden yellow that constantly pulsated under Lancer's skin faded away with the song's passing.
He had to utter this incantation to keep himself alive. By injecting himself with the divine disease, he made himself liable to be destroyed by the world itself, meaning he had to keep the infection in check to a certain degree.
With his life assured for now, Lancer took his spear and pointed it at the ground and focused. He could feel the existence of servants other than himself and record their general profiles, making sure to transfer the information to his master's clairvoyance to update it. From parameters alone, it was obvious that the woman that had just come to the church was superior, with the servant standing guard being of similar stature.
These were the two best candidates to infect, and the two worst to ally with. After all, Lancer performed far better against stronger targets. Letting the strong cull the weak while Lancer stalked the darkness was an easy way to ensure victory by proxy. Then the other servants would be ally material. Or disposable tools, depending on the perspective. Lancer himself didn't give much thought to it. Among these, the one with the weakest parameters would be the best.
Weaker parameters likely meant a support type servant or a Caster, both of whom would appreciate the frontal power that Lancer could provide. To that end, Lancer decided that perhaps he could strike up a little bit of interaction with this servant. With a short incantation of divine words, Lancer caused an underground root to expand and split apart, releasing a Slaugh, an Irish spirit type familiar that was useful to relay messages.
The spirit, a humanoid mass of wispy shadow, phased through the ground and floated towards the servant on the rooftop, releasing a non-hostile aura that hopefully would let the servant consider what Lancer had to say.
@Shadow Daedalus
Amina listened to James as he responded to Saber, and nodded to herself. His way of speech and methodology hadn't changed much, if at all, since she had last worked with him. Her hand left the handle of her sheathed rapier, resting calmly at her side now as she felt more reassured by James's reliability as an ally.
When she heard James mention teams, her eyes flitted around the church, taking in those present. She sized them up immediately. Togami represented the quintessence of high class magi. In other words, an overconfident fool. She had spent too much time hunting his kind to really get along with him. Leon, on the other hand, held a certain human earnestness within him even as a magus. Even so, his untrained body didn't appeal to Amina.
Then there was the woman, Brynhilda. She, too, appeared to be a typical magus. On top of that, she also seemed to have an untrained body. Amina realized her criteria in judging people basically came down to the awfully simple metrics of not liking magi and liking physically trained people, but she believed she had good reason for her bias. After all, she herself had rejected the path of magecraft due to how reckless and selfish it was. She could only imagine how utterly self absorbed and amoral those in the higher paths of magecraft would be.
She also held the belief that a well trained body equated to a strong spirit, but that was a personal rule that she could give more leeway to when considering others. As long as a magus appeared to break from the selfish mold the profession typically cast, she was willing to give him or her a chance. So Brynhilda for now was a potential ally, as was Leon. Togami, though, just seemed to embody the magus stereotype a bit too well.
When her eyes landed on Jonathan, she got the impression that he seemed quite similar to Leon. Amina hadn't heard him say anything or doing anything as of now, so she reserved judgement on him for later. The newcomer, a foreign magus apparently, just gave the same magus-y impression. Particularly untrained body. Perhaps a bit eccentric, but eccentricity seemed to go hand in hand with magecraft much of the time. All in all, quite average impressions. Really, this was something Amina had expected. The holy grail war was a ritual for mages, and so mages would make up most of its participants. It was obvious from the beginning that a magus hunter such as Amina wouldn't fit in well in such an environment.
Even if she interacted with these mages, the moment she let out that she had worked with enforcers would instantly raise eyebrows and cautions. Knowing all this, she put a hand on James's shoulder and drew him to her. She stretched her head forward and leaned into his ear, stopping when she was close enough that her breath gently brushed his skin.
She whispered so as to not be heard, "Teams there may be, yes, but I personally am against them. They are all, as you can tell, mages. We hunt, or have hunted, them. We won't get along. That is my opinion, what is yours?"
Lancer
@Loki Odinson
For now, Lancer simply relaxed on the crook of a branch, resting his materialized spear point down on the branch, letting the ecstasy of the disease flow through him. His mind wandered as the disease worked its wonders, flashing him with memories of both his and the Dagda's pasts. It felt like an out of body experience to have his mind shift between his own and another's, eventually all coming back into one mind that drew from both beings. It was a spiritual, and perhaps physical, high that Lancer enjoyed, letting loose a drawn out sigh of satisfaction.
When the high subsided and the disease stopped growing within his body, Lancer sat up. He felt invigorated in both body and mind, feeling like he could challenge the world and come out on top. He placed one clawed finger on his breastplate and began drawing. The black claw easily slid through the armor, creating a neat little inscription that could best be described as a scribble.
Lancer whispered out another song, this time one more melodious and pleasing to the ears, but still full of words alien to modern man. The song lasted almost a minute, and when it ended, the streaks of golden yellow that constantly pulsated under Lancer's skin faded away with the song's passing.
He had to utter this incantation to keep himself alive. By injecting himself with the divine disease, he made himself liable to be destroyed by the world itself, meaning he had to keep the infection in check to a certain degree.
With his life assured for now, Lancer took his spear and pointed it at the ground and focused. He could feel the existence of servants other than himself and record their general profiles, making sure to transfer the information to his master's clairvoyance to update it. From parameters alone, it was obvious that the woman that had just come to the church was superior, with the servant standing guard being of similar stature.
These were the two best candidates to infect, and the two worst to ally with. After all, Lancer performed far better against stronger targets. Letting the strong cull the weak while Lancer stalked the darkness was an easy way to ensure victory by proxy. Then the other servants would be ally material. Or disposable tools, depending on the perspective. Lancer himself didn't give much thought to it. Among these, the one with the weakest parameters would be the best.
Weaker parameters likely meant a support type servant or a Caster, both of whom would appreciate the frontal power that Lancer could provide. To that end, Lancer decided that perhaps he could strike up a little bit of interaction with this servant. With a short incantation of divine words, Lancer caused an underground root to expand and split apart, releasing a Slaugh, an Irish spirit type familiar that was useful to relay messages.
The spirit, a humanoid mass of wispy shadow, phased through the ground and floated towards the servant on the rooftop, releasing a non-hostile aura that hopefully would let the servant consider what Lancer had to say.
<Snipped quote by vancexentan>
Nosiree they are not. Then again, I suppose the best thing to do nowadays whenever anyone gets uppity about following the rules in a TYPE MOON RP is to just ask "so what do you think about Grand Order?" xD
I wouldn't be so sure kpsam my boi
http://typemoon.wikia.com/wiki/Skill#Magic_Resistance
Wiki states that the following classes have similar abilities to Artoria, and Lancelot in terms of abilities against magic:
Lancer, Archer, Rider, and oddly enough one assassin.
They're listed under class skills.
Class skills are automatically granted to everyone in a class. These are what are revealed through sabers cloaking. Presence concealment for assassins, territory and item creation for casters, etc.
Some servants may have personal skills that mimic class ones. For example, jack the rippers murderer of the misty night is somewhat similar to presence concealment
To me riding, and magical defense could also be used on a Rider Class, or maybe even Lancer. The high magical defense is a thing in his corner but it's not exclusive to just him.
I don't believe magic resistance is a class skill of riders, nor is riding a class skill of Lancers. Sure they can have those as personal skills, but those aren't shown in Lancelot's case
Edit: checked and saw magic resistance is a rider skill. In that case I can edit my post to rider or saber but eh ooc should cover
Class skills are revealed so it's really easy to add 1 + 1 riding and magic resistance to realize it saber regardless
@Shadow Daedalus
Amina
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.
Lancer
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."
Amina
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.
Lancer
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."
Goddess Divine Core grants EX luck and mana. Quetzal is like the strongest god of South American myth so it seems reasonable.
Jayymes has abandoned me
A brisk wind sent a sharp chill down James's spine as crouched on a rooftop overlooking the cathedral, causing the assassin to shiver and pull his monotone scarf a little tighter around his neck. Pulling his sleeve up his arm a little, he briefly checked the watch strapped to the underside of his wrist. 6:08PM. He was late. Without a word, he finished setting up a small device on the precipice of the rooftop and began to make his way back to street-level. He was careful to stay away from areas that would have been busy at this time, despite the cold night, as he would no doubt draw attention to himself. The katana at his waist would draw more than a few eyes, and some of them might call the police, an inconvenience he really didn't want.
The feeling of eyes on his back gave James pause and his hands brushed against the familiar weight of the two M1911s at his thighs, hidden by his long coat. While the cathedral and its surrounding area was a neutral ground, the particular area he was in now wasn't included in that territory, meaning he was exposed to any entrepreneuring attacker. His eyes turned to the surrounding rooftops, an instinct from his work, and he quickly spied an exposed fire escape. As he reached the rooftop, he crossed to the edge closest to the cathedral and began setting up the last device. Just as he finished, movement caught his eye and he flattened himself against the snowy roof. He watched as two figures jumped up a nearby building before he pulled out a pair of compact binoculars to watch them for a second. Lowering them again, he turned to a space to his left, seemingly empty.
"Two unknowns, possible Master and Servant. Lancer, keep an eye on them but keep it quiet. I don't want a scene."
With that, a figure materialised for a moment before responding and disappearing again. Careful not to draw their attention, yet, James made his way off the roof and brushed himself of any lose snow before he began to approach the cathedral. He stopped near the main gate and turned towards the two figures, looking blatantly in their direction, before he turned back and went inside. He was quick to find the blonde woman that was his partner. He stepped towards her, taking note of her tense posture. When he was close enough, he placed his hand on her shoulder.
"Amina. Relax, this is neutral territory."
Amina felt the reassuring hand at her shoulder, but her hand still hovered above the handle of her sheathed rapier. She turned to James and looked him up and down, instinctively assessing his condition. She nodded once, signaling that James was in good condition for now. She took James's hand and gently slid it off her shoulder. Her movements were dainty and cautious, her fingers slowly clasping around James's palm and exerting pressure in steady but small increments, making the whole gesture seem like it was performed in slow motion.
She had to be careful. Her strength came from monstrous blood flowing through her veins, and just one moment of carelessness could cause unnecessary damage. It was not an unusual occurrence for Amina to shatter glass cups given to her, and almost guaranteed that a cup should suffer obliteration should alcohol be within it. A human hand was little different, especially one that wasn't reinforced. She felt the softness of James's flesh and the brittleness of his bones, marveling internally at how fragile they seemed to be. Yet James's hands were worn and well used, practiced in intensive martial conditioning.
That she could at least tell straight off. Amina had surrounded herself with the physical arts her whole life, and she could very roughly tell the level of training an individual had just by feeling their hand alone.
"Thank you for your concern," replied Amina, her voice powerfully projected like iron forged as sound, "and it is a great relief to see you. However, I hope you understand that I want to maintain my caution here. The church-"
She waved at the church they were in.
"Has never quite been trustworthy. Of course, magi are also not the best examples of truthkeeping, but at the least I know you enough to trust you."
Her hand lightly gripped her rapier's handle.
"But that means I only have one true ally. Everyone else is a liability. You are a seasoned combatant, no? Then I'm sure you can understand my sentiments."
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