Outside, the native breeze of Germany gently kisses the rotted wood of the wilted barn that a dejected black van is parked underneath, standing on its loft is a man - Caucasian, black turtleneck, black cargo pants, carrying a heavily customized MP5 with a magical seal inscribed on its reflective surface. He adjusts his baseball cap, slipping it off and wiping his forehead with it, these Magi, however young were also heavy, one hundred pounds is one hundred pounds, no matter what form it comes in, and carrying them up a tedious century old ladder had left him a little winded. All six of them are placed in a neat circle in front of arduously carved summoning circles, each of which are, with out a doubt to the eye of a magus, meant to summon Servants in the event of a holy grail war. The man looming over them keeps the same complexion he had worn through the entire process, annoyed grimace, bored eyebrows, unfurled nose, upright posture, he circles around them slowly, a hunting knife blinking into existence in his right hand "Okay." he says to himself, squeezing its handle "Awaken." he commands, the breeze turning to a mighty gust for a split second.

The moss covered barn shudders and shakes as Prana ceases to exist with a ghastly shriek, sailing through the humid atmosphere, and dispersing with a hiss similar to ember colliding with water. Each of the Magi may have been restrained in different places, but the memory is all the same - a firm hand on the back, in between their shoulder blades; and the cold sensation of their circuits being invaded by a stranger. It was unpleasant, in every sense of the word, and the process of awakening from their slumber even more so, the magical hangover is so intense, in fact, that each Magus finds it hard to notice a wrist being gripped by the same icy hand. The unforgiving edge of a blade licks the surface of each Magus' palm, and draws blood endowed with Prana, which drips on their assigned summoning circles. The immediate reaction from each rune, each narrow line the crimson liquid touches is a fiery flash of energy, which travels through the circle and envelopes it in blue flame, the contract is made, and each circle reaches out to the Throne of Heroes, and calls upon six servants: [i]Archer, Saber, Lancer, Assassin, Berserker, and Caster.[/i] The MP5 disappears, and the '[i]Ashen Mandrake[/i]' stands in front of the barn's single window with his arms crossed. Moonlight floods into the loft, and the long shadow of Executioner dances across the moss covered floor boards beneath each Master. "Hello." he greets with a gruff, hollow voice "And welcome to the Sixth Holy Grail War."