Alistair grumbled to himself as he walked amidst the streets of London, wearing a glove to hide the red mark branded upon his hand. Cyrses hung on his breath, vitriolic, in Russian, and aimed at the golden figure in the sky who claimed dominion of this war, and of the entire planet itself, as if a dead spirit could do so

"This is nonsense," he muttered to himself, darkly. As a mage, he would have liked more time to prepare, to plan, to procure a catalyst to ensure that he got someone who would be able to win the war. But that wasn't what he got. He didn't even have the time, to make sure that the ceremony was performed when his magical power was at it's peak. Instead it would be a mad gamble, a summoning based on affinity and a prayer that he would get someone who could do what needed to be done. 

He held on to a wrapped bottle, what anyone would assume to be some sort of drink. But rather, it was the blood that would be needed for the summoning. Given what he had to go on, he needed to be creative with this, and creative he would be. If this was how the War would be conducted, then so be it. For the honor of his family and for Russia, he would do his best.

At last he came to a rest, standing in a cobblestone alleyway in Old London, near where the Globe Theater had been rebuilt. There was history here, and hopefully that history would provide him with someone powerful, whether it be a British person, or someone related to Shakespeare's plays. One could hope either way. 

He crouched, uncorking the bottle and letting the liquid flow as he created a summoning circle on the uneven cobblestone. With it done he discarded the bottle and stepped back, observing his work. Normally a catalyst would go in the middle of it, but he didn;t have time for that. He would have to do his best. 

That said, he closed his eyes, letting a drop of blood from his own hand fall into the circle, as he began.

[i]"Fill, fill, fill, fill. Unto the fifth, then fall asunder.

Let my body be the essence. Let stone and the archduke of contracts be the foundation

Cold and iron, ice and blood to serve as a call. To fight as one until the death, to earn one's place and to deserve the name of a hero. Shut the cardinal gates, come out from the waiting crown, and let spin the three branched road to the Kingdom beyond it.

Thus solemnly I declare. As you serve under me, so shall my fate be with your weapon. And so, I call upon you to submit to the beckoning of the Holy Grail, and to come forth for me now. 

Born in tundra, born in the cradle of life itself, until the War is win and the reward with. 

So as I call, come to me, Heroic Spirit!"[/i]

A flash, and the summoning circle sprang to life, while he waited with bated breath. Time to see how he had fared in the lottery then.