[h1][color=fdc68a]Lancer Nimrod[/color][/h1]

[color=fdc68a]  "Forgiven. You could hardly prepare for the circumstances, I understand."[/color] Nimrod took steps over the map, appraising with a hand on his chin. The Throne had imparted unto him knowledge of the times, but only in 'vague terms' as it were. No extreme details, just enough of an idea to function. It was one thing to have the information implanted, and it was another to actually experience. The city of the contest was large, by his standards - very much so. Still, he understood enough to know that this Fuyuki area was not necessarily all that big compared to the major cities of the region. 

  A grin split across his face, eyes taking on a dangerous quality. For a moment, he had the image one would expect of a tyrant - but only for a moment. [color=fdc68a]"Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful."[/color] The Tyrant threw his head back, letting out a cackle, his body shaking with it. Clearly there was something very amusing to Nimrod, but all he had seen was a map. Strange. He moved off to garb himself in the aforementioned quilts, throwing them over himself with seamless movements, tying them off into some sort of ad-hoc toga. [color=fdc68a]"Indeed, let us take in the scenery. I wish to see with my own eyes what the people have done with the time. Fighting can wait for a night - tonight, we plant our roots."[/color]

  Nimrod moved past Ernest, clapping him on the shoulder as he did so. He returned to the map, at least until Earnest was ready to move or bring up another matter. There was a whole new city to take in, after all. He had a picture in his head - it initially jumped to the idea of a 'city' from his original time, a far cry from what he was looking at on the map. It was difficult to really compare the two things, and even now he was having problems grasping how far city-building had come comparatively.

  It was shaping up to be a good time. 

[color=fdc68a]  "I look forward to working with you, Ernest."[/color]

  And he did. The stick of a man had his head on straight. His interest in the grail was... minimal, but having the opportunity to explore a civilization so far from his own image of it was more than worth it. So long as they played their cards right, he could maximize his time on the planet, and he could get his glorified cup. 

  Everyone wins. Other than their enemies. They lose. 

[hr]

[h1][color=bc8dbf]Master Stirner Cartisius[/color][/h1]


  This was already a terrible mistake. 

  Stirner reached out to try and stop the Servant from breaking his crutch like a twig, but what is the meager hand of a young lord compared to a Berserker. His crutch broke, leaving him with only one. Aah. He had them specially made for him, light weight but sturdy, carrying just enough weight to give him a firm foundation when he moved. 

  Now a pair missing one half. 

  How do you even begin to respond to that? Stirner's expectations were not exactly high - they never have been - but this was... not how it was supposed to go. None the less, he took the unmbrella as it was handed out to him, trying his best to support his weight between the umbrella and the second crutch. Not exactly the most efficient way of doing it, that's for certain. Stirner inhaled, shutting his eyes for a moment as he tried to find his centre. 

  In through the nose, out through the mouth. 

[color=bc8dbf]  "Servant...-"[/color] He hesitated, considering the Berserker's words. 'Saber' he had called himself, despite his summoning having clearly specified otherwise. Had he failed something as basic as recitation? [color=bc8dbf]"- Saber. Servant Saber."[/color] He repeated with a bit more certainty, if a bit put on. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Emperor Norton." Stirner smiled, a weak looking thing which was in line with the rest of his appearance. A legless magus, young enough to be Norton's grandson if they went by mental ages. 

[color=bc8dbf]  "I'm Stirner Cartisius. I'll be your Master for this war, if that's alright."[/color] He spoke with a polite, gentle tone, his smile beginning to betray some nervousness. None the less, he was here. [color=bc8dbf]"Are... you certain you are of the Saber class? I mean no disrespect, it is just unexpected."[/color]

  A delusion created through his status as Berserker, maybe. Maybe it was a delusion created through simply being the self-proclaimed Emperor of the United States. [color=bc8dbf]"Not that it's a problem if you aren't! Or if you are!"[/color] He clarified quickly, lifting his hand from the crutch to wave his hand in a dissuading manner, trying not to offend the Servant. 

  Not the most forceful of magi, that's for certain. 

[hr]

[@DrowsyPangolin][@Berserk Gene]