[color=#ED2939][b][h3]Ilse Koenig[/h3][/b][/color][i]Opening Act[/i] [indent] [color=#ED2939][b]Location:[/b][/color] Urquhart Castle, Scotland [color=#ED2939][b]Interacting with:[/b][/color] Rider of Red [@KawaiiKyouko], Arieh “Fuck This Guy” Ayondale [@Turboshitter], Olympia Whitehall [@Vocab], Other Red Faction Masters and Servants (Indirectly), Saber of Black (Indirectly) [color=#ED2939][b]Magical Energy:[/b][/color] 387/500[/indent] [hr] When the light of the circle faded into night, when the roaring winds died into a gently flowing breeze and the courtyard was rendered still and silent for the briefest of moments, Ilse caught her first glimpse of the legend she had made manifest. Once they had readjusted to the dark, Highland night, red eyes took in the image of the figure astride the large white stallion with a grimness that made them seem not unlike pools of blood in their being. Unlike her so-called peers, there was no awestruck babbling or stunned silence; there was simply a single thought that crossed her mind at the sight of such a legendary soul: The Servant she had summoned was short. [color=#ED2939][i]’I had heard that Servants were larger than life, but it appears they were not larger [/i]in[i] life,’[/i][/color] Ilse thought, tilting her head to the side to steal a glance at its sides. A single monofilament wire shot out from her clothes, and quickly retracted after aligning itself with Rider, having measured her like it was tape. The Servant was even shorter than Ilse was. [color=#ED2939][i]’Evidently the principles of regression do not apply to[/i] height[i],’[/i][/color] she slipped her glove back on, concealing her Command Spells from view, [color=#ED2939][i]’Regardless... Let us see what you have to offer, Servant Rider.’[/i][/color] In an instant, her vision was overlaid by her Grail-granted Master’s clairvoyance, visually rendering her Servant’s parameters in a manner personal to her. A statue representing the Rider class Servant appeared in her mind’s eye. The base upon which it stood was divided into six sections, each tier representing a parameter and the constitution of each tier a different metal to represent the strength of that parameter. Though her analysis of her own Servant was largely incomplete and the base parameters, while nothing to scoff at, tended to even out when considered holistically, the average rank of its Noble Phantasms was particularly notable, shining with a brilliant gold rather than the silvers and irons that formed the majority of the foundation. The analytic quickly faded out, replaced by the image of Rider on horseback once more. [color=#ED2939][i]’It will be [/i]sufficient[i], I suppose - though her provincial inflection is irksome,’[/i][/color] Ilse decided after a moment’s thought. The stats were acceptably above average; so as long as the Servant’s skills and Noble Phantasms were useful, there was nothing to complain about - save for the fact that the army summoning function she had been aiming for was clearly not going to be present. How disappointing it was that she couldn’t simply have her Servant activate an unfair and grossly overpowered Noble Phantasm to wipe out all of Arieh Ayondale’s hope and chances of survival. But just as it was the purpose of an alchemist to refine base materials, it seemed she would have to make a point of wringing the potential out of this Servant - no great loss, doing so was always on the itinerary. [color=#ED2939]“Ah, my apologies Rider,”[/color] Ilse curtsied, the tone of her voice suggestive of an experienced courtier. If there had been any surprise that the Genghis Khan she had summoned had emerged from the summoning circle as a woman who spoke like she was a mere street thug, it was not in her tone or bearing. [color=#ED2939]“I seem to have been lost in thought for a moment - I am indeed the one who will serve as your Master for the duration of this Holy Grail War.”[/color] Ilse turned and gestured to the rest of the courtyard, taking the opportunity to view the rest of their number under her clairvoyance. Like diamonds in the rough, scintillating golds and gleaming silvers outshined the base metals, the dull coppers, irons and leads. Most notably, two Servants - Lancer and Caster - bore Noble Phantasm tiers of white stone. Ilse might have considered it unfair, had the former’s Master not been blind, and had the latter not been [i]Caster[/i] of all classes - and a Caster who was [i]not even a magus[/i] at that. Ilse’s vision returned to normal as she continued, seamlessly: [color=#ED2939]“Do not mind them. They are no threat to you, or myself.”[/color] Suddenly, light shone and wind filled the courtyard as yet another Servant was called to the fray; this time it was a woman with green hair who reminded Ilse vaguely of her mother. The unhinged expression and murderous impulse were dead ringers for the obsessed Koenig matriarch, and the likeness was only reinforced in her mind by the nitpicking and demands that followed. [color=#ED2939][i]’Troublesome,’[/i][/color] Ilse thought, [color=#ED2939][i]’But ultimately irrelevant.’[/i][/color] A quick assessment of Assassin’s parameters displayed nothing notable, so Ilse turned her attention to the final candidate, the American with the Round Table shard. Regardless of Regression, if there was a catalyst that she would have preferred, it was the Round Table shard. A Saber Class Servant’s base parameters and highly ranked Magic Resistance would easily annihilate the brunt of Ayondale’s defenses, and the Knights of the Round Table were each powerful heroes - and would no doubt make top-class Servants. However, the subsequent summoning carried no bright light nor mighty wind - in fact, to call it a summoning at all would be a grave misnomer. [color=#ED2939][i]’Hm. Perhaps I should consider this is a lesson in contention?’[/i][/color] Ilse thought, watching the ritual circle fizzle out for the second time. Her expression was blank and nonjudgmental; their failures did not bear on her purpose in the least. [color=#ED2939][i]’I should be [/i]thankful[i] that my Servant had answered when it did, regardless of her... increasingly evident social issues.‘[/i][/color] Though, the boy’s subsequent crisis of faith gave Ilse pause. She placed a hand to her chin, considering the supposed source of American’s angst with what she had researched of the Grail War’s mechanics. Unworthy of the Grail? No, impossible. Joining a Holy Grail War was a painfully simple process, one that fools and beasts could accomplish with ease. While the people around her could be considered either of those terms by the standards of Clock Tower magi, Ilse didn’t think that any of them individually could be [i]that[/i] pathetic - especially not the appointed [i]Masters[/i]. So while the boy’s despair could be considered [i]definitely[/i] idiotic, idiocy or “worth” as it were, was not a deciding factor; as long as the Grail considered an individual a potential candidate, they were eligible for a Servant. But if that was the case, then there was only one reason that this could have occurred. [color=#ED2939]“...!”[/color] Ilse’s body jerked from side to side, avoiding the hailfire of magical attacks by dint of her Mystic Code’s autonomous reactions. Ten, thirty, seventy, [i]one hundred[/i] magi emerged from the treeline, slinging spells with impunity, cutting down students like scythes through wheat. Fortunately, both Master and Servant were largely nonplussed by this ensuing carnage - far less than could be said for the rest of their number. It was almost baffling how ill-prepared they were for these consequences, Hadn’t the Prelati child explained the risks clearly enough? Clearly not, because it appeared everyone was making a big deal over something that couldn’t be changed. No, the real tragedy here was that these deaths couldn’t be put to [i]use[/i]. There is an old saying that all magi walk with death. For the conventional magi, this refers to the risks associated with their research - unforeseen side effects, cutthroat rivals, Sealing Designation Enforcers, Counter Guardians, and so on. For those learned in the arts of necromancy, it was something else. Not a statement of fact, but a [i]warning[/i]. All would die, all would return to the Spiral of Origin, and the process would repeat itself, ad infinitum. At some point in the process, perhaps a necromancer would harvest your corpse or bind your spirit. Those fortunate enough to serve under a benevolent master may reach some measure of resolution through their new purpose; the unfortunate ones were little more than mindless husks of those they used to be. With such a grim outlook constantly rearing its head, it was all too easy for even necromantic dabblers to fall into a sort of nihilistic despair. But there was purpose to life, and because there was purpose in life, so too must there be purpose for death. Perhaps it was because of Ilse’s unique situation that she understood and resonated with this fact well. And it was assuredly because of this fact that an existence without “worth” was an offense most detestable. [color=#ED2939]“Flame Eyes,”[/color] Ilse called out across the battlefield, withdrawing her argent Azoth Sword from the confines of her coat, [color=#ED2939]“Cremate the corpses of your fellows, lest they join Ayondale’s ranks in un-life.”[/color] The death of any one of the front-line Servants would disrupt their anti-Saber formation, ergo, to defeat Ayondale meant ensuring the survival of Berserker’s Master, Lancer’s Master and herself. Of those three, the most vulnerable was the Master of Lancer. From atop Rider’s steed, Ilse surveyed the battlefield, seeking out the Blind Ironholdt. She quickly located the patch of stark white. It seemed the Master of Lancer was attempting to negotiate a wall. …[i]Of course[/i] she was. How utterly expected. At any rate, it seemed as if there were other Masters there to ensure her continued survival, so Ilse would entrust to them the duty of ensuring one of the cornerstones of their strategy did not falter. Clustering so many Masters in one place was just asking for trouble, and loathe as she was to admit it, the framework of the Gunslinger’s modern Mystic Code made for dreadfully efficient killing. It was, of course, still a grossly degenerate piece of work. [color=#ED2939]“Servant Rider, if you cannot eliminate him at this juncture, locate me, escape, and put offensive pressure on Ayondale’s camp. Your class is the fleetest of them all, Saber will prioritize his Master’s safety, and there are few subtle magical defenses known to modern magi that can fend against an attack from a Servant,”[/color] Ilse instructed, lifting her foot up to the seat of the saddle, pulling herself into a crouch supported by Rider’s form, [color=#ED2939]”I shall leave the responsibility of fending off Saber to you and your ilk. I will strike down the Master.”[/color] She leapt off of Tseneglegch. At the same time, silver wire shot out from the hem of her clothes and embedded themselves into the castle turrets. Though it was not within the autonomous parameters, a simple command made sure that aiming was left to the spiritual system implanted in her Mystic Code; she was confident they would not err from the optimal trajectory. Next, they rapidly reeled her in, removed their makeshift anchors and launched her skywards. Ascending above the battlefield, a set of wires formed into four magical circles around her and began siphoning mana from the environment. [color=#ED2939][i]‘The scales are found wanting.‘[/i][/color] There were a few serene moments as the last of her momentum was expended, as she was suspended, almost weightless above the battlefield. The silver circles twisted inward, forming into a fourfold array of long helix arrows, each hanging above Ayondale’s position by a thread like Damocles swords. [color=#ED2939][sub] The sentence is executed.[/sub] “All processes complete: Component materials, reinforced. Wireframe, altered. Magical energy, charged.“[/color] Ilse directed her Azoth Blade downward; the magic circles followed. [color=#ED2939][sub] Let justice be done.[/sub] “Targets acquired.”[/color] The four arrows, empowered by magical energy, descended upon Ayondale and three of the magi positioned closest to him.