[center][img]https://i.gyazo.com/6780d70991c2c395d97399e21db9999c.png[/img] [h3][color=fff79a]Ibaraki Douji[/color][/h3] [i]Rashoumon no Oni[/i] [i]Strauss Workshop, Shinto[/i] [@Paradox Witch][/center] [i]Summoning initiated[/i] [i]Catalyst absent. [/i] [i]Class container selected. [/i] [i]Compatibility assessment. Records scanned. [/i] [i]Match found. [/i] [i]Shaping Saint Graph to container... [/i] The first anomaly of many, heralded by a storm of forming Ether, the crackle of condensing energy and the gusts of power running rampant in the Magus’ workshop. [i]‘[color=fff79a]Absurd[/color][/i],’ thought the manifesting beast, fingers flexing in the air as blue solidified into something akin to flesh, formless eyes observing its own movements carefully. The very act of her summoning was something of an insult, in this land. To be brought forth for something as ridiculous as a struggle of competing humans, to fight for their sake as a ‘Servant’ of theirs. It had instantly set her Master off on the wrong foot, as far as she was concerned. The first thing she did when her mouth was formed was tut. Clothes and body manifested at the same time, the summoning not holding one as more vital than the other. It was all ‘stuff’, the weight which clamped down down her spiritual core and gave it substance in the material world. Although the storm of her summoning raged around her, she simply regarded her crimson painted hand with a mild interest. Yes, she recalled her life quite clearly. Yet despite how she knew she usually acted, the urge to reach out and crush the human standing across from her was… minimal. Present, and something she could act upon, yet she uncharacteristically also felt the need to hold herself back from such an act. Indeed, she was herself. Just not herself from the end of her Legend -- at least not completely. Something had spilled over into her summoning, a quality of her younger self which begged restraint…. No, not that. Restraint was the wrong word, it gave the wrong impression. A word that spoke of the infertile action and fear of consequence. It was something else she felt, and it only seemed to make her feel greater anger in turn, a quiet, iron-melting fury hiding itself beneath her pale skin. It begged patience. And so, patiently, the newly formed Servant rested upon the ground, sitting with one knee propped up, the other leg folded inwards. A red-painted claw of a hand brought her slightly curved, oak-red kiseru to her lips, capped off with a dark, yet ornate metal. Drawing from the pipe, a distinct nostalgia came over the small Servant. An old habit, one she abandoned a reason she could not exactly recall. Inhaling, she savored the taste of something other than shredded tobacco to her senses. Yes, such an activity was relatively recent by historical standards, but it had existed in other iterations. As a creature of vice, it was only natural for her to be among the species which kicked it off in Japan, taking to burning the hair of women, a source of power in the ancient world. Her eyes had unknowingly shut, momentarily overcome by her memories. They opened, and peered at the magus across from her. She lowered the kiseru from her lips, as long as the arm which supported it, and exhaled a plume of smoke in the room, filling it with the stink of something truly unpleasant, lined herbs and ancient decay, the signs of a murder many years gone. Tilting her head, blonde strands of hair moving with her and her oversized, yellow kimono drooping further from her shoulder, she examined her would-be Master with a critical gaze, an underlying danger resting behind her golden eyes. Even without the horns which were distinct to her kind, or the tattoos lining her forehead, she nonetheless retained something simply inhuman about her, resting even in how she looked at the young man before her. Yes, young. That was one way of describing him. He looked quite appealing, like a calf to be cooked and eaten. But once again, her better wisdom, the patience of her younger-self, stepped in. And so, she simply stared, a hunger in her gaze. “[color=fff79a]Foolish. Utterly foolish…[/color]” she raspily declared, taking another puff of her pipe, head correcting itself. While she was without her horns, her hands and feet remained clawed and coated in red, the rest of her visible form inked crimson with intricate patterns, lining her exposed legs, arms and shoulders. The symbols of a criminal among the Culture Sphere she resided in, but also those of loyalty. To what, exactly, was difficult to see. She exhaled the smoke from her nose. “[color=fff79a]But indeed, you have summoned me...[/color]” “[color=fff79a]Servant Assassin, Ibaraki Douji. Do not think this series of events as ‘good’, young man...[/color]” she drawled slowly, a grin slowly spreading onto her face, the hints of her serrated maw glinting through. Indeed, he had summoned her. Regrettable, unfortunate and frankly sad. To be forced to walk among the world once more, disturbed from he rest. Yet, so too was it providence. Her desires remained the same in death as they were in life. She was not without her ambitions -- dare say, she was the most ambitious of all her kind. If she was to be disturbed for the sake of a melee for some gaudy cup, she would take part, so long as the prospect of her ambitions being fulfilled was there. The knowledge that had been grafted to her as much told her that the contest was one to be held between the reflections of ‘Heroic Spirits’, the shining lights of humanity, for the sake of a supreme wish. And for her to be summoned into such a conflict, one between the pillars of man, was nothing short of amusing. “[color=fff79a]It is simply foolish. So utterly, ridiculously absurd… aaah~ What revelry to be had.[/color]” [hr] [center][img]https://i.gyazo.com/5f31dd59d26c08531fc7e3dc9239ce33.png[/img] [h3][color=9e0b0f]Ana Einnashe[/color][/h3] [i]The Youthful, Ganymedean and Odd Heir of the Lonely Forest Family[/i] [i]Einnashe Workshop ‘Lucus’, Fuyuki Outskirts[/i] [@Froppy][/center] The circle was originally supposed to be drawn with the blood of chickens, but he had honestly forgotten to go and find the chickens. So he did the next best thing -- he just used a whole bunch of pomegranate. It was a simple matter, to pluck from the branches of the foreign tree which sprouted in a Japanese forest. One of his many trees. Luckily, the pomegranate had a lot of meaning behind it! The supposed six hundred and thirteen seeds could actually act as minor catalysts for Kabbalistic rituals due to their association with the mitzvot! Although they were truly weak things in that regard, but enough of them could allow for some tricks and stunts -- But that wasn’t important. Ana was more focused on the fact they were seeds. Fonts of life, so many contained within one delicious shape. A pit of growth and fortune. So he slammed them into the grass until the messy, almost bloody remains took a shape akin to a ‘summoning’ circle. It was incredibly fun, just throwing fruit around like a child. Wiping his brow after a good thirty minutes of hard work. And so, with the ‘effort’ part of the ritual complete, he slipped into the right frame of mind, clapping his cheeks, squishing them. Show time. Extending an arm, he began to recite the incantation from off the top his head. [i]Something something, silver. Something something keeping your balance. [/i] He was pretty sure he got it right. His memory was impeccable, after all. Truthfully, a part of his mind wandered while he went about reciting the lines, making the meaningful connections its inventors intended and drawing on the Ether that would come together to form his own cool hero of old. Really, he didn’t want to be there. Going all the way from another part of the world to Japan was a draining exercise of travel. It was a beautiful place, with fall beginning to set in, and the forest had been very talkative compared to the ones he was used to, but the ultimate intent was not his own. To fight for Einnashe, to resurrect Einnashe. The theory was clear -- the most likely truth of the Holy Grail was that rather than granting a ‘wish’, it was more of a magnificent battery of magical energy which would then perform an act -- a miracle -- within the limits of what would be reasonable for a clump of magical energy in the modern age. Basically, keeping it simple would be for the best. If you want a bunch of rocks, it’ll make a bunch of rocks. If you want to it to execute something that at first appears simply, but in actually is an incredibly complex conundrum, it would likely take a ‘quick’ route towards resolving that issue. Not a good thing, Ana thought. The principle would be clear to any family as old as his own. The Elders had considered it carefully, and carefully created the wish would see them and their family restored. The desire had been programmed into him, but he did not truly [i]feel[/i] the desire. It was simply there for when victory was attained, in order for the Grail to draw on it. So that was great. But what was even greater…? Summoning really old legends, of course! And the circus. And food. But mostly the circus -- legends. Yes, the legends. Not the circus. The system of summoning ‘Servants’, as he had been informed, was in and of itself something to be valued highly. Ana himself held it above the Grail wish itself. Its principle was too simple, if the theory he and his Elders had considered was true. But the Grail’s ability to access a different pocket of existence to call upon Heroic Spirits was just [i]awesome[/i]. Mystery and Miracles, manifest history and myth. If anything, he was there for them alone, just to see them. If he got to study the Servant system, one of the only things to really catch his eye in the whole War idea, he’d be happy, but he was content with just the idea of taking someone like… Heracles? Yeah, Heracles -- to lunch. Ana would talk his ear off, and he’d love every second of it. "[color=9e0b0f]...Arrive from the ring of deterrence, O keeper of the balance--![/color]" Light and wind filled the opening in the opening of trees -- the heart of his workshop -- and excitement filled young Ana’s heart, a genuine energy. It was not the excitement of one who sought victory, but one simply wanted the experience. He kind of hoped his Servant could fly.