[center][img]https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/342829614500151300/458777863991328778/Kosara.png?width=680&height=619[/img]

[h1]Kosara Damyanova Varbanova[/h1]

[h2]In the Woods, Southern Moor[/h2][/center]

Under the moonlight obscured by the branches above, a dance is held. A wordless song is held in tune with the steps, a bewitching dance that calls forth and ensnares the listeners. In time, the dance slows, until the woman still entirely, taking a deep breath and letting out a sigh. With a disgruntled look on her face, she turns and scans her surroundings.

“Hmph. To think that I would have needed to make such sloppy preparations. I’m slipping. Then again, one cannot ignore the stresses of time. Hurried work is wasted work, but in this case I can accept this result.” Kosara shook her head as she moved to a fold-up chair she had laid out and sat down. 

For the disgrace of the Clocktower to find herself in this backwater was a surprise, if only because the backwater woods she found herself in wasn’t the usual backwater stretch of forestry she was usually secluded in. 

Her family had sent a missive about the interesting ritual being held here, and with her interest piqued, she had willingly set off to this land and found herself as a participant in the Holy Grail War. She knew that her family had sent her here in the hopes of keeping her out of their hair for as long as possible, perhaps even permanently, but she couldn’t bring herself to be all that bothered by it. Her purpose in coming here was to try and understand the method by which Heroic Spirits would be summoned and made to serve as familiars, to become existences akin to familiars despite what they were in life. Not to gather wraiths and slap on the appearance and name of such legendary figures, but to give them a container and summon them, even if in part, to this plane.

Scratching her hand, she gazed idly at the red seals burned into her skin. And the Command Seals. One could not forget the most important part of the equation that allowed this ritual to proceed and not result in the slaughter of the magi who were calling upon all sorts of legends to aid them. Speaking of which-

“Rider. How far have you gotten with preparations? My end is done for the night. And just in time too.” Kosara called out to her own Servant, looking up at the fading night. 

Early birds may have their pick of worms, but even latecomers could scrounge up something for themselves. She’d have to be careful with how she moved from now on with other powerhouses holding the territory before her. But in her territory? Well, she felt she didn’t have to worry as much thanks to her Servant.