Fuyuki Hyatt
The light from the circle flashed, blindingly so, for but an instant. And the next instant, someone else stood with the Master in the room.
A tall man, powerfully built, dark skin and ashen hair that reached down to his back – not a natural color, but something he had acquired in life after his baptism by dragon’s blood.
A black bodysuit – perhaps leather, perhaps something else – served as clothing, reddish lines running along the edges as decoration. Over it, masterfully crafted silver armor encased the man, large pauldrons, gauntlets, greaves and boots, but no chestpiece. The bodysuit opened at the front, leaving it absolutely exposed – same for the glowing sigil etched in it, greenish lines reaching to his face and almost illuminating his features with their glow. Green eyes, almost the same shade as the sigil, looked at the woman that had called him forth with handsome features set in a determined frown. Perhaps any other man would have thought leaving their front exposed in such a manner was begging for an enemy to come after it – but to this one, such thought was not worth concern. His back might’ve been another matter entirely, but that was not an important matter at the moment.
A steel chain was slung over his shoulder, held by his hand – attached to and holding up the sheath of the downright gargantuan greatsword at his back, handle peeking over it.
Indeed – the ‘hero level’ was probably off the charts. It was so stereotypical it could almost be said to loop into ludicrous. For an instant, the man seemed introspective – noting a slight diminishment of his capabilities that he should inform the woman of – before focusing wholly in her once more.
“Saber, Siegfried, answers your summons. Are you to be my Master?”
His voice was a rich tenor that broke the spell of silence that had been cast upon the room. But more important was what he had called himself, rather than how he had said it.
Siegfried – the dragon slaying-hero of Europe whose tale had circled the globe, the most famous depiction of his tragedy being the epic poem ‘The Nibelungenlied’. The man who had bathed in and drunk the blood of the Evil Dragon, Fafnir, and had partaken in its heart, the invulnerable hero that could only be killed due to trickery and foul play.
Truly, as far as Saber-class Servants stood – and indeed, perhaps even as far as Servants as a whole, this one could with no doubt be said to be A-Rank.
Such was the identity of the man she had summoned, though thoughts about his fame were likely the farthest thing from his mind. The Servant likely cared little about such things – all that mattered was that he had been called forth, and thus, to the best of his ability, he would serve as a knight and a hero.
Silence dominated the room once again as the Saber-class politely waited for the woman to answer his query and finish the final formalities of the contract. He did not seem to dislike the situation, but there was still a dispassionate air about him as he observed the room he had been summoned in, almost as if he was merely going through the motions.
In that regard, one could asume many things about the reason for such a lack of enthusiasm.
@ConstantlyComic
(Southern Miyama, Riverside Cottage - Attic)
…
Well, he had said what he had said, but really, in many ways, he did only have a ‘game plan’ as far as the outline was concerned. The first and most important thing was for him to finish his preparations and set up shop, the second was for Lancer to not to leave his side or at least always remain close by should he find himself in trouble. Presence Concealment was a troublesome thing, but most Assassins lost their capability to remain hidden while they were attacking, or so he thought – though it would make no difference to him alone, Lancer’s presence could mean the difference between life and death in that situation.
Ah, well, at least if he died he hoped it didn’t stretch out long enough for him to regret things. At the same time, he supposed that rather than hunting for Assassin specifically – such a thing was an exercise in futility, seeing as his Servant lacked Presence Detection as a Skill – it would be more correct to say that the daylight hours would be spent scouting and attempting to find the Workshops of other Masters. He would need to prepare some basic familiars to aid in such a task, wouldn’t he? Hm.
At the very least, should they prove capable of finding their whereabouts, they could wait to ambush them – or, in the case they were absolutely certain of their victory, launch an assault outright.
Ah, but he still had to at least pay attention to his Servant for the moment, no?
…Mm, at least she seemed enthusiastic about the partnership. Good enough, he supposed – at least the conversation was proving productive rather than meaningless pleasantries.
And then she asked if she could stay in physical form. The worst part of it being that she had given a good point, and it would not do to damage the goodwill he had built up so far by denying something without offering an equally valid – or better – counterpoint.
Perhaps a compromise.
“…I suppose it might not be a completely unreasonable request, so if we can retrieve some modern clothing, I’ll allow it – but I reserve the right to order you to return to spirit form if I feel we should prioritize conservation of magical energy, Lancer.”
He paused for a second.
“Of course, there’s the matter of how to retrieve said modern clothing, too.” He muttered, dreading the idea but perhaps resigning himself to needing to make a shopping trip at some point during the day.
Really, he wasn’t expecting this when he summoned his Servant – at least if Yukimura had been male as the records had said he could have loaned Lancer one of his own sets of clothes, but as it was?
He could only sigh, arms folded. For the time being, might as well just focus on finishing the preparations and set up his defenses and alarms. He could worry about how much of a dent this would put in his finances afterwards.
He kept telling himself it was for a good cause. It wouldn’t do much, if anything, but it was the principle of the thing, at least.
@Ijoyen