Crusader Lord

The Shattered World

Nimue Pendragon

As Morgan embraced her so suddenly and outright, the fey-blooded wizard at first could only blink in sheer surprise. It has been....heavens, thousand of years perhaps since he had been alive. At least, that was as much as she could guess after the things that had happened thus far.

She had woken up, sitting against a cherry tree, and a lot of people had been staring at her as if they had seen a ghost. Perhaps she was one, because as she remembered things...albeit mostly fuzzily at the end...having died in her home in the small village she had retired to very long ago. She had died, removing the spell that had kept her alive for 175 years by her calculations. And yet she was not in that home now, this was surely no the afterlife, and she was not dead at that. More so, the blasted tree she had been leaning against began talking to her of all things, asking if she was all right and if she felt odd at all. As if such a thing was normal by any stretch of the imagination. Yet, at the same time she felt a familiarity with the talking plant. She could feel the potent magical energies flowing through it, as if it had been enriched with magic for millennia at that.

Then one person had shouted about someone napping against the tree. Another had shouted back about her being some kind of "legendary hero" who had returned. Even as she has slowly regained her wits and her senses, the people in this seemingly vibrant town square around the tree began to argue and shout. It was all...so confusing, to be frank about the matter. Words like "wizard" and "crook" being thrown about, through the tree had been helpful enough to lift her back onto her feet in the course of things. Really, it was the firs thing that seemed trustworthy, though eventually by the time she had regained herself completely it had been too late to really ask anything or speak a word. Two armed guard had stomped in, silencing the crowd and seizing her away from the tree....despite its protests.

Could a tree protest too much? Not that it appreciated having to be shrugged off while trying to pull her back towards it.

The guards had then roughly told Nimue she was breaking a commandment of the queen of Vraweth. Vraweth? Had another nation taken over Camelot over the years, perhaps? Or had the nation come from it? History had always been such a subject to try to understand, one kingdom and place overtaking another as time went on. And right now she was still very confused about thing, but making educated guesses about it all at the very least.

But she had simply gone along with things, not resisting the guards as they rather forcefully and somewhat brutishly escorted her quite a ways. It was a familiar direction to her, but for a bit she could not pin it really. However, eventually they came upon a castle, a great citadel that sat with a familiar glory as compared to Camelot of old. Through the front gate she had been led, past guard and people who looked upon her strangely or with a look of disgust, before finally entering what seemed to be the throne room. And then...well, this had happened. She had seen the familiar glow of Excalibur, the redheaded figure that she thought would never be seen alive again, and the familiar glow of a certain throne the queen sat upon.

"M-Morgan...by the gods....i.......what..... i think by some providence someone has brought us back to life," the fey-blooded wizard exclaimed, Nimue blushing for a moment and stuttering with her continued surprise, before slowly beginning to get her wits about her again, her mind beginning to once more process the things she had seen and such, though her eyes stayed locked into the lovely green of Morgan's own eyes, "But...how long has it been? By Vis, i have missed you though. It was so many years after you died until i...finally met my own end."

What in the name of the Pendragon family was going on in this place?!

However, somewhere far away, deep in a cave located away from the habitation of humans...something began to stir. And by stir, it was more like a great, black colored dragon arising from underneath a pile of gold and jewels and valuable things that had been stored here for millenaia. Heavens, it had been a long time since he had awoken, but right now he had begun to arise, to stretch his great and monstrously sized head, to stretch his great limbs and terrible claws....for a good reason.

"Damned whatever deities or whoever else the hell just did that," the dragon muttered to himself, his booming and tremendous voice echoing in the cavern, "Well, whatever happened someone or something just brought my master to life....probably. Bloody hell, i thought i was done with this stuff....but i had better go see what in hells Nimue had managed to get into this time. Though i better not have to kill another group of bandits after this...but if its a necromancer i'll have a few choice flames for them as well for disrupting me like this..."

Not appearing very happy, though with a flicker of concern behind his vivid and frightening eyes, the great dragon known as Aldebrecht began to lumber his way to the entrance of his domain. As terrible as he also sounded, however, the concern for what had just happened when his mental link with his supposedly-dead master from 12,000 years ago had simply been awoken again out of nowhere.....well, spoke for itself. Not that his attempt to go investigate would prove fruitful in a little while when he would get close to his destination...

@Lyla

The Shattered World

@Samdragonx@Lyla@Tominas

Translated "History" section of Xiavoc

The masterful quill has written down many a story with ink, though one tale of old has become lost to the annals of time.

In the hero's case, his story originates from not at the dawn of time, but from the time his people first learned to read and write down their stories.

Little does humanity know what kind of power lies within their written texts and not in their memories, tales written down to record their past and the peoples who inhabited it...the heroes whose names became cemented into the primitive legends of the past. And yet this hero would come into legend because of what he wrote...for what he did.

Xiv was a man among his tribe who could write very well among his primitive people, among the tribe that he so lived within. His writing was consistent, vivid, and full of wonder, such that those who read it among his people felt like they came alive when reading from it. His words seemed to draw up vivid pictures in their minds, the sounds of battle, the roar of creatures, among other things he wrote of.

His own powers of spinning tales and stories were next to none in the very beginning, among his own peoples. Many knew that only well-written words, stories, and tales would never make a world real, or lead to real good occurring on their lonesome. For what is good without evil? Thus this writing and reading among the people could be both used for good and evil.

So his people created vile words about him, horrific heresies written down by the same quill that had once spun beautiful stories among them at first. What good words he himself could spin, others wrote of evil and vile thing about him that were not truth.

In doing so, he desired to stem this tide of evil and terrible writing, introducing to his people a new word: "Love". And at the same time, this man seized power among his people, becoming the "Law" among his people to try to help direct and guide them.

And yet that word he sought to embody among his people, "Law", would come to be his downfall after five years. After that, the elders of the village decided that, to get rid of this man who taught the people writing and sought to lead them, would become more than a man. He would be turned into a sacrifice to the gods, to placate them for their "supposed" anger at his actions. Thus the elderly sages and leaders of the village came together, and granting him tools and weapons among the best quality. Such was how sacrifices to the gods were treated, to be given the best in preparation for their untimely death. They planned on casting him down a cliff, as had been the village's tradition, so that they themselves would remain in control of the village and its people rather than him. For otherwise, the people would rebel against him being killed. For the people loved their younger leader over the elders.

Under the guise of it being an offering to the gods, they told him as they had told others they has sacrificed in the past that a serpent would come and take him to the edge of the world. Indeed, he would be taken there to live with others like him, to be in the midst of the gods themselves. Though Xiv knew their true intentions for choosing him as a sacrifice, for he had heard these words being told to others before, and had seen them pushed from the cliff to naught but their death. He had seen them act this way before, and now knew just what they were after in the process. They sought to overthrow him.

Yet he could not disrespect this rite of sacrifice, which had been followed among his people for so very long. Indeed, he willing allowed himself to be cast down willingly regardless of knowing the truth, cast down by his people to what would be a certain death. And yet, he did not die. At the bottom of the great cliff he lied wounded, but this time not dead. Even more so, a snake did appear and bit him on the ankle, flowing through his system as if to taunt his miraculous survival. Grabbing unto the snake and crawling back up the cliff, he kept the gear he had been given by the elders before this, not seeking to return that which had been granted to him before his death. Yet despite this, the snake's venom made him fall asleep for a whole day as a result.

Upon waking up, Xiv felt a feeling surging through him, something he had never before experienced. He woke up feeling the very “the thrill of the hunt”, as it was called, piercing through his very being, and the desire to kill or be killed become very desirable to him. For the first time in his life he felt like this, as being on the brink of death for such a time had caused him great excitement in the process.

Afterwards Xiv walked back to the village he once loved, desiring to be among his people again...even if he was shunned for living, even if he was willing to die for their fears of having offended the gods with his survival. Only, his people were gone. The village he had led, protected, and sought to better with his actions had been destroyed overnight. All of the shiny colored stones that had been owned among his people, shining hues of emerald, ruby, and sapphire, were gone as were his entire people, an naught but death and destruction remained.

Ever since that day he’s was never the same, renaming himself "Xivaoc Quetez". After this time he vowed to avenge his people, write of his travels and actions, and would cement himself into the realms of myth. That much was certain. If he could scare others by simply granting them the gift of writing of myths and legend, so much that his own people's elders would seek to kill him, then how much more terrifying would it be if these myths be wrote of became true. How much more his enemies would tremble before him when the written word came to haunt them.

So he wrote of his own life, to try to cement them into the memories of others, portraying himself as though he was a fearsome warrior, blessed by powers beyond this world. He spread these words from village to village, from people to people, even as those in the isolated and cordoned-off area of the world he came from continued to advance.

He also too stayed to the ways of old, the ways that had guided his people for many generations over the centuries. He would hunt among the animals in the wilds. He would do his best to survive, even against all the forces nature and people threw in his path. He tracked down the people who took his family, and took some of the shin stones they had stolen from his people back from them. He was stealthy in the night to travel past the guards unnoticed, moving like the jaguar in the forest. He kept calm the dogs set to guard the people's camp back to sleep, and soothed the people's horses to make sure they did not spook and made sounds of fear that would alert the enemies of his presence.

After freeing those among his people who had been kept prisoner within the camp of the enemy, and freeing them back into the world, he abandoned them once more as they had abandoned him. He left them with their illiterate elderly who has sought to kill him, and left them too with a stone tablet containing his myth etched into its surface...all according to the words of the elderly who had led the people to their doom. He then, before the sun had risen and the night faded away, placed another tablet into the enemy camp with his own written account of the events he had performed among them during the night in their camp. This was not as a hint to take them on again, but as a warning, that he could have killed them all in their very sleep, but had instead spared them from the same fate his people had once tried to force upon him by sacrifice.

He left his people the people in the enemy camp his weapons, shield, cloak and even his mask. Though the enemies couldn’t do anything with it, not knowing their usage, they took it home. And many years later, they opened a museum that spoke of his legend and what he had done to free his ungrateful people from captivity. Ultimately, however, his life ended far different than the myths he had etched into those stone tablet told of. An infectious leech from a jungle river got the better of him, and this happened even the hero died in his favorite writing spot......a waterfall pool that was in the heart of the jungle.

Years after he died, the two tablets, these documents that he had placed his tale upon became the source of a new conflict among scholars who debated who he was and what he was. Only when his corpse was eventually discovered did history grant people light to the truth. For at the time he had died, literally with him was a tablet of his true life that settled many disputes and debates of him among scholars. The tools he had were examined and enchanted during these times, by those who wished to respect his legend and person. His loincloth was enchanted to sustain one’s body beyond regular injury, and his cloak with the magic of teleportation and stealth. All of his weapons that were from wood originally were replaced by their mythical material counterparts they supposedly were. His mask was the most courageous piece of engineering in the artifacts department to try to bring his legend "alive" for those who would see, with it being able to completely transmute a live and moveable tree around a person for stealth, and allowing the wearer to understand dog and horse noises (as these were the most used at the time). Further, it was enchanted to give tour information to its wearer when they at important destinations mentioned in most museums. These things would be lost however, as when they recreated the myth, the various rivalries and mockeries of the texts caused a breakdown of opinion, which became so heated that the museum in which all of these things were stored was destroyed overnight itself. The government at the time told people to stay out of the rubble, and had to enforce it with police for fear of looting and such occurring within the rubble of the building.

Until finally, this people who had learned of hi story too passed away, and knowledge of Xivaoc's legend was also lost with them along with the items that had once been owned by him and enchanted by this other people. Where are the items, however, which were so kept since the time of Xivaoc? Only the cruel mistress of time could tell such a thing now...

Fate/esoterica

@Raineh Daze I'm just going to assume Johanna's furred companion is there and visible for the time being, until her servant's situation is defined by @Cu Chulainn. Then i can change my post of "seeing" Johanna's servant as is or if needed, just to make to properly fit the situation if that is not the case.

Fate/esoterica

Elizabeth Reinholt

violet = speaking

lightcoral = thinking/mental communication with servant

---

The black-haired American woman cast her eyes back at the second voice that had chimed up, and upon turning a bit to look she saw the the silver-haired woman standing in the front of the church. Ah. Partly scarred face, two meters taller, dressed well, direct in her approach, blunt in her questions. It wasn't hard to guess she was a mage of large experience, perhaps older than she looked depending on the magecraft used and such. With how she was, it was easy to guess that this woman was as a member of the Magus Association, perhaps a honed but somewhat too confident individual like some members she had run into in the past. However, those members had thought her to be weak in magecraft and skill.

Oh, how wrong they had been.

But this was not the time to fight. Not the place to fight, either, unless she wanted death at the hands of this blue-haired Moderator of the Holy Grail War. Not that her sweet little Assassin couldn't gut the other master perhaps before this master's servant jumped in, but still. At any rate, what was also interesting was the furry individual with this woman who questioned her directly about things and addressed her as the "Master of Assassin" as if she had been here in time to listen to Elizabeth herself speak to this woman. A bit of spying on that person's part to be sure, but the appearance of this woman's servant was rather distinct. A tail, fur on the body, a bit short, it would be good to go to a library during the next day to look up some legends about such individuals.

Yet to be safe she needed to also communicate with her servant, to make sure they were't penalized for anything. She had seen Jack's attachment to her as well in return, and it made her worry that her servant would be on edge at this sudden arrival. It wasn't a hard thing to guess, at any rate, and she didn't want Jack in harm's way right now....much less the two of them in trouble with the blue-haired moderator.

'Jack, dear, it's ok right now. This person can't attack Mommy here without getting into a lot of trouble, but we can't fight here either. Make sure to only protect me if they attack, ok? I trust you. Just keep an eye on things for now~' the mage communicated to her servant in a calm, reassuring manner over their mental link.

"I would ask you the same, member of the Magus Association. But let's remember we are on neutral ground right now, and behave for our dear Moderator of the war here. I feel we can both at least be that civil right now," Elizabeth then proceeded to say aloud to Johanna, emanating a sense of calm and a modest level of confidence in her tone, all whilst seeming to put on polite airs for the things she said.

@Raineh Daze@VitaVitaAR

Fate/esoterica

@Raineh Daze @Cu Chulainn By the way, is Not!SunWukong there with his master at the church as well? Want to make sure before i post with my master.

Nocte of Desperatio: A PMMM-based roleplay

@Shaymin I am stuck in the very depths of Development Hell with my OC.

And with that in mind, i may need to withdraw from this. At least, until or unless i am able to get something finished. :(

Fate/esoterica

@Cu Chulainn

Relevant Response To Meme

But yeah, i think i am just waiting on Hasabe's response at this point. Before i post, i mean. :P

Fate/esoterica

@Cu Chulainn *Irisviel driving intensifies* Even more relevant to that relevant post you made in response to my relevant post:


@Raineh Daze@Feyblue I WILL KILL ME SO HARD EVEN I WON'T SEE IT COMING!

Fate/esoterica

@Cu Chulainn Very, very relevant - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SvaBaq9yuxY

@Raineh Daze@Feyblue To be fair, the debate over whether she needs to armor or not in combat is out there. But i wanted her to have some kind of clothes. :(

Fate/esoterica

Elizabeth Reinholt

violet = speaking

lightcoral = thinking/mental communication with servant

---

"Indeed, Overseer. I am here to verify my status as the master of Assassin," the woman said, giving a polite nod as she stopped before the blue-haired woman, her expression cordial for the occasion, though at the same time happy to have her little girl around just in case the overseer here needed proof of her status as a master.

Yet in the meantime, Elizabeth held up her left arm, revealing the red command seals etched into her very hand by the power of the Holy Grail itself. Indeed, such things could not be merely "faked" by a mage or other person wanting to pretend to be a Master. Yet at the same time, who would in their right mind try to fake being a master? This duty, this role, came with its inherent and very real dangers, and with this being the first official night of the Holy Grail War it was not something to remotely take lightly. This was the beginning of the end for so many dreams...and lives at the same time perhaps.

And at the same time, Elizabeth could not deny the air about this individual. This blue haired person...seemed more innately dangerous than the average mage, albeit less than the presence of a servant in her mind. Strange, but something to keep note of both for her sake and her servant's sake. Assassin to her was more than just a tool, a servant for usage to get the Holy Grail. She was like...heavens, she was like a sort of daughter to the female mage if she were to be honest about it. From hugging the little girl instinctively after summoning her, to making her hot meals, to buying her clothes, in just the week they had been around each other already Elizabeth felt a connection to this little girl...and an inherent desire to keep her and dress her up as a magical girl from that one anime she watched on TV as a kid.

@VitaVitaAR

---

"Fake"!Saber Best!Saber

orange = speaking

lightblue = thinking/mental communication with master

---

The Saber, this servant of Hasabe's that the boy had summoned a week ago, would suddenly appear before Hasabe in a heartbeat. Leaving her spirit form and manifesting again, the female servant sat about in one of the chairs at the dining room table, feet propped up on part of the table as she looked over at him with a slightly lazy look. Or was that...no...disappointment of some kind or sort? It seemed rather parental in nature, however, like a mother disappointed to see her son come home with pizza...for the millionth time this week. Or perhaps disappointed in the way that she was trying to encourage him to stand up for himself or something. Whatever the case, she soon gave up the expression, sighing and moving her legs down before standing up once more and walking over to the pizzas.

"Boy, do you remember what i told you last night? The Grail War starts in earnest tonight. So being out this late delivering pizzas of all things, all while a mage can sense those command seals even with those gloves on...ah...," the female servant said, giving up on the millionth lecture she had tried to give this week, all to try to prepare Hasabe for the dangers of the Grail War...or at least better get him in the mindset of a master. Even a "fake" like herself could try to do that much for the unfortunate soul who had become her master.

Though nagging in that regard, it was not like Saber had been any less than trying to do her best as a servant for her master. And indeed, she felt a bit like a mother to this boy, even telling him to clean up a leftover pizza box sitting in the corner shortly after being summoned. Really, she felt a soft spot for him, letting him know she appreciated his hard-working nature and such things that were approveable for a master in training. And yet, she had not been too soft on him, she could not be considering what was going to happen...considering what was starting tonight. If he was not prepared, even to the effect of 'just enough', it could and would eventually spell disaster for the two of them.

Opening the pizza, Saber raised an eyebrow as she noticed the variety of meats that topped the pizza pie before her. It was not the steak she had hoped for, but it would do. With that, Saber snatched up a slice of the pizza and quickly began devouring the tasty, ableit repetitive, treat that her master her brought home. Such was common for her, as a "warrior did need to eat after all" as she had noted noted during a dinner.

"Aff liff youff got faa meat one," the servant said, speaking as she ate her food, though somehow managing to avoid spitting on Hasabe himself as she looked towards him, until she had finally finished eating the slice in record time (as compared to humans) and began speaking to him more, "Ah, but a package arrived for you today. I have no idea myself as to who delivered it, as i was merely waiting to see if the one delivering was an enemy or not. At least, though, i can tell it was not a servant nor a master for that matter."

One minute lecturing, the next eating a slice of pizza, the next moving on to another matter. Truly, this Seibah was of great skill, great prestige, and great intellect in her day and age.

@Cu Chulainn