Iwannabeyours
Crusader Lord
Neziul
BaconIn equal measures, Scarlett was listening and not - the words, as spoken by Libra, Capricorn, and, presumably, Elise to follow suit, they flowed into her; meaningless, worthless; a pledge made in hope and faith. To summon a Servant was to abandon the principle belief in such things, and embrace the hopelessness and endlessness of the war you invoked upon yourself until it was done.
"Forgo silver and steel; the essence is blood and marrow," Scarlett began, as she set her Mystic Codes into the center of the ritual and stepped back, chanting, "Transmute our connection, a contract of muscle and bone. Erect a wall of flesh against utter destruction heralded. Let it be quartered keys into that lock the Cardinal Doors to our world. And, let each be turned five times around - breaking the afforded time asunder, that simply..."
Scarlett focused on Heartstring - the Aztec sacrificial dagger could afford her quite the Servant, if luck favoured her in this endeavour. "Let the road, thrice-forked, from the Crown until the Kingdom turn once more. And, let it be known henceforth," she says, "your flesh is to serve me, and my power is to serve you. To this end, I ask you to willingly submit to this service in my name. Harken to me, if you will, and submit to subservice to my will and truth."
Narrowing her eyes, Scarlett continued, "For an oath is to be forged here; so I shall obtain all virtues Heavensent, and so I shall rule over all vices Hellbound. Mine is no summon, but a draft to preserve the future, to serve humanity, and to save the world!"
"Rise forth from the depths of Hell! Descend swift from the apex of Heaven! Attended by the Three Great Words of Power, storm forth from the Ring of Restraint, Protector of the Holy Balance!"
Once the oath was finished, altered as it was, a blinding surge of light would burst forth from the accumulated mana, revealing a man that was a bit taller than Leon standing with his back turned to Scarlett. He had the appearance of a matured warrior, the slightest hint of graying in his hair showing the age of the Servant she’d summoned. Judging from the lance sheathed comfortably upon his back, there was no doubt that he was of the Lancer class. Turning to face her, he would give an aloof smile before saying: "Well, you completely fucked up the oath, but I still found my way here, Master. To you who reeks of blood, I swear the lance of Celtchar. Got any Monsters that need slaying?”
Scarlett narrowed her eyes, "I showered this morning, you smelly asshole," she says, sniffing the air, "I can't help the scent any more than you can. But, you could complement my deodorant, at least." Chastising Celtchar, Scarlett didn't look up from Heartstring and Heartbeat. Clucking her tongue, she sighed, "Well, you aren't my first draft pick, but you look competent. Ulster Cycle Irish, if I can wager a guess. Not on par with Cu Culann, but leagues beyond Diramund."
Celtchar’s nostrils flared up a bit at the comparison, saying: "Listen, not everyone’s a freak like that hound and not everyone’s got a curse that makes them beautiful. I’m the Grey Knight of Ulster, and while I know history remembers those dicks a lot better than me…" he would unsheathe his lance from his back and proudly stamp its shaft against the ground. "I guarantee neither of them are as good at slaying Monsters as I am. So, just play to my strengths or whatever and we’ll win."
Going over, Celtchar would gingerly poke Scarlett’s forehead, leaning down a bit before saying: "I’m just glad my Master isn’t someone who seems afraid to get their hands a little dirty."
"Blood stains more than my hands," Scarlett says, lifting his chin with her off-coloured hand, "I like you. I would have probably shot anyone else without the sense to stand on their own and fuck blessings." Scarlett smirked, as she flicked her knife; the obsidian blade swishing through the air. "That little oath isn't going to bind my mind to you, just because," she says, "A drop of blood, however, that's worth remembering."
Celtchar would deftly catch her knife with the bare point of his lance, an absolutely flawless block intercepted by the tip of the blade. "Heh. Diarmuid was always the one that gave better speeches. But if its a drop of my blood you need, all you had to do was ask. Or, enforce a geas on me. A command spell wouldn’t even be necessary, my despicable Master," he would say, before grabbing Scarlett’s wrist and her knife, and cutting a gash across his palm after removing his glove.
"Yada yada I am your sword, and I’ll die like a dog properly if it comes to that. Now, put that thing away before I start thinking you’re just into bleeding out men you meet."
Scarlett smirked. "Hardly," she says. "Libra. Capricorn. Director. Don't remember their names. Don't put the effort forward. Too much else is more important to remember, in my academic opinion," she sliced her palm, and let Heartstring drink, before slicing a bit of her hair, "Consider this a matter of necessity. I need to remember you, so I'm putting you forward in my memory..." Scarlett clenched her bloody hand into tight fist with her blood and hair mixing, before she opened it; healed and containing two translucent vials on a chain with her blood and Celtchar's mixed.
"A blood pact, if you will," Scarlett says, presenting him a necklace. "Now, I won't forget your name, Celtchar. My little, Irish mosquito."
"Yeaaaah, please call me literally anything other than a mosquito," Celtchar said, accepting the necklace and tightening it, letting it hang from his wrist instead of his neck.
"No," Scarlett chirped in a manner that could almost be cute, if she weren't everything but. Celtchar could, likely, see through her fragility and attire - he was partnered with a killer, playing at being normal.
That was perfectly fine with the Ulster hero, seeing as he was little better than a boasting warrior proficient in slaying impossible beasts. Heroic Spirits often made their way to the Throne atop a pile of bodies, so who was he to judge his monster of a Master so long as she kept it to battles, and wasn’t bleeding everyone dry? Turning and standing at her side, Celtchar would pat her back. "Off to a fantastic start, you and I. Also, word of advice: Don’t ever ask me to unsheathe my Noble Phantasm. Its a bit temperamental, and if I don’t bathe it in enough blood, I bet it’ll just go for you from the smell. …Bit of a pain, but I promise its worth it once it gets going."
"Don't give me a reason to ask, then," Scarlett says, plainly. "Now, if we needn't do elsewise, you can help me grade these papers. I'm sure the Throne afforded you the knowledge to do basic Algebra II and Calculus?"
"Forgo silver and steel; the essence is blood and marrow," Scarlett began, as she set her Mystic Codes into the center of the ritual and stepped back, chanting, "Transmute our connection, a contract of muscle and bone. Erect a wall of flesh against utter destruction heralded. Let it be quartered keys into that lock the Cardinal Doors to our world. And, let each be turned five times around - breaking the afforded time asunder, that simply..."
Scarlett focused on Heartstring - the Aztec sacrificial dagger could afford her quite the Servant, if luck favoured her in this endeavour. "Let the road, thrice-forked, from the Crown until the Kingdom turn once more. And, let it be known henceforth," she says, "your flesh is to serve me, and my power is to serve you. To this end, I ask you to willingly submit to this service in my name. Harken to me, if you will, and submit to subservice to my will and truth."
Narrowing her eyes, Scarlett continued, "For an oath is to be forged here; so I shall obtain all virtues Heavensent, and so I shall rule over all vices Hellbound. Mine is no summon, but a draft to preserve the future, to serve humanity, and to save the world!"
"Rise forth from the depths of Hell! Descend swift from the apex of Heaven! Attended by the Three Great Words of Power, storm forth from the Ring of Restraint, Protector of the Holy Balance!"
Once the oath was finished, altered as it was, a blinding surge of light would burst forth from the accumulated mana, revealing a man that was a bit taller than Leon standing with his back turned to Scarlett. He had the appearance of a matured warrior, the slightest hint of graying in his hair showing the age of the Servant she’d summoned. Judging from the lance sheathed comfortably upon his back, there was no doubt that he was of the Lancer class. Turning to face her, he would give an aloof smile before saying: "Well, you completely fucked up the oath, but I still found my way here, Master. To you who reeks of blood, I swear the lance of Celtchar. Got any Monsters that need slaying?”
Scarlett narrowed her eyes, "I showered this morning, you smelly asshole," she says, sniffing the air, "I can't help the scent any more than you can. But, you could complement my deodorant, at least." Chastising Celtchar, Scarlett didn't look up from Heartstring and Heartbeat. Clucking her tongue, she sighed, "Well, you aren't my first draft pick, but you look competent. Ulster Cycle Irish, if I can wager a guess. Not on par with Cu Culann, but leagues beyond Diramund."
Celtchar’s nostrils flared up a bit at the comparison, saying: "Listen, not everyone’s a freak like that hound and not everyone’s got a curse that makes them beautiful. I’m the Grey Knight of Ulster, and while I know history remembers those dicks a lot better than me…" he would unsheathe his lance from his back and proudly stamp its shaft against the ground. "I guarantee neither of them are as good at slaying Monsters as I am. So, just play to my strengths or whatever and we’ll win."
Going over, Celtchar would gingerly poke Scarlett’s forehead, leaning down a bit before saying: "I’m just glad my Master isn’t someone who seems afraid to get their hands a little dirty."
"Blood stains more than my hands," Scarlett says, lifting his chin with her off-coloured hand, "I like you. I would have probably shot anyone else without the sense to stand on their own and fuck blessings." Scarlett smirked, as she flicked her knife; the obsidian blade swishing through the air. "That little oath isn't going to bind my mind to you, just because," she says, "A drop of blood, however, that's worth remembering."
Celtchar would deftly catch her knife with the bare point of his lance, an absolutely flawless block intercepted by the tip of the blade. "Heh. Diarmuid was always the one that gave better speeches. But if its a drop of my blood you need, all you had to do was ask. Or, enforce a geas on me. A command spell wouldn’t even be necessary, my despicable Master," he would say, before grabbing Scarlett’s wrist and her knife, and cutting a gash across his palm after removing his glove.
"Yada yada I am your sword, and I’ll die like a dog properly if it comes to that. Now, put that thing away before I start thinking you’re just into bleeding out men you meet."
Scarlett smirked. "Hardly," she says. "Libra. Capricorn. Director. Don't remember their names. Don't put the effort forward. Too much else is more important to remember, in my academic opinion," she sliced her palm, and let Heartstring drink, before slicing a bit of her hair, "Consider this a matter of necessity. I need to remember you, so I'm putting you forward in my memory..." Scarlett clenched her bloody hand into tight fist with her blood and hair mixing, before she opened it; healed and containing two translucent vials on a chain with her blood and Celtchar's mixed.
"A blood pact, if you will," Scarlett says, presenting him a necklace. "Now, I won't forget your name, Celtchar. My little, Irish mosquito."
"Yeaaaah, please call me literally anything other than a mosquito," Celtchar said, accepting the necklace and tightening it, letting it hang from his wrist instead of his neck.
"No," Scarlett chirped in a manner that could almost be cute, if she weren't everything but. Celtchar could, likely, see through her fragility and attire - he was partnered with a killer, playing at being normal.
That was perfectly fine with the Ulster hero, seeing as he was little better than a boasting warrior proficient in slaying impossible beasts. Heroic Spirits often made their way to the Throne atop a pile of bodies, so who was he to judge his monster of a Master so long as she kept it to battles, and wasn’t bleeding everyone dry? Turning and standing at her side, Celtchar would pat her back. "Off to a fantastic start, you and I. Also, word of advice: Don’t ever ask me to unsheathe my Noble Phantasm. Its a bit temperamental, and if I don’t bathe it in enough blood, I bet it’ll just go for you from the smell. …Bit of a pain, but I promise its worth it once it gets going."
"Don't give me a reason to ask, then," Scarlett says, plainly. "Now, if we needn't do elsewise, you can help me grade these papers. I'm sure the Throne afforded you the knowledge to do basic Algebra II and Calculus?"
"Now is REALLY not the time for this, Master!"