Epsir

Snobby Students Are Summoned As Heroes?

Hope sprang inside of Irene as she finally scaled to the top of the hill. Progressing across the planes had become a sort of disjointed ennui, with very little of distinction to separate incident from incident in her memories. But that had all changed with elevation. She hadn't a clue, her back largely turned to the surprise which awaited her as she went up. Cresting only brought the sight of yet more Glade, and it was stop the incline that the Bestia stopped to hold her knees and sigh. The new body had held out at least, wandering was not nearly as taxing as it should have been in her newfound constitution, but that was of little comfort knowing that their starvation was inevitable without sweet, sweet civilization to solve all of their problems for them. Irene straighted up, turning around as her gruff face scanned impassively for the group she'd gotten a bit distant from... And then she saw it. Buildings, the unforgettable but vague bumpiness of faraway structures. It was a sight from her vague memories of home, the one before the move away, where you could wander out and see such minuscule settlements in the distance in the more rustic regions.

"Heyyy!" Their excited voice chirped as they spryly waved a hand in the air, signaling her traveling companions that there was totally something interesting on top of her hill. She nodded emphatically as the others caught up, jabbing at the distant town with a thickly gloved finger. She was about to nod some more at Albrecht as he suggested going back. It sucked having to walk even more but it felt right, they could sweep up the people still at the standing stones and get them all to safety. Who knew how long those childish bodies would last out here. Her own was an aberration, she felt. Her senses were too sharp to be human, but... That wasn't as much of a logical leap as assigning fantastic durability to the little ones. They were certainly not recreated equally.

Before that nod could happen, her eyes were pulled to distant blue spectacle. Some kind of panning light, gone in an instant. A signal mirror? Magic? God come again to fix this mess? The earth shaking felt pretty Biblical, even if everything else about their situation, Goddess' identity included, was most certainly not. Instinctively her stance lowered, her heavy body rocking little during the tremor despite the deep, primal unease it made her feel.

"Ha, weird," She forced a chuckle. "Guess thataways it is..."

Her voice trailed off as a blue light speared the sky. Everything became lit in its otherworldly hue. The sheer brightness of the manaflare etched away sight of the things surrounding it, the standing stones and the shapes of their friends washed away either by brightness of the lance or the halo of contrast shadow that hid the world around it. Irene looked away, some sense that it was too bright to safely stare into triggering before the sharp drop in her stomach that told her your friends are dead.

Dead again, actually. It didn't really hurt the first time, and friends was admittedly a stretch but if they weren't comrades now they weren't anything.

Oh right. They weren't anything any more. A few hours walk away, Irene had time to hit her knees on the dirt before the deafening roar of the blast struck them. The concussion, either from the explosion or just the sound it was making, thudded upon her chest like a hammer. She could have talked in the silence before were she not speechless. She wanted to scream in the noise that followed, but it wouldn't have made a difference. There was something raw and traumatizing about witnessing the annihilation of ground on which one had walked; a sensation unknown to most of the world she came from, and alien to her until that moment.

"Yeah... right," Irene said, voice a shellshocked fragment as Albrecht talked strategy. She could definitely keep watching it, she supposed.
"Don't worry, I'll keep an eye on the... thing." She slowly pushed up to standing, swiping dirt off of her pant legs before realizing that trying to clean them didn't really make much of a difference to how they looked. Instead, she motioned loosely with one arm, beckoning Jyu-Ni ahead into the formation. "It'll be alright Jyu-Ni. Calm as he says."

Fate/Secondary Genesis

Approaching the Habsburg Rental

The straight-four purred like a contented beast as the driver set her foot down. They were finally on the open road, cruising in the opposite direction of those on their morning commute into the city. Buildings faded away to rolling hills and New England's scenic woods. The rich set their estates here, far away from the prying eyes and thrumming noise of urbanite life to contemplate the woes of being painfully rich and empty. She knew that pretty well, her family had one a few miles back the way they came. Home was a faraway thought though. Their destination was a more recent memory. A venue, one rented by some foreign money. It had been a nice party, what little of it she remembered, until her newfound guardian took exception to the premises and pulled her away. She stared down at her clasped hands, delicate knuckles rung white as she kept pressure on the back of her left. She didn't want to see it. The faintly glowing icon burned into her skin, the interlinked sigils that throbbed agonizingly whenever she stole a glance to the left, at the strange person seated behind the steering wheel. Her heart beat against the inside of her throat, her brain felt like it was rebelling against the inside of her skull. They were going to murder a man who'd just invited them to a party. She reached for the cupholder and found nothing.

"You're sure we need to do this? No warning or anything?"

A green eye flickered in her direction as she spoke. A chill ran down her spine as she caught the glare of that grim wraith. They were inhuman, they had said as much to her even if she was still attempting to digest what exactly that meant. A... Servant, they had called themselves. And she was now a Master. That meant fighting for their lives, no matter what. That had been made absolutely clear after the first night. Her ears still rang in the wake of the clashes, her heart still raced as her mind recalled that terrible, hungry creature reaching out at her. Deadened fingers clasping over the seal on her hand, prying at the flesh until...

"Magi don't know the meaning of reason. Every Master will want to kill you. It's nothing so personal that you can convince or grovel your way out of it. The way of the Magus is cold, unfeeling reason. You are weak, weaker even then I am, and to kill either of us is a victory for them." A cold voice pried her mind away from the memories. Assassin, the only name the wraith had given her, was speaking. Even if the terms were still fantastic and alien she could understand the severity dripping from the other woman's voice. Like the doomsayers on the streets, believing every impossible word to stem from their insane thoughts. But Assassin came hand in hand with proof of the hidden world. From the brink of death to rushing through the countryside in the passenger seat of a Kangoo, Assassin had been with her every step of the way and no matter how mad she sounded the she had always been right.

"I'm leaving you here."

"Okay." The roaring of passing traffic almost blotted out her weak voice, but Assassin nodded back at her. Here was a rest stop out of town. Assassin lead her inside, holding her hand tight and steadying her uneasy gait long enough to set her down on a bench inside. Giant windows let light into the interior, the modern glass-heavy architecture offering line of sight to the outside world as the Servant loomed over a map rack, pretending to read about the location as people shuffled by. Satisfied that they weren't already under attack, Assassin turned, dropping her pamphlet back onto the shelf and striding right for her Master. The wraith knelt down, scruffy, dark hair falling across her shoulders as her chartreuse eye bored into her own. She could only stare back into Assassin's stark white eyepatch.

"Remember what I told you. If anything happens..." Nimble hands clasped their Master's, forcing her to look down at the sign emblazoned in her flesh. Her lifelines in this twisted game. At a rest stop twenty minutes from where she grew up, shaking and nauseous on public seating with a pistol against her back and a maniac at her feet, Luna Harsyke never felt further from home.

The Habsburg Rental

The highway bled away in the rearview, the scenery encroaching on the asphalt transforming from open field to forest and then back again as the road began to pitch upwards. The Renault's four-cylinder roared against gravity, the heavy body of the utility van accelerating to the edge of its envelope of control on the uphill. Their heavy glove moved on the gearshift, the sound of a thick rubberized sole sliding across the pedals changing the motor's tune and softly lurching the vehicle through its paces.

Assassin sat expressionless, solo eye glazed over the road surface as their mind set itself on the singular purpose of becoming someone else. Victory required diminishing oneself, extinguishing the traits that made one discernible. In her case she could blend away her very presence, seeming nothing more than 'another person' until the fatal moment. There was nothing inconspicuous about being the only car on its way to that remote estate, but all she had to do was not register as a Servant until the first stone was cast. Already she awaited the distinct tingle of passing a bounded field, the telltale sting that would tell the Magus of the land that a normal human had come to his domain unannounced. A lost tourist, a daylight robber, a traveling salesman, it didn't matter what identity they assigned to the sight of an unmarked gray van speeding recklessly towards the front gate. Ornate, iron, moderately fortified. It was an easier breach than the walls surrounding it. Her eyesight confirmed a single guard manning the morning watch, peacefully stood at the booth inside the walls and idly watching her approach from within. The wraith calmly raised their wrist, inspecting the cracked watch to mark the starting time. Eyes diverted from the wheel, they lowered their head to reach for the floor. The windshield exploded.

Metal screeched and tore, the shrill sound of hinges prying apart filling the peaceful morning air with the tooth shaking rattle of machinery coming apart. The wrought iron gates barred across the drive splintered as the van came through them, cracking further from the point of impact and bending where energy forced the metal into plasticity. The vehicle itself mangled into a mess unrecognizable, the passenger cabin's roof peeled back and the sputtering, smoking engine exposed by the blow. A stray wheel rolled away from the iron enshrouded wreck as the driver side door squealed open on bent tracks. It fell away entirely as it swung, the black clad figure inside crawled from the carnage, dragging a drab colored duffel from the floorspace as they stood erect. The door to the guardhouse opened, the suited man inside stepping out with a hand on his hip, concern on his face for the motorist that just wrecked themselves. "Hold still, stay where you are, you're in shock..." The warnings droned even before they were out in the open.

Assassin's hand snapped behind her back, a subtle twist of her spine offering a clean draw as her stance spread wider. Blued steel flashed in her hand, the slim lines of a pistol produced and leveled on the considerate guardsman. His words froze in his throat, but training carried his motions, his fist clenching around his weapon. Assassin squeezed the trigger. The facade fell away. The blooming light of a Servant's spiritual core fell upon the estate, the light of an Intruder, and the sinister feeling of a Noble Phantasm at work. Plastic cracked as the first bullet shattered through the slide of his weapon. Her wrist canted, twisting the ghost ring sight onto the man's leg and firing again. The heavy bark of gunfire would be the second announcement of her presence, one even for mortal ears. They let their weapon go, the mundane firearm clanking to the ground with its purpose served. The estate's door guard laid screaming, bleeding from extremities and shouting profanities into the morning.

"You're not dying yet."

The wraith said, gravel voice rising over the flames of her ride and the lamentations of her witness. They reached greedily into the bag across their shoulders, sliding the parcel off as they pulled a black tube from within. The stock unfolded neatly in their hands, the pistol grip sitting comfortably in their glove. With a flick of her wrist she turned a black and blue tipped shell into her hand, snapping the breach open and slamming the gas round home. No hesitation, no consideration, the grenade launcher came up to her shoulder and fired up at the enormous windows of the building's front face. The canister fell into the study overlooking the drive, broken glass raining alongside it before its timed fuse burnt down. It hissed and popped, an odious and stinging white cloud bursting from the canister and fuming from the broken window. Unopposed the hooligan stood at the foot of the estate and chambered another quarrel for those inside, this time aiming lower and delivering a shell through the front doors. Glass shrieked, alarms cried, and the Servant began to stride forward. The action rang as it sprang open, a smoking case falling to the asphalt in their wake.

Snobby Students Are Summoned As Heroes?

Irene's turns to check on the rest of the party grew more frequent as the realization that the others were not going to follow gradually set in. The remainder seemed to be gathering around one of the pillars that they had fallen in around, the humanoid lizard digging into the soil for some reason she couldn't quite place. The sensation of not knowing why anyone was doing anything was slowly starting to become her default state. It was an indifferent sort of confusion that she only consciously identified after watching the elf-looking one leap through the air after those strangely alluring butterflies. They might have looked like children but if she were to continue operating on the assumption that they were all members of her class and not convenient likenesses, something that the others seemed to embrace as they went around naming each other, they were not what they appeared to be. It didn't feel right to leave them behind nonetheless, her body very nearly rebelled against the steps she was taking to continue along behind Albrecht, but she had already determined herself to follow the best instructions they had. It wasn't assuredly South, but it wasn't laying about. They were in the right to leave, she thought, and backing down to wait for them would only encourage more waiting around. In a crisis you had to hold the initiative, she'd heard that somewhere before.

Taking guilty looks back at the party they were leaving alerted her to the approach of the earthy colored small one and her enormous arms. The childlike face they wore was weighed down with something that appeared to be sorrow, but as Irene locked eyes with them she realized it must have been pity. It didn't take much soul searching to come up with a reason why someone might be sorry for her, although they were all dead. Everyone else looked like the realization of something fantastic or at least well endowed by their new circumstances, and she was now wearing the blanket off of some homeless man.

That said, Irene felt amazing. Moving had never felt so easy, her senses had never felt so sharp. As a man, it was now her divine right to wear shoes without heels and clothing with actual pockets. She could squint like Dirty Harry and once she got the hang of it and a glass of water probably growl like him too. Most people didn't get anything when they lost their body so anything was an upgrade right? Already she prepared modest counter-condolences, ready to crack a joke and move them all forward without the need for any sorrow in what was, without equal, a second chance for them all-

"Git fucked."

"Oh, uh... Ha," She couldn't help but laugh nervously as they skipped away, once more struggling to get out of the way of those passing arms. Maybe that was some strange breakdown in communication, maybe she'd simply met a true expert in gallows humor. As the lizard called out to them specifically, she began to wonder if the armed one wasn't just belligerent on a level Irene had yet to comprehend.

"Leaving a trail of any sort is for the best. I would hate to be leaving them to their own devices."

In the time it took them to move away she spent most of it listening intently to Albrecht. He had a surprisingly large amount of information to relate, but that had been the impression he gave off. The closest thing they had to an authority figure, a knight in shining armor who clearly knew a thing or two about neolithic armament. As he spoke her eyes followed along with his words, looking over the surrounding lands with refreshingly sharp eyes. Grassland and hills, distance and wilderness. Irene took a look down at the hem of her cloak, ragged and torn as it was, she felt it would be simple enough to rip a strip off later for forming a sling... But that would be after they found some nice rocks, she decided. This entire line of thought was something that hadn't occurred to her until it'd been stated, and it brought with it a new level of discomfort. They had been cautioned to move, danger had made itself present... but their very being was as much a threat to their continued living for now. They needed to live, the need for food and water had not been changed, as far as she knew.

"You flatter me, I'd say you've said it all Albrecht. It'd be awful anticlimactic, if we were dropped here just to starve. I'll... Strike out for a hill, then, see about those rocks and roads. Don't break line of sight, alright? I'll holler and run back if I see anything to note."

She picked at random, selecting a distant rise in the land slightly askew of their current line of travel and casually distancing herself from her two traveling companions. She was careful not to quicken too much, eyes ahead and pace even as she envisioned the scouting mission ahead of her.

Fate/Secondary Genesis

Character Directory

Team Saber:

Servant: The Hound of Ulster Master: The Jersey... who?

Team Lancer:

Servant: The Demon Lord of Čachtice Master: The Second Chance for Sohonnai

Team Archer:

Servant: The Immortal Archer of the Shahnameh Master: The Peerless Name of Habsburg

Team Rider:

Servant: The Empress of Golden Russia Master: The Protector of Boston

Team Caster:

Servant: The Living Sun of Cusco Master: The Seeker From New York

Team Berserker:

Servant: Valhalla's Greatest King of Zealand Master: The Rose Witch at Hearthstone

NPC Directory

Your Gracious Host

Mister Crowley

Witness of Aiwass

Age: ?
Elemental Affinity: Wind
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral
True Will: Transgression

Magic Circuits
Number: C
Quality: B

A sense of the number and quality of magical circuits possessed by this person can be difficult to obtain. While active, their magic circuits suggest an above average aptitude for Magecraft and they are a mechanically gifted practitioner of basic arts. Problematically, the magical effects rendered by this individual most often occur without any activation of their own magic circuits, only disturbances in the surrounding magical energy. The fact that they are undoubtedly a Magus is cause for some concern, as the have escaped cataloguing by the Association and yet come from no known lineage of Magi. A heretic, and a most deviant heretic at that.

Magick:

Incitement

At first glance a basic form of hypnosis known to most western Magi, only weaker in its execution in that it seems to target the drive of the target to complete a task that they already desired to accomplish... Witting or not. It compels a degree of focus that can be used to camouflage the presence of the caster, such as directing rescue workers to focus their efforts without regard to orders coming from above, or the presence of strangers.

Background:

The author of a mysterious letter and sponsor of an unsanctioned Grail War taking place in the United States' City of Boston, a heretic magus of the highest class that has (or so they claim) replicated a ritual thought lost to the folly of a previous generation. Either a looter of materials commonly believed to be destroyed or a crafting savant that somehow matched the efforts of three Magus families in a few short years, heads are scratched as to which explanation is less impossible. Highly contrary to the aims of the Association, all details of his existence remained unknown until he decided to intervene on the behalf of the Grail War's participants. While assuredly not a Master, cannot enjoy the results of his Grail War's completion if it were say, interrupted by the wailing of an angry government following an enormous breach of secrecy.

An Ordinary Tour Guide

Custodial Ghost Liner

Guider

Alignment: Lawful Neutral

Background:

Adorned in what is obviously a uniform... only lacking any obvious markings. Free of branding, free of identification, they have an unnaturally nonthreatening aura to them; the aura of an older sister that invites bored old people to follow them and strangers to spare a moment of listening to the inane and intense love they hold for enlightening others. There's not even so much as a name tag to follow them with, though they'd insist that you call them whatever you need to.

Tangible sightings of the creature are almost a matter of myth, although a few bystanders would recognize the attire and manner of speech if pressed to play witness. All point towards a definite origin, all accounts occurring after a certain mid-June date.

A Hopeless Heiress (Master of Assassin)

???

Master of Assassin

Age: 18
Elemental Affinity: None
Alignment: True Neutral
Origin: ???

Magic Circuits
Number: E
Quality: A

A sense of the number and quality of magical circuits possessed by this person is easily perceptible. Their body is not that of a magus, and the number of cultivated circuits is exceedingly low to the point of near non-existence. Despite this the barest potential for Magecraft remains, unawakened, as the result of either good breeding or a fluke of genetic assignment. These miraculous, albeit dormant circuits are of exceptional quality, comparable to the purpose built circuits of a homunculus.

Background:

Stated name Luna Harsyke. An unknown daughter of a lesser lineage, there is more to say of the Harsyke than of this seemingly estranged daughter of theirs. A family without a name in the world of Magecraft but of moderate repute in financial circles, the Harsyke brand boasts industrial and transportation holdings both in the United States and abroad. More publicly known in their home state of New York, Luna is best described as out of place. No record attests to their residency in the state, little more than a birth certificate ratifies their very existence, but they are most certainly extant. The young money has recently made showings in the area, alone, and leveraging a name more than anything else to rub shoulders with the rich and famous. Notorious for a spitfire attitude and winning only begrudging acknowledgment from the family back home, her aims and character are nigh indiscernible from a distance.

The Liberator of Charleville (Assassin Servant)

???

Assassin

Parameters:

Strength: E
Endurance: B
Agility: A+
Magical Energy: E
Luck: A

Alignment: Chaotic Good

Class Skills:

Independent Action: A

Assassin is capable of acting for extended periods of time without a direct link to her master, and by extent surviving without a master for up to ten days if she does conserve her magical energy for all but the most vital of functions. It is in her nature to act alone, even being in her homeland has no sustaining effect for her because she lived as a stranger within her own country. Her high rank in Independent Action is derived not only from her chosen form's life of self reliance but also from her generally low mana consumption. She lacks magecraft to employ, and even her Noble Phantasm costs relatively little energy to deploy.

Presence Concealment: -

While a candidate for the skill Presence Concealment, Assassin does not manifest with it because of their use of Espionage.

Personal Skills:

Charisma: D

Assassin is a representative of Liberty itself. However, it was not her but the aspirations of the people around her that compelled the events of her legend. Regardless of her actual fame and the obscure status of the form she has adopted, as a symbol of revolution and icon of liberty, she has a natural ability to compel others in battles against tyranny and enslavement. Her ability to lead is sufficient, having stood at the side of revolutions and resistances in her time, but as someone who was looked to as a symbol more than as a commander her authority does not supersede the ideals that people have chosen to see in her.

Espionage: C

An experienced and natural infiltrator, saboteur, and guerrilla, in the form of an Assassin the wraith possesses the credentials for Presence Concealment but is better served by their rank in Espionage. Assassin is able to blend her presence seamlessly with those surrounding her. In a crowd she is nearly indiscernible from ordinary humans around her, far less noticeable than any Magus. Even on an empty street, if one were not already suspicious of her personage she would be no more than a wandering girl. She can carry small weapons while utilizing this effect, as long as they do not protrude from her clothing. Use of her Noble Phantasm or any of her weapons breaks the effect immediately, and she is unable to re-disguise herself while within the sight of any pursuers.

Eye of Mind (True): B

Assassin is an observant soldier capable of assessing her situation and predicting an opponent's actions with a great degree of clarity and speed. She is able to disguise her weakness with versatility, and her mind's eye is capable of discerning all the courses of action available with her many tools. As this ability is reliant on knowledge, it is far less effective against concepts and techniques she has no understanding of. As a Servant, Assassin benefits from the combat experiences of all citizens and soldiers who have died in the just defense of her homeland, as living embodiments of her legend. She gains the greatest amount of knowledge from the form she currently inhabits. As a result, she is a hardened veteran of small scale, clandestine warfare, not unlike the Grail War she has been called upon to participate in.

[Ender]: C

In all wars there are those who are willing to fight 'until the end.' This extreme dedication to the fatherland manifests in Assassin's case not only in her significant endurance rank, both for an Assassin and a girl of her figure, but in her ability to prolong and endure warfare through wit and determination. =ß9uwh her boª‘ ma+ Zßôt !nd »hdt¬Dr arÃ}nd D*r, C÷, XinÜ éil³ ™o• falLera U4tˆl RhĞ ëhysicªlÐy can·«t Pct, Ó²l w'#l %o” sociu„b tg ŠatiguI or pa%n. ³ÍŽpe ek• Äows noB wEssÑsi °hV eiÛ˜ûoÖdin­ry ¿egeneNQŒiv| kbi=iÞeŸ of a œerÕŒ©t w;th ñ¸Ddïö CÄnt¯@;at¡#n oÅ ¤/me‚gIýÍ, she is simiIórly ]ëlè tÈ aäseond c‘o· ܡڐn—TrEós w²z] a Kt¾â¢( of tXôt(cz for TTa_Äàv [uª KatclMs R!% egc±9òng in¶Ý }C€ sja¼owWC

[Citizen of Death's Grey Land]: A

Since its birth men and women have died for the fatherland. In its defense, at its hands, at times with little distinction between the two. Those nameless, numberless martyrs lost to conflict are the ones who paid every price imaginable for the martial knowledge that defends the nation in modernity, and that which echoes in the iron minds of those yet fighting for Liberty within the Throne of Heroes. Efsa‚sin ifhewiJs +roÑ her Xçn Зif# an¥ Vll ¡h$sÍ dÖd_2it©ì 8o heøà r/\o½e F$ything ‚­se and bêter NYl is "oìÀà Žhà ÄÆ a —ol‘]ü¡Ž ShÐ píseŠBev .hÏ abYlÿt, t¿ øii]d ùnÈ weapån ”r Çœchniqà? e_—r ’mpäo£eJ Ó­ t¼e +efenÎâ h… Ieà Aome"«np. ‰s D ô—saÈÿ—n‡ ühe ò\ an $_terò Ž¼Ôhle/s killer, _„ofäP# no 0räe or Cla2 thñouL; …M' ¥£²V²n£ 2Ò%eåte2 t. Ïuþt hr pU”pos. „i¹i¿¢ö, blŠdô¢ wWaponY! F—aps, УxlÔo~ÿvßà ÛnÎ eveK €a’Êȹl aÉts 0õõ used in £µr fiKnæiÃg ¬LbÜ« tÔ orc¢estraä« a ¡Ú2opš„n o/ viƒlen\e ô\st aËlouã no 5e/Â;½÷? 7Y camp1ñc§AcÛ.

Noble Phantasm:

[The Song of Revolution]
[Never-ending Armament Orchestra]

E~B++
Anti-Unit Class

Description:

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Fate/Secondary Genesis

October 29th, 1994
Cavern of the Grail, Fuyuki, Japan
The End of One Story

Even there the fire raged. The inferno come to cleanse their wretched acts could be felt far under the Earth, the warmth radiating from the heart of the city felt as if the cool cave air was that of a warm summer day. The distant hammering of exploding transformer boxes was like thunder in the Autumn night. The retreating wail of the prefectural firefighters' sirens the only mourning this sorry scene would receive. His heavy steps thudded over the faraway sounds of calamity, the chittering of retreating insects heralding every pained stride. Beneath it's baleful glare the weight of the curse became impossible.

Under the looming pillar of the Greater Grail, a shriveled cadaver was laid out in blood and broken chitin. The robed elder croaked, stirring. It would take more than a few bulletholes to destroy that colony. The magus killer boiled out his blood, pores exploding, limbs sagging with the sheer agony of existence as his trembling hands worked at one last task.

WINCHESTER, 30-06 SPRG, the brass rim winking up at him read. Swollen fingers clutched the casing, staining it crimson as it was haphazardly flung free of the smoking barrel. Another, clutched between bruised knuckles, slammed home. It wasn't his fastest time. His wrist crackled as he flicked it out. The Matou elder raised his hand, winged insects leaping to his defense. The Contender snapped into battery. Fire scorched away the dark, a blooming ball of incandescence announcing the last shot of such a horrible war. Creatures shrieked and skittered from radiance. Matou burst, the terminal effect of the rifle round tearing apart the illusion of a body. Even as he hung in halves on the ground he cackled, paralyzed for a few more seconds. The constituent worms recoiled from the impact, the swarm invulnerable to the 'Severing' that would have befallen a whole being.

The splash of inhuman blood was enough to reawaken the lungs of the even smaller creature huddled behind him. Barely half the size of the already shrunken Matou, a pallid, sullen face stared up at the shooter. Unnerving, unnaturally purple hair wreathed their tired expression. A bloodstained doll was clutched unconsciously in their fist, the shape of a rabbit contorted by their panicked squeeze. Glyphs ringed the two of them, magical symbols carved into the rock and painted over in fresh blood. Shards of something once golden, blackened beyond repair, laid around her.

"Never again."

A hero stood on the deck of a boat. No blood surrounded him. No turmoil lingered in the air. Only the pleasant smell of sea breeze greeted his scathed senses. Only the invigorating tinge of the ocean air welcomed his frayed skin. They were cheering. Hundreds of faces, blurred by unfamiliarity. They waved their arms and shouted from the deck of a boat sailing away. His ocean paradise bubbled. The keel bellow him groaned as it slowly split itself. He turned his back on the world of light, silencing those saved voices, facing the beast. Curses flowed around his feet, the roiling blackness of Evil gushing from the depths of the vessel as the coming flood forced it out. They clawed at his legs, and he fell down with them. Fluid-like hands dragged him towards the core. Her face split from the dark, sneering at him in victory. He held up his hand, thumbing away the safety on the detonator.

"Just be a good sport and take it."

Red eyes winked open around the cavern, the digital confirmations of enough bricks to blow down the haunted house around him. Faerielight drifted from his dissolving body, the effects of Avalon fading away, the compact complete. His thumb came down, one click drawing a thousand angry roars from the cavern walls. Light shone in on them, pressure evaporating the magical machine, splitting the mountain above and throwing the remains of Heaven's Feel to the depths below.

June 11th 2021
Somewhere in Boston
Absent Foundation

The greenish light of the crypt played through the eerie fog veiling the room. Sounds like footsteps, or the soft clatter of shifting bones, played ominously within the bounded field. The scent of mana was so powerful as to be physical, a pressure that hung over all who dared to enter the chamber of the Grail. A chalice sat the floor in the center of the cramped hall, resting atop scattered bones and mounds of dust. Carefully selected scrawling surrounded it, profane markings of Magecraft etched into the remains of so many lives.

It was ready. The Cup of Heaven was reborn at his fingertips. Free of the machinations of lesser men, removed from their deluded expectations. No ill fated plotting, no psychopathic desire for Akasha in its design. He would do it. He would make their two worlds Whole again. How fitting, that the world of man and myth would require a magical machine to rejoin. He could only throw his head back and laugh, a shrill cry of delight for the eve of his rebirth. Not just his. The world. Oh, if only there were a single one of them smart enough to thank him. How those stuffy magicians would throw themselves at his feet, bless the soil he trod upon for saving the crumbling castle of Magecraft.

"Magick! It's Magick, damnit!"

A small fist crashed into the dust, the voice and body responsible for it all wheezing over the sudden rush of particulate. They coughed on the ashes of the dead for a few moments before their composure came back to them, and for the last time they raised a hand up to the swimming silhouette of a chalice before them.

"The pieces are gathered! By my will, awaken! Awaken, Holy Grail! Awaken and recognize your founder, your Ruler!"

The will screamed and the world answered. As it was, as it shall always be. The air shook as in one flash of light the constituents fused. Shards raked across the ground, drawn to the center of the room and flung along the lines of the myriad magical circles drawn out there. The birth of the Cup of Heaven was over in a second. Illuminated motes of floating dust fell to the ground, the shivering of the world stopped, and the faint hum of power that defined its presence fell silent. The room met with darkness. He stared intently at the ghost of his right hand, knowing that even if he could not see its shape in the dark he would soon see them. The answers to his work, the glowing crimson marks of a Master, his right as Master of the Grail manifested...

But there was no answer that day.

"Medicine man... What treachery is this?" In pitch dark he rounded, directing his voice at the man propped against the wall at the far end of the room. Amber colored eyes flashed up from staring into the glow of his cigarette. A smug smile broke out over his light tan, and the medicine man stood up to brush off his vest.

"No clue, but it looks like you've got your money's worth. I'll be taking my pay... and my leave, if'n you don't mind." He crossed an arm behind his back, affecting a bow before taking a cautious step aside before another backwards, towards the door.

"You aren't going anywhere. How can the Grail activate without choosing me? Preposterous, I built the damn thing. You've done me for a fool, fellow, and I won't be having it." The blood in the medicine man's veins chilled. The whole room began to cool, icicles falling from within the fog as moisture began to sap away.

"You sure about this little guy?"

"Deadly."

"Draw."

June 29th, 2021
Boston Park Plaza
Discordant Starting Bell

The Seals had appeared weeks ago. There was very little official oversight to the war, few reports of Masters-candidates actually summoning Servants. Of course the successful options were keeping things hush-hush. The Grail War had always been looked upon diminutively. The savage sacrifice ritual of the far east had been downgraded to completely off the books at that point, with only lukewarm moves by both the Church and the Association following the bizarre letters they'd been distributed.

But it was all real.

There was no telling how many Masters had come to Boston or how long they had been there. Maybe they'd have the full deck ready. Maybe they wouldn't be in town for months. It didn't matter because the Grail War would start in earnest that very day, ready or not.

It was still morning. The sun was surely rising over Boston Harbor, casting the waterfront in golden light. They found themselves seated in a brighter place, between white curtains, below the golden trimming of the hotel's lobby. TVs hung over the bar counters showed pretty faces reading out the morning news.

Police were still warning tourists to move in groups following a string of killings in the North End. Sound enough advice for prospective warriors too. It was set up to be a slow Saturday morning for the real world.

For them, it was the end of peace.

"Let's go, Assassin."

Fate/Secondary Genesis

Absolutely the case. There's one Master CS that's yet to come in but once that's done we can get them and Liz onto the character booklet, gain our IC intro, and get rolling. That IC intro will be coming in soon.

Snobby Students Are Summoned As Heroes?

A voice just as unfamiliar as her own radiated out of the strange... Cockney? Child as Irene pulled her to her feet. Strangely enough, she kind of felt like she understood the stream of profanities coming out of the little girl's mouth.

"Well, You seem alright." Already, intuitively, her brain searched for the telltale scent of blood and illness. Just because those were gone she felt confidence assessing their health, but rationality said otherwise. The way they were arranged, this particular creature's adorable plight in pulling their head from the Earth. They'd fallen. She remembered that much. Given the circumstances maybe it was more of a metaphorical fall, since they were dead and all. No, she'd been literally imprinted in the dirt. As the girl turned and made the same pass over her surroundings that all of them had underwent, Irene quietly flicked some of the dirt from the girl's silly hat. Before she could tell her anything a sinister cackle rattled over the Glade. It was unpleasantly loud. The dogged man's face she had shriveled with discomfort, eyes flickering aside at the crimson fountain of mirth in their midst. There was something hauntingly familiar about that laugh, something that sent had been able to send her danger sense buzzing even back in the real world. With a deep breath, she swiveled back to the armed-one.

"You're not the only one feeling a bit different, then- Woah," She took a step back as what looked like a few tonnes of metal arm spun through the air, following the motions of their owner. Irene watched, enraptured as the enormous, bulky limbs perfectly mimed the dexterous expressions of the child. Were they in science fiction, too? Some kind of special hell for Ivory Tower critics like herself where everything was based on pulp fiction and schlocky movies? Didn't sound too bad. Liberating, even. Better than that laughter, for sure. She continued to step backwards, cloak flapping around her ankles as she put some distance between herself and the girl playing with her deadly alien robot limbs.

There was no rest, no reprieve to sit back and digest all of this new information. If it wasn't a swarm of brightly colored butterflies it was the roar of something distant and rather like... Fucking dinosaurs holy shit. There were even birds scattering off into the air, squawking their alarm and giving the audience a convenient means of determining scale at a distance. At least, they would have, if it were then possible to see the creature that had made the noise. Her attention was piqued, that was a noise that made the hairs of her neck stand on end. Almost as unsettling, hearing her own name. She turned her grizzled face towards the knight, astonished. Her fingers crept up to her chin, feeling the coarse texture of her skin through its resistance on her glove once more. She'd heard him utter a name for himself earlier. Albrecht Dietrich. A student of 14-A. Right, the Goddess had said spoken to them as a group. With what little she heard, what little remained with her memory, the pieces suddenly began to click together. The child doing their best Jack Nicholson popped a butterfly into their mouth. Oh it's Phann. The realization sparked into a sudden optimism. What had made her so recognizable?

"Wait, what do I look like to..." Irene quieted. Albrecht had turned away, and was armoring up. Good point. Smirking to herself, she patted her sides, stopping as she couldn't find so much as a belt pack. The hulking hobo performed a nervous titter, frisking themselves like a someone who'd suddenly found themselves locked out of house and home without a key. Nothing. Still hoping to find so much as a pocket knife or thumbtack if they were swashbuckling through the countryside with sword and shield and clown costume and eyeliner, she jogged to catch up. It was easy to fall into pace behind the one person who looked like they had a plan, occasionally turning around on bouncing steps to make sure the others were trailing too. This was Step 2 in motion, she just hadn't expected to be leaving with everyone present at the pillars. The more the merrier.

"Where is here? What made that noise?" Everything was a question, and she hurled them thoughtlessly at the one who seemed to know something. Their predicament suddenly had the air of a crisis, but unlike on the bus there was no glinting blade in her face to tell her why. She didn't notice the shift in her posture as they walked, that imposing new body of hers hanging its arms at her side as they marched, fingers splayed wide, instinctively ready to claw at the world.

Fate/Secondary Genesis

And a warm welcome. If I might make a recommendation, expanding on exactly what poisons she's capable of manufacturing might be a nice touch, or adding a belongings section to categorize mundane possessions. As it stands they are solidly good to go for this thread, though.

Fate/Secondary Genesis

As we await the rest of our reservations finishing their character sheets, I think it would be best if we closed Assassin and the corresponding Master slot to set them aside as an NPC team for the war.

This will leave us with two vacant Master positions. As mentioned before, I anticipated covering at least a Master spot for this war and will drum up some Master options to add the pool. I will also be asking Drowsy if he's cool with running a Master for the war, and that will have us ready to go once everyone currently here has their character ready.

Snobby Students Are Summoned As Heroes?

She fluttered along the breeze, drifting as weightlessly as a leaf as the world spun below. Her arms tingled, her legs were numb. Fragments of glass glinted in her peripheral vision, and some part of her dully recognized that the shards not spinning with deadly grace through the air must have been stuck in something. Fire glinted in their depths. Widened eyes stared back, her own, reflected precisely as time slowed to a crawl. She couldn't tell if she was descending, she could only spin into a greater haze of disorientation. A passenger to that morbid carnival, the scent of burning diesel and molten rubber blotted out her senses. There was a splash and something wet hit the ground, no consistency to its demise, no resistance against the pavement.

Falling, she could feel it then. The overcast firmament above boiled away, dissolving into the clear indigo of a true sky. The stench of death was washed clean, and the ringing that haunted her ears faded away. A soft voice took their place, a tempest of whispers telling her things. Twintania? Legendary Heroes? Her mind recoiled at the words, a faint, internal growl rising over the pretty voice speaking to her. Conscious thought did not come so easily yet, she tiptoed through her mind, placidly accepting the things she was told until one realization brought with it sobriety.

"Wait... God? God? Hold up..." The light began to fade away. Her sole guidepost became that dreadful feeling, the natural nervousness brought on by falling, falling...

Fallen.

A dreary mess was strewn out across the homely green of The Glade. The shape of a body, lying flat on its face and adorned with the rotted spoils of much scavenging, rested face down in the grass. Limbs spread in every direction, as flat to the ground as one could get. That's not quite right. The creature stirred, gloved hands grasping troughs in the dirt as newly invigorated limbs shriveled towards the body, worming beneath it to prop the disheveled figure up. She drew her legs under herself, raising to all fours in the dirt as rattling bits of armor and jacket descended around her crouched form. A shock of ragged black hair fell into her view. Now that's not right at all.

She teetered unsteadily as she took a hand off the dirt and snapped it right to her chest, clutching into leather and scale mail uncertainly through the thick gloves she felt herself wearing. Trembling digits worked upwards over the shape of the unfamiliar frame they felt, freezing with terror as they happened upon the grit of stubble.

"Porca troia, what is this!?" A voice with a clear default setting of gravely bass squeaked nervously as the texture shocked her to speech. Opening her mouth was a mistake. Drawing that first breath welcomed in an entirely new world. Irene lurched forward, choking, almost retching on her new sense of smell. The acidity of soil and grass, and a floral tint from the surroundings poured onto her. Old stone, cured leather, treated metal. Scents she couldn't identify by instinct crept in, things that she quickly surmised belonged to the other strangers strewn out over the grass in similar fashion. One scent over all grated her the most though, a nagging question that persisted even after taking in the sights around her. What smelled like wet dog? ... Oh God. She raised her wrist, sniffing lightly at the cuff of her coat. Yeah. Focus on other things. Now was not the time to start screaming "What day is it?" to the locals. Act natural.

Armor plates grated in her ears. Gray, bagged eyes tracked to the sight of the knightly looking one waltzing over to the female bundled up in green. Are those elf ears? They both looked straight out of a fantasy. She cast her eyes sideways over the rest. Some kind of overgrown lizard was resting on the ground in the way she imagined all of them had found themselves here. An honest to goodness clown splashed a great deal of red onto the scene. Her gaze drifted down, halfway expecting to see balloon-nosed squeaky shoes only to flutter back up, alarmed. Wasn't there something different about those stripes? It was best not to think. There was a waifish looking girl, the sheer amount of black and white contrast coming from her made Irene's new eyes uncomfortable, even if there was a ghostly sort of majesty about them. Then there was... a third little girl, this one crafted in more earthly colors, and seemingly crushed beneath a set of gigantic arms? Closer inspection revealed them to be floating unnaturally in the air. The two standing, talking, looked a lot more at home here than the rest of them did. For now, she had to covertly glean what could from the other apparent outsiders.

She heaved herself to her feet, rocking on her heels as an unexpected strength powered the action. She felt so light as she moved, muscles responding with a readiness to action that she had never felt as a student with a cushy life. The interrupted words of the Goddess still echoed in her head, somewhat. Already her mind felt fuzzy recalling some of the details, as if the years were prying away the memory with every breath she took. She only needed to understand two things. They were going South, and they were not safe. Step 1: Talk. Step 2: Leave. A confidence she did not feel at all guided her as she took steps towards the others, walking between the awakening forms of the rest of their fubar Fellowship. That bit about legends and heroes didn't really resonate while looking at children.

"Are you..." Her voice felt like rocks in her mouth. Sounded a little like it too, something that would take getting used to. "Alright, little miss?" The looming, cloaked hobo offered a rusted hand down to the closest Fellowship member, the smallest of their small children currently beset by a gigantic set of bronzed arms.