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3 mos ago
Current So it goes.
4 yrs ago
Talk to your players and be open to their ideas, at the end of the day we're all just here to shoot the shit.
4 yrs ago
Honestly, more structured/collaborative roleplays can be really fun and rewarding, but if you're going to open a project like that up you have to be flexible and open to compromise.
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9 yrs ago
current shitpost level: writing about how your favourite taiwanese puppet shows experiment with narrative for graded academic work
9 yrs ago
But god knows how many hours I've sunk into my collection of main series Pokémon game, so it's like making me pick between my children. :'D
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Also escaping from the Time Stranger hole. Still got room?
"Prithee, calm yourselves. It will avail us little to spread ourselves thin, and less yet to be at each-other's throats." The robed figure responded to both the armoured warrior and the well-dressed rogue, their tone brooking no disagreement; though they seemed to take the latter's point in hand with their own advice, the strange noises from within their garb settling down as they spoke.

It may have been more a gesture of courtesy than the alternative, however. Though it was hard to read their body language through their garb and the heavy air that seemed to hang about them, they didn't seem bothered by the attention that the tallest of their number noted. It remained to be seen whether their skills beget confidence in their ability to handle the situation or if they were simply too single-minded to pay any mind to anything besides their target, but as the short witch in the black robe made a dramatic flourish to draw attention to her familiar's surveillance they seemed to nod along, raising a hand in assent.

"Our quarry are fools, but they are not without sense. This quarter reeks with the scent of fire, masking that left by the forest's children." As they spoke in consensus, one of their familiars descended to land upon the hand they extended. Though it resembled an insect with a segmented body reminiscent of a wasp, and would appear to be little more than that when perceived at a distance, at this close proximity the contrast between the pitch black of its form and the vibrant green of its eyes and wings betrayed a rather more fantastic nature: as did the fashion in which its abdomen writhed like a sharply-barbed tail.

"And yet life is not so easily silenced. The spirits will find the trail, however thoroughly they believe it to have been scoured away." Even those present who didn't know of the history and rituals of the one commanding it would recognize that despite its austere appearance, the familiar was not greatly divorced in nature from those they were seeking to rescue.

It seemed, however, that the first breakthrough of the night was by the grace of their companion rather than the myriad familiars among them. As the Lantern drew to a halt and gestured down the alleyway, they too paused as if checking their workings, before picking up their pace and peering around the wall down towards the strange, hulking figure.

The warrior and the rogue once again seemed to exchange passive-aggressive remarks as they took stock of the situation; though this time the latter took the initiative and disappeared up the side of one of the buildings enclosing the alleyway and out of sight before the figure could fully turn to admonish them. A distorted sigh came forth from them, before they turned their attention to the warrior.

"Steady. It may seem a churl, but many a journey has ended on such a premise." Their tone was cautioning, albeit with a confidence that suggested they were simply recounting from experience. That experience seemed to give them a different idea of how to deal with the homunculus; without another word, they gestured forward with the hand the vespine familiar rested upon, bidding it forwards down the alleyway towards the entity.

Perhaps they had a plan of action in mind already, or maybe they were simply casting a stone into stagnant waters, sending the spirit towards the hulking brute to get a feel for its behaviour and capabilities. Either way, the remainder of their familiars began to gather in the air above them, dispersed just enough that an outside observer wouldn't immediately process their numbers, while just close enough to descend at a moment's notice.

Despite the ever-forward march of the modern project and humanity's best efforts to quash its influence, life in the city had never quite become disentangled from the cause and effect of the natural world beyond it. Even setting aside their reliance on the toil and fruit of distant fields for trade and sustenance, the border between Lumiere and the world beyond was an arbitrary one. In the end, just as many of those who lived there were animals who had adapted to the strange new ecosystem as they were humans who held it up as a symbol of mankind's progress, and though their acceptance was grudging, it was clear they were here to stay.

The sight of insects drifting through the sky against the setting sun was therefore nothing out of the ordinary. All sorts emerged from the depths of the city as it descended into night, emerging to feed upon the refuse of the day or sup themselves on the blood of those who walked the streets in intoxication; tonight would likely see an even greater abundance of them, the earlier downpour inundating the air with a favourable humidity.

"Naught yet." And that was just what the one directing them was counting on.

Among those accompanying the waifish automaton was a figure carrying an ambiguous presence. Witches were a varied bunch, their traditions stretching all over the globe and persisting into the modern era as both practical means and stubborn eccentricity, but this individual seemed bizarre by even those skewed standards. Clad head to foot in a set of white robes that swallowed up their form and figure, and with a hooded mask made of a metallic fibre woven into a coil, it seemed as if they should have fallen far behind the other, more limber-seeming individuals present; and yet they showed no discomfort or disorientation, moving confidently and carefully along their route as senses beyond the ken of man guided them, both within and without.

"Rot teems in stagnant waters. They will not be far hence." If anything, their gait put them close to the head of the pack as they stalked intently along, the low buzz distorting their voice and the hum of movement from within their vestments betraying frustration that their 'familiars' had yet to find their mark among the cacophony of scents in the air.
Welp, gotta rip the band-aid off sooner or later. Let me know if I've messed up anywhere:

Beatrice LaForet and Lancer


Beatrice was almost clear of the woods behind the church when the deep voice intoned towards her, bringing her steady pace down to a slow advance as she looked over her shoulder to see Lancer approach.

"Less than I'd have liked, but we still got something out of it." She raised an eyebrow as her Servant seemed to disregard her order to wait for summons; but she let it pass without comment. She doubted he'd have moved ahead if he were anything less than confident that they were safe.

So, instead of admonishment, a gentle stream of information flowed from Beatrice's mind into Lancer's, as she leaned into their link to apprise him of what she'd learned. Some of it, he was already aware of, but now they weren't in imminent risk of an attack or ambush, she had some breathing room to unpack and make sense of it.

<Seems like we have three Masters unaccounted for on the last day.> At least one of them seemed to be on their way now, judging by Lancer's own encounter and testimony, likely leaving two whose positions were unknown. It wasn't as if the others were entirely likely to be on the level, but the fact that they'd been willing to make an account of themselves to the church at least suggested they wouldn't be looking to turn the city upside down from the word 'go'.

She'd already taken care of one individual who likely would have, her own Command Seals a testament to his foiled ambitions. She very much doubted that dullard had been the architect of anything but his own untimely demise, so that meant their U.N. Owen was likely among the remaining two Masters. Following that, the question was whether or not they were the latecomer the Overseer had mentioned; the aftermath of the ritual she'd discovered suggested otherwise, but the factors were by no means mutually exclusive.

<But I think we have more immediate concerns.> And on that note, there was the matter of the Overseer's companions. Even more so than in Fuyuki, the potential for the Sako Grail War to go awry concerned everyone, and as far as Beatrice was concerned, the Church hedging their bets with a team of their own was understandable. Not disclosing as much was perhaps a little more dubious, but with all the uncertainty around them, perhaps that prudence was for the better.

They seemed to have picked their Master well, at least. Charming and shrewd in equal measure, and shamelessly bold when it came to her interests; she'd be a hypocrite to disapprove. That just left making sense of the girl's apparent Servant.

<Considering the circumstances, I think she's about as likely to be Assassin as she is to be Lancer.> The flow of information continued, playing back what she'd observed of the mysterious woman. Though maybe 'mysterious' was the wrong word: puzzling felt more apt. Loud, colourful and flamboyant, she was like an open book compared to her likely Master; but one that offered no easy answers, concealing whatever truth it held amidst an overload of information.

<I'm slightly less confident about ruling Berserker out, but it doesn't seem to fit the arrangement.> There wasn't enough certainty to make a call on the woman's identity, but the information they had could still help them determine a broad plan of approach. And while the Servant in question didn't give them much to work with to eliminate any of the remaining four classes...

<What did you manage to get out of your close encounter?> Perhaps the Servant Lancer had just encountered would offer a little more clarity there.

"Good eyes. Built like one that's not unfamiliar with the direct fighting we expect here. Fancies himself a smooth talker, independent, and stealthy in his own way. But too open, too well built for the sort of duplicity in talk and battle you would normally expect from an Assassin. A magus, but unless he was better at hiding himself than I thought I would not assume him a Caster. Too controlled in the face of everything for Berserker, to my mind."

Not that every Berserker could be assumed to be a raging maniac, especially if their mad enhancement had not been triggered—but there was a certain instability he had come to associate with similar types in life, Sétanta having been one of many. Whether it be an uncontrolled temper, a divorce from reality in some aspect...there were many things he'd known to look for.

The servant who had addressed him bore none of those.

"I figured him for either a foolhardy Rider, an overconfident Saber throwing his weight around, or an Archer. He had the sense of a hunter. The way he moved, the lay of his muscles as he turned and walked away from me...I called him out as such as he walked away. I must have touched a nerve, because he finally made a point to try and hide his reactions when I did."

As information flowed from his mind to hers in full detail, Beatrice pored over Lancer's recollection, weighing up his words against the finer details of what he'd observed. A tall, well-built man with a confident demeanour; or at least that was how he chose to present himself, until Lancer refused to play along with his games. He might have felt her recoil a little, as if recalling bad memories, but it soon passed, and she returned to analysing the information.

The picture Lancer and his memory painted for her was of a man neither careless or quite so controlled to fit satisfyingly into the role of Berserker or Assassin. While she wasn't as certain as him that they could rule Caster out, considering her own experiences, perhaps that was just her ego talking. Of the remaining options, it was hard to make a conclusive judgement; but perhaps, as with the strange woman she'd encountered in the church, it was best not to assume too much too soon. Lancer seemed to believe he fit most readily into the role of Archer, judging by his observations, and she wasn't inclined to disagree...

"Don't forget to say hello to the Einzberns for me." But as she ran his recollection of the encounter through her mind, something else interesting sprung out to her.

It wasn't exactly unusual for the Servant to speak of the Einzberns. She was sure any Master worth their salt would have warned their Servant of the war's most infamous founders, of whatever ridiculous entity they would bring to the table for this last hopeless grab for their insane dream. But for whatever game the man had intended to play, the comment seemed more than a simple ploy to ascertain where Lancer stood; there was a very palpable rancour in the way he spoke their name, his tone dripping with contempt that seemed misplaced for one working off of secondhand recollection. The story of the Einzberns extended back into the distant past, but they were reclusive, with the Holy Grail being one of an infinitesimally small number of affairs they held outside their fief. Had this Servant known them in life?

<That's fine intelligence indeed, Lancer, fantastic work.> In the end, it seemed like they'd both come out of the trip to the church with some useful information. As Lancer took every available opportunity to note, however, tarrying into the night was going to leave them vulnerable, and so she picked up her pace as she offered her praise. She'd picked out a few spots over the past handful of days in Sako that they could use as temporary bases of operations, and if they could make it to one without incident, they could go over their discoveries at greater length there. <We should get set up for the night, where do you t->

Beatrice's words cut off sharply, and she tugged on her link with Lancer to beckon him back to spirit form as she stopped in place. Up ahead, against the setting sun, she could perceive another figure making their way up to the church through the clearing in the trees behind it. One of the outstanding Masters, coming to announce themselves? Clearly not one who put much stock in the armistice that existed upon the church's grounds, if that were the case; but at the same time, seemingly not one who was out to take advantage of that arrangement for their own ends. She resumed her path forwards, narrowing her eyes, focusing her senses to peer through the haze of dying light to better appraise the approaching form as she did-

...

"Don't waste too much time, now." She heard Lancer's voice, but it suddenly seemed far away as she realized who was approaching them.

"I'd ask what you're doing here, but I really should have expected this." Beatrice's tone was cold and level, but Lancer would almost certainly perceive the sudden buzz of static, of intangible and imperceivable thoughts going every which way through her mind as she came within speaking distance of the all-too-familiar woman. "Got tired of hiding away, did we?"
Beatrice LaForet


"Thanks, doll," Beatrice replied offhandedly to the Overseer, raising a hand in farewell as she took her advice to beat a hasty retreat and made for the door to the side of the lectern. She spared one last glance to the woman, and then to the others at the other end of the church, 'the Lucias'. She'd have to keep an eye on those two: though as was the case with the discovery she'd passed on to the other representative, she had bigger fish to fry for now.

<Beatrice. Evidently one of them desires to talk.> And it seemed Lancer had a bite. Her head snapped back around to her path out of the church, and she left her curiosity about whatever arrangement they'd put forward to secure their interests to focus on her own, more immediate interest; getting out of here without getting ambushed by an enterprising Servant. <I'll humor him for a bit. Be careful when you leave.>

<On my way out now.> She responded, picking up her pace as she rifled through the ground floor of the Church's living quarters. The 'Lucia' she'd spoken to had mentioned focaccia, so the kitchen was presumably in use: sure enough, following the telltale smell of warm olive oil, rosemary and garlic led her to a small room nestled at the edge of the floor, near the staircase leading further up. Stepping inside, it was longer than it was wide, with a central island with all sorts of utensils and ingredients laid across it bisecting the room lengthways. To the one side of it was an impeccably clean and tidy sink, while to the other an assortment of pots and pans hung over a main unit with a range cooker, heat radiating out as the bread cooked inside.

<We'll proceed as planned, keep him busy until I call you.> As promised, at the far end was a door out of the side of the church, overlooking the headstones of the site's graves. She stepped through the kitchen towards it, taking appreciable pain not to upset any of the preparations- she didn't trust the girl as far as she could throw her, but she wasn't a savage- and was soon beyond it, heading into the warm evening outside. <See if you can get anything useful out of him in the meantime.>

Archer


"Had the chance to meet any others of our number so far?" Archer asked the man pleasantly, as he stepped out from his hiding place at the other Servant's beckoning. In keeping with the spirit of the occasion, he carefully extended arn arm to offer him a cigarette from the still-open pack.

Well, he'd initiated contact knowing they were a veritable giant built like an underfed bear. All the same, he hadn't fully anticipated him to look and feel the part too. Wild hair ran in myriad shades of iron, with dark eyes peering down at him from the scarred and gaunt face it framed. His head emerged from amidst a mass of heavy furs worn over tanned hide, hanging over his frame as such that it was hard to determine whether he was large or simply tall. Even with that, however, one thing was unmistakeable; he was powerful, with an unmistakeably intense aura that had been absent from the man he encountered before radiating from even this indifferent posture.

The man's silence and presence was certainly such that one would be hard-pressed to fault Archer for falling back upon his initial assessment of him as the war's Berserker, and it was still within the realm of possibility. But he wasn't oblivious to what silence could articulate, and the man's expression spoke volumes.

"Hmm. Shall I take that as a no?" Another pull, to steady himself. It wouldn't do to show any weakness; or worse yet, let the hulking bastard get to him.
Beatrice LaForet


'The Lucias', huh? Beatrice had been fairly impressed with the ship the Overseer had been running up to this point, between her efforts to keep whoever the Einzberns had sent in line and the poise with which her little underling had carried out her end of the Church's typical inability to leave well enough alone, but looks like she wasn't winning any points for imagination.

Maybe a few for brazenness. She could always respect that.

"Well, would it really be a Grail War if someone didn't stumble in at the last minute?" She replied, only somewhat facetiously. That in and of itself was something to follow up, but even without it the woman's words, lazily delivered but obviously carefully chosen, offered some decent intelligence. The four that had dropped by presumably included her- perhaps she should interrogate that a little more, but the Overseer was definitely the type to talk about you like you weren't there- which left three outstanding visitors. The last minute addition to the war, and two unknowns. Whether or not one of the Lucias counted as one of those unknowns was a harder call to make, but-

<Be ready, Beatrice. It looks like you may have other visitors incoming."> With absolutely providential timing, Lancer notified her that at least one of those unknowns was on their way. You couldn't write this kind of timing if you tried.

<I'll wrap this up quickly, then. Stay where you are, I'll slip out the back and head for the chokepoint..> Beatrice hadn't intended to linger anyway, not with there almost certainly being a Servant here. The arrival of the others was almost a relief, giving her impetus to break things off before anyone here could find out more than she owed. She'd learned enough for now, and for all his mithering, Lancer had been speaking sense when he'd advised against lingering about too long into the closing hours of the day.

"It looks like I might have more on my plate tonight than I expected, so I'll keep it brief." She began to the Overseer, fixing her with her best 'serious professional' face and look as she pulled out an envelope from her coat and passed it over. Inside, if the woman was so inclined, she'd find a collection of notes, some samples, and a handful of photos; conveying the image of an utterly burned-out wreck of a homestead and what seemed to be the faded and scorched remains of some sigils and magical instruments.

"Found this on my rounds, just north of the outer limits. Doesn't seem to fit the profile of anything the Einzberns would do and if I didn't completely sleep through alchemy back in the day, I don't think the timeframe I'm picking up from this really implicates anyone who you'd have encountered." It was her honest opinion; she didn't really have the luxury of time to unpack the particulars. Perhaps the Overseer would have more pieces to pull together, but until the opportunity availed... "Whoever set this hooky Grail up may know how to keep themselves hidden, but it looks like they're not flawless at it. I'll follow up some more once I get back to base and have a chance to interrogate it at length, but until then-"

She let her gaze wonder past the Overseer, to one of the doors to the back half of the church off to the side of the pulpit.

"A little birdie tells me you have more visitors coming." She said, gesturing towards the door, "I'll meet them soon enough, but for now I think it's best I slip out back and get on my way. Will that cause any issues for you and the Lucias?"

Archer


As Killian elected to greet the likely fellow Master head-on, Archer instead decided to press on ahead, past the end of the street leading to the Church to the outermost section of the green it was nestled in.

A preliminary sweep of the surrounding streets didn't reveal any presence of a Servant nearby the woman, but that didn't have him entirely at ease. The man he'd encountered before hadn't the subtlety or the discretion for his claim to be Assassin to be anything more than an attempt at getting a rise out of him, but that only meant that they still had the actual Assassin to account for. Archer's eyes were such that even a Servant attempting to avoid notice by dematerializing couldn't hide from him, the way in which their not-quite intangible spiritual bodies subtly disturbed the vectors of the wind and light moving through them betraying them to him: even those who resisted his gaze would find themselves laid bare if he were to focus and peer beyond immediate material reality. But from the information the Grail provided him with, Assassin had means to conceal themselves beyond that, circumventing the senses entirely.

He had little quarrel with Killian so far. Lackadaiscality regarding the potential of the war up until this point aside, he seemed to respect his experience in these matters and allow him to conduct himself in a manner appropriate to a 'Heroic Spirit' rather than a mere 'Servant'; better than the vast majority of the alternatives, considering the circumstances. All the same, however, he was starting to have concerns that the man's prudence was borne more of flippancy than caution. He'd elected to meet the woman without fully considering that there was a very real possibility that it could end with his neck on the chopping block; or that Archer didn't precisely have the luxury of 'regrouping' if he were to stumble into a fatal encounter.

For now, though, the man clearly had experience of his own, and though the concept of those wretched symbols engraved into his forearm was enough to make him grind his teeth, they gave him a lifeline to flip the script on anyone brazen enough to try their luck. So Archer deferred to the man's decision, however grudgingly, and soon found himself set down upon the grass reaching up the somewhat slanted land towards the church.

The presence he'd felt before lay shortly ahead, his clairvoyance not quite enough to get a full read on them, but besides their obvious nature as a Servant it was yet sufficient to pick out enough detail that he wasn't going in unprepared. Even at a lazy glance, he could tell they were eighty-three meters ahead, roughly thirteen away from the building, likely in observance of whatever armistice was supposed to exist within its immediate limits. For that, they seemed to have positioned themselves strategically, standing among ones of the trees dotted along the grass away from the thicket behind the church so their presence wouldn't be immediately obvious.

But of course, that only afforded them so much success here. It made Archer's job a little trickier, but with a small amount of focus he had them made; two meters and ten- no, eighteen centimeters tall, and built like an animal raised to fight. Further details would be risky to press for without alerting them to his intentions, and while they seemed to honour the Church's arrangements, his clairvoyance didn't exactly furnish him with knowledge of how grudging or performative that might be if he were to tip his hand too soon. He was also reliant on context to try and piece together which of the seven they were; his best educated guess was Berserker, and that didn't exactly bode well for any attempt to glean information from a dialogue.

Archer paused upon his ascent up the hill, scanning the trees and offering a look back over his shoulder to Killian's position back down the way. With nothing forthcoming from their link other than some minor chatter, he raised a hand to his mouth in thought; and then retrieved his box of cigarettes from his pocket, sliding one out and taking it between his teeth as it lit seemingly apropos of nothing.

He had some time to kill, he concluded to himself as he resumed his advance, since Kilian was yet to conclude his business with the woman. And uncertain as his odds were, as before, he stood more to gain from an exchange at present than he stood to lose. Even hostility from the other Servant might serve its purpose, to help clarify where they stood in this farce of a war.

Besides, he was no stranger to dealing with animals that didn't know when to behave. A shot between the eyes tended to instil discipline rather quickly.

"Let me guess", he spoke in the direction of the mystery Servant as he reached the step of the approach to the church that brought him in line with their hiding place, pausing upon his path and taking a deep drag from the cigarette to steady himself. He spoke softly and carefully, but an unseen force projected his voice across the way so they'd be able to hear him clearly. "Another called across time on that blasted cup's whims?"

"No need to hide away, you'd have to be a damn fool to start a fight here." He continued, taking the cigarette from his mouth and exhaling a long plume of smoke as he offered them his best approximation of a friendly smile. "Why not step out for a little? There's been scant few opportunities for any of us to talk so far."
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