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District VII, Hotel Zara Cafe



Elenorzva had set up a rather solid workshop, she would say so herself. A few scouts would search the city for her foes while she could stay within the confines of her hotel. However, she was enjoying a cup of coffee within the cafe of the hotel. While it wasn’t particularly a great cup of coffee, it did serve its purpose as a buy in to utilize the booth in the cafe.

The purpose?

None, really. Elenorzva simply believed that such a spot would be more enjoyable. It was the little things in life that really made it worth it.

“Can’t say I feel anything yet. Maybe they are hiding their presence from us, or perhaps we are simply fortuitous enough for a moment of respite during this war; the calm before the storm, as it were. But like the eye of those very storms, so too shall it begin in force.” Elenorzva said to her Servant through their mental-link.

Perhaps it was fortuitous that Elenorzva had summoned such a being. The peak of the Amazonians’ power. A true superior individual when it came to their might, though being summoned in what was considered to be the weakest container would surely hamper an individual of the greatest caliber. A knight class would have surely suited her immaculate being.

However, if Elenorzva would draw upon the weakest card, then she would push that card to the absolute limit that she could possibly achieve. To struggle against the restraints placed upon her would be the struggle of her family. The crescendo of her magical studies. To fight in the holy grail would allow her to test her theories. She had to surpass those who had come before her. She had to perfect her craft.

“To fight before we are able to discern the abilities of our foes would surely lead to our end quickly. However, I will place my faith in such an impressive individual such as yourself, Avenger. Do not mind any loss; such beings should be more than grateful to be at the service of everlasting peace, would you not agree?”

To create peace, one had to fight. That was history’s vice. The only way to ensure peace was to make sure your own stick was greater than those around you. However, those who took this approach were often aggressed upon themselves.

Out of fear.

Out of anger.

Out of jealousy.

But none of that mattered. What mattered, in the end, were the results that were granted from actions. To win one must have had to fight. Therefore, fighting was inevitable for humans who lusted after their victories and their glory.

Another sip of the coffee, now the once-hot drink sitting at a mild lukewarm. She wondered just how her personal path had led her to this end. It was not the fault of the man who had harvested the blend, for it didn’t appear to be bad coffee. It was simply mediocre. And such mediocrity was due to a lack of interest from the baristo. Someone who was not motivated to accomplish their job. Someone who would rather do absolutely nothing and obtain all the benefits of someone who had tried their hardest for another.

Such people were simply lacking direction. And Elenorzva would gladly provide them with such direction. The men and women knew that there was a greater good to work towards.

A memory of a young, star-eyed girl glimpsed through her thoughts for but a moment. It did not matter what the memory was of. She had declined that path years ago. It was merely a matter for a record; to be consigned to a distant memory. As always, in personal development and in magecraft, the most important thing to think about was what laid at the end - the now, and the future.

“My only request is a simple one, Avenger: Win.”

With that, she downed the remaining of her coffee. It was not pleasant, but it was what one had to do.

"Lead the way."






Player Name: Phonic

Family Age: X
Mystic Code Quality: X
Mystic Code Quantity: X

Magical Crest Age: X
Magical Crest Quality: X

Magic Circuit Quality: X
Magic Circuit Quantity: X

Elemental Affinity: X
Magical Experience: X
Magical Talent: X

Magical Paradigm: Sycronistic Numerology/Thulic practicies
me


Shirogane Momiji, City(???) Ghetto




Ahh…

Wandering amidst the moaning voices endlessly before her, gazing endlessly at the tears, and moving her useless hands as best she could.

As if struggling through a deep mist

As if writhing in the midst of a bad dream.

That time … that place 3 years ago. Though time had passed, Momiji felt as if she had not moved from her frightened self, desensitized to what was before her. She could not even cry at her family’s funeral. The scared girl who retreated into herself. Into the passion that her father had drilled into her all these years.

She couldn’t stop.

She wouldn’t stop.

Stopping would mean abandoning her family further.

Momiji’s memories were tender fragments; countless memories draped in red and black hues. She could not remember the events of that day, though she could only live through its aftermath. She’d always try to avert her gaze from them, but today she saw them and the feelings that came along with it.

And try as she might avoid gazing upon these memories, she couldn’t help but remember them when she was all alone. Like she should have been on that train returning home from a well-earned win.

Momiji wiped away the sleep from her eyes. She was incredibly tired. Overwhelmingly so. As if she had woke up from a long, deep sleep.

“Why is this person yelling? Why are there so many foreigners around here?” Momiji thought to herself in her groggy state. She could not remember how or why she was here. The architecture did not remind her of anywhere she had ever been, though Momiji was always a city girl who grew up in a suburb off the side of a major city.

Even so, though these houses did seem slogged together, these houses did not look like they were Japanese. If fact, she recalled a memory of watching a western-theme show on the television as a child, side by side with her brother as they fought over who would get to be the hero when they played pretend later.

“Did I get off at the wrong stop? Where am I?” Momiji inquired under her breath, not really sure as to what was occurring. For someone like her who had not the slightest idea where she was, nor the frame of reference to understand where she was, she was simply confused. She simply remembered boarding the train heading towards downtown where she would transfer at the station and head back to her uncle's house, closing her eyes for a simple moment before the transfer, then opening them once again to see a completely different scene before her.

She felt as though something was wrong; that something was terribly wrong. However, she could not put her finger on the nature of this feeling. Of course, someone who woke up from what they presumed to be a nap on the subway, only to find herself in a strange setting, would likely feel that there was something terrible going on here.

Though these strange foreigners who were yelling were, in fact, strange, she had her bokken with her, wrapped in a protective cloth to prevent it from the weather and from scratching it outside of her training. Hanging off the drawn string that sealed the cloth over the wood was a small horse mascot that seemed all the rage with the kids; perhaps a bit childish to the cool beauty that one might expect. However, she did not believe that would be necessary. She would rather leave before things became violent.

She didn't want to be in the situation of being around angry, presumably violent foreigners. Sticking to the wall and standing out by her merit alone was the creed to which what Momiji lived by. She was not a people person by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, despite participating in sports and clubs, they were merely a means to advance her goal. The social aspect was irrelevant to her.

“I don’t see why I would owe you my name when you did nothing to earn it,” Momiji coldly told the aggressive individual. “It is customary that one would grant there own name before demanding it of another. Unless you were not taught manners. I don't have time for this matter.”

Perhaps to some, it would seem that she was intimidating the man. However, she simply did not wish to speak with someone she had only just met and was actively “hostile-sounding”. She owed this individual no favors, and she felt this would lead to the path of letting her go home and study.

...Study?

'Wait, did I leave my bag on the train!?!'

This thought froze her face into a deep scowl that one might misinterpret as contempt.

@vocab

@vocab

Color me interested.

Homurahara Courtyard(Banquet of Kings), Academy
@BB @over Illusion @reallydumb


A voice.

The call of the heavens.

One might call it a “second sense” of sorts that Timur felt. The thrum of the world was calling to him. The sand of the ground before him called to him. The School screeched for him to act. The swords in his hand trembled a bit before.

It was his only choice now. Even if the attack failed previously, if the voice of the higher existence was telling Timur to act now, he would act now. After all, that is how the man known as “Timur” lived his life. A slave to the will of fate, though someone that always rebelled against that which was not his calling.

The swords would swell towards the “Archer” before the attack would launch. That is what his “existence” told him. The second that the man had lowered what had given him the resistances against his swords previously, he would be struck with an attack from the very swords he had deflected previously.

Timur did not understand why that would work now, but it didn’t matter. That is what the sky itself told him. The ringing of that sound would always save him from his recklessness in the frontline.

And the moment that the attack would launch towards Timur, “Archer’s” body would feel a degradation equal or even greater than the one he had unleashed upon the city. Something that shook the very foundation of his Saint Graph. The power to “take” should be familiar to someone like the “Archer” that was before Rider, though Rider knew not of this.

That was when the twine of the bow snapped towards Rider.

It was impossible.

An attack which struck nine times; something that converted its existence to counter the thing before it. Truly, the attack of a hero of great worth. The attack struck Timur, shattering the defenses he had placed in front of him; his armor broken where the attacks had landed against him.

This was the attack that had felled the mighty Hydra of Lerna, the beast of regeneration and vigor. Surely a man could not stand against the might of such an attack, right?

But there Timur stood, bruised and battered by the attack. Never giving up. Never allowing himself to collapse, despite the damage he had received.

“Ў-Ѳ𝕦-ᗩ-ℝ𝑒-Ⓖ-ⓞ𝐢-ηģ-2-𝐡卂V-𝔼-➁-𝐝Ѳ-乃-乇ⓣ𝓽-ε𝓡-𝔱-нÃ-ℕ-𝕋𝐡Ã-丅”

The sound Rider had made was not the voice of any mortal.

It was as if the sound of clattering metal was attempting to mimic language.

The smell of gunpowder filled the air from cannon fire.

And from that, his body began to regenerate to its former glory. The Demon Lord would not be felled by such an attack. After all, he was the greatest villain; The true hero that united the world under his rule. The brutal king that ensured his rule would be long and prosperous.

Though “Heracles” was able to pull himself together through the borrowing of a miracle of divinity, Timur seemed to lack such luxuries. However, as if through the power of wrath itself, he refused to succumb to his wounds and patched himself together.

The man who threw away his humanity so that he may fight and fight and fight in this decrepit form that the Grail had granted him. All for that “wish” of his. Something that even Timur himself has forgotten with time, but something that he longed for without fail.

This body was the result of that.

“Heracles. The greatest hero of Greek mythology. Any Servant worth their salt would know what that attack signifies. But you have never faced a foe greater than I.”

Laughing into the silence of the night after the greatest attack of the greatest hero had failed fell the greatest foe of humanity, Rider continued.

His silvered and ironed body glowed as the moonlight peaked from the clouds, though for the most part, he had retaken his previous form.

“I am the man who will unite the world. I cannot have you destroy it before it is mine. Therefore, nothing will stop me from killing you, bastard!”

There was no beauty in his form; only a man pretending to be human before the “greatest hero of them all”. However, Timur refused to surrender to his foe. The man that time and time again would fight against the dying of the light.

A “beast” greater than the greatest of dragon-kind.

The world called for his death, yet he refused.
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