The Sako church, as it turned out, was ideally suited for this kind of contest. It was some distance from the city centre and very isolated, surrounded by sparse forests and barren hills. The architecture seemed strange - nothing like the Nestorian shrines that he had seen in his life - but from what he had seen of the city itself, it seemed that these japenese had a penchant for copying western architecture.
He had arrived in no time at all, of course, riding at the speed of the wind, only to find the place barren of servants. One does not expect to find elk simply by wandering, of course. One finds elk through patience. He hid himself and his mechanical steed in a patch of forest near the church clearing, and waited as he had in countless other hunts of both beast and man.
Dusk came and darkness rose before he finally sensed an approaching servant. His alert eyes caught the source: a car driving up the hill path towards the church grounds. Here we go, he thought, filled with joy. Finally, he could finish that which he could not in life, that which his successors had abandoned: the unification of all peoples under blue sky.
He turned on the motorcycle and accelerated at impossible speeds out of the forest, straight at the vehicle. As he flew in the air towards the road, his scimitar materialized in his hand. It was strong, stronger than any normal blade, but it was no noble phantasm: his objective was to feign weakness, after all, so it would suit him just fine. And besides: he hadn't gone up close and personal like this in a very, very long time. Whichever servant that was was about to be in a bit of a surprise.
Renaud eventually woke up from his collapse, still clutching Caster's strange charm. He certainly felt rejuvinated: he could not dispute its power of healing. All fatigue was gone, and he was filled with energy once more. He was somewhat in awe of what he was holding, in fact: he had seen many ancient and treasured magic items in both his family's possession and the Clock Tower's, and this was easily the equal of any of them. And she had simply given this doll that emanated power like a beacon to him like it was nothing. Truth be told, he was a bit annoyed that she had given him it, as if to patronize him, her master. And even worse, he knew the real reason he was annoyed was that she dwarfed his skill as a magus in every way. Perhaps it would have been better to have summoned a Berserker or a Lancer instead? It might have spared his ego.
It might also have spared himself some bad dreams. He wasn't sure what he had seen - glimpses of fire and death, nothing good - and he found himself wondering whether a link to any servant would give such unsettling nightmares, or if it was unique to Takiyashahime. Her war had ended in ignominious defeat, he knew: hopefully, his own line wouldn't meet the same miserable end as hers.
When he shook off from himself those melancholic thoughts, he found a special small box among the many that had been brought up. He opened it, revealing a number of small bones inscribed with runic carvings. He grasped them gingerly. The Scepter might be his family's most treasured possession, but these were certainly their oldest. These were no chicken bones, though the uneducated observer might not recognize that fact: these belonged to creatures that had not walked the earth for over a thousand years.
Divination was an art that many magi shunned, for good reason. Whether it was augury, haruspicy, or his own specialty of scapulimancy, those that tried to read the fates rarely met with success. Answers were often vague and unhelpful; if you could even read the answer, it was incredibly difficult to discern the true meaning, as divination magic seemed to have a twisted sense of humor. Even as talented as he was in this art - he was certainly the best he knew, better even than his mother - he had to proceed carefully and know the limitations. Attempts to discern one own's fate never ended well, he knew, so he would studiously avoid inquiring of his own future... directly, in any case.
"Wyrd bið ful aræd", he muttered as he held the bones in his hands. Fate is inexorable. He felt a small stream of mana imbue on the bones, and he felt the runes reciprocate the connection. Most oracles you could find worked their power this way, imbuing mana into conduits to reveal the fates - those that weren't charlatans, of course. Naturally most did not truly comprehend what they were doing.
Neither did his ancient ancestors, the shamans of the north. Much as his family liked to imagine themselves refined and noble, this was their dark secret: They were descendents of fur wearing savages who sailed south in longships to reave and conquer Europe. Les Normands. The Guiscards brushed that truth under the rug, and pretended as if they were always aristocrats living in palaces, and creating refined artifacts like the Scepter as if to solidify that identity, but these bones were the true power of his lineage. He muttered the old norse words, and threw the bones on the hotel room floor, the motion calculated and precise to the smallest twitch.
"Caster Takiyashahime has gone to secure the Sako shrine," he intoned with a steady, clear, and confident voice. "I implore the spirits of my ancestors, show me what tapestry the Norns weave."
The bones landed, bounced, and bounced on still, continuing on as if possessed. Finally, they were still, spread out across the room. This was then the hardest part. He had to read the runes, and from their positioning and orientations, discover what meaning could be found, if there was in fact meaning to be found at all.
His apprehension grew as he reasoned the message behind the bones, his fears becoming more and more real as he became more sure in their meaning. Finally, he had it. Probably. The conflict will begin at the holy site, and the great spirits will clash. He cursed and jumped to his feet, throwing on his dress coat, and only taking a minute to ensure his appearance was proper before rushing out the door.
This was bad. Caster class servants were not suited to one on one combat, he knew, and typically relied on entrenching themselves. That had been the plan, for her to set up a connection at the shrine and draw mana from the dead there. But this was too soon. If Caster was about to fight another servant now, or if she was already fighting -
He raced down the hall, dialing his servants as he ran. He had to go salvage what he could, or risk losing before he even truly began.
G E N G H I S
Not bad, Genghis thought as he admired the machine in front of him. Not bad at all. He could find no fault in the resourcefulness of the Huang.
He did not know where the Witch had found the black motorcycle on such short notice, and he didn't really care. It was a fine machine. Not as good as a steppe horse, of course; a proper mount was less a partner than a tool, whereas a mechanical contraption such as this was cold and heartless. But as he sat down and held the throttle, he knew that this could work. With a Riding skill as impressive as his, he could push it to its ultimate limit, and then some.
It also helped that it would keep him incognito. He had even foregone his sable coat for riding leathers of the modern day, which should also help keep his identity hidden. He also had to admit he liked the clothing. Practical with nothing superfluous, that's how he liked it. Also, he looked damn good in it. He grinned, put on his glasses, and fired off from the garage, accelerating down the road like a rocket.
Where to? Well, he would go to where the other servants were. There was the Church, but it was neutral and inviolate. Fighting there was strictly forbidden.
So of course, he thundered along the street in the direction of the Church. Time to kick things off.
A shrine? A cemetery? He should have seen this coming. They'd meticulously planned every detail of this grail war, of course Caster would want to base herself in a nexus of magical energy. And her tone - Grandfather had always told him he needed to establish himself as the familiar's master, especially with a caster-class servant. A heroic spirit such as this might exploit any perceived weakness for their own advantage, perhaps even magically dominate their master if they deemed them too weak. A life of preparation and confidence came crashing down on him as, for a brief moment, it seemed to him as if he was doing everything wrong, and-
"If you believe it would be advantageous to do so, by all means," he replied dismissively as he got up to his feet, showing no hint of unease. "There is such a shrine in Sako, though it is beyond my current resources to commandeer it. Consider securing the site to be your first task as my servant, then." He checked the time lazily, as if unfazed by the feudal japanese sorceress that just materialized from thing before him. "I do not care how you achieve this, so long as the secrecy of magecraft is maintained."
"In the meantime, I am drained from my preparation and this ritual." Which he certainly was, he felt ready to collapse at any moment, his fatigue not helped by the steady drain of mana to maintain his servant. "I am going to sleep. I expect when I awake a servant of your caliber will be able to have secured a site for a workshop and make a report."
Without another word, he turned out of fog-filled room and into his own quarters, slumping against the door as he shut it.
Show no fear. Show no uncertainty. Hesitation is death.
For now, I rest, he thought. Then we find the other masters, and win the war. As he drifted to sleep leaning against the door, unable to put off his exhaustion any longer, his mother's words echoed in his mind.
"...And above all, you must win back our honor by destroying that Huang bitch."
G E N G H I S
The Khan of Khans watched the chinese witch work her strange magecraft, keeping a fascinated eye in spite of his bored expression. Truth be told, he did not think much of her when he was first summoned to this world. This was in part due to her evident wealth - he distrusted those who had never known privation or squalor - and partly because of her ethnicity. The Han and their southern kin were, in his experience, weak and cowardly, a people of serfs fit only to be ridden over, threatening only behind their damnable walls.
But it had not taken long for him to see that this woman was something fierce, worthy of being called his master. Even this strange ritual - mocking death in such a way, risking all for power? She, who had the appearance of a deer, but the heart of a wolf, was equal to any of his Noyans in life.
He was leaning against a wall, juggling his scimitar in the air and catching the blade with his hand, when she asked her question. "How would I win this war? Curious thought," he answered in a bored tone. "The answer seems obvious. Terror will not help us here, as our enemies will fight to the death. Destroy one, and the rest will turn on us as a threat."
"But as dangerous as a pack of wolves is, a lone wolf is easy prey. Division is our ally." Dropping his feigned boredom, he gave her a wolfish grin. "So we feign weakness. They will aim for the tallest trees first: we encourage this from the shadows. We seed discord, we provoke, we foster conflict and hatred amongst these warriors. When they are too distrustful of one another to form a united front, then we strike."
He spoke with complete certainty. He was not saying what might be, but what would be. He was the favoured son of Blue Heaven, after all.
A black sedan pulled into the front of the Golden Plaza Sako Hotel. Nobody paid much attention to it: the four star hotel was one of the most expensive in the region, and as small as Sako was, it had a regular influx of wealthy businessmen and government officials who were not shy in their ostentatiousness. Of course, that the young man that stepped out was a foreigner solicited some curious glances, but even Sako had its international business. And dressed as he was in a black suit and sunglasses, he mixed right in with the crowd in the lobby. He was followed by an older man and woman, equally well dressed. The former pushed a trolley with suitcases and bags; the later carried only a slender black briefcase.
The receptionist, it can be imagined, was a bit perplexed to find himself having to deal with a trio of westerners. Just my luck, he thought, annoyed. He occasionally had to deal with foreign visitors, of course, but they usually had interpreters with them. There was nothing to do about it: he would have to rely on what little he remembered of his high school english classes. As he started stammering, though, the young man leaned onto the desk. He took off his glasses, and just looked at the receptionist with bored green eyes. And spoke in perfect Japanese, albeit with a strange accent.
"You're going to want to get your manager."
* * * * * *
"Sir, you don't understand. There's just no room."
In a large and meticulously ordered office, an old man sighed and rubbed his forehead in exasperation. He'd worked his entire life for the company, and managed to become the manager of the Sako hotel branch through fanatical adherence to company policy and a deep well of patience. But even that well was running dry right now. He was already up to his eyeballs in dealing with the conference visitors, he didn't need to deal with a foreign rich kid who didn't understand how a reservation worked. "There's... there's absolutely no room. Zero. Nothing. We're completely booked with the International Apiculture Development Conference, there are no rooms that I could offer you even if I wanted to."
The kid in front of him was just leaning back, fingers steepled, completely expressionless, looking at him as if he were an infant having a tantrum. "So make room," he said quietly.
"Make-" The manager blinked in disbelief at the spoiled brat's arrogance. "Look, there's a Golden Plaza in Oga that's more sizable, you might have better luck there. Or you can find another hotel in Sako. I'm sorry, sir, but there's nothing more I can do for you, I'm very busy and have other business to get to. Maybe try reserving in advance next time."
"I apologize, I must not have made clear who I am. I'm Renaud de Gusicard, heir of the Maison de Guiscard."
"I don't know who that is, and frankly I don't care."
"You should, you fool," Renaud snapped icily. "You see this watch? It's a Verriac, artisan crafted, one of a kind. It's worth ten times the car I rode here. I own it because my family is the oldest and wealthiest house west of the Rhine." He glanced back. "Louise! Sortez-le, l'ignorant mérite un lesson d'histoire."
One of the two figures behind him, a dark-skinned woman in her fourties, stepped forward, snapping open the briefcase as she did. The manager's objection was cut off with a gasp as he took in the sight of a beautiful golden scepter crowned with a double headed eagle spreading its wings. It seemed to glow. Or was everything else darkening in its presence?
Renaud leaned back and pulled it out of its case, and held it over the desk with both hands. "This is the Scepter of Chartres. Forged by an ancestor of mine, Lucbald de Chartres. Priceless, beyond what you can even comprehend. It's been passed down, uninterrupted, in my family for a thousand years. It was carried by the Guiscards who advised Capetians, Valois, Bourbon, and, occasionally, Plantagenets. If I were mad enough to sell it, I could buy your entire pathetic chain and tear this hotel down. I own it - or rather, my family owns it - because we are the among most distinguished and prestigious lines of Europe."
He gripped the scepter, feeling his mana feed into the mystic code as he stared, unblinking, in the old man's eyes. "So, when I tell you to make room, it's because it's an incredible honour for you to have me staying in this... fine establishment. Unless the prestige of having accommodate someone of my caliber does not interest you, or your superiors?"
The manager simply stared, mouth agape, unable to form a coherent reply for several long moments, his eyes unfocused. Suddenly, he shook himself off. "Yes, of course, I apologize. I wasn't in my right mind." His voice was faltering, almost dazed. "I'll find something. We can maybe... maybe get one of the guests a room in another local hotel, and pay for it as compensation."
"See that you do," Renaud said simply as he got up from the chair, putting his glasses back on. He took a moment to admire the scepter again, a faint smile coming to his lips, before placing it gently back in its case. Louise clamped the case shut.
* * * * * *
"What now, sir?" Maxime asked.
Renaud glanced at the two from the other end of the large suite they had been granted. It wasn't up to his usual standards, but he had to admit, for a small city it wasn't terrible. Three bedrooms, a lounge, a small kitchen, and all in western style. It could certainly have been worse.
"Well, now I do my part," he said casually. "We were fortuitous with the number of rooms, I'd say: One for you two, one for me, and another for... well, for my business. You can see the sights - what sights there are in a place like this, anyway - or go get something to eat, or whatever suits your fancy. I'm not planning on going anywhere. The rest of my day will be a bit tiring, and after all that travelling the last thing I want is another drive anyway."
Louise smiled. "That sounds perfect, sir. Maxime and I are going to check out a restaurant we heard about here, apparently it-"
"I really don't need to know the details," Renaud interrupted. He waved dismissively from the couch. "Go, have fun. While we still can."
It didn't do to be too close to servants, he reflected when he was left alone. That goes for aristocrats, and doubly so for magi. He knew the couple's names, their duties - to, as needed, cook, clean, and drive him as he pursued his war unimpeded by mundane matters - and that's about all he needed to know. They were paid, of course: while some mages used magic to control the minds of their subordinates, the Guiscards had long found that to be a crude and unreliable art. The human brain, faced with magical control, tends to resist, which always seems to cause incidents at the worse possible times. The Scepter was symbolic of his family's wisdom and mastery: instead of dominating the mind, true power came from suggestions, subtle and reasonable. Give the mind an idea, empower it with magic, trick it into thinking it had come up with it... that was true control.
Not that they were controlled that way either. As his mother was fond of saying: frankly, money ensures the loyalty of the common rabble far more reliably than any magic could.
Still, while after long service they were trusted to be blind and mute, Renaud found their presence inconvenient. The less involved they were with the Holy Grail War, the better. This was his war, and he wasn't so heartless as to want to see them caught up in it any more than necessary. A true mage of his caliber fights their battles alone. La noblesse oblige, after all.
He got up with a heavy sigh. No point in delaying. It was time.
* * * * * *
He had, in the end, needed to make some alterations to the third room. The bed, to his incredible annoyance, took up far too much of the room, and he had to spend half an hour dragging it out of the room's too-small door, cursing himself for telling Louise and Maxime to leave as he did so. But he eventually managed to get it into the lobby, his first victory in this holy grail war.
The floor space freed, he was able to begin drawing the summoning circle, using materials he had brought in all that luggage. This was not as difficult as he had feared, no doubt in part because he had practised this very ritual for two decades now. He did catch his hand shaking as he started: What's wrong with me?, he wondered. I'm... excited. Yes, excited. His entire life had been endless, brutal, agonizing training for this war. This was the culmination of his existence, his entire raison d'être. He couldn't be blamed for being a bit excited for that.
"Foolish boy," he could imagine his mother snear in his head. "Of course you can be blamed for that. Your incompetent hand will ruin the ritual. Control yourself. Your duty to your name is more important than your sentimentality."
"Careful now," he muttered to himself as he drew the lines. He did not make any errors, to his relief. His hand might be shaky, but years of drills guided him.
I think that's it. It's done. Everything was ready. All he needed now was...
He pulled a small box out of a coat pocket, and opened it. He pulled out its content: A small scrap of paper, ancient, lined with faded kanji characters. This was it, the catalyst that he'd been given. With this, he could summon...
"This servant is ideal for our cause," his grandfather, his voice frail from disease, had told him. "Summoned to her native land, her abilities will be all the more considerable. Of those masters we know in this war, none have a native catalyst such as this: in this way, with luck, we will be in an advantaged position."
"And also," his mother had interjected, "What we know of her legend indicates that she is, among servants, most likely to be attuned to our own desires. A servant who understands the importance of honour, of duty, of family... unity in purpose will lead you to victory more surely than pure power ever could."
Yes. That was all true. But in spite of all that - or perhaps because of it? - he felt nervous looking at this scrap of paper. He was about to summon a being on a level of existence far, almost incomprehensibly, beyond his own. One who was nearly the embodiment of his family's ideals. In a sense, his lifetime of effort and training was about to be put judgment. He silently prayed his power and strength of will would not be found wanting.
A large, good looking man with red hair, Temujin controls any room he finds himself in both by his stature and his raw charisma. Anyone who sees him knows they behold someone greater than they. He sports a massive wolf fur cloak draped around his shoulders, below which he wears a large number of knives and pouches. Nowhere, however, does he wear jewellery or anything that might be considered purely aesthetic - such are the trappings of the civilized world, whereas he is the lord of the steppe.
He usually has a wolfish grin on his face, and carries himself seemingly carefree and bashfully. Those who take this impression at first value, however, learn to their despair the scheming mind beneath that conquered all lands beneath the blue sky.
Personality
Temujin was born nowhere, as no one. Later, he became the great Khan, lord of all lands where grass grows, but he never forgot his origin. He is a hard man, and savage. He disdains weak people, especially those rendered weak by easy lives. Life, to him, is something that must be won, seized by violence. He is not cruel, but he is undeniably selfish. To those he despises, he is a monster in human skin, the merciless butcher of Nishapur.
Those of strong character, however, can earn his respect, and to these he shows his better side, that of the man who forged disparate steppe tribes into the greatest empire the world has ever seen. He proves himself jovial, friendly and fair, and willing to tolerate most any flaw - so long as they maintain his respect.
On one question, however, he is unmovable: there shall be no other lords but he beneath the sun. Any other that claims the title of king, khan, or emperor beyond his authority will find in him an implacable enemy, and only when fighting these does he drop his carefree demeanour and become deadly serious.
Stats
Strength: B Endurance: A+ Agility: A Mana: D Luck: B+ Noble Phantasm: B
Class Skills
Riding (A+ Rank): As the descendent of steppe god Tenger, Genghis can ride virtually any beast of vehicle. On horseback, he is akin to a missile, and yet has such mastery of the saddle that his arrows still find their marks.
Magic Resistance (C Rank): Raised in the shamanistic traditions of the mongols, Genghis wears an assortment of bone talismans that provide him with an innate resistance to simple magecraft, anulling most of the spells of the mages of the modern age.
Personal Skills
Divinity (C+ Rank): Legends abound of Genghis's descent from an elk and a wolf, a divine messenger from the god Tenger, supreme god of the plains. This, combined with his worship after his death by both the Mongolian people and those they conquered, gives him a strong divinity rating.
Charisma (B Rank): Through sheer force of will, Genghis united disparate steppe tribes into the greatest empire the world has ever known. He exudes authority and charisma. For those to whom he is friendly, it is difficult to resist liking him. To those he considers enemies he seems extremely intimidating.
Feigned Retreat (B+ Rank): One of the most effective mongol tactics, perfected by the Great Khan himself, was to reign a retreat, lure the enemies into a disadvantageous position, then turn and massacre them. As part of his legend, he gains the capability to pull this stratagem off even when alone. If he attacks a pursuing foe, Bokhiikh is temporarily more powerful, and considered in that state to be a B+ ranked noble phantasm.
Archery (C Rank): Genghis has trained his entire life to attain a level of mastery of horse and bow unmatched even among mongols, to such an extent that his skill is comparable to a low ranking Archer class servant. This goes beyond any normal human talent: the spirits of the plains fills him as he holds bone and bamboo in hand, allowing him to use mana to give himself precision and speed in his shots that would be otherwise physically impossible. As it brings him closer in spirit to the steppes from which he draws strength, riding a horse not only does not impede his skill, it actively increases it.
Noble Phantasms
Name: Bokhiikh Rank: B- Type: Anti-Unit/Anti-Army Appearance: It appears as a simple, unassuming compound bow of bamboo and elk horn. Effects: Bokhiikh is the Khan's personal and most favored bow, wich he wielded in his conquests across Eurasia. Without activation, it allows him to fire rapid, precise shots. Once its name is spoken, however, it summons the terrifying legends of mongol horse archery. His shots then cause phantasmal riders, spectral remnants of the great tumens that once terrorized Eurasia, to appear near him, firing upon his enemies. He can also command them in more advanced tactics , seperating into units or firing in volleys, as the situation requires.
Name: Tsagaan Sureg Rank: C Type: N/A Appearance: An unusually large and intelligent looking white horse. Effects: When invoked, this noble phantasm enables the Khan to summon into the present a steed from his vast herds. These are hardy beasts, fast beyond any normal horse, and have D ranked magical resistance due to their association with his legend. He can only summon one such horse at a time.
The legend of The Two White Horses of Genghis Khan grants them a high level of intelligence. They can act independently of Genghis, possess human-like reasoning and tactical capabilities, and are loyal to the grave. Striking with its hooves, one such horse could demolish a car.
Name: Tengri's Favored Son Rank: A+ Type: Anti-Army Appearance: A massive bolt of lightning from the sky Effects: When facing a powerful opponent, Genghis might pull out his strongest trump card: His powerful divine lineage. Invoking his own divine blood, he can call upon his ancestor, the sky god Tengri himself, to send down a blast of pure lightning from the sky, made all the more destructive by his own legends of destruction. Crashing onto the earth, this blasts a crater 500m wide on its target, obliterating structures and bystanders effortlessly. Only beings with the highest quality defensive abilities can survive with anything other than crippling damage from the divine fury.
Anyone seeing the short, dark haired man would likely not make much notice of him, except of course as a foreigner in a relatively small Japanese city. He is neither particularly attractive, nor does he possess any physical remarkable traits. Those who take the time to look will, however, notice two things that catch the eye: first, his impeccable dressing standards, wearing at all times as he does a suit likely worth more than the average person makes in a month; and secondly, his remarkable confidence. He seems to radiate an air of purposefulness, as if he has absolutely no doubt of his innate superiority over those around him.
Personality
Renaud was drilled from birth to be the paragon of a mage, the epitome of nobility. He carries himself with grace, dignity, and assuredness - or at least, he tries. He appears calm and collected at all times, as if he were in complete control of whatever situation he was in. This air of arrogance is often to bolster his own resolve as much as it is to make an impression on others. He is not brash or emotional - those traits were beaten out of him at a young age. He makes decisions pragmatically and always with his duty in mind.
In spite of being raised to partake in this conflict his entire life, he cares nothing for the grail and its war. Oftentimes he curses the misfortune of his existence. But everything he does he does for the Guiscard name, to bring it power and glory. If that means partaking in such a senseless bloodbath he has no compunction about doing so.
Skills
Renaud is quite useless at most aspects in life, such that one might wonder how he has managed to survive so long. The answer, of course, has been prodigious quantities of servants. His mother never considered things like technology, cooking, or cleaning to be anything but distractions from magecraft. In those areas that were judged important, he excels: he is formidable in hand to hand combat, he has vast knowledge on the mechanics of magecraft as expected from a graduate of the Clock Tower, and he has read several libraries worth of tomes on all subjects imaginable, from the musings of the ancients to the workings of modern aircraft. He thusly considers himself an "expert" in everything (though, of course, only in the sense that he once read a book that mentioned it in passing).
Abilities
Renaud has a passable understanding of most schools of magic. Generally he gets by on the strength of his crest and his magical circuits.
Divination: One field of magecraft that he has specialized in is the art of divniation, particularily haruspicy (the reading of entrails) and scapulimancy (the throwing of bones). Both rely on the same principal, the infusion of energy into the tool in question to reveal answers to one's questions. Not many mages practice these arts still, chiefly because they are difficult and often provide unclear or misleading answers, but Renaud has become quite skilled in interpreting these signs.
Blixt Runes: The Guiscard attributes of air and fire have been honed into mimicking Blixt runes. When activated, these runes can combine those elements into a beam, creating thin crackling lighting in a direction. The effect is similar to a gunshot: while the effect is not particularly destructive as such, it is efficient (in no small part due to being perfected for centuries), and can be as lethal as a bullet wound if aimed properly.
Magic Code - Scepter of Chartres: The ancient heirloom of the House de Guiscard, the Scepter of Chartres is a mystic code created to escape notice by non-magi, and to maintain their dominance over them. When imbued with energy it renders those around the wielder susceptible to suggestion. This effect is naturally dampened by magical circuits, however: against mages, particularily those of long lineages, it has little effect.
Backstory
The Guiscard name is old, even among mage clans. The family boasts of serving (and perhaps, they often insinuate smugly, controlling) numerous famous Frankish kings, and has accrued both considerable magical power and financial resources. They are true old nobility, the image of a bygone age. Their prestige and success has been in many ways however a double edged sword. For centuries they have rested on their laurels, content with their level of magical mastery, even as they were surpassed by other clans. Now, they are no longer preeminent in their home country. No longer does the mage's association allow them to influence its decisions; indeed, many now consider the family to be nothing more than a page in the history books.
The solution to their stagnation is typical to their class: whereas other families might redouble their efforts and earn a name for themselves, the Guiscards have sought to steal their way back into prominence through the Holy Grail, to harness the power of the Root for their own power. Their participation in a previous grail war ended in humiliating defeated, showcasing their obsolescence. Proper breeding, the heads of the family decided, was the only way they could compete. His grandfather and mother married specifically chosen individuals to maximize his magical capacity. Nor was his innate ability considered sufficient, as he was put through an excruciating, even by mage standards, training since he was born. Independence and improvisation were drilled out of him. Only by displaying the most noble of qualities, comporting himself with utmost dignity, and a rigid adherence to the norms and structures of mage combat could he find glorious victory.
Despite caring little for the contest himself, Renaud has some quiet satisfaction that the time is finally at hand to accomplish his purpose for living. For, as he enjoys quoting Plutarch: "They were the only men in the world for whom war brought a respite in the training for war."
Asterios towers over most Heroic Spirits, being just under three metres tall. While not a complete hybrid between a man and a bull in appearance, he possesses animalistic traits, such as horns, a mane of wild, white hair, and inhuman eyes.
Asterios is seen wearing iron armor, much like a corset, over his bulky and scarred body, iron rings around his arms, a red piece of cloth from his waist to his feet, split into two sections. Around each ankle is an iron ring with an attached chain, linking heavy, metal orbs which Asterios appears to have no problem wearing. In each hand, he holds an axe with an incredibly long pole.
He wears an iron mask resembling a bull's head, reflecting his nature as the Minotaur, and carries a pair of long axes with round edges, named Labrys.
Personality
The outline of Asterios' life was that of a monster that would be defeated by a hero from birth; indeed, Asterios was slain by the hero Theseus, who had sneaked into the Labyrinth. Even if his essence was not wicked, since his deeds were evil, his fate was to be brought down. Even if - what he sought was not darkness, but light. Even if - what he sought was not a gloomy maze, but the refreshing wind of nature and a plentiful forest.
Asterios is a Berserker and his words are faltering, but it is possible to barely come to a mutual understanding with him, so he is by far more docile than the other Berserkers. So long as one perceive Asterios as "Asterios", and not as the "Minotauros", he will not betray them.
Due to his blood as a human being slightly remaining, a conversation is possible, but it is only a small chance for it to happen. Asterios is intelligent like a child, but he is extremely wise. He also understands ethics, common sense, etc., as a human being, and for that reason, he always lives while holding feelings of guilt towards his very existence itself.
Stats
Strength: A++ Endurance: A++ Agility: C Mana: D Luck: E Noble Phantasm: A
Class Skills
Mad Enhancement (B Rank): Rank up for all parameters, but takes away most of sanity.
Personal Skills
Monstrous Strength (A Rank): Temporarily amplifies one’s strength. An offensive special characteristic possessed only by monsters and Magical Beasts. Increases one’s Strength parameter by one rank upon usage. The duration for this increase depends on the rank of “Monstrous Strength”.
Natural Demon (A++ Rank): A Skill endowed to those who were given birth as a monster rather than to a hero or god that has fallen down to the level of a Magical Beast. Asterios has attained a Rank of STR and END that is absolutely impossible for a human body.
Labrys of the Abyss (C Rank): The pair of giant axes he owns. It's the symbol of the Labyrinth and the root of that very word. It was originally a two-bladed axe but Asterios rearranged it into two axes.
Noble Phantasm (EX Rank): Asterios' Noble Phantasm is Chaos Labyrinthos, the materialization of the labyrinth that secluded him when he was alive. A great thaumaturgy almost equal to a Reality Marble, it is built in the underside of the world. Asterios only needs to remember "the place where he used to live", and once it is manifested it takes form with a difficulty according to the degree of fame of the concept of "labyrinth". Once manifested, it will not disappear until either Asterios is defeated or Asterios eliminates all his opponents. Even if it disappears, it is possible to build it again after some time. However, if it doesn't take a different form from the anterior one, one would most likely be able to just walk out of it. A labyrinth that has been already solved is not something where one can get lost.
A large, good looking man with red hair, Temujin controls any room he finds himself in both by his stature and his raw charisma. Anyone who sees him knows they behold someone greater than they. He sports a massive wolf fur cloak draped around his shoulders, below which he wears a large number of knives and pouches. Nowhere, however, does he wear jewellery or anything that might be considered purely aesthetic - such are the trappings of the civilized world, whereas he is the lord of the steppe.
He usually has a wolfish grin on his face, and carries himself seemingly carefree and bashfully. Those who take this impression at first value, however, learn to their despair the scheming mind beneath that conquered all lands beneath the blue sky.
Personality
Temujin was born nowhere, as no one. Later, he became the great Khan, lord of all lands where grass grows, but he never forgot his origin. He is a hard man, and savage. He disdains weak people, especially those rendered weak by easy lives. Life, to him, is something that must be won, seized by violence. He is not cruel, but he is undeniably selfish. To those he despises, he is a monster in human skin, the merciless butcher of Nishapur.
Those of strong character, however, can earn his respect, and to these he shows his better side, that of the man who forged disparate steppe tribes into the greatest empire the world has ever seen. He proves himself jovial, friendly and fair, and willing to tolerate most any flaw - so long as they maintain his respect.
On one question, however, he is unmovable: there shall be no other lords but he beneath the sun. Any other that claims the title of king, khan, or emperor beyond his authority will find in him an implacable enemy, and only when fighting these does he drop his carefree demeanour and become deadly serious.
Stats
Strength: B Endurance: A+ Agility: A Mana: D Luck: B+ Noble Phantasm: B
Class Skills
Riding (A+ Rank): As the descendent of steppe god Tenger, Genghis can ride virtually any beast of vehicle. On horseback, he is akin to a missile, and yet has such mastery of the saddle that his arrows still find their marks.
Magic Resistance (C Rank): Raised in the shamanistic traditions of the mongols, Genghis wears an assortment of bone talismans that provide him with an innate resistance to simple magecraft, anulling most of the spells of the mages of the modern age.
Personal Skills
Divinity (C+ Rank): Legends abound of Genghis's descent from an elk and a wolf, a divine messenger from the god Tenger, supreme god of the plains. This, combined with his worship after his death by both the Mongolian people and those they conquered, gives him a strong divinity rating.
Charisma (B Rank): Through sheer force of will, Genghis united disparate steppe tribes into the greatest empire the world has ever known. He exudes authority and charisma. For those to whom he is friendly, it is difficult to resist liking him. To those he considers enemies he seems extremely intimidating.
Feigned Retreat (B+ Rank): One of the most effective mongol tactics, perfected by the Great Khan himself, was to reign a retreat, lure the enemies into a disadvantageous position, then turn and massacre them. As part of his legend, he gains the capability to pull this stratagem off even when alone. If he attacks a pursuing foe, Bokhiikh is temporarily more powerful, and considered in that state to be a B+ ranked noble phantasm.
Archery (C Rank): Genghis has trained his entire life to attain a level of mastery of horse and bow unmatched even among mongols, to such an extent that his skill is comparable to a low ranking Archer class servant. This goes beyond any normal human talent: the spirits of the plains fills him as he holds bone and bamboo in hand, allowing him to use mana to give himself precision and speed in his shots that would be otherwise physically impossible. As it brings him closer in spirit to the steppes from which he draws strength, riding a horse not only does not impede his skill, it actively increases it.
Noble Phantasms
Name: Bokhiikh Rank: B- Type: Anti-Unit/Anti-Army Appearance: It appears as a simple, unassuming compound bow of bamboo and elk horn. Effects: Bokhiikh is the Khan's personal and most favored bow, wich he wielded in his conquests across Eurasia. Without activation, it allows him to fire rapid, precise shots. Once its name is spoken, however, it summons the terrifying legends of mongol horse archery. His shots then cause phantasmal riders, spectral remnants of the great tumens that once terrorized Eurasia, to appear near him, firing upon his enemies. He can also command them in more advanced tactics , seperating into units or firing in volleys, as the situation requires.
Name: Tsagaan Sureg Rank: C Type: N/A Appearance: An unusually large and intelligent looking white horse. Effects: When invoked, this noble phantasm enables the Khan to summon into the present a steed from his vast herds. These are hardy beasts, fast beyond any normal horse, and have D ranked magical resistance due to their association with his legend. He can only summon one such horse at a time.
The legend of The Two White Horses of Genghis Khan grants them a high level of intelligence. They can act independently of Genghis, possess human-like reasoning and tactical capabilities, and are loyal to the grave. Striking with its hooves, one such horse could demolish a car.
Name: Tengri's Favored Son Rank: A+ Type: Anti-Army Appearance: A massive bolt of lightning from the sky Effects: When facing a powerful opponent, Genghis might pull out his strongest trump card: His powerful divine lineage. Invoking his own divine blood, he can call upon his ancestor, the sky god Tengri himself, to send down a blast of pure lightning from the sky, made all the more destructive by his own legends of destruction. Crashing onto the earth, this blasts a crater 500m wide on its target, obliterating structures and bystanders effortlessly. Only beings with the highest quality defensive abilities can survive with anything other than crippling damage from the divine fury.
Alright, I admit I'm a neophyte in the Nasuverse so I had to dig around the wiki to make sure my stuff was kosher. Here's what I've got (WIP):
Renaud de Guiscard
Age: 26 Gender: Male
Appearance
Anyone seeing the short, dark haired man would likely not make much notice of him, except of course as a foreigner in a relatively small Japanese city. He is neither particularly attractive, nor does he possess any physical remarkable traits. Those who take the time to look will, however, notice two things that catch the eye: first, his impeccable dressing standards, wearing at all times as he does a suit likely worth more than the average person makes in a month; and secondly, his remarkable confidence. He seems to radiate an air of purposefulness, as if he has absolutely no doubt of his innate superiority over those around him.
Personality
Renaud was drilled from birth to be the paragon of a mage, the epitome of nobility. He carries himself with grace, dignity, and assuredness - or at least, he tries. He appears calm and collected at all times, as if he were in complete control of whatever situation he was in. This air of arrogance is often to bolster his own resolve as much as it is to make an impression on others. He is not brash or emotional - those traits were beaten out of him at a young age. He makes decisions pragmatically and always with his duty in mind.
In spite of being raised to partake in this conflict his entire life, he cares nothing for the grail and its war. Oftentimes he curses the misfortune of his existence. But everything he does he does for the Guiscard name, to bring it power and glory. If that means partaking in such a senseless bloodbath he has no compunction about doing so.
Skills
Renaud is quite useless at most aspects in life, such that one might wonder how he has managed to survive so long. The answer, of course, has been prodigious quantities of servants. His mother never considered things like technology, cooking, or cleaning to be anything but distractions from magecraft. In those areas that were judged important, he excels: he is formidable in hand to hand combat, he has vast knowledge on the mechanics of magecraft as expected from a graduate of the Clock Tower, and he has read several libraries worth of tomes on all subjects imaginable, from the musings of the ancients to the workings of modern aircraft. He thusly considers himself an "expert" in everything (though, of course, only in the sense that he once read a book that mentioned it in passing).
Abilities
Renaud has a passable understanding of most schools of magic. Generally he gets by on the strength of his crest and his magical circuits.
Divination: One field of magecraft that he has specialized in is the art of divniation, particularily haruspicy (the reading of entrails) and scapulimancy (the throwing of bones). Both rely on the same principal, the infusion of energy into the tool in question to reveal answers to one's questions. Not many mages practice these arts still, chiefly because they are difficult and often provide unclear or misleading answers, but Renaud has become quite skilled in interpreting these signs.
Blixt Runes: The Guiscard attributes of air and fire have been honed into mimicking Blixt runes. When activated, these runes can combine those elements into a beam, creating thin crackling lighting in a direction. The effect is similar to a gunshot: while the effect is not particularly destructive as such, it is efficient (in no small part due to being perfected for centuries), and can be as lethal as a bullet wound if aimed properly.
Magic Code - Scepter of Chartres: The ancient heirloom of the House de Guiscard, the Scepter of Chartres is a mystic code created to escape notice by non-magi, and to maintain their dominance over them. When imbued with energy it renders those around the wielder susceptible to suggestion. This effect is naturally dampened by magical circuits, however: against mages, particularily those of long lineages, it has little effect.
Backstory
The Guiscard name is old, even among mage clans. The family boasts of serving (and perhaps, they often insinuate smugly, controlling) numerous famous Frankish kings, and has accrued both considerable magical power and financial resources. They are true old nobility, the image of a bygone age. Their prestige and success has been in many ways however a double edged sword. For centuries they have rested on their laurels, content with their level of magical mastery, even as they were surpassed by other clans. Now, they are no longer preeminent in their home country. No longer does the mage's association allow them to influence its decisions; indeed, many now consider the family to be nothing more than a page in the history books.
The solution to their stagnation is typical to their class: whereas other families might redouble their efforts and earn a name for themselves, the Guiscards have sought to steal their way back into prominence through the Holy Grail, to harness the power of the Root for their own power. Their participation in a previous grail war ended in humiliating defeated, showcasing their obsolescence. Proper breeding, the heads of the family decided, was the only way they could compete. His grandfather and mother married specifically chosen individuals to maximize his magical capacity. Nor was his innate ability considered sufficient, as he was put through an excruciating, even by mage standards, training since he was born. Independence and improvisation were drilled out of him. Only by displaying the most noble of qualities, comporting himself with utmost dignity, and a rigid adherence to the norms and structures of mage combat could he find glorious victory.
Despite caring little for the contest himself, Renaud has some quiet satisfaction that the time is finally at hand to accomplish his purpose for living. For, as he enjoys quoting Plutarch: "They were the only men in the world for whom war brought a respite in the training for war."
In a valley in the Anchor of the World, tribes of humans fought over the river and fields and game. They had come far from their homeland in the Boreal Highlands, finding in the nearby gardens a bounty of life that let them thrive. Their forays there discovered plants that they had come to learn to plant, such as wheat and corn. This development of agriculture permitted their population to explode, to such a point that they now were locked in conflict with each other. Their competition was generally peaceful, occasionally violent, and rarely murderous. There came a day, however, when the down-stream tribe raided the up-stream tribe's village, putting it to the torch once and for all. They wanted an end to the competition, they wanted the valley to themselves. They did not know quite what to do next, however. They had burned the village down, but the peoples were now captive. What to do with them?
Some argued to kill them all, but others called that suggestion unthinkable and inhumane. Many more objected on pragmatic grounds, however. It seemed to wasteful to kill so many when life was already so hard! And so the chief, a fat and greedy, but undeniably cunning man, came up with the solution.
"We kill the ablest men, those most able to resist," he decreed, "and we take in the rest as part of our tribe."
"They will not want to join those who murdered their husbands and brothers," others warned.
"We will not give them the choice," the Chief said, smiling at his own thought, innovative among mankind. "They will join, or they will die. They will labor, or they will die. We will not need to prepare our foods or sew our clothes anymore. We will live lives of luxury and plenty, and they will serve." And so slavery was born on Galbar. It was as simple as that.
The lifeblood phased through the world, seen and unseen, twisting and churning. It bled with every moment more of its contents, spilling out god after god. Even those of weak concepts were now freeing themselves, thanks to the damage that had already been done.
Everything in this world has a Core, a central identity which defines it. A mountain is a mountain, a tree is a tree, a bird is a bird. A tree can no more fly than a bird can absorb sunlight. This applied to sapients, as well: Humans, Vrool, Elves, Alminaki, all individuals had cores that they could not escape. This applied to the gods as well - no, especially to the gods, who were defined by such core concepts that it gave them life. There was never a choice for Enmity to be created cancerous, or Boris wild.
As the hearts of man grew dark, another sliver of the Lifeblood was lost. When it was told its Core, however, it wept, for it was as cruel as any that could be.
It's identity was as simple as it was terrible...
To be enslaved.
No, more than that, to suffer, to weep, to gnash and scream, to face misfortune and tragedy and pain and pain and pain and pain and pain and pain and pain and pain and pain and pain and pain and pain and pain and pain and pain and pain and pain and pain
Too soon, it was too soon, it didn't exist yet, this wasn't right, the identity depends on the prison, this existence was a contradiction, this was stillbirth. A name of a place rung in the god-embryo's mind, a name it couldn't understand because it didn't exist, but is should. It had to. They were linked. How could this be?
Whips cracking. The institution spreading. Tribe after tribe conquered, a tribe becomes a nation, a nation becomes an empire. Chains that bind the wrists. Slaves everywhere, even without chains, slaves to fear, slaves to hunger, slaves to ambition. Everything slaves to their own existence.
Explosive rage formed with agonizing despair as the god-embryo took a shape. Its time had come, but it was too soon.
The down-stream tribe had over the last decade become known as the Geldricks, a more proper name for the people that had conquered lands beyond the valley in every direction, particularly into the rich southern fields of the Gardens. They had crushed tribe after tribe, killing the warriors and enslaving the rest. Such was the size of their labor force that they could dedicate themselves to the art of war without worry of mundane tasks. Each warrior had many slaves to take care of all their needs; every waking moment of theirs was from then on practicing battle, preparing for war against other tribes and their own slave populations. The tribe split into several villages across the land. Their familiar foes, those who didn't succumb, adapted: they emulated their practices of slavery, which spread like wildfire across the Toraan as far as humans lived.
The slaves were kept docile through terror. Every year, the ten most disobedient slaves were executed in front of the others to break their spirit. They were sacrificed ritually when the game proved insufficient as an offering to the dark gods that they believed exist. Ironic, that the most evil deities existed only in their own minds.
It was a hot day of summer. The old man had toiled in the hole for a week now, tirelessly skinning the game he had been given and tanning their hides to make leather. The heat was unbearable and the insects were relentless, but he labored on regardless. He had no choice: he could not climb the sheer clay walls, not at his age and with his legs. And there was nowhere to go even if he did somehow escape. So he lived in that hole, processing the animals they threw down at him and returning processed parts via a basket they would lower.
So when he heard voices approach that day, he panicked and started to assemble the products of his labor. It was early! They shouldn't have come for another day now! He despaired; when he didn't produce enough, they would throw down rocks. He heard children laughing. He froze. Strange, they never brought children with them before. What did they want now? Couldn't they just leave him alone?
He looked up, and saw many heads emerge from the top of the whole. There were a half dozen boys and girls there, accompanied by a single hard-looking man. He knew that man: that was his tormentor, the one responsible for keeping him imprisoned and punishing him when he didn't obey. He shrunk back into a corner of the hole as the children pointed and mocked his unkempt appearance and filthy living space.
"...this creature, for example," the man above seemed to be saying. "Once, he was productive, but age has slowed him. Many other younger slaves could do twice the work for half the food. He drains us now, so we do what we must to keep the tribe strong. Now do as you've been instructed, children. You too, Herrek; if you don't have the stomach for this then you don't have the stomach to eat." The old man couldn't quite process what was going on, the man's uncaring tone clashing with his terrible words.
He saw the children picking up and holding rocks. "What-" he managed to let out, confused, before the first rocks started raining down. The smaller ones were little more than pebbles by with the drop they still hurt when they hit. The bigger ones smashed clay from the walls as they came down. One of those struck the side of his face, knocking in to his back. Still they continued to rain. he curled up into a fetal position on the dirt to protect himself. "Please, no, mercy!" he cried as the onslaught continued, but they didn't stop. Of course not. He was a thing, an animal.
And they were putting him down.
"Toshre." The Chained One.
The god-ling pronounced its own name as it came into being, rising from the earth itself. He did so with disdain in its voice, disdain for this world, and disdain for himself. He knew what that name meant. He knew what he was. And that realization broke his mind. No, it had broken his mind before he had such a thing.
Contradiction. "To be enslaved". Yet here he was, on Galbar. Where were the chains? As he rose, heavy chains materialized around himself, difficult for even a god to move. It made him want to laugh; chains alone didn't make a slave, but it seemed this reality had a keen sense of appearances. He rose to his feet, dragging the chains behind him as he lurched through the forest. Forest. Strange, this life. It seemed almost familiar. He must have seen this world while he was still part of the Lifeblood.
He felt his faceless face, knowing he would find no mouth nor nose there. All he had were his glowing eyes to mark his appearance. And his stature, of course; as he came erect he stood as a giant, nearly ten feet tall. He stumbled forward. As he dragged them along his chains carved deep grooves in the forest floor, cracking branched and crushing flowers. He walked without purpose.
Another contradiction: he was enslaved by his very identity, yet here he was walking free in the woods. Or was he free? Was this existence itself enslavement? No, this was all wrong. He shouldn't be here. It was time yet. It... that place, it didn't exist. But it needed to. He rested himself against a massive tree, and covered his forehead with his massive left hand.
This. Was. Wrong. Every fiber of his existence rebelled against itself. Was he the god of slavery? Or slaves? Both? Was he master of the whip or chain? He was all of that, he knew, but that made no sense. His mind shattered as he continued to trudge through the woods.
After some time - how much time? He could not know, it might have been minutes as easily as decades, it all seemed to feel the same to him - he came upon a strange sight. In a clearing was dug a sizable hole, some ten feet across. Walking to its edges and looking down, he saw a terrible sight: the motionless carcass of an old man, his body broken. Dry blood was caked across the bottom of the pit. At first, comprehension defied him. What had happened here? What had happened to this poor human, to come to such a state?
Then he saw the rocks at the bottom, strewn across. Many were coated red with blood. Some benches and stools were damaged as well, clearly indicating what had happened. Rage rose up in him. To be caged and slain like an animal in this was was intolerable. He rose up and roared, though he had no mouth. The deep and terrible sound echoed and the ground shook across the land, announcing his fury.
He would secure vengeance for the old man's fate, and for his own broken existence. He would make this world pay a bloody price for everything.
Silence echoed through the ruined village. Toshre stood in its center, motionless, surrounded by utter carnage. The chains wrapped around his arms and legs were red with fresh blood. The ground around him was littered with the same, as well as other fruits of the massacre. Men, women and children were torn to pieces, shredded and ripped and hacked and butchered. He had killed them. He had killed them all.
Murderer.
How had it happened? One minute he had been at the pit, then the next... that pure bloody rage... He just lost control. He became a slave to his own fury. A bitter laugh escaped his form. This was his way of conforming to his core? This carnage?
Despoiler.
No, they had deserved it, every one of them. These people, these humans, they were vile creatures. They had commuted unspeakable sins against one another. They had created him. Did that not merit death?
Monster.
And then there was the confusion. Some of the slaves had stood side by side with their oppressors hurling spears at him as he tore through the settlement. Did they embrace their bondage? Were they trying to curry favor? Were they protecting their own lives? He did not know. He had killed some slaves, he could now see. Their clothing was simpler and their forms thinner. It was not intentional; swinging his chains around had simply caused collateral damage. But surely it was worth it. Surely they would approve. They had to know that death was preferable. That this existence was a mistake.
Mistake.
Gripped by sudden agony, he gripped his head, and roared again, this time not in rage but pain. It was a filled with all his grief and regret and despair. As he roared the land around him shifted: across two kilometers, massive chains burst from the earth and flew into the air. They formed a wall around the village as they converged a hundred meters in the air, forming a dome. More chains erupted everywhere in the dome, ripping apart the earth, the trees, and the village equally easily. When he was done, a dense forest of chains surrounded him in the dome, nearly too thick to see through. The exterior of the dome was so tightly wrapped in chains that it might as well have been solid.
Unknown to him, this same roar also gave birth to the Ix'hakai, born of his rage. Creating it purged himself of the bloodlust he had been possessed by, but it was a terrible thing. Twenty feet tall and fast as lightning, with massive arms and legs, it drew power from this dome, a holy place that Toshre had unwittingly created. It would dwell in the darkness from then on, hidden from the sun and the outside world, leaping from chain to chain and devouring any creatures that dared to enter that cursed place. While it stayed in the dome, it would heal all injuries such that it would be nearly impossible to kill.
He fell to his knees where he stood as all this occurred, unaware of what he had brought to life. Let this be his prison then, where the god of slaves and slavery and misery might rot. He wept.
His existence, he knew, had been a mistake.
Humans who migrated south from the Highlands learn the brilliant concept of slavery. Using the free manpower, a tribe conquers and spreads its ways far and wide, particularly into the northern Gardens. Other tribes begin to do the same to compete.
Toshre, the god of slaves, comes into existence in their valley in the Anchor of the World. He is broken by birth, however, without the Tartarus that so fundamentally defines his existence he has some massive existential issues. His mind shatters from the contradictions of his reality. Finding a dead old slave killed for no longer being useful, he flies into a rage and massacres a local village. Coming to his senses, he goes full emo and creates the massive Iron Dome, a holy site made of chains, to keep the mean world away. Or himself from the mean world, take your pick. He also unwittingly creates the Ix'Hakai, a nasty fast-moving creature that is very nearly unkillable while in the dome. He decides to stay there for a while, since his existence is so obviously a mistake.
Toshre: Start: 5MP/5DP Create a holy site (-1MP): Made Iron Dome, a holy site of Toshre. It is a massive dome with a radius of 1km, made of massive chains that rise from the earth and link into a solid knot at their peak. Create a legendary beast of phenomenal power (-1 MP): Created the Ix'hakai, a giant creature that lives within the Iron Dome, feasting on anything that enters. It is a large white skined quadruped with a long neck and knife-like teeth. It has enormous strength and even greater dexterity, able to leap from chain to chain like lightning. While within the holy site it draws on its powers to regenerate its wounds as quickly as they can be dealt.
Nightwing95
