Baying Wolf [/fin]

[Aela Atheling]

“Cold…”

One of her feet was cringing just above the water’s surface. Even this was necessary. Every mote of prana had to be used for this. Every mote.

She was waiting until 04:00, to begin. According to the documents she had recovered from her original family’s house, this hour had been the one that every heir’s power had waxed with. Sure enough her own power grew with the settling frost.

It was dark outside, and the only light in the room was the moon. It reflected curiously off the top of the basin of ice covered water.

She shoved her foot into the icy water, shivering as it went in. All her clothes, except her undergarments, were folded neatly on the floor next to her.

At least the cold would not last long.

Her family had rented this moderately furnished house in Ponte a Moriano. Her parents had wanted her to rent something larger, but even this was too much. This place would have been suitable for at the very least three people other than herself. It attracted far too much attention, but she would have to make do.

She was in one of the spare bedrooms on the west side of the house, the second largest one. She had purchased a large copper basin and had the men who brought it move it into this room, and not hook it up to anything. That had brought her strange looks, but surely she could not have flooded the room itself.

Her other foot entered the water and goosebumps rose along the rest of her skin. She clenched her arms under her chest.

The circle in front of her was constructed entirely of her blood, gathered over two months. She had wanted to do it the old way, collecting the blood from a knife cut in her palm. Not that she had not tried, she managed to slice open the hand that was supposed to hold the knife, and when she started from shock, she had dropped the knife, blade down, right onto her foot.

She had made the circle earlier. It was supposed to have been done with warm blood, but her own would satisfy warm soon, at least when her prana touched it. Even the spilled blood would feel the pain of her family’s blood trait.

At the center of the circle was a carefully wrapped ancient blade. Even her mother had not known what hero had wielded it, but its power was there. It was a hero’s blade. But what hero? She probably would have cut her hand off with it too, had it not been wrapped when she knocked it off the stand she had it carried on.

The sword carried the weight of at least a thousand years. It exuded ancientness. How then had the Atheling family come into possession of it, when the line itself was bare past its five-hundredth year?

When she had asked her mother, she had only smiled and said that anything that she needed would be provided. She had her suspicions that her earth-aligned parents were not being entirely truthful in what they found in excavations, at least to the Clock Tower officials.

She pushed no further, however. She had a goal, and it would be met, even if it meant betraying what had been her home for part of her life. She had destroyed those that brought her into this world. Destroyed them, and every dream they had.

It could be fixed.

She had broken even more rules when she did not introduce herself to the guardian of Lucca. Surely if this war was being fought here the guardian would be taking part. She could not take such a risk. She was almost willing to not tell the church, but that would be foolhardy.

She slowly lowered herself onto her knees in the copper tub. Large pieces of ice broke as her form descended. It would not be much longer. She was shivering. How long had it been since she had done that?

The nurse she had hired wondered about what the blood was for, but with the wages she paid the woman to simply stab her with a needle were high enough that she asked no questions. Each bag of blood had been carefully frozen by Aela herself, and then stored in an airtight box.

Three separate alarms went off, the small hammer between the bells, trying valiantly to break apart each bell as they bounced between them. It was time to begin.

A crystal broke into a thousand tiny pieces . Her circuits activated, almost immediately, but she held back half of them. Numbness filled her body, negating the pain.

The ice began to melt in the copper basin.

Half of her remaining inactivated circuits burned on.

Her body began to steam in the ice water.

She could not cool herself; she had to do it this way, had to use all possible prana. She could no longer feel the cold of the ice water, instead she felt as if she had a fever. This early?

She still had a quarter of her circuits to go, and already her body was beginning to fail, nerves screaming from the heat, yet blocked by the numbness. Is this water just not enough? Does it really - Past the numbness, a knot of pain shot through, and Aela let out an agonized scream.

She was burning alive from inside. Fire touched the inside of her skin, pricked and flared at her organs. She screamed again, tears flowing down her face, as she opened her last quarter of magic circuits.

“Set” It took all her willpower to keep from screaming as she uttered the beginning of the chant. There was no going back now.

It was as if the pain earlier had been a mere introduction. She couldn’t see anymore, she heard nothing but her own screaming, felt nothing but the touch of flames, greedily devouring her body. Her consciousness wavered on a fine wire as every last drop of her prana touched the circle, infusing it with her power.

“Let thy body rest under my dominion,” Her teeth grit in pain, every muscle clenching. Normally the numbness and the freezing of her nerves would deal with this, but she could not spare the prana for freezing her own nerves. The pain felt… well there was more of it than normal. Much more. “Let my fate rest in thy blade.”

She wondered if she could die from pain. Almost every piece of ice had melted in the basin, but she did not notice. I have to – Auuuuuugh! Another scream tore through her mind, echoed through her body – …maintain the connection.

“If thou submitteth to the call of the Holy Grail, and if thou wilt obey this mind, this reason, …” Her mind shut down for a fraction of a second. “…then thou shalt respond!” It was rebelling, starting to refuse the pain, bringing her closer to death that one of her ancestors died from, screaming for days before death finally claimed him.

Her slender fingers gripped the side of the basin, even the water itself was beginning to steam now. That warmth was nothing compared to the one inside, however.

The pain was fading, and the warmth even seemed inviting now.
“I make my oath here. I am that person who is to become the virtue of all Heaven.” The words were coming from someone else’s mouth; someone else was burning in steaming water, someone else’s tears dripped into the basin.

She had to hold on.

I am that person who is covered with the evil of all Hades…” Someone else’s voice was weakening, fading away.

“Yet, thou serves with thine eyes clouded in chaos.” These lines didn’t seem to fit to her, but leaving out a part of the ritual would be incredibly stupid. She did not think of that now. Her eyes were no longer working, instead the pictures her brain gleamed from them were as if her sight was stained in red. “Thou, bound in the cage of madness. I am she who commands those chains!”

Every last drop! The words seemed like some strange echo, from someone else’s mind.

“Thou seven heavens, clad in a trinity of words…” Someone else screamed. It seemed so far away now.

“Come past they restraining rings,” Was the voice even there anymore? “And be thou the hands that protect the balance…”

Her eyes closed, her grip on the side of the basin failed and she collapsed to the side. The basin tipped, spilling the water and her unresponsive body along the side of the steaming circle. She lay facedown on the edge of the circle, unmoving.

[BEOWULF]

A chill wind briskly swept through the bedroom, stirring the heavy woolen curtains. However, it swiftly terminated, leaving the room silent and still once more.

The blood circle began smoldering. Slowly at first, wispy tendrils of smoke rose from the arcane diagram, dispersing in the air. Then the circle ignited, crackling blue flames harshly leaping and dancing in the dark bedroom.

Out of the fire, within the mesmerizing blaze, erupted a thunderous roar, bereft of intelligence. It was nothing but raw passion, a maddening fury. A shadow appeared within the towering flames, shifting and loping in build. It appeared as a man's form, ever advancing, forever ominous.

BEOWULF bounded out of the flames' heart, slowing to a halt as he stepped on the polished wood floor. He smirked as he placed his fists on his waist. He had questions, but they could wait. The Berserker stood with an expression of supreme confidence, the emotion radiating from him. And why not, indeed? He was BEOWULF. He claimed the strength of thirty men in each arm, the heads of three demons, and the belts of a thousand women.

And currently, he was also naked.

Without preamble, he declared, "I have risen from the darkness of war, sundered the last of the giants! I swam in the blackness of the seas, hunting beasts out of the abyss, killing them one by one. Death was mine errand, and their fate! I am Berserker. I am BEOWULF."

He paused, allowing these words to sink in. BEOWULF folded his arms as he surveyed the room. What was this place? It appeared to be a mighty King's abode, but at the same time, it wasn't. It just felt too... strange? Humble? Then it hit him. There were no trophies of war, no golden statues cast in the lord's likeness... just furniture of cloth and wood. And, of course, behind him, a large, bronze basin. Too sparse, too empty. Pitiful.

Oddly, his Master, or perhaps Mistress, had not yet appeared. Why was this? Was the magus afraid? Perhaps listening in and hiding, for reasons incomprehensible to him? "Who are you, then, to have called me? Are you to be my Master?" He barked at the empty air.

Still no answer. Sighing in slight frustration, BEOWULF turned to the furniture, slightly curious. Until his damned Master showed up, he might as well see what he got himself into. He examined the bed, experimentally patting the cloth material. Strange. The pattern was certainly not designed for a nobleman, but the material, on the other hand, was. The words almost forced themselves into his mind, as alien as they were. Curioser and curiouser...

Next up was the overtipped copper basin, incidentally behind him. As he approached the basin, BEOWULF slightly clenched his jaws. Of course. She was just unconscious. But still, this infuriated him - that he had shouted his name to the heavens, and nobody heard him. Even more, his intended audience was behind him!

Kneeling over Aela, BEOWULF looked her over with a practiced eye. A bit flat for his tastes, but fine. Perfectly normal.

Then, reaching over with a hand, he lightly slapped her wet face once, then twice.

[Aela Atheling]

Her face… stung. Her head was heavy and the aftereffects of the summoning shot another bolt of pain through her body. Her entire body ached and was tired at the same time. She felt strangely drained.

Her brain bolted into high gear again. Did the summoning work? Did I summon a Servant?

She was about to blink open her eyes when Beowulf’s second slap struck her across the face. She started and clutched her burning face before opening her eyes.

And what she saw made her close them again.

There was a man above her, a giant man. Not that a giant man was a serious problem, she had somewhat expected heroes from legend to be huge.

It was the fact that he wore no clothes! None!

“W-what! What… who!” Her eyes were clamped shut and she was trying to crawl away from the man. There was no semblance of the calm she had before left. She was glad her face was red, hopefully, from being slapped.

Wait. Slapped!

He had slapped her across her bare face. What kind of Serv-

Bare. She was still in her undergarments!

That brought a shriek from her throat. This had not happened how she expected, not at all. She could not get her priorities straight, or even form a coherent thought. The situation kept getting worse and worse.

She scrambled for her clothes, searching for them with sweeping hand movements as her eyes were still clamped shut. Just her luck, they were soaked from the spilling water. But she really didn’t care as she began to pull on her light coat, to quickly cover herself. She left the rest for later. The coat was long enough until he was covered.

She was able to calm down, at least as long as she didn’t open her eyes. She stood up, finally. Keep your eyes closed, keep your eyes closed

A deep breath entered her lungs. She could do this.

“S-servant!” Her voice was still stuttering. Her teeth grit. “C-cover yourself! With clothes!” She could not make her voice firm, commanding. The beast probably took her for a fool. He was probably laughing at her!

She would not know unless she opened her eyes. She had to, she had to show she was serious! Her eyes opened. Too low! Too low! Her eyes rose to meet his and she stared furiously at them. He was built firmly, unlike any she had seen before. Was he about to move, about to obey? Or would he just laugh in her face. Either way she would face it with confidence on her face, trying to assure the brute she was one to be listened to, even if what lurked in her heart was fear and shame.

[BEOWULF]

Now she woke up. After he just gave such a nice speech. Right now, his Mistress was, to put it simply, spazzing out. Perhaps I should have just slapped her once. She alternated between furious sputtering and stammering, blinking, and possibly blushing - though it was kind of hard to tell. “W-what! What… who!”

BEOWULF could only fold his arms, staring at her with amused eyes. At the same time, however, he could hardly prevent a bemused sigh from escaping. Even the women were different. The ones that he was acquainted was would throw themselves at him - after he had saved them from some foul beast. Perhaps this was where the difference lay: a lack of monsters. But still - at least, they would have demurely sought out their clothes.

His Mistress, on the other hand, scrambled about the wet floor, searching for her garments. It was a harder task than it should have been - likely because her eyes were closed the entire time. Finally, she found some kind of dress, one that covered only her upper body. As the Mistress slipped on the jacket, she stammered out: "S-servant! C-cover yourself! With clothes!"

Before BEOWULF could comply with the command, her eyes slipped open, roving. They dipped a little low... and then flew to his face. Though wavering, they still carried a flicker of strength and command. His would-be Mistress was still breathing heavily, for whatever reason. Seriously, people woke up naked all the time. Nothing to get worked up over. The Servant smiled slightly, and closed his eyes. He visualized his armor, imagining it, willing it to come forth. When he reopened them, BEOWULF cast several passing glances at his regalia. He stood tall, wearing his iron chainmail and his trousers. His simple, black cloak, swung over his neck, swept the heels of his boots. Certainly, more dignified than his Mistress.

BEOWULF briefly considered repeating his speech, but thought better of it. The mood was ruined - and he certainly wasn't up to rehashing something he said half a minute ago! So he simply stated, "I am the Berserker. I am BEOWULF. Are you the one who would call herself my Mistress?"

[Aela Atheling]

He put on clothes! Aela’s breath came out explosively. He had listened to her. That was a good start, at least. Although it was armour, not clothes. Where had he gotten them? Did he merely pluck them out of the air when he willed? Then why had he appeared naked. She really did not want to contemplate that.

“I am the Berserker. I am BEOWULF. Are you the one who would call herself my Mistress?” His voice was filled with… ego? It was as if he expected her to worship the very ground he stepped on.

Beowulf. She had summoned the hero of the Geats? That sword had been his!? It was such a treasure and it had been given to her? And she had summoned him as Berserker? The one who killed their masters more often than not? She shuddered. The man could probably tear her apart without any weapons, Berserker or not.

He had called her mistress. His Mistress? That sounded... bad. She couldn’t really think of any word other than that to quantify it at that time.

“I am your Master, Beowulf, not this… mistress.” She waved the now burnt command seals on her hand at him. They were in the shape of a shield. That was rather fitting, she thought.

She felt a strange pulling feeling as her prana connected to him, feeding to him. Her body heat rose slightly. Even such a connection could not pass by the drawback of Hardwired.

Everything was solved; she was master, and he servant. She kicked at her slacks on the floor. They were soaked even worse than the coat had been. She would have to get a new pair, when she actually went back to her room.

She pivoted on her foot, turning back to the summoning circle. Everything was solved. Except for the fact that her house was now on fire.

“What!” She let out an involuntary shriek. This day was not going well for her self-esteem. What had the servant done?

A crystal shattered into a thousand tiny pieces. “Kadh innan su̯el.” She muttered in Old Norse as prana trickled through her circuits. Frost crept up her skin, sheathing her nerves from the heat that the dowsing of the fire would bring.

She pulled at more prana and… there was nothing left. Her body was completely drained. Of course! The summoning!

The fire was eating at more of her house. The giant behind her did not seem to care. Well at least he did not care enough, in her opinion. It was his fault after all.

“Servant! Help me put out this fire!” She pleaded, not even looking at him, instead yanking a blanket off the nearby bed and she began to beat at the fire, attempting to stifle it.

Why was all this happening to her?

[BEOWULF]

BEOWULF screamed "I AM BEOWULF!" and it was all good.

“I am your Master, Beowulf, not this… mistress,” His Mistr - no, Master said firmly, eyes still level with his. He had to give her credit. At the very least, she was trying.

"As you command... Master," BEOWULF said gravely, slightly puzzled. Did it even matter? Men were men and women were women. Likewise, Masters were men and women, Mistresses.

Pleased by the answer, his Mistress turned away, presumably to search for a new change of clothes, only to let loose a startled yelp.

Right, right, the fire. BEOWULF had completely forgotten about it, largely because it barely tickled, but, apparently, the house had different plans. People nowadays - afraid of the light and the savage heat. His Master muttered a hasty, arcane incantation, for the grand effect of nothing. The Magus was completely depleted, a fact that she realized, as well. “Servant! Help me put out this fire!” She ordered, not even bothering to look at him.

This was his first command? Extinguishing a small fire? This was the sort of thing that he'd let the kids do, while the MEN fought. He'd much rather have started with something more memorable, like beating on some eldritch beast, slaying a dragon, or swimming across the English Channel in a storm. Right now, he'd settle for a forest fire. Or even an arm-wrestling match.

But still, Masters were Masters and orders were orders.

BEOWULF spun on the spot, grasping at the copper basin. Without missing a single beat, he swept up the half-empty vessel, completed his spin, and emptied its contents on the flaming circle. Steam hissed and sputtered, chaotically twisting and rising, intermingling with the smoke, which ominously permeated the room. Swiftly, not wishing to waste anymore time, BEOWULF raised the copper basin, and hurled it at the large windows, sending it crashing through the curtains, out the window, and into the yard.

This created an immediate vacuum, causing the smoke to rapidly vent out. Then, taking one step, followed by another, BEOWULF gripped the curtains with one hand, ripping them out of the wall. Turning, he hurled the heavy woolen curtains over the circle fire, smothering and extinguishing the last of the flames.

[Aela Atheling]

He answered her with the huge sound of moving air and sloshing water. He had pulled up the basin she had knelt in, and emptied the water left in it onto the fire.

It had taken two men to carry that into her house. And he held it with one hand, as if its weight was nothing. It was amazing, and let her know just how different from normal humans this man was. She almost felt admiration for the man’s response, and especially his strength.

Then, he hurled the basin out the window. It obviously shattered, giving way to the piece of copper. The window frame ripped out behind it, as the basin pulled a piece of it with it. She was surprised he had managed to not hit the wall itself, although he probably could have as easily hurled it straight through the solid wall.

Then, not content with destroying her window, he ripped the curtain rod out of the wall, and began smothering the flames with them.

Aela just could not believe it. Did the man think she would thank him for destroying her house to save it? She supposed he did deserve it, if only barely. There had to be a good relationship between the two of them, so she supposed she could manage a thank you.

“Thank you, Sir Beowulf.” Her words seemed hollow, even to her. He had saved her house. Well whoever actually owned it, he saved their house. Perhaps they could give a better thank you than she could.

The thin veneer of her calm, rational, and collected self was slowly coming back as the frost dissipated off her body. Surprises always managed to shatter that, they always had. Just like taunting, that could do it too. Apparently being embarrassed did it as well. She supposed it was not a hugely effective front, but she held comfort in it.

Now what? She had summoned a servant, put out a fire. It was still early in the morning, still dark with the sun still would not rise for at least two hours.

She felt vaguely tired, but too much adrenaline was pumping through her body to sleep now. Her mind produced some weirdly vague imagined picture of him stomping the town into dust, naked, while she slept, anyways.

The café would be closed, and there was no way she could show up with him beside her and ask him questions over a cup of tea. Perhaps…

“Beowulf, do you know how to make tea?” What a stupid question. The man was a barbarian after all, he had probably never even heard of tea. He had lived… whenever he had lived, she wasn’t really sure.

[BEOWULF]

“Thank you, Sir Beowulf.”

Somehow, BEOWULF sensed some hostility from his Master. She didn't give him anything as a token of her appreciation. Not even a cookie. This just wasn't how things were done, damn it! He wasn't sure why - after all, he did do as commanded. He probably wouldn't have done that last bit with the windows... but, if they were that hung up over little things like naked people then they were probably too fragile for a bit of smoke. The price you pay for being considerate.

Still, he nodded curtly. "You're welcome, Master," he said. With this, the Berserker folded his arms, awaiting his Master's next command.

The Magus frowned, slightly pursing her lips, apparently deep in thought. BEOWULF simply waited patiently, eager to receive his next command. Extinguishing the fire was merely a necessity, after all - a minor trip up.

Finally, she turned back to BEOWULF, body apparently tensed with authority, ready to lay down her will. “Beowulf, do you know how to make tea?”

...Or not.

BEOWULF quizzically cocked his head to the side, mulling the word in his mind. He wasn't quite... then, suddenly, in a blinding flash, it came to him. Essentially, it was heated water with the distilled essence of some dried herb or leaf.

...ARE. YOU. SERIOUS.

Yes, the King of Geats did have some experience in the culinary arts. Given his line of work, it was necessary. He had to learn how to make the best of whatever he he was given. Otherwise, he would have descended to cannibalism or madness in his first expedition. That knowledge extended to brewing all sorts of drinks, from painkillers to - Of course it was a necessity! It must be said... a very important skill!

But, anyways. Back to the original point. The answer was, yes, he did know how to make the damned tea.

"Yes Master. I do. What sort of... tea did you want?"

[Aela Atheling]

“Yes Master. I do. What sort of… tea did you want?”

He did know. She could have clapped her hands, but that would have looked ridiculous. Instead she simply smiled at him.

Wait, he was able to and she was… challenged at doing it? Perhaps if she had a regular kettle instead of the electric one, which didn’t work since it kept turning itself off. Then again, she had left a regular one on the oven and then fallen asleep. Her track record with anything related to food was… Well perhaps it was best to leave it there.

“White tea, Beowulf. The cups are in the cupboard to the left of the sink! And thank you.” That one actually managed to be sincere. She was sincere at that, anyways.

The huge man seemed to grumble when he left. He probably did want to lay waste to the city, or slay some other servant with his bare hands. Well she was tired, that could be done later. She would have to fight, but not without preparations. One had to know who your opponents were before taking the field.

Beowulf would probably not understand that. He was Berserker after all. A Berserker that was making her tea. Had she really just asked him to do that? Perhaps she was just dreaming?

She was disabused of that notion rather quickly as the giant came back with the entire kettle, filled with steaming tea. And two cups. He was going to drink it too? She stared at his hands, holding the tiny cups and…

Her mind seemed to blank out the world for a second as a vision of a field racked by lightning, hail and tearing wind filled it. It was devastating, and at the same time Beowulf. Or at least the strength of his arms. He has that kind of strength!?

Aela blinked carefully, and the giant set down the tea set. She could pour her own tea, even shuddering as she was. The vision had brought back the fear of the giant. He would get stronger too, under berserking, but that would ruin his sanity, forever. She had made a man with such power make her tea? Yet he listened, instead of taking offense, instead of tearing her apart.

A blunder… had he been another, would I already be dead?

“Thank you, Beowulf, for answering my summons. Any Master would be glad of you for a Servant. You are truly a man to be admired.” While the last sentence didn’t sound exactly truthful, or like she admired him at all, she dud admire the fact that he had not killed her. She probably would have, were the places reversed. She did not take people ordering her around well, to say the least.

“Now, how should we go about finding the other Masters?” She asked after taking a sip of the tea. He hadn’t done a bad job, for a barbarian.

[BEOWULF]

BEOWULF took the kettle, clumsily sloshing the steaming liquid into the remaining teacup. Apparently, the Grail Info Center^TM did not extend far enough for him to learn the venerable Meido arts. He experimentally swished the tea around the cup a few times, before downing it all in one gulp.

It seemed that the delicate Japanese drinking ceremonies were also wasted on him, as well.

Across him, his Master sat, delicately sipping from her teacup - and yet, still wearing little more than a jacket over her undergarments. Odd choice of dress - impractical, especially when dripping wet, as she was right now. It certainly didn't seem comfortable, at the very least. BEOWULF briefly wondered why she didn't bother to change. Perhaps for his benefit? He allowed the shadow of a smirk to flit across his face.

An awkward silence transpired as BEOWULF simply sat cross-legged, waiting for his Master to finish her tea, and to speak. Right now, she was absorbed in her tea, only pausing to cast a fearful glance or two at him.

However, she did appear to garner the courage to set the tea down, saying with carefully measured words, “Thank you, Beowulf, for answering my summons. Any Master would be glad of you for a Servant. You are truly a man to be admired.”

BEOWULF choked back a cough. Flattery. Damnable flattery. None of it meant anything. Honeyed words for warriors, soon to be followed by honeyed mead. He merely nodded in acknowledgement of the compliment, slightly raising the teacup. His master continued, asking “Now, how should we go about finding the other Masters?"

BEOWULF put the porcelain cup down, and leaned forward, rapping his knuckles. He muttered pensively, each word coming sharply and rapidly. "It depends. What's your style? Would you leave this sanctuary, take the war by the reins, and seek the other Masters and Servants? Or perhaps we should wait, lurking in the shadows, like some cowardly Assassin, hiding, darting in and out, striking only at the most opportune times. That's what I would have suggested. But... now? I do not know. These old rules, these old tactics, they no longer apply."

BEOWULF shrugged, briefly yawning, a dull, roaring sound. He then dove back in relentlessly. "Because, Master, the truth is, despite the name, this was not supposed to be the bloodied garden of war. This was to be a Harrowing, the harvest of mankind, and little more than that. I could even draw a comparison with the Roman Arena. However... the truth is, things are different. Upon mine arrival, I have felt others of my ilk passing through. Beings of boundless rage - other Berserkers. I am not certain if the same has applied to the other classes, but it would be better to assume the worst of the situation. I do not know what this means for the Grail... but I do know that the rules have changed."

[Aela Atheling]

Since I have been written forgetting my pants, apparently, here is a picture of pantless Aela.



See? No pants in that picture at all.

A drop from her hair almost landed in her teacup as she shifted her weight on the ground. She was still soaking wet, but they were talking about strategy, drying herself off could wait. However she had the distinct feeling she was forgetting something very important. Whatever it was it could wait, she was sure of it.

The giant man smirked at her. Smirked?

Soon after he began to talk strategy, although the response to her question was less definitive then she had desired. She had asked how he would prefer to do it, out of respect more than actually valuing his opinion. Except he had seemed to take it as if she was asking him how to plan, and explained the varying ways Masters fought. Does he think I’m an idiot?

He yawned, a yawn that made the tea in her cup ripple. The thing was contagious, and she too let out a yawn, stretching her arms, and then looking down at her bare legs.

Bare legs? Why were they-

Her calm front cracked. She was not wearing anything other than her undergarments and coat. Nothing else. It cracked again. She had meant to change while Beowulf made tea, but apparently forgot in her wonderings about how easily he could kill her. Her first urge was to run for something to cover her, so was her second, and her third.

But that would bring nothing useful. The Servant must understand who held the chains, as she had chanted. If his Master liked to walk around without shame, he would obey and not comment. Of course he would obey; he probably would enjoy a Master like that. She shuddered, again. This day was really not going well for whatever self-confidence she had left.

But she wasn’t wearing anything to cover her legs! The front cracked again as Beowulf finished “I do not know what this means for the Grail… but I do know that the rules have changed.”

Her mind scrambled for what he had said. Other Berserkers? There were only seven servants, one of each class, yet he said there were more Berserkers? He had finally said something of value, and she had been fretting over slacks.

Great. She was probably just proving his opinion of her as a clueless Master. She took another sip of her tea.

“More than just seven classes... Perhaps, perhaps we should ask the church, at least to report ourselves.” She paused. At least that would give her an excuse to put something on. “I will be wearing something to hide my identity the best I can, without appearing as if I am hiding it. You, don’t go shouting out that you are Beowulf, and want to slay dragons and lay waste to cities. I am sure you know the danger of revealing yourself but…” She was actually sure he would shout it out every five minutes if she had not warned him.

“However, I would not go without consulting you. What do you think?” Yes she wouldn’t go without consulting him, it did not mean she had to listen to him, anyways.

[BEOWULF]

“More than just seven classes... Perhaps, perhaps we should ask the church, at least to report ourselves.” His Master tried to say this with some semblance of professionalism and calm, and, in BEOWULF'S opinion, failing. He had often seen this reaction from many, many flustered women. It often fell between that, or outright slavish admiration.

That, and she apparently just realized how far her state of undress actually extended.

However, these similarities ended there. At least she was trying to regain the advantage in their working relationship. His Master continued, with a clipped tone, “I will be wearing something to hide my identity the best I can, without appearing as if I am hiding it. You, don’t go shouting out that you are Beowulf, and want to slay dragons and lay waste to cities. I am sure you know the danger of revealing yourself but…”

Of course! BEOWULF did see the logic in the suggestion. At the same time, however, he was almost tempted to dismiss it. To wage a war while hiding your own identity? What nonsense was that? The GLORY of battle was just that. Why bother plunging feet first into into that savage dance, ripping and tearing, if you would not howl your names to the winds? What was the point, if your enemies could not whisper your name only in the blackest of nights with utter dread?

He was BEOWULF, damn it.

Yet, at the same time, the Grail agreed with the Master. Those whisperings spoke of statistics, weaknesses, Phantasms... in the end, BEOWULF saw little alternative but to agree with her. He nodded in grudging assent.

“However, I would not go without consulting you. What do you think?”

"Hrrm. Why not. That is the normal path, correct? We go to the Church, who apparently took my tale and turned it into a soapbox for their virtues, and lay down the challenge. Then, now that everyone knows that I exist, and of your participation in this war... They can come after us, all of them. At least thirteen other Servants. And we will crush them."

Coming from any other man, this would have immediately registered as sarcasm. But from BEOWULF? It was a little harder to tell. He was either being ironic... or he genuinely fancied the prospect of battling multiple Servants at once.

The Geatish warrior sat back a bit, smiling. Yet, something still bothered him... ah, yes. "Hold on..." BEOWULF muttered. "You haven't introduced yourself yet. What am I to call you?"

[Aela Atheling]

“You haven’t introduced yourself yet. What am I to call you?”

She could manage this, make herself seem in command. Rising to her full height, despite still being pantless, she replied “I am Aela Atheling, scion to Normandy’s Atheling family. I suppose you can call me Aela, since Master might attract a bit of attention that I do not need.”

She could ignore herself as long as he said nothing. That might be the final crack in her calm front. It was being pushed to its limit as it was.

What should I call him? Berserker might attract a bit of attention. She paused. Why not have him go into spirit form? Probably because he would say no, and take it poorly, to say the least. Putting herself in his shoes, if someone told her to go into spirit form, she would say no just to spite them. She hated being told what to do.

“What would you like to be called in public, Beowulf.” She forced herself to ask. When she went into public he would attract attention anyways. Especially wearing armour. “And do you have anything else to wear? That kind of… garb might attract a bit of attention, even if it is still pre-dawn.” Like she had any right saying that at this moment. Walking around like she was would get her arrested.

A cold breeze swept through the house from the broken window, making her shiver. Twice today now? Goosebumps ran up her bare legs. That was it. Her face felt like it was on fire. She broke, and ran straight to her room in the middle of the giant’s reply. Her self-esteem had dropped below zero. This topped it all, finished her off.

“Don’t follow!” She yelled behind her almost as an afterthought. She hoped he heard

She changed, ripping off all her wet clothes and hurling them across the room, hard. The door didn’t lock Who doesn’t put a lock on their bedroom door?, so she occasionally looked at it as if it was about to burst open at any time. That seemed likely, at least to her.

She managed to get dressed in record time, not even bothering to dry herself off. She would not, could not look at the door. A men’s collared shirt went on, and on top of it a vest and a thin light blue jacket. She pulled on light leggings and jammed a pair of black slacks over them. Suddenly she felt much better.

The mirror in her room reflected a slightly androgynous appearance; it would serve to hide herself to the casual observer as male, but as soon as they heard her voice…

Her calm self was back. And completely ready to head to the church.

[BEOWULF]

“I am Aela Atheling, scion to Normandy’s Atheling family. I suppose you can call me Aela, since Master might attract a bit of attention that I do not need.”

Finally. Freaking fucking finally. A name. Did it take people from... the twenty-first century this long just to introduce themselves? Or was it just this person? At least she remembered her lineage. BEOWULF could respect that.

He nodded respectfully. "As you wish, Aela."

Aela nodded absentmindedly, apparently deep in thought. Finally, she spoke again. “What would you like to be called in public, Beowulf. And do you have anything else to wear? That kind of… garb might attract a bit of attention, even if it is still pre-dawn.”

BEOWULF made to stand up as well, about to speak when, inexplicably, for no reason, his Master quickly turned tail, dashing down the hallway.

The Servant instinctively looked over his shoulder, expecting some manner of demon or snarling hellhound to burst in through the shattered window.

Except nothing. Obviously, something else. After a lifetime of fighting men and monsters, his first instinct when someone else inexplicably split from the group was to let the idiot die somewhere. Except he couldn't with his Master! Without a second thought, the Berserker dashed after the woman.

“Don’t follow!” He heard his master shout. What... the... shit? Too little, too slow. The Berserker nearly tripped over his feet as he forced himself to slow, to stop. He did, however, trip on one of those little decorative table things, causing some sort of porcelain sphere to wobble precariously. Before he could devastate Atheling's hallway, he swiftly closed his eyes, willing his form to shift ever so slightly.

BEOWULF popped out of existence, having dematerialized. It was... an odd sensation. The feeling of being there... and not, you know? The warrior was able to right himself. Again, hardly impressed with Aela. If she needed to do something privately... at the very least, she could have comported herself with some semblance of dignity. That was how things were run back in his time. If someone needed to take a leak, he pointed that out, and went off to take a leak. If he wanted to stop for mead, then he treated everybody to mead. He certainly did not jump like he saw some unholy mother of beasts and run like a scared jackrabbit.

He would have sex with that unholy mother of beasts.

Still fuming, BEOWULF simply waited for Aela to finish her business outside her room. "I could have simply dematerialized," BEOWULF snorted, speaking through the door.

[Aela Atheling]

"I could have simply dematerialized,"

Dematerialized? Could he have been-? No, her mind could recognize his presence and it was still outside her door. She sighed in relief.

He willingly dematerialized? That was a great thing to know, she would ask it of him as they travelled. Wait, it would be a bad idea to take any vehicles I own, too easy to find me that way. And it is far too long a distance away to walk. She could park a distance away, but a potential spy could easily follow her. She wasn’t disguising her gender for nothing. If she had to report to the church she would do it without leaving any trail.

She could have her Servant carry her across the tops of the buildings in Lucca to get there, until they got a decent distance, in which he would dematerialize and she would walk. It was before sunrise, after all, and if Beowulf covered himself in dark clothing. Her own would not stick out either, in fact she would probably be a traffic hazard walking around at night in her current clothes.

Even if someone did see her, they could not follow or place her, either to the church or back home, without using their own servant, and that would put the fight in her own house, giving her a decent advantage. There were no real drawbacks she could see, but there were always drawbacks.

Walking throughout her room she gathered a few necessary supplies, just in case of a battle. Three tiny vials of Copper Chlorate salts, with which her shield was easily produced, and a small flask of water that would allow her to produce her shield without having to waste prana pulling the water from the air. And she, hopefully, barely had enough prana to make her D rank shield as it was, so that was necessary.

She left her mystic code behind, the thing weighed way too much to take it on a journey that there likely was not going to be any fights in. If pressed she would retreat, even if she hated doing that.

Weariness passed through her mind and she shoved it away. She would rest later, now was the best time to report herself to the church.

She whipped open the door of her bedroom with a hint of a smile on her face. This was going to work!

“Beowulf, I’m going to need you to materialize. I have an idea!”

The man appeared in front of her face, which startled her slightly, but she got over it quickly.

“You are going to carry me to the church, across the rooftops!” She couldn’t wait to see his expression. Hopefully it would be worth it.

[BEOWULF]

BEOWULF blinked. Did his Master... yes, she did. There was no point in questioning this. Certainly feasible, though why she'd need to ride on him was a different question. Certainly undignified... but still... she was his Master. Aela should have had a good reason for this. At least, he hoped that she did. He shrugged. "Fine. Out the front." In order to not demolish more of Aela's house, the giant dematerialized once more, following Aela to the threshold.

As they exited the house, BEOWULF rematerialized, quickly studying the neighborhood. Perhaps, if he climbed this house's roof, then he he could leap to the next... at the same time, he was exposed to Italian architecture. He had to admit, it was certainly a mixed bag. It was certainly... unique. The massive buildings, with their sloping roofs, were grander than any that he had seen. All designed to impress.

He wouldn't mind transforming one of these places into a Meadhall some day.

He shook his head, and turned back to scouting, quickly tracing routes. "Get on," BEOWULF growled as he leaned down, allowing his Master to ride him on his shoulder. Aela obliged, scurrying up the Berserker's arm, securely planting herself on his shoulder. She scarcely had time before BEOWULF bounded into action. He jumped into the air, quickly climbing his Master's house. As he clambered onto the roof, he kept moving, preserving momentum. As the Berserker reached the edge of the roof, he leaped again, hurling himself across a gap to reach the next building. As Aela drew her next, gasping breath, BEOWULF was already half-climbing, half-running up a wall, grace be damned!

As BEOWULF reached the roof, he broke into a shambling lope, focusing only on the narrow space before him, nothing else. Certainly not on the dim vestiges of day breaking over the horizon, banishing the black night, certainly not on the cracks left by his thunderous footfalls, not on the early-early risers... Parkour was a tricky and dangerous business.

The edge of the roof approached... and he leaped, landing on the next building, leaving two feet-sized indentations...

And so it went. And so it went. And so it went, with his Master occasionally pointing to the right direction.

And so it went.