Questions

[Aela Atheling]

~05:45

The ride had been somewhat uneventful, although from her occasionally opened eyes the view had been quite stunning. Otherwise the motion and the constant swaying... she felt like she could have lost the little tea she had to drink just thinking about it. Her mind was constantly trying to block the fact that she would have to return in the same way.

They had stopped about a three minute walk from the church, its large towers visible from the street she stood now. Cathedrals seemed to be constructed like castles to her, a bastion of defense that darkness would spill against and never breach. She had always been amazed at the castles in Normandy, and especially the tales about them, and their place in history. Her parents had humoured her many a time, taking her to Avranches, and its majestic towers, as well as many others.

Although she had not had much experience with the church, other than what was traditional for a magus in the Clock Tower. So she really did not know if they were a guard against the darkness, or the darkness itself. She had heard many stories, but often stories were just stories, no matter how enjoyable.

One thing the institution of the church did bring to the front of her mind was her reason, her goal in this war. They claimed that they could forgive, but she knew what she had done could not be forgiven, should not be forgiven. Something like that had to be fixed, or paid for, and that is what she would do. Forgiveness was not something one could attain easily, and the fact that they said such a thing often made her anger rise.

That was not important at this point, however. She needed information, and would accept it from whoever would give it, whoever actually had it. More than seven servants, either that or more than one Berserker class Servant. Both of them violated what she had read, what she had researched. Then again, what she had managed to get her hands on was rather thin and had not been hugely helpful.

Beowulf let her down off his shoulder. Once again she was surprised at the massive strength of a Servant. Leaping between buildings, climbing them and jumping huge distances. It was far beyond that of a normal human… far beyond. While amazing, she really wanted to stop thinking about it.

She carefully adjusted her clothes, checking once again her somewhat androgynous clothing carefully, and making sure none of her vials, or the flask had cracked. That would be a sore surprise if she had to fight. Thankfully all of them were still intact.

Her disguise had to be slightly shifted, padding out her waist with the vials on one side and flask on the other under her three layers to make her hips less obvious. The layers also served to cover her chest well enough, and she left her hair still a mess from the rooftop antics. If it looked less cared for it would lend itself less easily to a woman's hairstyle, or so she thought.

At least she was tall enough to pass off as slightly below average height for a man, if she was lucky not a single person would second guess her identity. Luck was not one of her strong points, however.

Then again this was supposed to be neutral ground. However there was only supposed to be one Berserker, she really wasn’t sure anymore, so it never hurt to be prepared. She carried no weapons herself, anyways, so at least she would not be the one to visibly break the peace.

She drew in a deep breath “Berserker,” She still had not found out what to call him in public, “I don’t think brining you inside the church will be a good idea, and even you staying in an actual, corporal form seems like a bad idea. So please take spirit form, Servant.” She held the chains, but would not jerk on them; she could afford to ask nicely.

His presence would still be near, she would feel him still even after his form dissipated, and her temperature would go down slightly as he sapped less prana from her. At least he could still communicate in spirit form, still hear her, but none other could hear him. It was useful, but even if she felt his presence he seemed further, and that could be dangerous. One strike from anywhere could kill her now.

That thought accompanied her all the way to the church and her breath was coming in ragged gasps as she constantly fought an urge to randomly look over her shoulder every couple seconds. She did not want to look suspicious, and yet she had to fight urges that would make her incredibly apparent.

One more breath she thought as she stepped before the large oak doors of the cathedral. Why was she so nervous? Maybe this was a stupid idea. She should have never come here. The church probably wouldn’t even tell her what was happening with their strict neutrality policy.

Yet she had come all this way. She had even taken small pains to disguise herself, and that would not fail unless someone looked at her closely, or she spoke louder than a whisper. And her servant would probably laugh at her. Even the thought of that made her grit her teeth.

Still she stalled though, asking her invisible servant, to calm herself as much as learn more about the church, "Berserker, what do you think of the church? What do you know of it. I am afraid I am somewhat ignorant regarding its policies, so perhaps if I knew more of its history..."

She would open the door after his response. That she promised herself. Fear of such a small thing as this was not an option.

[BEOWULF]

BEOWULF snorted. "Honestly? You... really want to hear this? I'm not guaranteeing that you won't have your head cleaved off by some zealous crusader." Aela nodded, standing her ground. BEOWULF sighed. "Very well then. Truth be told, I'm not a big fan of them."

Ignoring Aela's startled look, he continued. "Well, fine, I guess they could have changed... but I doubt it. When I was still alive, they were not as large as they are now. They certainly did not run around slaying demons or monsters or dragons in the name of the Lord. Rather, they cowered in the cities, villages, and fortresses, all within these safe walls, of course. They left those demon-slaying aspects to actual men - like me. We fought the monsters. We held off the black skies. It was us who raged, raged against that midnight, and, by the graces of Odin, won.

The Church? They did nothing except to buy off a bunch of artifacts looted from dead heroes and transcribe a bunch of damn stories." The Berserker's tone grew increasingly agitated as he continued with his recollection. "I had no idea why they did that. Until now. It was all just to increase their power and influence by pawning off and bastardizing our tales. I never attributed my strength to the good graces of God. Everything I did, I did because it was the only thing to do, not for the grace of God."

BEOWULF exhaled explosively, frustration still apparent in his tone. "That answer your question?"

Aela nodded grimly. "Thank you Berserker." With that, she turned back to the door, trepidation etched in her face. She pulled it open, and entered, alone.

[Amadeo Giudotti]

The Cathedral of St. Helena, as it would translate to in English, was a splendid display of architecture dating back to less forgiving times, predating the Renaissance period by a century or so, its visage was not so much majestic as it was imposing. One would have to call into question the reason why a sanctuary of THE LORD had so many callbacks to pagan times, with such heretical and disgraceful imagery as fertility idols carved into the stone work.

In the eyes of THE LORD, such affronts could not be forgiven, but only by HIS grace did such mistakes get overlooked, much as the horrid sins of HIS children during the feast of the Passover. But the Fourth Burial Agent was not here to criticise architects who had been dead for much longer than he had been alive - and he had been alive for a few centuries himself. The Fourth Agent was nowhere near the Fifth in terms of years, but he had been around long enough to know that at this rate, no one who followed the tenets of the Church would be saved.

The only Salvation is in death. And thus in this way did the Fourth Agent deliver THE LORD'S ministry, by bringing the damned to death, and thus saving their souls in the sanctification, the purging of the corrupt and sinful body. Thus would he grant these fallen a second chance to redeem themselves in Purgatory, AHMEN. A twisted outlook on an already twisted ideology, but it was much like the Spanish Inquisition itself, who became demons for the sake of saving the souls of man.

Or so these records had read. But that was another matter entirely.

The small door attached to the main entrance opened, and in stepped what at first glance, appeared to be a young man, slightly beneath the typical height that you would find here, but nevertheless respectable. His hair was ruffled as if the wind had played with it for the length of a sermon, and his clothes were simple but by no means drab.

As the young man paced slowly down the aisle up to the altar, traversing the red carpet and mahogany benches, the Fourth Agent began to consider the possibilities of his purpose here. He was clearly not here for mass, as that was still a few hours away. A confession? Ah, how the Fourth Agent loved extracting confessions. Especially when they came out of a person screaming. Those were truly enjoyable.

The "Priest", one could only sarcastically quote his occupational title, as he most heretically continued to practice the unholy and blasphemous dark arts known as thaumaturgy, stood from the small room behind the confession booth and stepped up out to the altar. "It is rather early to be coming here to attend Mass, my son. But, if it is a dreadful sin that torments your conscience and drives you to arrive at this hour of rest for a confession, then you are more than welcome to do so."

There was an appointed time for everything beneath heaven. And for confession, that appointed time was any hour of the day. The Fourth Agent smiled, as the ancient lights of the cathedral reflected off his glasses, obscuring his eyes with little white circles of THE LORD'S fury. Combined with the wide grin, this same fury might as well have been showing in his teeth.

Many pieces of literature attempt to portray priests as kind, gently souls in the service of the almighty. But this frightening visage that belonged to one Amadeo Giudotti was something that would make the authors of those works second guess their writings.

[Aela Atheling]

Well this certainly did not help her heart at all. She had expected some … reserved looking priest, to be the head of this church, and inviting her in from the gilded altar. Instead, at the beginning of her walk into the church, it was completely empty, even her soft footsteps on the carpet echoed, probably all the way to the basilica.

And then, from some small room, a large man, with glasses that caught the light of the sanctuary and sent it burning back at her, stepped out to the altar with a grin. That one could have chilled stones. Could he really be a priest? From what she had heard, seen, and Beowulf had described, she expected someone who at least looked a little more scholarly.

But scholarly would be one of the last words she used to describe him. She fought the urge to shrink back, to stumble, to stop. And she won, albeit barely.

"It is rather early to be coming here to attend Mass, my son. But, if it is a dreadful sin that torments your conscience and drives you to arrive at this hour of rest for a confession, then you are more than welcome to do so."

She could have laughed. A dreadful sin, she had committed, but what good was confession? She already knew what she had done, knew how to fix what she had done. What could he do other than reprimand her when he heard, anyways? And this would have been the last man she told. At least her disguise appeared to work.

Continuing to approach in silence, he had apparently fallen for her slight disguise and she did not want to ruin that with her voice. But each step closer to the man grabbed at her core, threatening to break the wall she had put up in front of her. She had questions, and he would answer. He would confess what he knew, not her.

She had no idea what kind of procedure she was supposed to announce herself with to the member of the church. She would probably need proof, and some confidence in her voice. Her burnt hand tingled as she thought of what she could show him as proof of her summoning. Of course, how could I be so stupid?

Stopping a few paces from the priest, who if annoyed by the lack of response, seemed to show no readable emotion other than the smile that had bothered her before. Of course, she was in no real condition to tell the emotions from a face she barely glanced at every so often.

Pulling up her sleeve slightly to show her full command seals, and clenching her hand into a fist to hide cared for nails, Aela whispered to avoid breaking her disguise “I-I am a Master, in the sixth Heaven’s Feel.” She could have cursed, on the first word her voice had almost cracked with fear. That was inexcusable, and may have broken her disguise. “I am from the Atheling family” That was probably safe, she had to introduce herself, and after all what attention would a priest in Italy pay to a dying line of Clock Tower excavators? “And I have some questions about things happening out of the ordinary.” Aela took a quick glance around, both because she wanted to check around her for others, and because she wanted the priest to see her looking around for others.

A deep breath of the cold morning air invaded her lungs, and filled her soul with the urge to continue. The cold always seemed to spur her forward, help her make up her mind. “My… Servant… tells me that there are more than just… it, of its class” Avoiding the gender pronoun just seemed like common sense, she would tell this priest no more than she needed to, and receive all the information he had, in exchange. With the disaster at the previous Heaven's Feel, he must have been briefed on at least the basics of the war. He would know what that meant, and hopefully why.

It had finally come out of her mouth. And now, hopefully, this “Priest” would have answers. But the bright reflection in his glasses only seemed to contain unforgiving fury.

[Amadeo Giudotti]

The Fourth Agent watched behind reflective frames as the young man approached. There was uncertainty in his movements, some sort of hesitation, in short, weakness. This seemed to be somewhat of a lost sheep, unsure if the path he had taken was the right one. Well, the "Priest" would make sure that this boy had no regrets with taking this path. He would extract every last drop of sinful confession from his lips, and purify it with the holiest of holies. Except that the young man made no response to the suggested, educated guess.

This meant, of course, that he was not here for confession. Unfortunate. Well, there were other delightful reasons for a person to enter the Cathedral at such an early hour, before the birds would start to rouse from their sleep, in this cold winter, where the days were short and the sun had yet to rise. The man stopped not far from the Fourth Agent, carefully pulling back his sleeve to reveal the holy markings, a miracle that was presently under study. “I-I am a Master, in the sixth Heaven’s Feel.”

Despite it being apparently impossible, the Fourth Agent's grin widened even more. Oh, such a fascinating turn of events. First Watch for the day, and here he was, addressing the first Master to show himself. The other two were out in the darkness, keeping an eye on the proceedings of the War in the field, the first blows and starting shots. Whereas the Burial Agents were only three in number, they were supplemented by Knights from the Holy Order, and Executors from the Assembly of the Eighth Sacrament.

Majority of said Knights were posted at ready stations in the back rooms, on guard to deploy as soon as the order was given. Executors patrolled the streets in plain-clothes, while some remained to keep watch over the bastions of the Church. It was only natural to keep the churches secure as the ancient fortresses of the Knights Templar, especially since this was a War in every sense of the term. In the meantime, the Fourth Agent kept watch for one eight hour shift, and spent another eight on patrol.

Nevertheless, the Master's first words were broken, as though he had no will to participate in this war. “I am from the Atheling family, and I have some questions about things happening out of the ordinary.” The "Priest" looked on in amusement as the boy looked around in a fairly blatant fashion. The stained glass images of saints and apostles quietly returned these inquiries of the eye. In a corner, a young nun took down minutes. She would be about as helpful as any other Executor, and for a reason. She was. But at the moment, her role was to take down minutes.

The young Master took a deep breath before continuing. “My… Servant… tells me that there are more than just… it, of its class” And now, things became crystal clear. Yes, there was no doubt that he was now referring to the... discrepancy that has happened since that day. The Einzberns themselves had no idea, no understanding, of what was happening to their precious Holy Grail. Indeed, this mess was merely the latest stage of a snowball that had begun nearly a century ago, in the Third War.

The Fourth Agent stepped down onto the aisle and opened his arms. "I see that you know the rules of engagement quite well, heir of Atheling." He sidestepped and sat down on a front row bench to the left, crossing his legs as he beckoned the Master to follow suit. Surely, it was little irreverent actions like this that painted the Burial Agency as the most heretical branch of the Church. But he figured that THE LORD was merciful, and would forgive such little acts which were surely nothing compared to his heretical practice of the forbidden arts.

"The Spirit Board, which we use to track summons, has indeed informed us of multiple servants from a single class. In fact, it can be applied to all the classes, and those that have no duplicates yet... are more likely than not, going to have them eventually." He moved to a side, allowing more personal space. "Are you familiar with the history of the Grail War, heir of Atheling? The founding Family Einzbern decided to bend the rules of their own game, and summoned an eighth class, Avenger. But, as he represented all the evils of the world, upon his assimilation into the Grail, he corrupted it, destroyed its purity. Since that time, the Grail War has gone down a steady decline of predictability.

First, in the War immediately after that, it became possible to summon anti-heroes, or beings who could not be considered 'true' heroes. In the Fifth War, the Grail became highly unstable, and we all know what happened. It has apparently become very hungry since then, and by that point, anything could happen. That this same hunger has led it to foregoing its own rules in favour of satiating this hunger by summoning as many Servants as it can stuff into its gluttonous mouth... is no longer surprising to us. the Einzberns themselves had only predicted two of each class... However, the Spirit Board tells us that there are more."

The "Priest" chuckled at the only logical conclusion that could be had. "The amount of resources that the Church had dedicated to maintaining peace, was meant for fourteen. But it seems, that the Holy Grail War, is on the way to becoming a truly all-out war. We might have to call in additional forces from Rome, at this rate. Yes, a truly magnificent time is ahead of us, heir of Atheling. I am almost envious of you, that I have to watch from the sidelines, instead of being in the thick of it. Ahh, but I'm sure, with this chaos that thrives in the city, I eventually will have to plunge into its darkness. And that, is what I wait eagerly for."

He turned to face the young man, leaning in close enough that the light off his glasses could blind, much like how Saint Paul was struck by THE LORD on the road to Damascus. This despite managing to keep out of the reasonable personal space. "What about you, heir of Atheling? What is it that YOU want so eagerly that you risk your life fighting in this War?"

[Alan Girm Moria]

While climbing the hill to the church Alan was trying to look at the positive things to improve his mood. The surveying had gone extremely well on the way so far. Alan even set up a small earth flow minefield in Gruppo Palmata a ways off from his home. The sun was about to break soon on what looked to be nice weather. Oh yeah and only twelve joggers dropped into panic attacks during the trip. Now the only things left to do in the area was to meet the church and association supervisors...what fun.

"It would seem that we're the only early birds in this war." Alan said to no one while watching his breath appear. There had been no signs of other masters or magecraft in the piazza so far at least. A small comfort not having an enemy in his own backyard. Well at least not this early in the war. Hopefully they wouldn't have to fight the first master they met. He was down to half capacity from the earlier summoning and rune minefield. Maybe he could try diplomacy then? Heck it worked on Benkei and that seemed just as unlikely then.

Finally clearing the hill Alan glanced at his servant. Benkei didn't seem to be the diplomatic type and had looked bored in the library. It would probably be best to have him on standby outside then. The church was supposedly neutral ground so it couldn't hur...! Alan's train of thought ended there as he felt the heavy presence similar to his own servant coming from the church.

[Saito Musashibo Benkei]

Going to the church. Going to the church. Why the hell does that same sentence repeats itself on a broken disk in his head? Go-ing to the chur-ch. Yes. It was getting annoying now. Benkei was bored. He was actually waiting for a fight, some small fries that called themselves servants to beat up to death. But no. His lord actually wanted to go to the morning mass. Not really the morning mass, but the information given to him by the Grail pointed out that going to the church, a neutral ground for the war, was a very good place to gain information. Would be good for planning, his lord said. Here he thought that wars were actually about battles, stratagems and a little part of diplomacy to gain allies. To kick some more ass and have fun.

Diplomacy was not Benkei's forte. Sure, he could scare people into agreeing with him. But most of the job, most was a huge word since it was 90% of it, was entitled to Yoshitsune. The other 10% were actually about being cunning enough to pass a border like the time he had to dress as a... What was it already? A merchant? That's not it. Anyway. He had to dress up as someone, actually manage to have a decent conversation with the guards along with being suspected of some crime, then proceed to kick his lord's ass and haul him to the other side of the border to save him and get away. That was shameful of him. Some of the worst memories ever. The giant only hoped that his new lord was able of using diplomacy.

As Benkei unleashed his furtive monologue in his mind, the duo was now climbing up the hill to go to the church. Going to the church~ Going to the church~ Enough! He almost said that out loud. And this mafi- ...mafa- ...Whatever that word is... Gangsterish Yakuzish something suit was getting on his nerves. He just wanted to rip it off his body, but his lord actually paid for the suit, so he would be a little more careful with it. But it was still annoying.

Benkei was shaken out of his train of thought as he sensed something. Better. Someone, coming from the church grounds. Could it be a servant? The Lancer got closer to his lord, as if to protect him. It seems like whoever had this presence was strong. Benkei couldn't help but grin one of his best grins.

[BEOWULF]

BEOWULF stiffened. Or, he would have, if he were corporeal at the moment. Regardless, he still felt the approaching presence of another Servant. And so close to neutral ground, too. Holy too, but who gave a flying fuck? Bunch of g - sorry, damn assholes.

Any other moment, any other time, he would have simply thrown down with them. Unfortunately, as stated before, this was a Church. They might not have been much when he was still alive, but they certainly unnerved his Master, who, while not impressive, was more knowledgeable about them. Didn't seem like a smart idea, wrecking their shit. Who knew? Maybe they actually started fitting the retribution aspect of their dossier.

There was also a diplomatic aspect to it - this was now a War, not a Hunt. Not for nothing was BEOWULF King of the Geats - he knew how to play and sway allies - to an extent. That said, he still wouldn't let them simply lie in ambush for his Master. He'd have to lay down a challenge, plain and simple.

As Benkei and Moria moved into sight, the Berserker rematerialized, arms resolutely folded. One was an utter brute of a man, easily breaking seven feet, yet wearing simple clothes. He was obviously the Servant. But his face... BEOWULF's smirk faltered slightly, but regained its momentum. The man's face was... unnerving. Let us just leave it at that. Certainly not kitten-munchingly horrifying, but still very messed up.

The other man was decidedly less impressive. He was... well, short. And blonde. Did I mention short? BEOWULF stopped paying him any attention.

It was still early morning - dawn had barely broken. As far as he could see, there was nobody else, save for them - no early bird jogger, no industrious worker... just the three of them. Here. Alone.

"Servant! What is your purpose? Have you already come for the glory of combat?" BEOWULF roared as he strode forward resolutely.

[Aela Atheling]

She had never heard of this ‘Avenger’ the priest mentioned. He had corrupted the Grail? Making the servants summoned from it able to be ‘anti-heroes’. Why did this even matter to her, and what did it have to do with her question?

Of course its connection became apparent almost immediately after she thought that. The corruption had apparently made the thing get out of hand, and had caused the Grail to… hunger. And servants were its food, apparently. Their prana, their very souls fuelled it.
And there were far more than the war before that had destroyed a city, wiping its very existence from the world.

More than fourteen.

She had thought there would be an even chance for her, well a great chance for her as one in seven. Even as one in fourteen she could still have a decent chance. But now? Would anyone even win?

How many? And the destruction even her own servant could cause was insane. With more than fourteen, even when taking pains to hide, the city would shudder, perhaps even to its bedrock. No matter what, she would win. She would win if she had to dismantle the city itself

“I am almost envious of you, that I have to watch from the sidelines, instead of being in the thick of it. Ahh, but I'm sure, with this chaos that thrives in the city, I eventually will have to plunge into its darkness. And that, is what I wait eagerly for." The priest continued as his answers echoed in Aela’s mind, pushing all other thoughts out.

He wanted war? He wanted chaos? It was only a means to an end for her, and the sooner it was over the better. But it was what this man sought. Beowulf would enjoy his company, and would probably change his opinion on the church if he met this man. Is this priest the exception, or the norm?

The priest pressed on through her thinking. "What about you, heir of Atheling? What is it that YOU want so eagerly that you risk your life fighting in this War?" His shade seemed to burn with a brighter light as the full force of what she had learned two years ago pressed into her mind.

She had killed. At the age of six, she had cut a gash along her brother’s throat with a knife, leaving him to drown in blood. Why she had done that, she would probably never know, but there was nothing that could justify such a thing.

Her knees bent and her body shook as it all came back to her, made worse by her own hatred of herself for doing such a thing. She had to stay standing, she could not fall to a memory! Her nails cut into her palm from clenching her hand so hard, but she didn’t feel it, only saw the blood drip onto the red carpet. She fought back useless tears, but did not win this time, one managed to drip down her face. She would show no weakness, especially to a man who lived to fight, who believed in easy forgiveness.

It was his fault! The memories were brought back by the man’s pushing. Her mind was consumed with hatred and anger for a brief second, and she lost conscious control of her body.

What am I doing? Her body seemed to be on the verge of attacking the priest. Some of her magic circuits were even on the verge of flaring open, to draw from a near empty pool of prana. Fighting would only get her killed, only satisfy this… thing’s dark lusts.

She did not know how she would respond to the priest, how to explain away the things she had been about to do, and struggled for an idea until suddenly her link to Beowulf burned. The sudden shock of more prana being passed through the connection to her Servant made her gasp in pain as her circuits flared. Beowulf took form!

That at least solved her problem. She could not stay with the priest now; she had to prevent Beowulf from fighting the new presence that her angered mind had seemingly ignored. If he fought on church grounds…

She scrambled for some dignity in front of the hated priest as she made her hasty exit “Thank you for your help, man of the church.” She said coldly, her voice taking its normal pitch but filled with anger, surely destroying her disguise. But right now she had far more serious matters to attend to than fooling some crazy priest. She ran as fast as she could for the door.

[Amadeo Giudotti]

The Fourth Agent could feel the boy's fury. It leaked out of him like an overflowing spring of hellish magma, oozing with killing intent that was held back ever so slightly. It felt good. He stared right back into those eyes, taking in every last drop of hatred and savouring it. Yes, this was a lost soul, who would find solace in Purgatory, when enough time had passed.

Just as quickly, all this evaporated as he stood up and scrambled for the exit. Of course, he was at least decent enough to give a farewell greeting. And just for that brief slip, everything became even clearer than before. He was... a she. Well, that wasn't bad. Nothing wrong with that, either. The Fourth Agent watched the young woman race to the exit. Something was up.

The "Priest" answered the beeping of his comm by reaching up to his ear. "This is Spear. Report."

[blue]"Hightower here. We've got two Phalanxes right outside the main gate. One of them just materialised. Rifles Two through Nine have good shots of the Citizens. Orders?"[/blue] Up in the spires of the Cathedral were nested multiple sniper teams, ready to shoot down any threat at a moment's notice. Granted, when your threat was a heroic spirit and not a vampire, the only option would be to take out the Master just in case. But what were the chances of that happening?

"Remain on standby." The Fourth Agent stood up to his full height. "And don't be so edgy. They can't be that stupid and violate the neutral ground pact." He opened another channel. "Notify the other two just in case, though. And get the Cardinal down to the bunker. Things might just get messy if we're not careful." And so, early on the first day, already, some things were bound to happen.

[blue]"Understood."[/blue]

The "Priest" began a leisurely stroll towards the door. He would be waiting just inside, and step out to quell any conflicts that might arise from this encounter. "And thus the LORD said, let there be lights, camera, action..."

[Alan Girm Moria]

During a travel to a dig site, Alan had heard of a theory about the height of the people of the past. According to it the average humans today were taller than their ancestors. At the moment he felt that was pure bull crap. Upon materializing there was yet another giant servant before them. No really what kind of mutated genes did you have to inherit to get that tall? Were all servants like this or was he just on a roll meeting the tallest of them all? Alan was half-seriously considering just using the grail to make a basketball team if it happened to be the former.

The new servant had his arms folded, with a leer on his mug and clothes that fully looked to be from a simpler time. Upon seeing Benkei's face even this new giant's smirk faltered. This made even Alan grin in delight. So other servants had trouble with the mystic face of fear. That was something good to know for future reference. Although for some reason Alan felt a nagging thought at the back of his mind about this servant's appearance. It was as if he was forgetting something but what?

Almost as if sensing his thoughts the unknown servant turned to Alan and...what!? Did that muscle head just completely dismiss his existence? 'There's more to someone's worth than just their height! You should kneel down to our height level and apologize for something that rude!' Alan shouted mentally at him before even knowing if he could read minds or not. As he was about to continue his slightly hypocritical, mostly hysterical ranting the servant finally spoke, "Servant! What is your purpose? Have you already come for the glory of combat?" Completely ignoring him again that tunic wearing bastard. He had to ignore the urge to hamstring this giant so he could glare at him eye to eye. I mean what kind of...hang on.

Oh so that was what that thought from earlier was. Although it was true that no master would want to fight during the day and much less on neutral ground the same did not apply to servants. They were from different times and so was their morals, ideals, and more importantly right now good sense. The previously mentioned master was nowhere to be seen and not even guaranteed to be near the premises. Once again, he had managed to overlook an important detail in his plans. If he didn't handle this well it might become the last thing he ever overlooked.

During Alan's mental reflections the sun began to rise sending rays of light into the courtyard. For a moment there was a glare near the top of one of the church spires bringing Alan back down to earth. Were there snipers on the roof or was that just some sheet of metal? The church was bound to be well guarded and in case of a fight they would without fail go for the easiest target. Namely himself being the only human nearby.

Since the giant hadn't attacked them already it meant he had a chance to get this undesirable situation under control. If not they could easily become the main targets of the war. He also wanted to get back at the giant for dismissing him out of hand although Alan would never admit it.

"Don't be foolish. We're on neutral territory right now. If we fought here we would have targets made out of all of us. Or is it that you want your master to be placed on the chopping block?" Alan said trying to conjure up the same false courage he had used when he summoned his own servant.

.....Damn no luck. Wherever it had gone that ounce of courage was happier there and was not coming back anytime soon.

He wasn't used to dealing with the headstrong type but now would be a good time to start. "Try keeping it down while you're at it. We can hear you just fine and most of the suburb was still asleep until just now. If you aren't completely blood thirsty would you step aside? I have business in the church."

Wait why did that come out like a challenge!? I was trying to get the situation under control not escalate it!

[Saito Musashibo Benkei]

He materialized. The being he sensed just materialized in front of the duo, standing to his full height. That man was probably, no, he was a servant. Though what class the two meters tall man was is unfortunately unknown. For now at least. Benkei watched as the servant looked at him first, internally chuckling as he saw the man's smirk falter just a little, only to regain it. He watched as his eyes flew to his lord, only to- He ignored his lord.

Burn, my lord. Burn.

"Servant! What is your purpose? Have you already come for the glory of combat?" Boisterous words bellowed from the servant's mouth. That man could yell, that's for sure. Hearing these words made Benkei grin the grin he was so famous for. The grin that made the nickname Oniwaka. Carved upon an endless sea of teeth able to rip out flesh from a single bite, one deformed, insane crescent moon that stretched from one ear to the other as if someone used a scalpel to open up the giant's cheeks to put a smile on this monstruous scarred face, the grin was fueled by his pleasure of future combat.

A laugh emmerged from Benkei's throat. "Servant! I like those words. This one came for the glory of combat, here and now!" Benkei slowly manifested his naginata as his battle lust grew.

He wanted to fight that servant in a glorious battle. He. Wanted. To. Fight. Now. Now or never! As if this battle would only be available once. The war has begun! There is no-

"Don't be foolish. We're on neutral territory right now. If we fought here we would have targets made out of all of us. Or is it that you want your master to be placed on the chopping block?"

...My lord.

Wait, no. His master was probably right. This is not neutral territory for nothing. Nobody would be this dumb to break the rules of the Holy Grail War, not even Benkei...who would usually be the one to do that, but let's forget this. His lord's words were registered as: "Do not fight here."

That probably meant the two giants could fight at another place. But Benkei had to protect his lord. He sighed, a little disappointed that his loyalty made a groin attack to his lust for combat. Though if this servant would dare attack his master, the Lancer would immediately interfere and start a battle.

[BEOWULF]

Perhaps the briefest shadow of a doubt crossed BEOWULF's mind - that the small man was the Servant, and that the other was the master. As improbable as that sounded, it was possible... after all, Grendel's Mother certainly proved that. What was it that they said: great things came in small packages?

"Servant! I like those words. This one came for the glory of combat, here and now!" The big man, mouth split in a jarring grin, strode forward, materializing a large... weapon of a sort in his hand. It appeared to be a lance, except the blade at the end was unlike any javelin that he had ever seen, more curving than tapered. But that wasn't the point. It was a mere weapon, an object of wood and steel. It could break.

BEOWULF grinned back at Benkei, matching his wrathful intent, getting lost in the moment. He unfolded his arms, balling up his fists. Why not? He had laid down the challenge, and the other had accepted it. There was nothing else, no more words, no more questions, just the battle. Everything else was irrelevant. He broke into a light dash, slowly accelerating, ready to take up the Asian man's answer at his word, to -

Then the boy opened his mouth, firmly cementing his position as the lesser man in his own relationship. BEOWULF grimaced, his train of thought derailed. The master's pedantic tone, his posturing... they reminded him of some other person... Unferth, that bastard. Jeering words one moment, feigned innocence and camaraderie the next... BEOWULF's one regret was not killing him. At least... hopefully... surely, the rest of the world wasn't like this, correct?

Still, the dumbass had a point. BEOWULF broke off mid-dash, slowing, then stopping. He had almost let the blind rage of battle overtake him, even on neutral ground. There was no need to endanger their effort, earn the ire of a gang of book-thumping priests. But no more pointless recriminations. He glared at Benkei unflinchingly, and, again, ignoring Alan. "Another time, then." Now, if his Master would finish up her meeting...

[Aela Atheling]

The doors burst open before her hands, What is he thinking? She could have yelled at him, with the rays of sunlight beaming directly into her eyes. And she probably would have, despite needing to show a calm front to the other Servant, and perhaps Master.

And that was when she saw it.

A face carved from nightmares, from death itself. The face of the giant man staring down Beowulf was lit up with an enourmous grin, with teeth like daggers, and they shone light back at her as if they were mirrors. It was the face of a demon!

And in her distraction with the face, she tripped from the front step of the church, and fell right onto her face, skidding somewhat towards Beowulf. Of course. Any time she tried to have any dignity whatsoever it did not work. Pain shot at her from her hand; it was probably cut open worse now. But pain like that was no matter.

She rose to her feet; she would keep some semblance of dignity. But perhaps that Servant with the face she would not look at had done her a favour. She had been on the verge of yelling at her Servant, chiding him for taking form. That would have shown weakness, weakness she did not need to show. Somehow she managed to avoid a wound to her face during her rather embarrassing fall, but the one on her hand was bleeding again.

There was a watery feeling running down her leggings, and a slight pain in her side. The flask cracked? she could feel no blood leaking out her side, so the injury from the metal was probably nothing to worry about. The small amount of water left her coat and inside left leg of her slacks slightly damp.

Aela’s eyes swept away from the Servant, and around to the second presence she felt. She hardened her eyes as she met his. He was another Master, apparently, and a kind of ridiculous looking one at that. He had a bandana that almost completely covered his eyes, making it difficult to see them. While it might aid him in keeping his eye movements hidden, it must make it hard for him to see. Long brown hair, a more suitable length for a woman, adorned his head.

Suddenly her eyes seemed to take in something strange. His Servant is wearing a suit? That was… strange, was perhaps the best words she could use to describe it. It was difficult to hold in a laugh. She avoided his face with her blue eyes, looking at it again was definitely not needed, nor desired.

Her Servant was definitely meeting the demon’s eyes, so she brought her own back to the Master. At least they weren’t fighting on neutral ground. Had Beowulf broken that, the ‘priest’ from the church probably would be out here, trying to kill her now. And he would be enjoying it!

This was a problem, now this man would probably follow her if she left, and she was not in anything resembling top condition. She could make her shield, but anything else would probably be impossible. And she still wasn’t completely sure of Beowulf’s strengths and weaknesses, whereas this Master might know his own Servant’s. She truly was not thinking clearly, she needed rest. More importantly, however, she needed a plan to not die on her first day.

He would probably be at least slightly confused, she knew she was, and certainly did not want to risk everything on an all-out battle. Neither one would allow the other to follow them, to see their boundary fields nor where they hid. So they would likely both fight if needed, although the rising sun would seriously limit their actions, but since they hadn’t started it was likely he had restrained his own Servant, and respected the church.

She would take the initiative. If she offered peace, he would seem the intruder, and it may be he had a chivalrous sense about him, but she could not count on that. Apparently disguising herself had been useless today. Wasted effort. But one never knew, it had been a necessary precaution, and may be useful some other time.

Her illusion of masculinity would be broken with her voice. “At least you respect Neutral Ground. I know some plan to either fight me or escape is probably running through your mind, like it ran through mine. Yet neither of us will run, to give up our place of refuge. Perhaps I can interest you in a different idea.”

It would have to rest on this; she really was in no condition to even give orders to her servant. Sleep beat heavily at her brow, and her prana was far too low to do anything temporary about it. Weakness could not be shown, however, and so she drew herself up to her full height, which was taller than his.

“Perhaps you may want to put fighting aside this day. Meeting on neutral grounds like this may be some sort of omen.” She didn’t believe that, but maybe he would, or believe she believed. “We may wish to extend the peace, at least until nightfall. For now though, there would be no reason to not at least be cordial.” She knew her next words were going to sound strange, may even take him aback, “Would you care to join me for tea? I know an excellent Café.”

It was the perfect opportunity to learn more about another Master, and search for his weaknesses. And it would stall for her to get a plan that actually allowed escaping without being chased, or following him unnoticed. Not only that, but going to one that she knew the area around would be highly useful if it fell to combat. Will he accept?

[Alan Girm Moria]

'It seems that I am on a roll today when it comes to overlooking things.' "Servant! I like those words. This one came for the glory of combat, here and now!" 'I completely overlooked Benkei's battle lust. Now how to get him to st...oh?' Alan blinked as Benkei unexpectedly pulled back from getting ready to counter giant #2. Typhoon of loyalty was more than just words it seemed. Even more improbable the blood thirsty barbarian pulled back as well looking like he'd just swallowed something bitter. Like his faltering smirk earlier this look didn't last long either. With yet another glare aimed at Benkei he continued,

"Another time, then."

Alan relaxed as the killing intent faded. 'Still ignoring me huh? Whatever, it would be pointless to get worked up now. It seems I might have an unexpected talent as a diplomat. For now I guess I should try to walk on by? Great what now?' Alan sighed mentally as the church doors burst open forcefully. A tall figure burst out from the church, and Benkei's grin claimed yet another victim.

It was a beautiful face plant that would doubtlessly score a row of perfect tens and transitioned seamlessly into a slow but sweet skid. Standing up the figure even managed to avoid injuring their face somehow. Flawless aside from a minor hand injury. Alan was torn between concern and admiration. 'That feeling you have right now? I've felt like that all morning.' Maybe this was the giant's master? It seemed to be the likely candidate since no one else is, is that!?

Of all the people who felt Benkei's grin none had wet themselves today. Yet there was a slightly damp patch on the left legging near the waist. Hard to think of it as anything other then that right? Unless the figure was carrying a water bottle in their coat but how likely was that?

Just like the giant this new arrival glared in his direction as if hearing his thoughts. Unlike the giant he not only acknowledged his presence but sized him up. His eyes flicked over to Benkei and there seemed to be a ghost of a smile there? It was so brief Alan almost missed it. The new master's eyes came back to rest on him and seemed to intensify. 'Great let's hope the master has a cooler head then his servant.' Given his entrance the chances seemed slim.

Alan swept his eyes over the church losing interest in the pair. There wasn't any more gleams from the spires but there was an odd feeling coming from the church doors. Maybe visiting wouldn't be such a great idea right now? He wasn't all for coming to the place from the start. They probably didn't even have anything to eat or drink for masters either.

“At least you respect Neutral Ground. I know some plan to either fight me or escape is probably running through your mind, like it ran through mine. Yet neither of us will run, to give up our place of refuge. Perhaps I can interest you in a different idea.”

Well now we can scratch off mind reading abilities and those of judging character for this pair. It was a sweet relief to hear this as Alan did not want to have to break out the tinfoil hats today. Speaking of hearing wasn't that a woman's voice? So she was masquerading as a man then. 'I really need to pull my head out of the clouds and fight seriously.' He chided himself focusing on the now confirmed master in front of him. Looking closely she seemed to look a little tired although being this early that wasn't surprising.

“Perhaps you may want to put fighting aside this day. Meeting on neutral grounds like this may be some sort of omen. We may wish to extend the peace, at least until nightfall. For now though, there would be no reason to not at least be cordial. Would you care to join me for tea? I know an excellent Café."

The new master proposed this in a cool tone most likely trying to maintain some illusion of dignity. If she was trying to surprise him she was out of luck. His tolerance threshold for surprise had already been exceeded and he was now deep in a sea of accepting apathy. Although truth be told it was appealing. He really did not want to enter the church as the feeling from before seemed to intensify. The threat of impending death had made his throat dry. Whether this was a real threat or his slacker mannerism acting up we may never know.

"While I'm not big on omens, something to drink does sound nice. I wasn't dead set on visiting the church today either." With this his eyes slid unconsciously towards the now mostly shut church door. There wasn't enough light pouring into the doorway to see clearly but there appeared to be something lurking just inside. He had never been that devout anyways.

"My name is Alan Girm Moria. Nice to meet your acquaintance miss. Now please lead on." Stepping to the side Alan swept out an arm indicating for her to go ahead. 'This should be interesting.' Alan thought with a faint grin. After all his diplomacy rolls had been unusually high today.