Strategic Withdrawal

[Bedwyr]

Her consciousness was fading. She was beginning to murmur nonsensical things, the things he could hear at least. Close to fever dreams, but a sign that she had taken a severe wound. It was a clean stab, but seem to have damaged something important.

And there was nothing he could do!

Except move faster. But even in speed there existed limits. At his fastest, even perhaps should he not bring his will to bear, his Master may not survive. He was unsure what protection he could offer her on the steed; it may even end up that he could carry her away at his greatest possible speed.

But that was not something he was willing to risk, not yet. However he was completely prepared for it, once she fully lost consciousness.

In that case, he would fully bring all that he had to give, every ounce of speed. If he were to meet a faster creature on the path, he would take it. It would be but momentary regret for the person he requisitioned it from, and for leaving his Master’s possession behind.

A horrible tearing sound echoed through the streets around him as the building he had ridden through to aid his master, the building he had been thrown through by the armoured Servant, with only a single strike, shuddered, and caved in on itself. A few more echoing crashes sounded as the rest of the supporting structure fell in on itself.

He had seen buildings fall, many a time, had watched walls crumble into rubble, caused castles to fall himself; he did not need to look to know what was happening. Only hear. In his urgently he barely spared any time to give a silent prayer for anyone who had been in those buildings at the time. There was the fact that they were being evacuated, but then again… some people were stubborn.

Some slight hope still caught up in his chest that the place had been completely devoid of human life as it fell. This war truly did not need civilian casualties. That had been one of his greatest hatred in the wake of the despoiling Saxon hordes. They did not leave living beings behind.

Still behind him he felt the presence of two Servants, and sporadic bits of other presences as well. Though as he moved they faded out from range, his ability to sense them rather limited.

As long as they weren’t nearby.

It was as if the entire war had turned out in one night. While for a bare second he regretted his retreat, he knew that protecting his Master was the utmost concern now. Counting as he raced across streets, he realized that unless the new presence was the other apparent Rider he had met earlier; he had now been around every member of this war. The possible Saber who flung him through a wall, whoever approached to save him from pursuit, an Assassin he had fought before, the faint presence and burst of energy that had likely been the last summon of the Grail War, and the fake Arturia.

With the other Rider and him that made-

Wait. What about the Caster who had served the boy Magus who failed at protecting his Master, the Master who was now likely dead. With him and the other Rider… no, then that new presence must have been the Rider he had met at the Church. Had to be. But another Rider? She had to be lying, perhaps she was actually Archer, and it was just a misdirection that misfired when he was the actual Rider in this war.

Barely a day past his own acceptance as a Servant, he had seen the other six in the war.

Slight movements of his body brought the mount underneath him to a twirling halt outside the building that the fake Arturia had given him directions to. She… the picture of her completely exposing herself, and saying such… lewd things entered his mind again, and he brushed it aside, no matter how distracting, no matter what mixed emotions of fury and… and no, just fury.

It was another warehouse, this one much smaller than the one he had brought down before. It looked abandoned, but of course the Master would be hiding well. He almost dismounted, but then remembered the mistake he had made leaving his mount behind the night previous, and instead drifted up to the door rather silently on his steed, and flicked on the bright lanterns attached to the creature.

And then, in one smooth motion, he ripped the door off its hinges, and tossed it into the street with a loud clatter. Spatharius sat ready at his side now as he entered the warehouse. Not that he would need it against a Master, or in the state he was in. While before he had been filled with regret at destruction of a building, now he was completely ready and willing to bring this one down around their heads.

Completely ready to destroy everything.

The steed roared, silence abandoned as he quickly moved into the warehouse, feeling for a presence, or any fear or killing intent. There was none obvious, so he quickly spun the illuminated creature underneath him to scan the floors of the warehouse.

Bright lights, almost like day, swept over empty area after empty area. There was no presence of creatures, human, or anything. Just empty space, and shelving lined walls. The entire area was devoid of life. Not even a small vermin twitched, and he did not even see marks of their presence.

The place was completely abandoned, and nothing worthwhile remained inside it.

Nothing!?

Of course the liar in presence also lied in words! Why did he even trust her!? Still cradling Amaranta in his bad hand, his right hand slammed heavily into the nearby wall six times, leaving behind small craters with each blow. Even the beast underneath him shuddered with the force imparted to the walls.

As he came somewhat close to regaining himself, enough to realize that he had to leave, had to find some medic, there was a presence. Had the presence concealed itself, or were they simply entering

“Who’s there!? Show yourself, or I will find you, and a length of steel will find your heart!” All he could manage was a snarling yell. He had no time for these games.

[Merlin Ambrosius]

Merlin for his part was, in fact, able to catch up with the twisted mount that Bedwyr drove. And by catch up he meant being able to see the now frantic knight and his master from the bird’s eye view the rooftops provided. The wizard hadn’t been able to run full blast on, the difference in size amongst the buildings making it hard to do more than his equivalent of a jog. He should have lost the bishie knight, really. It seems that the man was considerate enough to spare his nearly-dead-and-some-how-miracusely-still-alive-after-all-the-time-they’ve-wasted-on-bullcrap-master-how-the-hell-did-that-happen-stupid-plot-armor from the speeds that would have no doubt snapped the tiny girl like a twig in her current state. Or any state for that matter.

Merlin stopped when he had arrived at his destination, placing a foot on the edge of the building he was on and peering over it. He had arrived just in time to see Beddy drift up to the door and…well…rip the thing off its hinges, chucking it into the street without regard. Merlin frowned. At least there was no one around to see Beddy’s superhuman feat; that was a plus. Glancing back over to the warehouse, Merlin could see the knight had a personal lightshow going on, desperately searching for a master that wasn’t there. Gently leaping from the five story building and with a quick jog down its side (gravity be damned), Merlin headed for the street first to clean up the mess his fellow servant had made. He had originally chosen to pick the thing up and toss it back over to where the warehouse was but decided that it probably wasn’t the best idea to make too much noise. The sudden, alarming sound wasn’t going to help him get through to boy.

Well, neither was prancing around as the source of all his fantasies but Merlin still did that anyway.

Picking up the door, he let his body shift back to his original form. Left behind was the short, slim form of Britannia’s greatest king and in its place was Merlin’s taller, more muscular form. Merlin couldn’t help grin at his natural body. Most people in his era didn’t think a Magus had it in him to physically train his body. Most people hadn’t visited the era’s most bloody battlefields. He needed to stay in tip top shape if he was going to be able to outrun the enemy soldiers when push came to shove. Now if only he had spent more time doing crunches instead of reading tomes, then maybe he would have gotten a D rank in END. Isn’t it sad, Merls?

Merlin left the door at the entrance, gently placing it down on his way in to confront the knight. Well, “in” as in leaning in the door way, one foot crossed with the other and hands in his pockets. Beddy had naturally picked up on his presence, his body tensing. Was that a growl Merlin could hear? Growls were never good for his health. “Who’s there!? Show yourself, or I will find you, and a length of steel will find your heart!”

“Merlin Ambrosius, at your service.” He called out from the door way, skipping the dramatic bow and hand movements in favor of keeping things to the point. When the knight swirled around to get a look at him, Merlin met the man with a feral grin. “You remember me, don’t you Beddy?”

[Bedwyr]

Merlin!?

The ground underneath him screeched with the suddenness of his whirling turn to greet the voice. The voice of Merlin Ambrosius. The greatest Magus he had ever met, possibly the greatest magus in existence.

Now there was no doubt in his heart of who the fake had been. Merlin was… famed for his shapeshifting, as well as what he thought of as hilarious pranks. Of course coincidences were possible, but the likelihood that another shapeshifter had her form… was near impossible.

No, it was impossible.

However, how could this be? Merlin could surely only be a Caster, however he had already met a Caster, under the service of that pathetic other Magus. Two Riders, and two Casters? This went against everything that he knew. Trying to wrack his mind held no avail, as all the second mind provided was simple confirmation that there were seven classes, and seven Servants. Each war would have one of each class.

Then what was he seeing? And what was the likelihood that of all the ones in the Throne of Heroes another one from his life would be called to serve again?

The man leaned against the shattered remnants of the hinges, clearly smiling with amusement at Bedwyr’s reactions, that had once held the strong glass door to the frame. Flamboyant, like the situation had been no big deal. If he had known how close he had been to killing him outright…

Then again, nothing fazed the man of mysteries. He was a legend, far so more than Bedwyr.

Yet… he had to let Merlin heal her. Had to. Punishment could be meted later, for now, even with the rage clouding his mind, he knew Amaranta needed medical attention now. Besides, it seemed rather unlikely that he could even win a fight in this state. In fact, he would be worried fighting the enigmatic magus in front of him at any time.

Most of his contemporaries boasted an innate resistance to magecraft, whether through blessings, or rings, or blood. He was… not skilled in that area. He had never been blessed by saints, like Gawain, nor did he hold a ring that caused magecraft to unravel in his general area, like the accursed Lancelot had. His fighting of Magi generally involved attacking them before they could touch him with spells, or outmanoeuvring them to the point they were useless. But here, confined in such a way…

There was so little he could do…

At the very least I can control myself for now…

Of course his first action didn’t help at all. In an attempt to carefully sheathe his sword like the trained warrior, the knight that he was, he instead slammed it home with the fury of a man in clear mental distress.

As he ran over any possible response to the court magus in front of him, he heard a gasping breath from the woman cradled carefully in his arm, and bound in his surcoat.

He had no time to think about it anymore. Simply just state what he needed outright. What he pleaded for, from a man whose fancies were as changing as the wind.

“Magister… of course I remember you.” No one could ever forget the great Teacher, the great Magister of Arthurian Court. If there was any redeeming factor to him, it would be his teaching. That was something he did well, something he excelled at. If he even bothered with putting effort into it at all, which was far and few between. “You know what I am going to ask, shapeshifter,” He was the only one capable of this, the only other one who could have known her truth. “So. Will you heal my Master? Or will it end, for the both of us, here.” He would have never thought in life to ever speak such words to Merlin, but there they were, issueing forth from his mouth.

Have I changed? Or would this be how I normally would act. Were it her... yes, I would do the same.

Brushing that thought aside, he delicately dismounted, steadying the steed, propping it against an additional hind leg that remained tucked inside, and gently laid Amaranta on the ground in front of him. While her injury seemed to be slowing, he was not sure how serious it was. For all he knew it wasn’t even ever going to be fatal, but he was not in a state to make such decisions.

All he knew was that she needed to be healed.

He rose back from kneeling beside her, and bowed lightly to Merlin, his hand on the hilt of Spatharius. Though he wished it not, were the Magus to refuse for any reason, he could close the distance in less than a second, and possibly force him to do so. However Merlin could be reasonable... at times, and he highly doubted the man, the somewhat cowardly magus, would pass up a chance to put Bedwyr into his debt.

His mind spared no thought about debt, however. Any price asked for would be paid, even if he could not afford it.

[Merlin Ambrosius]

“Magister… of course I remember you. You know what I am going to ask, shapeshifter,” Merlin felt his lips curl into a cat-like smile. He glanced away from the knight in amusement. He really was trying to hold in his laughter. This wasn’t the time or place for it…not while Beddy was on edge already. The wizard would wait until the bishie was in a slightly better mood before pushing his buttons once more. Oh, and the girl was sort of maybe quiet possibly almost certainly bleeding to death at the moment. He had things to do. “So. Will you heal my Master? Or will it end, for the both of us, here.” Merlin didn’t like that tone of voice. It sounded like a promise for pain if he didn’t do what the knight wanted.

And then he dismounted, placing the girl on the ground and crouching to the side with his sole hand on his weapon’s hilt. The knight was off his mount, the man posed no threat to Merlin. Besides the ability to stab the wizard with his sword, or toss his bike at the caster, or whatever else the emotional knight could think off. A thought that made Merlin all the more hesitant to approach the man and drop to his knees to over look the suffering girl, her ever protective knight keeping his eyes centered on the caster before him. Do you blame him? Servant abilities be damned, getting smacked in the head with a motorcycle still hurt.

He gave the girl a quick look over, anything more un-needed for the master of magic. Covered in head to toe with sweat, lapsing in and out of consciousness, hardly breathing; when Merlin had first picked up the girl she had the strength to argue with him. Now the girl probably couldn’t keep her eyes open. It seems their joy ride earlier had done more damage then he thought. Still…He placed a hand over the girls wound. ”Dia rama” His fingers tingled, a blue light shinning from his palms and unto the injured master. “Though I’m not certain,” Merlin watched as the wounds slowly healed with the help of his administered healing magic. “She should be fine if I keep this up for the next few minutes.” Lies. The girl would be fine after half a minute of receiving this level of healing spell. But knowing that wouldn’t keep Beddy tamed. Oh no, they had things to discuss.

“In the mean while, I’d like to ask you if you’ve noticed anything,” Merlin paused for dramatic effect, narrowing his eyes at the knight as he did so, “..Strange about this war?” Best to break try and break the tension with a question that’s no doubt been on every servants minds. Well, save for Merlin. He could care less as long as they stayed out of his way.

[Bedwyr]

A rare smile touched his face once again this night. It was… strange to smile in such a situation, but as a few other knights had said, laughter was the only way to fight the nightmares of war. The betrayal of man and the darkness of humanity could only be repelled by cheer, and comradeship with men who may die the next day.

There was no enjoyment in most death, simply duty.

But this time, his comrades did not have to fall around him. He would not have to return a blade of unrivalled beauty, not have to seal anyone’s death with his own hand. Those close to him would survive this night. One had to take joy in even the simple miracles. The daily bread.

As he carefully tucked his surcoat under Amaranta’s head, its blood stained part staining the cold floor, he found himself wishing he had another to keep her warm on the freezing winter night. A few minutes the Magus had said, after muttering an arcane incantation. He even wondered if the man needed words to control his spells, or his persona just afforded him the need to speak dramatically.

“In the mean while, I’d like to ask you if you’ve noticed anything,” And the man paused, putting an actor’s theatricality behind his motions and a senator’s swirling diction in his words. It was definitely his persona. I wonder… have we ever seen or heard the true Merlin, or is this as he is? “…Strange about this war?”

His cold fury seemed to have assuaged with the healing of Amaranta. Despite the fact that the Magus made it harder to do, he still did heal her, spending his own valuable prana, no matter how small, to keep her in existence. “There is something strange about every war, Magister…” His eyes drifted back to his Master’s now relaxed face, much more pleasant to look at than the pained one that had spoken nonsense at him.

Before he truly began, however, he did need to thank the man in front of him. “Thank you, Magister. In return for this I shall… ignore… your previous indiscretions. Next time, however, you may want to pick a less deceitful form, for I occasionally have a hard time controlling my actions in… situations like the one you created.”

“But in accordance with your question, I will give full report. This war is no different from any other, as I mentioned before. War is always strange. In that… melee down there, six of the seven Servants were there. I, a Rider, a most likely Saber with a massive blade, another presence that stopped the Saber’s chase of me, more on her later, the assassin who’s laughter chills bones, a shadowy and rather tenuous presence, you, obviously a Caster,” Once more his grey eyes flickered down to Amaranta, checking her briefly for signs of a wakeful state. “And a new flickering presence, possibly the Magus’, Matthew Walker’s, Servant. Or potentially the seventh Servant, although I cannot guarantee that.”

He paused at that. His was not dramatic, only a moment to gather his thoughts.

“Now,” There was a feeling of nostalgia in his breast, a swelling sense of familiarity as he delivered a scouting report. When not fighting, he had been an outrider and a surveyor, a throwback to his nature as a free spirit when he was younger. Thankfully he could tame even that urge to further her goals. “There is that other woman, who likely was the one that rescued me, unless they were the seventh Servant. The classes of spirits… have been altered somehow. I encountered another Rider, and the Servant of the Magus who turned down the invitation of healing can be nothing but Caster. Unless you are Berserker, and that woman was merely lying and was an Archer, something has seriously changed.”

A military briefing, every detail was needed. “We met the other potential Rider on the way to the Church, where they seemed rather uncooperative, and uninformative. She is a recent looking woman, judging by the armaments she carries, guns. If I knew more about seams and cuts of cloth, perhaps I could place her era, but otherwise that’s the most I can offer.”

Deep breathing sounds nearly interrupted him, as once again his eyes glanced at his Master. Amaranta still appeared asleep, perhaps naturally recovering, he was not sure. Merlin had said there would be a few minutes, so there had to be some recovery time there.

Then again, he was not more of an expert in healing and anatomy other than the knowledge it took to stitch a wound, and the understanding of where the fatal places were to strike in an opponent.

“Of the potential Saber who interrupted my fight with the Assassin, all I can say is he is swathed tightly in cruel armour, seemingly designed to intimidate over practicality. Although I have not tested it, so I cannot say for certain. He also has massive power behind his blows.”

Merlin had asked for strange occurrences, so why was he detailing an entire report? He did feel in debt, and the Magus could be a potential and very useful ally. His own strength was weak, his name less known and his deeds less legendary than the relaxed dramatist who stood before him.

“The counterpart Caster to you, I know not of save she has a face like Helen of Troy. That woman seemed to redefine beauty, and her very steps even hurried to her Master’s side carried air of great grace. I have some few ideas of who she may have been based on that alone, but I need not entertain you with conjecture.”

Helen. Diadema. Polixena. Those were his most likely, as he remembered the triad a bard had once sung. These three women had received one third of the beauty of Eve. Cleopatra. Bathsheba. Salome. A triad of those legendary women who had used their beauty to deceive men, though the men were weak in their restraint and self-control. Bathsheba of these seemed most likely, deceiving the great king of Israel with her beauty. Although… in that case it was the king’s own fault completely.

If it was her, he could certainly see why. His own stance had been thrown off guard by the woman’s very presence.

Six names, six names that he knew of at least. A few others itched at his mind, but could not be brought to bear. He felt as if he should know more… but the mind providing him with information seemed annoyingly sparse and distant. Something was wrong with that.

“Of the Assassin… I have engaged him in combat twice, and shall likely meet him and his glowing Master again. His presence is tenuous, and he seems capable of moving at incredible speeds, completely unnoticed. He also is rather similar to the idea of an Assassin and has a myriad of weapons, all of which seem to possess the ability to pass my own armour.”

His good hand slammed into his breastplate in a Roman salute, causing a slight echo of metal hitting metal in the warehouse, and then he put his hand on the hilt of his blade, balancing it as he bowed and then rose again

That was his report, to the best of his abilities, at least as quick as he could state them. There were other things, such as Masters, movements, cooperations between them, the deception that multiple of them had tried to hoodwink him with, that could be saved for later. Immediate dangers were Servants. If Amaranta would inform him of her Master’s Clairvoyance, if she even had it, he could be more thorough.

The Masters could wait if they actually temporarily allied, for in truth there would only eventually be one victor. Only could be one victor.

“That is all I can afford in this hasty report, at least until I have sufficient time to gather my thoughts, perhaps retiring to a less dangerous location, a place more suitable for counsel, at a more friendly hour, when my Master is not in any immediate danger. If I may add however the coincidences of meeting so many are ast-“ a light cough interrupted his speech, and he instantly knelt down to his Master’s side.

Despite the obviousity of the clearly visible healed skin on her shoulder, where once had sat a clean wound; he still could not keep himself from almost shouting the question that burned inside him. “Amaranta, are you alright!?”

[Merlin Ambrosius]

“There is something strange about every war, Magister…”

Merlin rolled his eyes, still acting like he was busy healing Beddy’s no-longer-in-danger-master. The reason he remained hunched over the girl’s body was to give off the illusion that Merlin was still useful to the girls well being. At as long as the wizard was useful the crazy loyal bishie sitting across from him wouldn't get stab happy with that extendo sword of his. Merlin would make a joke about compensating for something but he didn't think the knight would get it. Pity. The former bard knew quite a few good ones too.

“Thank you, Magister. In return for this I shall… ignore… your previous indiscretions. Next time, however, you may want to pick a less deceitful form, for I occasionally have a hard time controlling my actions in… situations like the one you created.” Merlin looked up long enough to childishly stick his tongue out at the man.

"Consider tonight's events a reminder of why you need to keep those flaring emotions of yours in check." Merlin glanced down at the knight’s unconscious master. "And who you should put first above all else." The bishie knight's lack of need for self preservation was both a blessing and a curse. The man needed to take better care of his prana anchor, or suffer the embarrassment of being one of the wars early casualties.

“But in accordance with your question, I will give full report. This war is no different from any other, as I mentioned before. War is always strange. In that… melee down there, six of the seven Servants were there. I, a Rider, a most likely Saber with a massive blade, another presence that stopped the Saber’s chase of me, more on her later, the assassin who’s laughter chills bones, a shadowy and rather tenuous presence, you, obviously a Caster and a new flickering presence, possibly the Magus’, Matthew Walker’s, Servant. Or potentially the seventh Servant, although I cannot guarantee that.” Merlin nodded in acknowledgement. The servant that had stepped in to hold off the saber was, from what the wizard could tell, also a rider. Two riders in this war. It went against everything the grail was telling them. But that thing was also a dysfunctional man made wish granting tin can. For all it knew the sky was purple and elephants ruled the world with their awesome phantasmic powers.

Merlin wouldn't be surprised if multiple servants from the same class were running around in this war. He was old enough to know better than to blindly trust the information that "grail" provided for them.

“Now,” The boy paused. "There is that other woman, who likely was the one that rescued me, unless they were the seventh Servant. The classes of spirits… have been altered somehow. I encountered another Rider, and the Servant of the Magus who turned down the invitation of healing can be nothing but Caster. Unless you are Berserker, and that woman was merely lying and was an Archer, something has seriously changed.”

"I'm a Berserker in bed." Merlin snorted in laughter at his own childish remark, having finished his "healing" and lacking anything else better to do. At least the report would help pass the time until the girl finally saw fit to stir from her unconscious state.

“We met the other potential Rider on the way to the Church, where they seemed rather uncooperative, and uninformative. She is a recent looking woman, judging by the armaments she carries, guns. If I knew more about seams and cuts of cloth, perhaps I could place her era, but otherwise that’s the most I can offer.” Multiple class theory confirmed. Merlin would inform the knight of how the rules had changed after the boy finished his report. “Of the potential Saber who interrupted my fight with the Assassin, all I can say is he is swathed tightly in cruel armor, seemingly designed to intimidate over practicality. Although I have not tested it, so I cannot say for certain. He also has massive power behind his blows.” Merlin flinched at the thought. He remembered how Beddy was sent flying through the building with a single blow from the dark knight’s sword. It looked painful. It felt painful even from where he had been sitting.

“The counterpart Caster to you, I know not of save she has a face like Helen of Troy. That woman seemed to redefine beauty, and her very steps even hurried to her Master’s side carried air of great grace. I have some few ideas of who she may have been based on that alone, but I need not entertain you with conjecture.” Merlin perked up at this, and liked where this conversation was going until the knight cut it short. Damn it Beddy, don't tease the old wizard! Saying she's beautiful and graceful doesn't give him much to work with. Give Merlin hair colors! Ethnicity! Sizes! Don't leave a man out in the cold like this! Beeeddddyyyy!

But alas, the knight had moved on. “Of the Assassin… I have engaged him in combat twice, and shall likely meet him and his glowing Master again. His presence is tenuous, and he seems capable of moving at incredible speeds, completely unnoticed. He also is rather similar to the idea of an Assassin and has a myriad of weapons, all of which seem to possess the ability to pass my own armor.” Merlin had seen the assassin's shadow jump in action, and all in all wasn't impressed with it. The jack in the box of a servant seemed to be a one trick pony, popping out of a shadow and stabbing someone before leaping back into safely. If they got the assassin out in the open the bastard was sure to fall just as easily as any other assassin.

And with that the Knight thumbed his breastplate and stood up from his position. “That is all I can afford in this hasty report, at least until I have sufficient time to gather my thoughts, perhaps retiring to a less dangerous location, a place more suitable for counsel, at a more friendly hour, when my Master is not in any immediate danger. If I may add however the coincidences of meeting so many are ast-“ He cut himself short upon hearing his master cough herself back to consciousness. Beddy's first response was to kneel before her, his second response was to yell as loud as possible “Amaranta, are you alright!?”

"She'll be fine the moment you stop screaming in her ears. Jesus, let the girl rest a bit more before you start shouting again." Merlin reached a hand up and poked a finger into his ear, twisting it around in vain attempts to clearn out the ringing. At least he managed to clear out the ear wax.

[Amaranta Bastillo]

Ugh.

“ “
“ “
“ “

Vague words; phrases swam in and out of her awareness.

“ “

Her brow furrowed.

“…my Master is not in any immediate danger. If I may add however the coincidences…”

The voice sounded familiar. Her mouth felt dry. The air tickled the back of her throat. She coughed, still groggy. What was-?

“Amaranta, are you alright!?”

That vicious assault on her ears jolted her back into consciousness. The ground was uncomfortable; cold concrete. Her back felt stiff, shoulder sore.

“She’ll be find the moment you stop screaming in her ears,” an unfamiliar voice articulated her thoughts exactly, “Jesus, let the girl rest a bit more before you start shouting again.”

Emma’s eyes opened to be confronted with the two very-close visages looming over her; close enough to be claustrophobic.. It took less than half a second for her forehead to connect to the blond one’s jaw (in a move that very likely hurt her more than it hurt him), and was well on her way to socking him in the stomach before she realized who he was, fist raised, body twisted in an awkward sitting position.

“A-hem,”

She cleared her throat awkwardly. She’d only known Bedwyr for two days, tops. Of course she wouldn’t recognize him right off the bat. But that didn’t explain the other fellow.

“ Um. Yeah. I’m fine,” she finished off awkwardly, and then pressed on,” but more importantly, why…-!?”

Her shoulder was fine…?

She ran her hand over where the wound was supposed to be, but found only smooth skin. The fabric was torn, and damp with blood, but it didn’t hurt. At most, she felt a little light headed.

“Fine…?”

Emma tested her shoulder; it was as if she was never stabbed in the first place. And yet the bloodstains on her outfit were more than enough to dispel that notion. She distinctly remembered the blade sliding smoothly past the skin and into the muscle and tendon

Somewhere along the way, she had fallen unconscious while Bedwyr did… whatever he did with the scooter. Before that, she’d been stabbed (pretty damn deep) in the shoulder by some crazy-guy with an invisibility cloak. There was also a streaker and a collapsing condo or something somewhere along the way. She was absolutely sure all that happened. Probably.

If not, she wouldn’t have been in the middle of nowhere with a soggy shirt and a guy dressed in full-plate being uncomfortably close to her. It was dark; wherever they were, and illuminated only by the headlights of the vespa parked nearby as well as missing her glasses, Emma could hardly make out a thing, dim lightning and long shadows offering an eerie quality to the surroundings.

From what she could see, the well-dressed dandy swathed in a blue cloak wasn’t an enemy (if he was, she was sure Bedwyr would’ve done more than just sit around).

“It’s great to see that you’re making friends, but care to introduce me?” she muttered dryly, sitting upright, using an arm to prop herself up,“ And while we’re at it, where-,” she pursed her lips, shook her head, “What happened after we, uh, retreated? ”

She may as well hear it from the beginning if she was going to attempt to make heads or tails out of anything.

[Bedwyr]

"She'll be fine the moment you stop screaming in her ears. Jesus, let the girl rest a bit more before you start shouting again."

That was an interesting epithet, coming from a druidic part-demon. But screaming? Had he really screamed?

The echo of his own voice reached him, and confirmed Merlin’s words. His shout had been ear splitting, and probably audible the next city over. My flaring emotions he said… Do I… A quick recollection of recent events assured him that many of his mistakes were due to unrestrained feelings.

Of course the Magister was right. He generally was. At least in matters not concerning women, practical jokes, and a large amount of other areas.

“Sorr-“

He was not given a chance to finish. In what must have obviously been a panic reaction, she slammed her forehead into his jaw, cutting him off midsentence and every reader applauded Emma for that with a sound comparable to that of a large rock thrown at a shield.

She came back to the world of the living again, a second later, with her fist high for a follow up. The headbutt seemed to have backfired remarkably on her, but it did get him to pull away slightly. …Likely she was remembering being stabbed… a fever-dream. At least she came to fighting, no matter how ineffective it would be against a Servant, even one as weak as himself.

“Um. Yeah. I’m fine, but more importantly, why…-!?”

Amaranta poked her shoulder, and his body tightened for the split second as she probed where the wound once had been, through her torn, blood covered hoodie, and whatever she had been wearing underneath. Even with Merlin himself healing it, he had been worried, but when she showed no pain, only wonder and surprise, he let out a gracious sigh, and inclined his head once again to Merlin.

Her shoulder was continuously put to the test as she rotated her shoulder first, wincing in expected pain, and then rotating her arm in the same flailing motion she had done before on the Vespa. Perhaps this was some odd routine of hers? It might be a stretch of some kind, but he wasn’t really sure.

“It’s great to see that you’re making friends, but care to introduce me? And while we’re at it, where-,” Her statements were confused, but that was likely to be expected. She had just been stabbed, after all. Moving topics quickly was the sign of a restarting mind. “What happened after we, uh, retreated?”

…

Of course she said retreated. That was not what he did, in any shape or form. His face dropped slightly. She just did not understand. At all.

“Amaranta.” He shook his head slightly, using her full name for effect. This was important, after all. “This was not a retreat.” A retreat was a loss. He… it just wasn’t a loss. “Simply a regrouping… a redeployment. Or a strategic withdrawal. Not a retreat.”

Good, that matter was solved. “After we removed ourselves from the building,” He continued, as if his previous speech had never occurred, “Matt left, and… the Magister here,” this time, he was going to let Merlin introduce himself. The man would probably want to be grandiose about it, anyways. “…came to his senses, stopped abusing her form, and assumed his natural form. Sadly, she is not present here, but this man… could potentially be as great an ally, should he permit. However, I will let him introduce himself, at least this time, since he took such offense to me introducing his… alter ego.” It was far too easy to forget not everyone held themselves to allowing themselves to be introduced, as chivalry demanded to strangers.

He waved his bare right hand at the caped man who, to anyone from Camelot, truly needed no introduction. When he was in his normal form. And wanted to be recognized. Which really wasn’t all that often.

[Merlin Ambrosius]

[] whhheeee for long waits and crappy posts! V: []


The first thing she tried to do was sock Beddy in the face. Awesome.

Of course there were various other details and complaints about a human attacking a servant, all of them along the lines of 'not going to do a damn thing'. On a real battlefield it wouldn't work, what kind of idiot girl would even try; etc etc. Still, she tried and that was enough to force a chuckle out of his throat, a grin stretching across his face.

The girl gazed across the room while testing her body for any more signs of pain or damage. The wizard was confident that she would find none, and lord in behold she found nothing but surprise and wonder. Expected given the sudden shift from being on deaths door to that of a perfectly healthy human.

The legendary wizard felt his grin widened when she set her eyes on the man who had healed her, which dropped to a frown when she nonchantly move on in her viewing of the room. Really? That's it? No other response? Did no one in this era appreciate the greatness that was Merlin?

The magus huffed, folding his arms and looking away from the two. No one could recognize him at a glance. Not the muggles, not the magus...well at least Beddy did but he served the same king as Merlin. Was this the power of his Noble Phantasm or just ignorance on their part? He tapped his foot in impatience, his expression forming into a scowl as he contemplated which it was.

“Amaranta. This was not a retreat. Simply a regrouping… a redeployment. Or a strategic withdrawal. Not a retreat.”

Merlin snorted, amused at the bishie's technicality. "Honestly, does it matter what you call it? We ran away in the end." He glanced at the master and servant, shaking his head. "There's no shame in admitting we had to flee such a monstrous creature."

Because god damn that thing was powerful. Just the look of the Saber alone carried a promise of pain and destruction for anyone stupid enough to get within swords reach. It was a juggernaut on legs and any sane man would flee for his life at sight. One was better off swallowing his pride and making a run for the hills when facing such a horror. With hope the thing chasing them lacked the ability to blow said terrain to smithereens.

And after Beddy finished bringing his master up-to-date on what events had transpired since she lost consciousness, Merlin rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes" he gave the two a quick look, still fuming over the girl’s lack of amazement. Usually when Merlin introduced himself, it was with flare and flamboyance. Backed with magical lights and themes, with potential for a dance routine should the individual prove to be especially…well, special but Merlin didn’t have the heart for it.

No, instead he merely straightened his posture, one hand placed behind him. Twirling the other hand in front of him, Merlin bowed before the two. “Merlin Ambrosius, Master of magic and Advisor to the King of Britannia. At your service, miss.” It was certainly a warmer welcome then the wizards own master had received.

[Amaranta Bastillo]

Bedwyr's intense scrutiny had made Emma feel more than a little self-conscious while probing her shoulder; she made a mental note to mention Bedwyr's tendency to make everywhere seem claustrophobic later. It was going to be something he would have to work on instead of silly word-schematics. She sighed at the technicality, her exasperation evidently being shared by Bedwyr's erstwhile associate. But it wasn't long before the knight entered the crux of the matter. While actually explaining not that much at all. From what Emma could gather, she could assume that 'her' meant that short-blonde-streaker, and the Magister was the young man with his shock of dark chestnut hair.

She could discern fantastically little their association, save that they had something to do with each other (and some bit about alter egos). But she would leave further questioning for later; when she wasn't covered in her own blood, in a dingy warehouse area, and fresh from a near-death-experience. When the man introduced himself as Merlin, Emma's mind completely glossed over it, in a 'that's nice, darling' moment when Merlin offered her a flamboyant bow. It was only after staring blankly at him, looking back to Bedwyr, and then looking back to the 'Master of Magic' that it finally registered in her head.

"What."

That Merlin? She had told herself that this 'grail war' thing would cease surprising her when a head popped out of a wall, and, in retrospect, it wasn't that outrageous with, what, Ser Bedivere being her own 'Servant'. But somehow, she doubted that meeting actual figures of legend was ever going to get old, even if they were a far cry from what she had thought of them.

For instance, wasn't Merlin meant to be an old man? With robes? And a staff? Possibly a long white beard, a comforting fatherly-presence; maybe surrounded by fairies and the telltale spark of magecraft. From what she could gather, this Merlin was young, impetuous, and arrogant, more snarky than a sage. She wondered if this Merlin had ever read the stories of what he was supposed to be like, if he wasn't pulling her leg again.

"Uh," she paused, lacing her fingers together, "You're… not quite what I expected."

Pause.

How she supposed to react when faced with one of the bastardized heroes of her childhood stories? Considering her current circumstances, Emma felt she could be forgiven for coming off as a little brusque. She shivered a little, sneezed, and then realized she was still swathed with a large piece of cloth (Bedwyr's surcoat? Or just a bit of curtain?). Not wanting to catch a cold, she drew the fabric closer around her.

"Look- I'm sorry; this isn't exactly the best place for introductions," she raised herself, using Bedwyr's shoulder for a hand-up, still unsure about her footing, "I'll assume you're the one who fixed me up, so thank you. But I think I, uh, we should go."

This latest encounter has just proved that she had to get out of whatever she was caught up in as soon as possible; something she wondered why she didn't already do, and making 'allies' and networks and whatnot was the furthest thing from getting away from the Grail War. But at the same time, that psychopathic pair Emma had already managed to get in the bad-graces of seemed to be way too eager to kill her for her to forgo the protection that Bedwyr offered.

Things were quickly shaping up to become a huge, convoluted mess.

[]I couldn't get away from all this fabulous writing after all.[]

[Bedwyr]

Merlin had no mind for military matters, as was apparent when he agreed with Amaranta on the retreating fact. A retreat was a loss. He did not lose, instead was merely regaining himself to strike again. And he would strike again.

Although... he felt no need to restate himself to the magus, instead just letting out a sigh and shaking his head in response.

Then, Amaranta spoke, bringing him near to laughter. So Merlin wasn’t what she expected? Did she expect someone taller? How many times had he heard that before? Merlin… probably enjoyed not being expected. Although… one of his slight suspicions on the propensity of the man’s shape-shifting might be that the flamboyant wizard had never shown his ‘true’ form, but that was only his own mind going off on tangents.

A gentle hand on his shoulders brought him out of those thoughts. She was standing again, and her show of strength reforged the steel in his spine, broke all worries he had in one motion as he aided Amaranta to her feet, still wrapped in his damaged, and somewhat bloodstained surcoat.

"Look- I'm sorry; this isn't exactly the best place for introductions. I'll assume you're the one who fixed me up, so thank you. But I think I, uh, we should go."

“Of course, Emma.” While it was regrettable to depart from Merlin, a potential ally who could cover his many shortcomings, his Master just had suffered trauma, and hopefully he would understand. But he would have to provide something to the Magister.

“Thank you once again, Merlin.” He said with a bow, still with the slight remnants of a smile touching his face. “I will not meet you in battle this day, or any other if I can help it. You have done more than I could have asked, and aided in the withdrawal. We will meet again, of that I have no doubts. But for now, sadly, my Master needs rest.”

They would, most definitely, see each other again. Perhaps even later tonight, if Merlin followed them. He would not put the man to chase, but if Amaranta needed to return home, he would return her home.

But that was not something to worry about… well maybe if he felt overly let down, Merlin may harass them with some magecraft. Unlikely, but he would not put it past the man to do harm if he felt slighted. He slowly guided Amaranta, the surcoat actually looking strangely suitable on her despite its length, to the Vespa, and set her on the back part of the saddle before getting on it himself, and securing her arms around his waist.

With a mighty roar, the beast came back to life, echoing a new resolve through the empty building. Gently, with his hips, he nudged the beast towards the flamboyant chestnut-headed Caster.

“Well then, I will take my leave, Merlin!” His shout was almost over the beast’s roar, and he was smiling once again. How could he not? His Master was brought back from death, and he now had an ally in this war, that was going rather poorly on his side of things.

“I cannot thank you enough, and I pray your own Master is safe as well. If you need anything of me in the future, I will provide.” The blonde knight finished, extending his hand off the rumbling steed in a Roman handshake towards the enigmatic druid. That would seal it, show to both of them they were allied and on friendly terms. It was only words till a seal was made, after all.

He was in the man’s debt. And he would not lie. If it were possible, even were it not, he would give aid to someone from his own past. This was more to affirm to the man who did not live by chivalry, that Bedwyr would live by it.

[Merlin Ambrosius]

"You're… not quite what I expected." An awkward silence followed after the young lady issued her statement, disappointed in the magus of war. Merlin stared at her, deflated at her casual remark while Bedwy- was that boy snickering at him!? No, no, he was one of Arthur's 'golden' knights. The man did not snicker; he just politely withheld his laughter…which was practically the same thing in some cases.

"Obviously I'm better then what you expected." The wizard tossed in his weak defense, crossing his arms and looking away from the duo in a huff.

"Look- I'm sorry; this isn't exactly the best place for introductions. I'll assume you're the one who fixed me up, so thank you. But I think I, uh, we should go." Merlin waved the girl off with a 'fine, fine', not bothering to look her way. While this girl had -like others before her- not instantly impressed with his greatness, Merlin choose not to correct her with his usual attitude. She was the one holding the knight's leash, the man's anchor to this world. He could hold back as long as she had her hands on Merlin's meat shield. So instead the wizard silently fumed at her response, letting himself stare in another direction to prevent the inevitable glare that would be sent her way.

“Thank you once again, Merlin.” Merlin saw the bishie bow out of the corners of his eyes. “I will not meet you in battle this day, or any other if I can help it. You have done more than I could have asked, and aided in the withdrawal. We will meet again, of that I have no doubts. But for now, sadly, my Master needs rest.” The magister eyes wandered over to meet Bedwyr's. His fury, fueled by the injustice of not knowing his majesty and the ignorance of this land's people, had cooled with the knights words. He spared the knight a nod and smile, unsure if he could exchange words without throwing in a snide remark involving a certain red head.

Mounting his mechanical steed, the bishie's master clinging to his back, Bedwyr let lose a thunderous howl from the metal beast. It’s echo slicing through the silence that engulfed most of the empty warehouse. “Well then, I will take my leave, Merlin!” The rider declared, his voice just barely toping the noise generated from the mount’s engine. “I cannot thank you enough, and I pray your own Master is safe as well. If you need anything of me in the future, I will provide.” Said with every confidence that, yes, he could provide any assistance that the legendary magus could –and would- desire in the future. And with that the Rider was gone, leaving Merlin in the dust. Merlin stood there, watching them depart and waiting for them to get out of sight and sounds reach. When they finally were, Merlin….

Threw a temper tantrum.

“Afhjjhdsavfdsa!” Was his inhuman scream, repeatedly stomping a foot into the floor and pulling at his hair. “This is bullshit! How do these people not know me!? My charismatic smile! My (in good) taste of attire! Even my cape! How could they not know me by my cape alone!?” Merlin kicked an empty paint can in frustration, sending it flying into –and through- a wall, along with every other wall for the next 3 or 4 houses. Merlin didn’t know, or care. “A majestic-Gjifdhhihf- lore! Hirueihhslka-myths!” The man slipped in and out of a tongue incomprehensible to the human’s of this era. He was frustrated over the lack of appropriate awe he was to receive. “UIUJOIYIUFDS!”

When he finally, finally, finally had released all of his anger over how unfair life, the universe and everything that made up those two were Merlin finally settled down. Regaining his composure and taking note of the various amounts of destruction he had left throughout the warehouse in his rage, decided it was best to make himself scarce. Clearing his throat, Merlin made his way out of the now barely standing up warehouse to reacquire his master.

[] sorry et took so long. :V []