Difference between revisions of "3511/Down to Business"

Latest revision as of 06:10, 12 December 2015

The Lady (913) has posed:
Toward the edge of the Crystal Valley, the trees begin to fill out, and a forest forms from the gleaming plain. They are not trees as most would know them, though. Huge, twisted aberrations like vague mockeries of trees, they reach for the sky with twisted limbs, shimmering in the light like the crystalline stuff they're made of.

There's an army here, in the shadows of crystalline boughs. Soldiers tramp hither and yon, mostly in the process of setting up camp. There must be some five thousand men here, securing perimeter, although what they're after is hard to say.

Among them there are six individuals of note, notable because of the obvious respect and unease given to them by the men in Imperial uniform.

There's one more that causes more ripples of consternation among the troops than even the six lieutenants. A woman, of all people, richly dressed in red and gold brocade, and a white lace tricorne trailing a net of pearls, keeping her long, straight black hair contained. Her eyes are the colour of winter ice, and her expression is as neutral as a statue as she strides smartly among the camps, inspecting troops and giving the occasional satisfactory nod.

Trailing her are one of the lieutenants, and an ordinary-looking mortal man.

The coordinates for this staging ground had been sent to the Servant known as Rider, earlier, and a brief, impersonal message suggesting that the Lady had found time for a meeting.

Curious.

Winedark Archer (924) has posed:
Shortly after the Lady sends the message, she gets a short but clear reply, indicating that Rider is on his way. It takes about ten minutes for him to actually arrive near the camp, and as he does, those with strong magical senses should be able to feel a massive blip of magical energy coming straight in the direction of the camp.

Moving quietly and invisibly through the trees, the blip stops right outside the encampment, before removing its disguise. A man, standing at roughly 5'11 with short brown hair, brown eyes, and very fair skin, aging roughly in his mid-40s, manifests quickly and cleanly, though it would be easy to tell that he is not a human, but a being made of magic. He's dressed in fine bronze armor, well-polished and Greek in origin, with a beggar's cloak wrapped around his shoulders. To his side is a sword, also Greek, kept in very fine condition.

Rider does not move upon manifesting, however. He waits to see if he will be detected, and eyes through the crowd. He's trying to find one of two people: Someone who fits the mental image of finely dressed, high class, and elegant, or someone who is the exact opposite, for he believes the Lady could possibly appear as either.

The Lady (913) has posed:
Although the mundane soldiers don't seem to notice much difference, the six lieutenants immediately stop what they're doing, and turn to face the intruder directly. None of them act, though; they merely stare for a moment, making it more than clear that they sense the stranger's even stranger energy.

The woman stops walking, almost mid-stride, so abruptly that the ordinary-looking mortal man nearly walks into her from behind. The lieutenant beside her, an alarmingly tall man clad in dark leather and with a hood and veil concealing his face, stops, turning and glancing back. The woman turns more sedately, eyeing the stranger coolly. The older mortal man looks between the woman and the tall lieutenant, obviously missing something -- perhaps he doesn't sense the energy that the other two do, and the lapse confuses him.

Oh, now that's interesting. The woman regards Rider coolly, or at least the area in which Rider manifested, on the other side of camp. She begins walking, gesturing curtly for her followers to attend her.

Rider will find himself in the middle of a sudden brouhaha, and mortal soldiers scrambling to surround him. They do, levelling pikes; behind the front line there's general shouting and confusion that resolves itself quickly.

Because the Lady is suddenly in their midst.

The men part like water, falling away with a clatter of weapons where she appears. Quiet islands her as she passes.

Elegant and well-dressed is certainly the case for this woman; absolutely in control, both of herself and her followers. She draws to a halt near to Rider, studying him with a sharpness and scrutiny that suggests more than mere visual observation. She, too, feels like something sorcerous -- but not that she's made of it; merely that she's suffused with it, and powerfully. This is a sorceress of no small skill.

Little wonder these people pay her such deference.

"I applaud you for your entry, but I've already noticed." She smiles, faintly, coldly. "Come, now. You don't think I wouldn't be aware of something different in the heart of my own encampment, do you?"

The very tall man beside her is still watching Rider in silence. The mortal man is also watching Rider, but he looks about a hundred times less sure of himself. In fact, he looks like he's trying to avoid attention entirely.

"You are Rider, then." The woman folds her arms; a slow, deliberate, and confident gesture. "I bid you welcome. I am the Lady of Charm." A gesture is flicked at her attendants; first the tall man. "This is Moonbiter, one of my lieutenants, the Ten Who Were Taken." The older mortal man is indicated next. "This is Croaker; My annalist and physician of the Black Company."

Winedark Archer (924) has posed:
As the Lady and her attendants approach, Rider turns straight to face them and look them over. As his eyes scan over, he smiles faintly towards the Lady, before his face seems to manifest an expression of confusion towards the appearance of her more...inhuman companions. Despite this, Rider neither actually confused nor repelled by it, hiding his true thoughts behind fake and 'normal' reactions.

Once the Lady gets closer, Rider bows his head, as he speaks. "To the Lady and her followers, I, Rider, bring greetings." Moments after, he lifts his head and readjusts his posture, before turning to respond to her comment. "I do not believe you naive or unobservant, Lady, nor do I believe someone with power such as yourself could not detect my presence. But I am a believer that caution is always wise, even with allies, for nothing can be confirmed as true until you have seen it with your own eyes. I apologize if it seemed that I had looked down upon you like that, for such was not my intention."

The Greek turns towards the two that the Lady points out, tipping his head in greeting. "Well met." Once that is out of the way, he turns back to the Lady, eyes focused as he tries to gauge her expressions and thoughts via her face. "Now I do not mean to seem impatient, but I believe it is wise to ask quickly. You asked to speak with me, and I doubt it was solely for introduction, as I can expect you are fairly busy, seeing your role and command. What can I do for you, Lady of Charm?"

The Lady (913) has posed:
The Taken look quite human, putting aside their intimidating manner of dress; the soldiers are likewise dressed plainly, in simple but recognisable uniform, well-equipped and disciplined. Rider's smile is met with no motion at all from the hooded and veiled Taken. He bears a badge different from the one that Croaker wears; a wolf howling at the moon, in opposition to Croaker's silver skull wreathed in flames.

The Lady, by virtue of being the Lady, bears no sigil at all. She doesn't need one. As though at ease, she half-turns to regard the troops, gesturing for them to return to their business with a gesture. They break away almost immediately, going back to establishing camp. If, indeed, that's what they were doing.

When greeted, Moonbiter inclines his head the faintest degree or two. He says nothing. Croaker eyes the Servant for a few moments, as though unsure, but eventually manages a bit of a nod.

"Come." She gestures to the Greek Servant, beckoning for him to follow; her attendants fall into step behind her automatically. "You are wise not to trust. I do not trust. Only a fool trusts, and only an even greater fool trusts blindly."

The plumes of the hat twitch as she glances sidelong, regarding Rider from the corner of her eye. "There are many things you can do for me, dear Rider, as a Confederate ally. But time is short, as you have already observed. My men here are studying these crystals for their potential as a source of energy, or an amplification thereof. They may have a great many uses within my Empire."

"So." The Lady raises her head, facing straight ahead as she walks, brisk but unhurried; the plumes of her hat bob behind her with each step. "What I require is this: Information. Specifically, I require information regarding you, and your ilk. Servants." Her head tilts again, and she regards Rider from the corner of an eye. "Tell me, Rider, of these 'Servants,' and this 'Grail War' from which you originate."

Winedark Archer (924) has posed:
Rider follows slowly behind the Lady, keeping his eyes on her as they move. He remains quiet as she speaks, taking her words in and thinking, nodding as she speaks of her Empire. His eyes scan briefly at her two lieutenants, making sure that they have no ill plans for him, before he turns back to her.

And as he learns her request, he smiles briefly, laughing quietly to himself. And then, the Rider speaks, words as clear as they can be. "The Holy Grail War is a ritual crafted by maguses, in an attempt to use a powerful magical object known as the 'Holy Grail' to affect the world. It is thought that the Holy Grail is capable of granting wishes of almost no limitations. However, that power cannot be shared, so it must be fought over." Rider glances over to the Lady to see her initial reactions to the information, before continuing.

"To battle for the Grail, magi summon what are known as 'Heroic Spirits' to fight for them. These spirits are historical figures of myth and legend, brought back long after their deaths in a magical form. They become 'Servants', working for a Master, both having a wish for the Grail. Every Servant has powerful abilities, and one of seven 'classes' that designate their capabilities." He pauses, before speaking slowly, as to give thought on what each word he says mean. "Saber. Archer. Lancer. Rider. Caster. Assassin. Berserker."

Rider continues soon after, now that the classes have been listed. "I am Rider, for my fame comes from riding a legendary mount, for my riding skill is known the world over. The same is true for the other Servants and their respective capabilities." Again, Rider checks to see how the Lady seems to respond to this information, before speaking once more, more importantly. "The seven Servant-Master pairs fight to the death, with either the death of the Servant, or the death of the Master ending their participation. A Servant requires the magical power of a Master to survive, though they can pact with another individual should their Master perish. Is there anything you would like to particulary know more about?"

The Lady (913) has posed:
"Magi. How quaint," the Lady responds, crisply. Her expression never changes but her voice carries a hint of disappointment. An entire world full of inept nitwits of Bomanz' calibre, tampering with matters well over their heads? Ye gods. She moves past her momentary exasperation, sweeping it aside briskly. "Hm. So. Sorcerors, attempting to exert their will over the world. The same as any attmept to do, on a grander and much more immediate scale, I would say. Vyinga gainst each other. That is not so unfamiliar to me."

She thins her lips as she walks, considering. She seems not at all surprised, and accepting enough of Rider's cursory explanation. Half a glance is cast toward the Servant, from the corner of her eye, thoughtful.

"I am not unfamiliar with summoning rituals, although I have little use for them, personally. Continue."

He does. She listens.

Past heroes. Mythological figures. That draws an unexpected laugh from the woman; silver-bells mirth, too perfect. Surely she must be using some kind of glamour. She looks no older than her early twenties; she must also have some kind of power to have the allegiance of these men, and whatever the Taken are. She's confident, that's for sure.

"Interesting. And you are Rider, then, although I see no evidence of a steed. So. Yes. A seven-way 'war' to the death of its participants. That certainly sounds like the sort of sorcery I am familiar with." She smiles, faintly, but it's still the kind of smile that would melt granite. "I suspected much of this, but thank you for confirming my suspicions."

The smile fades; all business once more. "These Servants may form a pact with whomsoever they please? How very mercenary. So. Then. Your allegiance is not to the magus who has summoned you, but to yourself, and your own chances of victory. Most interesting." She glances behind her, briefly, to the very tall lieutenant that follows behind her. "You would have much in common with the Ten Who Were Taken, I think."

"If anything... unfortunate... should befall your Master, I should be interested in an alliance. I believe you have much to offer to both the Confederacy, and perhaps to me, as well. In the meantime, I have a proposition for you." Her eyes remain locked straight ahead. "There is a particular thorn in my side that has persisted through much of the history of my Empire, and that thorn is the White Rose Rebellion. The misguided fools are being led, of course, and have no idea of that which it is they actually fight for, but be that as it may, they are still a bothersome distraction to me. If you can assist me with a victory or two over them, if you can help me to break their morale, at least for a little while, perhaps it will buy me time to see to far more important matters. I simply do not have the time to indulge that foolishness."

Those wintry blue eyes slide back to regard Rider again. "So. Yes? What say you, Servant Rider...?"

Winedark Archer (924) has posed:
"A Servant's identity is their most prized secret, for it allows an enemy to find any weakness they may have." Rider replies in response to his lack of steed, "And for that reason, I cannot reveal my steed to any man until it is time to use its powerful abilities, for the mere description of it could reveal my name. I cannot take chances, so even the Confederacy cannot know who I am at this juncture."

Rider smirks briefly in response to the Lady's idea of alliance, though it is clear in his eyes that is definitely weighing it in his head. "For were such a tragedy to befall, I will likely see to that you are the first I contact." He carefully listens to her proposition, taking a minute after she speaks to think. "That is a certainly tricky matter, one that I have had experience to, though not in the scale that you are facing. However, it is not a matter I fear, nor a matter that I believe I cannot be useful in."

"Very well. I will lend my skills to you, Lady of Charm, when you need them. Send my Master or I all relevant information, and we will see this through as soon as possible." Rider smiles. It's firm, confident, and almost entirely trustworthy, though exactly what is going on inside Rider's head is impossible to tell. Rider will wait for now to see if the Lady has anything else to say. This could be a very useful partnership, if everything goes right.

The Lady (913) has posed:
When he declines to identify his steed, the Lady merely regards him neutrally, one delicate brow very slightly arched. No? No matter. A sorceror of her world would never be fool enough to reveal their own name; much as with these Servants and their identities, it is the source of their power. That's an understandable hesitation.

Otherwise, she would not have gone to such remarkable trouble to scrub her own identity from historical record.

"I can think of a number of tasks you would be well-suited to, if your area of expertise is as you say it is." She smiles a faint, cryptic little smile. "Oh, yes. I do not think you are above misleading even your own allies. Certainly, much of the Confederacy must employ such tactics; the heart of a thing being the source of its power would appear to be a common thread throughout the multiverse."

One slim, delicate hand is tossed into the air in apparent dismissive gesture. "So. You are protecting your identity, just as I am protecting mine." She glances back to him, again smiling that cryptic little smile. Surely he didn't think 'Lady' was really her name? Only a fool would, really, but names are such obvious vulnerabilities that only an idiot would flaunt theirs. "A fair enough arrangement. I bear you no remorse over that obvious lapse; indeed, I would do the same in your situation."

The good nature drops from her, back to business once more as she strides briskly forward. They seem to be passing by a clearing where six wooden frames rest, each about a foot high, with textile stretched and nailed over them. A few guards stand over them. Despite how plain those things look, they must be special, or there wouldn't be guards attending them. The objects are lost in groups of soldiers, then, as the entourage passes by; lost again to the whirl and bustle of camp.

One of the Taken passes by, dressed similarly to Moonbiter, albeit much shorter. The Taken, whose face and identity is a mystery but for the badge they wear -- a single feather -- freezes and half-faces the Lady. The Lady also draws to a slow halt, staring intently at the Taken for a moment. Whatever communication they have passes unspoken. Moonbiter, too, turns his head toward the other Taken, as though interested or listening. After a few seconds of this, the new Taken goes about their way, and the Lady and her lieutenant continue forward.

"Whisper maintains her hold on Rust, and the eastern front remains a stalemate." She throws the comment over her shoulder, to the mortal man that's still tailing them. "Note it in your Annals, Physician. It will not remain a stalemate for much longer. So." Her attention snaps back to Rider, brisk. "I will see to it that one of the Taken delivers what information you require." She smiles, and the expression seems like the sort that could melt granite. "Very good, then, Servant Rider. I shall look forward to an allianceship."

"In the meantime, I must see to various issues here, and then my attention will be required in the East. Whisper is an efficient leader of men, but the Rebel is as stubborn as a mastiff with a bone, and know not when they have been defeated." She makes a slight 'tsk' sound, clicking her tongue in evident disapproval. "No matter. It will be seen to."

She favours Rider with a direct look, and inclines her head graciously. "It has been a pleasure, Servant Rider. But I am afraid that is all the time I have to spare for you or any others. Good evening to you."

With that, her pace increases still more, forcing Croaker to dog-trot to keep up, and Moonbiter to lengthen his stride very slightly -- not too much a challenge for such an impossibly tall man. If, indeed, Moonbiter is a man. It could be a woman. The Taken, once human, all seem to be a strange lot.

The dismissal is mild, but it's still there all the same. If he has nothing more to say to her, she'll leave him in the dust while she finishes up her inspection.

Winedark Archer (924) has posed:
Rider bows his head as she parts, speaking as he begins to dematerialize. "I pray you to be sound. Farewell." Soon, the magical blip that is Rider is gone, leaving the Lady and her military to their crystal harvesting.