User blog:Faenor of the Silver Laurel/The Holy Grail War: Heroes of MERP

This is the beginning of a series of short-stories, following the premise of the Fate series, which has seven heroes, called Servants, summoned from the past, present, or even the future to battle for the mystical wish-granting cup known as the Holy Grail. Our story will follow the Masters and their Servants as they battle for the right to claim the Grail.

Patrick opened his eyes, and looked around the room one more time. It was the attic of his home; a rented place in a backwoods town he hadn't bothered to learn the name of. This was where the Holy Grail War would be fought: this isolated village, cut off by the mountains and the sea. He raised one hand, silver liquid dripping from his palm onto the thaumaturgical circle inscribed on the floor.

'Let silver and steel be the essence.' he intoned, the words for the summoning inscribed in his head. 'Let stone and the archduke of contracts be the foundation.' The circle began to faintly pulse with crimson light.

'Let red be the color I pay tribute to.

Let rise a wall against the wind that shall fall.

Let the four cardinal gates close.'

With each line, the circle grew brighter, and pulsed faster. He closed his eyes, his magic circuits surging with energy. He drew the catalyst from his pocket; a strip of dark blue cloth. He tossed it into the centre of the circle.

'Let the three-forked road from the crown reaching unto the Kingdom rotate.

Let it be filled. Again. Again. Again. Again.

Let it be filled fivefold for every turn, simply breaking asunder with every filling.'

He drew out a small pendant, the magical energy within the blue jewel pulsing, and threw it into the air, releasing all the Od stored inside.

'I shall declare here. My will creates your body, and your sword shall be my destiny. Submit to the beckoning of the Holy Grail. If you will submit to this will and this reason…… then answer!

An oath shall be sworn here: I shall attain all virtues of all of Heaven. I shall have dominion over all the evils of Hell!

From the Seventh Heaven, attended to by three great words of power, come forth from the ring of restraint- Protector of the Balance!'

And with a crackle of crimson electricity, a flash of blinding white light, and a deafening noise, Patrick brought forth his Servant. Darkness closed over his eyes, his energy drained completely.

--

When he woke again, dawn was peeking through the eastern window of the small room. He bolted upright, staring at the faded circle on the floor. 'Did I get them?' he murmured. 'Did I draw the most powerful card?...'

'Are you awake?' a voice said, and Pat whirled around.

A young man was standing there- no, leaning against the wall, arms folded. His hair was snow-white, and it was bound in a ring of bronze, as it reached down his back and to the base of his spine. He was wearing slender silver plate armor: a cuirass, pauldrons, greaves, and bracers. The rest was silver mail over what looked like black leather. He was also wearing black leather gauntlets, a white robe at his waist that split down the middle, and a white cloak.

'Are you my Servant?' Patrick immediately demanded, and the man laughed a bit, a clear sound like a bell. He had pointed ears, Pat noticed.

'I am to take it you are my Master, then?' he replied, quieting. Patrick nodded, and the man pushed off the wall, standing upright. 'That will be as it is, then.'

'What kind of Servant are you?' Pat enquired. 'A Saber?'

He shook his head, and spread his hands, revealing nothing at his side. 'I regret to inform you that I am not a swordsman by nature.'

'That means you're an Archer...' Patrick murmured disappointedly, and the man's eyes, Archer's eyes, narrowed. 'I shall make you regret those words.' he responded curtly, moving to look at the sunrise, and Patrick sighed.

'I suppose you will, if we win.' he amended. Archer turned to look at him. 'Then what shall I call you, Master?'

'My name is Patrick. May I ask which Heroic Spirit you are?'

The man shook his head. 'I do not know for sure what I am myself, so I shall hold off giving you my name until my suspicions are confirmed or denied. This war promises to be a strange one, at the least.'

Pat nodded, and Archer walked to the door. 'Time is wasting,' he said. 'We should begin scouting the battlefield to come.'

--

They looked down on the entire city from the top of the tallest building, a fifteen-story-affair that functioned as the only hotel. Dusk's rosy light filtered through the air, signalling the onset of night.

'Master, did we really need to go through the entire city?' Archer asked. 'We could have saved quite some time if we had come here to begin with.'

'You can't get a feel for a city unless you walk the streets, Archer,' responded Pat. 'Up here, all you can get is a scenic view. No details.'

'That is not true in my case,' Archer replied, dangling his legs over the side as he sat on the rooftop's edge. 'I am of the class called Archer: bowmen need excellent eyesight. I could count every tile on that rooftop.' he said, motioning towards a distant building, two or three miles away. Pat gave a low whistle, and Archer looked at him out of the corner of his eye. 'Master, is it possible that you are putting me on?'

'Not at all, Archer.'

Archer sighed a little. 'Yes, Master, though I can't help but think that you aren't taking this seriously.' His eyes narrowed, and his voice grew calm. 'We might have a problem.'

Patrick snapped his head up. 'What do you see?' Archer motioned with one hand in the direction of the central park. 'There is a mana leakage there, telling of either a Master or a Servant's presence.' Pat nodded, and blue light surrounded Archer a moment before he faded from view, his Spiritual Body allowing him to move unseen.

--

Pat kneeled on the lawn in the park, a flat square around a hundred to a hundred and fifty yards across. He felt the ground. 'There's definitely Mana here, and Od. A magus, probably.' he said to the air.

'That would mean a Master, correct?' Archer's voice said. 'Indeed it would,' Pat replied. 'A magus doesn't have any other reason to be in this town. I'll see what I can do to track them down-'

'Now why would you go and do that?' another voice chimed in, and Pat flicked his eyes up.

A man was squatting on top of one of the light poles. He had long white hair, tied back into a French braid that extended to the small of his back, unusually pale skin, and his eyes were violet. He was dressed in slender black armor, similar to Archer's armor, though he lacked the cloak and the robe and his appeared to have more joints. Added, he wasn't wearing gloves like Archer. His arms were draped across a six-foot-long double-bladed staff, black with curling silver designs all along the length. A battlestaff.

He smirked, and Pat felt a chill run down his spine.

To be continued...