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

This is part 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.

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‘Who are you?’ Patrick said, standing and taking a half-step back in surprise. ‘Are you the one who led us here?’

‘Stooping to dirty tricks is the role of the Master,’ the man replied. ‘My kind just fight, when and where we’re told. Isn’t that right…’ he continued, closing an eye and smirking even more. ‘...my invisible buddy?’ Patrick’s eyes flicked to where Archer was concealed. ‘There’s no way you could see him,’ he murmured, and looked back at him. ‘You’re a Servant!’

‘Then may I take it that you are my enemy?’ he asked, standing upright on the light pole and planting one blade of the battlestaff firmly on the steel of his perch. Pat flicked his eyes around, his mind roving.

We’re at a disadvantage, boxed in like this, he thought. The man shook his head. ‘You seem ignorant,’ he said. ‘But you clearly have the gist of things here. Damn, I really blew it.’ he flicked his battlestaff up, twirling it in one hand. ‘I shouldn’t have opened my mouth,’ he continued softly, as his weapon’s blades burned with purple energy. ‘Curiosity got the better of me.’

Pat turned to run, aiming for the cliffside. The man leapt through the air, twisting to land on the ground, and Pat fell forward, scrambling to one side as the man span his blades rapidly like a fan. It is large, it is small, Pat thought, and his legs flared with light as his Magic Circuits filled with energy. He leapt forward, his enchantment propelling him. The voice of God envelops the world!

He leapt off the cliff, curling into a fetal position midair. ‘Archer, handle the landing!’ he called, trying not to show any fear to the Servant. A moment before impact, he felt a strong hand clasp him by the neck, and pull him through the air in a guided jump. Abruptly it released him, letting him break his fall, stumbling and starting to run, and only the sense of danger he felt alerted him to the fact that the man was behind him again, stave moving to cut him in two.

A flash of light and a screech of metal later, Pat found himself out of danger. He stumbled forward a few meters before turning around. Archer appeared, taking material form in between him and the man. In one of his hands was a long fighting-knife, more short sword than dagger. A dirk. It was slender, single-edged, with a silver blade, bronze tracery and pommel, and a dark wooden grip. Pat took a moment to think on the enemy.

‘You’re a Lancer-class Servant!’ he called. ‘Indeed.’ Lancer replied, smiling as he took up a fighting stance. ‘But your Servant doesn’t strike me as a Saber.’ His lips curled into a snarl. ‘So, what are you, friend?'

Archer made no answer, simply looking at Lancer with a neutral expression. ‘Not the proper, single-combat type either,’ Lancer finally commented. ‘Which makes you an Archer.’ He planted his staff’s lower blade in the ground. ‘Go ahead, Archer,’ he continued, smirking. ‘Take out your bow. I’ll wait till you’re ready.’

Archer made no move to answer Lancer’s challenge, only turning slightly to look Patrick in the eye, a question on his face. Pat nodded. ‘Of course,’ he murmured, then drew himself up. ‘Alright, Archer. You’ll get no help from me. Right here, and right now…’ he drew in a breath. ‘Show me what you’ve got!’

Archer smiled a little, turning back to face Lancer, who was still smiling. He tightened his grip on his dagger: blue-white light surrounded him briefly, and a wind that blew up from his feet caused his robes to briefly flap in the wind. Lancer continued to smirk. Then Archer disappeared, the ground cracking in a circle around where he once had been.

Lancer instantly moved, throwing herself into a defensive stance, and Pat’s eyes could barely even track the electric and violet streaks made by the passage of their weapons, short-sword on spear. They were like demons, their weapons trailing light: purple for Lancer and blue for Archer.

Archer leapt into the air after their first few exchanges, twisting to land a good twenty yards away. ‘Got you,’ Lancer murmured, stepping forward and moving so fast as to be no more than a streak. He re-appeared, battlestaff extended, but Archer’s weapon met his at every turn. Finally he spun his staff rapidly and slammed it into the ground in front of him, causing Archer to fly backward for the broken earth.

Archer stood there for a moment, surrounded by billowing dust, before his blade knocked aside Lancer’s staff as he tried to take him through the chest. They exchanged positions, dirk and staff flashing, and when Lancer struck at his legs, he jumped, hanging suspended in the air a moment before bringing his blade down. His battlestaff’s shaft was there to meet it, but Archer gave a grunt, his sword briefly flashed with white light, and Lancer flew backward into the cliffside.

Archer stepped to one side as a piece of rubble, five feet across, hurtled through the space where he had been standing. Lancer grinned, seemingly unharmed by the blow he had been given, and charged into the fray, blades flashing.

Archer was desperate from where Patrick stood: he was barely blocking Lancer’s rapid thrusts with that staff of his. He struck once more, and his stave skated off Archer’s dirk, but at the cost of the weapon: it shattered into a dozen pieces.

‘Go to hell.’ Lancer said gleefully, stabbing for his heart. Pat stepped forward. ‘Archer!’ He shouted. Archer took a single step backward, murmuring something. Blue-white light flashed in his palms, and Lancer was forced to retreat or be cut down. Archer’s silver dirk was in his hand, smoking a little: he now held another in his off-hand.

‘A dual-wielder?’ murmured Lancer, and Archer raised his weapons into a fighting stance. ‘So, we have a mere bowman who thinks he’s a swordsman!’ Lancer shouted, and charged back into the fray.

--

Travian sat back, rocking his chair on its back legs, and looked over to the other side of the room, where a large red circle was inscribed in the floor, covered in dust. ‘I really do wonder what that’s for…’ he murmured, before picking up his wallet. ‘I really ought to get a jog in before I turn in.’

--

‘Seventeen.’ Lancer said. The Servant stepped back a little. ‘Either you have seventeen pairs, or they fly back to you like hounds to their master. Just how many blades are under those sleeves of yours?’

‘This is unlike you,’ Archer said calmly, still in a fighting stance. ‘Is wait-and-see your strategy now? Or are you just taking a little break?’

‘Trying to provoke me, eh?’ Lancer laughed. ‘You’re a sly one. How about introductions, then. What land’s Heroic Spirit are you? I’ve never heard of a bowman that uses two dirks.’

‘You, on the other hand, are identifiable to me.’ replied Archer. ‘Only the swiftest of erodes may engage in the pursuit of the spear, and only the most agile may attempt the battlestaff. There aren’t even three spearmen or staff-users in this world with your skill. Factor in the agility of something inhuman, and that leaves just one.’

‘Now you flatter me, Archer,’ Lancer said with a smile of bared teeth. He slid one foot back, presenting his back to them, and held his staff, blade down. Furious violet light burned along the weapon’s length: the feeling Pat got when looking at the weapon was nothing short of fear. ‘Will you face my mightiest blow?’ he challenged.

Archer span his dirks in his hands, settling into a crouch. ‘I won’t stop you. You are an enemy I must defeat sooner or later.’ This isn’t good, the Magus thought, looking at the staff. That amount of mana: that’s definitely a Noble Phantasm.

A stick snapped, and all three of them whirled around. ‘Who’s there?’ Lancer shouted. A shadow on the path detached itself from the trees, and ran. Before Patrick could react, Lancer had gone. ‘There was still someone out here?’ Pat asked, quickly making his way over to Archer ‘It would appear so.’ the Servant murmured. ‘It actually saved my life.’

‘Where’s Lancer gone?’ Pat continued. ‘He’s obeying the rule of mages: magic must not be revealed to the public.’ Archer said, his blades disappearing in a scattering of blue sparks. ‘He’s going to silence the child.’

Pat cursed under his breath. ‘Let’s get after him, Archer.’