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Post by lostrider on Mar 15, 2016 23:08:41 GMT
Ever charging forward... always leading with the legions of solders and followers that stood behind my back... there was but one goal.
Conquest.
The King of Conquerors moved ever forward on his quest to conquer the known world, and he always dreamed of the day he would reach the end of his journey to find the place that marked the ends of the Earth, Oceania...
It is after remembering that goal, he hears a voice from beyond, from the one who is summoning him.
"If you wish to reach Oceania, go... destroy all that lies within your path to do so!"
And with that the contract was forged. His goal was the destruction of all that lies within his path, for there is no longer the journey for the King of Conquerors; there is only the End.
With a mighty bolt from the heavens, at the end of the same bridge he met his end on ten years ago, he stands again ready to crush those that stand in his way, as he makes his way across awaiting those who wished to be crushed underneath the conqueror's feet.
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Post by Beowulf on Mar 16, 2016 4:20:54 GMT
The sky was colored red...ah memories, much blood had been spilled here. The smell of these places were always a...well you couldn't call it a fond memory, but the true home of the Geatish hero was here. On the field of battle fighting against all kinds of powerful creatures and beasts! That was his forte! Though...he was needed else where, a great beast had awakened from the river and it seemed to be a fairly powerful Dragon that the primary team were to do battle with. The goal of this group though, at the opposite end of the bridge was to fight the darkened shadow servants making their way to aid the mighty beast!
The bolt of lighting struck down like it was called down by the mighty Zeus himself, what stood before them was easy for everyone there to tell...it was a servant of power that could only compare with the greatest of heroes! The sound of thundering hooves and the wheels of the heavy chariot blazing towards the group commanded by the Berserker.
A grin formed upon the face of the blond haired warrior king, a hero known for answering to call of duty when he was asked, he had taken up this task, there was no need for him to fight the dragon...if he was honest he hated dragons, though they were quite delicious. All he had to do was make sure to stop this rampaging Rider and anything else that came to try and aid the great beast! That was good enough! Much like the battle he had done against Grendel what had been brought along with him was a collection of fine heroes! Warriors beyond belief, of course...they were all servants after all, A rider and a saber, as well as a fellow berserker! A true bruiser battle team it seemed! It was time for all the close combat, just like the Monster Slayer liked it.
"Heeeh...Never fought divine bulls before, this will be fun!" The man known as Beowulf let out, the heavily muscled bare chested frame of Beowulf stepping up closer to the center a head of his squad. Standing in the path that the rampaging chariot would trail. " Come on you bastards! Let's make this a night to remember!" He called out with gusto! It was clear that there was some sense of joy in his heart about this whole thing, though there was just as much seriousness as well. The chains keeping his arms locked together rattling as it dragged against the concrete of the bridge, though there were no swords in his hands this time. He braced his feet his strong body flexing as a deep breath was taken.
Readying himself for a task that many would think foolish! There was only one way to deal with a bull, let alone two! That was to grab them by their horns. " Let's make some noise!" The Geatish king called out, wide grin on his face and fiery intent in his eyes.
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Post by Gareth on Mar 18, 2016 8:40:11 GMT
Gareth had expected both much and little from service at Chaldeas' whim. For once, he had imagined an organization that had gone to such lengths to summon Heroic Spirits from all eras of human history and legend, together with both the cost and research time of such an endeavor, would surely put them to face powerful enemies without peer. Whatever their opponents, they'd proven to require the need of joint parties of Servants, warriors who often saw no match in the battlefield during their lives - and thus his heart had raced with the idea of facing such mighty foes, finding some light in the dark tunnel that had been his life since this summoning.
On the other coin, Sir Gareth of Orkney was still very much himself. Had he been a failure of a summoning or simply an accidental one that was kept around for hope he can gather some result, he didn't know, but for sure he didn't measure up to many of the names he'd been sharing halls and meals with. Kings, demigods, warriors whose deeds far outshone his, all these hard facts showed very little chance that he'd ever be used against such worthy opponents. More likely than not, he expected to be used for cleanup or something of similar derogatory purpose.
He'd been half-right.
Behind their current position stood the greatest beast he'd ever seen. A dragon of white scales, impossibly massive in its scale, dwarfing them even from afar. Its very presence felt at the same time godly and unholy, and it made him swallow dryly in such a sight. Had he considered himself a gallant knight or otherwise, even a Sir of the Round Table such as himself could not contain a bit of fear at such a creature, knowing full well agents of Chaldeas were also engaged in combat against it. Perhaps an existential crisis of sorts found him as he'd realized his impotence in front of that enemy, but nevertheless he pushed it to the back of his mind. This was no time to feel terror.
On the direction opposite to them, a group apparently engaged into a gigantic horde of ghouls that attempted to cross the bridge to them, a swath of foes worthy enough of fear into itself, but somewhat more manageable. The foe they themselves faced, however...
He was satisfied. At least for now, this would do.
Having been given no time to familiarize himself with his comrades, Rider climbed atop his summoned steed, a stallion of white coat and mane, and had his weapon materialize in his hands, opting for Ser Kay's Lance, the steely, near white blade having had its hilt decorate with black and gold long ago in his life. "I can meet him one-to-one on the field, and maybe open up an opportunity for a clear hit on the warrior piloting that chariot." He stated clearly, confident in his recorded ability as the unparalleled master jouster of the Round Table. "Berserker -"
He was standing on the path of the charge. And apparently, laughing.
"Don't just stand there!"
Suddenly, the name of his Class fit him.
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Post by Mordred on Mar 19, 2016 19:39:14 GMT
Mordred was not happy.
She wanted to fight the dragon! It wasn't fair that some other group of Servants, apparently including that damnable abomination of a class hybrid, got to fight such a beast that absolutely -demanded- a fight between the Greatest Knight. Instead, she had been selected for a hold-the-line action, which could be worse. At least Chaldea had acknowledged they had need of her peerless skills. It would have to do.
And this chump on a chariot was gonna be her little target for some stress relief. Or at least, that would be the case, if some asshole didn't decide that he was gonna grandstand. That was her job! "Hey! Out of the way!" She doesn't bother much more than that...considering the other Knight was up on the horse, the other two folks were bound to be Berserkers. No sense wasting time trying to talk to them too much, either they'd listen or they'd yell.
She turns and calls out to the Rider who looks vaguely familiar. "Hey! Since Zerky's probably not gonna act intelligently, let's try and hit the charioteer in a pincer. Let's make this fast and maybe we can join in on fighting that dragon!" Laughing, she circles around, leaving craters as she runs to the other side of the charging Rider, firing red beams of energy out at the chariot while steering clear of the line of sight if it does start charging.
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Post by Aìfe on Mar 21, 2016 14:39:11 GMT
BITCHIN'!
That was the first thought that went through Aoife's mind as she saw the dragon and a frown of recognition adorned her features for a second, before she turned to the -actually- important thing. Namely, the dude moving towards them with an army of ghouls. The target was tall, but seemed to move slowly... for now. No matter, she'd crush the little bug like any other nuisance. Get the fuck out of here... "GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!" She voiced her thoughts nonchalantly, before completely disregarding anything her comrades could or might have said. There was no point on overthinking this. They had a target and killing it was what she'd do... that'd just require some getting all close and personal.
Her movement was barely even visible, only the sound explosion that indented the very earth spoke of the fact that she'd moved at all, as Aoife blasted forward at the front rows of the ghouls... except at the level of their heads. Performing a half-pirouette in mid-air she kicked herself off a ghoul's head, exploding it, carrying herself over the heads of the first rows of ghouls, before she repeated the action once... then twice, the a third time, jumping as high as possible, while shoving the ghoul's head down its spine. Visualizing her target, Aoife came down next to the King of Conqueror's shadow. Her hammer came down along with her, striking the ground roughly two meters before the shadow-servant, so as to imbalance him and throw over and away any ghouls in the immediate proximity.
Then Aoife bolted forward, her hammer describing an arc aiming for the king's head, before suddenly being averted downward to strike his knee... until she finally thrust it forward, seeking to stab him in the chest with its spur. The movement carried on however, as Aoife would turn over her hammer's axis vertically, moving to the shadow servant's side, while bringing her right leg up, in seeking to deliver a brutal kick to his forehead... in any case, Aoife would remain within the immediate proximity of Iskande, punching for his throat, kicking at his legs and pressuring him with complex manouvers with her hammer.
Her expression with that of violent ecstasy... she clearly enjoyed being able to fight something properly for once, and the ghouls sure as hell would not get in her way. In fact, those that tried simply had their heads or ribcages pulverized by elbows and feet suddenly bolting into their direction, as Aoife focused her attention on the true enemy before her. A deep growl escaped her lips in the rythm of a chuckle, her eyes almost cast in shadow as the glared at the opponent with lethal intent. Yes, yours truly... Warrior Goddess Aoife... had come to crush your- "...EVERYTHING!" she roared with a low pitched, animalistic voice, as she continued to keep up the pressure.
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Post by Furious God on Mar 22, 2016 2:03:15 GMT
He was a pawn. He knew that. And yet it didn't bother him. Not in the slightest. He knew what was at risk. He knew the plan. The rebirth of the shenlong dragon. A beautiful dream that would bring beautiful rebirth. This existence was hollow, and yet the sight of the magnificent beast, even in his dreams, filled him with hope. So long as that dragon existed, Japan could rise from the ashes as it had done time and time again. And as such, he would allow no harm to come to it. It also didn't help that the Fallen Conqueror was clearly outmatched, or so it had been believed. Elsewise, why would he have been summoned to help even the odds. Unlike his "ally", if the rabid monster could be called as such, the unusual samurai hopped off the chariot, having hitched a brief ride. Unfortunately, he had no possession of the Riding skill, so it was the best he could manage. His eyes locked on the armored Saber, effortlessly dodging each blow. Being back in his homeland filled him with power beyond compare. It was a strange question as to which of the two, the fallen conqueror or the samurai, was the greater threat. Having chosen his target, he said in a soft, yet booming voice, containing a sense of barely restrained fury. "My name is Taira no Masakado."Seven copies of him split from his body... and then merged right back into him. He readied his katana. "So long as I draw breath, Japan's dream shall not die."He wouldn't let it die. It filled him with hope. Within an instant, he had crossed the distance towards the armored Saber, one swing aimed at the shoulder of her armor. Not even a second later, seven more swings appeared from impossible angles, each aimed to kill. lostrider, Beowulf, Gareth, Mordred, Aìfe
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Post by lostrider on Mar 28, 2016 0:20:22 GMT
As the lightning came forth as the Conqueror stood on the bridge's edge, summoning forth his chariot Gordius Wheel pulled by pair of divine bulls, an unexpected guest who was on his side came along with it. The Conqueror knew little of this ally who willing stood by the Dragon that summoned him, and he cared little for his motives but it appeared for know they were on the same side, as the man who could separate and reform who introduced himself as Taira no Masakado, positioned himself with the Conqueror. As the Conqueror gazed out at those that blocked his path, there was a face he recognized, one who he met in a previous where in this very country ten years ago.
"Saber... HaHaHaHa! Ever the fool you are, you sham of a king and foolish ideal! To rule is to conquer and lead for one's self, your worthless ideal of putting other first shows what a worthless monarch you are!"
As he made his boast against her, the swordsman went into position against her as three others stood in his way. A gutsy fighter who seemed to be anxious for a fight, a Knight in dark armor, and the loudest of them all a woman with an anger problem. As proof of this she charged right at him without fear! Readying his blade he defends himself from her attack with his his blade. Given the strength of her swing, she certainly had some bite to match her bark. All the more reason for him to enjoy the battle in-front of him. Laughing to himself he called forth a two solders who served him during his lifetime.
"HaHaHa, so you fools dare impede the path of the Conqueror! Then be crushed! Their bodies may return to ash... Come forth my soldiers!"
*two soldiers armed with simple weapon step forward behind the Conqueror, the look on their faces seem to be one of sorrow as if something they believed has been taken from them*
"Go forth my men, hold off the two men while I deal with the loud women who dares to my headache even worse with her barking."
The summoned soldiers, split off one taking position in-front of Beowulf, while the other stands in-front of Gareth, as to make sure they do not impede upon the conqueror as his chariot charges in to create distance between Aoife an himself, as he then gets in to charge at her.
As the Conqueror charges forward on his chariot he yells these words that are the reason of why he moves forward this time.
"All that stands in my way will be crushed! This is the decree of the Conqueror!"
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Post by Beowulf on Apr 1, 2016 5:38:39 GMT
The tension in the air was a thick as that mud in the river, the roar and sounds of that mighty shining dragon....huuuueeeh! Why hadn't he been sent there?! That would make for a much more fun opponent in his eyes, to be able to pound such a shining specimen of the dragonkind into the ground with his fists would be without a doubt the greatest cool in the world.
Too bad...the monster slayer had a different task, to take down this fallen conqueror and defeat whatever stood in his way. Perhaps it was time to berserk for real and get this over with as fast as he could, so he could go punch the dragon to death. Atleast that was what he wanted to do up until he caught wind of that figure. A strike from seemingly out of nowhere coming straight for him, however Beowulf's natural instincts had already alerted him to the danger! He raised his arm and let the sword clash against his chained wrist guards. " Tch!...annoying bastards.." he let out...genuinly sounding rather annoyed.
Before he even got the time to try and go after the guy who had just decided to throw a random sword strike from out of nowhere at him, the Berserker's eyes caught the sight of a soldier coming at him. Beowulf's smiling face turned into a slight frown, he had wanted to take down that chariot more than anything here...but if he was supposed to take down this solider of the corrupted rider first then fine! Golden dust gathering in his hands as his swords formed, without missing a second beat the mighty Beowulf stepped forward and with all his might brought into his arms he started with a swing of the mighty Hrunting, swinging it right for the soldier as he stepped in, of course a blade that couldn't miss was deadly...but what was deadlier was when he combined it with the second swing of his other weapon Naegling! Attempting to use all his might to crunch that skull of the soldier right after the Hrunting swing.
" Moronic Ideals serve no place on the battle grounds." Beowulf spoke out, the man, the legend, a fellow hero who had held the title of a king. He knew just as well as any other ruler what it meant though unlike most of them he couldn't help but get annoyed at the pathetic boastings of kingship. In his mind there were just as many different kinds of kings as there were different kinds of heroes, everyone walked their own path in life and those who follow the path of others are no different. He could have easily gone into a pointless verbal debate with The rider...however what was the point ? All that needed to do the talking was his fists! Also...Saber was probably the better one to try her hand at verbally castrating the fool on the chariot...considering his words were directed towards her.
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Post by Gareth on Apr 3, 2016 23:17:23 GMT
It all happened too damn fast. A new opponent appeared out of nowhere, some weird figure that even to Gareth's unfamiliar eyes could be readily identified as an Asian Heroic Spirit of some kind, perhaps a being of even greater standing. Mordred - Mordred, of all people, the traitor knight with whom he'd be so inclined to cross swords and words in another situation - barked some orders at him, or perhaps suggestions. He couldn't tell which given she was deafened by the Conqueror's shouting, and soon was apparently caught in a legitimate japanese kebab. With the green-haired woman stuck in conflict against the Lost Rider, Gareth shifted his focus to the opponent in front of him.
A minor Heroic Spirit. Anchored by some unknown means. Somehow, he seemed... sad?
In one hand, Gareth materialized his two-handed sword, resting it upon his shoulder pauldron. In the other the spear of Ser Kay appeared grasped tight around his fingers, the darkened buckler of the Black Knight shifting into existence around his forearm as he closed the distance with a powerful jump off his horse, seemingly ignoring the clunky weight of his armor.
The piece of metal the Macedonian sword wielded was easily parried by the buckler, earning the violent descent of his sword upon his foe's shoulder, ripping the muscle apart through the light armor, tendons and flesh ripping apart as they gave way to the gargantuan hunk of metal Gareth has taken to calling a blade. Using his lance as leverage to force his other weapon back into its resting position. Climbing back on his white steed, the boy's emerald gaze caught sight of a... difficult situation.
Traitor, killer, nemesis. All things he wanted to call Mordred. Yet...
"I hereby declare you a Knight of the Round Table. The men you see are your compatriots. They will fight for you, and you will fight for them, and you will all fight for Albion."
Ser Mordred was still Ser Mordred of the Round Table, one of the knights of Camelot, a brother-in-arms. And right now, he, or she, or whatever, needed his assistance.
Balancing himself on two legs on top of his horse, Gareth used the neck of the creature he rode as leverage to leap upwards, his sword cutting the lines of most of the impossible strikes, like intercepting the blades that should not be. With his other hand, the young Rider aimed a thrust at the stomach of the Furious God, at the same time shielding the rest of the sword slashes with his shield.
To the end, he'd kept his oath in life. And now, that he'd been granted life once more, he still couldn't lose sight of who he was.
Gareth of Orkney, a knight of the Round Table!
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Post by Mordred on Apr 4, 2016 0:30:42 GMT
Engaged in combat by a new threat, Mordred laughs. "Well, fine, Taira no Masakado. Get ready to die!" His slashes came hard and fast, clearly the sign of a skilled warrior...and as he split into seven individual copies, Mordred grins. "Seven weaklings is still not going to be enough to take me on!" Her instincts are alight, and she feels untouchable as she moves just enough to avoid each slash and deliver counterattacks. Still, at this point, Mordred couldn't be said to have the upper hand, either. While she could dodge and avoid, she couldn't start an offensive.
When the younger knight enters the fray alongside her, she tosses him a grin. "Hey, thanks! Wait, I know you, Gareth, right?" With the additional load taken off of her, she can get more aggressive, where her combat style truly shines. Raining devasting blows with increased frequency from directions only feasible thanks to her excess of prana fueling her like a jet plane dumps fuel, Mordred fights to shift that balance back in their favor. "Wouldn't have been too long ago I'd have been tempted to kill you. Let's deal with this guy, alright?"
Hearing the Conqueror's outburst, however, at first confused Mordred. The hell was he talking about? She was pissed that he called her a sham king...but ideals? It's only as he continued to speak that a dawning realization came to Mordred. He wasn't talking about her...he was insulting her Father. Calling her ideals worthless, taking her sparkling, brilliant kingship and tossing it to the ground...Mordred was immediately incensed.
However...something kept her from immediately charging down the Conqueror. Something more important. "A king...a king doesn't fight for themselves. A king stands, the sword and shield of the people he leads!" She wanted to charge down and shove a sword down the Conqueror's throat more than anything right now...but the way of the king she believed in, that Arthur had convinced her to believe in, was sacrifice for the sake of others. Satisfying her urge to defend her father with bare steel would be leaving Gareth behind alone to fight Masakado. Ironically, it was the Conqueror's own words that reminded her of that importance.
Did you not want to hold onto that sword with your own hands? I'm giving you the chance right here and now. Succeed the succession of the throne, and save Britain.
"The way you insult my father...it's unforgivable!" Despite keeping her attention unwaveringly on Masakado, her words carry, doubtlessly to the Conqueror's ears. "As her rightful successor, I refuse to allow that to stand!"
With that, the red lightning that emanated from her sword dimmed...before shining a brilliant white. Duty and responsibility were accepted along with rights and entitlement...and because of that, a new power was born. "Let's finish this quick, Gareth. I need to punch that guy's teeth in."
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