say a prayer for the wounded heart within; (PSL)

[unabatedly]

[ No one believes she can do this. No one would ever believe that some low-born upstart of a mage could ever summon a Heroic Spirit to fight for her in the upcoming Holy Grail War. By all proper rights, no marks have appeared on the back of her hand, either. Surely if she would have been chosen, they would have appeared by now. Without the proper tools or channels other mages in the Clock Tower are afforded, she can't even keep track to see how many other Spirits have already been summoned, or if the rumors are simply that - rumors and little else. No one wants to pull the trigger.

But she has always been a proud creature at heart. She has trained diligently, been told that she will be a mage with no equal among her peers, if only she can learn everything and test herself properly.

Wouldn't participating in the Holy Grail War secure her place? Wouldn't it show everyone that she is capable of the training she so desperately desires?

She has given up so much to come to this moment. Given her blood, her body, her hope for a long life just to have this chance. She has no artifact to use in her summoning. All she has is her mana, all of the gold she has been able to salvage for weeks - beautiful golden bracers and glittering jewels - as an offering. That...and her blood, which she has used in most of her summoning circle. That and the blood of other animals she has captured for the occasion.

As the moon rises into the sky and sheds light on the altar she's chosen, discreet and small chapel on the outskirts of town, she starts to cast. The hour is upon her, the jewels in place, the gold surrounding the summoning circle. Neria lifts her still bleeding hands. ]

Heed my words.

My will creates your body and your sword creates my destiny.

[ Magic thrums in the air, electrifying. She feels so much power from the seal, which glows a sickly red, then golden as the blood evaporates into raw mana to serve as the gate for whatever - whomever - she manages to call. She can hardly believe it's happening, but she wrests control back into her hands and continues the incantation. ]

If you heed the call and obey my will and reason, then answer me. Do so, and I will entrust my destiny to your sword.

[ The magic practically burns deep within her. Neria's gaze remains on the circle. ]

An oath shall be sworn here. I shall attain all virtues of all of Heaven. I shall have dominion over all evils of all of Hell. From the Seventh Heaven, attended to by three great words of power... Come forth from the ring of restraints, Protector of the Holy Balance!

[ The weight of the energy and mana is intense. Neria holds firm until the summoning can be completed, as golden light subsumes the room in a glittering glow, until the Servant she's brought forth is able to pass through the circle and into this world. Her left hand burns with the markings of Command Seals, the tether to the divine soul she's brought forth - who is now bound to her magic.

As the light fades, as the dust settles and the power in the chapel settles to a simmering hum, she looks on her work and stands tall, short and dark and plain against glitter of golden armor before her. ]

Comments

SLIDES IN HERE

[gilgamess]

[ congratulations, Neria. your diligent work paid off, and you summoned (1) one golden shit Servant. in the darkness, said Servant looks almost placid -- smooth-faced, rather like a waxen figure, though golden lights shimmer and flicker and dance about like little fireflies, a contrast to the apparent stoic and serious expression of the King.

serious? or, perhaps, it might be more accurate to say: bored.

he does not lower himself, nor will he, but he nudges the ground ever-so-lightly with the toe of one golden foot, idly prodding the curious mixture of blood and gold which Neria has presented. ]

... hm... to think that you would use wealth to entreat me.

[ not bothering to mask the touch of disdain, there. ]

Is it a jest, perhaps, or do all those in your era seek to bribe Kings?

[ but then, just as subtly, Gilgamesh smirks. ]

Or could it be that you truly are so innocent of the world?

Well? Speak and be heard, mongrel. You have one chance only to amuse me.

[unabatedly]

[ briefly, she blinks back some of the dust that's been kicked up in the wake of Gilgamesh's presence. and, truthfully, she doesn't recognize him by sight - how could she, after all? old depictions of the great King of Uruk vary greatly. but it absolutely bites her that he is so very unimpressed. she's stolen this wealth for him; she has given so much of herself in order to bring him here. she's succeeded.

and here he is, belittling her. she bristles. ]

I brought you all that I could, Your Majesty. You deserve the very best that I can offer to entreat you in any way possible.

[ after all, the majority of the blood she used in the ritual is her own. like calls to like; she hoped to entreat a Servant with the same ambition, the same desire to rise above all of the rest. and it seems, at least on first blush, that this one is simply idle and arrogant. a king.

(she should find that more flattering, perhaps. that of all of the Servants - vagabonds, thieves, soldiers, scholars - she resonated with a king. but it does her no good if he doesn't see her fit for anything.)

she still hasn't bowed. she stands tall, near-golden eyes glinting in the darkness. ]

I do not seek to bribe you. I seek to elevate you and attain the thing we both desire.

[ surely he wants the Grail, after all. ]

[gilgamess]

[ bowing would not be necessary. Gilgamesh may be an absolute King, but simpering and groveling does not impress him, least of all as an exchange between himself and another being in this context. ]

You speak to a King whose vault holds every treasure from the beginning of time. [ more idle arrogance, perhaps, but it is also the truth. ] Mammonism, gold, has no meaning to me.

[ he still stands motionless, arms at his sides. in the low light of the risen moon, the King's gaze sweeps subtly from the gold he has spoken poorly of to the blood of the woman herself -- sticky and viscous, coating the altar. it sparks his interest more than do the simple riches, as it speaks, perhaps, to something in her nature: to the extent to which she is self-sacrificial, the extent to which she is willing to go to bring a spirit to this place.

it may very well be that there is something interesting about her, and it may well be that this is not entirely typical blood. a Servant is a vampiric existence; for Gilgamesh to exist within this world, he will need to partake of her, body and soul. ]

To elevate me, the likes of whom is already elevated, is unnecessary. Indeed, it is presumptuous to think you could.

-- ah, but this blood of yours. That is a different matter. Perhaps you are wildly sincere, or perhaps a fool. I have not decided which, to go to such lengths, to bring such harm to yourself for the chance to encounter my might. Therefore, I shall ask: What is that thing -- that which you most desire?

[unabatedly]

With all due respect, Your Highness... I was not seeking one Spirit in particular.

[ likely, he will find that very aggravating. but Neria wishes to make one thing incredibly clear before they pursue anything further. ]

I needed only a Heroic Spirit that was willing to partner with me. It matters little to me if that Spirit is loyal or finicky, or if they are rude. It is the partnership and conduit that counts, is it not?

[ and if a Servant wanted to try to be lackadaisical, then it would be to their own detriment. Neria has the power and potential to kill her rivals...but not when they're guarded by other Heroic Spirits. in that way, Gilgamesh - and whomever she might have summoned - likely would have been a means to an end. and, truthfully, his arrogance bristles her enough that she wishes she could banish him at this point.

however. ]

I want to win the Holy Grail War. I want to prove my worth as a Master and as a mage. I--

[ she realizes how childish it all sounds. in the end, those aren't the things she wants. something changes about her demeanor, something harder, something low and simmering.

something darker. ]

I want what is mine. I want power.

[ she has power. has it in spades. this sickness she's allowed herself to be given... she can outlast her enemies. skill and might are on her side from her studies alone. she just needs an edge. she just needs a little more. her gaze falls on Gilgamesh, assessing, appraising. quietly, she says: ]

I want to take the rug out from under them and make them kneel. I want to rise above them. All of them.

[gilgamess]

[ The fact of the matter is that Gilgamesh is, in his own unusual way, somewhat respectful. For instance, he listens attentively to Neria's words -- more attentively than he would listen to some other stranger, a new interlocutor, a commoner.

he shall hear her out. she has earned that. and so he listens. motives -- yes, the King has an interest in those. humans, or those who are human-like, they certainly do have intriguing and often complex and contradictory rationale for their own actions.

indeed, the first part of Neria's motives -- to win the Holy Grail; ah, yes, that is to be expected, and it is nothing so interesting. but then, what she says, that she desires power... it is a deeper, darker turn, one which even Gilgamesh had perhaps not fully expected. his eyes do faintly shine with intrigue, more at the tone of her words than the as-yet-undisclosed intentions behind her goals. ]

Oh? And why? Why do you want that, hm, magus? [ -- even he refrains from insulting epithets; after all, she may in fact be his Master here. that fact remains undecided. ] Could it be vengeance? Or do you simply yearn to become a king, one such as I was by birth?

[unabatedly]

There are no kings any longer. If I could--

[ it would be even more foolish to pursue such heights on her own. she will never be seen as anything more than some mongrel, bastard child, born to poverty and low birth. her talent may be great, her skill even better, her hunger insatiable...but she will never be enough for the people who claim that they are the arbiters of her fate.

so it only makes sense to say they aren't need any longer.

slowly, she steps towards him, but only a few paces. Gilgamesh is to be afforded respect, after all. ]

They think they can decide my fate and dictate my lot in life. I refuse to live by their ideals. Call it vengeance, call it casting off my shackles. I don't care how you wish to define it.

I want them to understand that their lofty titles hold no meaning in a world of reality. Worth is not defined by birthright.

[ she would take their crown if they had one to offer. as it stands, she has no artifact to snatch. her eyes remain on Gilgamesh, on the blood-red of his gaze. ]

So if I cannot be better than them, then I promise I will be so much worse.

[gilgamess]

[ the words are valiant, but it is an irony that Neria says them to a man who is himself a king, a man whose birthright was the world itself. there are no kings any longer? on the contrary -- even if he is the last, Gilgamesh is still the first, and you have summoned him to this world.

valiant, yes, but her words are also full of wrath. petulance holds no interest for the King, but ambition does. aspiring beyond the bounds of nature, aspiring beyond the bounds of one's birth -- that is what is the most intriguing in a man, or woman, is it not? her words do not lack for determination, yet he wonders whether she can put that simmering anger towards the conflict in question.

quietly, almost amiably, he says -- ]

Ha, that is spirit. But will your actions prove the insistence of your words?

Hmm, perhaps I would see that.

[ yet there is still a note of neutrality to his voice. her enemies are not his enemies -- not yet. he is merely a spectator. ]

Very well. What is your name, sorceress? Tell me, and then we may proceed.

[unabatedly]

Let me prove it to you through action, then. I promise, if nothing else, that you won't be disappointed.

[ Words are paltry. She knows her magic is up to snuff, knows she can do this. And if she cannot, then the war will take her life, and that is all there is to it. But she can do this, she thinks. All the better that such a powerful Spirit will be by her side.

Whatever it takes. She'll make him care.

She studies him closely, gaze sharp, stare long and hard. Quietly, she says: ]

My name is Neria Surana.

t i m e s k i p

[gilgamess]

[ so it is that the King becomes acquainted with his would-be Master, with the one who would strive to use him for her ends.

she does not become acquainted with him -- nothing beyond his name, which he gives freely; as the first of all kings, Gilgamesh expects, demands that his Master know him. unlike other, lesser Servants, he never once conceals his identity. only weaklings skulk about and mask themselves; he has no need of a facade, so he does not rely on his class title, but actively expects others to offer recognition and the respect which is his by right as the first among them all. it is Neria's responsibility to read Gilgamesh's legend herself, and to know him; he is abundantly clear that she must do so, that he will not speak of himself or of his life that became a legend, the prototype of all legends.

the modern world is ugly beyond reckoning; Uruk itself, a paradise, is no more. the King's garden is over-run with cities, slums, and ruin. the era of specialization and a single-minded purpose -- every man a scholar, an architect, a writer-poet, a warrior -- is no more; instead, there are too many people and they live frantic lives, always searching for some elusive meaning which never comes. and that is even before one addresses these scheming magi and their manufactured wars: artifice in the name of a dubious prize. this, all of it, sounds like nothing short of the acme of human folly.

nevertheless, it might hold some vestige of interest. if it does not, perhaps he will simply strike this Master dead for daring to offend him with boredom.

as a first matter of course, they travel to the woman's hideout, which turns out to be nothing more than one of those inadequate and interchangeably built modern apartments. since their initial encounter, Gilgamesh has been assessing his surroundings with quiet and sometimes-not-so-quiet disapproval, an ever-present scowl lingering around the edges of his expression. it deepens as he walks about the premises, keeping aloof from the magus who summoned him. he looks down, up, and in the direction of her kitchen, or what passes for it. ]

Hm. It seems I have been summoned by an impoverished being. [ a return of the Hassan. ] Still, in Uruk, even the poor would gift me with their finest offerings upon my arrival, little as they may have had in their homes. Yet you, in this time of plenty, do not present me with any wines nor silks upon my entry? Granted the honor of hosting me in all my glory, you abnegate your duty as a host. You have much to learn about that which a King's presence demands.

[ yep, this bitch is just going to walk to the bed and stand there, sulkily. you know, like he's claiming it. which he is, by the way. just in case you didn't guess. ]

Be out of my sight and educate yourself as to the rites of hospitality.

[unabatedly]

[ perhaps Neria should have prepared Gilgamesh prior to their journey back to her flat. if she'd been a kinder person, she might have even tried to help him acclimate, make him better aware of what the world is like now. as it stands, Gilgamesh has brushed her off in favor of simply experiencing and knowing this world for himself. and how better to do that than to wander?

no one seems to notice him as he is, in his radiance, but she watches the draw of his gaze from one place to the next, to one individual and then to another, and she watches the line in his brow crease with displeasure, his disgust becoming apparent with every passing second. it all bubbles to a head when they finally arrive back at her flat, where he finally sees fit to denigrate her home. and while he's not...completely wrong, as it's not much to look at and really is just for her to eat and sleep and store her notes. it's not meant for much else.

and Heroic Spirits don't need to eat, drink, or sleep. not really. so Gilgamesh really is just being a pissant at this point. ]

You will recall that I brought you gold. But it seems you are a king of better tastes than all of that.

[ her gaze falls to the bed. it is...very much not what a king would use. Neria's frown darkens. ]

I don't need to educate myself on hospitality. This is what I can afford; I don't have the luxury of all of the treasures in the world. What silks do you think I own?

[ this is ridiculous. ]

I have bamboo sheets. I can get you more pillows and...a few silks, but they're likely not to be what you want. ...And I can get you wine, if that will satisfy you.

[gilgamess]

[ no, he has no need of food or drink; his mana is duly supplied by their spiritual connection. she is adequate in providing nourishment as a magus, which is the essential to their contractual relationship.

rather, the issue at hand is the rite of hospitality. as a king, he should be treated with all due respect, and not simply of the obligatory variety. instead, it should be wholehearted.

-- granted, he complained previously that she had tried to bribe him when she offered gifts. however, king's prerogative to contradict himself, etc. etc. congratulations, Neria, you get to endure all his Gilganisms until/unless you find that sweet spot, whatever it might be and wherever it may be lurking. ]

Hmph, mongrel, it is necessary and obvious that you should demonstrate your loyalty to me by ceding those sheets, as well as the contents of your cellar.

[ ... his eyebrow raises at the mention of wine. at least there is a flicker of curiosity, not just petulance. ]

Oh? If it is of any worth, it is already within my vault. Still, it is fitting that one who seeks to call themselves my Master should have only the finest of spirits. Very well, I will judge your beverage for myself. A high privilege indeed! Rejoice, Neria! I grant you the honor of serving me your brew.