Scene #4493: Heart of the Forge

Owner	Pose
Emiya Shirou	So when it comes down to it, the only reason Shirou'd come all the way to the Ring of Philosophy from Dun Realtai just to practice sword projection? Well.... The reason is, Sir Bedivere forbade Shirou from practicing it after a small accident. So here he is. Here he is, seated in an empty simulated dojo, sitting cross-legged and just slightly hunched forward. Eyes closed in concentration and hands outstretched but cupping a mass of sword-shaped, ghostly-blue light. It shines too brightly to see what's within the effort with the naked eye, coated in a sheath of pure magical energy... but the general features of a sword can be made out in shape. Grip. blade. cross-guard...
Sigrun Stem	Sigrun comes walking in casually, sitting down on her knees across Emiya and she has brought along a big scroll, which she unfolds revealing an intricate pattern of runes, circles and lines, she taps one end of the scroll and magic starts flowing through. When that's done, the scroll's patterns are glowing in mesmerizing patterns, magic going from rune to rune as a soft blue glow covers Sigrun's irises, augmenting her vision to be extremely keen to the flow of magic. And with that, she starts looking at the floating sword shape, analyzing it in as much detail as she can, quietly observing. Of course, she didn't need the scroll for that, she has the same spell stored in her codex gem, but she figured she'd display what she means by magical circuits.
Emiya Shirou	Well. The blade Shirou's making is quite a thing to study! Especially as the sheath of 'forge energy' begins to dissipate in a slow, controlled motion. It begins at the pommel. Just big enough to enclose one's thumb and index finger around at its widest, but shaped almost like a brilliant-cut jewel. It's royal blue, and attached to an ornate grip of the same color. Script of the old world and old times wraps around the glossy, royal blue grip in what looks like gold leaf. Moving upwards the grip melts into the upswept golden crossguard inlaid with a number of circular red gems and blue patterns. Then the weapon's blade's revealed to the world, seemingly one impossible piece with the guard instead of attached. Not a work of any normal smith, that's for sure. It seems a bit on the thin side, not the most suited for battle - too ornamental, too. But script going up the flat of the blade reads quite clearly, translated by the Multiverse... 'Whoso pulleth out this sword of this stone is rightwise king of all England' And despite the ludicrously tiny amount of magical energy Shirou's displaying to create it, the weapon all but radiates a breathtaking sense of its legend. Just a gaze upon it is enough for anyone to tell it's no cheap mockery... Even if it's not the original sword of selection, Shirou's replica is scarily close. He opens his eyes after it's done and lets out a loooong breath to look at his work... then over at Sigrun. But his amber eyes widen TREMENDOUSLY with curiosity at both her and the strange scroll she's brought. "Euh?" The questioning noise blurts past his lips, unbidden. Though he then gets a better look at Sigrun herself... Yep. Definitely looks like the classic mage in a few ways...
Sigrun Stem	"Caliburn." Sigrun recognizes the blade at once, and she can feel the power of its legend, even though its a replica. "That's a fascinating piece of magic you've got there." She whistles appreciatingly, though her face remains hidden behind the mask. "Is that what you do? Create vessels for swords of legend to fill in, and using the weight of their legend to provide the power to make the work worth the effort?" Sigrun's initially attempted analysis may be flawed, but it's clear she understands this is a powerful gift.
Emiya Shirou	Shirou's still wide-eyed but it gets a bit MORE awed at how quickly Sigrun's grasped... something pretty close to an explanation. Though he looks away fast and regains his composure, unsure what to make of such praise. He just casually holds it out for her to take if she wants to examine. It's easily stable enough to last a few minutes! "Create vessels... for the legend to fill?" He looks up at the dojo's ceiling for a few seconds, puzzling over that one in his mind... but he quickly shakes his head. Though he ends up looking at one of his own hands, grasping the air testingly. "Sounds like a neat trick, but if all I was focused on was its legend... nah. The process is way more involved. Making a sword this stable means starting from approximating whatever thoughts and ideas the original maker had in mind and matching everything from there. The materials used. The structure. The forging technique. Even how it was used.. everything it is. A copy that's missing these or gets it wrong might as well be made of paper mache."
Sigrun Stem	Sigrun nods slowly, "Which means you need a lot of information on those swords, gotta figure out how the details before you can do it, but that doesn't change what I was thinking." She shrugs, and grabs an empty scroll, some weird metallic ink, and a quill from her back. With that, she's starting to meticulously draw runes, paying attention to the exact proportions and angles, adding the exact right flairs, and then drawing perfect circles with a free hand, adding on specific lines that seem well-calculated, all from her mind. It's a slow process, but after about five minute she's done. It's nowhere near as intricate as the scroll she created earlier, only three runes to the over a hundred of the other, with similar differences in detail for the other parts. When she activates it, it generates a simple glow, nothing else. "I know the importance of detail very well. If I had made a single mistake writing this down, best case nothing would have happened." She leaves it unsaid what the worst case would've been, "But it makes sense that a vessel for a legend would need to closely match the legend. What legend would settle for a mockery of itself?"
Emiya Shirou	"Just a look's usually enough for me to figure it out. Not that it makes things any easier." Shirou mutters! He's far, far more interested in what Sigrun's up to! He cranes his neck a bit to get a coser look and follow every motion and every detail of the scribble. "Rune Magic?" Not that he's very familiar with it. Only just heard of it. Well he's impressed with the RESULTS to say the least. Even if it's only just a lamp in the end! "Ooooah... doing that by hand without even any tools like a protractor... that's gotta be tough..." He folds his arms and draws back to ponder her words though. "Hrmngh... no arguing with it when you put it that way."
Sir Bedivere	With the advent of autumn, it's been absurdly rainy in Dun Realtai. This has meant a certain degree of watchfulness to ensure the village hasn't flooded, and that in turn has meant a lot of trudging about in the rain and mud. Sir Bedivere is still a little wet by the time he makes his way into the Ring of Philosophy. He's not quite soaked, as he'd made his patrols during a gap in the rain (because Arturia would probably kill him if he didn't), but his boots are muddy and he's pale enough to suggest he's cold when he comes trudging into the chamber proper, armour clanking with every step. His footsteps abruptly stop, because his eyes have settled on the half-formed figure of Caliburn. Eyes widening, he traces the familiar inscription in the blade, and the elegant curves and whorls of faerie-script. There's a moment of indecision before the knight shakes his head and continues forward. Clank, clank. His footsteps slow to a halt. He looks as he always does, shadows under his eyes, slightly muddy, wet and cold -- and there is a black cat sitting on one pauldron, balanced as neatly as you please, its smoky gold eyes looking with interest at Shirou. Bedivere is carrying a cat. Why is Bedivere carrying a cat. He lets out a breath, and nods to the folk present. "Lady Stem. Master Shirou. I thought I might see what this is about, myself." His eyes flick toward where Caliburn had been, unsettled. "It is always unnerving to see it," he murmurs, clearly referencing Caliburn. Especially now...
Kutsuuko Shiratori	Guess who said they'd be in the ring yesterday? Where both Shirou and Sigrun had heard? So it's a first time use, and maybe someone doesn't realize you can choose different iterations. Maybe someone just wants to bug them. In either case, the entryway pings to let the both of them know that they have another visitor, acceptable largely due to no combat simulation being in progress, and then there's some rather heavy sounding bootfalls across that lovely, hardwood dojo floor. Dressed in the iconic pseudo-military getup, permanent armlet clamped at the base of an asymmetrical, armoured glove, and hauling what looks like a full ton of machinery casing folded into the shape of some kind of storage cube large enough to serve as the engine block of a truck, Kutsuuko walks like she owns the place, taking a look around the mockup of a place Shirou actually owns. She missed the really interesting bit, so the first thing she does is look over his shoulder at the incredibly ornate blade in his hands. "Hey wizard! Is that sword like your magic wand or whatever?" She then takes an actual look at him. "You're a lot younger than I imagined. And shorter." Rude. Then she notices the inscription, peering very hard, before repressing a brief snort-laugh. "And a /giant/ nerd! Did you seriously write that? Is King Arthur like your childhood superhero?"%
Sigrun Stem	"Yeah, but you only need to do it once, and we've gotten very good at miniaturizing them. These days, we only write out spells while designing new ones. I was just showing off." Sigrun smirks, and taps the gem she has embedded in a glove for emphasis, then pulls up a spell, a similar pattern starts floating in the sky, as complex as the first. "I have countless spells in this gem, a large amount of which are always active to help me take care of simple things like checking my ethermail and other long-distance communication." Enough showing off, especially as others come in. She rises and bows towards Bedivere, "Miss Stem, please, or if you must employ a title, Corporal Stem." She emphasizes, and Kutsuuko gets a blank stare. Which, covered behind the mask, is just extra blank.
Emiya Shirou	Shirou first looks up at Bedivere... and his expression gets awfully tense and uncomfortable upon realizing that Bedivere saw what he'd been tracing. Oh well, huh? He just gives him an apologetic look... then peers at the cat. A cat that seems strangely familiar, somehow. Shirou cants his head questioningly at it... Though a voice he wasn't expecting comes in and... yeeeaaaaaaah, rude. Rude indeed. Shirou jolts upwards a few inches... then grabs the hilt of Caliburn.. and stands almost immediately. He's being mocked. Which normally wouldn't bother him, but... "You really should have a little more respect. You never know in whose company you'll end up here." He offers awkwardly. Though he looks a bit passive in the face of the mockery, and his stance is pretty relaxed, his face does twitch a few times while he focuses on Kutsuuko.
Kutsuuko Shiratori	Kutsuuko grins with the exact type of grin of someone who knows they've poked something sensitive by accident and thought it was hilarious anyways. She makes a couple of conversational shooing motions with her free hand, before smiling a little more earnestly. "Relaaax kid. That kind of attitude doesn't suit you at all. My opinion on magic swords matters about as much as a painter's opinion on web design. That kind of dorky extra mile is charming, really!" She then actually pays attention to the others in the dojo, straightening up as Sigrun feels the need to stand. Her eyes give off the impression they're moving even though they only stare flatly at her mask for a second, before she takes interest in the much more remarkable sight of floating runes coming from a magical gem. "Okay, have to admit, that's pretty slick. Sure as hell beats writing all of that down. I thought it'd be just bows." Then there's literally a knight in (somewhat) shining armour. Her head visibly tilts when looking at Bedivere, for whatever reason, leaning sideways a few degrees to get a look at the cat perched nonchalantly on his shoulder. "What, to see a magic sword? Pardon me for saying, but you look exactly like the type of guy who'd use one. Why does it freak you out. It's western styled and everything."
Sir Bedivere	The knight folds his arms to the sound of articulated plates clanking quietly. His head tilts to regard the newcomer and their loud declaration of what's what. It's bad enough to mock Shirou's efforts, knowing as he does the effort the young man puts into his studies, but to mock the image of the king's sword is unacceptable. What a wonderful first impression. He resolves to ignore her. Bedivere's attention flicks back to Sigrun, tilting his head in respectful gesture. "Corporal, then. I am honoured. It is a pleasure to finally meet you off the battlefield, and in more peaceable circumstances." His head bows, faintly, but he himself doesn't bow; it would send that black cat flying. "Sir Bedivere, of the Round Table." The cat remains silent, just along for the ride as though it were the most normal thing in the world. It seems to be amusing itself by staring at Shirou. The knight, meanwhile, looks to Kutsuuko somewhat dismissively. "Your lack of respect is nothing short of astounding. To put things into context for you, that is the Sword in the Stone, Caliburn, forged in the Otherworld; enchanted so the true king of Britain was capable of drawing it from the stone which it had been bound into. It is a relic beyond price within Britain, and it was lost to us some years ago, shattered when it was used in unchivalrous action." He shakes his head, faintly. "It is merely unsettling to see it whole again. When last I saw it, it was in no less than a dozen shards, and no mortal smith may repair such a blade."
Sigrun Stem	"Magic is a field to be explored and expanded upon, the better we understand it, the better we can use it, the better off we are." Sigrun says simply, and ends the projection of her spell, rolling up her scrolls. She then answers Kutsuuko bluntly, "Can you not feel the weight of legend behind it? That is as close to Caliburn as any sword can ever be without being Caliburn. It's an impressive magic to conjure a weapon like that." She returns the headbow to Bedivere, "Sigrun Stem, CEO of Stem Monster Analysis, Control and Killing. Reservist in the US Marine Corps."
Kutsuuko Shiratori	Kutsuuko's expression lights up from casual curiosity to intense interest at Bedivere's name, even before the mention of the Round Table. "Oh damn, seriously?" She replies to Sigrun in between. "Sorry, but I really can't tell one magical sword from another. I was serious when I said my opinion is totally uninformed and irrelevant. I thought he scribbled that on there because he thought it was cool, not that it was the /actual/ sword. That's really damn cool." She then turns back to Bedivere. "You're an actual knight too, huh? Like a real one? The only knight I know is . . . kind of a self-proclaimed one." She then swings the massive case over her shoulder and drops it on the floor. Crunch. Straightening up, she does shallow, clearly Japanese style bow, but then switches over to just about flawless English. "Captain Kutsuuko Shiratori, of Fenrir's Far East branch 1st Unit; God Eaters. Sorry for not introducing myself earlier. The kid already knows who I am." Whom she now addresses. "So you use magic to make legit, magical, historical swords? That's in a different universe from what I was thinking of. So, does it have any kind of powers? Can it shoot laser beams? Or is it just the whole kingship thing?" She pauses very briefly. "Are you the king of England?" She then looks between Bedivere and Sigrun several times, before leaning over and whispering "Psst. You're supposed to say 'at ease, Corporal'".
Emiya Shirou	Shirou's not sure where, exactly, the balance of the world's so vastly off that crude, seemingly inelegant women become captains and leaders. At least, ones with Japanese-style names... but the only sign he has such thoughts is pressing his lips together hard. He does widen his eyes though, recognizing something about her... Attitude or not, he can tell by the way she's carrying herself that it's far from just talk. His tension rapidly dissipates when Kutsuuko's manner turns more casual! But he does answer her question. The Sword in the Stone's twirled in his hands. "If the real King Arthur wielded it, I'm sure they could get more out of it than me. I don't have near the magical energy needed to fuel a legend. But..." Shirou does harden his gaze a bit and bring the blade to an 'en garde' position. That's when it simply IGNITES with a thick, almost liquid-like flow of golden light along the entire blade. He steps over towards the wall, grips the weapon in both hands... "HRAAAAAAYAAAAHH!!!" With one heavy kiai he just crudely swings the glowing blade for the dojo wall. If that was a normal sword... it would probably bounce off. Maybe dig in a few inches. But in this case... In this case, there's a blinding flash of golden light. It carves through the wall like butter right down to the hilt and SHATTERS the wall like a wrecking ball had gone through it. An explosion of dust and debris's unleashed... but thankfully doesn't go far. It clears up in moments. Shirou rises from the demonstration, looking a bit dissatisfied. His weapon's tip has broken off, and the entire length of the blade still in his grasp's simply eroding from the break towards the grip. Tiny motes of glowing dust that break off and vanish to nothing. In about five seconds, it's gone. "I've got better luck with blades that AREN'T the keystones of big legends." He explains... then faces Sigrun. "That gem of yours is like a Magic Crest? Can anyone learn to use those things?" Lastly he turns to Sir Bedivere. "You look like you just got done with the morning rounds, Sir Bedivere. What brings you all the way here?"
Sir Bedivere	So the Colonel is also a scholar through and through. Bedivere can't help a little bit of approval for Sigrun's stance, even if does happen to be witchcraft. Improving one's knowledge and bettering oneself is the very ideal of the knightly virtue of Exercitium. When indicated, he quirks a brow, blinking a little owlishly. "Hm? No. That is without a doubt the very appearance of the Golden Sword of the Victorious. That is the blade that chose the king. Even the lettering of the Tylwyth Teg is faithful to the least stroke." "Well, it is not the actual sword, but merely a faithful reproduction of it. The true relic is shattered." Bedivere shifts uncomfortably. It's his intention to reassemble the pieces, but that's another quest for another day. Instead, he tilts his head at Kutsuuko, studying her calmly. "Aye. I am, technically, a marshal, but I became a knight befor that. Although it seems my infamy runs before me as a member of the Round Table," he explains wryly, "it is in Dun Realtai that I now make my home." Bedivere, for his part, isn't speaking anything that anybody would recognise -- Welsh, and an ancient form of it, to boot. There's nothing of English in there. "Why?" He blinks again as Kutsuuko leans a little closer, which has him leaning a little away reflexively. "I do not outrank her, and we are off-duty, here. Unless you are not, Corporal." He smiles grimly when Shirou mentions the blade's capabilities, and then Caliburn lights up with the golden light of the Otherworld. "/That/ is the power of the Tylwyth Teg's finest swordsmiths. And even Caliburn is as nothing before Excalibur, the Sword of Promised Victory. I am certain my king could coax far more of it than you can, Master Shirou," Bedivere speculates, "but that is still an impressive showing nonetheless." Bedivere sneezes as the dust settles. A few pieces of wood crash to the floor, in their own puffs of dust. "...And that is why I ask of you not to do such things in Dun Realtai." When called on his morning rounds, Bedivere blinks to Shirou. "Ah. I did. I have not made a showing in Njorun Station for quite some time. I thought it prudent to visit, and when I saw your name on the Ring of Philosophy's list of visitors..." The tall knight shrugs. "Forgive me for intruding, Master Shirou." There's a short pause. "You will want a raincoat before you return home," he adds, pointedly. It is, as usual, raining torrentially there. Bedivere still looks uncomfortably damp. The cat on his shoulder, however, leans around to eye the sword magus. <This one is most impressed.> The voice is smoky, husky; definitely not human, and very definitely not Bedivere's. Flicking its tail imperiously, the cat bats at Shirou with a paw, claws carefully sheathed. <Even the Fair Ones are not always so specialised. And the Fair Ones should know, for they forged that blade.>
Emiya Shirou	"No permission needed to begin with." Is Shirou's friendly-toned answer, delivered with a hint of a smile. A brief smile, too. Frustration, agony, determination, all these things he seems to do at the appropriate times, but smiling... Smiles are rare and faint like this one where they occur. "The Ring's open to everyone... yeah, figured. Will keep that in--" His eyes are drawn towards the cat? The cat that just pawed him! "... Mind?" The cat that speaks. A voice he remembers. The boy's amber eyes shoot wide open from putting two and two together. "Phantasmal Species" soundlessly passes his lips. Such a rarity in his time that even mages of the association might never encounter one of the few that remain... Though he tenses up some, he bows his head respectfully at the not-actually-a-cat. "Yeah, and forged it to last. That's a miracle I can't hope to reach." He answers modestly. He's well aware of how one should behave aroud the Fair Folk. Everyone who frequents Dun Realtai knows that much. Do show them some respect.
Sigrun Stem	Sigrun listens politely to the talk about the sword, not stepping in whatsoever. "I don't know what a Magic Crest is, but in theory everyone ought to be able to, they just require the introduction of magic and some practice using them. They're a cornerstone of modern magic." She explains, still not really doing anything to Kutsuuko other than blank stares The fair folk finally speaks up, and she laughs. "Master Fae" She makes a polite bow to him, "Glad to finally hear your voice, I was wondering since you arrived when you would speak."
Kutsuuko Shiratori	Kutsuuko's interest is plainly obvious. Creating swords with magic has an obvious utility, but it is still just creating swords. Swords are swords. All this stuff about Legends and magical energy though; that pushes at the idea they can do more than just cutting things open. It's something worth observing, internalizing, and considering, if she ever winds up working with him. Nowhere is that more apparent than that frail, fancy looking sword, doing more damage than a number of explosives can. She has no particular talent for recognizing magic, but the scale of destruction is pretty impressive just by visual confirmation. He can hear a slow clap -- the unsarcastic kind -- coming from her once the rubble finishes crumbling. "If that's a lacklustre result, you've got something special, kid." She unreservedly admits. "You might be underselling yourself with your job description." She then shrugs with an only-slightly sheepish grin at Bedivere. "It pays to know all these kinds of myths and legends. A lot of them turn out to have keys you can use when they become your problem; and I learned that before Holy Grail Wars were even a thing. Don't worry, though, I'm not gonna ask for your autograph, that's tacky~" A quick glance. "Is the talking cat magic too?" Phantasmal Species sounds like it. "What's its . . . his? . . . her? name?" If someone didn't know better, it looks like she's actually more interested in the fact that it's a cat, than the fact it can talk. Are cats somehow more unfamiliar than Fair Folk? "I think it's some kind of heirloom thing that magic casters pass down, that has all of their spells they worked on embedded in it. Correct me if I'm wrong." She says to both Shirou and Sigrun. "Seeing that though . . . that's magic that got so far it looks like a computer. I don't know how modern your world is, but that's impressive to me, first because broad practicality and accessibility is how you know something is well developed. It's easy to make prototypes, not so much to get it into the hands of users." She then puffs out her chest a little. "Not that I don't have confidence in my smith! If we're using that word anyways. Licca wouldn't lose to someone just because they have magic! Not with how hard she works!" It's a very bold statement to make in the face of legendary swords made real; the kind that comes from a lot of pride in, and admiration for, a specific person. "I got sidetracked, but I did actually come here to practice, though, it looks like I interrupted yours."
Sir Bedivere	"They are a tool of modern-day magi, from what I am told, but I do not know the particulars." Bedivere rubs at his jaw, thoughtful. "The magicians of my era do not function in the same way. Though I am the son of a /filidh/, and should know such things, I had forsaken that path to travel to Camelot." "Perhaps Master Shirou might better be able to explain." <This one is listening,> the Black One responds to Sigrún, switching its tail. Ah, praise. It likes praise. All the Fair Folk do. They're pretty predictable that way. Flattery gets you everywhere with jackass fairies. <This one is most appreciative.> He'll remember that, later. They at least remember a good turn done them. "It is still strange to regard one's own life as a 'myth' or a 'legend,'" Bedivere grumbles, uncomfortably. But his grumbling has no real animosity behind it; if anything, he seems a little awkward, reaching up to rub at the back of his neck. "As to that, I am not related to any of the Holy Grail Wars. While it is true that I am a Master, it is not for the purpose of seeking that chalice, but for preserving the life of my king in the only way left to me." In other words, they've both abdicated; neither has an interest in happy fun time death games with magic. The cat turns its head, settling those glowing, smoky gold eyes on Kutsuuko with evident interest. Look, fresh meat. <This one is the Black One.> It seems to consider for a moment. <You may touch this one, if you like.> It will behave itself and not bite Kutsuuko's hand off. Probably. Maybe. "He is... damaged. He came to me in a different form, released by the aid of Master Merlin, and since I saved him from a series of unwise mortal masters, he chose to remain with me in honour of that debt." Bedivere shrugs. <The Warrior of White is correct. This one is the Black One. This one no longer remembers its name, and the Black One is as good a name as any, for it is truth.> Well, it /is/ black in all its forms. "He is also a bit archaic," Bedivere affords, rubbing at the back of his neck awkwardly again. "He refers to my true name; it means 'white warrior.' I do not often use it, and have not been known by that name for twenty years. Bedwyr is what I was know as, and thus it is what is familiar to most." He shrugs the shoulder that does not have a cat sitting on it. The Black One is still watching Kutsuuko, though, unblinking. <This one is intrigued. The Golden Sword of Victory is bound to the World itself. This one is not even certain if this one's own kind may restore it... but this one is curious to see what your smith would do.> "I am curious, as well." Bedivere tilts his head. "As the Black One says, it is uniquely bound to our world, for it has the Otherworld in its making. What you create would be similar, but not the same, not as I remember it, or the Black One." <This one heard its sundering.> The cat dips its head, flicking back its whiskers. <It hurt.>
Emiya Shirou	"That's... yeah, actually, that matches what I know of them." Shirou confirms, nodding quickly to the question. "Magic Crests are... actually I don't know what they're made of, but they're passed through mage families and contain the family's secret knowledge and optimized spellcraft. Nothing like that here. Magecraft's a family thing. I'm... not from any family. Just happened to learn a few things." Well that's greatly simplifying the how and the why, but Shirou's not of a mind to explain EVERYTHING in a great boring ramble. ".... Aaaaaaand it turns out I just have a useful talent. Only discovered this about two years ago. So... what's a God Eater?" He's asking this of Kutsuuko of course, turning to her with plenty of curiosity in his eyes. "Odd name for a kind of warrior. You were saying some scary things on the radio..." His attention drifts back to the Black One as he thinks on that story. And... tries to imagine the look on Merlin's face in that scenario. Thaaaat leads him to making a strained-as-heck, sweatdroppy frown if ever there was one... though its source isn't exactly obvious is it? He quickly clears his head, smacking one of his cheeks. Which leaves him back to Sigrun and her amazing gem. "Everyone... you said EVERYONE?! ... wow... are they hard to make?" Though, as the tale of caliburn's shattering is brought to forethought, Shirou's face turns solemn and thoughtful. And he ends up staring at a wall. "Surrounded by Heroic Spirits, Fair Folk, figures from my world's past constantly, yet... some part of me always feels like it's a dream. A part of me that's still thinking in terms of how much was lost throughout history, that the age I live in is nothing like what came earlier. How far away I am from all of it. Great magics have all drifted away from human territory. But here I am, somehow living in my time's past... it's a funny feeling I can't put words to. But I'm glad to have Dun Realtai for a home."
Sigrun Stem	"I don't know the specifics of their manufacture, but this is a South Korean codex gem running my custom variant of the Google Golem operating spell. Apple also produces the iCodex, which is the main competitor of Google Golem. MicroSpell and some other companies have their own competing products, but they're not very popular, and there's fewer spells that work well with them." "They cost a couple hundred dollars when new." Sigrun explains in probably unnecessary detail. "From what we've been able to establish, Antichthon's magical capacities roughly mirror that of most twentyfirst century Earths. I hope that answers your question." She listens to Bedivere a little, curious enough. "I've read the tales, Sir Bedivere. Of Caliburn and Excalibur, of the Lady of the Lake, of Avalon and of the Battle Fortress Camelot, armed to the teeth with lost technology." Technology, in reference to her own world, tends to mark something as myth not fully believed. "It's a curious tale.
Kutsuuko Shiratori	"Oh yeah? That's the first I've heard in forever. Congratulations, on having enough sense to get involved in that hot mess." Kutsuuko says with a degree of sincerity to Bedivere. "I mean, mostly not getting involved. I'm not crazy about the assassination game part, but it doesn't sound like you are either. Doing it out of loyalty, that's a more admirable virtue~" "Oh yeeaaah?" Kutsuuko then re-intones with sigificantly more curiosity towards the black cat, leaning close enough to be verging on that personal bubble. She puts her finger to her chin for a second, before reaching up with her non-gloved hand and petting it on the head like she's seen on old TV programs. "He's kind of cute~ I'm sorry to hear about the name thing though. Though, if Black One's fine by you, I guess it doesn't matter much." She then steps back, quickly waving her hands in front of her. "Oh no no no, don't get me wrong. She's not Fair Folk or anything. I don't see her hammering away at an enchanted sword at an anvil." She briefly scratches her temple. "She's kind of too skinny for that. But, Fenrir has their own way of doing things, and it's definitely not something you can do with iron and steel and fire." For some reason, she also can't help but give Shirou a kind of weird, half sad, half confident smile at his trailing admission. "Don't I know it. Feeling like you were born after everything the height of history already happened; like you'll never see what everyone else lived and remembers. That kind of thing is just a glorified kind of self-pity though. There are always dark times, and there are bright times, so look forward to what you can do with the future instead, and people will be sighing wistfully at wishing they could have lived at the same time as /you/!" Then, she gets to answer them both at once. She abruptly stomps on the top of that massive, mechanical case, depressing some kind of hard, pneumatic lock, which causes it to split open horizontally, and its contents to swivel upright and partially eject. Licca's 'smithing' is on full display, and it's just about the complete opposite kind of the timeless, ornate, mythical elegance of Caliburn. There's a hilt made of heavy looking, matte black metal, twice as long as one needs to be, and vaguely mimicking wrappings with a pattern of narrow, orange lights that ladder along it. Where a guard should be, the metal fuses into a bloom of some kind of inky black substance, like looking into the deep ocean, but with the recognizable silhouette of twisting sinew texturing it, completed with a fist sized, glassy, golden sphere halfway embedded into it, surrounded by four smaller copies. It comes across as exposed, internal workings, because it's only visible through a narrow window of exterior casing, which looks like metal that it perpetually just came out of the furnace, coloured soft shades of faintly luminous, gold, amber, fuschia and scarlet, and broken up by carbon black accents. A hefty chunk of machinery, difficult to discern in purpose, replaces a crossguard, though all of it has been engraved with careful, flowing and rippling patterns, and a distinctive mark of a stylized wolf's face clutching the crescent moon in its jaws. Past that, it is all blade; probably six feet of it overall, and preposterously oversized to ever be intended for use on a human being. It faintly resembles an especially hefty katana, though it terminates with no point, and the whole length looks white hot, despite only mild radiant heat. It looks massive, heavy, unbalanced, and possibly quite complex, clearly mechanically functional, and that exposed interior looks weirdly . . . alive, but at the same time, it's clear someone worked hard on it as a piece of art as well; like it was the last thing they ever expected to make, and wanted it to endure for a long time. Kutsuuko looks very proud of it.
Kutsuuko Shiratori	"This is my God Arc. Three years in the making! She's basically my baby~" Kutsuuko grabs hold of the hilt, and responding to her touch, the golden 'core' lights up, and a readout displays on her armlet. She then proceeds to sling it over her shoulder like it weighs about as much as a regular sword does. "She's been . . . I guess 'reforged' a couple of times, but she got this way because, a) Licca is a genius, and b) on a mountain of divine corpses. Most of what you can see on the outside is what she made out of a sun god and a moon goddess, the guts are seraph stuff, YHVH and all that." It's abundantly clear why Kutsuuko has no image or awareness of absurdly powerful, and deservedly legendary weapons of myth and history. Her attachment to the thing in her hands is somewhere between a cherished project car and a dear little sister. It's like she's married to the thing.
Sir Bedivere	He seems to consider, quietly. "Given the choice, I believe Dun Realtai is a more true realisation of her dream of a 'utopia' than Camelot could ever be." Bedivere seems about to say something else, when she stomps down on that case and Things Happen. The púca leans so far over Bedivere's shoulder he actually has to jump down, landing tidily on his feet as a cat ought to. Bedivere for his part takes a half-step /back/, eyeing the thing warily. Witchcraft. Positively. Has to be. <Oh, now this is interesting~.> The cat circles around the weapon, tail flicking in interest. His whiskers barely brush the surface, if Kutsuuko lets him that close. He pauses with interest over the mark of the wolf, nose inches from it as he studies its design, the light of the metal reflecting in his Otherworldly eyes. Bedivere is over there, partly behind Shirou by this point, just watching it all warily. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to tell that thing seriously unnerves him, but a lot of 'high technology' tends to. It happens when you're from the sixth century. Also the thing might or might not be alive, somehow, and that's seriously kind of creepy. The cat skitters away as Kutsuuko hefts the sword, leaping up to settle on Bedivere's shoulder again; an impressive jump, considering the knight is two inches over six feet. <Most interesting. So you have subverted the very nature of the things you have fought, and incorporated them into the blade? This one is fascinated.> "Well and good for you, Fair One," Bedivere mutters, crossing himself. "It makes me uneasy."
Sir Bedivere	The pale-haired knight shakes his head, and he reaches up to tug at the red stone stud in his left ear. The gesture seems caught between consideration and unease, his eyes distant. The filídh of Dál Riata, and occasionally of Albion, were a breed apart from modern magi. Their methods are undoubtedly different, but what they are, he couldn't say. Merlin would know more, but that hardly comes as a surprise. So would the creature perched on his shoulder, but he doesn't seem inclined to seek the púca's opinion just now. A hand settles on Shirou's shoulder, lent weight by the steel and leather of Bedivere's gauntlet. "I am no more than a mortal man, Master Shirou, and you seem to forget this with alarming frequency. Take heart. We are not so different, I think, but for the passage of years and the acquisitions of certain skills." His tone is not unkind, though, and he wears a crooked half-smile. He gives the boy's shoulder a friendly pat. "And Dun Realtai is grateful to have you, as well." He withdraws his hand, armour rattling softly as he lowers it back to his side. The cat continues to balance on his shoulder, unperturbed. The knight also raises a brow at the implication that such devices do not only exist, but are commonly available for most people to get ahold of. Now that part seems to be impressive to him. "Is that so? Most interesting." Ah, but Sigrún says she's learned of his story. He tilts his head toward her, lookign a little dubious. "Perhaps. There are... aspects of that legend, aspects that have been deliberately obfuscated, but the basic tale would appear to remain the same. The consistency of its main elements is nearly alarming." "'Battle Fortress Camelot?'" That's about the point he suspects they're not talking about the same thing. "It was hardly that, although it is true, there was a citadel at its heart... still, even in a world so different from my own, you have heard of the names, and there is something of truth to the stories." He shakes his head, as though at a loss. "It never ceases to amaze me. Lord God! The multiverse is such a strange place." His brow furrows somewhat at Kutsuuko's sincerity. "Thank you. I think," the man adds, somewhat dubiously. The way he stiffens when Kutsuuko leans closer suggests he's extremely uncomfortable with someone standing in his bubble of personal space, but he tolerates it, because the Fair One had said so. <Names are irrelevant to this one,> the Black One responds, an air of smugness as he headbutts into the hand petting his head. He's not above scritches, because he does have something of a cat in his essence, after all. One could argue all the Fair Folk do. <This one is of the opinion that there is nothing to be sorry for, but this one appreciates your sympathy all the same.> Yes, that's right, continue paying attention to the cat. The cat is totally okay with this, because it's a cat. <Is that so?> The Black One tilts his head in curiously human-like gesture. <This one should like to see it, some time.> The púca might be a little more comfy with cross-world travel than his knightly travelling companion. "At the same time," he murmurs to Kutsuuko's statements on history, "perhaps it was not so grand as all were led to believe. Camelot is regarded as some kind of golden age, to many, and perhaps, for a little while, it was that. But to achieve that required the sacrifices of many." His expression darkens, just slightly, and he shakes his head. "It is my king's story to tell, but I was at her side nearly from the beginning. I was among the first of the Knights of the Round Table, and I was its last."
Emiya Shirou	Shirou jumps a tad at the sudden touch, but looks Bedivere's way... and shows another small smile. "Thanks, Sir Bedivere." Which leaves him only able to behold Kutsuuko's insanely-oversized, freakishly-shaped God Arc. Shirou backpedals several steps and squawks in alarm at the sight of it! It's a work of art, it's masterfully crafted, but... that thing. That thing's WRONG somehow, his gut tells him. Wrong and freakish. Maybe it shouldn't exist. But one question remains... "How... do you use... a weapon like THAT?" He almost doesn't want to ask, but curiosity gets the better of him. It's hard, tearing his eyes away from it, but he stares openly at Sigrun's mention of such things being COMMONPLACE... and gapes at her for a moment. Only to comment on Bedivere's tale, "There's only so much one king, no matter how righteous or proper, can do." Shirou laments. "If the people that needed leadership had to look to a sword of prophecy... it must've been pretty bad." Of course he's not mentioning how, in reading Caliburn's existence, through the fact of what lies inside him and its active connection... he's glimpsed a few things here and there. But sacrifice. The topic of sacrifice comes up and he clenches his teeth for some reason. It rattles him to the bone. Even if he understands it, he can't accept it. Wait, Bedivere's getting BEHIND HIM now, thanks to looking at that sword. He rubs his head while looking at it again. "I can't read that thing... not a bit." In fact, staring at it too long might give him a headache.
Sigrun Stem	Sigrun considers the weapon now displayed quietly, in curious consideration. She's even focusing her analysis magic to give her a better read of it, and a lot of the talking, well... she lets them talk. For the most part, she's not too concerned with pitching in. Eventually, she comments in a melancholy tone. "There's odd parallels between Earth and Antichthon, enough of them to make me curious. We have many myths in common, and much of history is alike as well. And, ... I've read up on myths from Earths, apparently an ancient poet from an Earth once remarked upon the existence of a Counter-Earth which he named Antichthon. Maybe there is such an Earth, of which my home is but a mirror."
Kutsuuko Shiratori	"Mmh." Kutsuuko intones oh-so-helpfully to the first thing Bedivere says. "He's right you know, kid. Even in a golden age, there's always the unfortunate people. You can't totally eradicate crime, war, sickness and death, even if nobody talks about it." /Some/ kind of expression tugs at the corner of her mouth for a second. "Well, you can get close on those, but the cost is pretty high." The rest of that would come out weird. The God Eater actually lifts the sword out of the way just the moment before the puca touches it, though not out of possessiveness. "Whoa whoa, be careful! I should have warned you, but only one person gets to touch these. If you're not tuned to it, it'll kill you, or worse. I'm not going to be held responsible for something bad happening to a cute talking cat!" It's worth noting that the wolf design, extremely high detail and stylistic in appearance, is the same one that can be seen embossed in brass on the back of her jacket. Though it looks like something of mystical significance, ironically, it came from a corporate logo, and now is a military emblem. "It's Fenrir." She responds to the unasked question. "The wolf that was punished for biting off the hand of Tyr, only to devour Odin when Ragnarok finally came. It's a symbolic thing for the God Eaters." The rest of that gets a distinct smile of pride. "Damn right~ As it turns out, guns and bombs and missiles are usually worth jack shit when every god, demon, spirit and ghost on the planet decides it's had enough of humanity and wants to kill you. They get these . . . host bodies, made of divine cells that adapt and multiply. The only reliable way to kill them is by killing one, then repurposing the biomass, and using it on them again. Kind of like breaking an indestructible shield by hitting it with an indestructible spear, like that old Chinese adage. They used to be itty bitty little pistol things, not really good for killing much more than the weak ones, but then you kill a stronger one, build a bigger God Arc, kill an even stronger one, and so on. Then you just need someone unlucky enough to bind themselves to it, and stupid enough to go out and fight." She flashes and utterly shameless grin. Despite all of that exposition though, Kutsuuko clearly finds it difficult to answer Shirou's question. "Well, with your muscles first off. You need injections of a lot of those divine cells and then a lot of drugs to stop them killing you though. Then a lot of the finer control comes from your nervous system instead of pushing a bunch of buttons. But the rest is kind of . . . in your blood. You have to synchronize with it. Command it with your heart. It's not hard to just swing one around, or pull the trigger if you're using a gun type, but I guess it's not /totally/ unlike magecraft, when it comes down to trying to bring out the potential you have somewhere inside you." Shehe can't help but laugh a little at Bedivere's more severe reaction, but it's not in a mean-spirited way. "You aren't the only one, even back home! It takes a special kind of crazy to want to work on these things! You can't even touch them with your hands! Plus, there's a bunch of research going into whether they can develop an ego with enough use. The rabbit hole goes pretty deep. On the other hand, you don't have to worry about making deals with the Fair Folk~" Sigrun can probably confirm the obvious fact that there is something alive inside of it, though it's not really possible to pin down any details of anatomy, seeming like a totally amorphous mass. There's also a lot of circuitry that isn't all that dissimilar from what Antichthon uses for regulating spells into usable devices, though clearly originating from a totally different paradigm. It's also charged with a ridiculous amount of energy.
Kutsuuko Shiratori	"I think I heard a little about that. How you have all the same names and places, but everything came about through the fantasy kind of equivalent, and how physics is all screwy there." Kutsuuko stops to consider. "Or, I guess, magic is just physics to you and everyone else is fantasy. You said you're from the US right? I know that's a country that used to exist on my Earth."
Sir Bedivere	"They were not ready." Bedivere shakes his head, gaze dropping away to a distant corner, one where sunlight peeks through the wake of Caliburn's destruction. "The aristocracy were not yet prepared to relinquish the power they had enjoyed for so long, and despite the willingness of the common folk, I do not think that it would have turned out any differently." "Even if the Battle of Camlann were averted, I do not believe we would have been able to maintain it." He tugs at the stud in his left ear again, frowning; thoughtful. "Already I was dying even when Camlann was upon us, giving more than I could afford to give. I would have done so until there was naught left of me, for her sake, but the reality is that I would not have lasted another five winters." He shrugs, faintly. "Even now I am healing from wounds fifteen years old. Maintaining that dream took more than any one man could give, more than any hundred men could give. And with her at its head, shouldering the burden... I believe Avalon would have failed even her, in time, as her most trusted knights sacrificed themselves around her." Looking to Sigrún, he quirks a brow, head canting slightly to one side. "Hm? Mayhap. I am not familiar with such things, unfortunately. But I have already mentioned that I am poorly-versed in the Otherworldly." The púca does the most logical thing when chided, which is to say that it plunks itself down on its haunches and licks at a forepaw, unconcerned as a cat ought to be. <This one is no mere cat,> it responds haughtily. It totally is a cat. At least, part of it is a cat. It definitely has the attitude. <Oh, yes. This one is familiar with Fenrir. The Wolf of the Ages, the Devourer, Conqueror of the All-Father... at least, of those lands.> The cat sniffs disdainfully, sweeping its whiskers back. <This one preferred not to travel so far north.> Bedivere does listen to the issue of controlling one of these abominations of nature, although he still looks a little blanched. "Actually, I do," he adds, swallowing and eyeing the God Arc like it's going to try to eat him. Stranger things have happened in the multiverse. He's just going to stay put somewhere behind Shirou. "The Ever-Living Ones were the original residents of Dun Realtai's lands, and so too was its original guardian. Though, mayhap I do not 'deal' with them so much as simply remain mindful of their nature." <You say this as though it were a bad thing.> The cat is back to cleaning a paw, nonchalant as one pleases.
Emiya Shirou	Shirou casts a faintly doubtful look at the Black One as it proceeds to call itself not a cat... while acting like one. But only for a moment. "Geeze... if that's the way things are for your home, I'd like to have a look around." Shirou's got a bit of an adventurous look in his eye. "Definitely want to get one of those gems and see what I can do!" The issue of the God Arc being lethal on touch doesn't surprise him. There's a reason his gut told him not to! But he notes, "Think you mean the tale of the unbreakable shield and unstoppable spear, but yeah... I get it. Nasty job to have..." Particularly if he remembers what they were fighting. Yuuuuuuuck.
Sigrun Stem	Sigrun finishes observing the God Arc. "I wonder if it feels pain." Sigrun muses aloud, but leaves the consequences of any answer and other associations with the question unsaid, "Yeah, New York City on the West Coast of the USA." Nevermind that that would be the East Coast on Earth. Sigrun doesn't know what to say about Bedivere's ideals, nothing other than, "Shouldering the weight of improving the world alone is nigh impossible. I do not envy Atlas, I'd never claim his task." She looks around, "I probably should get back to paperwork some time. It was nice talking to you."
Kutsuuko Shiratori	Kutsuuko chews her lip thoughtfully, twisting her grip back and forth in small, regular motions as she tries to comprehend, or perhaps already comprehends too much. "That's the part that never gets made into legend. When people tell tales like that, they want to talk about happy things. Brace and impressive, and then sometimes without a poetically tragic end. It's kind of how it is. Heroes aren't supposed to be human. They're supposed to better than that. Do things real people wouldn't, don't, can't do. They have to sustain themselves on the realization of their heroism; of seeing what they want made manifest. Once there's that disconnect, when they stop believing reality can be shaped by their will alone, they burn out, sometimes all at once, sometimes so slowly, nobody notices until it's happened." ". . . Ah, shit. I got sidetracked." She very quickly recovers from looking pensive. "I came here to get some practice in. I'm sure a lot of people wouldn't take my job for one day and a million credits, but I get my kicks out of it, and I get my own little Round Table~" She thumbjerks over her shoulder at Shirou, facing Sigrun. "If you have time, see if you can take the kid for a field trip. You can see how studious he is, right? It sounds like he's better at figuring things out through magic than sweat and science books anyways. I'll get out of your way. I need a lot of room. I can't really use this thing on a tatami mat."
Emiya Shirou	SOMETHING about Kutsuuko's words BURNS in Emiya Shirou's head as he hears it. At first he'd not been paying full attention. It reminds him of way too many times spent staring at the tall back of a white-haired jerk in a red cloak. Far too many. It also brings to mind a few nightmares. Shirou, getting the willies, briefly shivers in place. Where the willies pass, only a look of determination remains. Aimed at a distant wall and not anyone in particular, but it's pretty damned heavy....
Sir Bedivere	The knight eyes the weapon with obvious unease, and he doesn't get any closer to the thing than he absolutely has to. He folds his arms and eyes the others in silent unease, still a bit unsettled by that unholy abomination's presence... and that's just his normal senses. The fledgling magician in him is /really/ recoiling from it, and it's all he can do to stay rooted where he is. He does eye Sigrún for a long time, though, thoughtful and a little wary. "I must disagree. It is possible. However, it extracts its cost in blood and spirit, and sooner or later, it will break both the body and the spirit." His voice is soft, no more than a murmur. "Mayhap you should speak with my king, some time." "Farewell." He inclines his head to Sigrún, politely. "God keep you." Not that he means anything by it, it's just something polite to say, because he is a Christian, despite his entanglement in matters of the Otherworld. His eyes flick back to Kutsuuko, and he shakes his head. "No, they do not. Better for them to think of the golden ages, and the happier times. They do not pay heed to the sacrifice and the blood-cost of those who have made it so; those who give of themselves are expected to continue to give of themselves." Shirou, however, is given a long and thoughtful look. Bedivere rests his hand heavily on the boy's shoulder one last time -- caution and reassurance and parting all in one -- before turning and striding for the entrance from which he had come. The Black One follows at his heels, tail flicking imperiously in truly feline fashion. Provided no one else calls out to him, he'll take his leave, with a nod of parting for the others.