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http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=231197

[spoiler]I forgot what to do for HP, and I'm not done buying items yet. Other then that he's good. Skype me with any questions. [/spoiler]

[This dice roll has been tampered with!]

[spoiler] This dice roll has been tampered with!
Rolled 1d20+7 : 3 + 7, total 10 Fortitude save

Using my trait to reroll. Rolled 1d20+9 : 12 + 9, total 21
[/spoiler]

[spoiler]

Taking a 5ft step backwards.
Casting Hold Person on Jin
Using my Move Action to Chant for Shandon and Serena

[/spoiler]

The shaman examined the board with an odd expression. It was one of clear difficulty. Not that he was having trouble reading, though one might assume that of Aion if they knew him. No, it was that it didn't feel... heroic. There was nothing grand about the mission... just lost item recovery. He examined it with furrowed brows for a bit longer, until he saw another adventurer sign up. He sighed with defeat, realizing that a real hero doesn't think like this. A real hero is a defended of justice, wherever he's needed. This would be a good start, so reluctantly, Aion signed up.

["...Oh dear."]

Aion was really starting to get into the festival as he munched on some cotton candy he had gotten from a nearby stall. At this point, he was starting to get this nagging feeling in the back of his head.  "You've only done so good because you used magic. If you tried doing something without it you'd fail worse then anybody."

He knew this line of thought well. He always ended up thinking stuff like this whenever he did good at anything, and he typically ended up trusting that voice more then anything else. He stoically bit into a large wad of cotton candy, chewing it as he walked into the nearest tent to prove himself to himself. He sat down, arriving a bit late and not knowing the rules, but ready to win it all for great justice! Or honor! For some virtue he would... flirt?

"...Oh dear."

["Annia! I've barely seen you around since I got here. What's up?"]

Aion originally just came by because he smelled some interesting foods, and was hoping to get a recipe. He asked around a bit, took some notes, and decided that was good enough, not realizing there was a contest. But before he left, he spotted somebody he recognized. Annia was up there, sitting down. The warrior's face lit up and he did a full on sprint up to the stage and sat down next to her. "Annia! I've barely seen you around since I got here. What's up?" He asked, not realizing he had just entered the contest.

["Hey! Loucelles! You're on in 30!"]

A man in the back stage was discarding his cloak, looking fairly nervous about the whole ordeal. His tanned skin was lit up completely by the light back stage, as he stared at himself in the mirror. He still looked scrawny as ever, but he did note proudly that his other exercises were showing through. He was extremely lithe, showing that despite a lack of strength the man took care of his body. Other then that, the warrior was blind to his own naturally dashing looks.

"Hey! Loucelles! You're on in 30!" A volunteer at the festival shouted at him, causing Aion to jump just a bit.

He started hoping back and forth a bit, trying to build adrenaline. He felt magic course through him, like it had been all festival. Perhaps he was abusing his ability to rip back the veil of time to win silly contests, but on the other hand hopefully he was impressing people. Aion cast another spell on himself just to be sure. With a calming breath, he felt more of the natural energies poor into him, increasing his presence so much that it might even make up for his lack of muscle. Yeah. He could do this!

Aion ran out confidently, appearing on stage with a charge, before just standing there smiling like he had just achieved something incredible. It took him quite some time to realize the crowd was entirely silent, just staring at him, wondering how this apparently malnourished 12 year old had wandered on stage. The soldier panicked and, with that emotional high, ripped back the veil of time once again, until he was behind stage. He had a second chance of course, but what could he do? He had no idea how to make his dexterous frame look impressive. But he had no choice. Aion went back out onto to the stage.

Without thinking, he found himself on one hand and upside down. He twisted his forearm and fingers, sending the man into the, doing a full front flip. He landed on one leg, spun on that, fell back and repeated the process on the next arm and leg. At this point he realized he was, via muscle memory, performing his Elvish Military exercises. It was an almost ethereal grace and certainly something unique. He stopped it before it went on too long, and dashed off stage, sweat falling across his bare chest purely out of stress, wondering just how well he did.

["Well, I didn't really want to be called Master. Plus, I mean, look at you."]

Marcus chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck with the hand he had offered for a shake and grunting with disappointment. Jangar seemed a bit more tense then he was hoping for a younger hero. The thief sighed and thought for a moment. "Well, I didn't really want to be called Master. Plus, I mean, look at you." He gestured with both hands at Jangar. "You're like, a legendary hero. I'm only your Master by technicality."

He toyed with the question for a few moments as he walked back towards the fully stocked mini-fridge. He fiddled through there for a bit, deciding between offering Jangar the wine or some water. He went with the former, tossing a very expensive looking bottle back towards his new partner in crime. Marcus grabbed one for himself and grinned proudly. With a quick search and use of a cork, both of their bottles were ready to drink. There was some rustling in the man's pocket, before he found and took out his phone, showing the list of objectives to Jangar.

"Well, like it says here. Our big plan is to steal the grail... but I suppose we'll need some smaller objectives... how about we just try to familiarize ourselves with the city?" His eyes lit up. "We could totally tour New York! Lets do that in the morning." Marcus had already started writing it down in his notes.

Aion drew the string of a longbow he had borrowed from a nearby guildmate. He didn't typically carry these on him, but not for lack of training. He figured he'd buy one after this, since it did feel good to knock an arrow back every once and awhile. The range was far, but being able to bend time had its advantages. With a few shrugs and jumps back and forth, filled with excitement, he was ready to take his five shots. He gave a friendly nod to all the other guild members there before letting loose.

[spoiler]
All the attacks get a re-roll.
[blockquote]Rolled 1d20+6 : 18 + 6, total 24[/blockquote][blockquote]Rolled 1d20+6 : 19 + 6, total 25[/blockquote]

[blockquote]Rolled 1d20+6 : 15 + 6, total 21[/blockquote][blockquote]Rolled 1d20+6 : 13 + 6, total 19[/blockquote]

[blockquote]Rolled 1d20+6 : 14 + 6, total 20[/blockquote][blockquote]Rolled 1d20+6 : 16 + 6, total 22[/blockquote]

[blockquote]Rolled 1d20+6 : 7 + 6, total 13[/blockquote][blockquote]Rolled 1d20+6 : 9 + 6, total 15[/blockquote]

[blockquote]Rolled 1d20+6 : 7 + 6, total 13[/blockquote][blockquote]Rolled 1d20+6 : 7 + 6, total 13[/blockquote]



[/spoiler]

Aion Loucelles was really getting into the festival. All of the guild members were characters, with their own quirks and personalities, especially distinctive visually. He hadn't seen too many Elves yet though, which was in part disappointing but also a relief. He couldn't bare to be judged next to them anyway. With another graceful step he encountered the Acrobatics Contest, with an obstacle course.

The man couldn't help be chuckled at how familiar it looked. He was used to running through military versions of these, though this one looked a bit more whimsical and possibly more difficult. Aion began doing a series of quick stretches in the grass, getting pumped up to really put his maneuvers to the test.

["We may not really know each-other, but there doesn't seem to be many other people here I can relate to... just yet, at least."]

Aion, quickly realizing that they were just making each other depressed, drew his sword, holding it up. Aion had an odd smile on his face and seemed quite sure of himself. "We may not really know each-other, but there doesn't seem to be many other people here I can relate to... just yet, at least." Then he tapped his sword against Ryine's, making a satisfying ting, elven metal clapping against the best human craftsmanship. "So lets try to go on a mission together sometime soon, okay?

["I totally get that hiding identity is important, but for just the two of us, I'd like to be able to call you Jangar."]

Marcus put his hands in his pockets and looked his new Servant up and down. A look of clear satisfaction crossed with apprehension dashed on his face, the latter coming out more when combined with his overall disheveled appearance. He strode up to the hero after a moment, adjusting the watch on his right hand before extending it out to Jangar, offering it. Marcus tried to maintain eye-contact for as long as he could, but it was clearly difficult for him.

"I totally get that hiding identity is important, but for just the two of us, I'd like to be able to call you Jangar." There was a brief smile before he finally looked away. "Just call me Marcus... feels weird being called Master. Around other people you can just call me The Page. Its what most people... um... yeah." He leaned over and eyed the spear, with a look of curiosity. "I had you pegged as a Rider though."

["Yeah, that'll be great."]

"Thank you, Mr. Toulsen. Room service will be up shortly with dinner. You wanted the three course, correct?" A young woman serving as the bellhop at the Plaza inquired.

"Yeah, that'll be great." Mr. Toulsen said, avoiding eye contact with the lady. The man stuck out like a sore thumb in elaborate French-themed hallways of the hotel . His dark brown coat hung heavy with rain, leaving a trail of wet marks from the elevator a few steps back and the door to room 1417. The same rain left his usually luxurious brown hair plastered to his head like a barely recognizable piece of roadkill atop his skull.

He began removing his finger-less gloves, the leather material clinging to his chilled hands, refusing to let go until a few violent tugs dragged them lose. Toulsen reached into his pants pocked, fiddling around for long enough to get a look from the Bellhop but not long enough for her to say anything, before removing his key-card. He swiped once. It didn't clear. Swiped again. The red dot lit up. He looked over at the bellhop carrying his copious amounts of luggage with a face of resignation and pure defeat. She cleared her throat.

"Um. Other way. And nice tattoo." Was all she managed to say in that syrupy sweet, polite tone.

Toulsen blushed lightly and looked away, almost hiding the red marks on his right hand before quickly flipping the card over and sliding it through. Green light. Thank god. He let her in first as she started unloading his baggage and quietly made her way out. He just quietly stared out the window, the droplets of rain interrupting his otherwise perfect view of Central Park. He'd finally made it to the site of his greatest heist to date. He reached into his other pocket, taking out a wallet. Inside was Mr. Toulsen's credit card, ID and drivers license. He threw these on the linen sheets of his perfectly made queen bed, leaving the other Queen bed empty. Also inside where his actual identification cards. Marcus Fetch.

Marcus mused at how alien the name sounded at this point. He'd been so used to using other names. Most of them stolen or lies. One was the actual nickname any Mage would know him by. The Page. Infamous magic thief who left his victims alive so that they would live in shame of being defeated by such an crude man. Or so the rumors went. He cared about rumors as much as he cared about his friends, but he didn't have friends to care about. He imagined that he would care about them quite a bit if he had a few. Maybe he wouldn't be in New York about to engage in a battle to the death. Maybe one of his friends would suddenly grab his, tell him it'd all be alright, lean in and... knock knock knock

"Room Service!" He heard, muffled from beyond the door. He sighed and moved to answer it.

---

It was late at night, about 15 minutes before the official quiet hours of the hotel. A full moon. It was to be now or never. Marcus froze over the complex magical glyph drawn in Mercury.  His grip tightened around the spear tip, drawing a bit of blood in the palm of his right hand.


"Aw shit..." He groaned as his hand bled on the symbol. Well, a blood offering was needed eventually. He was taking steps but still. "Now or never" he thought to himself. It wasn't too late to back out. He could go to the overseer, resign and be under her protection. Screw his greatest heist and lose his chance forever. But... there wouldn't be this huge risk of dying. This was sounding worse and worse the more he picked getting skewered on Saint George's spear or shot in the face by Pizarro.

The thoughts came forth in a specified sequence, each one leading to another and all worse then the last. He followed the trail from death to mutilation to living on as a total failure. He paced around the room, curtains closed as he through himself into the rest room. With a quick motion Marcus turned on the water in the sink and splashed it on his still damp face, rainwater mixing with pure, perfect hotel water. God it looked crystal clear. The water calmed him down enough for him to remember to check his phone. As he took it out, he habitually  checked his notes.

[spoiler][/spoiler]

"Ugh... I really... really specified this didn't I?" He groaned, totally defeated by his own compulsive need to finish stuff he had written on his phone. Its not like he could... not do it anymore. It was already there, clear in pure black 16 Point Arial font. And it was already one in the morning? How long had he been fantasizing about his defeat? As if being forced to do a chore his Mother set for him, Marcus placed one foot in front of the other back to his summoning circle. He used a pillow to wipe off his face and hair more thoroughly before reading off the chant he had previously written down to memorize, spear head in hand.

Heed my words.
My will creates your body
and your spear creates my destiny.
if you answer the Grail's call
and obey my mind and reason
the answer my summoning!
I hereby swear that the world will be your field to ride, plunder, drink and war in once more
take it with your own two hands and claim the Grail!

["Hey Ana... is this what we're supposed to be doing?"]

Aion stood frozen. Was this how the guild always was? Should he shut her up and run away? Wait, was the mission even at the palace? He couldn't remember.  He looked around for some sort of anchor to hold onto. Somebody to brace him and tell him this was all part of the plan. There was Kin, the grumpy but apparently competent warrior in the group, and Anastasia, a little girl who knew how to keep her cool. The man made his choice and leaned in.

"Hey Ana... is this what we're supposed to be doing?" He whispered.

[spoiler][/spoiler]


Cleopatra's Needle was erected in the late 1800s, between the first and second New York Grail Wars, and given to the United States of America by Egypt as a gift for remaining neutral as opposed to France and Britain maneuvering for control. In actuality it was a powerful Geomancy artifact made by ancient Sorcerer-priests to empower their magic. However, with the Mage's Association closing in on them to take it  if not by force then through forceful negotiations, it was sold to Kingslayer Queen so the mages of Egypt would at least get something out of it. She paid a reasonable price and set it up in Central Park. The Vampire did not know, however, that Cleopatra's Needle functioned as a portable Leyline until it was too late, thus complicating future Grail Wars even further. As a Leyline, after three Servants have been defeated you may summon the Holy Grail here. Its strong properties, however, make the summoning capable anywhere in Central Park. The closer to the actual Needle the better, though.

[spoiler=click for music]http://youtube.com/v/osDu36tf8iM&autoplay=1[/spoiler]

Opposite Central Park, this century-old luxury hotel features a castle-like exterior.  The elegant, French-style rooms have bathrooms with gold-plated fixtures and separate tubs and showers, plus Italian linens, a sitting area, flat-screen TVs, and WiFi; some rooms have private terraces. Suites offer city views, powder rooms and butler's pantries; a few are duplexes. Among the hotel's amenities are butler service, a spa. a business center and a fitness center. It was a true symbol of decadence of status to stay here for any prolonged period of time.