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The most talkative of them spoke again, this time to her.  Yuehao's eyes fell upon him.  Her grin broadened, and she let out a soft laugh, before her expression fell back to a mere amused smile on the corner of her lips.  "We all share the same cell, but we are bound, left to wither.  Whoever has us wants us at our weakest, although not broken."

She looked around at the others present.  "After all...from all that I heard, from what I've seen of you, we do not seem to be accused of similar crimes.  Yet we  are all together..."  The woman's voice was composed, despite her amusement and otherwise overly quiet behavior prior to this moment.  "We will not be left to die, we are all here with purpose.  They probably expect an escape.  Or panic, it will not matter in the end.  And I accept that inevitability." The woman let her own words sink in, before adding another comment.  "I would have expected execution for my deeds, so this change has my curiosity..."

Yuehao had been silent all along.  She didn't struggle much...or at all, as far anyone had seen.  There were probably times when it'd have been easy to assume she had died, but then she would make some minor movement.  Sometimes, she would smile, when she wasn't looking at anyone in particular.  It almost seemed as though she was reminded of something that made her happy.  Very happy.

She had actually made no attempt to resist her captors, and had let herself be chained without struggle.  Her dress was elegant, although a bit worse for the wear due to the time spent down there in the prison.  Her hair pins and adornments had fallen off over time, leaving her straight hair a bit of a mess, but the woman did not seem very fazed by it.  At times, she would look at the others in the cell, but not speak.  Especially the very talkative one among them, she had examined him with her eyes for quite a while, though her expression remained neutral for the most part while doing so.

Aside from the occasional creak and rattling of her chains, the most sound she would make was an amused chuckle, followed by one of her distant smiles.

What the others did not know was the reason of her arrest, a fine orchestration planned for a considerable while.  She had gone to great lengths to burn down a small village somewhere, going far enough so as to incinerate historic records of it as well, of the few that there ever had been of it.  No one had heard of the village where she was born.  And no one ever will.

Anya nodded in agreement.  "Da.  Let us do so." She adjusted her coat, and did not hesitate as she started heading to the apartment's door.  The woman took with her very little but the necessary, double checking that she was properly equipped and armed.  Perhaps the rain would settle down, and if it didn't they at least had it as cover.  The matter now was finding more information on the other masters...

Auberon took in his surroundings in austere silence as he followed Luke, giving the occasional nod or sign of understanding as he was shown around.  It was of more interest, however, to observe Luke as the young man conveyed all this information to him.  How he reacted to each room, or how he spoke of the homunculus working in each chamber.

It was not until the moment that the tour had ended that the king spoke once more.  "I am certain that, all considered, it has been an ordeal to call upon my presence and usher me into this world.  Get your rest, Luke Valentine.  In very much the same manner you have those to tend to yourself, I can manage with what I have.  We will discuss our steps in this game once you feel prepared to do so." 

With that said, he placed upon his fairies the task of further accommodating his bed to suit his needs, not only by extending its size to fit someone of his height but also placing upon it many pillows, while other fairies carried his cloak and crown to an appropriate place to be kept while the elf himself sat down, awaiting for the fairy that had been left in charge to bring him a cup of wine.

Anya nodded.  "I know Blackbeard is the best.  It is no coincidence that family and I chose to hunt, bribe and blackmail to get Edvard Tich's catalyst." 

"The other masters already plot.  They scheme and summon other servants.  We cannot let them fight on own terms...so we must go first and make the terms, would you not agree?"  She inquired, putting out her cigarette and raising an eyebrow at her servant.  "I am certain that notorious pirate like you knows just how we can do that, da?  You will find that my skills will align very well with yours." 

Auberon left the room to the near-silence of rustling leaves at his feet and the low hum of the pixies holding up his cloak.  Luke was the focus of his curiosity at the time, though he left dubious his thoughts on what he was seeing.

He reached into his pockets, taking from it a white lotus and placing it upon Luke's hand.  The king of fairies then offered the young man a smile.  "I admire the boldness.  No less than a king would ask this much from another.  Let this flower be the sign of my acceptance."  With that said, Caster looked over his shoulder at the windows, gazing at the city before them, the weather seeming to clear up some in their area.  "Together, we will claim the golden cup, the one fit only for those that inspire leadership and greatness.  Whatever competitors we may find will be tested against our honorable claim."

Anya cracked a smile on the corner of her lips.  Their mutual respect and understanding had been reached.  She placed the cigarette on her lips once more, nodding to her recently summoned servant.  "It is simple."  After some time, her eyes drifted off to the windows of the apartment, as rain still poured down from the sky.  "Show me what the legendary captain can do.  Just because grail is grand prize, it does not mean there is no more to plunder." Her eyes narrowed as she looked over at the buildings in the distance.  "This country took too much from mine.  It is time for payback."

click for music

http://youtube.com/v/TlEvS1YcIWc&autoplay=1

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The blooming branch and the mistletoe began rustling in the circle as a gust of wind danced by its borders.  It was a soft, sweet sound as the beginning of a melody.  The inscriptions and runes began to glow gold as the attunement to the ley lines was secured.  From these lines, hallowed, mystical leaves of pure, brilliant light emerged, flowing about in this confined space, the force of the wind growing stronger and stronger.

With a sudden movement the book was opened and its pages began to flip quickly under the force of the wind, taking part in this spectacle of light as roots began to sprout and a flower rose from it, twirling and blooming layer by layer, until it filled the entire area of the circle.  As the last few petals were about to open, it all burst, turning into dozens of fairies, scattered all over the room.

Standing right where the flower had once been was a tall figure, his form slender and covered by a large cloak of green.  This being, despite any lighting had a golden gleam about him, showing his undoubtedly supernatural inclination.  His blue eyes gazed down at the one that had called upon him.

"You speak of games and entertainment, of guard and use of nature's power.  Summoning a king for any of those reasons is rather bold..." He stated, leaving his feelings on the matter unclear as far as his tone was concerned.

[Anya Svarinkoff]

Anya Svarinkoff

Appearance:
Anya is a young woman of mere 25 years.  She sports a highly stylized military clothing with a cap, trenchcoat and fur scarf, all in black and purple, with some gold for contrast.  Her hair is a bright purple and her eyes are blue, making her rather attention grabbing to the eye.

Personality:

Anya is not a subtle person, if her looks don't give it away.  She is rather straight to the point, and speaks her mind, often expressing her dislike or like of others out loud.  Nevertheless, she is a prodigy in her own right, and rather proud of her lineage, despite controversies.  She values herself and her family a lot, and to the best of her ability she tries to honor it.

Her feelings of coming to the US are mixed, at first of course the strangeness of being in a foreign land, from which she heard much bad and good about.  Secondly, the sensation of freedom and at the same time loneliness that came from being independent, on her own...and of course, the pressure of representing her family with every step she takes.

Generally, she tries to keep her bluntness in check to avoid shaming herself by doing something foolish...but most of the time she feels she's lucky enough to get out of the consequences of it, so her willingness to contain her own flaw is wavering...


Biography:

Anya is a third generation mage from her family, rumored to be descended from one of Rasputin's bastards.  But to tell her tale, it's necessary to go further back.  The magical blood, otherwise inert for many years awakened with her grandfather, an active mage and true patriot to his country.  He served russia throughout the wars, all the Cold War.

By that time, he was lined up to be part of the american version of the Grail War, despite all tensions.  And he had all intents in participating, having attained a most precious catalyst to summon a servant that he knew would win the war.  However, he never had the chance of competing, as shortly before the start of the war, he was murdered in US soil, the official story being that he was but an unintentional victim of a bank robbery.

Suspecting foul play and grief struck by his death, his son took over his position as the mage representing the USSR.  Picking up on where his father left, he conjured the servant and found that it was no other than Rasputin, the very heroic spirit from whom his family was suspected to descend from.  That earned him sympathy from the servant, and together they were a team like no other, fighting with their all to avenge his father and win the grail for their country.

Yet, despite their best efforts, they lost.  Rasputin was defeated in battle and he, permanently paralyzed from the waist down after a duel of Masters gone to the brink of death.

The Cold War ended, but tensions and scars remained.  That is where Anya's story began.  Since an early age, she was pressured to work on her magical potential, to not waste the gift that her grandfather had sparked, and to one day come to do what none of her ancestors could: win the Grail.   It was hammered into her head, time and again.  She was always under this pressure, further pushed by the hatred that her father had acquired for the western mages.   Over the years his health had only decayed, and he grew more and more bitter.  He filled Anya's head with the most spiteful opinions of his enemies, making sure she understood that she couldn't trust anyone in that grail war, that everyone would play low, so she should as well.  She should be ready to take down any threats by any means, or else she'd die or end crippled like him.

He passed before her 20th year, but his voice remained.   She was trained like an attack dog, to be ruthless and efficient.  To not feel any sympathy, to try to win at all costs.  And to fail there meant to disgrace her family, to just carry on a line of failures.  To show that they were indeed just the spawns of a bastard, not truly deserving of being associated with a legend like Rasputin.  For that reason, Anya could not, and would not give up.  She would not give her enemies any quarter, and she wouldn't let morality keep her away from claiming the grail for her family and her country...

Anya didn't seem fazed by the summoning, in fact, it was satisfying to see a lot of effort that had been put into it pay off.  She reached for her pocket, and pulled out a cigarette, and boldly lit it upon one of the mighty pirate's lit fuses, then placing it on her mouth. 

"Da.  But this game is no joke."  She said, staring right back at Blackbeard.  "I am not little girl, and what is at stake is no piece of candy."  She took a step forward.  "We are talking of the Holy Grail.  No gold you plundered was precious as it is.  No man you killed was as strong as ones you will face here."

Anya then gripped the cigarette with two fingers and took it out of her mouth, letting out a puff of smoke to the side.  "But I can assure you.  Of the masters in this competition, I am most prepared.  You may have been a scourge of the seven seas, but I am scourge of the americans in this war.  My whole life brought me to this point, my purpose to put fear in the hearts of these decadent pigs.  You are lucky that you had the 'simple lass' summon you, Edvard Tich.  No one else could."  She said, her tone serious as her glare.

The door slam shut behind her.  She wasn't under the fairest of weathers, much less in this rain.  Her boots squeaked on the polished wooden floor.  It annoyed her, expressed in grunts and soft curses in the native tongue.  A package thrown on the dinner table.  Not heavy, average size, many stamps and seals, written in a plethora of languages, dotting its outer shell.

More grunts, ripping.  It's being torn apart, strings being cut by a knife hastily pulled out of the pocket.  Underneath it, thin sheets of paper, thrown aside as leaves in the wind.  Beneath layer upon layer of wrappings and tape, all sliced, ripped, gutted like a freshly hunted animal, it was there.  A moment of silence, later broken by a sigh.

It had been a long walk in this weather, preceded by many calls.  Favors asked, strings pulled, for the content of this unsuspecting, well traveled package.  A bundle of facial hair, intertwined to look like a fuse.  So much trouble for something so insignificant.  Who even knew if it was authentic?  It made her wonder how far gone her uncle was.  Maybe he did get one too many bullets to that bald head of his.

All the rest is left on the table, and that suspicious would-be-fuse is held, taken to the living room.  The knife is still in hand.  She kneels, remembering her lessons, repeated time and again.  She wouldn't disappoint them.  With quick, broad moves the wood starts to be engraved, ruining that pristine flooring to make way for something more important.  First comes the circle, then lines start to connect one end to another, more complex forms gain shape as the wood reluctantly gives way to the sharp edge of metal.

Time ticks by, on and on.  It's all drawn.  Except for one last thing.  The knife swiftly slices the palm, the palm smears the circle with red.  The hair fuse is placed in the middle.  A brief pause, the gap in the hand is closed by gauze, so that the hand may join its twin and take its position.  Then the chanting begins.

From the depths I call
The terror of men
Fear given form
From the depths I call
The cursed pirate king
Pride given form
From the depths I call
The foulest of knaves
Evil itself
From the depths I call
The impersonation of darkness
The legend, the tale
From the depths I call
The Queen Anne's Revenge
Its crew, its omens and its curses
From the depths I call Эдвард Тич, Черная! ^{[Edward Teach, Blackbeard!]}

click for music

http://youtube.com/v/jOEDsZbR6jE&autoplay=1

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Spoiler

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It wasn't anything overly fancy, but it wasn't just any shabby place to settle in either.  Fully furnished with what one may need for a comfortable stay in the city, with closeness to bars, stores, restaurants and all the nightlife amenities.  It featured a sizable living room combined with a kitchen, as well as one apartment and a bedroom, queen sized bed.  Located on the top floor of a 5 story building, it had the commodity of elevator access, or for the more...subtle of sorts, emergency ladders on the outside, leading into an alley.  The rent wasn't cheap, but it was affordable enough for a foreign third generation mage.

[Auberon, King of the Fairies]

Auberon, King of the Fairies

Appearance

The King of the Fairies stands 6 feet tall, as a very elven-like impersonation of his Shakespearean self, donning a set of leather armor with golden linings, belts and gem adornments, complemented by a large, green cloak of cloth and leaves carried by no less than his subjects from whom he acquires his title.  His hair is a long golden white, and his eyes are a very clear blue, which alongside his Caucasian complexion all have a certain supernatural gleam about them.  Upon his head rests a crown of branches and amber, leaving little doubt of his position as a ruler.

Powers

As King of the Fairies, Auberon's powers are deeply intertwined with magic and nature, and that power in itself is tied to his emotions.  A foul mood may invoke storms and destruction, while a fairer mood might bring fortune and good weathers.


Personality

Auberon is a wise king.  Perhaps quick to anger, in the face of those that deliberately abuse of his code of ethics and honor, but nevertheless someone who carries with himself the weight and responsibility of his power.  He has a strong conviction that a king must stand for his people, and be its prime example, therefore having high standards for himself and other leaders, especially in matters of dealing with those under their command.

So while he may be someone with a temper and who feels strong emotions, Oberon is also a fair person, who despite his misgivings every now and then wishes to rectify them and ultimately do good and stand by his principles.

Biography

Auberon is the king of all of the fairies in William Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream who is feuding with his wife Titania, the queen of the fairies. They are fighting over a changeling child whom Auberon wants to raise as his henchman. Titania wants to keep the child because he is the child of Titania's mortal follower who died, and she wants to raise the child for her follower. Because Auberon and Titania are powerful fairies, their arguments affect the weather. Titania describes what happens to nature when they argue, saying:

    Therefore the winds, piping to us in vains,
    As in revenge, have suck'd up from the sea
    Contagious fogs; which falling in the land
    Have every pelting river made so proud
    That they have overborne their continents:
    The ox hath therefore stretch'd his yoke in vain,
    The ploughman lost his sweat, and the green corn
    Hath rotted ere his youth attain'd a beard;
    The fold stands empty in the drowned field,
    And crows are fatted with the murrion flock;
    The nine men's morris is fill'd up with mud,
    And the quaint mazes in the wanton green
    For lack of tread are undistinguishable:
    The human mortals want their winter here;
    No night is now with hymn or carol blest:
    Therefore the moon, the governess of floods,
    Pale in her anger, washes all the air,
    That rheumatic diseases do abound:
    And thorough this distemperature we see
    The seasons alter: hoary-headed frosts
    Far in the fresh lap of the crimson rose,
    And on old Hiems' thin and icy crown
    An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds
    Is, as in mockery, set: the spring, the summer,
    The childing autumn, angry winter, change
    Their wonted liveries, and the mazed world,
    By their increase, now knows not which is which:
    And this same progeny of evils comes
    From our debate, from our dissension;
    We are their parents and original.

Furious that Titania will not give him the child, he puts juice from a magical flower into her eyes while she is asleep. The effect of the juice is that it will cause Titania to fall in love with the first thing she sees. Titania awakens and finds herself madly in love with Bottom, a weaver who has been given a donkey's head by Puck. Meanwhile, two couples have entered the forest: lovers Hermia and Lysander are pursued by Demetrius, who also loves Hermia, and Helena, who loves Demetrius. Auberon sends Puck to put some of the juice in Demetrius's eyes to make him fall in love with Helena, after he witnesses him rejecting her and decided to help her. When Puck puts the love potion on Lysander by mistake, and then on Demetrius, Helena finds herself loved by two men, and confusion breaks out. After Puck straightens out what he has done, and Demetrius discovers that he is really in love with Helena after all, Auberon looks upon Titania and her lover, Bottom, and feels sorry for what he has done. He reverses the spell and when Titania awakes the two reunite.

[-Name:]

-Name: Meta
-Preferred System: M&M
-Preferred Role (Master or Servant): Master (Both if possible)
-One or Two characters: Check the above
-Questions/Suggestions/Concerns: None.

["I'm with Ion. Let's just shoot them 'til they're dead. And the shrub does make a good point...a nice clustered line of fire ought to kill those imps like flies."]

Nadiya was pushing Piledriver forward at full speed while she tried to hook up some old screens to actually be able to get Zephyr's program working on the old core.  "I'm with Ion.   Let's just shoot them 'til they're dead.   And the shrub does make a good point...a nice clustered line of fire ought to kill those imps like flies."  The ifrit chuckled, her weapons at the ready.