[Izem] Wellington Staten Island Apartment Community

[Linwelin]

A multi-room flat located in the apartment community at the center of Staten Island, it's well known as a rather luxurious complex. Well designed architecturally, with the occasional marble accents to all of the buildings' stonework, the location exudes a certain standard of living unknown to most, despite being a shared community. There is access to just about anything someone might want, with an underground garage, a large pool, security and every sort of basic living facility or appliance. Not only that, but it is conveniently located when considering several nearby shopping districts. The unit itself is fully stocked, complete with a lavish balcony and well made furnishings. It was well-carpeted, with the exception of the bathroom and kitchen's ceramic tiling. The entire living quarters was spacious enough to accommodate much more than the intended two individuals that would be living there.

[Linwelin]

"...They certainly spared no expense."

Izem looked around his new home with equal levels of surprise and disgust. His 'family', the Tashfins, had covered all expenses of his trip to the Americas, most likely in some form of good-will bribe. He'd never left Morocco before, and most of his life had been spent as a nomad in the deserts and mountains surrounding Marrakesh, thus this sudden change to a lavish lifestyle was unsettling. "I wonder if they even know how many suffer while they live in such luxury?" He muttered to himself.

Either way, a home was a home, and this would certainly offer decent protection, being a rather secluded within the major New York area. He would not want for anything while here, leaving him to focus on his goals. The Tashfin family had intended to use him in order to return to their power lost in ancient times, and he'd lead them to believe they'd succeeded in convincing him. "Tch." Izem winced at the thought. That pandering and brown-nosing he had force out of himself at their bribery made him shudder in emotional pain. Of course they hadn't succeeded; they currently held his parents, the ones they'd exiled along with him as a child, and he didn't even know where they were held, nor what their condition was. The bribes of money and luxury were merely attempts at goodwill. He was abroad as a part of an intricate ransom, an extortion. The only silver lining he could find was that their desire, at its base, was the same as his. To win the war for the grail.

But the Tashfins would not get what they desired. They were forced to come to him, a bastard of the family, due to his innate talent in sorcery. They were indeed still a powerful, influential group, but why did he had to follow their orders as their proxy? Simple. He didn't. Izem paced around the room, as his vindictive emotions began to pool once more. Their hunger for power. Their greed. Their gluttony. I'll crush it all and bring a balance to this world. Of some sort. Anything is better than the current state.

At last, he found a suitable spot within the residence to begin.

"Come forth, noble blade!
One who moves without yield or restraint,
But by his own code!
Unerring, unbiased, just.
Your ferocity shall tear through this world.
Insatiably consuming those who blindly consume.
Come forth, and to my aid!
So that we might fight for the Grail and change this forsaken world!"

[Wolfrin Fenris]

Jolts of electricity crackled around the perimeter of the runic circle, scarring the marble flooring. Smoke rose with each strike, flowing and swirling up to create a vortex within the confines of the circle. A pulsating light appeared in the center as bolts of electricity arced from floor to ceiling, each flashing bolt increasing the tempo of the the lights. The vortex of smoke and brilliant lightning strikes seemed to compete with each other for dominance, but their purpose was the same. The light reached a crescendo, swallowed immediately by the darkness. Everything was still for a moment. Then the light blasted forth once more.

A man stood within the circle now, far eastern by his clothing and complexion. He wore a brown kimono of rough spun cotton, with sandals upon his feet. His hair was tied back in ancient japanese fashion into a kimono. He had three weapons upon his person, a katana on each hip and a wakizashi on his right hip. However the most notable feature about the man was his face. His nose was broken; from the looks of it many times. There were splotches on his face; as if from a skin condition. His forehead was prominent, too prominent, jutting his brow out above his eyes; those eyes were perhaps his one redeeming feature. Clear and intense in their scrutiny, hazel in color, they saw everything around him, to the smallest details.

Arms folded in his sleeves, he regarded the boy, his master, across from him. Miyamoto noticed immediately that this boy was not nihonjin. Information, imparted by the grail, welled up in his mind, placing this boy's origin somewhere in the middle east. The Boy was young, his stance straight, and he carried an air of seriousness. His hair, black, was cut short in a simple and severe style. When Miyamoto finally met the Boy's eyes, he saw a near reflection of his own staring back at him, peering into him, as if weighing and measuring him.

"I come to answer your summons to fight in the Grail War, Boy."