JustNewGuy
Getting out there.
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The guy is American, so he is biased.
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RIP @Silver Swallow
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How I Saved History (Fate/Grand Order SI)
- Thread starter Charles Flynn
- Start date
Darko
Connoisseur.
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He's very much like a car wreck.
A horrible tragedy, but you just can't look away.
Yes, but Jackson and he share a closer connection than the other Servants.
That being both of them are Americans, so Charlie feels more shame and disappointment when he thinks of him, the same way a German may feel shame and disappointment that they share a connection with Hitler.
Then what happened here:
Unless it was Karna screaming that.
That would be hilarious!
Last edited:
Charles Flynn
I trust you know where the happy button is?
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That was in one of the Micro-Singularities.
Duryodhana's wrestling kingdom perished before the combined might of the Pandavas.
Darko
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So they summoned him not in Chaldea, but when they were on a mission, or they summoned him in Chaldea, but he died on a mission?
Hopefully they summon him again soon.
Would love to see something like this:
Just imagine him doing this while Hans comments on it.
Just don't mention that wrestling has become fake to him, he may not take it well.
Charles Flynn
I trust you know where the happy button is?
- Joined
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So they summoned him not in Chaldea, but when they were on a mission, or they summoned him in Chaldea, but he died on a mssion?
Hopefully they summon him again soon.
Would love to see something like this:
Just imagine him doing this while Hans comments on it.
Just don't mention that wrestling has become fake to him, he may not take it well.
They didn't summon him at all. They walked in on a modern reenactment of the Kurukshetra War. In Kansas.
Darko
Connoisseur.
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Makes sense he would be in America seeing as it's practically the wrestling capital of the world.
I'm guessing some of the Servants have an odd impression of America after seeing him?
I mean the other Singularities were weird, but aside from the Santa thing I don't think any can top whatever lunacy Duryodhana brings.
Darko
Connoisseur.
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Speaking of odd battles, is it possible for any future battles to involve rap?
Kinda like this:
Some of the historical characters portrayed have had...odd personality traits, so a desire to do a rap battle with an enemy isn't all that strange.
Ohh and as of now anytime Caesar speaks I will hear him in the voice of the guy who played Caesar in the video above.
You gotta admit the voice just fits.
Charles Flynn
I trust you know where the happy button is?
- Joined
- Aug 4, 2018
- Messages
- 570
Probably won't happen until Lostbelt #2.
Chapter 129
Charles Flynn
I trust you know where the happy button is?
- Joined
- Aug 4, 2018
- Messages
- 570
The clusterfuck at the gates to Simbaland has ended. Thus, it's time for some post-fight inquiries.
I tent my fingers as I stare at the skull-masked Servant currently sitting implacably on a rock opposite me.
"So… Cursed Arm."
"Yes, Master?"
"You went against my directives and acted before you received orders to protect young Rashid and his mother."
"I did indeed do so," Cursed Arm admits, still not giving anything away.
"So, then, I have a question for you: What the ACTUAL FUCK?" I finally let my anger off the chain, slamming one fist down into the rock I'm sitting on. "Ow… FUCK, I think I broke my hand. That would have been so much less painful if we actually had a table between us."
"I concur, Master." Cursed Arm's poker face is impeccable. The mask probably helps.
"No dodging the question!" I snap, pointing at him with my undamaged left hand. "I'd expect this sort of thing from Galahad, but not you. You've been one of the most professional and loyal Servants in my retinue. That's why I want an explanation."
"You flatter me," Cursed Arm says. "But I am nothing special."
"Cursed Arm." I give him an unimpressed look. "Do you know why the other Servants all went Leeroy Jenkins on me when they saw you defending those two civilians?"
"They were inspired by the sight of someone they considered a soulless killer defending the innocent?"
"Close. For some of them, they were shamed into action by your heroic example. The rest all believed that, since they've only ever seen you act in accordance with my wishes, spoken or unspoken, that obviously my orders were to defend the people, and then acted accordingly." I give him a look, folding my arms. "Your little bout of Galahad-ism pretty much single-handedly destroyed our formation and scuttled my attempts to retreat. The first time you've ever acted against my orders, and this happens."
"I'm… sorry… Master." He genuinely sounds like he means it.
"The apology is appreciated, Cursed Arm. But I want to know why you broke ranks." I realized that the man I trust to do my dirty work has motivations and drives of his own. I have to know what they are, now, because otherwise I'll always wonder if my next order will be the one that drives him to betray me. "And how likely it is to happen again."
"That…" Cursed Arm looks down. "Master, you do not know what you ask of me."
"Well, yes, that's how questions typically work."
That startles a laugh out of him. "I suppose it is, isn't it?" He takes a deep breath. "Remember this well, for I will only speak of it to you once. It is forbidden for those who have taken up the mantle of the Old Man of the Mountain to tell of who they once were. Those names, those lives, they are what must be slain to stand as the foremost of Assassins."
"So… they're tied to your past?" I ask.
"Of course not," Cursed Arm tells me cheerfully. "I have no past. I have always been the Old Man of the Mountain."
"Ah. Of course." I wonder if he's always been at war with Eastasia, too.
"Incidentally, I think I'll tell you an entirely fictitious children's story," Cursed Arm interjects. "In order to pass the time, of course."
"Sounds fascinating," I say, trying to keep a straight face.
"Of course it does." He glances over his shoulder cautiously, and then begins. "Not very long ago, in a little town not very far from here, there lived a man. He had a wife and a son, and he could have lived out his days quite contently with them, if not for one, damning detail. You see, he was haunted by a constant, creeping fear. He had learned the histories, and there was no place for humble farmers and dutiful husbands in their manifold pages. The fool stayed awake at night, staring at the ceiling and paralyzed by the constant, creeping dread that he would be forgotten, a nobody, nary a word devoted to his name in all of history's myriad tomes." He looks over his shoulder again. "And so, he did a very foolish thing: He left his family to join the Bashasshin."
I raise an eyebrow. "No relation to the Hashasshin, of course."
"Of course not. The Hashasshin assassinated people. The Bashasshin threw surprise parties." He looks over his shoulder again. "Now, this nameless, entirely fictional man rose through the ranks. He became incredibly skilled in all the arts of party planning quite swiftly, but he lacked a unique talent of his own, which would leave him forever barred from the coveted title of Grand Partymaster." Another over-the-shoulder check. "And so, he hunted down the Party Demon Shaitan and grafted its arm on in place of his own."
"Party Demon?" I repeat with a raised eyebrow.
"His soirees were to die for," Hassan assures me with an unbreakable poker face. "But, sadly, even after he gained the legendary title of Grand Partymaster, the Partymaster of the Festive Arm was regarded as mediocre, and never did anything of note. In the end, all his sacrifices only gained him a footnote in the history books, at the price of his very identity. When he died, his last thoughts were full of regret at having cast aside his peaceful life with his beloved family for nothing." He does one last over-the-shoulder check, and then sighs in relief. "The end."
"I see." I nod. "So, you saved Rashid and his mother because…"
"I saved Rashid and Nalia because they reminded me of Festive Arm's wife and son from that very sad story I had heard," Cursed Arm says, his voice thick with regret. "It seemed to me that he would have dearly loved to see them again."
As he turns to go, I call out to him. "Hey, Hassan!"
"Yes, my Master?" he asks.
"You're right it's a very sad story," I say, deciding to stick to the initial conceit. "Actually, if I ever met this Festive Arm person, I think I know what I'd say to him."
"Really? And what would that be?"
"That even if his sacrifices didn't get him what he really wanted, I'm glad he made them. Because it's thanks to those sacrifices that I got to meet him, and he's been an invaluable ally in fighting the Incineration that I couldn't have done this without. "
"You sound as if you already know the man," Cursed Arm says, and I can almost hear his smile. "And you think highly of him."
"Well for me to meet him, he'd have to be summoned to Chaldea and fight by my side, wouldn't he? I think, by definition, that means he's among the foremost of heroes."
Cursed Arm falters. "Thank you, Master."
"No. Thank you. And I'm sorry for doubting you."
---
We've been journeying for two days when the mysterious stranger from the fight at the gates catches up with us.
He is, of course, immediately stopped at sword, stake, and spear-point, and told to state his name and business.
"Lower the weapons!" I command, making my way towards the unfortunate fellow with Galahad at my side. "He helped us escape."
He looks at me appraisingly. "You're the Master of Chaldea?"
"That is indeed the case, yes," I say, raising an eyebrow.
"I had suspected that much," he lifts up the corner of his shirt, revealing a bloodstained bandage in the vicinity of one of his kidneys. "We bumped into each other in the crowd, earlier. You stabbed me and left the knife lodged in my right kidney."
"Oh." Well… that's awkward. Siegfried, Georgios, and Galahad are all looking at me in disappointment. Vlad's nodding in approval, which is honestly just as bad. "Um… sorry?"
"The apology is appreciated," the stranger says, dropping his shirt back over his wound. "I had actually followed you to the crowd's outskirts, intending to kill you for attacking me. But then, well, you broke the encirclement and revealed yourself as Chaldea's Master."
"Ah. Well, thank you for not killing me, then," I say, profoundly uncomfortable. "May I ask your name?"
"I am Sir Bedivere of the Round Table," he says, lowering his hood to reveal that he's actually a fairly handsome fellow. "And I have come to ask to join you."
"Bedivere?" Galahad repeats, a grin splitting his face. "It's good to see you!"
"Sir Galahad," Bedivere replies with a nod. "It is no less of a pleasure to see you again. All of Camelot mourned your death." He adopts a politely confused frown. "Although, if you'll permit me to say it, the body is somewhat unexpected."
"Long story, and not one I had much say in," Galahad says with an airy wave. "Are you against the Lion King?"
"Yes. I only just recently in this Singularity, and I was horrified by the atrocities that my king has sunk to." He has a steely cast to his eyes as he looks up at us. "I am loyal to King Arthur, not the grotesque parody of himself he has become."
Huh. 'Cursed Arm, I'm going to need you to keep an eye on Sir Bedivere. He's our newest arrival. He's given us absolutely no reason for us to distrust him so far, and he helped us escape the encirclement at the gates, but, at the same time, he's a Knight of Arthur, in a Singularity where our enemies are all Arthur's knights.'
'Master, this seems… somewhat unwarranted, to be honest,' Cursed Arm replies.
'I know, it's probably just paranoia, but better safe than sorry.'
He agrees, so I return my attention to the animated conversation between the two reunited Knights of Arthur.
"Sir Bedivere, can you tell us anything about Mustafa…" that gets a blank look. "…The Lion King's response to the attack at the gate?"
"Gawain hasn't been sent out to pursue, if that's what you mean," Bedivere assures me. "But I don't doubt that the failure of their Holy Selection, and the removal of some of the people chosen to enter the Holy City, will merit a forceful response. And Galahad can tell you as well as I exactly who King Arthur sends when he needs a problem taken care of."
I look at Galahad, who's grinning like Christmas just came early. "Sir Lancelot. The Lion King will send Sir Lancelot."
"Are you sure?" I ask hesitantly. Both Galahad and Bedivere look at me like I'm an idiot.
"He always sends Lancelot," Bedivere says.
Galahad nods. "Exactly. Pirate raids? Lancelot. Kidnapped noblewoman? Lancelot. Dragon infestation? Lancelot."
Bedivere takes up the list. "Fey shenanigans? Lancelot. Invading coalition of kings? Lancelot. Need to show of Camelot's military strength at a tournament? Lancelot."
Galahad smirks. "Marital duties? Lancelot."
"Sir Galahad!" Bedivere squawks indignantly. "That's our King's wife and your father you're talking about! Have some respect!"
"If they wanted respect, then they shouldn't have committed the sin of adultery and brought shame to the house of Pendragon," Galahad says coolly, before smirking slightly. "Besides, Camelot fell because my worthless lecher of a father screwed everything up, just like I always knew he would. I'm allowed some measure of vindication."
"And yet you never spoke a single word against him, or any other knight, for the entirety of your time in court," Bedivere states, his eyes narrowed.
"Of course I didn't. To slander my fellow knights and comrades-in-arms would be unchivalrous, even if they were, with a few exceptions, lechers, braggarts, idiots, hypocrites, and terrible cooks."
Bedivere looks at him sadly. "Ah. I see."
"What?"
"You were never truly happy, were you? Even though you always smiled."
While Galahad is still staring at him like he's just been slapped, Bedivere turns to me. "Master of Chaldea, is it permissible for me to scout ahead?"
"Fine by me."
He goes out to scout, leaving me alone with the still-dumbstruck Galahad.
"So, um… do you want to talk about it?" I venture after a moment.
"No." He all but growls the denial. "Let's just get back to moving forwards."
And so, the march resumes.
I tent my fingers as I stare at the skull-masked Servant currently sitting implacably on a rock opposite me.
"So… Cursed Arm."
"Yes, Master?"
"You went against my directives and acted before you received orders to protect young Rashid and his mother."
"I did indeed do so," Cursed Arm admits, still not giving anything away.
"So, then, I have a question for you: What the ACTUAL FUCK?" I finally let my anger off the chain, slamming one fist down into the rock I'm sitting on. "Ow… FUCK, I think I broke my hand. That would have been so much less painful if we actually had a table between us."
"I concur, Master." Cursed Arm's poker face is impeccable. The mask probably helps.
"No dodging the question!" I snap, pointing at him with my undamaged left hand. "I'd expect this sort of thing from Galahad, but not you. You've been one of the most professional and loyal Servants in my retinue. That's why I want an explanation."
"You flatter me," Cursed Arm says. "But I am nothing special."
"Cursed Arm." I give him an unimpressed look. "Do you know why the other Servants all went Leeroy Jenkins on me when they saw you defending those two civilians?"
"They were inspired by the sight of someone they considered a soulless killer defending the innocent?"
"Close. For some of them, they were shamed into action by your heroic example. The rest all believed that, since they've only ever seen you act in accordance with my wishes, spoken or unspoken, that obviously my orders were to defend the people, and then acted accordingly." I give him a look, folding my arms. "Your little bout of Galahad-ism pretty much single-handedly destroyed our formation and scuttled my attempts to retreat. The first time you've ever acted against my orders, and this happens."
"I'm… sorry… Master." He genuinely sounds like he means it.
"The apology is appreciated, Cursed Arm. But I want to know why you broke ranks." I realized that the man I trust to do my dirty work has motivations and drives of his own. I have to know what they are, now, because otherwise I'll always wonder if my next order will be the one that drives him to betray me. "And how likely it is to happen again."
"That…" Cursed Arm looks down. "Master, you do not know what you ask of me."
"Well, yes, that's how questions typically work."
That startles a laugh out of him. "I suppose it is, isn't it?" He takes a deep breath. "Remember this well, for I will only speak of it to you once. It is forbidden for those who have taken up the mantle of the Old Man of the Mountain to tell of who they once were. Those names, those lives, they are what must be slain to stand as the foremost of Assassins."
"So… they're tied to your past?" I ask.
"Of course not," Cursed Arm tells me cheerfully. "I have no past. I have always been the Old Man of the Mountain."
"Ah. Of course." I wonder if he's always been at war with Eastasia, too.
"Incidentally, I think I'll tell you an entirely fictitious children's story," Cursed Arm interjects. "In order to pass the time, of course."
"Sounds fascinating," I say, trying to keep a straight face.
"Of course it does." He glances over his shoulder cautiously, and then begins. "Not very long ago, in a little town not very far from here, there lived a man. He had a wife and a son, and he could have lived out his days quite contently with them, if not for one, damning detail. You see, he was haunted by a constant, creeping fear. He had learned the histories, and there was no place for humble farmers and dutiful husbands in their manifold pages. The fool stayed awake at night, staring at the ceiling and paralyzed by the constant, creeping dread that he would be forgotten, a nobody, nary a word devoted to his name in all of history's myriad tomes." He looks over his shoulder again. "And so, he did a very foolish thing: He left his family to join the Bashasshin."
I raise an eyebrow. "No relation to the Hashasshin, of course."
"Of course not. The Hashasshin assassinated people. The Bashasshin threw surprise parties." He looks over his shoulder again. "Now, this nameless, entirely fictional man rose through the ranks. He became incredibly skilled in all the arts of party planning quite swiftly, but he lacked a unique talent of his own, which would leave him forever barred from the coveted title of Grand Partymaster." Another over-the-shoulder check. "And so, he hunted down the Party Demon Shaitan and grafted its arm on in place of his own."
"Party Demon?" I repeat with a raised eyebrow.
"His soirees were to die for," Hassan assures me with an unbreakable poker face. "But, sadly, even after he gained the legendary title of Grand Partymaster, the Partymaster of the Festive Arm was regarded as mediocre, and never did anything of note. In the end, all his sacrifices only gained him a footnote in the history books, at the price of his very identity. When he died, his last thoughts were full of regret at having cast aside his peaceful life with his beloved family for nothing." He does one last over-the-shoulder check, and then sighs in relief. "The end."
"I see." I nod. "So, you saved Rashid and his mother because…"
"I saved Rashid and Nalia because they reminded me of Festive Arm's wife and son from that very sad story I had heard," Cursed Arm says, his voice thick with regret. "It seemed to me that he would have dearly loved to see them again."
As he turns to go, I call out to him. "Hey, Hassan!"
"Yes, my Master?" he asks.
"You're right it's a very sad story," I say, deciding to stick to the initial conceit. "Actually, if I ever met this Festive Arm person, I think I know what I'd say to him."
"Really? And what would that be?"
"That even if his sacrifices didn't get him what he really wanted, I'm glad he made them. Because it's thanks to those sacrifices that I got to meet him, and he's been an invaluable ally in fighting the Incineration that I couldn't have done this without. "
"You sound as if you already know the man," Cursed Arm says, and I can almost hear his smile. "And you think highly of him."
"Well for me to meet him, he'd have to be summoned to Chaldea and fight by my side, wouldn't he? I think, by definition, that means he's among the foremost of heroes."
Cursed Arm falters. "Thank you, Master."
"No. Thank you. And I'm sorry for doubting you."
---
We've been journeying for two days when the mysterious stranger from the fight at the gates catches up with us.
He is, of course, immediately stopped at sword, stake, and spear-point, and told to state his name and business.
"Lower the weapons!" I command, making my way towards the unfortunate fellow with Galahad at my side. "He helped us escape."
He looks at me appraisingly. "You're the Master of Chaldea?"
"That is indeed the case, yes," I say, raising an eyebrow.
"I had suspected that much," he lifts up the corner of his shirt, revealing a bloodstained bandage in the vicinity of one of his kidneys. "We bumped into each other in the crowd, earlier. You stabbed me and left the knife lodged in my right kidney."
"Oh." Well… that's awkward. Siegfried, Georgios, and Galahad are all looking at me in disappointment. Vlad's nodding in approval, which is honestly just as bad. "Um… sorry?"
"The apology is appreciated," the stranger says, dropping his shirt back over his wound. "I had actually followed you to the crowd's outskirts, intending to kill you for attacking me. But then, well, you broke the encirclement and revealed yourself as Chaldea's Master."
"Ah. Well, thank you for not killing me, then," I say, profoundly uncomfortable. "May I ask your name?"
"I am Sir Bedivere of the Round Table," he says, lowering his hood to reveal that he's actually a fairly handsome fellow. "And I have come to ask to join you."
"Bedivere?" Galahad repeats, a grin splitting his face. "It's good to see you!"
"Sir Galahad," Bedivere replies with a nod. "It is no less of a pleasure to see you again. All of Camelot mourned your death." He adopts a politely confused frown. "Although, if you'll permit me to say it, the body is somewhat unexpected."
"Long story, and not one I had much say in," Galahad says with an airy wave. "Are you against the Lion King?"
"Yes. I only just recently in this Singularity, and I was horrified by the atrocities that my king has sunk to." He has a steely cast to his eyes as he looks up at us. "I am loyal to King Arthur, not the grotesque parody of himself he has become."
Huh. 'Cursed Arm, I'm going to need you to keep an eye on Sir Bedivere. He's our newest arrival. He's given us absolutely no reason for us to distrust him so far, and he helped us escape the encirclement at the gates, but, at the same time, he's a Knight of Arthur, in a Singularity where our enemies are all Arthur's knights.'
'Master, this seems… somewhat unwarranted, to be honest,' Cursed Arm replies.
'I know, it's probably just paranoia, but better safe than sorry.'
He agrees, so I return my attention to the animated conversation between the two reunited Knights of Arthur.
"Sir Bedivere, can you tell us anything about Mustafa…" that gets a blank look. "…The Lion King's response to the attack at the gate?"
"Gawain hasn't been sent out to pursue, if that's what you mean," Bedivere assures me. "But I don't doubt that the failure of their Holy Selection, and the removal of some of the people chosen to enter the Holy City, will merit a forceful response. And Galahad can tell you as well as I exactly who King Arthur sends when he needs a problem taken care of."
I look at Galahad, who's grinning like Christmas just came early. "Sir Lancelot. The Lion King will send Sir Lancelot."
"Are you sure?" I ask hesitantly. Both Galahad and Bedivere look at me like I'm an idiot.
"He always sends Lancelot," Bedivere says.
Galahad nods. "Exactly. Pirate raids? Lancelot. Kidnapped noblewoman? Lancelot. Dragon infestation? Lancelot."
Bedivere takes up the list. "Fey shenanigans? Lancelot. Invading coalition of kings? Lancelot. Need to show of Camelot's military strength at a tournament? Lancelot."
Galahad smirks. "Marital duties? Lancelot."
"Sir Galahad!" Bedivere squawks indignantly. "That's our King's wife and your father you're talking about! Have some respect!"
"If they wanted respect, then they shouldn't have committed the sin of adultery and brought shame to the house of Pendragon," Galahad says coolly, before smirking slightly. "Besides, Camelot fell because my worthless lecher of a father screwed everything up, just like I always knew he would. I'm allowed some measure of vindication."
"And yet you never spoke a single word against him, or any other knight, for the entirety of your time in court," Bedivere states, his eyes narrowed.
"Of course I didn't. To slander my fellow knights and comrades-in-arms would be unchivalrous, even if they were, with a few exceptions, lechers, braggarts, idiots, hypocrites, and terrible cooks."
Bedivere looks at him sadly. "Ah. I see."
"What?"
"You were never truly happy, were you? Even though you always smiled."
While Galahad is still staring at him like he's just been slapped, Bedivere turns to me. "Master of Chaldea, is it permissible for me to scout ahead?"
"Fine by me."
He goes out to scout, leaving me alone with the still-dumbstruck Galahad.
"So, um… do you want to talk about it?" I venture after a moment.
"No." He all but growls the denial. "Let's just get back to moving forwards."
And so, the march resumes.
Last edited:
Darko
Connoisseur.
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Lostbelt 2: Electric Boogaloo.
Hopefully the battles will be as epic as they are int the videos.
Bear_Mint
The LewdBringer. The Breast Observer.
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Charlie, your previous chapter was misnumbered.
Sending Lancelot after everything and anything; Arthur, you've sure gotten lazy with your rule if your answer to every problem is "send Lancelot at it". But then again, a lot of FGO players solve their problems with "Send Cu after it". So I can't say I have any room to judge.
Charles Flynn
I trust you know where the happy button is?
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It's not that Arthur was lazy, exactly, it's more that Lancelot was basically Camelot's Special Forces.
Silver W. King
King of Adventures
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Bedivere is like in the game, right? Because that guy was one precious waifu.
Also, that humanizing moment with Cursed Arm was nice.
Also, that humanizing moment with Cursed Arm was nice.
Darko
Connoisseur.
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Hey if it ain't broke, don't fix it.
Darko
Connoisseur.
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'just recently arrived'
'loyal to King'
Charles Flynn
I trust you know where the happy button is?
- Joined
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- 570
Bedivere is in fact the same as he was in the game, give or take a kidney.Bedivere is like in the game, right? Because that guy was one precious waifu.
Also, that humanizing moment with Cursed Arm was nice.
And thank you. I rather enjoyed writing it.
Darko
Connoisseur.
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Sometimes going Leeroy Jenkins can work out.
For example:
Hey demons, even weird ones, aren't anything to joke about.
Just ask this one:
Granted Merlin is the only type of demon you can joke about.
I'm also assuming that Merlin was friends with a lot of party demons?
Also another correction:
'Mufasa'
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Delta Green
Know what you're doing yet?
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Cursed Arm, despite being a fearsome antagonist, is also a very... human character.
Further, Galahad having some grim truths about his own life exposed by Bedievere's Laser Accurate Insight.
Further, Galahad having some grim truths about his own life exposed by Bedievere's Laser Accurate Insight.
Darko
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Yeah, he really is.
Charlie seems to be getting a bit better at being a decent human being, so it's possible he can help Galahad with some of his problems now.
Bear_Mint
The LewdBringer. The Breast Observer.
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They already act like an old married couple, a few snags in the relationship isn't something that they can't work out eventually.
FourthPear
Frequent Flier.
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Oh, the Bedevire and Galahad interactions are going to be a treat.
(Hell, ANY interactions between Galahad and the Knights of the Round Table are going to be an absolute delight!)
(Hell, ANY interactions between Galahad and the Knights of the Round Table are going to be an absolute delight!)
Darko
Connoisseur.
- Joined
- Nov 20, 2019
- Messages
- 22,936
They also wouldn't be the first time travelers that fell in love.
I'm of course speaking of Doc Brown and Marty.
Bear_Mint
The LewdBringer. The Breast Observer.
- Joined
- May 29, 2020
- Messages
- 49,368
What happens in the time machine, stays in the time machine.
Darko
Connoisseur.
- Joined
- Nov 20, 2019
- Messages
- 22,936
But just like 'what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas', it really doesn't.
Now I'm picturing the Chaldeans traveling to the wild West and seeing Doc and Marty engaging in sexual activities in the back of the time travel car.
Chapter 130
Charles Flynn
I trust you know where the happy button is?
- Joined
- Aug 4, 2018
- Messages
- 570
"Sir Bedivere!" I call, waving as I make my way up to him in the haphazard mess tent we pulled together. "I actually have a few questions for you, if you have the time."
He looks down at his half-eaten breakfast of a loaf of bread so hard and stale it could quite likely be used as a murder weapon, and then back at me. "I think I do, actually."
"Thank you." I sit down besides him. "I figured I'd wait until Galahad handed over the body he's in to its rightful owner so she could rest, before I came and asked you this."
"May I ask why you took such a precaution?" Bedivere inquires, looking at me cautiously.
"Nothing nefarious, I assure you. It's just that, given our current array of foes, I thought that I should get a firsthand account of Camelot and its inhabitants that wasn't as biased as Galahad."
"Fair enough," Bedivere concedes, looking down sadly. "He really is a bitter young man, isn't he?"
I laugh. "Y'know, I would've expected the Perfect Knight to be an optimistic idealist. Instead, he's even more cynical than me."
"That's the thing, though," Bedivere says, looking… unsettled. "In Camelot, he wasn't. He never stopped smiling. He never ceased to be courteous or obey the code of chivalry in any way. We called him the Perfect Knight because he was. He never seemed to hold a grudge, never had a poor word to say about anyone, and he was kind and charitable to a fault."
"So, was he just faking it, or did something happen to him on the Grail Quest that completely changed who he was?"
"Maybe. He was only in Arthur's court for six months," Bedivere admits. "He left for the Grail Quest when he turned seventeen."
"He was Camelot's greatest knight at the age sixteen?" I repeat incredulously.
Bedivere shifts uncomfortably. "Umm… well, it's not precisely that. You see, he was only in the court for six months. He rode in, gave Sir Kay a sound drubbing, as one does, parked himself in the Siege Perilous, and then spent the next six months making a resoundingly good impression and meeting the other Knights of the Round Table. We all came to love and admire him, each in their own way, before he departed for the Grail Quest on his seventeenth birthday."
"I've actually met the man, and I find that somewhat hard to believe."
"And I've told you, he wasn't like that when I knew him. And beyond that, it wasn't precisely just because of his incredibly chivalrous nature that everyone adored him. It was because, well…" he looks down.
"We had finally conquered the enemy a year before Galahad showed up. The Saxons were defeated, the Picts pushed back, the Scots quelled, and the Irish repelled. For the first time since the reign of Uther, Logres was at peace. And, quite frankly, we didn't know quite where we were going from there. The old guard had grown old, even if the king hadn't. I myself was pushing fifty, while Lancelot was in his forties. We were all starting to slow down, and, even if by that point we had come to see the King as something inhuman and immortal, it was quickly becoming apparent that… well… that his knights weren't. We needed new blood. Mordred was part of that, but, frankly, he was too sketchy to be seen as the face of the next generation." Bedivere laughs.
"Galahad, though? Lancelot's son, just as great a knight as his father ever was, and growing fast to surpass him? He was the next Lancelot, the man we all knew would become the king's first sword, just like his father before him. And so, we loved him. Because, thanks to him, we suddenly had hope. We could believe that our dear kingdom of Camelot would endure beyond our own generation. We believed that our sacrifices had meaning. Of course we loved him. How could we not? He was our future." He lapses into a sad silence, before biting into his breakfast again. The stale loaf makes a disquieting crunching noise as he chews it.
"And then Galahad died," I finish, feeling sad myself.
"And then Galahad died," Bedivere agrees. "six days before his eighteenth birthday. Of course, that was only when we got the news. It took Bors multiple weeks to get back, and he wasn't sure of the precise date of when Galahad was taken up into Heaven, and Percival cast down the titles and customs of knighthood in order to become a monk. Lancelot was devastated, and, in his grief, declared that his son was the greatest knight to ever live, and he'd duel any man that dared say otherwise to the death."
"So, is that why you can't say he was the greatest knight at Camelot?" I ask.
"Yes. Galahad was a good fighter and a virtuous knight, incredibly so, even if I'm beginning to think that he may have been hidden away and compartmentalized anything about himself that might be unknightly, but he was sixteen. He may have trained constantly, it was his only pastime, and he was incredibly gifted, but the other knights all had decades of experience on him and trained just as hard. That's a massive head start he had to overcome, and quite frankly, I'm not sure he could overcome it." Bedivere sighs and shakes his head. "In life, he never actually fought any of the other Knights of the Round Table. Except Agravaine, but really, beating Agravaine isn't exactly a feat for the bards. The man was a good chancellor, but a terrible fighter."
"Was he really that bad?" I ask. "Agravaine, I mean."
"He once lost to Queen Guinevere."
"Okay, yeah, no, that's pretty bad."
"Galahad never picked fights with the other knights, or engaged in any duels that weren't prompted by a personal insult, and his tourney schedule didn't overlap with any of the heavy hitters. He did joust against Gareth, Kay, and Mordred, though, along with my humble self, so at least in that respect he's capable." Bedivere shakes his head. "All the same, I cannot say if his combat prowess has been overinflated, his title of the Perfect Knight a mere exaggeration born of the grief at his passing, instead of the reality of his ability and character. I'm certainly beginning to doubt whether his virtue was genuine as well, or if it was all merely a mask."
That's… that's not true. Even if he's an abrasive asshole, and nobody knows it better than me, Galahad's a good person. "Hey. Maybe he's not as polite and stoic as he used to be, but Galahad is still an amazing knight, and a good person. He calls me on it when I cross the line, and he never fails to save an innocent in distress. He might be the most judgmental asshole I've ever met, but he lives up to his own standards, and he's still just as much a chivalrous knight in his actions, even if he's not courtly in his words."
"Really?" Bedivere asks, sounding hopeful. "Then… perhaps it was not all a lie."
"Yeah." A thought occurs. "Hey, did he always tend to take off like a bullet the minute he saw a damsel in distress? I might respect him for it, but it's still kind of annoying."
"Yes. He was always like that. His father was the same." Bedivere smiles fondly. "Tell me, does he do the stance when he sees them too?"
"Back stiff, eyes fixed, one leg back and ready to leap into the fray?" I snort. "Yeah. It's like dog that just saw a squirrel."
"An apt description, I suppose," Bedivere says with a chuckle of his own, and looks at the crust that's left of his bread. "It seems that I must be off, and we'll be back on the road soon."
"A pity. I would've liked to talk to you for longer." I get up with a groan and start stretching my legs.
"A sentiment that I find myself sharing," Bedivere admits. "I find myself rather glad to have made your acquaintance, Mister Flynn, even if it has left me short a kidney."
"Again, I really am sorry about that."
"And I forgive you," he gets up himself. "Now, then. Shall we return to our journey?"
---
It's another fours days after Bedivere joined us, and a full six after the massacre at the gates, when we finally come into sight of the mountains. During that time, I took the opportunity to call in just about the last Assassin I thought I'd make use of: Mata Hari. After all, it just wouldn't do to leave the weakness Bedivere revealed to me unexploited, and no man of chivalry can ever truly turn his back on a damsel in distress.
Thus, what I like to call Operation: Fairy Bullshit was born. We chained Mata Hari to a rock, had Cu and Da Vinci put her under your standard trap-here-until-MacGuffins-are-secured spell, and then we moved on leaving her behind us to delay Sir Lancelot. I made sure to send Cu out to leave the three necessary MacGuffins in the lairs of the most dangerous Phantasmal Beasts he could find, before I told Mata Hari their locations. It wouldn't do to have Sir Lancelot get too suspicious, or dismiss it as too great an expenditure of time.
And now, my caution and careful adherence to chivalric genre conventions are paying off in spades. We're scot-free, and, according to Mata Hari's reports through the mental link, Lancelot is still off retrieving the Stone of Unbinding from the Dread Lair of the Burning Chimera of Burjadeen. (It was originally just the Regular Chimera of Burjadeen, but then Cu ended up setting it on fire while he was dropping off the Stone, and it adapted admirably to its new circumstances.)
Honestly, though, setting up that whole diversion has given me a newfound respect for all the wicked knights, evil overlords, and vile enchanters in chivalric literature. Never before have I realized how ridiculously labor-intensive detaining and cursing fair maidens to establish prime quest conditions can be. You've really just got to admire their persistence, at a certain point.
"All right, full stop!" I shout. "We stop here and discuss how we're going to split up and disguise our trail."
While we talk logistics, Mata Hari informs me that Lancelot has returned with the Stone of Unsealing, and is now going off again in search of the final MacGuffin, the Crook of Correction, hidden deep beneath the earth, in the lair of the Lamia Queen, and her countless hissing hordes. (I am at least 90% positive that Cu took the opportunity to seduce the vast majority of said hissing hordes, along with the Queen, because it took him two days to plant all three MacGuffins, [Lancelot had already arrived and set off in search of the first one by the time Cu got back] and when he came back, he was covered in serpentine hickeys.)
"Lancelot's still on our snipe hunt, two day's travel from here," I inform everyone. "Now. How many groups, and how many Servants to a group?"
---
We split the refugees into two groups, one heading towards the village of the Hassan-i-Sabbah of the Hundred Faces, and the one I'm with heading to the village of the Hassan-i-Sabbah of the Cursed Arm. I send Georgios, Cu, Vlad, and Siegfried with the Hundred Faces Group, and keep Cursed Arm, Galahad, Bedivere, and Da Vinci with me. It leaves me a bit short on heavy hitters, I'll admit, but my Servants will return to me once they've secured their refugees' safety. And, perhaps most importantly, I have an in with the leader of the village I'm going to.
We hike through the rocky foothills for another two days, before we're stopped and challenged.
I'm making my way along a narrow mountain ledge, single-file, when and arrow nicks the tip of my nose and embeds itself in the stone in front of my face.
God, I hope that was a warning shot.
"Why do you come to these lands, Knights?" a raspy, menacing voice asks. "State your case quickly, my marksman is a bit… trigger-happy."
I look around and quickly spot Arash, or at least this Singularity's version of him, standing atop a boulder about five hundred yards away with a bow in hand. He gives me a friendly wave.
"We came to defend the refugees we saved from the Holy Selection," I tell the unseen individual, probably this Singularity's version of Cursed Arm. "And seek the aid and protection of the Hashishim."
"And why should we trust your word, hmmm?" Other!Cursed Arm says, materializing atop a rocky spire about thirty yards away from us. "Why should I not kill you and your knights, and then take my people into my village? Or simply forbid you entry, while the others are permitted in?"
One of the refugees, a man with a a makeshift eyepatch over one eye, interrupts. "Lord Cursed Arm! I would ask that you allow these men to join us!"
"Oh, and why is that?" Other!Cursed Arm asks, turning to look at him.
"While their leader, the white man covered in sunburns, is little more than a petty thug and a weakling who coasts off the strength of his subordinates, the men who serve him are all good and honorable. They all jumped to our defense at the gate and have helped us unfailingly since we were rejected and nearly killed by the Holy City. I must ask that you allow them to join us and cast out only their commander!"
Galahad looks like he's about to challenge the man to a duel then and there, but I put a restraining hand on his shoulder as I reign in my own temper. I can't kill the ungrateful little shit now, that'd just make it look like he's telling the truth. At least a lot of the other refugees look just as indignant as Galahad right now.
"May I ask what I've done to earn such hostility?" I ask, my voice deceptively mild. Cu gave me a rune of translation before we parted ways, so I don't have to work through translators for this.
"You stabbed me in the eye!" the man snaps, making me begin to hastily think through the events at the gate. Shit, he does look familiar. "And I saw you stab other people, just for getting close to you! What, not good enough to rub shoulders with us filthy heathens, Crusader?"
"More that I required space to think in order to plan out how we might escape, instead of merely dashing about like a decapitated chicken and grinding anyone too slow to keep up to a bloody paste underfoot. Considering that the plan I concocted with the time to think I bought myself actually worked, and is, as a point of fact, the primary reason you and everyone else in this group are still alive, I would have to say that your eye was a worthy sacrifice."
The refugees' complaints die down, although I have less supporters than before. Instead there's a predominant sense of grudging acceptance, of liking the results, but disliking the methods.
Honestly, that was the only real way to get out of that. I couldn't just deny it, that'd make me sound guilty. I couldn't just ignore it; Cursed Arm would press the issue. Thus, the only way out was to attack the argument's preexisting moral conceit, that stabbing people is bad, and that, since I stabbed people, I'm bad.
By confessing to the action posthaste, and treating it as an obvious necessity (which it was, even though my reasoning at the time was more along the lines of "Oh God, they're going to trample me to death") I defuse the underlying stabbing=bad argument, remind them that I saved all their lives, and, furthermore, guilt-trip them, both for hindering my efforts to save them, and by reminding them of the people killed when trampled underfoot. It's the perfect response. I'm actually impressed with myself for thinking of it so quickly.
Other Cursed Arm nods begrudgingly. "I suppose you may be our ally. But still, I cannot bring myself to trust Knights of the Round Table! No Hassan would ever willingly work with the steel-bound infidels who have defiled our Holy Land!"
"We do have a character witness," I say mildly. "They're a Hassan as well."
"Bah!" Other!Cursed Arm shouts. "No one who worked with infidels could call themselves Hassan-i-Sabbah! I'll believe in your character witness as much as I would in any mangy cur!"
"Really?" I ask mildly, as My!Cursed Arm materializes behind his counterpart, looking embarrassed. "I was under the impression that he had a fairly distinguished record of service and went to incredible lengths in order to earn the title of Hassan-i-Sabbah."
"If he has fallen in with you? Then he is below scum! No true Hassan would work with an invader unless they were compelled by force!" Behind his ranting counterpart, My!Cursed Arm facepalms. Galahad, for his part, is snickering. He's not the only one. "So, I'll face you in- WHY ARE YOU LAUGHING?"
Galahad's to busy cackling to reply, so I just point behind the local version of my favorite wetworks man.
Local!Cursed Arm freezes as he turns around and looks his Chaldean counterpart in the eye.
"So," the fellow who's rapidly retaking the Favorite Assassin spot says drily. "We're a mangy cur, and below scum, are we?"
Local!Cursed Arm's shoulders slump. "Just… just go on to the village."
We happily oblige.
He looks down at his half-eaten breakfast of a loaf of bread so hard and stale it could quite likely be used as a murder weapon, and then back at me. "I think I do, actually."
"Thank you." I sit down besides him. "I figured I'd wait until Galahad handed over the body he's in to its rightful owner so she could rest, before I came and asked you this."
"May I ask why you took such a precaution?" Bedivere inquires, looking at me cautiously.
"Nothing nefarious, I assure you. It's just that, given our current array of foes, I thought that I should get a firsthand account of Camelot and its inhabitants that wasn't as biased as Galahad."
"Fair enough," Bedivere concedes, looking down sadly. "He really is a bitter young man, isn't he?"
I laugh. "Y'know, I would've expected the Perfect Knight to be an optimistic idealist. Instead, he's even more cynical than me."
"That's the thing, though," Bedivere says, looking… unsettled. "In Camelot, he wasn't. He never stopped smiling. He never ceased to be courteous or obey the code of chivalry in any way. We called him the Perfect Knight because he was. He never seemed to hold a grudge, never had a poor word to say about anyone, and he was kind and charitable to a fault."
"So, was he just faking it, or did something happen to him on the Grail Quest that completely changed who he was?"
"Maybe. He was only in Arthur's court for six months," Bedivere admits. "He left for the Grail Quest when he turned seventeen."
"He was Camelot's greatest knight at the age sixteen?" I repeat incredulously.
Bedivere shifts uncomfortably. "Umm… well, it's not precisely that. You see, he was only in the court for six months. He rode in, gave Sir Kay a sound drubbing, as one does, parked himself in the Siege Perilous, and then spent the next six months making a resoundingly good impression and meeting the other Knights of the Round Table. We all came to love and admire him, each in their own way, before he departed for the Grail Quest on his seventeenth birthday."
"I've actually met the man, and I find that somewhat hard to believe."
"And I've told you, he wasn't like that when I knew him. And beyond that, it wasn't precisely just because of his incredibly chivalrous nature that everyone adored him. It was because, well…" he looks down.
"We had finally conquered the enemy a year before Galahad showed up. The Saxons were defeated, the Picts pushed back, the Scots quelled, and the Irish repelled. For the first time since the reign of Uther, Logres was at peace. And, quite frankly, we didn't know quite where we were going from there. The old guard had grown old, even if the king hadn't. I myself was pushing fifty, while Lancelot was in his forties. We were all starting to slow down, and, even if by that point we had come to see the King as something inhuman and immortal, it was quickly becoming apparent that… well… that his knights weren't. We needed new blood. Mordred was part of that, but, frankly, he was too sketchy to be seen as the face of the next generation." Bedivere laughs.
"Galahad, though? Lancelot's son, just as great a knight as his father ever was, and growing fast to surpass him? He was the next Lancelot, the man we all knew would become the king's first sword, just like his father before him. And so, we loved him. Because, thanks to him, we suddenly had hope. We could believe that our dear kingdom of Camelot would endure beyond our own generation. We believed that our sacrifices had meaning. Of course we loved him. How could we not? He was our future." He lapses into a sad silence, before biting into his breakfast again. The stale loaf makes a disquieting crunching noise as he chews it.
"And then Galahad died," I finish, feeling sad myself.
"And then Galahad died," Bedivere agrees. "six days before his eighteenth birthday. Of course, that was only when we got the news. It took Bors multiple weeks to get back, and he wasn't sure of the precise date of when Galahad was taken up into Heaven, and Percival cast down the titles and customs of knighthood in order to become a monk. Lancelot was devastated, and, in his grief, declared that his son was the greatest knight to ever live, and he'd duel any man that dared say otherwise to the death."
"So, is that why you can't say he was the greatest knight at Camelot?" I ask.
"Yes. Galahad was a good fighter and a virtuous knight, incredibly so, even if I'm beginning to think that he may have been hidden away and compartmentalized anything about himself that might be unknightly, but he was sixteen. He may have trained constantly, it was his only pastime, and he was incredibly gifted, but the other knights all had decades of experience on him and trained just as hard. That's a massive head start he had to overcome, and quite frankly, I'm not sure he could overcome it." Bedivere sighs and shakes his head. "In life, he never actually fought any of the other Knights of the Round Table. Except Agravaine, but really, beating Agravaine isn't exactly a feat for the bards. The man was a good chancellor, but a terrible fighter."
"Was he really that bad?" I ask. "Agravaine, I mean."
"He once lost to Queen Guinevere."
"Okay, yeah, no, that's pretty bad."
"Galahad never picked fights with the other knights, or engaged in any duels that weren't prompted by a personal insult, and his tourney schedule didn't overlap with any of the heavy hitters. He did joust against Gareth, Kay, and Mordred, though, along with my humble self, so at least in that respect he's capable." Bedivere shakes his head. "All the same, I cannot say if his combat prowess has been overinflated, his title of the Perfect Knight a mere exaggeration born of the grief at his passing, instead of the reality of his ability and character. I'm certainly beginning to doubt whether his virtue was genuine as well, or if it was all merely a mask."
That's… that's not true. Even if he's an abrasive asshole, and nobody knows it better than me, Galahad's a good person. "Hey. Maybe he's not as polite and stoic as he used to be, but Galahad is still an amazing knight, and a good person. He calls me on it when I cross the line, and he never fails to save an innocent in distress. He might be the most judgmental asshole I've ever met, but he lives up to his own standards, and he's still just as much a chivalrous knight in his actions, even if he's not courtly in his words."
"Really?" Bedivere asks, sounding hopeful. "Then… perhaps it was not all a lie."
"Yeah." A thought occurs. "Hey, did he always tend to take off like a bullet the minute he saw a damsel in distress? I might respect him for it, but it's still kind of annoying."
"Yes. He was always like that. His father was the same." Bedivere smiles fondly. "Tell me, does he do the stance when he sees them too?"
"Back stiff, eyes fixed, one leg back and ready to leap into the fray?" I snort. "Yeah. It's like dog that just saw a squirrel."
"An apt description, I suppose," Bedivere says with a chuckle of his own, and looks at the crust that's left of his bread. "It seems that I must be off, and we'll be back on the road soon."
"A pity. I would've liked to talk to you for longer." I get up with a groan and start stretching my legs.
"A sentiment that I find myself sharing," Bedivere admits. "I find myself rather glad to have made your acquaintance, Mister Flynn, even if it has left me short a kidney."
"Again, I really am sorry about that."
"And I forgive you," he gets up himself. "Now, then. Shall we return to our journey?"
---
It's another fours days after Bedivere joined us, and a full six after the massacre at the gates, when we finally come into sight of the mountains. During that time, I took the opportunity to call in just about the last Assassin I thought I'd make use of: Mata Hari. After all, it just wouldn't do to leave the weakness Bedivere revealed to me unexploited, and no man of chivalry can ever truly turn his back on a damsel in distress.
Thus, what I like to call Operation: Fairy Bullshit was born. We chained Mata Hari to a rock, had Cu and Da Vinci put her under your standard trap-here-until-MacGuffins-are-secured spell, and then we moved on leaving her behind us to delay Sir Lancelot. I made sure to send Cu out to leave the three necessary MacGuffins in the lairs of the most dangerous Phantasmal Beasts he could find, before I told Mata Hari their locations. It wouldn't do to have Sir Lancelot get too suspicious, or dismiss it as too great an expenditure of time.
And now, my caution and careful adherence to chivalric genre conventions are paying off in spades. We're scot-free, and, according to Mata Hari's reports through the mental link, Lancelot is still off retrieving the Stone of Unbinding from the Dread Lair of the Burning Chimera of Burjadeen. (It was originally just the Regular Chimera of Burjadeen, but then Cu ended up setting it on fire while he was dropping off the Stone, and it adapted admirably to its new circumstances.)
Honestly, though, setting up that whole diversion has given me a newfound respect for all the wicked knights, evil overlords, and vile enchanters in chivalric literature. Never before have I realized how ridiculously labor-intensive detaining and cursing fair maidens to establish prime quest conditions can be. You've really just got to admire their persistence, at a certain point.
"All right, full stop!" I shout. "We stop here and discuss how we're going to split up and disguise our trail."
While we talk logistics, Mata Hari informs me that Lancelot has returned with the Stone of Unsealing, and is now going off again in search of the final MacGuffin, the Crook of Correction, hidden deep beneath the earth, in the lair of the Lamia Queen, and her countless hissing hordes. (I am at least 90% positive that Cu took the opportunity to seduce the vast majority of said hissing hordes, along with the Queen, because it took him two days to plant all three MacGuffins, [Lancelot had already arrived and set off in search of the first one by the time Cu got back] and when he came back, he was covered in serpentine hickeys.)
"Lancelot's still on our snipe hunt, two day's travel from here," I inform everyone. "Now. How many groups, and how many Servants to a group?"
---
We split the refugees into two groups, one heading towards the village of the Hassan-i-Sabbah of the Hundred Faces, and the one I'm with heading to the village of the Hassan-i-Sabbah of the Cursed Arm. I send Georgios, Cu, Vlad, and Siegfried with the Hundred Faces Group, and keep Cursed Arm, Galahad, Bedivere, and Da Vinci with me. It leaves me a bit short on heavy hitters, I'll admit, but my Servants will return to me once they've secured their refugees' safety. And, perhaps most importantly, I have an in with the leader of the village I'm going to.
We hike through the rocky foothills for another two days, before we're stopped and challenged.
I'm making my way along a narrow mountain ledge, single-file, when and arrow nicks the tip of my nose and embeds itself in the stone in front of my face.
God, I hope that was a warning shot.
"Why do you come to these lands, Knights?" a raspy, menacing voice asks. "State your case quickly, my marksman is a bit… trigger-happy."
I look around and quickly spot Arash, or at least this Singularity's version of him, standing atop a boulder about five hundred yards away with a bow in hand. He gives me a friendly wave.
"We came to defend the refugees we saved from the Holy Selection," I tell the unseen individual, probably this Singularity's version of Cursed Arm. "And seek the aid and protection of the Hashishim."
"And why should we trust your word, hmmm?" Other!Cursed Arm says, materializing atop a rocky spire about thirty yards away from us. "Why should I not kill you and your knights, and then take my people into my village? Or simply forbid you entry, while the others are permitted in?"
One of the refugees, a man with a a makeshift eyepatch over one eye, interrupts. "Lord Cursed Arm! I would ask that you allow these men to join us!"
"Oh, and why is that?" Other!Cursed Arm asks, turning to look at him.
"While their leader, the white man covered in sunburns, is little more than a petty thug and a weakling who coasts off the strength of his subordinates, the men who serve him are all good and honorable. They all jumped to our defense at the gate and have helped us unfailingly since we were rejected and nearly killed by the Holy City. I must ask that you allow them to join us and cast out only their commander!"
Galahad looks like he's about to challenge the man to a duel then and there, but I put a restraining hand on his shoulder as I reign in my own temper. I can't kill the ungrateful little shit now, that'd just make it look like he's telling the truth. At least a lot of the other refugees look just as indignant as Galahad right now.
"May I ask what I've done to earn such hostility?" I ask, my voice deceptively mild. Cu gave me a rune of translation before we parted ways, so I don't have to work through translators for this.
"You stabbed me in the eye!" the man snaps, making me begin to hastily think through the events at the gate. Shit, he does look familiar. "And I saw you stab other people, just for getting close to you! What, not good enough to rub shoulders with us filthy heathens, Crusader?"
"More that I required space to think in order to plan out how we might escape, instead of merely dashing about like a decapitated chicken and grinding anyone too slow to keep up to a bloody paste underfoot. Considering that the plan I concocted with the time to think I bought myself actually worked, and is, as a point of fact, the primary reason you and everyone else in this group are still alive, I would have to say that your eye was a worthy sacrifice."
The refugees' complaints die down, although I have less supporters than before. Instead there's a predominant sense of grudging acceptance, of liking the results, but disliking the methods.
Honestly, that was the only real way to get out of that. I couldn't just deny it, that'd make me sound guilty. I couldn't just ignore it; Cursed Arm would press the issue. Thus, the only way out was to attack the argument's preexisting moral conceit, that stabbing people is bad, and that, since I stabbed people, I'm bad.
By confessing to the action posthaste, and treating it as an obvious necessity (which it was, even though my reasoning at the time was more along the lines of "Oh God, they're going to trample me to death") I defuse the underlying stabbing=bad argument, remind them that I saved all their lives, and, furthermore, guilt-trip them, both for hindering my efforts to save them, and by reminding them of the people killed when trampled underfoot. It's the perfect response. I'm actually impressed with myself for thinking of it so quickly.
Other Cursed Arm nods begrudgingly. "I suppose you may be our ally. But still, I cannot bring myself to trust Knights of the Round Table! No Hassan would ever willingly work with the steel-bound infidels who have defiled our Holy Land!"
"We do have a character witness," I say mildly. "They're a Hassan as well."
"Bah!" Other!Cursed Arm shouts. "No one who worked with infidels could call themselves Hassan-i-Sabbah! I'll believe in your character witness as much as I would in any mangy cur!"
"Really?" I ask mildly, as My!Cursed Arm materializes behind his counterpart, looking embarrassed. "I was under the impression that he had a fairly distinguished record of service and went to incredible lengths in order to earn the title of Hassan-i-Sabbah."
"If he has fallen in with you? Then he is below scum! No true Hassan would work with an invader unless they were compelled by force!" Behind his ranting counterpart, My!Cursed Arm facepalms. Galahad, for his part, is snickering. He's not the only one. "So, I'll face you in- WHY ARE YOU LAUGHING?"
Galahad's to busy cackling to reply, so I just point behind the local version of my favorite wetworks man.
Local!Cursed Arm freezes as he turns around and looks his Chaldean counterpart in the eye.
"So," the fellow who's rapidly retaking the Favorite Assassin spot says drily. "We're a mangy cur, and below scum, are we?"
Local!Cursed Arm's shoulders slump. "Just… just go on to the village."
We happily oblige.
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Darko
Connoisseur.
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Give it to EMIYA or Shirou and you'll have a deadly weapon.
Assuming Shirou can let go of his pipes.
Well it wasn't that unusual for people that were barely hitting puberty to already be trained, and even experienced warriors back then.
When you're not looking in the mirror that is.
Spend a bit more time with him Bedivere and that sentiment is going to be gone like a turd in the wind.
Ah yes, use Lancelot's greatest weakness against him.
Tits.
Being the son of a sun god must get troublesome sometimes, what with setting things on fire.
I'm assuming this was a fairly common thing during his childhood, like accidental magic in Harry Potter?
Of course he did.
Which Cu is this again?
I think that spandex Cu was the one that fucked Medusa, so I really hope that it's either Caster or Proto, since they also deserve some loving from a mythological snake thing.
A harsh, but not completely untrue description.
...
Wow, just ... wow.
If they summon Machiavelli then I predict that he's going to take Charlie under his wing.
I can just see it now.
Machiavelli is Charlies new father, Medea his new mother and Vlad is the insane uncle of the family who they either hate or are afraid of, but can't get rid of him.
Oh, and Da Vinci is the crazy aunt while Galahad is the cousin who may have a crush on Charlie, or just a bunch of weird feelings concerning him.
The fact that he lost the spot in the first place still angers me.
You know you've made a compelling character when you've made an assassin trained to become merciless becomes one of the readers favorite characters.
Narmish
I trust you know where the happy button is?
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Good thing it wasn't Serenity or Hundred-face. They might've been insulted, especially tiny Hundred-face.
edit: Wait I just realized that this Chaldea is still on the same schedule as canon, seemingly. They finished Orleans in like the first major encounter, right? How? Didn't want to alter the story or did they spend longer on other things such as poisoning slowing down the staff of Chaldea.
edit: Wait I just realized that this Chaldea is still on the same schedule as canon, seemingly. They finished Orleans in like the first major encounter, right? How? Didn't want to alter the story or did they spend longer on other things such as poisoning slowing down the staff of Chaldea.
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Darko
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Yeah, I think Charlie would have told them to kill this version of Cursed Arm if he didn't let them in.
While Chaldea Cursed Arm may not have exactly been insulted here, he was certainly embarrassed at his counterparts behavior.
If this gets back to Chaldea then I predict people are going to be amused that he's capable of being so melodramatic, because they've seen him as being highly stoic and borderline emotionless most of the time.
Granted they'll probably not be amused in front of his face since he's still a highly skilled killer, but the amusement will most likely happen.
Charles Flynn
I trust you know where the happy button is?
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Killing this version would just be pointless, actually. The whole reason he's seeking out the Hashashin is to team up with them. Thus, he's actively trying to be diplomatic.
And I should note that Camelot!Cursed Arm was aiming for the potential excuse of "I had no choice but to work with them, otherwise they'd have killed me." Just in case his fellow Hassans or King Hassan object to him allying with Chaldea. Thus, he tried to pick a fight.