CATHARSIS is a non-canon OC fate/series site, loosely based off of fate/apocrypha. Knowledge of the fate/series canon is helpful, but knowledge of fate/apocrypha isn't needed!
Caster wandered the summoning chambers of the Clock Tower while the last of the servants were summoned. She hadn't intended to lose herself in reflection, but she had found herself in a small library--only a few bookshelves around a reading table with the room poorly lit by candlelight. She wasn't entirely sure when she'd sat down, but she knew hours had passed since then. There was much to think about, and this was as good a place as any to do it.
This world was foreign to her. It was still her world, in the way that time marched on while people and places changed, yet everything stayed the same. They told her the Clock Tower was in Britain, and having looked at maps, that was true enough.
She was a bit surprised, really, that Britain still existed. In her lifetime, she would've sworn that the kingdom would fall, that it would disappear into the recesses of history. The fall of King Arthur had been most convincing. The end had been nigh; the kingdom was done. She, for once, had been wrong. It was a strange feeling: being wrong.
She brushed that feeling aside as best she could. That was yesterday's concern, and it lingered with her today, but her purpose here was war. After the war was won, she could ponder and study.
It didn't feel like a war yet though, or perhaps it did. There was a quiet tension here at the Clock Tower: the certain knowledge that in the coming days, any of them might die. Again, there was a quest for the holy grail. In some ways, nothing had changed at all. Caster wasn't sure if that was depressing or simply delightful.
Outside the library, a sparrow familiar chirped excitedly, a warning that someone was approaching and a cheerful welcome to whoever it was. The sparrow flitted through the door and hopped onto the table before her, still chirping incessantly until she patted it on its head in appreciation.
Mulan blinks as she enters the library. If she was a little lost, then she tried not to show it by appearing disinterested and stern. That’s how it usually worked for the men, and her good fortune worked things out eventually.
She could find her way home from thousands of miles away, and she would seldom lose her troops in unknown territory. But that was the land. Her land. This is a stone and mortar castle in an island kingdom. Or at least from what she’s been told during her few hours of life. Mulan wouldn’t call herself claustrophobic, but it was always a little strange to her that some people actually preferred to lock themselves in small rooms to study for hours at a time. Mulan was definitely not one of those people.
She’s not sure what a bird is doing in a storage room for books, but what gives her more pause is the other woman in the room, the one who is the same as she. A woman in the grail war, seemingly in no hurry to conceal herself. Mulan decides to go with the same courtesy and removes the disguise as easily as a woman may remove a veil.
“Good evening.” She decides to be on the safe side, just because she does not know if she addresses a vigilante or an empress. “…madam.” In the end, everyone probably outranked her. Mulan does not sit; she has no wish to be impolite, regardless of their status as comrades. Nimue
A man entered, and then that man's image faded into something truer. "A woman king?" Caster asked, her first instinct leading her assume a second King Arthur, a different place and a different time, another woman that rose up to do what was necessary for her homeland. Caster gazed at the other servant, but she concluded that something about this one was not what she'd describe as kingly.
There were similarities though, between her king and this servant. There was strength, and Caster respected that. It was different but natural; it was entertaining.
"Or a woman warrior then. What a delight! I approve. There's never enough of you sorts," Caster said, as if her approval was something to be valued.
She stood up from her seat, a gesture of respect, and nodded her head--not a bow, but certainly an incline. When she smiled, it wasn't entirely kind--nor was it cruel. It was earnest but untrustworthy, like a well-fed snake. "Good evening, indeed. I am Caster of Red, at your service."
“I have no need of any crown.” is the first bit of her introduction. It was probably obvious after she removed her disguise anyway. She dresses neatly and it’s obvious that she cares more about hygiene than the average European peasant, but there’s not much more that one could say about Mulan beyond that. “Or any sword. Not anymore.”
Even her horse had been left at one of the Mage’s Association’s local stables. She will ride when she is needed, and no sooner. None of her Noble Phantasms were built to kill, and Mulan was okay with that too. As a general, she never underestimated the importance of guard duty, and it did not slight her at all to be given suck a task.
“…I am the Rider of Red, and I am pleased to be working with you.” Not that she really had a choice, but that kind of thinking didn’t get a soldier anywhere.
No, she didn't need a crown, but then, who did? A crown was a heavy burden. Crowns were made for those who were willing to live their lives apart from all others; kings were meant to be alone.
"From what I've gathered, crowns went out of fashion centuries ago anyway. It's all about the commonfolk now. Liberté, égalité, fraternité! Arbeit mach frei! Power to the people!" She spoke the words as if tasting them and relishing the flavor; they were strange on her tongue, but they were lovely in their own way. They tasted like lies and truth all at once.
Caster tilted her head to the side, curious. No crown was understandable; no sword made enough sense if she wasn't Saber. "Shall you use a normal sword then? It's wise to hide your noble phantasm to protect your identity, but a mundane weapon may not suffice. Or have you forsaken your sword for another weapon?"
Caster smiled then, and again it was not terribly kind. She waved the question away, nevermind that it still lingered in the air, unanswered. "Ah, forgive me, my friend, I don't mean to pry."
People did not need a crown to carry a heavy burden.
Mulan smiles slightly at Caster’s words. “The people have always had power.” Those who would divorce themselves willingly from the rest of the world would not understand. Mulan never wanted to stop understanding. After twelve years of service, she had almost been afraid that she had forgotten. But the reins of a camel feel as natural to her as the reins of a warhorse. Going home felt as natural as leaving it behind.
“I am not lacking in experience, but I was remembered for neither sword, lance, nor bow.” Caster seems smart enough to get the hint. Nimue
"You have no weapon?" Caster asked reflexively in polite conversation, in a light tone, the same way you'd say, oh, you have a son? Then her brain reconsidered that statement. She considered the immensity of it.
She had arrived to this modern world before most of the other servants on her team. This was fine. Caster had the understanding that her comrades-in-arms would be heroic spirits. She had known many such people in her life: her king, her mentor, her son, and the Knights of the Round Table. She'd happily follow any of them to battle.
Caster wasn't so sure about following a weaponless Rider to battle. As powerful an asset as a mount could be, there seemed--to her--to be a limit on its usefulness.
"You have no weapon," Caster stated. Her tone was flat and unimpressed with an undercurrent of well-masked incredulity. "Ah. I see."
Her mind started calculating, racing to measure time against prana. They were not leaving for the far east until tomorrow. She'd be able to get a good night's rest, and then she'd be able to rest more on the flying vehicle tomorrow. There would be plenty of time to recuperate prana.
"The you were remembered for traits far rarer and less easily replaced than sword, lance, or bow. Good." There was truth in that, though Caster spoke it casually and quickly as words easily tossed aside. There were other things on her mind.
Fumbling about the library, Caster frowned at a foreign machine in the corner of the room. She pushed a button that she understood would activate it, making sure that contact with the machine was but brief, as if extending her hand into a fire. The button glowed green, and a glass surface attached to the machine her lit to life. Next to the glass surface was a panel of even more buttons, each marked with a familiar letter. It was all most strange.
"Tell me, Rider, what weapon did you use then? What weapon is most comfortable for you?"
Luckily, Mulan did not expect to be impressing anyone without a jeweled sword or an armor piercing lance. Nor did she feel it to be a pressing matter.
“I died without any need of one.” One might consider that an admirable feat in itself, especially considering what kind of people that heroes tended to be. She didn’t do a lot of the talking, but it seems that Nimue was fine with that either way. So maybe this conversation wasn’t the most well planned one, but it was a good sign that their Caster is taking it so well.
Even better, it seemed that she was poised to actually do something about what she perceived as a problem. Mulan truly believed that she was fine, but she was never about to refuse help that was offered. That would be as rude as refusing seconds at dinner especially when her tool set is more or less starving for some offensive skill.
At least Caster can read. Mulan can’t even manage that much. She squints at the keys for a second before giving up entirely. The other woman seemed to be able to read (or at least Mulan hoped so in a room full of books), so that was fine. She doesn't know exactly what Caster is up to, but she knew not to interrupt someone who clearly knew what they were up to.
“I was a soldier trained in most armaments that the Khan was able to obtain.” It also helped that she was a relatively quick study. Mulan thinks for a second and decides to be a little more specific. “Polearms are favorable for calvary.” She’s pretty sure that she can probably take someone out hack-and-slash sword style, but that’s not exactly her class specialty.
She had used a computer before, in the sense that her master had handled the machine for her, brought her to some sort of compendium of unlimited information, and left her alone for the rest of the day.
Caster clicked on an icon on the desktop and was displeased to find it slow and arduous, not unlike her own skill with computers. She clicked on different icons, opening a variety of different programs, until she found her internet browser of preference, which was anything but IE.
"What kind of polearm?" Caster asked, practically tsk tsking at Rider. "Understand: I do not have an arsenal. However, I can and will provide, but it shall be a weapon of my own making. Notice that I am Caster, and therefore I don't have a deep knowledge of weaponry."
She slowly--very slowly--guided her mouse to the little word that brought her to an image search. She slowly--very slowly--typed in p o l e a r n and searched patiently for an erase key. Momentarily, Caster was baffled that the delete function did not, in fact, seem to delete anything. She found the backspace key eventually.
"Rider, to me," she said, beckoning Mulan over to the monitor, which now displayed an array of search results. "Is there anything here that suits you?"
Mulan isn’t sure if she can find something from her era in this day and age, but she browses the search engine like an online catalog anyway. Which it might as well be, if Caster is as capable as she claims. Eventually, her luck comes through for her and she finds a polearm that resembles what she’s used to, she points at the screen. It is a polearm with a pointy thing at the end that can probably lacerate someone at least and behead someone at worst.
“I can probably relearn that one in a couple of days.” Nimue
It looked like a sword on a stick. To be fair, most weapons, at the end of the day, looked like something sharp and bladed with a little wooden bit for holding onto.
Caster nodded. She opened a book--probably a priceless collectible--and scrawled a note on the inner cover in languid cursive: Visiting my home with Rider. Shall return shortly. Sincerely yours, Caster.
"Brace yourself. We are taking a short trip. It may be jarring," she informed Rider. She didn't wait even a second before she conjured her own reality bubble: Island of Avalon - The Fairy Kingdom.
The world rippled before them, like a drop of water on a still lake, and Avalon appeared from its depths. It was an misty isle, with a silent tranquility that was interrupted by laughter off in the distance. The laughter drew closer, curious at the visitor, and two pixies darted in to tug at Rider's hair and to peer wide-eyed at her face.
"Mazoe! Glitonea!" Caster sighed, as if herding cats. She spoke to them quickly, more as a neighbor than as a queen, and the two sped off to return with a barrel of what looked like molten silver and a lantern filled with blue fire.
"First, the shape. This won't take long," Caster said, and it didn't. Estimating the size and heft of it wasn't difficult. The end result was a standard polearm, more or less accurate to the photo, but the silver gleamed even in the pale light of Avalon.
She handed Rider the polearm, having quite a hard time holding it up on the heavier end. "Second is the enchanting, for which I suggest you go on a walk or take time for self-reflection--but first, tell me if this is correct."
