shifted_logs | The Tenth Match

Entry tags:

The Tenth Match

Characters: Caster, Jackie, Spectators
Location: The Coliseum.
Time: Two days after the last fights.
Summary: The tenth of the death matches.
Warnings: Character death warning.

“Do you have any sevens?” asked the king over a hand of cards.

“Go fish,” said the liar.

The king drew the last card from the pile between them, then put his hand away. The two players glanced over their own set of books, and then their opponent's. Weber nodded and got to his feet.

“Caster. Mr Estacado. Old legends live in you both, we know. And both of you hold great power for your stories. Regardless of what happens next, may your stories continue long into the future.”

Weber returned to his seat, and the king pulled out a board for backgammon.

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Rider didn't try and hide his amusement at the cookies, grinning wide and addressing the king. "Now I feel as if I should have brought a gift! I have none to share, since I have no worldly possessions for now, but consider this my good faith."

But with a nod to the king, he turned his attention back to Weber. He was not the most clever king to walk the desert sands of Persia, but Alexander had his metis.

"The blood, you say? What good is our blood? I should hope that a magic ritual isn't be conducted with it, since that does not bode well for the Servants on the Plane."

"Oh, these aren't from me," assured the liar. "It's the offering of a shared acquaintance."

The king said, "The Machine we are in thirsts for blood. Or perhaps it craves people, and the blood is merely a sign of its consumption. This is no game of magic, but rather science wrapped in the trappings of religion. We are not of the Machine, so we are free of its hold but ignorant of some of its workings."

"The Machine itself? It's not what I expected to hear," he admitted. It seemed more likely to be the plan of a single person, rather than the machine itself. That, and the idea that it would be a machine's idea? Well, the ancient Macedonian thought it was surely impossible.

"Then the people that die here, under--" he paused to wave his hand at the arena dismissively. "--under normal circumstances, their blood goes to the machine? It would explain why nothing like this has occurred before, or at least as far as I know."

He sat back again, discontent by the idea. Science was foreign to him, and religion only a part of magic. He would have to ask Waver to help him with the idea.

As the king started enjoying his cookies, now only half-listening to the conversation, the liar carried on. "You'd have to ask the Twins about the exact process, but as you surely know yourself, a second chance of life does not come without some costs. Tell me, King Alexander: in your world, where do the spirits of men go when they die?"

"It depends on what sort of man you are. For normal men, I cannot say. It is the purpose of religion to decide what that may be. But for heroes, for great men and women, we are given a choice. Pledge our soul to protect the world, go to a timeless oblivion, and there you have the chance to be summoned to take another chance at seizing an artifact so great in its power that it can make even true miracles. You must take a leap of faith when you are asked, for the odds are against you. There are many hundreds of souls in the oblivion. And if you are summoned, you most fight as one of seven to attempt to seize it. Even then, the grail may not accept you. If the odds are too great for a logical mind, then you can refuse the offer and continue on to whatever may be waiting for a soul. We have no way of knowing," he said with a low chuckle.

He paused for a moment before continuing, "And that is why this place is especially odd for Servants. It is a place that should not exist, since it allows us to exist independently of our Masters. It should not be, but it is."

"It should not be, yes." The liar looked at him with some curiosity. "Are you happy for it?"

"In all honesty, I was happier for it when my Master was not here. Because he is a good young man, I should not wish this place and its problems on him," he said with a nod.

"No one could blame you for that," said the liar. "But for yourself?"

"For myself? Haha, for myself, it is brilliant!" he said joyfully enough that his loud, hearty laugh echoed against the box's walls.

"I hold no animosity for my Master, but freedom is not something Servants are given. To be able to do as I please without worry--it is extraordinary! I may as well be alive again!"

The liar smiled at how easy and fully Rider enjoyed his happiness. It was nice to see. He said, "I'm glad you can enjoy yourself here, then."

Rider smiled more easily, though his question was not as purely amiable. "And what of you, my friends? Do you enjoy yourselves here, or are you stuck as executioners?"

Weber lifted a hand to calm the king before he could respond with his anger at their situation. They couldn't afford a loss or a forfeit on this. The liar wore his well-kept smile easily and did not falter. "We are not overseeing fights like these all our time here, fortunately. And we have a few friends in these worlds that we like to drop in to see."

He noticed the hand with interest, but didn't mention it. Though he was not one for riddles and puzzles, he was excellent at reading people.

"I am glad for you, since this would be a pitiable existence on its own. Unless this is by your own choice, like my contract with the World?"

The liar tilted his head, considering how to answer that indirectly and honestly. "We have made a contract that we can no longer break."

The king completed the statement, expressing his distaste. "Were we able to break it, we would need not endure trials such as these."

"I am sorry that you must, friends! But if your contract were to be broken, what would happen? These games, they would stop?"

Breaking their contract didn't seem impossible--he had done more impressive feats before.

"We would have the freedom to stop them, yes." The liar smiled, inclining his head to Alexander. "But I fear not even you could cut through something so knotted as what holds us."

"Ahh, I am sorry, then! I would gladly try, especially if it would free my good people of the Plane of such sadness. Perhaps my Master would be able to help more than I--I will be the first to admit that my powers are physical and not useful for solving such contracts."

The liar just smiled. He had long ago given up on getting out of his contract. "Oh, don't worry about us. There are other ways to free the people of the Plane from what we're doing."

"Such as?" he asked. He didn't expect to receive a direct answer, but it was worth asking anyways.

Of course the liar couldn't answer directly. But he said the most helpful thing he could think of: "I would suggest having a word with the Doctor or Roxas, if you know either of them."

Rider laughed again. "I know of the Doctor! I believe I know of many of them! The man is quite common here, with different faces or the same, as I understand. You'll have to be more specific. But Roxas I do not know."

"One of the more obnoxious ones," said the king. Apparently, he felt no need to contribute to the conversation unless it was a character judgement.

The liar politely didn't comment on his king's judgement. "One of the tall ones with messy brown hair. Roxas is a young blond in... I don't even know what to call his taste of clothing. Still, if you write a letter to them in the post, they'll get it."

Rider laughed briefly at the king's comment, but immediately hushed himself as the liar began to talk again. He nodded, quite surprised that the postbox was functional. He had just assumed that someone had brought it from home and never taken it back.

"I see! I will have to attempt to use the post, then. All I have used of it is to order the videos and memorabilia related to wars--it's all quite interesting, you see! But thank you. I was wondering if I would receive a riddle for that as well!"

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The Tenth Match

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I like how these tags are getting shorter and shorter i suck

NO I. Wait, that's not how it works.

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