Stats:
Strength: D
Endurance: D
Agility: E
Magical Energy: E
Luck: E
Alignment: Lawful Good
Class Skills:
Magic Resistance: E
Cannot cancel spells, but reduces the overall effect of successful actions somewhat. Unlike the more storied warriors of Japan who cleaved apart sinister oni or danced on the edge of possibility with their bladecraft, this hopeless ronin was embroiled in a tale of men and nothing more. Their Magic Resistance is a trapping of the Container itself, and is reflected at minimum rank.
Independent Action: D
A wayward Servant with no regard for their Master, what might normally be earned by an independent streak or legendary stamina is in this case little more than a blatant disregard for duty. For better or for worse, the absence of a Master has little effect on their ability to act and if the link of sustaining mana were to be outright severed, persistence for at least a day would be possible with proper conservation.
Personal Skills:
Lantern at Day: B
The Servant's presence is one of pointlessness, like a lantern lit at midday. The blackened armor of the samurai is full of cracks. Its components are salvaged, waste materials from local smithies and subpar leather scales poached and prepared in secret. As a physical defense, it is wanting, full of gaps and undesirably fragile. The Servant's armor does not protect, it conceals. Every action, every mannerism is falsehood, something that surpasses disguise into the willing denial of oneself. When the figure behind the mask speaks, it is with a voice slurred and scented by alcohol. When they walk it is not with the gait of a warrior, but the sheepish ambling of a disgraced pensioner. It is difficult to discern the competency, much less the personal abilities, of the shameless fool behind the odious armor. The Servant's abilities are distorted, with known capabilities and parameters manifested at lower ranks than possessed.
Weapon(s):
Jūmonji yari
The Servant's spearmanship is perpetually in question, but the legitimacy of the weapon brought to bear by the warrior is certain. The style of spear is noteworthy for its long central blade, accompanied at its base by two bladed wings gently curving upwards. Thick spines characterize the blades, the lengthy tang suggesting that the weapon was crafted with nothing in mind save surviving the rigors of battle. The shape and integrity makes it ideal for parrying away the strikes of sword wielding enemies, with an agility made possible by the polearm's relative shortness to its peers. Unlike bracing pikes or cavalry spears, the yari in question is under two meters long including its blade.
Uchigatana
No matter the identity of the Heroic Spirit, the sword is at the center of those associated with the image of the Samurai. The same is true of this decrepit soul, and at their side hangs a wooden sheath, held aloft by a simple cord belt rather than a dignified sash. The striking sword within is plain, not the sort of weapon that legends are written about but one that a legend came to wield all the same. Its overall length is matched decently enough with the arm length of the wielder, suggesting an eye for swords if not an abundance of finances. A flat metal square serves as the guard, fastened atop a wooden hilt obscured by woven silk. The blade is unsigned, comprised of sparkling steel
Noble Phantasm(s):
Lordless
"Story of the Disgraced"
A
Anti-Unit (Self) Class
Description:
The mind of a lost man is unclear. In the depths of confusion and despair glimpsed through his presence flashes of silver remain, the long held vestiges of honor lost and a blade yet held in unfaltering, calculated vengeance. The reek of blood surrounds him, crimson shed from the self and taken from those honored in battle. Only battle remains in the future, the forge which purifies the mind and incinerates the body and its evils. Death looms, the black veil of penance smothering human things like possibility and hope. Loyalty, violence, death. All this soul is allowed is cast in three words. One day, the warrior will hide no more.
Personality:
The mask does not speak. The mannerisms of a dead man are all as they should be, characterized by silent acceptance of the world that is. While fitted for battle, as best that their degraded form may be, there is a still indifference to their being. Stoicism which befits a Servant is the most outwardly noticeable trait. It may only be because of the armor's weight, but there is an unfliching stability to their presence which suggests that no motion is undertaken without grim purpose. To believe such a thing would be foolish however, as outside of these brief glimpses of stationary confidence the Servant is a shame to behold in motion, shambling one way or the other with drunken confusion and slouching under the burden of the gear which supposedly made them a hero. If they even have a personality it's one dominated by alcoholism and whimsy, stopping for music and show as if there were no finer things in life. As they do not speak it can be difficult to ascertain the specifics, but given their propensity for indulgence it's at least possible to get a feeling for their likes and dislikes by observing the Servant's behavior.
Legend:
Many contemptible souls who claimed to walk the path found themselves without a Master, and many refused to accept the death that would excuse them for failing to hold purpose. What warrior would ever desire a blade that could not hold an edge? As blades themselves they had an obligation, a necessity enforced by blood and shame. The only way to fall further would have been to forsake all one's honor and fail to recognize that loss of purpose. They were an ugly lot, consigned to become sellswords and criminals. Those who earned their way back to life with dutiful service forever held that dark time in their hearts, and those who never did grew grotesque of heart, never again embodying the Samurai in whole. This Servant is unfortunate enough to be one such wandering sword, that much made apparent by their attire and the clear ignornace of the warrior's code allowing their charade to continue.
But even among the Ronin there were legends.
