[Suzerain of Sheol]

In her old life, Leila might have noticed that the four Masters who'd arrived before her were all men, but death had a way of effacing distinctions, and they would all be dead soon enough. She has to repress a shudder at the sight of the armored Servant among them, feeling already the threat he might pose as soon as the ban is lifted, with her own seemingly so very far away. The numerologist then mentally reprimands herself for not feeling a similar fear of the unassuming Servant she had met outside. He will surely prove no less deadly once the War began. The simple truth of her situation is that she's surrounded here, outnumbered, and alone. She hadn't been planning to unleash her Annulus this early in the conflict, but if she was to get cornered and cut off from Rasputin...

Taking a seat at the far end of the table, Leila tries to size up the opposition. She cannot bring herself to make the pretense of ease in sampling any of the delicacies spread out on the table before her. Noticing first the potent mana-signature of the dark-haired young man, she studies him; he looks almost as uncomfortable in this setting as she is. Having such a high mana-reserve can be as much of a detriment as a benefit, if he hasn't trained to use it effectively. Impossible to tell at this juncture, though.

And then the other youth, seated to her left with his legs disrespectfully on the table. A man with no respect for decorum or authority, clearly. Overconfident, perhaps, or more likely aware of the potency of his own abilities. Having heard his harsh words as she entered, Leila has little trouble envisioning him as a cold, merciless killer. She suddenly worries that, for all her training with such powerful magics, all-too-human fear might prove her undoing. She can only hope that when the time comes, she'll find the strength of will to stand and fight.

Nearby, still standing, is the third of her enemies, an older man, and seemingly of a pleasant demeanor. She wonders what could have brought such a kind soul into this miserable War, but how likely is it that that kindness is genuine? She can tell almost nothing else about him, which is far from comforting...

And finally, the Executor, circling them like a hunting shark, speaking the holy words of their death warrants. Only a fool would think him anything less than a catastrophic threat. She can sense literally no magic within him, and yet he is the chosen envoy of the Holy Church sent to win this War in the name of their God. Tales of Executors shrugging off deadly spells thanks to their Shrouds are in no short supply among her fellow mages. Surely this man is equipped with such a defense. A decades-honed murderer immune to magic... she would not be surprised if he is among the highest-ranking of his Order. Surely they would trust this mission to none less. Leila feels her heart accelerate in sudden terror -- Rasputin could not feel farther away.

She must seem horribly awkward, eyes flicking between them without even a word of greeting. Leila briefly closes her eyes in an effort to ground herself. Her strategy is still sound... she just needs to properly enact it.