6296/Seeking a Lucky Charm

Seeking a Lucky Charm
Date of Scene:	10 January 2019
Location:	Metastasis Londinium
Synopsis:	A mysterious knight approaches King Arthur. For good or ill?
Cast of Characters:	Rhongomyniad, 6880

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Rhongomyniad has posed:
    Since appearing in the countryside of Wales, the Holy City of Camelot has been attracting all kinds of attention. Mostly from people who have taken to gathering outside the gates, awaiting the city's opening and observing the resident Goddess-King's comings and goings. The ambitious, the inspired, and the downtrodden all accumulate in the tent city hugging Camelot's walls.

    This afternoon, the gates open. Various people take notice, gathering in a small crowd while keeping the road clear, both to catch a glimpse of King Arthur and to perhaps hear that long awaited announcement.

    No such announcement comes. Astride her armored charger, Rhongomyniad departs Camelot. As she passes by those who have gathered, the lion-themed helmet turns from side to side, nodding in acknowledgement on one side, then the other, all wordlessly. She doesn't react to the questions cast her way, merely proceeding down the road towards London proper.

    Those encamped soon turn to conversations amongst themselves. More speculations. More mutual appreciation. More waiting. A few complaints, but nothing bitter is spoken as they return to their business.

Lancelot du Lac (6880) has posed:
"Halt! A moment of your time, My King."

     A calm but loud voice calls out from behind as the sound of lightly armored footsteps rings behind Rhongomyniad. Departing from the very group that waited just outside the walls of Camelot comes a tall built man, dressed in a combination of greenish clothing and knightly garb.

     Was he always in the crowd? Or was he a late arrival? Given his strange apparel and the way he seems to effortlessly keep up with Dun Stallion's pace, this would probably be a bit concerning for a normal person... But maybe not a goddess.

     "I have matters related to my heart, so if you'd please. That is... Ah, unless you are not King Arthur. A fool of me to not ask first."

Rhongomyniad has posed:
    When called upon, Rhongomyniad tugs the reins gently. Dun Stallion canters to a stop, making it rather easy for the stranger to approach and catch up to her. That lion helm turns, and he can feel her regarding him for a long moment of silence while he speaks. After a moment, Dun Stallion backs up a pace and swings his front around, so that she may face him more straight on.

    "This is one of many names I answer to, yes. I am King Arthur," The helmet inclines forward slightly, "Speak your piece, nameless knight. If your motive is just, I will listen."

Lancelot du Lac (6880) has posed:
     "I see. Anyway, call me Diarmuid Ua Duibhne. While I myself do not mind being called things such as 'nameless knight', I would like to show respect for the identity I am borrowing. Especially since I am much too cowardly to even show my real face before you."

     Rhongomyniad's steed comes to a stop, which indeed makes catching up utterly and completely trivial. Armor plates bounce and come to a stop as he finally stands side by side with the goddess, a hand now resting on the hilt of a sheathed sword. There's a brief pause as the disguised Lancelot takes the time to choose the words he wants carefully.

     "My desires are unreasonable and selfish, honestly. It makes me sick. But it is like this: I wish to duel you, O' King of Knights. The winner does not matter, whether it is you who yields or me, I will reveal my face at the end of this. You are then free to cast whatever judgment you see fit afterwards."

Rhongomyniad has posed:
    "Mm," Rhongomyniad's head tilts up slightly, as if regarding Diarmuid down her nose. It appears to be unintentional, though, as she lowers her gaze once more. The exact placement of her stare is impossible to see behind the visor of her helmet, either way. She merely lets out that thoughtful, wordless noise as the man self-depreciates.

    "The first steps on the road of true chivalry begin with awareness," the goddess states evenly. She stands in her stirrups, then swings one leg over and dismounts Dun Stallion. Without so much as a command, the horse trots away; presumably towards a safe distance. But, he's not stopping. Just how far is a 'safe distance'?

    "You are aware of your selfishness," she continues, "Aware of your cowardice. And yet you thwart this cowardice by standing before the King of Knights and issuing a challenge of martial combat." Her left hand extends to one side. In a pulse of misty magical energy, tinted gold-white, a sword materializes. It has a familiar look to it, but appears to be nothing uniquely special, "Do you not realize the courage you display by issuing such a challenge? You are not the coward you claim to be." This is brought forward, its tip angled down and planted into the soil at her feet. Like this, Rhongomyniad places both gauntlet-clad hands upon the pommel.

    "I will accept this challenge. Prove your knighthood not to me, but to yourself."

Lancelot du Lac (6880) has posed:
"I see now. Without a shadow of a doubt, you really are her. Only she could say something so..."

     Diarmuid? stops himself mid sentence, his face briefly showing a visible mix of annoyance and sadness. Shaking his head, he draws the sword his hand had been resting on, the mundane long sword now glowing a light blue as he points the tip of his blade at the King.

     "Prepare yourself, Artoria Pendragon, King of Knights, for my heart and emotions are as volatile as a stormy sea!"

     Gripping the hilt of his long sword with both hands, the fake Diarmuid takes a powerful swing at Rhongomyniad's chest, a trail of bluish mana blazing behind it. Despite the power behind the blow, it was more akin to an attack meant to test the waters, given how predictable and telegraphed it was.

Rhongomyniad has posed:
    That lion helmet tilts forward slightly as the Irish knight takes his sword in hand. The expressions he displays are noted. They register. But there is no immediate reaction to the sorrow and frustration he shows. Only the seeming detachment implied by the unchanging faceplate of that lion-themed helmet.

    Her feet shift, going from a neutral stance into a braced one. Her right hand pulls her sword straight up, interposing the blade against the swing. Here it becomes clear that the weapon she has is in no way enhanced, as it merely resists the magically charged weapon of her foe with a shower of sparks. The inertia of the blow is lost, but pushes her awkward grip such that the blade scores across her chestplate rather than digging into it straight on.

    Rhongomyniad sweeps her leading foot back, increasing her distance and bringing her sword up. There's a notable notch in the blade where the block occurred, but the weapon is still serviceable by the looks of it. She evaluates the stance that 'Diarmuid' falls back into after the strike's mitigation, steadily circling in that fashion so common in one-on-one swordsman duels.

    There's no attempt at banter.

    With little warning, the King of Knights sweeps her foot forward and then advances with it. Her sword sweeps down in a diagonal slash, but intentionally falls short. Another step forward, and she transforms the feint into a thrust, announced by nothing but the rattle of her armor and the even sound of her breathing inside that helmet.

Lancelot du Lac (6880) has posed:
There's no visible display of satisfaction of the fake Irish man's face as his sword scrapes against the King's chestplate, nor is there a remark about the flimsy nature of their sword as he notes its chipped nature. There is just a sigh as he returns to a neutral position, watching Rhongomyniad as they circle around them.

     There's a feint, which 'Diarmuid' falls for, bringing his sword up to block what he thinks to be an oncoming slash. When the there's the slash. The knight grits his teeth as he's been played for a fool, but he's a quick thinker. If there's one redeeming quality about him that he can admit to, is that he's sinfully good at combat.

     Taking a deep breath, they grab hold of the blade with their left hand, the blade sliding slightly in their grasp and causing drops of crimson to hit the earth before they yank the weapon towards them, aiming to bring Rhongomyniad foward as their as they raise their sword upward in an attempt to smash the pommel into their lion-themed helmet.

Rhongomyniad has posed:
    When her weapon is grabbed, Rhongomyniad promptly...lets go of it. She avails herself of being locked into a single position by her opponent's reckless maneuver, and instead keeps the momentum of her charge. Her own left hand intercepts the rising pommel directed for her face, shoving it just far enough aside to pass harmlessly through the furry mane projecting from her helmet's back and sides. Her mantle trails behind her, a billowing white cloud from the motion of her body.

    She puts her weight entirely behind her shoulder, and with a burst of magic, hurls herself forward those last few inches with alarming force, using the padded, armored pauldron of her armor as a battering ram directed straight at the center of the Irish knight's chestplate.

Lancelot du Lac (6880) has posed:
'Diarmuid' obtains ONE SWORD for his troubles. He doesn't get much else though, as he plan to follow with a counter attack is turned against him. He takes the full brunt of Rhongomyniad's shoulder tackle, the sound of metal against metal filling the air as he grunts and takes several large steps back, nearly toppling over as he struggles to catch his breath.

     Thankfully, his unnaturally tough, and he's able to get his bearings back, though his breath is now a bit ragged. Looking at the sword he took, he promptly tosses his opponent the sword he had been using prior, though as he does so it loses the blue hue it had.

     "A knight should not fight empty handed, even if they are a king."

     The Knight waits for Rhon to ready the weapon she had been provided before launching his next attack. Closing the distance between them again, 'Diarmuid' brings the damaged sword down, attempting to aim between the thin spot where their pauldron and armor connect.

Rhongomyniad has posed:
    The impact is solid. Satisfying. The clash of metal on metal rings across the hills of Wales. Rhongomyniad is a smaller, lighter person than 'Diarmuid', such that even despite of the staggering inertia imparted on him, she still 'bounces' off him. Several paces back, she lands solidly on her feet, hands empty and pauldron dented.

    His sword is offered to her, and she reaches out to catch it. The weapon is briefly examined, its magical quality gone must mean that this is a talent of the weilder, not the power of an artifact. Curious. She lifts the sword from the posture of being examined into a readied battle stance, held upright and behind her head with both hands. His charge prompts a tension in her posture, readying a defense, but those eyes do not decieve him-- The chipped sword he's claimed slides right into the narrow gap between her pauldron and shoulder.

    Due to the pose she's in when struck, the weapon actually slips right up under her breastplate and out the opposite side, almost giving the impression of having run the king through. Yanking the blade free comes with a satisfying stream of crimson along its edge, and the snapping of connectors.

    Metal clatters, broken in places, as King Arthur's chestplate is ripped from her body, striking the dusty road with a metallic rattle of ruined buckles and straps. Mercifully, the underlayer is mostly undamaged. It's very blue. And that is not the body of a 15 year old boy.

    Rhogomyniad does not seem to care that her figure is no longer concealed. She bleeds, a red line drawn directly across her chest from shoulder to shoulder, but she pushes that out of mind as well. The sword she holds is raised. Golden light wells up from the hilt, encompassing the blade, its edges burning red hot.

    "Sheath thyself in the breath of stars and create a torrent of shining light."

    Without closing back into sword range, Rhongomyniad throws her entire body into a downward swing. Magic shears off into a beam of golden light, marked by sparks of red hot metal, directed straight at the Irish Knight before her.

Lancelot du Lac (6880) has posed:
"That was the wrong approach, My Ki....K-Kiiiiii.....King? Th-That isn't right, our King was never that buxom..."

     'Diarmuid' aims to give the king constructive criticism, but is apparently caught off guard by SOMETHING. Whatever that SOMETHING is, it has him sputtering and coughing as his face turns red.

     Unfortunately for him, the battlefield doesn't wait for people who are having an episode, and as Rhongomyniad lets loose a devastating light from her sword, it takes everything he has to pull himself together to guard against it.

     As the light passes by him, his skin and armor scorch, leaving patches of charred black against his body as he weathers the storm as best he can. By the end of all of it, he's a lot worse for wear, but still in one piece. Though he's pretty sure when he lays down later tonight he'll wish he wasn't.

     "I... Deserved that."

     "Anyway, I yield. I have been caught off guard and bested fairly and squarely. Now as promised."

     The knight tosses the sword he was holding on the ground, having no longer need of it as his disguise disperses in a cloud of blue mist, revealing the fake Diarmuid's true identity as none other than... An even taller, purple haired knight, clad in white armor with gold trim. In his hand he holds what Rhongomyniad could easily identify as the holy sword Arondight, easily cementing his identity as Lancelot du Lac, Knight of the Round.

     "My... Apologies for the deception, but as I've said, any punishment you wish to inflict on me for this I shall gladly and willingly take."

Rhongomyniad has posed:
    Ignorant of the state she is in or its effects on her opponent, Rhongomyniad pours magic through the sword until it can withstand the load no longer. It's a tense few seconds of golden divine light that fades with a raspy, crackling sound. As she hauls up from the hunched over position produced by her full-body swing, she beholds the scorch mark left behind and around the opposing knight.

    He yeilds, and that impassive lion helmet regards the gesture of throwing in his sword. This seems to remind her of something, and she lifts the hilt in her own hand. The blade is gone, a streamer of black smoke escaping from the slot where it had protruded through the hilt. Her gaze returns to Lancelot as he reveals his true identity, while she casts the bladeless hilt aside.

    "You were mine, once," Rhongomyniad intones. She reaches up, removing the helmet with both hands and mercifully (if unintentionally) holding it in a way that mitigates the distraction of her armorless torso, "Knight of the Lake." Faintly glowing green eyes regard the man mercilessly, in what might be a glower.

    Or is that just her regular expression?

    "Your style felt familiar. I could not place it. Your skill is as sharp as in my memory," Inclining her head, she adds, "But. Deception befits not a chivalrous knight. His Word Speaks Only Truth." After a thoughtful noise, she lifts her gaze once more, "Your pennance shall be to aid those encamped around Camelot to whatever capacity you may have. When your deeds have earned the trust and admiration of those who will eventually become citizens within the Holy City, you too shall be welcomed within its walls."

    Lifting her helmet, she looks at it, then down at her chest. Her entire body is engulfed in a flare of gold-white light, as her armor vanishes completely-- replaced with a modest, modern looking outfit resembling a nobleman's imperial garb.

    "Protect them. Guide them. Inspire them." Dun Stallion trots back, having determined it's safe to do so, though the horse avoids the smoldering metal slag on the ground immediately in front of Rhongomyniad's feet.

Lancelot du Lac (6880) has posed:
"I gladly accept this punishment, though my deception was merely because I feared you would simply forgive me again rather than accept my admittedly selfish request. While I'm not using that reasoning as an excuse, I can also see that it was ultimately not needed. You are My King, yet not... Also do not take this the wrong way, but I feel the need to correct you."

     Planting Arondight firmly into the ground beside him, Lancelot drops to one knee, bowing before Rhongomyniad as he speaks loudly and clearly.

     "I am still yours, if you would have me. Though I am cursed with the knowledge that my actions would one day lead to the destruction of Camelot, I was still summoned as a Saber. My prime. A class unbefitting a lowly dog like me, but being as such, my reasoning is intact."

     Lancelot pauses, struggling to find more words to say. Speaking in such a long winded knightly manner takes it toll after a while.

     "Just. Let me right this."

Rhongomyniad has posed:
    "Mm," Rhongomyniad regards Lancelot, mulling over his words. It makes sense, and yet, it still does not sit well with her. Strict adherance to the code to which she has aligned herself prevents her from accepting it, no matter the reason. However, one could say from the interaction that she has been rater lenient on the Knight before her.

    "You, who brought about the fall of Camelot, now seek to redeem your past actions. Yes, I understand." Her head inclines, once more in thought, those gemlike eyes narrowing slightly.

    "Your fealty is accepted, Knight of the Lake. Forgiveness shall wait until the task before you is completed." She reaches up, collecting the reins of Dun Stallion's bridle and effortlessly hauling herself back up into the saddle. Once settled, she regards Lancelot once more, "Take your feet, Knight of the Lake, and bring to the front of your mind the old code. A Knight Is Sworn To Virtue. His Heart Knows Only Valor. His Blade Defends The Helpless. His Might Upholds The Weak. His Word Speaks Only Truth. His Wrath Undoes The Wicked."

    "Hold this in your heart and right it you shall."