Far Future Snippets - The Perils of Jousting

With 17% of the vote, Arthur barely edges out Adrian to win this month's Far Future Snippet vote.

This scenario comes from a certain Camelot MC and is another snippet that'll have to be broken down when it appears in the actual game, as it's running overlong here.

With the resounding clash of metal upon earth, the white knight in plain arms hits the tight-packed dirt as the black knight storms past, newly shattered lance held tilted to the side. Gasps, cheers, and a smattering of applause briefly fill the stands as black-clad ▇▇▇▇ circles back around, nearly falling to his knees in his haste to reach his opponent, who has groggily begun to sit up and fumble at his concealing helm.

At your side, the disguised ▇▇▇▇ tenses, still clad within the High King's discarded royal cloak, and for all of a moment looking as if he intends to heave himself over the side of the gallery and jump down into the lists himself.

 Assuredly that would have caused quite the stir, even more than the dead silence that greets the sight of the incognito white knight removing his helmet to reveal the face of High King Arthur himself.

As the king waves a hand through the air, briefly bowing to ▇▇▇▇ before retreating back into the shadows of the lists, a rolling thunderous applause begins to shake the galley as the shouts of 'Huzzah!' and 'God save the king!' intermittently punctuate the air.

And through it all, a mutter of sheer shock rises amongst the gathered crowd.

Too young, too naive to realize... the king's reputation for being an undefeated warrior is meant for the true battlefield alone. He most certainly can be bested, rare as it may be, during training and while playing these martial games of theirs. Aye, tis something you have experienced yourself.

Tis only a few scant moments longer when the High King reappears at the back of the royal box, hair tousled and well-spun clothes rumpled, looking somewhat worse for wear.

"Are you quite well, uncle? Twas a terrific tumble at the end there." The last of Merlin's illusion flickers away as ▇▇▇▇ immediately stands, once more offering the furred cloak, the mark of greater authority, back to its rightful owner. The red within his own golden hair fades entirely away with the motion. "I daresay you were quite handicapped with knowing ▇▇▇▇'s true identity, but he not knowing yours."

Arthur waves off both of your concerned looks, the catlike fluidity of the motion hitching ever so slightly.

"Tis only my pride that has been hurt here. And I daresay ▇▇▇▇ also realized who I truly was before the joust concluded," Arthur demurs. "Unless he has recently gained the habit of nearly prostrating himself in apology to every random knight he knocks upon their arse."

Gingerly, the High King begins to sit, reclaiming his cushioned seat of honor at the center of the galley. "Mayhaps a bit more than merely my pride is sore," Arthur ruefully admits as he reaches back behind him. "I grow too old for these games."

"Have no fear, sire. I shall avenge you anon upon ▇▇▇▇ myself," ▇▇▇▇ swears.

•  "Aye a regular decrepit Methuselah," I dryly state.

•  "No need, Sir ▇▇▇▇. I shall avenge him myself," I declare with the slightest of smirks.

•  "Shall I call for a healer from down in the lists?" I sense no greater hurt here, yet I cannot help but worry.

•  "Do you perchance require a bit of aid there, my lord?" I say while quite visibly eyeing that one's hindquarters.