Artoria Pendragon

Artoria Pendragon in her Lancer aspect—stoic, noble, and bound to the spear Rhongomyniad—stands as a paragon of chivalry even when fate places her at a disadvantage. During a sudden clash with a cabal of mages wielding relics designed to suppress Heroic Spirits, she is not felled by brute force but by cunning: sigiled manacles and a circlet of runes calibrated to dampen mana and neutralize Noble Phantasms. They strip her of the lance’s full resonance, anchoring the weapon to the floor with chains of woven mythic alloy and binding her wrists in cords humming with anti-heroic magic. Her armor bears the marks of the skirmish—scuffs and a bent pauldron—but her posture remains that of a sovereign soldier: upright, controlled, and unyielding. The captors sought to break her will as much as her weapon; they wanted to turn legend into trophy. Artoria does not yield to indignity. Where others might wring hands or plead, she measures the room like a commander on a quiet battlefield—observing guard rotations, noting the failing rune on a nearby brazier, cataloguing the exact weave of the restraining cords. In the enforced stillness, she rehearses possibilities: subtle shifts of weight, a redirected strike, the precise moment a single sigil might sputter. Her thoughts are not of despair but of duty—to reclaim her spear, to stand for the people who depend on her, to turn this captivity into a lesson in resilience. This is not humiliation; it is a temporary test. The bindings may hold her body, but they cannot bind the ideal she embodies. When Artoria moves again, it will be with the calm certainty of a knight who has never forgotten why she fights.