[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/zuRXmBm.png[/img]
[color=fff79a][h2][b]???[/b][/h2][/color]
[i]Palais Omnisports de Paris, Bercy, Residential District[/i]
[@Player 2][/center]  
[hr]

The wind, sound, and light all faded, but the radiance of the room did not fade.

Stepping from the summoning circle was a regal man, clad in a shining armor. Tousled blonde hair, a confident smile, and the brilliant [b]shine[/b] of a Heroic Spirit. He, without question, gave off the aura of a prince, or rather a king. The mere presence he possessed was nothing short of absurd; even among Heroic Spirits, it could claim to stand at the peak, enough that a normal human would feel the need to prostrate themselves simply on sight. 

At his side was a sword. A dazzling, golden sword forged from the dreams of mankind and the prayers of the planet. A divine Last Phantasm that knew no equal in this world. 

Even the eyes of Master's Clairvoyance would confirm his nature.

[center][i]STR: A 
CON: A+ 
AGI: B 
MGI: B
LCK: B 
NP: EX[/i][/center]
He took in the sight of his summoner with a smile, and spoke. 

[color=fff79a]"I ask you--"[/color]

[hr]
[color=bc8dbf]"-Is it not a farce?!"[/color]

The 'costume' shattered. Armor became cloth. A Last Phantasm became a mere knife. 

A King of Knights became a trivial clown, ranting and raving and screaming for all to know.

[color=bc8dbf]"And so they say unto us- put on the costume, the powder, and the paint![/color] [color=f7941d]And so, swallow down your heart, change your tears and anguish into clowning,[/color] [color=f49ac2]and into a grimace your sobbing and your pain![/color] [color=6ecff6]Laugh, they say, at your shattered love![/color] [color=ed1c24]Laugh at the sorrow that has rent your heart!"[/color]

A dark madness glinted in his eyes, dredged up by the words that had steeped his summoning. With each sentence, his form changed.

An idiot spaniard who dreamed of chivalry. A misguided princess destined for the guillotine. A grand knight struck down by his dearest. A black god who dismayed at his path. 

The clown returned with their end. At a speed beyond the realm of mere humans, he darted forwards, expression manic, hateful, paranoid as the tip of his knife lined up with the jugular of the girl who had called him into this world.

[color=bc8dbf]"Yes, precisely! But even then, the man reclaims his right, the heart that bleeds wants blood to wash away!"[/color]

[s][center][sub]I am Pagliaccio.[/sub]
I am not Pagliaccio![/center][/s]
That grand tirade came to a halt. That knife dissolved into motes of magical energy. That raving clown took a simple step back. 

[color=bc8dbf]"As [b]he[/b] would say: The comedy begins. Do not disappoint me, Master."[/color]

A stage bow, as if that was all that needed to be said.