Asura

Shin Megami Tensei: Persona

HOSHINO NORIAKI

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx D A T E April 10th 2018 L O C A T I O N The Hall of Mirrors T A G S @Hero@Scribe of Thoth@Lord Orgasmo@RiverMaiden

There was something absurdly satisfying about the feeling of a blade biting into the flesh of the bizarre monstrosities assailing them. The satisfaction it provided might have been something to worry about, if not for the adrenaline that pumped its way through Noriaki's veins. But his body wouldn't not allow him to doddle on idle thoughts, the shadowy creatures swarming upon him in greater number, ignoring the redheaded classmate in his peripheral vision in favor of the one attacking them. That much he was glad for—as much as he snarled and griped, he didn't want Daigo getting hurt. The entire reason Noriaki had been dragged to this horrible place was to keep him out of harm's way, and it would be all for naught if he and the others ended up devouring by these things. Confident his initial charge had drawn enough of their ire, the teen narrowed his attention on those which came snapping at him with slavering jaws, returning the favor with a series of powerful swings and daring thrusts. Consumed in the newfound battle as he was, his mind drifted away from thoughts of Daigo. Perhaps that had been folly. As he chopped and hacked, his classmate was forced to confront something more dire than a few errant shadows. A confrontation he too had suffered through in the days prior, and one which resolved in a manner that seemed to pull the spotlight away from him and right back onto the ginger. Noriaki cast a glance over his shoulder as the brightness reached a radiant peak, witnessing the golden figure that had come to the aid of their cowardly food snob. Whatever reverence he could have had for the birth of a new Persona and its show of force against a stray shadow was quickly quashed by Mira's squealing, and he rolled his eyes at their irritant of a guide. "If you've got time to shriek and bark orders, you've got time to fight. Focus on... whatever the fuck these things are," He grumbled sourly, before returning to what he had been doing before; slaying the creatures that wanted them all dead. Thankfully, his efforts and those of his fellow 'awakened' had been enough to get the group through the door at the end of the hall. It was almost like they had escaped, but as usual when the cat-girl he had grown to disdain got involved, things were not so simple. A look to the sky and its endless void robbed Noriaki of any sense of relief, and Mira's orders only earned a groan from him. Of course 'he' wasn't going to just come out and fight them. There just had to be more bullshit to go through. The devil-boy affixed the well before them with sharp eyes. "I didn't even like InuYasha," He grumbled to no one in particular, proceeding to march forward, his blade dragging through the grass behind him. "You grab me and drag me into this fucking well and I'll ram this sword so far up your ass you'll be tasting iron for a week, you hear me?!"

𝐆𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐀𝐆𝐄 | 𝖆 𝖉𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖔𝖓 𝖆𝖌𝖊 𝖗𝖕

I might wait until the discord is up properly before I commit to anything. Pretty out of my depth in the finer points of the lore, and being able to ask questions and get answers that don't take me 30 minutes of wiki diving to answer would be helpful.

𝐆𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐀𝐆𝐄 | 𝖆 𝖉𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖔𝖓 𝖆𝖌𝖊 𝖗𝖕

Might take me a while to come up with a good goal, wardenhood being what it is, but I'm still here.

ᴡᴏɴᴅᴇʀꜱ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ʙy ᴍᴀɴ

6'8" | 268 lb.

Name

Ser Bors Hightower

Age

18

House

Hightower

Personality

Boisterous
Brave
Bullheaded

Weapon of Choice

Longsword

Talents

Swordplay
Horsemanship
Lovemaking (self-professed)

History

Nearly born to the name of Flowers over Hightower, Bors' tale begins with his father and his less than savory ways. A lad of sixteen, Garth Hightower was the son of the Lord Hightower and thus had never wanted for anything in life. As hedonistic as his namesake, Garth took to drinking and merriment in his youth, charming his way into the chambers of many a lady, both highborn and low. One Melissa Bulwer was no exception. After a quick romp during a routine visit to Oldtown, the young lady found herself not only with a pocketful of memories, but with child. Realizing her folly, Melissa made to inform Garth of the situation and pray he be kind. Upon being laughed off by the irresponsible sire of her child, she tearfully turned to his lord father instead.

Lord Otho Hightower was a stern man. A just man. Upon hearing of his son's dalliance, he was swift in his condemnation. Long had Otho grown sick of Garth's pleasure-seeking and decided that no longer would he shame their house. He gave his brother a choice; marry Melissa Bulwer so his child was trueborn, or find a different family to bring shame to. Garth picked the wiser option.

A rushed ceremony ensued, the unborn child hidden away from public knowledge. Garth carried on with his indulgent lifestyle and his young bride spent the remaining months of her pregnancy at the Hightower. Coming into the world with strong lungs and, more importantly, the banner of the Hightower on his swaddling clothes, Bors was born months later. He proved to be a robust child, rambunctious and energetic from the time he could toddle around the tower's halls, giving his poor mother and the family's servants no end of worry. The young Bors was wild and defiant, and to curb the worst of his behaviors, his grandfather took him on as his personal page, intent on making sure he would not end up with another heir who put his own pleasure above the responsibilities of their station.

Until the watchful eye of Lord Hightower, the boy was educated. He learned of accounts and ledgers, of manners and courtship and perhaps his favorite all, of sword and lance. Nothing could catch his attention as stories of battle during his history lessons, or so perfectly hold him still as when he watched the men-at-arms practice in the yard. It was obvious early on that Bors was not a man suited for stewardship or intrigue, but for battle and glory. His grandfather tailored his lessons to fit that. He was given extra time with training blade and pony alike once his lesser studies were finished, so as to serve as an outlet for his boundless energy. He became a squire to his grandfather at the age of ten.

It was around this time that Bors' life saw a change in scenery. The Hightowers had been strong supporters of the Targaryens, having taken up arms against their liege lord in support of Aegon VI and his reconquest of the Kingdoms. When the previous Hand of the King passed away in 392, many great lords vied for the position, but it was his loyal grandfather who was chosen from among them. When Lord Otho took to the capital, it was inevitable that he would bring Bors with him. The King had a son of similar age, and nothing so helped a house maintain its prominence as a boyhood friendship with the future ruler of Westeros.

So he traded the Hightower for the Red Keep, and Oldtown for King's Landing. The gregarious lad managed to make fast friends with the other highborn at the capital, first among those Vaeron Targaryen, to his grandfather's delight. The boisterous Bors helped the young princeling out of his shell, and in turn the prince helped temper the worst of his impulses. Years passed by, and Bors grew from boy to man with startling speed, an equal in size to some of the castle's men-at-arms at ten-and-two, and nearly their equal in swordplay. By the time he came of age he was a tower of a man, and his prodigious size helped him earn his knighthood later that year. At the tourney in honor of Princess Visenya's tenth nameday, Bors handily won the squire's melee, and was knighted by Ser Willem Lannister of the Kingsguard for his victory.

It has been two years since, and Bors has remained at his grandfather's side, serving as a member of the Hand's personal guard, and only occasionally returning to Oldtown on the business of his house. When the subject of the prince's coming of age tour came to court, he was among the first to volunteer to join the escort, something he was quickly given leave to do.

Relations

Prince Vaeron: Bors has known Vaeron since he was a boy of ten, and sees him as a surrogate brother, though his royal blood keeps him from being referred to with such familiarity.

Trivia

Bors has a deep, lovely singing voice, but very rarely chooses to display this for the embarrassment it causes him—only when he is thoroughly drunk does he choose to belt out a tune.

ᴡᴏɴᴅᴇʀꜱ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ʙy ᴍᴀɴ

Ser Bors Hightower

6'8" | 268 lb.

Name

Ser Bors Hightower

Age

18

House

Hightower

Personality

Boisterous
Brave
Bullheaded

Weapon of Choice

Longsword

Talents

Swordplay
Horsemanship
Lovemaking (self-professed)

History

Nearly born to the name of Flowers over Hightower, Bors' tale begins with his father and his less than savory ways. A lad of sixteen, Garth Hightower was the son of the Lord Hightower and thus had never wanted for anything in life. As hedonistic as his namesake, Garth took to drinking and merriment in his youth, charming his way into the chambers of many a lady, both highborn and low. One Melissa Bulwer was no exception. After a quick romp during a routine visit to Oldtown, the young lady found herself not only with a pocketful of memories, but with child. Realizing her folly, Melissa made to inform Garth of the situation and pray he be kind. Upon being laughed off by the irresponsible sire of her child, she tearfully turned to his lord father instead.

Lord Otho Hightower was a stern man. A just man. Upon hearing of his son's dalliance, he was swift in his condemnation. Long had Otho grown sick of Garth's pleasure-seeking and decided that no longer would he shame their house. He gave his brother a choice; marry Melissa Bulwer so his child was trueborn, or find a different family to bring shame to. Garth picked the wiser option.

A rushed ceremony ensued, the unborn child hidden away from public knowledge. Garth carried on with his indulgent lifestyle and his young bride spent the remaining months of her pregnancy at the Hightower. Coming into the world with strong lungs and, more importantly, the banner of the Hightower on his swaddling clothes, Bors was born months later. He proved to be a robust child, rambunctious and energetic from the time he could toddle around the tower's halls, giving his poor mother and the family's servants no end of worry. The young Bors was wild and defiant, and to curb the worst of his behaviors, his grandfather took him on as his personal page, intent on making sure he would not end up with another heir who put his own pleasure above the responsibilities of their station.

Until the watchful eye of Lord Hightower, the boy was educated. He learned of accounts and ledgers, of manners and courtship and perhaps his favorite all, of sword and lance. Nothing could catch his attention as stories of battle during his history lessons, or so perfectly hold him still as when he watched the men-at-arms practice in the yard. It was obvious early on that Bors was not a man suited for stewardship or intrigue, but for battle and glory. His grandfather tailored his lessons to fit that. He was given extra time with training blade and pony alike once his lesser studies were finished, so as to serve as an outlet for his boundless energy. He became a squire to his grandfather at the age of ten.

It was around this time that Bors' life saw a change in scenery. The Hightowers had been strong supporters of the Targaryens, having taken up arms against their liege lord in support of Aegon VI and his reconquest of the Kingdoms. When the previous Hand of the King passed away in 392, many great lords vied for the position, but it was his loyal grandfather who was chosen from among them. When Lord Otho took to the capital, it was inevitable that he would bring Bors with him. The King had a son of similar age, and nothing so helped a house maintain its prominence as a boyhood friendship with the future ruler of the 7 Kingdoms.

So he traded the Hightower for the Red Keep, and Oldtown for King's Landing. The gregarious lad managed to make fast friends with the other highborn at the capital, first among those Vaeron Targaryen, to his grandfather's delight. The boisterous Bors helped the young princeling out of his shell, and in turn the prince helped temper the worst of his impulses. Years passed by, and Bors grew from boy to man with startling speed, an equal in size to some of the castle's men-at-arms at twelve, and nearly their equal in swordplay. By the time he came of age he was a tower of a man, and his prodigious size helped him earn his knighthood later that year. At the tourney in honor of Princess Visenya's tenth nameday, Bors handily won the squire's melee, and was knighted by Ser [name] of the Kingsguard for his victory.

It has been two years since, and Bors has remained at his grandfather's side, serving as a member of the Hand's personal guard, and only occasionally returning to Oldtown on the business of his house. When the subject of the prince's coming of age tour came to court, he was among the first to volunteer to join the escort, something he was quickly given leave to do.

Relations

Prince Vaeron: Bors has known Vaeron since he was a boy of ten, and sees him as a surrogate brother figure, though his royal blood keeps him from being referred to with such familiarity.

Trivia

Bors has a deep, lovely singing voice, but very rarely chooses to display this for the embarrassment it causes him—only when he is thoroughly drunk does he choose to belt out a tune.

ᴡᴏɴᴅᴇʀꜱ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ʙy ᴍᴀɴ

𝐆𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐀𝐆𝐄 | 𝖆 𝖉𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖔𝖓 𝖆𝖌𝖊 𝖗𝖕

I've only played Origins and like 1/5th of Inquisition so I've got very little lore plonking around in my head, but I'm interested.

Heiseina: Memories Long Forgotten (CLOSED)

SEIMEI KEIKO

_{tags - @Hero}

---

"You're welcome."

Keiko couldn't help but grin just a little devilishly as she watched Tsubasa try and shift the subject from her would-be seduction to the fruit before the two of them. It was almost kind of cute, how flustered a little bit of teasing had gotten him. She had expected him to be more resistant to such things—half the village's girls gave him doe eyes—but it seemed as though she had been wrong in her assessment. She hefted up the other orange as he peeled away at his own, digging her fingers into the smooth flesh to peel away the rind until the soft flesh within was revealed.

"Bold of you to assume people would want to buy from me. I'm pretty sure half the village still thinks I'm some kind of yokai. Certainly wish I was, maybe I'd start getting offerings instead of rude gossip," She retorted, pulling a wedge from the fruit and popping it into her mouth, "Still, maybe I'll give it a try. It would piss old man Moriyama off something severe if people started buying their fruit from me instead of him."

She kicked her legs back and forth with just a little more force, chewing the juicy piece of citrus thoughtfully as her eyes danced from here to there, taking in the sights of the forge. It seemed Tsubasa had been rather busy despite the earliness of the morning. She was almost jealous of that, as absolutely bizarre as it sounded. He had plenty of matters to attend to, so he didn't have to deal with such consuming boredom all day like she did. Of course, he probably had an actual life to lead outside the forge, so maybe it was unfair to compare their situations, but acknowledging that didn't make her doldrums any easier to deal with.

"You get an awful lot of work during festival, season, huh?" She asked, to make idle conversation, "I would think people have better things to worry about than... fencing? During a time of celebration."

Shin Megami Tensei: Persona

HOSHINO NORIAKI

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx D A T E April 10th 2018 L O C A T I O N The Hall of Mirrors T A G S @Hero@Scribe of Thoth@Lord Orgasmo@RiverMaiden

It was difficult to parse exactly what Noriaki felt in that moment. It was like a cold fury prickling up and down his spine, one which took a great deal of might to restrain? Animosity, perhaps? It didn't matter. He was never very good with synonyms, or classifying his emotions for that matter. All he knew that it was very, very potent, and directed almost entirely at this stupid cat-eared thing and her innocent act. That much was obvious from the wrath in his devilish eyes. "I fuckin wish it was, believe me," The teen spat, glowering at her as she decided to turn her back to him. It seemed as though addressing the lambs that had followed him into the slaughter was more important to her than continuing her charade with him. He had half a mind to address them as well—the little shit with the green hair had decided to deride his appearance of all things, as if she didn't look like a houseplant that had sprouted stumpy legs. Legendary in his restraint, the teen managed to keep himself from shouting her down as well, settling on a fang-filled snarl instead. Yelling at morons all day wasn't going to get them out of there, after all, and he needed to settle this business fast or risk losing his job opportunity. Luckily, the cat-girl's preamble came to a close soon enough, and he found himself filing in after the others as she led the charge through the doorway she had just been so insistent on him not going through. Hands stuffed into the pockets of his newly created jacket, Noriaki brooded quietly as the group made their way towards an eerily familiar looking curtain. Whoever was responsible for this bizarre world certainly had a very distinct set of aesthetics, and it certainly didn't appeal to Noriaki. Talk of dungeons and shadows didn't interest him very much, but what did manage to bring him out of his sulking was the appearance those ugly black blobs. "What a gentleman," He muttered bitterly in response to Mira's assertion as he muscled his way through the assembled students, pulling his hands free from their constraints, "Guess I don't have a choice—SWORD!" As his voice boomed, he outstretched a hand, half expecting nothing to happen. To his surprise, his command seemed to reach whatever ears it needed to reach; a blaze of azure exploded onto the scene just before his fingers, the radiant blue fire molding itself into suspiciously solid form. He grabbed at the ethereal display, and his digits found purchase, wrapping around the grip of a blade that rapidly appeared amidst the wispy curls of fading flame. He held the wicked looking weapon before him, placing his other hand on the lengthy hilt. As his purple spheres darted between the assembled monsters, there was a strange sense of strength that came along with holding the sword. A confidence in himself that felt as intoxicating as it was empowering. These things weren't half as terrifying as the demon he had faced off with before, and he had survived her just fine. That knowledge spurred him forward. Pushing off his back foot, the teen charged the nearest sphere, reeling his blade back and bringing down in a powerful overhand swing meant to cleave it in two.

Shin Megami Tensei: Persona

HOSHINO NORIAKI

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx D A T E April 10th 2018 L O C A T I O N The Hall of Mirrors T A G S @Hero@Scribe of Thoth@Lord Orgasmo@RiverMaiden

It seemed as though, on that day, Noriaki could do no right. The little bitch had gone through the trouble of luring him and his classmates to this godforsaken place to fight some monster or another, yet when he tried to go do just that so he could go home, she seemed intent on stopping him. If she was so worried about him and his safety, why the hell did she decide he needed to be brought against his will to another mirror?! Had she not warned him to stay away from them the time before? The irate teen yanked his hand from the now cat-eared pest, turning on his heel so he could affix her with another glare. "If a dumb ass like you can kill one of them hundreds of times, I think I can manage once. Besides, who else is gonna do it? That one," He thrust a finger out towards Daigo, the very reason the lot of them had ended up tumbling through the mirror in the face place, "Is seeing things, for fuck's sake. Probably hit his head coming in. I do not have a... tail?" As he berated the girl, the occasional flicker in his peripheral vision had grown more and more noticeable. Only when he bothered to lower his gaze from her face to see what it was did it finally occur to him—a long, slender, spade-tipped tail whipped to-and-fro to his side. One which seemed to lead all the way behind him as he traced its origin with his eyes. "What the fuck are you?!" He exclaimed with wide eyes, grabbing at it as it only continued whipping about in his shock. It took quite a while for him to get a hold on the newly discovered appendage of his, which seemed to have a mind of its own, and even when he did manage to grab it and give it a hard tug, the resulting pain radiating from his tailbone only caused his panic to grow. Why the fuck did he have a tail? Did she think this was some kind of funny joke? Call him a devil and then give him a little cartoon devil tail? What next, a little pair of horns to go with it?! "Do not tell me—God DAMMIT!" The moments that followed a cursory touch to his forehead were spent spitting a string of profanities, as he reckoned absurdity of these new acquisitions with the dire situation he found himself in. There was vague recognition that their gracious host had been waffling on about something or another to the handful of students who had accompanied him, Daigo among them, but he was too caught up searching his body for any other unwelcome additions to his physiology. He had just finished checking for little wings when the girl spun back around to confront him about obligation. "Responsibility? My fuckin' responsibility is to go to school, go to work, and not break my paro... parent's expectations! I don't owe you anything! Hell, you should be the one owing me! If I hadn't gotten grabbed a few days ago, you'd be a fuckin' corpse by now!"