don't mind me, misread something~
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Paro
The steak in Paro's hands was still untouched. Instead, he stood in place with a distant gaze and barely perceptible smile, chewing on the emperor's words.
"Before ending their petty lives." His expression shrank and his mood stumbled again and again over the vitriol. In five words, the speech had switched from unity to spite and violence. The pair of swords at Paro's side reminded him that he must have known this was coming. He'd come with a life's worth of preparation and gathered steel, and yet... He shook his head and glanced over his shoulder at the golden sword on his back.
A midnight blue ribbon met his gaze instead -- literally. As the cloth nudged his eyes like an insistent Persian, the wide end of the tassel gingerly poured long-awaited sauce on his steak.
"Etan, what are you--?" The sword had agreed not to reveal his sentience unless he absolutely had to: possessed steel drew various kinds of suspicion. But before Paro could finish objecting, he realized the hall was nearly empty. Exclaiming under his breath, he took off running for the door.
Then, remembering the incredibly fine Phoenician dinnerware still in his hand, he jogged back to the table and set the plate down as softly as he could, grabbed his dinner in one hand, and dashed backwards toward the door again, spinning mid-step. As he tore at the steak with his teeth, he wished a long and glorious summer to the chefs, who had left it so tender that it fell apart in his mouth. Speed was of the essence.
Soldiers had already formed multiple platoons, lining up together in preparation. The tardy boy could only fall in with the nearest group, half a steak hanging from his teeth. He gulped and joined his hands behind the small of his back, still gripping his dinner.
"Paro of Leonias, reporting!" As he spoke, the blue handle of his sword unwrapped again, stuffing several bite-sized, fishy-smelling snacks into his pocket. Paro's eyes darted from the scarf's shenanigans to his fellow soldiers -- but if there were a time to let the secret out, this was probably it. "And...this is Etan. I promise you, he's better-trained than I am." He blinked. "I-in combat, I mean!"
@c3p-0h@ananfal@nuttsnbolts@chexmix
Gah, I need to remember to pay as much attention to the ooc as the RP itself! D:
I want Paro to be on the same team as Shu xD /looks back at the RP to figure out how he needs to make that happen
I want Paro to be on the same team as Shu xD /looks back at the RP to figure out how he needs to make that happen
Paro
In Paro's experience, hearty culinary recommendations were an ironclad ice-breaker. Who isn't eager to take a bite of a delicious new taste sensation and spend hours talking through mouthfuls of it? Everybody needs to eat.
Apparently, not everybody needs to speak, though. Just as suddenly as the girl had appeared in Paro's field of vision, she had disappeared back into the crowd. It was altogether...not his worst first impression. However, it did leave him with another problem: it seems not everybody needs berry sauce the way he needed berry sauce, either. The dainty little dish still waited halfway across the banquet table, aromatic and undisturbed.
Well. Paro had every intention of disturbing it. However, the woman in green had left her plate...If she planned on coming back, he couldn't just steal her seat. Sore as his legs still were, they were underneath a young man with manners and a sensible solution.
He leaned over the chair, resting his stomach on the gilded wooden frame, and reached for the ladle with his free hand. Momentarily off-balance, he extended a leg directly behind himself and into the aisle for balance, all the while holding his plate as level as he could manage.
People began to stare at the boy with his leg raised like a yellow Poochyena marking its territory, but his silver fingertips had under an inch until--
Got it! At least, he was pretty sure he had. The palace's ceramics were lighter than those in his hometown, and felt positively airy in his armored grasp. He tightened the grip of his fingertips around the handle, only to watch it shoot out from between his fingers with an enthusiastic tink!
At precisely this moment, armored footfalls resounded throughout the hall. Paro recognized the calm lockstep of warriors in their own home, but it dawned on him a little later that they were coming right up his aisle. Expertly as expected, the ruby knights of Phoenicis maneuvered around his boot, extended at chest height into their official business. With one last glance between the deep purple topping and the cascade of busy, armored men, Paro lowered his foot in embarrassment and turned his attention to the front of the room.
What he heard then lifted his spirits entirely: from here on out, the people of Atlas were, first and foremost, the people of Atlas. Just as summer warms the whole continent...he thought to himself, grinning. After years of war, this was what Atlas needed.
Paro
Two weeks of travel had caught Paro utterly unprepared. He had packed enough food, if only just -- his stomach was a cruel master and asked far too much of him. More pressing: the walk did nothing but make him realize how out of shape he was.
...Perhaps 'nothing' was too harsh; the exercise thickened the muscles in his once-loose boots to the point where the shield hanging from his belt chafed and bruised his calf with every step. He'd struggled in vain to adjust the strap, but urgency kept him from spending too long at it. When he last took off his boots three days ago, he'd found the insides caked in viscous blood. The soles of his socks were nowhere to be found, so he'd thrown them out. His young joints ached and his blistered skin was numb from friction. His lungs protested in his chest and his neck, just below his short, golden hair, was dyed blood-red by the sun.
Yet as he gazed up at the highest spires of the Phoenician castle, he could only smile, starstruck.
I made it. The thought echoed in his mind. His chapped lips cracked in every sense of the word -- from a smile into a full, toothy grin. "I made it!" he panted, this time aloud. "Right on time...!" He straightened his back, aligning his armored left shoulder with its lighter companion. The creak of the restraints broadened his grin. Armor just made life feel right.
He dropped the heel of one foot directly in front of his toes, walking as if on a tight-rope to compensate for his mismanaged equipment -- with an unrecognized air of pride. On the hip opposite his shield bounced a pair of swords: the first was some three and a half feet long, curved, with a pronounced crossguard and side ring. The second, simpler blade was a foot shorter, straight, with more subdued features save for the wide pommel.
Eerily, the sword on his back remained undisturbed by each step, gliding along behind him. Unlike the silver sheen of his other gear, this blade's golden hilt shone in the Phoenician sun. Four feet of brown scabbard swept and swerved with intricate knotwork that sprang out from the sides of the thin sheet.
The presence and motion of all these armaments felt like a friend's embrace after a long day's hike, a hand on his shoulder encouraging him deeper into the grand, foreign architecture of a diplomat's castle. His adrenaline-charged body felt justified and confident, and a new spring in his step carried him disarmingly quickly to the familiar scents of Leonian steaks. Cruel though his stomach may be, Paro felt suddenly proud to serve -- it, Leonias, and perhaps Entei Himself.
For once -- finally, for once -- somebody was willing to talk about this conflict. The people were finally coming together, airing their grievances, telling their stories, discussing solutions -- and it all made him want to stuff his gob and swallow hard in appreciation of good cooking and camaraderie.
His nose led him directly towards a home-town favorite: juicy, with a thick grain and a spice rub that came to life when served with the right berry sauce. He reached an over-eager hand past the shoulder of a black-haired girl in green and white, and only realized his rudeness at the point of no return.
"Uh, pardon," he offered sheepishly, serving himself a slice of meat that smelled so good, his nostrils flared. Too close to back off, he spied the same cut of meat on the girl's plate and flashed his patient teeth at her. "There's a dark purple sauce over there," he began, pointing at a small bowl with a ladle. "A bit of that with this steak and I promise, you'll be in a good mood for hours." Too awkward to commit to reaching past her or asking for her help, he just held her gaze as best he could.
@c3p-0h
Two weeks of travel had caught Paro utterly unprepared. He had packed enough food, if only just -- his stomach was a cruel master and asked far too much of him. More pressing: the walk did nothing but make him realize how out of shape he was.
...Perhaps 'nothing' was too harsh; the exercise thickened the muscles in his once-loose boots to the point where the shield hanging from his belt chafed and bruised his calf with every step. He'd struggled in vain to adjust the strap, but urgency kept him from spending too long at it. When he last took off his boots three days ago, he'd found the insides caked in viscous blood. The soles of his socks were nowhere to be found, so he'd thrown them out. His young joints ached and his blistered skin was numb from friction. His lungs protested in his chest and his neck, just below his short, golden hair, was dyed blood-red by the sun.
Yet as he gazed up at the highest spires of the Phoenician castle, he could only smile, starstruck.
I made it. The thought echoed in his mind. His chapped lips cracked in every sense of the word -- from a smile into a full, toothy grin. "I made it!" he panted, this time aloud. "Right on time...!" He straightened his back, aligning his armored left shoulder with its lighter companion. The creak of the restraints broadened his grin. Armor just made life feel right.
He dropped the heel of one foot directly in front of his toes, walking as if on a tight-rope to compensate for his mismanaged equipment -- with an unrecognized air of pride. On the hip opposite his shield bounced a pair of swords: the first was some three and a half feet long, curved, with a pronounced crossguard and side ring. The second, simpler blade was a foot shorter, straight, with more subdued features save for the wide pommel.
Eerily, the sword on his back remained undisturbed by each step, gliding along behind him. Unlike the silver sheen of his other gear, this blade's golden hilt shone in the Phoenician sun. Four feet of brown scabbard swept and swerved with intricate knotwork that sprang out from the sides of the thin sheet.
The presence and motion of all these armaments felt like a friend's embrace after a long day's hike, a hand on his shoulder encouraging him deeper into the grand, foreign architecture of a diplomat's castle. His adrenaline-charged body felt justified and confident, and a new spring in his step carried him disarmingly quickly to the familiar scents of Leonian steaks. Cruel though his stomach may be, Paro felt suddenly proud to serve -- it, Leonias, and perhaps Entei Himself.
For once -- finally, for once -- somebody was willing to talk about this conflict. The people were finally coming together, airing their grievances, telling their stories, discussing solutions -- and it all made him want to stuff his gob and swallow hard in appreciation of good cooking and camaraderie.
His nose led him directly towards a home-town favorite: juicy, with a thick grain and a spice rub that came to life when served with the right berry sauce. He reached an over-eager hand past the shoulder of a black-haired girl in green and white, and only realized his rudeness at the point of no return.
"Uh, pardon," he offered sheepishly, serving himself a slice of meat that smelled so good, his nostrils flared. Too close to back off, he spied the same cut of meat on the girl's plate and flashed his patient teeth at her. "There's a dark purple sauce over there," he began, pointing at a small bowl with a ladle. "A bit of that with this steak and I promise, you'll be in a good mood for hours." Too awkward to commit to reaching past her or asking for her help, he just held her gaze as best he could.
@c3p-0h
@TwilightDragon Life happens. Got my fingers crossed for you guys.
/gets to work on posting even though he's way intimidated by everybody
/gets to work on posting even though he's way intimidated by everybody
Username: Densoro
Name: Paro
Age: 22
Gender: Male
Country of Origin: Leonias
Weapons:
One-handed viking sword:
Steel heater shield:
Kriegsmesser:
Also see below.
Pokemon:
Nickname: Etan
Species:
Estoc-variant Honedge:
Gender: 'Male,' but mostly 'sword'
Moveset: Return, Shadow Sneak, Iron Head, Sacred Sword
Personality: A natural-born teacher, Etan is patient and encouraging. Still unsure of himself in his new identity as a sword, he is the type to power through uncertainty with something that could be called 'recklessness.' However, his attachment to his trainer keeps that in check; he has somebody else he needs to protect.
Differences: Etan's ability is Infiltrator rather than No Guard, allowing him to pierce effects such as Protect. Furthermore, because his master has little to no experience with Pokemon, it's not uncommon for Etan to be used like a regular sword. This combines a Pokemon's superhuman abilities with Paro's training as a swordsman -- the greater of his skills. However, Paro must call out his attacks when fighting this way.
Appearance:
Without the parrot though, or all the ridiculous ornamentation on his shoulder armor.
Personality: Paro is the result of over a decade's training in multiple disciplines. 'Tact' was not among them. Compassionate to a fault, he is perhaps too eager to let others know how he's feeling. However, he prides himself on not being a hypocrite, so he is also a master of invasive questions. An Entei-fearing young man, he has no patience for feelings bottled or avoided; he would rather dive right to the point and let bad feelings burn themselves out.
Short Biography: The sword entered Paro's life when he was nine years old. A retired military man gave lessons in swordsmanship to the village's children, aided by his son, Etan. His front yard served equally as playground, training ground, and hallowed ground for the orphaned and directionless. Six years Paro's senior, Etan was a slim boy: deceptively strong, and gifted with the estoc's piercing power. Training behind a shield for years, Paro could only admire his upperclassman's forwardness in battle. When he left for the war, everybody believed that would keep him safe.
Months rolled by like the clouds above Leonias. With no word from the young soldier, the village carried on as though it forgot he had ever left. None of them had. Paro, unchanged by the years, spent more time training than at home with his own family. Perhaps that's why he was the first to see the golden hilt of a long, long sword floating towards the town.
They say that when a soldier dies, their soul is sealed within their sword. Perhaps that explained the needle of familiarity in Paro's chest as he looked into the sword's single, glassy eye.
Other:
Theme song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ok3E1YTtpkE
Name: Paro
Age: 22
Gender: Male
Country of Origin: Leonias
Weapons:
One-handed viking sword:
Steel heater shield:
Kriegsmesser:
Also see below.
Pokemon:
Nickname: Etan
Species:
Estoc-variant Honedge:
Gender: 'Male,' but mostly 'sword'
Moveset: Return, Shadow Sneak, Iron Head, Sacred Sword
Personality: A natural-born teacher, Etan is patient and encouraging. Still unsure of himself in his new identity as a sword, he is the type to power through uncertainty with something that could be called 'recklessness.' However, his attachment to his trainer keeps that in check; he has somebody else he needs to protect.
Differences: Etan's ability is Infiltrator rather than No Guard, allowing him to pierce effects such as Protect. Furthermore, because his master has little to no experience with Pokemon, it's not uncommon for Etan to be used like a regular sword. This combines a Pokemon's superhuman abilities with Paro's training as a swordsman -- the greater of his skills. However, Paro must call out his attacks when fighting this way.
Appearance:
Without the parrot though, or all the ridiculous ornamentation on his shoulder armor.
Personality: Paro is the result of over a decade's training in multiple disciplines. 'Tact' was not among them. Compassionate to a fault, he is perhaps too eager to let others know how he's feeling. However, he prides himself on not being a hypocrite, so he is also a master of invasive questions. An Entei-fearing young man, he has no patience for feelings bottled or avoided; he would rather dive right to the point and let bad feelings burn themselves out.
Short Biography: The sword entered Paro's life when he was nine years old. A retired military man gave lessons in swordsmanship to the village's children, aided by his son, Etan. His front yard served equally as playground, training ground, and hallowed ground for the orphaned and directionless. Six years Paro's senior, Etan was a slim boy: deceptively strong, and gifted with the estoc's piercing power. Training behind a shield for years, Paro could only admire his upperclassman's forwardness in battle. When he left for the war, everybody believed that would keep him safe.
Months rolled by like the clouds above Leonias. With no word from the young soldier, the village carried on as though it forgot he had ever left. None of them had. Paro, unchanged by the years, spent more time training than at home with his own family. Perhaps that's why he was the first to see the golden hilt of a long, long sword floating towards the town.
They say that when a soldier dies, their soul is sealed within their sword. Perhaps that explained the needle of familiarity in Paro's chest as he looked into the sword's single, glassy eye.
Other:
Theme song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ok3E1YTtpkE
Coupla questions o: So we just copy our character sheet into the character thread once we're accepted, or?
Also, how fragile are people in this? Are we talking death by one good cut, or is this the kind of anime setting where you can hit a dude 20 times and they just fall to their knees?
Also, how fragile are people in this? Are we talking death by one good cut, or is this the kind of anime setting where you can hit a dude 20 times and they just fall to their knees?
Is that good? c:
Hey so I'm new and stuff but c3p-0h showed me this and I have been dying for a medieval Pokemon thing since I was in high school. Cool if I join?
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