Lots of red-haired girls with scowls and muted expressions.
Gowi
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Prologue: Suicide Squad
Unknown Location, Eastern Europe
May 2nd, 2016
And Roy Harper was exactly told why he needed to help the mysterious warlord who gave him more than enough incentive. They had found out about a little something he was trying to keep on the DL and honestly he was pretty annoyed that he was being baited into working for someone Green Arrow would use as a public pincushion. But at least he wasn’t alone— a fact that was clear as he looked around in the old ruined castle near the the border as he spotted four other people in addition to himself who all had the same “boy, do I hate my life” expression on their face. This long-haired individual had brought together a motley crew of expendables for this little “mission”. Some of the faces familiar to Roy given his personal relationship with several people who were quite good at the whole hero & criminal database management thing, his brows narrowing as he looked over the lot of them.
“Raise your hand if you are getting paid for this crap show.”
All of the faces looked over Roy’s comment, one of which with a wide smirk— but she didn’t raise her hand. None of them did. One of them laughed, and another one scowled.
Just what I thought.
Roy grumbled under his breath as he grabbed the collar of his worn traveler’s jacket, tugging on it to straighten it out. But what was the whole deal with the scenario, really? The walking cliché didn’t say what he wanted them to do, he just told them why they were going to help in. But then again he was trying to keep the ‘mood’ as that was what walking cliché’s liked to do. Next on the checklist was loud theatrics after everyone had gotten “comfortable” with each other, though Roy wasn’t sure that was going to be completely easy considering at least half of his new “friends” happened to be as enthusiastic as he was. If Green Arrow had ever got wind of this he’d never live it down. He could just hear the lectures now.
“So. You use a bow and arrow, huh? Isn’t that a little fucking stupid?”
Roy narrowed his brows, a wide shit-eating grin curling on his lips. “No. It’s really fucking stupid. But yeah, I use a bow. What of it?”
The leather jacket toting girl laughed hard as she slammer her fist into Roy’s left shoulder playfully. Roy personally didn’t care much for it, but he was too distracted and annoyed to really do much about it; not to mention he knew decking a “teammate” no matter how much of an annoying criminal they actually were. Mr. Cliché hadn’t gathered them up for them to play poker for shiggles. Roy was just waiting for the speech and the “plan” that was sure to come with the speech.
“I like you. This is going to be fun.”
Whatever ‘this’ was, Roy just wanted it over and done with. However, no matter what the circumstances were and what they had on him for blackmail, there was no way he was hurting any innocent lives in the process because of it. Roy had one rule that he had inherited in his mind and even during his wayward adventures in Eastern Europe still committed himself to.
No killing.
Roy, shuffled his hands in his pockets in a fit. “Is it?”
Before the woman could offer a reply the lights dimmed and the chattering of an old projector became adamant as here once again was Mr. Cliché with the widest grin on his face yet. An annoyed sigh left Roy’s lips as he looked over the man above a short set of stone stairs, looking down at them as he prepared his little mission briefing.
“Welcome, my friends. We can now get started knowing I have ensured your loyalties to this little gambit. But it is known that it is dangerous, and could risk you your lives— but you know you have no choice in this matter and that will not change after all the work I put into convincing you all. It is good to have people who are willing to die for you. But we have limited time, or well… I have limited time. Your mission will be discreet and covert as you retrieve a package of sorts for me; working together as a skilled team deferring to one another through your already chosen nicknames.”
His eyes moved over the lot of the group. “Arsenal. Mimi. Katana. Technocrat. Cyborg.”
“What and where?”
“I am glad you asked.”
A click of a button and the projector slid to the next panel and Roy cursed out loud with no restraint. “Shit.”
@Gowi
oh wait they have to have red hair? New fc search, mk.
Yeah, I kind of made a general oops by misinterpreting amber hair in the early days of the thread. But the idea for the forloni culture group at its purest is they have hairs of red, orange, and the like.
Lanelia has yet to be locked in by anybody with substantial interest so I'd say go on ahead.
and please for the love of the god have some form of red hair
and please for the love of the god have some form of red hair
Well I am working on Heracles...
MOON KNIGHT
“I dress up as an obscure moon-god and strike fear in the hearts of men. Did you really think I was normal? Do you really think that any of us... any of the costumes are normal? We're all crazy. But we're the exact kind of crazy the world needs. The exact kind.”
N A M E
Marc Spector // Steven Grant // Jake Lockley
A G E
32
A L I G N M E N T
Walking the Line
A F F I L I A T I O N
United States Armed Forces
CIA
CIA
P R O F E S S I O N
Entrepreneur
Commando
Mercenary
Detective
Vigilante
Spy
Commando
Mercenary
Detective
Vigilante
Spy
O R I G I N
◉◉◉◉ EARLY LIFE & CAREER 1984-2008
Marc Spector was born in New York City in 1984 to a small relatively mundane Jewish family that had settled in the United States two generations prior when Marc’s grandfather escaped persecution in Germany during the onset of World War II. Marc grew up living in the cynical eighties raised in a single parent household following his mother’s death to cancer in 1984 when he was seven years old and his brother, Randall Spector was five years old. Marc refused to listen to his father and saw himself as an unruly youth— though in reality it was grief and angst that he couldn’t cope with. When he was a teenager Marc joined a underground fight ring where he became a prize fighter until one day his father interrupted a fight to which Marc and him came to blows. It would be there in that ring that Marc and his father, Elias, settled their differences in the only way the men knew how: fighting.
Marc joined the military right out of his senior year of High School in 2002— after several tours of duty he was approached by Amos Lardner, an agent of the CIA, with an offer to utilize Marc’s brilliance beyond simple firefights overseas that could be filled by someone with lesser aptitude scores and utility in the field. Over the next several years he found himself coming into his own as a CIA agent and realized just what Agent Lardner meant with applying his efforts with the organization as opposed to the armed forces. Marc was talented, perceptive, astute, and ingenious in his efforts of infiltrating and sabotaging the efforts of his enemies before vanishing like a spectre of the night. However, as things would come out Spector became distanced from the CIA after discovering that the operations were not as “saintly” as he was led to believe. Not willing to cause a stink about his issues, he received a proper dismissal using the proper channels before opting out to try out mercenary work instead.
However, Mercenary Work was evidently worse than Marc’s time in the CIA. As much was evident when the man who hired Marc, Raoul Bushman, was a French Algerian terrorist in all but name and the price for Marc’s employment became the price of Marc’s soul. Upon trying to justify his actions working with Bushman, Marc came upon his current assignment when Bushman ordered the pillaging of an unearthed ruin that was being excavated and explored by renowned archaeologist, Professor Peter Alraune. Bushman was met with resistance by Alurane and order his men to kill everyone and loot the remains. With his conscience catching up with him Marc rejected the order and tried to save the life of Professor Alraune. Although grateful, the professor had taken a few shots from assault rifle fire and realized he was on his last legs. He had Marc promise to protect his daughter from harm and gave him her location. However, while successful Marc had taken several bullets and if not for the intervention of the professor’s daughter (she was a academically-trained surgeon) Marc would’ve probably died in the sand-covered ruin. But he didn’t— waking up alongside the statue of Khonshu he found himself with a new purpose and after receiving a revelation from his near-death state he snagged a white cloak off the statue of Khonshu and began hunting down Bushman’s thugs one by one until Bushman was forced to retreat.
◉◉◉◉ THE LUNAR LEGIONNAIRE 2009-2015
Following his revelations in Africa, Marc Spector had realized that he needed to return to New York City to pursue his quest for redemption and solace. The horrors he had done working for Raoul Bushman alongside many others had made him convinced that he had to repent for the sins he was responsible for. Professor Alraune’s daughter, Marlene, accompanied him back to the United States viewing her father’s death as the last straw in keeping her in Africa though she couldn’t help but admit she had begun to harbor strong feelings for the disjointed former mercenary. However, surviving the ordeal as well as reflecting on his life in the military left Marc disjointed and fractured— the death of his brother by his own hands, countless operations overseas that the government brainwashed him into seeing as rightful, his actions as a mercenary, and other such things had unhinged him from his state of mind. Believing to be the Avatar of Khonshu after convincing himself he was chosen by the god to do his work distanced Marc from many of his former comrades but unbeknownst to them not only was it helping him from falling to pieces it was also very much real.
Alongside Khonshu, at first the only allies Marc had at his disposal were his pilot (Jean-Paul “Frenchie” DuChamp) and Marlene Alraune. Utilizing his fortune gained as a mercenary as well as Marlene’s settlement from the death of her former husband, Eric Fontaine, to create the start of his crusade to purge darkness from his city of birth as well as redeem himself in what would be a long and tiring spiritual journey. Marlene’s utter support for Marc was surprising at first but he trusted her as she had been the one who had brought her to Khonshu instead of allowing him to die in the desert ruins. Believing that his former name was “sullied” by his misdeeds he created the new identity of Steven Grant using his connections in the CIA to authenticate it with some legitimacy. But it wouldn’t be until the development of his alias, Moon Knight, that things would truly begin to take shape.
Enhanced by Khonshu, Marc would begin seeing his powers as Moon Knight fully develop— this included but was not limited to protection from evil, the gift of healing, the cloak of the moon, and on occasion prophetic visions that drove Marc continuously further into delusion-induced mania. He became obsessed with stopping the crimes and horrors he saw and knew it was Khonshu’s truest will that he would protect others in his name. His dialogue began to shift into cryptic quips and paladin-esque righteousness; a fact that the criminals of New York City soon found frightening as he began to descend upon them with the wrath of a god behind him. Moon Knight was brutal and ruthless; a reputation that would be cemented when his vigilantism led to Detective William Flint investigating his efforts. Marc could not imagine Detective Flint would become his first ally in New York City, but eventually it was realized to be true when Flint sought out Moon Knight asking for his help with a series of “freak homicides”. Marc agreed.
As Marc began his career investigating these homicides and stopping petty crime where he could, he realized that he needed to be more equipped to which that he was eventually pointed in the direction of a former Stark Industries weapons designer by the name of Buck Lime. After a series of cases crossing over and Lime seeing the good in Moon Knight’s actions he agreed to help design and develop equipment for him as long as their interests aligned. A friendship between the two would take many years to develop but in the beginning the foundation of obligations and threats were how their relationship began. It would be also with Lime’s help that Marc would more accessibly be able to use his natural deductive abilities and tactics he developed as a CIA agent for Khonshu’s benefit and by extension New York City’s as well. Thus it was here that Marc continued to explore the cases the NYPD needed his and Khonshu’s help in providing answers to. Everything from vampires to werewolves to cultists to peculiar serial killers fell in as Moon Knight’s very first foes and he eagerly contended with them with the zeal that was required of him. It was in these actions that investigative journalists began reporting on what they called “The Crescent Crusader”; a fine nickname to fit a servant of Khonshu.
However as the years got more challenging, so did his foes.
◉◉◉◉ SHADOWS OF THE MOON 2016-
In the years since Moon Knight has remained an elusive yet necessary piece of New York City. He’s dealt with supervillains, criminal syndicates, supernatural beasts, mystical foes, and corrupt businessmen. He has made many enemies, few allies, and continues to do what he does best in the shadows of the moon. His friendship with Marlene has blossomed into a romantic relationship despite his best efforts to distance her from his madness and zealous crusade; but alongside his small crew he has grown fond of the blonde-haired surgeon. Marc constantly fears for the well-being of his friends and romantic partner, but Khonshu has not willed his quest to be over nor would Marc accept such a conclusion when the world is facing itself in its darkest hour.
As there is always darkness outside of the presence of moonlight, Marc prepares himself for what lies ahead.
Marc Spector was born in New York City in 1984 to a small relatively mundane Jewish family that had settled in the United States two generations prior when Marc’s grandfather escaped persecution in Germany during the onset of World War II. Marc grew up living in the cynical eighties raised in a single parent household following his mother’s death to cancer in 1984 when he was seven years old and his brother, Randall Spector was five years old. Marc refused to listen to his father and saw himself as an unruly youth— though in reality it was grief and angst that he couldn’t cope with. When he was a teenager Marc joined a underground fight ring where he became a prize fighter until one day his father interrupted a fight to which Marc and him came to blows. It would be there in that ring that Marc and his father, Elias, settled their differences in the only way the men knew how: fighting.
Marc joined the military right out of his senior year of High School in 2002— after several tours of duty he was approached by Amos Lardner, an agent of the CIA, with an offer to utilize Marc’s brilliance beyond simple firefights overseas that could be filled by someone with lesser aptitude scores and utility in the field. Over the next several years he found himself coming into his own as a CIA agent and realized just what Agent Lardner meant with applying his efforts with the organization as opposed to the armed forces. Marc was talented, perceptive, astute, and ingenious in his efforts of infiltrating and sabotaging the efforts of his enemies before vanishing like a spectre of the night. However, as things would come out Spector became distanced from the CIA after discovering that the operations were not as “saintly” as he was led to believe. Not willing to cause a stink about his issues, he received a proper dismissal using the proper channels before opting out to try out mercenary work instead.
However, Mercenary Work was evidently worse than Marc’s time in the CIA. As much was evident when the man who hired Marc, Raoul Bushman, was a French Algerian terrorist in all but name and the price for Marc’s employment became the price of Marc’s soul. Upon trying to justify his actions working with Bushman, Marc came upon his current assignment when Bushman ordered the pillaging of an unearthed ruin that was being excavated and explored by renowned archaeologist, Professor Peter Alraune. Bushman was met with resistance by Alurane and order his men to kill everyone and loot the remains. With his conscience catching up with him Marc rejected the order and tried to save the life of Professor Alraune. Although grateful, the professor had taken a few shots from assault rifle fire and realized he was on his last legs. He had Marc promise to protect his daughter from harm and gave him her location. However, while successful Marc had taken several bullets and if not for the intervention of the professor’s daughter (she was a academically-trained surgeon) Marc would’ve probably died in the sand-covered ruin. But he didn’t— waking up alongside the statue of Khonshu he found himself with a new purpose and after receiving a revelation from his near-death state he snagged a white cloak off the statue of Khonshu and began hunting down Bushman’s thugs one by one until Bushman was forced to retreat.
◉◉◉◉ THE LUNAR LEGIONNAIRE 2009-2015
Following his revelations in Africa, Marc Spector had realized that he needed to return to New York City to pursue his quest for redemption and solace. The horrors he had done working for Raoul Bushman alongside many others had made him convinced that he had to repent for the sins he was responsible for. Professor Alraune’s daughter, Marlene, accompanied him back to the United States viewing her father’s death as the last straw in keeping her in Africa though she couldn’t help but admit she had begun to harbor strong feelings for the disjointed former mercenary. However, surviving the ordeal as well as reflecting on his life in the military left Marc disjointed and fractured— the death of his brother by his own hands, countless operations overseas that the government brainwashed him into seeing as rightful, his actions as a mercenary, and other such things had unhinged him from his state of mind. Believing to be the Avatar of Khonshu after convincing himself he was chosen by the god to do his work distanced Marc from many of his former comrades but unbeknownst to them not only was it helping him from falling to pieces it was also very much real.
Alongside Khonshu, at first the only allies Marc had at his disposal were his pilot (Jean-Paul “Frenchie” DuChamp) and Marlene Alraune. Utilizing his fortune gained as a mercenary as well as Marlene’s settlement from the death of her former husband, Eric Fontaine, to create the start of his crusade to purge darkness from his city of birth as well as redeem himself in what would be a long and tiring spiritual journey. Marlene’s utter support for Marc was surprising at first but he trusted her as she had been the one who had brought her to Khonshu instead of allowing him to die in the desert ruins. Believing that his former name was “sullied” by his misdeeds he created the new identity of Steven Grant using his connections in the CIA to authenticate it with some legitimacy. But it wouldn’t be until the development of his alias, Moon Knight, that things would truly begin to take shape.
Enhanced by Khonshu, Marc would begin seeing his powers as Moon Knight fully develop— this included but was not limited to protection from evil, the gift of healing, the cloak of the moon, and on occasion prophetic visions that drove Marc continuously further into delusion-induced mania. He became obsessed with stopping the crimes and horrors he saw and knew it was Khonshu’s truest will that he would protect others in his name. His dialogue began to shift into cryptic quips and paladin-esque righteousness; a fact that the criminals of New York City soon found frightening as he began to descend upon them with the wrath of a god behind him. Moon Knight was brutal and ruthless; a reputation that would be cemented when his vigilantism led to Detective William Flint investigating his efforts. Marc could not imagine Detective Flint would become his first ally in New York City, but eventually it was realized to be true when Flint sought out Moon Knight asking for his help with a series of “freak homicides”. Marc agreed.
As Marc began his career investigating these homicides and stopping petty crime where he could, he realized that he needed to be more equipped to which that he was eventually pointed in the direction of a former Stark Industries weapons designer by the name of Buck Lime. After a series of cases crossing over and Lime seeing the good in Moon Knight’s actions he agreed to help design and develop equipment for him as long as their interests aligned. A friendship between the two would take many years to develop but in the beginning the foundation of obligations and threats were how their relationship began. It would be also with Lime’s help that Marc would more accessibly be able to use his natural deductive abilities and tactics he developed as a CIA agent for Khonshu’s benefit and by extension New York City’s as well. Thus it was here that Marc continued to explore the cases the NYPD needed his and Khonshu’s help in providing answers to. Everything from vampires to werewolves to cultists to peculiar serial killers fell in as Moon Knight’s very first foes and he eagerly contended with them with the zeal that was required of him. It was in these actions that investigative journalists began reporting on what they called “The Crescent Crusader”; a fine nickname to fit a servant of Khonshu.
However as the years got more challenging, so did his foes.
◉◉◉◉ SHADOWS OF THE MOON 2016-
In the years since Moon Knight has remained an elusive yet necessary piece of New York City. He’s dealt with supervillains, criminal syndicates, supernatural beasts, mystical foes, and corrupt businessmen. He has made many enemies, few allies, and continues to do what he does best in the shadows of the moon. His friendship with Marlene has blossomed into a romantic relationship despite his best efforts to distance her from his madness and zealous crusade; but alongside his small crew he has grown fond of the blonde-haired surgeon. Marc constantly fears for the well-being of his friends and romantic partner, but Khonshu has not willed his quest to be over nor would Marc accept such a conclusion when the world is facing itself in its darkest hour.
As there is always darkness outside of the presence of moonlight, Marc prepares himself for what lies ahead.
C A S T
----
T A L E N T S
Enhanced Physiology: Supposedly enchanted by Khonshu, Marc has an array of abilities that include— accelerated healing, supernatural effects of fear upon his enemies, dark vision, partial invisibility when concealed in darkness, and occasional prophetic visions. Though this could be all in Marc's head.
Hand-to-Hand Combat: Marc Spector has been described as a master martial artist with a range of comprehension of forms such as boxing, judo, savate, krav maga, and jiujutsu. His knowledge is so expansive that his enemies have witnessed firsthand how brutal and precise he can be in combat— whilst Marc is not unrivaled in his mastery of martial arts and reactive combat he is certainly in one of the highest tiers present.
Investigation: As a former agent of the CIA, Marc has learned the tricks of the trade when it comes to information gathering and reacting swiftly with the analysis of that information. He’s an excellent investigator, detective, and reactive fighter due to such skills and considering he utilizes them every single day it is no surprise he is one of the premier investigative superheroes on the planet.
Marksman: Marc Spector is a former soldier, spy, and mercenary thus it is no surprise that he holds a particular set of skills that lends to mastery with firearms. It is not a far belief to say that he has mastered the usage of assault rifles, handguns, and submachine guns with competency in other forms of firearms. Although he does not rely on such things as Moon Knight on a regular basis he reminds people just because he doesn’t use something doesn’t mean he is unable to.
Peak Human Conditioning: Due to a selective diet, constant training, and rigorous crusades upon his enemies Marc’s body is in a state of peak fitness where he is stronger, faster, and quicker than the average human.
Stealth: The CIA didn’t only teach Marc to be skilled at information gathering but also infiltration and espionage. Even with Khonshu’s blessing there is little argument that Marc is as silent as it comes unless he wants to be heard. He has snuck up on many enemies and allies with little-to-no effort in several situations.
Hand-to-Hand Combat: Marc Spector has been described as a master martial artist with a range of comprehension of forms such as boxing, judo, savate, krav maga, and jiujutsu. His knowledge is so expansive that his enemies have witnessed firsthand how brutal and precise he can be in combat— whilst Marc is not unrivaled in his mastery of martial arts and reactive combat he is certainly in one of the highest tiers present.
Investigation: As a former agent of the CIA, Marc has learned the tricks of the trade when it comes to information gathering and reacting swiftly with the analysis of that information. He’s an excellent investigator, detective, and reactive fighter due to such skills and considering he utilizes them every single day it is no surprise he is one of the premier investigative superheroes on the planet.
Marksman: Marc Spector is a former soldier, spy, and mercenary thus it is no surprise that he holds a particular set of skills that lends to mastery with firearms. It is not a far belief to say that he has mastered the usage of assault rifles, handguns, and submachine guns with competency in other forms of firearms. Although he does not rely on such things as Moon Knight on a regular basis he reminds people just because he doesn’t use something doesn’t mean he is unable to.
Peak Human Conditioning: Due to a selective diet, constant training, and rigorous crusades upon his enemies Marc’s body is in a state of peak fitness where he is stronger, faster, and quicker than the average human.
Stealth: The CIA didn’t only teach Marc to be skilled at information gathering but also infiltration and espionage. Even with Khonshu’s blessing there is little argument that Marc is as silent as it comes unless he wants to be heard. He has snuck up on many enemies and allies with little-to-no effort in several situations.
A R C S
A Crescent Moon — Lynn James, the leader behind the powerful criminal syndicate known as “The Committee” in New York City’s underworld comes into conflict with Moon Knight as he begins to unravel their operations thus forcing them to act proactively given the Lunar Legionares tendency to drive crime out of the city in the past. Using her money as an affluent socialite, Lynn James hires out a discreet contract to the criminals of the world. One Million Dollars if they can kill Moon Knight.
Knightmare in New York – Returning to one of his favorite pastimes, a supernatural epidemic fills the streets of New York as a lingering creature dwells in the sewers preying on civilians. Moon Knight grabs his silver cestus and prepares to get to work; but this supernatural effect might rely on a little more help than Moon Knight is used to having.
Knightmare in New York – Returning to one of his favorite pastimes, a supernatural epidemic fills the streets of New York as a lingering creature dwells in the sewers preying on civilians. Moon Knight grabs his silver cestus and prepares to get to work; but this supernatural effect might rely on a little more help than Moon Knight is used to having.
Maybe working on something.
Yamanaka Inori
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Personalia
Information collected by the census office of Konohagakure
“I will not tolerate your constant stupidity!”
| Ｂｉｒｔｈｎａｍｅ: |
| Ｎｉｃｋｎａｍｅｓ: |
| Ａｌｉａｓ: |
| Ｓｅｘ: |
| Ａｇｅ: |
| Ｂｉｒｔｈｐｌａｃｅ: |
| Ｂｌｏｏｄｌｉｎｅ: |
| Ｒａｎｋ: |
Yamanaka Inori
| Ｎｉｃｋｎａｍｅｓ: |
N/A
| Ａｌｉａｓ: |
N/A
| Ｓｅｘ: |
Female
| Ａｇｅ: |
14
| Ｂｉｒｔｈｐｌａｃｅ: |
Konohagakure
| Ｂｌｏｏｄｌｉｎｅ: |
Yamanaka, Hagoromo
| Ｒａｎｋ: |
Genin
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From detailed inspection and investigation by ANBU and medical personnel
“I-It’s not that I don’t think I’ll ever be able to meet my father’s expectations. I don’t think I want to.”
Psychology & History
From detailed inspection and investigation by ANBU and medical personnel
“I-It’s not that I don’t think I’ll ever be able to meet my father’s expectations. I don’t think I want to.”
| Ｐｅｒｓｏｎａｌ ｂｉｏｇｒａｐｈｙ: |
| Ｆａｍｉｌｙ ｂｉｏｇｒａｐｈｙ: |
| Ｆａｍｉｌｙ ｔｉｅｓ: |
| Ｄｒｅａｍｓ ａｎｄ ｆｅａｒｓ: |
The result between a ruthless ANBU specialist and an unorthodox jōnin, Inori was going to have problems as a functional individual from the onset.
Born in Konohagakure fourteen years ago, Inori’s home life could be described as challenging, especially considering the marque of expectations that were lined up given her status as the firstborn child of the Yamanaka Clan’s de facto leader, Yamanaka Inokaru. A staunch perfectionist and part time elitist, Inori’s father equipped Inori with a sequence of trials as soon as she old enough to take them. Once admitted into the academy these expectations would only increase and as she struggled to appease her father’s wishes she grew to know what disappointment felt like and looked like every time she saw her reflection or a glimpse at her father’s unimpressed expression. As a Yamanaka she was expected to be gifted in Genjutsu, but even more so as the daughter of Yamanaka Inokaru she was expected to meet every standard he met at the same age. Each scowl or head shake led Inori to become more and more passionate and dedicated, though no matter how hard she tried she couldn’t just reach the standards of her father.
Inori’s mother, Hagoromo Mitsuko, was no lightweight either when it came to raising her daughter. Outside of philosophical optimism and encouragement, the fire inside her mother was equally hard on Inori; even when she felt like she was accomplishing something she felt like she could hear her mother whisper to another shinobi one single phrase— “She can do better.” A sentiment that dampened Inori’s enthusiasm at many turns. The shadow of an Academy Student that was trying to live up to two unique icons of their respective generations based on older standards and beliefs of première shinobi criteria; it almost seemed like Inori was set on the path to fail.
However, pushing her doubts and fears inside her head and focusing on her studies at the Academy proved to be a less harrowing experience. She did well on the written exams and the way her parents pushed or “encouraged” her allowed her to do sufficiently well on the physical tests as well— it just wasn’t the physical tests she wanted. Inori scored lowly with ninjutsu and “par” for genjutsu; something of a disappointment for her. The silver lining is throughout the years a fire had been started from within which facilitated a need to express her sorrow and discontent; a desire that awakened in taijutsu.
For other shinobi, the harsh winter was something that was on their minds— for Inori it was her harsh parents and their assertion of what she needed to, not could, achieve.
Inori is a complicated kunoichi— and that is exaggerating. Taking into account her emotional baggage, mental issues, and neglect it is hard to imagine how Inori is functional at all. But somehow, through diligence or a happy accident she appears to be at the very least semi-functional.
But functional does not translate to nice. All of the sorrow, shame, doubt, guilt, and hate translates into a volatile aggression, pseudo-confidence, and antagonistic appearances. Inori ignores all of her authentic feelings and replaces them with negative displays of unrest— abusive yelling, patronizing insults, depreciative quips, and denial of affection are all “flavors” of Inori’s outer self. It is this behavior that makes her feel better about herself, if only for a moment; as if lashing out at others is an outlet of a greater inner struggle. A struggle Inori refuses to confront and therefore allows to fester. Ultimately, Inori desires friendship and relatable kinship but identifies as showing certain emotions as weak and unbecoming of a shinobi. For someone to crack the shell would be someone that has made an impression on her, and someone who can suffer through the wicked antagonism she dishes out.
But who could love her enough to tolerate such suffering? Who could care about her when her parents do not?
Born in Konohagakure fourteen years ago, Inori’s home life could be described as challenging, especially considering the marque of expectations that were lined up given her status as the firstborn child of the Yamanaka Clan’s de facto leader, Yamanaka Inokaru. A staunch perfectionist and part time elitist, Inori’s father equipped Inori with a sequence of trials as soon as she old enough to take them. Once admitted into the academy these expectations would only increase and as she struggled to appease her father’s wishes she grew to know what disappointment felt like and looked like every time she saw her reflection or a glimpse at her father’s unimpressed expression. As a Yamanaka she was expected to be gifted in Genjutsu, but even more so as the daughter of Yamanaka Inokaru she was expected to meet every standard he met at the same age. Each scowl or head shake led Inori to become more and more passionate and dedicated, though no matter how hard she tried she couldn’t just reach the standards of her father.
Inori’s mother, Hagoromo Mitsuko, was no lightweight either when it came to raising her daughter. Outside of philosophical optimism and encouragement, the fire inside her mother was equally hard on Inori; even when she felt like she was accomplishing something she felt like she could hear her mother whisper to another shinobi one single phrase— “She can do better.” A sentiment that dampened Inori’s enthusiasm at many turns. The shadow of an Academy Student that was trying to live up to two unique icons of their respective generations based on older standards and beliefs of première shinobi criteria; it almost seemed like Inori was set on the path to fail.
However, pushing her doubts and fears inside her head and focusing on her studies at the Academy proved to be a less harrowing experience. She did well on the written exams and the way her parents pushed or “encouraged” her allowed her to do sufficiently well on the physical tests as well— it just wasn’t the physical tests she wanted. Inori scored lowly with ninjutsu and “par” for genjutsu; something of a disappointment for her. The silver lining is throughout the years a fire had been started from within which facilitated a need to express her sorrow and discontent; a desire that awakened in taijutsu.
For other shinobi, the harsh winter was something that was on their minds— for Inori it was her harsh parents and their assertion of what she needed to, not could, achieve.
~
Inori is a complicated kunoichi— and that is exaggerating. Taking into account her emotional baggage, mental issues, and neglect it is hard to imagine how Inori is functional at all. But somehow, through diligence or a happy accident she appears to be at the very least semi-functional.
But functional does not translate to nice. All of the sorrow, shame, doubt, guilt, and hate translates into a volatile aggression, pseudo-confidence, and antagonistic appearances. Inori ignores all of her authentic feelings and replaces them with negative displays of unrest— abusive yelling, patronizing insults, depreciative quips, and denial of affection are all “flavors” of Inori’s outer self. It is this behavior that makes her feel better about herself, if only for a moment; as if lashing out at others is an outlet of a greater inner struggle. A struggle Inori refuses to confront and therefore allows to fester. Ultimately, Inori desires friendship and relatable kinship but identifies as showing certain emotions as weak and unbecoming of a shinobi. For someone to crack the shell would be someone that has made an impression on her, and someone who can suffer through the wicked antagonism she dishes out.
But who could love her enough to tolerate such suffering? Who could care about her when her parents do not?
| Ｆａｍｉｌｙ ｂｉｏｇｒａｐｈｙ: |
Yamanaka.
Hagoromo.
Both are names that have represented Konohagakure for generations, and are still part of the inner workings to this day. The Yamanaka in particular have always been staunch practitioners of caution, preparation, and espionage as evident by their countless roles within the ANBU sub-faction. Many Yamanaka members have been high ranking members of ANBU, though none have ever wish for the position of Hokage as they believed their best work was from behind the scenes and not as the face of an entire civilization.
Yamanaka Inokaru is no different in this case. As one of the highest ranking members of ANBU, Inokaru has put his master of Genjutsu on the table to being paramount in protection of Konohagakure’s interests though his pride has teetered toward arrogance in recent years. Inokaru only cares about expectations, preparation, and logistics— thinking those who don’t are naïve imbeciles or incompetent fools. He is only reined in by his optimistic yet frighteningly brutal wife, Hagoromo Mitsuko.
Hagoromo.
Both are names that have represented Konohagakure for generations, and are still part of the inner workings to this day. The Yamanaka in particular have always been staunch practitioners of caution, preparation, and espionage as evident by their countless roles within the ANBU sub-faction. Many Yamanaka members have been high ranking members of ANBU, though none have ever wish for the position of Hokage as they believed their best work was from behind the scenes and not as the face of an entire civilization.
Yamanaka Inokaru is no different in this case. As one of the highest ranking members of ANBU, Inokaru has put his master of Genjutsu on the table to being paramount in protection of Konohagakure’s interests though his pride has teetered toward arrogance in recent years. Inokaru only cares about expectations, preparation, and logistics— thinking those who don’t are naïve imbeciles or incompetent fools. He is only reined in by his optimistic yet frighteningly brutal wife, Hagoromo Mitsuko.
| Ｆａｍｉｌｙ ｔｉｅｓ: |
Yamanaka Inokaru | Father | 47, Jōnin, ANBU
Hagoromo Mitsuko | Mother | 39, Jōnin
Several Extended Family Members
Hagoromo Mitsuko | Mother | 39, Jōnin
- Yamanaka Inozoru | Brother | 9, Academy Student
Yamanaka Inowara | Brother | 9, Academy Student
Yamanaka Sayaka | Sister | 3, N/A
Several Extended Family Members
| Ｄｒｅａｍｓ ａｎｄ ｆｅａｒｓ: |
Yamanaka Inori lives for the present and not for the future, or that is what she tells herself. The blonde-haired kunoichi has been known to be incredibly short-sighted and impulsive so gauging her dreams and aspirations are is a challenging endeavor. She’s given various answers to the question in the past— “I don’t think about it.” and “To survive.” being two central answers specifically.
Her fears, on the other hand, tell another story entirely.
Despite being highly confident, headstrong, assertive, and serious in her expressions Inori seems to actually be very conflicted internally. Whilst she would never admit it she is most definitely terrified inside her own head. Feeling like it is impossible to measure up to her clan’s (and father’s) expectations she has a steady issue of actual self-confidence and emotional unrest. The young kunoichi believes she is constantly running and nothing she does gets her closer to the metaphorical finish line— she’s a failure as a genin and she’ll continue to be a failure as a chunin; Yamanaka’s are not taijutsu savants, they are genjutsu savants, and if she cannot live up to that standard she is worthless; a burden on everything her father has given.
Beyond that fear of failure, is a calvacade of doubt and anxiety; something that she refuses to show in any means as it is her central belief, that showing weakness such as revealing your insecurities and sorrow, is the expression of a weak shinobi and she refuses to insult her father or her clan any further. Thus these emotions become repressed, bottled up, and allowed to fester underneath the cracks. Whether this will have long term effects is hard to say absolutely, but it is believed it will negatively impact her sooner or later. For the time these doubts fuel her frustrations which fuel her fighting and drive, so until it becomes a problem it can be seen as an asset.
Her fears, on the other hand, tell another story entirely.
Despite being highly confident, headstrong, assertive, and serious in her expressions Inori seems to actually be very conflicted internally. Whilst she would never admit it she is most definitely terrified inside her own head. Feeling like it is impossible to measure up to her clan’s (and father’s) expectations she has a steady issue of actual self-confidence and emotional unrest. The young kunoichi believes she is constantly running and nothing she does gets her closer to the metaphorical finish line— she’s a failure as a genin and she’ll continue to be a failure as a chunin; Yamanaka’s are not taijutsu savants, they are genjutsu savants, and if she cannot live up to that standard she is worthless; a burden on everything her father has given.
Beyond that fear of failure, is a calvacade of doubt and anxiety; something that she refuses to show in any means as it is her central belief, that showing weakness such as revealing your insecurities and sorrow, is the expression of a weak shinobi and she refuses to insult her father or her clan any further. Thus these emotions become repressed, bottled up, and allowed to fester underneath the cracks. Whether this will have long term effects is hard to say absolutely, but it is believed it will negatively impact her sooner or later. For the time these doubts fuel her frustrations which fuel her fighting and drive, so until it becomes a problem it can be seen as an asset.
—————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————
From detailed reports from previous missions and academy sparring matches
“Get out of my way unless you want to get hurt!”
Combat Reports
From detailed reports from previous missions and academy sparring matches
“Get out of my way unless you want to get hurt!”
| Ｆｉｇｈｔｉｎｇ ｓｔｙｌｅ: |
Despite the affinity for Genjutsu that Inori has in spades through the bloodline of her father she isn’t inherently a gifted in Genjutsu or Sensory abilities— a fact that continues to frustrate her throughout her daily life. Most often her paternal clan looks at the young woman as an anomaly, especially once factoring in Inori’s aggressive impulses and anxious temperament. As represented by the flora that embodies her the most, the ederuwaisu, Inori’s inner self is powerful and strong which lends to a partiality to close quarters fighting styles within the form of Taijutsu. The focus of her anger in the category is notable and oddly coordinated; almost as if Inori is at peace when she is most livid. As par the course, Inori is also fundamentally agile though she her form in terms of acrobatics needs a lot more work. It is cited that her chakra reserves are moderate-to-high, though sometimes she exerts herself to the point where her stamina is empty long before her chakra is.
With that said, Inori isn’t entirely without competency in Genjutsu or Ninjutsu— she just isn’t a prodigy like she was expected to be in terms of the former. She’s well versed in her clan techniques and the basics; and given the need (or the ability for her to center herself) can utilize them on a “sufficient” level.
With that said, Inori isn’t entirely without competency in Genjutsu or Ninjutsu— she just isn’t a prodigy like she was expected to be in terms of the former. She’s well versed in her clan techniques and the basics; and given the need (or the ability for her to center herself) can utilize them on a “sufficient” level.
| Ｎｉｎｊａ ｔｅｃｈｎｉｑｕｅｓ: |
Ａ ｒａｎｋ ｔｅｃｈｎｉｑｕｅｓ
Ｂ ｒａｎｋ ｔｅｃｈｎｉｑｕｅｓ
Ｃ ｒａｎｋ ｔｅｃｈｎｉｑｕｅｓ
Ｄ ｒａｎｋ ｔｅｃｈｎｉｑｕｅｓ
Ｅ ｒａｎｋ ｔｅｃｈｎｉｑｕｅｓ
N/A
Ｂ ｒａｎｋ ｔｅｃｈｎｉｑｕｅｓ
N/A
Ｃ ｒａｎｋ ｔｅｃｈｎｉｑｕｅｓ
Ｄ ｒａｎｋ ｔｅｃｈｎｉｑｕｅｓ
Ｅ ｒａｎｋ ｔｅｃｈｎｉｑｕｅｓ
Prologue: Flash Foward
New York City, United States
May 2nd, 2016
Ever heard the story of the tortoise and the hare? Alright, now imagine the hare has a murderous bloodlust and is out to kill the tortoise because he saw something he shouldn’t have. The tortoise is me.
“I’m going to kill you, Spider-Man!”
See what I mean?
“So does that mean you don’t want to come to my wedding?”
He’s fast. Faster than my spider-sense.
Honestly, I think that’s pretty much Spider-Man hall of fame material right there considering I’ve never had a foe that my spider-sense didn’t give this sort of security blanket for me, and some of them haven’t exactly been as slow as New York sludge. In fact, I’m pretty sure dodging bullets and Green Goblin’s inventions should allow me to at least land a hit on this guy but for some reason he’s always a step ahead of me and beyond my reach. If this is what it’s like fighting The Flash or Quicksilver then it really sucks being the guys who want to hurt them. Out of all of my experiences, I can’t think of a fight that has been more frustrating than fighting a figurative speed demon. Even asking Gwen out on a date after all the years of being the most oblivious geek on the planet seemed far less stressful. How am I supposed to fight a guy I cannot hit with my web shooters or my fists? Especially considering the fact that he wants to kill me?
I can barely see him moving thanks to my spider-sense, but he’s just too fast.
My spider-sense blares from behind me and I try to move to dodge but I can’t react in time. The next thing I know is I’m no longer in the apartment complex I had interceded on in Queens— I’m in The Bronx tumbling through the parking lot of a Big Belly Burger. You know, I really could go for a good lunch right now, after all it might be my last one. Now that would be a hilarious story for the Daily Bugle— Spider-Menace comes out of retirement to be killed by heroic speedster. But even if I’m unable to react in time, I have to try to come up with some kind of feasible strategy… or I could pray that Iron Man rescues me again. Wouldn’t that be embarrassing.
“So, do I get any last requests? Last meal? Signed memorabilia?”
“How about a funeral?” There’s a sinister chuckle leaving the guy as he stops in front of me for a few seconds.
He knows he can dodge whatever I can throw at him and is basically beating the whole loveable homicidal maniac trope to death. I wonder if he understands how stereotypical he’s being right now? I suppose this is now officially more stupid than the fighting the kryptonian thing. I can feel my muscles tense as I step backward as a light breath leaks out of my lips. If the guy could see me he would know I’m absolutely terrified and not just smirking at him while I wait for him to make a nice spider-shaped mess across the back of the dumpster that is right behind me. I could try to run, sure, but even if I kept my distance from him I’m pretty sure he could wait me out and with how absolutely livid this guy is I’m sure this is borderline fixation now. Well, at least if I go to sleep for the last time today I can rest knowing I distracted him long enough for his victim to be able to get away from his deranged sci-fi murder fantasy routine for one night.
I wonder if I screamed for Superman if he’d come to save me?
A loud electric-like crack fills the air and as my little psychopathic friend gets sent into a Ford F150 I jump back, my feet landing flat on the dumpster that was going to become my sort of coffin. My eyes look at who is in front of me and a wide relieved smirk curls on my lips. Oh thank you whoever is in charge of prayers.
“Looks like you need a hand.”
My hero.
“Well, I’m not going to say no.”
I guess the big question is what is Central-Keystone’s premier superhero sidekick doing in New York City? I mean, I’m not going to complain about him saving my butt from being splatted underneath this psychopath’s foot. I rather like not being splatted, really. Kind of a health risk with my motif.
“Cool, so—” He pauses. “—give me a minute.”
There’s a flash of yellow and blue— I can see echoes of it thanks to my spider-sense as Kid Flash slams his knee into the psychopathic speedster’s gut. If I had to guess he’s been doing this way longer than the other guy, which is good considering the other guy almost killed me. I’ve never been much for spectating, but I can’t help but feel I’m not equipped to fight this one. I open the compartment with my webshooters and check my fluid— almost empty. Why is it always almost empty? I’m going to need to talk to Ollie about a new compound prototype because we need to come up with something that lasts longer than our current makeup. It’s something to think about at least.
There’s another zip as the shattering of glass draws my eyes up across the street as I can see the blue speedster tumble through a car dealership. Ouch. Kid Flash zips back in front of me. Is it me or is he a little bit too cocky?
“This guy got a name?”
“Speed Demon.”
“How original! So, you ready to take this guy down?”
Huh? Is he serious? I chuckle nervously. “Oh yeah, sure, let me go grab my Sonic the Hedgehog sneakers and we’ll go right at ‘em.”
He laughs and thats when another loud boom comes across my ears and I see it.
I try to scream for him to look out and even spray a web or two in defense, but it just doesn't work. I guess I feel bad for the Starbucks he just got sent flying into. Actually, who am I kidding really? I hate Starbucks; I hope Kid Flash is okay, though.
I hold out my arm to websling back into danger. Why am I always doing these things?
“I’m going to kill you, Spider-Man!”
See what I mean?
“So does that mean you don’t want to come to my wedding?”
He’s fast. Faster than my spider-sense.
Honestly, I think that’s pretty much Spider-Man hall of fame material right there considering I’ve never had a foe that my spider-sense didn’t give this sort of security blanket for me, and some of them haven’t exactly been as slow as New York sludge. In fact, I’m pretty sure dodging bullets and Green Goblin’s inventions should allow me to at least land a hit on this guy but for some reason he’s always a step ahead of me and beyond my reach. If this is what it’s like fighting The Flash or Quicksilver then it really sucks being the guys who want to hurt them. Out of all of my experiences, I can’t think of a fight that has been more frustrating than fighting a figurative speed demon. Even asking Gwen out on a date after all the years of being the most oblivious geek on the planet seemed far less stressful. How am I supposed to fight a guy I cannot hit with my web shooters or my fists? Especially considering the fact that he wants to kill me?
I can barely see him moving thanks to my spider-sense, but he’s just too fast.
My spider-sense blares from behind me and I try to move to dodge but I can’t react in time. The next thing I know is I’m no longer in the apartment complex I had interceded on in Queens— I’m in The Bronx tumbling through the parking lot of a Big Belly Burger. You know, I really could go for a good lunch right now, after all it might be my last one. Now that would be a hilarious story for the Daily Bugle— Spider-Menace comes out of retirement to be killed by heroic speedster. But even if I’m unable to react in time, I have to try to come up with some kind of feasible strategy… or I could pray that Iron Man rescues me again. Wouldn’t that be embarrassing.
“So, do I get any last requests? Last meal? Signed memorabilia?”
“How about a funeral?” There’s a sinister chuckle leaving the guy as he stops in front of me for a few seconds.
He knows he can dodge whatever I can throw at him and is basically beating the whole loveable homicidal maniac trope to death. I wonder if he understands how stereotypical he’s being right now? I suppose this is now officially more stupid than the fighting the kryptonian thing. I can feel my muscles tense as I step backward as a light breath leaks out of my lips. If the guy could see me he would know I’m absolutely terrified and not just smirking at him while I wait for him to make a nice spider-shaped mess across the back of the dumpster that is right behind me. I could try to run, sure, but even if I kept my distance from him I’m pretty sure he could wait me out and with how absolutely livid this guy is I’m sure this is borderline fixation now. Well, at least if I go to sleep for the last time today I can rest knowing I distracted him long enough for his victim to be able to get away from his deranged sci-fi murder fantasy routine for one night.
I wonder if I screamed for Superman if he’d come to save me?
ZZZKRRRTTT!
A loud electric-like crack fills the air and as my little psychopathic friend gets sent into a Ford F150 I jump back, my feet landing flat on the dumpster that was going to become my sort of coffin. My eyes look at who is in front of me and a wide relieved smirk curls on my lips. Oh thank you whoever is in charge of prayers.
“Looks like you need a hand.”
My hero.
“Well, I’m not going to say no.”
I guess the big question is what is Central-Keystone’s premier superhero sidekick doing in New York City? I mean, I’m not going to complain about him saving my butt from being splatted underneath this psychopath’s foot. I rather like not being splatted, really. Kind of a health risk with my motif.
“Cool, so—” He pauses. “—give me a minute.”
There’s a flash of yellow and blue— I can see echoes of it thanks to my spider-sense as Kid Flash slams his knee into the psychopathic speedster’s gut. If I had to guess he’s been doing this way longer than the other guy, which is good considering the other guy almost killed me. I’ve never been much for spectating, but I can’t help but feel I’m not equipped to fight this one. I open the compartment with my webshooters and check my fluid— almost empty. Why is it always almost empty? I’m going to need to talk to Ollie about a new compound prototype because we need to come up with something that lasts longer than our current makeup. It’s something to think about at least.
There’s another zip as the shattering of glass draws my eyes up across the street as I can see the blue speedster tumble through a car dealership. Ouch. Kid Flash zips back in front of me. Is it me or is he a little bit too cocky?
“This guy got a name?”
“Speed Demon.”
“How original! So, you ready to take this guy down?”
Huh? Is he serious? I chuckle nervously. “Oh yeah, sure, let me go grab my Sonic the Hedgehog sneakers and we’ll go right at ‘em.”
He laughs and thats when another loud boom comes across my ears and I see it.
ZZZKRRRTTT!
I try to scream for him to look out and even spray a web or two in defense, but it just doesn't work. I guess I feel bad for the Starbucks he just got sent flying into. Actually, who am I kidding really? I hate Starbucks; I hope Kid Flash is okay, though.
I hold out my arm to websling back into danger. Why am I always doing these things?
♚ Y D R I A N ♚
♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚
— Imperial Courtyard, The Conclave —
— 6th Day of Summer —
— 6th Day of Summer —
Once the speeches were over and done with, Prince Ydrian decided to take the closest door to him to effectively get out of The Great Hall before things got too out of hand. Fellow youths of noble birth as they may have been, it was apparent to even him that the scene’s tone was going to shift and as much as he would’ve liked to catch up with his friends and brief acquaintances he just couldn’t bear to witness it on his first day as a student of The Conclave as it became all so apparent how far away from Hawk’s Rest he actually was.
It wasn’t just a matter of physical distance, either. The imperial southlands were just so culturally, nationally, and aesthetically different. It was hotter than it was in his homeland with strong winds taking the desert heat and making it collide with the humid winds coming in from the eastern and southwestern seas. Whomever would wear extensive and superfluous amounts of clothing had to be melting and he couldn’t understand how the cavalier knights who fought the sand orcs, desert monsters, and nefarious bandits could do so in plates of sandsteel armor. Sure, he had been to the occasional gathering out of Hawk’s Rest before but he had just never really noticed it before.
He wondered why as he shuffled over to the steel fences that lined the courtyard that overlooked the sea— the imperial capital in the distance, standing on the coasts of the mainland as they sat on this tropical citadel of education; locked away from the rest of the world in hiding as the floating imperial navy sat in the waters; the massive galleys looking over the oceans beyond to protect them and the imperial capital from notorious pirate raiders like The Kraken. But really, it was here that looking on he realized how much it felt like the naval fleet was foreboding and not uplifting; almost like they were forcing them to life on this bastille. But maybe such thoughts of The Conclave being a prison and not a paradise of opportunity was due to the reason why he was sent here.
He smiled warmly.
Stay postive. I have friends here and opportunities to correct my ruined reputation. I need to embrace that and remember which of my friends is a student here.
Aleandra Pridedane.
He hadn’t forgotten— he had noticed her during the speech; there was no one else it could’ve been. But he couldn’t just go up and speak to her during the speech. Sure, he could’ve stayed in the hall but he needed to get some air to clear his head. Hopefully in some way it was working, though mentally he was sure that it wasn’t. He had talked to dozens upon dozens of girls his age, some of them intimately so; so why was it so difficult to clear his mind and talk to someone that probably was his closest friend six years ago? He knew he had this affection, but he didn’t realize what it would be like to try to rein it in here at The Conclave.
She... she’s even more beautiful than I thought she could have become.
He mentally shook his head as he turned from the fence with a heavy breath. There would be none of that— he was Prince Ydrian Hawkhart. “The Harem Prince”. His thoughts never ruled him and he refused to let that change him. Aleandra was just another member of the imperium and one that understood who he truly was more than anyone. She wouldn’t dismiss him, and he could talk to her. She probably felt this place as much of a prison as he, after all. He looked back to the exterior doors of the hall for a brief moment before returning his gaze to the gated off sea; he would mingle later as for the moment he was thinking and appreciating his surroundings.
After all, it was a very pretty prison.
♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚ ♚
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