Zeroth

Fire Emblem: Weight of the World

_{G O R O U}

---

Some time before our story...

---

The Estalan soldiers peered over the palisades, straining their eyes to the limit. Despite this they could not see through the damp, heavy fog that rolled down from the waves and crept across the shoreline towards the tiny fishing hamlet. Though nearly blind, they did not dare spark torch or lantern; the light would only bounce back off the chilling clouds, they exposed and the enemy just as hidden. The leading officer grimaced as he patrolled the walls. He should have been away from this backwater post, to give his reports on the pirates and their movements to King Erigan that a suppression force could be gathered and rout these devils once and for all. But late last night the watchmen had seen torches out in the bay, not quite far enough behind the forested cliffs, and too far from the shore to be anything but a ship. No merchant or Estalan vessel would have bothered hiding, thus the troops had been rallied, the watches doubled, the townspeople told to prepare for the worst. The attack hadn't come yet, but the most sharp-sighted of his watchmen swore they could see a looming shadow just offshore, and the men were jumping at every shape they saw--or thought they saw--in the salty-scented mists.

The soldiers were so intent on what was beyond their defenses that only when he stepped up onto the parapets did they recognize the masked swordsman. A commotion of gasps and hissed curses rippled out from him through the ranks, and high-strung hands reached for weapons before their leader could snap any orders. Who was this? Where had he come from? The masked one paid them no mind, and dropped over the outer edge of the wall; he disappeared into the gloom without a word.

Across the cold, soft ground and back towards the shore, a different group of men made their way in wide arcs and winding paths. They crept around trees, crouched under brush, and crawled in the grass. They had left their footprints in the sand, and their pants still dripped from the ocean, but for now they stalked invisibly towards the walls. As startled sounds drifted on the wet air, one pirate held out his hand to stop those that followed. They froze, holding their collective breath, fearing discovery...though some relished the chance for carnage, they realized the risk of an ambush gone wrong. After some moments, silence reigned over the blue morning once more. The pirates started to move again, readying blades that had been blackened by smoke and thus would not reflect any stray light...

But a blade flashed nonetheless as a shadow parted the mists. Blood steamed in the chill air, and the silence broke like fragile glass as the rearmost brigand screamed for the last few seconds of his life. They all turned then, eyes bulging as dark robes gave a wraith-like shape to the masked man. A pirate raised one of his axes as he stepped forward, but just as he started to bring down his meaty arm a long arc of steel parted forearm from elbow, and his weapon whipped off to be lost in the murk. The blade turned so fast the blood shook from it in scattered droplets, and the next stroke opened the foe's throat to the cold. That one went down choking and frothing, and the masked man stepped forward to adjust his stance. The mist curled around his sword's trail, and the corsairs were close enough now to see their opponent. They circled him, even as they heard the long note of a horn--for the guards knew where they were, thanks to the sound of battle and the cries of death--and while most held a pair of axes or wicked looking knives, their leader hefted a claymore over his shoulder and eyed the masked man with an intelligence in stark contrast to the rest of his crew. The swordsman seemed to take note of him in return, though it was hard to tell behind that mask...

"Wait there. You and I shall duel." spoke the stranger, and the captain blinked. In that same instant his crew mates attacked. One lunged, his knife seeking soft belly. The swordsman stepped to one side, turning and bringing that long blade down. The pirate's body dropped like a rag doll, and his head rolled down towards the shore. An axe missed by a hair, its force pulling at those dark robes, and the masked man's blade entered somewhere under the sternum and came out between the shoulder blades. With a grunt the tall, red-headed man hefted that body into the way of his next opponent's attack.

The captain gripped his claymore and prepared to charge, but a shout behind him gave only a moment's warning to deflect a soldier's spear. Then the defenders were on them, and in a chaotic but short lived scramble the pirates found themselves outnumbered and outmatched. Their stealth and surprise had been taken from them, along with their lives. Still the captain fought on, beheading an overeager militiaman and fending off three other attackers even as he was being pushed back down towards the sea...

"Stop! He's mine!"

Even if they hadn't parted out of some kind of instinct, the masked man would no doubt have barreled right through them. The captain took stock of that cursed sword--its length was also its weakness, combined with its width and thickness. He aimed for a clash, to use his heavier blade to break the other at its tip...

But unlike the typical style of Estala, the masked man did not meet blade with blade. Instead, with footwork that seemed a dance, he slipped away from the two handed stroke. Both fighters passed each other, then whirled to face the other, each with both hands gripping their weapon. Whoever struck first here might end it all. The pirate's blade was heavier, his body more packed with muscle...but that also gave his sword momentum, and his edge lashed out first while the masked man's sword was still at its master's side, a drawing position rather than striking.

Despite being second, the masked man's reaction somehow outpaced the claymore--No, the captain realized as the short red hair dipped just enough under that blackened edge, He predicted my move ahead of time!--and time seemed to freeze as a single breath turned into steam. As if drawing from the sheath, the masked man torqued his hips as his feet dug into the damp sand and he unleashed his final strike.

A straight line flashed across the captain's waist. A heartbeat passed. Then he died, and his body fell in two halves.

Later on, as the soldiers mopped up the leftovers and the morning sun began to burn away the fog, the officer approached the masked man. Others stopped to watch, their weapons still held tight.

"Who are you?" asked the officer.

"Gorou." came the answer. The soldiers muttered; Gorou, where had they heard that name before? It couldn't possibly be...but those were only rumors, right? Surely those stories weren't true...and why would he be out here?

"Gorou," continued the officer. "Please, come speak with me while the men celebrate. I have a proposition for you..."

---

Present Time...

---

Gorou leaned against the stair rail, the inner wall directly at his back, a window to one side, and the rest of the room and part of the hallway within his view. Anyone who knew anything about covering one's blind spots would be able to tell that the swordsman had a nearly perfect position--if he needed to get away he would go out the window, if he needed to fight the wall kept his back safe, and if anyone else entered the room he would be able to see them clearly. He sat with his arms crossed, casually observing the others, but to them his gaze would be concealed by the mask.

A woman in armor, clearly some sort of knight...there was a barely noticeable scent of some kind of animal around her, but it didn't seem equine. Perhaps a Wyvern rider? A man with a distinctive scar, also wearing armor, and he did have a horse's scent so he was most certainly a knight. As was the large fellow with the axe, the only one besides Gorou who wasn't showing his face at the moment. Another man with a short beard also had a knightly aura about him, but the differences in his equipment seemed to mark him as an experienced mercenary rather than a proper vassal. A second woman also had horse-smell on her, but she was dressed in foreign clothes, perhaps even more out of place than Gorou's own. An uneasy looking woman in a hood, a fellow who looked more like a performer than a warrior, and then the four young ones: a girl whose kimono and blade reminded Gorou of his own family's traditions, another girl who carried a staff and had a small bird perched on her hat, a child that Gorou thought was male but was clearly wearing a dress, and then the one for whose sake Gorou had come, the Crown Prince of Estala himself.

This was...an unorthodox escort, to say the very least.

When the Prince suddenly slid down the railway, Gorou moved immediately, placing one hand on his sword--not to draw it, but to adjust it so that the boy wouldn't run into the long scabbard as he sailed on by. As Prince Eli bounded off the rail and spoke to the lady knight, Gorou returned to his previous position and crossed his arms without a word. Another cursory look around the room, however, made him notice that the girl in the kimono was giving the older woman--Rhea, the Prince had called her--a rather unfavorable glare. He looked back towards the Prince, who seemed completely oblivious, and at the rest of the group, who all seemed to still be in that awkward ice-breaking phase. Not that he could really talk, considering his own lack of social tendencies...but, well, perhaps if someone made the first move...

He unfolded his arms and stepped away from the railing.

@Mistiel"Excuse me, Miss. I am called Gorou." he began. He bowed his head slightly in greeting, though the fact that he was taller than her made it less noticeable. "I notice that you wear the kimono; if I may ask, do you come from one of the ancient clans, like myself?"

Fire Emblem: Weight of the World

Would they have enough manpower, or fast/durable enough ships, to have long raiding routes all along the continental coastlines? Or would they be limited more to the areas immediately around the archipelago?

Fire Emblem: Weight of the World

Assuming we're heading up into the Islands to deal with the pirates, and starting at the orange dot in Estala (that is a capital, right?) what kind of landscapes and threats would a guide need to be familiar with? Also, how widespread are the pirate fleets and how far inland do their raids usually go? I've got the mental gears turning now on the possibility that Gorou could have been pirate hunting as well as dojo-smashing, since pirates sometimes have skilled swordsmen too.

Fire Emblem: Weight of the World

So are all the characters in the same location, no exceptions? I kind of envisioned Gorou coming across the group during a battle or while they were on the road, since he's a wanderer, and then he would be recruited or be drawn into the thick of things by circumstance. He does do mercenary work, so if I have to I can come up with a reason for him to be there, but it also seems kind of weird for the Crown Prince to have an unknown mercenary as a guard rather than proper knights and soldiers.

Fire Emblem: Weight of the World

There's two people who want to join the RP. Do you think we should let them?

@Ambra

FE games always have pretty large casts, so it's fine with me as long as they fit the same standards as everyone else.

Fire Emblem: Weight of the World

Gorou

_{G O R O U}

<sub>Theme Song


"The only reason a warrior is alive is to fight, and the only reason a warrior fights is to win. Otherwise, why be a warrior?" - Miyamoto Musashi

[ ❇ ] I N F O R M A T I O N</sub>

---

Class: Myrmidon
Title(s): None
Birthplace: ???, Estala
Race: Beorc
Age: Twenty
Inventory:

• Zanbato - A single-edged blade with a curve more subtle than the usual saber or scimitar, and longer than the usual swords made in this ancient style. The extra length and weight make it difficult to use for an unskilled swordsman, but in the right hands it's especially deadly to cavalry because of its reach.
• Vulnerary - A small cloth satchel containing some kind of bitter tasting, sharp smelling medicinal solution. It disinfects wounds and stimulates the healing process, but it's not much compared to a healer's staff or an Elixir. Contains enough to be used a handful of times before running out.

Other: The quiet, polite, enigmatic aura Gorou exudes is completely and utterly ruined by watching him eat. His appetite is monstrous, and while he's not going out of his way to be disgusting or anything, table manners take a far away backseat to efficiency and quantity. Another, slightly more understandable quirk is that he almost never completely lets go of his sword--when he's bathing, it's in one hand, held away from the water; before he sleeps, he will always tie himself to it. Even when he walks he'll sometimes make unusual movements to keep people or things from bumping into it.

_{[ ❇ ] P E R S O N A L I T Y}

---

Aloof and stoic, but not unfriendly, Gorou is a deep thinker who listens more than he speaks. There is a melancholy about him, but under the murky gloom something smolders, an inner fire that seems to have burned down. Once he has decided on something, he will follow it through. If he thinks he can help someone he'll offer advice, but he tries not to impose. The moments when he seems most at peace are the times when he devotes himself to swordsmanship, when introspection gives way to complete focus as he sharpens his skills.

As one might expect of a man devoted to the blade, he doesn't have much of a problem with violence. He doesn't revel in it...but at the same time, he seems cold hearted and uncaring. He doesn't express the "sense of justice" one might expect the wandering swordsman archetype to have, but he doesn't give any mercy to those that come at him either. Things that actually seem to get under his skin, however, and peel back some of the metaphorical mask if not the physical one, include: Discrimination by nobility against the lower classes, several forms of vice (drinking, promiscuity, etc), mistreatment of children, incorrect or sloppy use of a sword (this one really gets to him), and barbarous treatment of an opponent on either side of a fight.

_{[ ❇ ] B I O G R A P H Y}

---

In days long past, before Estala came into its own as a kingdom, there were different tribes and clans that vied for territory and power. The ancient kings of Estala would unite the land and put that era to an end, but still there are some who keep those memories alive--they are Estalan, make no mistake, but they practice ancient customs for the sake of preserving their history. Gorou comes from such a place, wearing clothes that might seem odd and using a nearly outdated sword style.

Sword schools across Estala--gentlemen's dueling clubs, knightly academies, and defensive fighting halls alike--have begun to hear the rumors by now: Beware the challenge of the masked man. He claims no lineage of swordplay, nor bloodline, and perhaps even his name is a falsehood. He is polite, well-spoken, and willing to meet many conditions others would consider woefully unfair.

Yet once the gauntlet is thrown, the eyes behind that mask are as sharp as the blade in his hands. Though he is younger than one might expect of a professional duelist, it's clear he has immense talent. The first few stories of his duels indicate desperate struggles where his victories were note-worthy precisely because they were unexpected. The latest tales, by contrast, suggest a complete reverse in circumstance. Enough of his opponents are alive to guess that he's not looking for bloodsport, but nothing can be assumed--those who did not survive his challenge were put down with efficiency, with no question to his intent and no sign of reluctance or regret.

He has been seen taking work as a sellsword, here and there, but rarely does he stay in one place for long. He wanders the roads alone, save for the occaisonal bandit who soon regrets their choice of mark.

Where his seemingly endless path leads, only a blade's gleaming edge lights the way...

_{[ ❇ ] D E T A I L S}

---

Gorou stands an even six feet tall and weighs around 170 pounds. Though they aren't often seen through the slits of his mask, his eyes are a sharp gray-blue, almost silver in the right light. His voluminous clothing hides it somewhat, but he's more muscular than one would think, and an errant pat on the shoulder or arms is like grabbing a solid rock. It can't be seen, obviously, but he has a slight aroma of cloves due to the oils he uses when cleaning his sword.

Fire Emblem: Weight of the World

@Ambra
@LordVoldemort
@Solace

I've changed Gorou's age and adjusted his backstory a bit, the main theme of the change being that he would be seen as more of an "upstart" or "rising star" rather than the well-known and widely feared challenger of the sword schools. It also introduces a sort of talent factor, though, since in order to be that good at a younger age (logically he'd have started his challenges at least a year or two, probably more, before the age he is now) he would need to be somewhat of a prodigy, at least as far as his specific type of blade-play is concerned.

If all that's still alright, I'll add him to the character tab. The only other change I might make at this point is the formatting and maybe a theme song.

Fire Emblem: Weight of the World

I made up some minor world building details to help explain his appearance and fighting style, since it didn't seem like any of the five countries had the kind of Eastern feel that's usually associated with the Myrmidon/Swordmasters. If that's not cool just let me know and I'll come up with something else.

Gorou

Appearance Pic

(Minus the horns of course)

Name: Gorou
Title(s): None
Age: 20
Class: Myrmidon
Race: Beorc
Birthplace: Estala
Appearance Description: Gorou stands an even six feet tall and weighs around 170 pounds. Though they aren't often seen through the slits of his mask, his eyes are a sharp gray-blue, almost silver in the right light. His voluminous clothing hides it somewhat, but he's more muscular than one would think, and an errant pat on the shoulder or arms is like grabbing a solid rock. It can't be seen, obviously, but he has a slight aroma of cloves due to the oils he uses when cleaning his sword.

Personality: Aloof and stoic, but not unfriendly, Gorou is a deep thinker who listens more than he speaks. There is a melancholy about him, but under the murky gloom something smolders, an inner fire that seems to have burned down. Once he has decided on something, he will follow it through. If he thinks he can help someone he'll offer advice, but he tries not to impose. The moments when he seems most at peace are the times when he devotes himself to swordsmanship, when introspection gives way to complete focus as he sharpens his skills.

As one might expect of a man devoted to the blade, he doesn't have much of a problem with violence. He doesn't revel in it...but at the same time, he seems cold hearted and uncaring. He doesn't express the "sense of justice" one might expect the wandering swordsman archetype to have, but he doesn't give any mercy to those that come at him either. Things that actually seem to get under his skin, however, and peel back some of the metaphorical mask if not the physical one, include: Discrimination by nobility against the lower classes, several forms of vice (drinking, promiscuity, etc), mistreatment of children, incorrect or sloppy use of a sword (this one really gets to him), and barbarous treatment of an opponent on either side of a fight.

Biography: In days long past, before Estala came into its own as a kingdom, there were different tribes and clans that vied for territory and power. The ancient kings of Estala would unite the land and put that era to an end, but still there are some who keep those memories alive--they are Estalan, make no mistake, but they practice ancient customs for the sake of preserving their history. Gorou comes from such a place, wearing clothes that might seem odd and using a nearly outdated sword style.

Sword schools across Estala--gentlemen's dueling clubs, knightly academies, and defensive fighting halls alike--have begun to hear the rumors by now: Beware the challenge of the masked man. He claims no lineage of swordplay, nor bloodline, and perhaps even his name is a falsehood. He is polite, well-spoken, and willing to meet many conditions others would consider woefully unfair.

Yet once the gauntlet is thrown, the eyes behind that mask are as sharp as the blade in his hands. Though he is younger than one might expect of a professional duelist, it's clear he has immense talent. The first few stories of his duels indicate desperate struggles where his victories were note-worthy precisely because they were unexpected. The latest tales, by contrast, suggest a complete reverse in circumstance. Enough of his opponents are alive to guess that he's not looking for bloodsport, but nothing can be assumed--those who did not survive his challenge were put down with efficiency, with no question to his intent and no sign of reluctance or regret.

He has been seen taking work as a sellsword, here and there, but rarely does he stay in one place for long. He wanders the roads alone, save for the occaisonal bandit who soon regrets their choice of mark.

Where his seemingly endless path leads, only a blade's gleaming edge lights the way...

Inventory:

• Zanbato - A single-edged blade with a curve more subtle than the usual saber or scimitar, and longer than the usual swords made in this ancient style. The extra length and weight make it difficult to use for an unskilled swordsman, but in the right hands it's especially deadly to cavalry because of its reach.
• Vulnerary - A small cloth satchel containing some kind of bitter tasting, sharp smelling medicinal solution. It disinfects wounds and stimulates the healing process, but it's not much compared to a healer's staff or an Elixir. Contains enough to be used a handful of times before running out.

Other: The quiet, polite, enigmatic aura Gorou exudes is completely and utterly ruined by watching him eat. His appetite is monstrous, and while he's not going out of his way to be disgusting or anything, table manners take a far away backseat to efficiency and quantity. Another, slightly more understandable quirk is that he almost never completely lets go of his sword--when he's bathing, it's in one hand, held away from the water; before he sleeps, he will always tie himself to it. Even when he walks he'll sometimes make unusual movements to keep people or things from bumping into it.

Fire Emblem RP, anyone?

Thanks for the answers, I'll go ahead and throw my hat in. I still have a few questions, but only because I want to get a better sense of the world-building and such. Are there any tidbits of culture, unit preference, and so on that players should know about each different country on the continent, or keep in mind when creating their backstories? Will there be monster units, and if so are they magically created/summoned by enemies or are they natural inhabitants of the world? Are the Laguz the same here as they are in the Tellius series in regards to their clans, or will other shapeshifters like the Kitsune and Taguels be incorporated? Since we're not bound by game mechanics, will battles incorporate more free-form style tactics, or the same sort of open-field melee with the occasional siege/defense of a fortress?

Thanks in advance, looking forward to it!

Fire Emblem RP, anyone?

Possibly interested, depending on more info. Will the mechanics of the games play a part in any way besides just choosing classes? And I'm assuming that the "feel" of this is aimed towards that of the main series, but just for clarification's sake will you be incorporating anything from the musou spin-off? Playing out the usual way battles are done would probably give it a more tabletop feel (which could drag down the pacing or limit creativity), but the musou style of battle might let players feel less like chess pieces (at the cost of making most enemies look like hordes of fodder). It's your thing, whatever you wanna do is fine, I just ask for the sake of knowing what I might be getting into ahead of time.