realm-of-dragons

[realm-of-dragons]

Staff App - Nemu (OC)

Played by Admin Grimm

OOC:

Name: Grimm

Age: 21

Preferred Pronouns: Any!

Timezone: PST

Discord: N/A

Any topics you want added to the content warning list?: Pandemics

Second choice character?: Bakugo or Hawks

IC:

Name: Takahashi Nemu 

Age: 48, physically older due to magic abuse.

Gender ID / pronouns: Cis-Male, He/Him

OTPs, BroTPs, or NoTPS?: I have ship plans, but because of the particular dynamic, we’re always down for more dumb drama- It should be noted, however, that Nemu is demisexual/demiromantic and is predisposed for deep and unhealthy obsession. 

Race: Human, Mage 

Appearance: Nemu is extremely short and on the thinner side, though his build is still fairly healthy. He has long violet hair, which he rarely ties back, and it tends to fall across his face when he’s working. His eyes are light gray and have permanent dark circles stretched beneath them. He almost always has a scowl and very rarely smiles, although he has been rumored to smile at small children. In spite of his age, his skin is relatively smooth; this is the result of regular rejuvenation potion consumption. 

Role: Court Physician and Alchemist, serving King Toshinori. Technically a healer, though he doesn’t practice it much anymore. 

Skills:

Nemu specializes in healing magic, although he very rarely uses it to directly heal injuries. 

Primarily, he enchants potions capable of inducing sleep, easing pain, and promoting regenerative functions within the body.

His sleeping draught is infamous, and an invention of his own. He’s improved the process and strength of most of the potions regularly made by court healers.

In his youth, he was often regarded as a prodigy and genius, although in recent years he’s let his progress slip due to failing health, and in pursuit of more dubious research. 

He once theorized a method for applying the trade off of human magic to combat, wherein he healed himself by using an enemy’s life energy as a catalyst- After a single application born from desperation, he burned the documents, and has since marked it as a forbidden magic never to be pursued.

He has negative combat skills. He’s garbage in a fight. He will die. Don’t make him fight.

Backstory:

1.) 

The cauldron bubbles in front of him, smoke billowing up. He’s done this a thousand times before, the ingredients and motions are practically instinctual- He could repeat the actions in his sleep, if he had to- and perhaps this is no different. Fatigue and permanent exhaustion eat away his consciousness. He wonders when he’ll cease existing in the present. 

Shadows dance around him, closing in. Just like that, for a brief moment, he is ten years old again; ten years old, naive, gullible, and proud, but ten years old and a prodigy. He remembers the praise he received when he first successfully enchanted a potion, the exhaustion that followed after, and the pride in his parents eyes. Ten years old, prodigal, and the genius son of two mages. At ten, he could spin sleeping draughts that even adult alchemists struggled with. 

That was the last time he felt rested.

He applies a bit too much force with his spell. The moment ends. The cauldron bubbles over. He yelps, scrambling to salvage his mistake. 

There’s no use. He’ll start over. It’ll probably be another sleepless night spent fixing his mistakes. He’s hardly ten years old anymore. At forty-eight, washed out and struggling to stay afloat, Nemu wonders when he’ll become obsolete. 

Soon, he thinks. He’s expiring. It’s just a matter of time. 

2.) 

Nemu serves his king diligently, but from a respectable distance. 

It wasn’t always like this. Nemu would never dare presume he was ever friends with the king, but friendly, perhaps. They spoke more frequently, and with less tension. Nemu is never certain whether that tension is definite, or whether it’s a mere product of his sleep deprivation. Answers will never come because he’s fine the way things are now. 

Brewing potions takes little effort, even now as his health begins to slip. This is something he can do in his sleep, if necessary. It’s his element. Even as the fatigue settles in, making day to day tasks more difficult, he’s still trudging onward with his work. There’s no need to stop. He’s useful this way.

So he brews his potions daily. Sometimes, he may tend directly to an ill noble or an injured knight. Sometimes - more rarely - he might see the king. 

King Toshinori is a kind man. He is the type of person beloved by every individual he speaks to, and Nemu has no doubt that it’s deserved. He’s almost single handedly united an entire race into one fully functioning and peaceful society, right? That’s what everyone says, that’s what he’s praised for. He’s the type of person who cherishes everyone he meets, regardless of status.

But that’s the problem, isn’t it? The king is too kind. 

Nemu thinks of what he’s done, what he’s given up, what’s been sacrificed and left to perish within his own flesh for the benefit of another. He thinks of all the choices he’s ever made that contributed to his downfall, and how with a change in perspective, they could be viewed as either noble loyalty or ingrained stupidity. He knows that if King Toshinori knew the truth, he would view his actions as neither. Because that’s the problem. King Toshinori is kind, and Nemu gave up far more than any sane person would to keep him alive. Knowing would lead to nothing but pitiful guilt. 

So Nemu avoids him. 

Some days are easier than others.

3.) 

“Are you okay?” 

It’s one of those rare moments when King Toshinori manages to hunt him down. Nemu knows he’s difficult to find, because he’s purposely avoiding the king, for a plethora of reasons.  King Toshinori’s frown makes Nemu's scowl deepen. It’s… A complex situation, isn’t it? Isn’t it? Of course it was stupid to think he could go undetected forever. Talking to King Toshinori is inevitable. It always is.

Nemu wants to ignore the question outright, but this is the king, and he expects an answer. No. Of course he’s not okay. When has he ever been okay? The more he uses his damn magic the worse it gets. That’s why he gave up healing, isn’t it? He’s constantly exhausted, suffers from frequent minor ailments(it could be worse, he tries to reason), and his magic is growing more difficult to control. There are days he cannot sleep at all, plagued by the torment of his body - or sometimes his brain - and there are others where he cannot tell if he’s sleeping or awake. 

Have you ever wondered what it’s like to question the very air you breathe? ‘What if I drown? What if this isn’t really oxygen I’m sucking in? What if I’m not really here?’ Do you ever take a step and think, ‘what if the floor isn’t really there, what if I’m just imagining it’? ‘What if I take one more step and it gives way, and I fall, and never stop falling?’ 

Nemu stares at his feet, words catching at his lips. There is, of course, the other  matter. The injury. Nemu saved his life, and he does not regret it, not really- But King Toshinori doesn’t know the price he paid to heal him. Because it isn’t that simple. The king should have died. He might have, really. Nemu still isn’t certain. No mortal man should have survived such injuries. 

Nemu still remembers the pain. The sounds. The light. The abrupt feeling of age catching up to him. As he’d later confirmed with another healer, he had aged. Not enough for others to notice, but enough to remind him of the grimm reality that every action has a consequence. That magic has a price. 

He can’t say any of that, though, and King Toshinori expects an answer, so he bites his lip and swallows his disdain.

“I’m fine.” He lies through gritted teeth. He doesn’t know if it’s convincing but he no longer cares.

4.) 

There is but one thing Chiharu ever says that resonates with him; ‘rules are meant to be broken.’ Perhaps not in the context of the law- Nemu is hardly lawful, but he knows when to play at obedience. There is a natural order to adhere to, and he hardly has the energy to fight his own body on good days, let alone deal with the consequences of immorality. That makes them different. 

The two of them combined are wrong. They fit together like water and oil, and Nemu’s never certain who is which, but they agree on one thing, and one thing alone. There must be a way to cheat the cost of performing magic. Nemu is generally rule abiding, but even he recognizes when alternative means are necessary. 

Chiharu doesn’t question his sudden change in moral principles, though he does ask why now. Nemu, lost in thought, doesn’t know how to best answer. There’s no rhyme or reason for the change, but it isn’t some childish whim. It’s been building for a while, he thinks. Since Toshinori’s injury. Since he retired from healing. Since the fatigue set in and refused to leave. Since the realization he’s expiring faster than he ought to be. He doesn’t know. There’s little sentimentality between he and Chiharu, and Nemu doubts there ever will be. But that doesn’t matter.

“I’ve sold my soul to save another,” he begins, the words poetic but bitter on his tongue. “I want it back.”

Chiharu just laughs, deep and more than a bit sinister, but he takes Nemu’s hand.

No… There is no sentimentality, but Chiharu will humor him, because there is loyalty, and in the end, they desire the same thing.

Change.

Extras:

Nemu suffers from a mix of chronic fatigue and insomnia as side effects to magic overuse. He is quite vocal about his insomnia but has become quite adept at hiding the fatigue. 

On most days one would only notice something amiss if they knew him particularly well before the incident, but on bad days he tends to lock himself away in either his living space or his lab, depending on how impactful it is on his ability to work. 

Nemu prefers bland foods, and absolutely despises excessive spice. He does not season his food when left to prepare it on his own, and he is rarely allowed to cook for other people.

He loves cats, although he has not kept one around in over a decade.

Writing sample:

Nemu has met the king’s advisor before. The man is no stranger, although he is strange - Nemu himself is strange, but of a different variety. He’s human, and in spite of what he’s been told, he gets the very distinct feeling that Aizawa is not. Nemu has never particularly cared whether his patients are human or otherwise - he specializes in human healing, but he’s picked up knowledge and skills to help anyone in need. 

But that’s not entirely relevant, because Aizawa isn’t here regarding himself.

“The king is coughing, again.” Aizawa tells him, and Nemu nods.

Of course. It’s always the king. 

He goes about gathering ingredients, taking care to select only the highest quality ones from his stores. He has potions made up already, but everything made for the king is made by his own two hands, and he doesn’t know who brewed the last batch of this specific recipe. Aizawa watches him work, refusing to leave, and Nemu does his best to ignore him. There’s no difference whether he’s alone or in company - he’ll get his work done regardless, and he’ll do it well.

But… Aizawa doesn’t ordinarily stay. Not like this. Nemu has served the king for many years, and he may not be the most trustworthy person alive, but his skills and loyalty are unfaltering. Eyes narrowed, he glances at the advisor. “There’s something you wish to say. You wouldn’t be here still, otherwise.”

“You’re avoiding King Toshinori.”

Oh.

Nemu was not expecting… That. Whatever responses Nemu holds die on his tongue as he struggles to process the situation. He has been avoiding the king. There’s no excuse and no denial. He’s been avoiding King Toshinori, and that’s the entire truth. But… It shouldn’t be an issue, right? It really shouldn’t be, not when he’s just a man. Sure, they’d been on friendly terms, prior, but Nemu isn’t friends with the fucking king. He can choose whether he wants to isolate, can’t he?

There are a lot of ways he could respond. He could be sympathetic, perhaps, and apologize. He could promise to do better, to change his ways and seek the king out more often, if it really makes such a difference. He could be polite - but he isn’t. Instead, he chooses sarcasm, because he can’t fathom how his behaviors in any way matter to the king. “Oh, I’m sure he’s so disappointed in my absence.” Nemu scoffs, returning to his ingredients. He has work to do, after all.

Aizawa regards him for another moment before responding, “Don’t.” 

As the advisor turns to leave, Nemu calls out “I won’t.” But it’s a lie, and he’s certain Aizawa sees right through him.

[realm-of-dragons]

Staff App - Hawks

Played by Admin Grimm

OOC:

Name: Grimm

Age: 21

Preferred Pronouns: Any!

Timezone: PST

Discord: N/A

Any topics you want added to the content warning list?: Pandemics

Second choice character?: Bakugo 

IC:

Name: Takami Keigo AKA “Hawks”

Age: 27

Gender ID / pronouns: Trans Male, He/Him

OTPs, BroTPs, or NoTPS?: EndHawks baby… As far as BroTPs go I’m down for basically anything- I’m hoping for friendship between him and Rumi, but ultimately will be up for whatever has good chemistry/history in the setting of the group.

Race: Skyfolk

Appearance: Hawks is of average height and has a narrow but athletic build. Despite his small size, he holds a great deal of muscle packed into his form, and could probably crush a skull between his thighs if he wanted. He has large, terra cotta colored wings, although he mostly keeps them folded against his back nowadays. His hair is long, messy, and blond, but typically tied back into a braid. 

Role: Prince Consort of the Elves, Elven Ambassador to the Skyfolk, Former Skyfolk Chieftain, and Royal Pain in the Ass.

Skills:

Hawks was once one of the fastest and most acrobatic flyers in his tribe; he still retains some of these skills, although he is limited by his injured shoulder.

Hawks can use both a sword and a bow with deadly accuracy mid flight, and has hunted all sorts of animals to feed his people.

When it comes to grounded combat, however, he is average at best with a blade. He’s still learning to compensate for his newfound lacking mobility.

He is excellent at reading others, a skill which helped him serve as chief, and is dedicated to helping others - it should be noted, however, that his communication skills are solely diplomatic. When it comes to his own personal thoughts and feelings he is garbage at communicating.

Backstory:

( i. )

There exists a species of bird which possesses exceptionally colorful tail feathers. It’s just a pheasant and it struggles to fly, spending most of its days grounded. It poses little threat, but it’s feathers are bright and vibrant and serve as a warning to would-be-predators. ‘Danger,’ they say, and though a bluff, they are quite effective. For the most part, the birds are left alone.

Sometimes(all the time), you’re that bird.

So maybe your feathers are dull, and your wings are average size at best, and you’re nothing particularly special to look at - But that’s not the point.

You’re just like that bird, because all you have to do is flash a vibrant and energized smile, and suddenly you’re the picture perfect representation of what your peers should aspire to be. Never mind your struggles, your anguish, or your pain. Never mind your lost childhood, your missing parents, and your failure at making friends. None of that matters in the slightest. You’re not angry. You’re not upset. You’re not in despair. 

You smile and wave and suddenly, you’re not just some orphaned, washed out, failure of a replacement chief - suddenly, you’re a warrior. A leader. Determined. Hard working. The child prodigy who took over an entire tribe at fourteen. A man who never lets anything drag him down.

It’s better this way.

( ii. )

There’s a species of bird which is preyed upon by anything and everything in its environment. It lives in constant stress and fear of being caught out, torn apart, and eaten - or, it probably would, if it possessed the same sentience as people. It’s small, fluffy, and even as an adult, appears to be newly hatched. It spends most of its life seeking out small bugs and seeds. It hides, in hopes that a predator of its own predator will grant it just a few moments longer.

Sometimes(just today), you’re that bird.

You’ve grown into your role now, more than you thought you might - and maybe the discomfort and the emotional volatility doesn’t really go away, but you’re good at hiding it, and you think that’s good enough.

But you’re just like that bird, helpless in your own environment.

You’ve heard of dragons. You’re not stupid, you know what they are. A dragon took your parents and injured countless others, naturally you’ve been educated. But education and preparation are two very different states of being, and you’re not sure any amount of knowledge could have possibly prepared you. 

You’re meeting with the other elders about something or another. You don’t really remember, after, and it’s probably not important, anyway - the sudden roar and burst of wind warns you too late to completely dodge the claws lunging your direction. 

Dragon.

The aftermath is chaotic; since you’re injured, you’re responsible for leading the evacuation, not for fighting. Every part of your body aches with discontent at running away, but there’d be no point in forcing yourself into combat. It would be stupid, and no matter how chaotic your thoughts might be, you’re not suicidal. So you obey, you lead your people to safety, and you watch as another fells the beast.

After, all you can think about is that you didn’t do anything. But it matters little. The beast is gone. You’re alive. You let a healer see to your injuries.

( iii. )

Today, you’re a fledgling bird about to leave the nest for the first time.

It doesn’t matter that you’ve already learned to fly, that you’re a leader and a warrior, or that you’re more adult than any of your peers will ever be- Today, you leave.

There’s a tradition amongst your people that all must go through before becoming chief - you skipped that, before, because your predecessor expired prematurely and your tribe was desperate for leadership. You had big shoes to fill, and you filled them as needed, but now, it’s time to move on. The dragon plaguing your people is dead, and though you still loathe your lack of involvement in the affair, you’re doing your best to move on with life. That means following tradition. 

It is custom for would-be-chieftains to travel for one year in solitude, surviving entirely off the land and the world around them. When they return, they are given a new title befitting of a leader, and they are welcomed with open arms back into their family.

You don’t really need to do that, all of your tribesmen already accept you as their undisputed leader, but you feel utterly useless when you remember how quickly the dragon struck you down. So you make a decision, and you place someone else in charge as interim leader as you prepare yourself for a long journey.

The thing about fledgling birds, though, is that they very rarely return to their nest of origin. You intend to return, so maybe you’re not like a fledgling at all- 

When you take flight, you feel dread seep into your bones. You keep flying, but you don’t look back, for fear that any glance home may be your last. 

( iv. )

You process the sound, first. Then there’s light, followed by pain, followed by delirium and the sensation of falling. You hit several tree branches as you descend - you know, because you feel the leaves and twigs rake against your flesh - but it’s difficult to determine how many. You hit the ground hard, pain exploding through your young body, and think to yourself, ‘this is it. This is death.’

Then, there’s void.

But you don’t die.

You drift in and out of consciousness for several weeks before you do finally wake. Your surroundings are unfamiliar, full of soft fabrics and lush plant life. You’re… In what appears to be a bed - you think - you know that humans and Elves keep different bedding from your own race, but you’ve never seen one quite like this. It’s soft and much larger than you’re used to, and it seems reflective of wealth and status. 

Pulling yourself into a sitting position takes incredible effort, and you realize with great disdain that your wings are injured. You manage, though, and find yourself looking up at a large Elven man.

So, here’s the state of things: You were struck by lightning. You’re recovering with the Elves, in the king’s guest chambers. This man is the Elven king himself. You’re making good progress. But.

And there’s always a but.

You might never fly again.

It’s… A lot to process. And even in the following weeks, as you regain your strength and begin moving about and exploring your new surroundings, you still struggle to wrap your head around it. Flying has been second nature to you. Instinctual. Another part of your existence as a Skyfolk. You can’t fathom a life without it.

You’re a caged, flightless bird, right now. Enji is nice. Extremely nice. Nicer than he really ought to be, all things considered. You refuse to call him King Todoroki because you like pushing his buttons, and secretly, you think he likes it too. But… There’s still something missing. This isn’t right. You need to finish your journey and return home, but you can’t do that without your flight. No matter how accommodating Enji is, it still doesn’t change the fact that you’re lounging around a golden cage and you really do not belong here.

So when your wings are deemed as healed up as they’ll ever be, you start sneaking out. You can’t get off the ground. Not yet. But you hope with enough practice, someday you’ll soar once again.

( v. )

You’re a hawk, now.

You don’t believe it, personally. Hawks are fierce, powerful, and incredible flyers - you’re weak, emotional, and barely able to slip off the ground on a good day. But Enji insists you’re a hawk, and you can’t bring yourself to argue, because nobody has ever seen your real persona before and thought so highly of it. 

Maybe that’s the nature of your relationship, though. It’s difficult to tell. 

You’re a fighter. You keep trying no matter how many times you fall, because you hate the idea of remaining grounded. Enji is there to catch you, to patch up your scrapes and bruises, and offer encouragement in how own unique way. And finally, when you do manage to take off and soar above the trees, you feel alive. This is what you were missing. 

This is who you are.

But.

You wouldn’t be here without Enji. You’d be dead, or worse - and you’re grateful, you really are, but you don’t know how to ever repay him. Soon you’ll be stable enough to continue with your life, and you’ll need to leave and go home. Enji can’t go with you. He has a kingdom to run, and you’ve accepted that. You tell yourself it’s what’s right. That it was inevitable and this is the way things are meant to be.

But. 

In the months you’ve been with the Elves, you’ve learned their culture and their customs. Maybe you don’t really fit in, but you enjoy their way of life, and you love the people you’ve met. Back home, you had friends and family, sure, but there was so much pressure - For the first time in your entire life, you feel free. Freedom is terrifying. Powerful. You crave it.

You reach a crossroads. Go home and face your responsibilities or stay and learn to enjoy your life. It’s not an easy decision to make - there was so much resting on your shoulders, and maybe there still is, because you’re expected to return, sooner or later.

But.

You’re a hawk. You’re fierce, determined, and you follow your heart. 

So you stay.

Extras:

Hawks can still fly, but he reaches his limit much faster due to his previous injury. He chooses to just walk most places instead, keeping his wings tucked against his back when he’s in motion to better balance the weight. 

He is a little spoon at heart, but tends to be a big spoon in practice due to his absurdly large wings. He has to sleep on his stomach or his side to get comfortable.

Hawks loves fried foods, particularly fried birds; he’s been told this could be interpreted as cannibalistic, but refuses to stop eating meat anytime soon.

Keigo was his birth name, and although he is trans, he does not find discomfort with it because of dysphoria; it’s a remnant of his parents, and Skyfolk gender is wonky anyway.

In spite of that, Hawks only allows his former tribesmen to call him Keigo; he much prefers to be called Hawks.

Writing sample:

Keigo’s been in a weird sort of state lately. The injuries haven’t exactly helped his energy levels, sure, but given he’s mostly recovered, he should be able to get out of his bed and wander. And still, he’s skipping meals. Choosing to lay around. A stranger might consider him lazy. Enji doesn’t berate him for the behavior, and Keigo considers that a miracle. He doesn’t know if he could handle judgement over this melancholy. Not like he can control it, anyhow. 

So they spend the days talking. Sometimes Enji reads to him. Keigo had never imagined how deep and rich the Elven culture is - he’d heard some things, in passing. The Elves were mostly isolated, before, so whatever he had heard was mostly secondhand, and, as Keigo is now learning, incorrect.

They’re sitting in bed, Keigo pressed firmly against Enji’s side. He’s been told that Elves don’t ordinarily allow this type of contact, but Keigo’s never been pushed away, and it’s one of the few things that keeps him grounded. Enji sets aside the scroll he’d been reading from and gently runs a hand over Keigo’s feathers.

“I’ve told you much about my people, but I’ve not heard much of yours.” 

Keigo stiffens. “I didn’t think you’d want to learn about them.”

“I do. I don’t even know why you ended up so far from them.” 

Well, that’s fair. Keigo supposes that, at the very least, he owes an explanation. That much information is hardly a concealed secret, just… Emotional? No. That’s not the right word, but he doesn’t have any better way to describe it. He shrugs. “It’s tradition for future chieftains to travel for a year, prior to taking charge. A right of passage, you know. When they return home, they take a new name, and are given the honor of leading.” He smiles softly as he speaks, the familiarity giving him some small comfort in this bittersweet reality.

Enji frowns. “You were to be chief, then?”

“Oh, yes. I was. I won’t be, now. I can’t fly.” As if to prove his point, Keigo attempts to move his left wing, the one that took the brunt of the lightning strike. It barely twitches.

“You still could. My healers don’t know much of your anatomy, your wings might still recover.”

Keigo really, truly wants to believe him, but he’s sick and tired of getting his hopes up. He’s probably not going to regain his flight. There’s no point fixating on a fantasy. Not when it only brings disappointment. He leans closer, nuzzling his face into the crook of Enji’s neck. “Please don’t… I can’t...”

“Keigo.” Enji’s voice is strong, firm, and determined. Keigo bites at his lip, muscles tensing. “You’re strong. You want to recover, and you will.” Then, after a pause, he asks, “you’re given new names when you return, as a sign of strength?”

Hesitantly, Keigo nods. “Yeah…” 

“Then allow me to give you one now. You’re a fighter. You’ve shown me that much with your… Fiery attitude.” 

Oh, that’s one way to phrase it.

After a nod, Enji continues. “You’re a bird of prey, fierce. Powerful. Agile, fast, cunning, and a bit of an ass sometimes, even when you’re still recovering. But you’re a creature to be revered and awed. Like a swarm of hawks.”

“Hawks…” Keigo says, the name foreign on his tongue. “My name is… Hawks.” 

Maybe, just maybe, he can get used to it, in time.

[realm-of-dragons]

Staff App - Yagi Toshinori

Played by Mod Gray

OOC:

Name: Gray

Age: 26

Preferred pronouns: She/her or they/them

Timezone: PST

Discord: bizarrebird#1697

Any topics you want added to the content warning list?: animal abuse

Second choice character?: Eijiro Kirishima

IC:

Name: Toshinori Yagi

Age: 105 (physically, closer to 60)

Gender ID / pronouns: Cismale, he/him

OTPs, BroTPs, or NoTPS?: 

OTP - I primarily ship him with Aizawa

BroTP - With Midoriya of course, I would love them to have a familial relationship. That goes for most of the younger characters too, he’s very prone to adopting anyone who needs a decent parent. 

NoTP - I would rather not ship him with any of the characters who are his students in canon and I’m a little hesitant to see him get involved with villain characters romantically. 

Toshinori is gay and though he’s rather private about his personal life, he doesn’t make a secret of that. There is an endgame ship in mind for him with Shouta Aizawa, so he won’t be actively pursuing romance outside of that.

Race: Human 

Appearance: Toshinori always resembles his skeletal, shrunken form as he does in canon. In his youth, he resembled his more well known All Might form, but after several injuries and magical procedures, he has been reduced to his smaller appearance at all times. His most notable features, apart from his overall nearly bone thing appearance, are his shadowed piercing blue eyes and his wild mane of blond hair. 

Role: Toshinori is the ruler of the human kingdom. His reign has lasted nearly fifty years and he is loyal to his people to a fault. In his younger years, he was a great unifier of the scattered humans, bringing them together and was unanimously selected to lead them. 

Skills:

Toshinori’s greatest skill is his ability to uplift and inspire those around him. He’s always been an excellent public speaker who could bring hope to those who needed it most.

In his younger years, he was a skilled warrior, never losing a fight once he put his mind to it. These skills have fallen away with his weakening from, but, if necessary, he can still hold his own. 

He’s an excellent teacher and has trained many of the greatest heroes of the last several decades, who have gone on to do great things themselves.

Even with his weakened form, Toshinori is still much stronger than he looks and is capable of lifting most full grown adults over his head. He rarely demonstrates this ability, but it is useful in a pinch.

Backstory:

Humans are nothing. They’re scattered, lost, barely holding on. Liege lords lay claims to any land they desired, caring nothing for the smallfolk they force under their thumbs. Farmland is burnt when absurd taxes aren’t paid. Mercenaries terrorize towns barely strong enough to keep standing. 

Toshinori’s home burns. He’s a child as he watches the embers take to the wind. His father leaves, seeking work and a doctor for his mother. The cough came with the fire, it takes her not long after. His father never returns. 

It isn’t fair. It isn’t right. Someone must do something. 

He’s not the only orphan left behind by the blazes that spread across the village. Taking to the woods, he learns to fish, tries (and fails and fails and fails) to hunt. It isn’t much, but it’s enough to keep the children fed, to tide the few parents left over for another day. It’s nearly a month before men in armor approach the town, demanding to know who has been hunting in the lord’s woods. Toshinori steps forward without a thought. The punishment for theft is death at the knight’s sword, life in service, or life in chains. He’s ten years old. Given a choice, he asks for a sword. 

The weight is nearly too much for his hands, but he lifts it as the crowd gasps. He blocks one blow, then two, then the third sends the sword from his hands, skittering across the dirt. Starving, hands aching, he stands tall and waits for the blow to fall. It never comes. A new knight stands before him, calling for an end. Her voice rings out strong as she sends the lords’ men running, tails between their legs. 

Nana Shimura offers her hand and Toshinori takes it. 

They travel together. After a few years, the sword never feels too heavy in his hands. But it isn’t enough. Nana fights for justice, for the little people, but once she’s done, she moves onto the next town and the next. And every time, Toshinori fights to stay. There must be more they can do, there’s so much more that their people need. If the people were to come together, unite under a common banner, they could be so much more. All they need is a force to rally behind. 

Toshinori doesn’t mean to become that force, to be a leader, but when he speaks, people begin to listen. When he tells them they can band together, they do. When he speaks of strength, they find it in themselves, more than they could ever know. When he speaks of a future, they start to see it too. But seeing it alone isn’t enough. 

They need someone who can fight for it, and Toshinori does. He fights until his bones ache, until his fingers are scarred and bloody, until he can barely stay upright. And there are still more battles ahead. His hope has been given to so many and for a time, it nearly abandons him until Nana tells him of a legend. Whispers of a witch who could grant him the power he needs, not just to fight, but to stand firm, to be the symbol that the people need.

Searching through frost and fire, down to a forbidden cave, Toshinori finds not a witch, but a well. The promise of power and long life draw him in, the inscription assuring both, for those who are true of heart. So Toshinori drinks deep. It’s after his rousing speech, when blood creeps up his throat that he learns all magic comes with a price. But he remains strong, stands tall. If he can bring the people together, last long enough for them to be united under one peaceful banner, it will be enough.

His strength grows, as do the people rallying around him. The liege lords are forced out when even their strongest men turn tail and flee. One last white flag rises and Toshinori lifts his hand in victory. They’ve won. Blood fills his lungs and his muscles ache, but his smile remains as he waves and shakes every hand held his way. 

From there, he steps down, or he means to. The people have been brought together, his job is done. But… things are never so easy. Meetings are held and Toshinori insists on a vote. It is for the people to choose who should lead them. He puts forth several names, some of his supporters, some who opposed him, all wise, earnest people worthy of following. Every last one of them votes for him instead. The people follow suit and Toshinori is crowned king of the new kingdom of Unifia. 

For years, he reigns and peace is held. But the pain creeps. Day by day it grows. Still, his people need him, so Toshinori keeps his head held high. A little bit of unpleasant magic can’t hold him back. 

The question rises now and then, who will follow after him once his reign is done? His advisers make casual comments, suggestions, perhaps it’s time you think about finding a wife, your highness. Toshinori lets his laugh echo through the halls as he gently turns their ideas aside. No, that is not what he wants. 

His mind drifts now and then to a man with dark hair, shadows beneath his eyes, something altogether inhuman about his beauty. But Toshinori lets the moment pass. He’s no longer some young, eager adventurer, he is king, and flights of fantasy must be put aside. 

The strength starts to leave him, slowly at first, but it isn’t long before others take notice. Toshinori does what he can, but he can no longer hide the blood that dots his hands with every hacking cough. A healer is brought in, then another then another. Some ease the pain, slow the blood, others bring it back tenfold. Finally, a young mage is summoned. He’s talented and powerful. A great bout of sickness strikes at once and Toshinori knows nothing for nearly a month.

When he awakes, the blood has slowed to a trickle, but the softness of his youth has abandoned him. His arms are thin, brittle, his face sunken and gaunt. It’s truly for the best he never sought out a wife, for who could stand to look upon him with love now. But he lives on, his legs still carrying him, his eyes still sharp, his voice still enough to reach his people. 

It is only now that Toshinori knows what must be done. He needs a successor, one who can carry his people into the world he has given everything to build for them. And with the aid of the elven king and the newly established adventurer’s guild, he has just the place to begin his search. 

Extras:

Toshinori took the throne when he was a little over 50 years old, but due to the magic of the well, he looked quite a bit younger even then. Now his true age is finally starting to catch up with him a bit. 

The magic that gave him strength all those years ago has taken its toll and Toshinori finds himself feeling rather weak. The worst of his coughing fits have passed thanks to his healers, but from time to time, he still coughs up a bit of blood. 

He has his eye on Izuku Midoriya to be his successor, how far their relationship has progressed will be discussed when Midoriya is picked up. 

Writing sample:

The castle’s grand halls are empty and unnecessary. Toshinori has always thought they were far too much, far too grand. But the people insisted. His advisers insisted. A king must have a castle. If it were up to him, he would be content with a cottage in the woods, close to the central city, but far enough away that he could have his privacy. He loves the people, he always has, but even he needs a bit of time for himself now and then.

Especially now. 

He flexes his fingers. The skin feels taut, drawn too tight, like it might begin to crack at any moment. Life is leaking out of him. Everyday a bit more springs free, slowly trailing away. Toshinori doesn’t guess at the number of days. It’s likely to be years still. That hardly matters. He hardly matters in the long run. It’s the kingdom, the people who must live on. 

So he refocuses, attention going to the parchment laid out on the desk before him. More potential successors. He trusts his advisers, of course he does. But… they have different ideas about things, about what it means to be king. They mean well. Toshinori scans the ever growing list. “Strong candidates,” he says, almost gently. “You’ve brought me an excellent list. Thank you.” 

His words are earnest, genuine. They always are. His advisers bow, mumbling platitudes as they make for the door. By now, they know that he prefers to examine the lists on his own. The door shuts behind them and Toshinori finally lets his shoulders slump. He brings a hand to his brow and lets out a slow breath. They all want him to have the gusto, the energy of his youth, but… it isn’t in him anymore. After so long, he’s started to wonder if it ever was. 

Hand falling away, he turns his eyes back to the list. A frown slowly grows. The choices are clever, careful. His advisers have picked children… sons of prominent families. Any would bring their supporters rallying behind them. But none of them are right. Leaning back in his chair, Toshinori lets his eyes fall shut.

At once, he sees them, the jeering faces of the old lords, smells the ever present smoke. Sitting up sharply, he presses a hand to his mouth to stifle a cough. No blood lingers on his hand when he finally draws it away. That’s something at least. As he’s done again and again, he casts the list aside. None of them are right. If this kingdom is to go on, the choice must be his. He trusts his people, of course he does, but they’re young, they’re too optimistic. They haven’t seen the cruelness of people, they haven’t seen the power of hatred and greed. And perhaps that is his own fault. 

He leans forward in his seat, grabbing a fresh piece of parchment. There is a decree to be made. A letter to be sent. It is time to bring the next generation of adventurers, of heroes , into the fold. One of them will be worthy, of that much, he is certain. He must be.