He/Him
Trans/Pansexual
18
Work full-time, not on until evenings!
Trans/Pansexual
18
Work full-time, not on until evenings!
Roleplay
Tell stories and roleplay in the world of Flight Rising.
TOPIC | 1x1 w/ TheWorshipOnes & XxValkyriexX
[url=https://imgbb.com/][img]https://i.ibb.co/B2DchwY/611021-xec-MLFMV.png[/img][/url]
Name: Mitsuru Azoroa
Height: 7'2" (on the shorter end for most of the island dwellers)
Age: 26
Family: His father passed away a decade ago, sending his mother into a spiral that allowed Mitsuru to take the throne in his late father's stead. Before she retired from Queenhood, his mother had nine other children after Mitsuru. All are devoid of contact with his Highness as the lesser known governers of nearby islands.
Personality: Mitsuru is highly introverted. Quick to aggitate, his Majesty rarely speaks with anyone (let alone his own citizens) unless it's a matter of state emergency. Many consider the libraries and extensive personal quarters to be the only areas of the castle he's seen in. He is also quick to pressure due to the immense weight of running a kingdom— leading to him being oddly skittish and easy to stress. Despite all this, most encounters with him lead a lasting impression of an unfortunate prodigy.
Backstory/traumas: to be seen >:)
Name: Mitsuru Azoroa
Height: 7'2" (on the shorter end for most of the island dwellers)
Age: 26
Family: His father passed away a decade ago, sending his mother into a spiral that allowed Mitsuru to take the throne in his late father's stead. Before she retired from Queenhood, his mother had nine other children after Mitsuru. All are devoid of contact with his Highness as the lesser known governers of nearby islands.
Personality: Mitsuru is highly introverted. Quick to aggitate, his Majesty rarely speaks with anyone (let alone his own citizens) unless it's a matter of state emergency. Many consider the libraries and extensive personal quarters to be the only areas of the castle he's seen in. He is also quick to pressure due to the immense weight of running a kingdom— leading to him being oddly skittish and easy to stress. Despite all this, most encounters with him lead a lasting impression of an unfortunate prodigy.
Backstory/traumas: to be seen >:)
He/Him
Trans/Pansexual
18
Work full-time, not on until evenings!
Trans/Pansexual
18
Work full-time, not on until evenings!
(Still not sure about this photo and I tried to draw something but that is not a skill of mine lmao!)
[img]https://get.wallhere.com/photo/anime-green-jungle-Katekyo-Hitman-Reborn-flower-eye-guy-screenshot-555374.jpg[/img]
Credit: wallhere.com
Outlander Name: Ryoichi Tatsuki
Wanderer Name: Jiyuu
Height: 8’6 (Tallest in the Wanderers)
Age: 29
Family: His mother died 11 years ago and his dad 3 years ago. After his fathers death as the eldest of 3, a younger brother and younger sister, he stepped up as the Leader of the Wanderers.
Personality:Jiyuu is calm, reserved but he’s passionate and protective about his siblings and people. Jiyuu can be unbareably stubborn at times but his charm and smile always gets him what he wants. Many of his people describe him as a strong leader, especially the elders who have seen his past and his struggles to fix what had been broken by his father.
Background/traumas: To be continued…
(Still not sure about this photo and I tried to draw something but that is not a skill of mine lmao!)
Credit: wallhere.com
Outlander Name: Ryoichi Tatsuki
Wanderer Name: Jiyuu
Height: 8’6 (Tallest in the Wanderers)
Age: 29
Family: His mother died 11 years ago and his dad 3 years ago. After his fathers death as the eldest of 3, a younger brother and younger sister, he stepped up as the Leader of the Wanderers.
Personality:Jiyuu is calm, reserved but he’s passionate and protective about his siblings and people. Jiyuu can be unbareably stubborn at times but his charm and smile always gets him what he wants. Many of his people describe him as a strong leader, especially the elders who have seen his past and his struggles to fix what had been broken by his father.
Background/traumas: To be continued…
Credit: wallhere.com
Outlander Name: Ryoichi Tatsuki
Wanderer Name: Jiyuu
Height: 8’6 (Tallest in the Wanderers)
Age: 29
Family: His mother died 11 years ago and his dad 3 years ago. After his fathers death as the eldest of 3, a younger brother and younger sister, he stepped up as the Leader of the Wanderers.
Personality:Jiyuu is calm, reserved but he’s passionate and protective about his siblings and people. Jiyuu can be unbareably stubborn at times but his charm and smile always gets him what he wants. Many of his people describe him as a strong leader, especially the elders who have seen his past and his struggles to fix what had been broken by his father.
Background/traumas: To be continued…
(Sorry for the late reply! Would you like to start or should I? :0
(Sorry for the late reply! Would you like to start or should I? :0
He/Him
Trans/Pansexual
18
Work full-time, not on until evenings!
Trans/Pansexual
18
Work full-time, not on until evenings!
(Go ahead and start, I’m just finishing up the biography)
(Go ahead and start, I’m just finishing up the biography)
...Ah. This whole thing had been a terrible mistake.
The Islands had always been lacking for resources. Food, cattle, places to live. The limited space had made the entirety of the sparse areas feel smaller than they already were. Those that lived far off into the waters had boats. Had an endless supply of food and cattle just beneath the waves. Inlanders had nothing but the own resources they meticulously grew themselves. Starvation and famine was common despite their evident militant abilities.
Mitsuru Azoroa had the unfortunate position of leader of those very cramped, baren bits of land.
He'd taken the throne on the dawn of his sixteenth cycle, marked in blood by the assassination of his late father. The boy's rise to power and the process he took to learn how to govern a dying way of life had been one of difficulty. Death, market crashes. Tragedy after tragedy had struck the island dwellers under his stead despite his wise disposition. It was as if the Gods themselves despised everything Mitsuru had done to keep his people - pun unintended - afloat.
The decision had been simple. His people, by the next cycle, would begin, as erudites claimed, the worst famine the people had ever seen. Food, clean water, shelter. Over-population coupled with a recent bout of cattle death would send the country as a whole into unbearable suffering.
So what did a King do, when his people were about to enter a new age of tragedy?
He remedied it.
The Wanderers were uncontactable. Refusal to cooperate or trade, coupled with a deep hatred scarring the nations, had led to six fruitless months of Mitsuru trying and failing to extend a hand of greeting. The only solution dreamed up by himself and his Council was a physical visitation. A leap of the corporeal to make refusal near impossible.
It would be genocide, of course. Any who travelled with the royal Highness upon a ship headed toward foriegn waters would be slaughtered like a pure-blood lamb. It had meant that - instead of killing a few hundred sailors and soldiers; his Majesty opted for a much more solitudal approach. He planned to both sail on his own and leave the eldest of his younger siblings (a twenty-three year old woman by the name of Nastia) to replace him in his stead. She would be instated as Queen, if Mitsuru were to meet his untimely demise at Father Sea.
Sailing for another near two months by himself had been easy. The water was windy, allbeit dead of civilization. The only glimpses of life were the occasional aquatic fish spiraling under the water or a three hundred foot siphonofore preying on a whale.
His ship had been raided sixty-seven days in.
A border ship, patrolling in the middle of twilight, had descended on the poor little fishery vessel and raided it to sawdust. The thing had been sinking by the time Mitsuru had been binded and gagged into silence. Even the glimpse he stole as he was dragged to a rowboat was that of the bits of his ship sticking up from the waves being consumed by flames.
He had no idea how long the journey lasted. Time was... hard to decipher, below a deck. The only way Mitsuru judged it was by the amount of food he was given. Twenty-one meals, or a week, had marked the morning a bag had been stuffed over his head and his aching figure dragged from his damp wooden cell and into daylight. The King had been hastily cleaned and dressed before recieving a sharp, hard hit to the head.
Gods, that hurts.
The noise was overbearing. Not quite loud, but being accompanied only by the sound of beatings and rocking waves for a week tended to damage one's ears.
The bag over Mitsuru's head had been torn from his cadence and tossed aside to reveal a beautifully crafted door in an equally gorgeous hall. Built from the scales and oldest woods from trades decades past, the pillars themselves radiated a mystic undertone that made his Majesty's chest curl like a striking snake. The ages and experiences in the old architecture had to be vast. Vaster than his people's own halls.
The heavy set of doors, pushed open by a pair of uniformed figures, made to pull Mitsuru from his wanderings. The hall beyond was a near twin to that behind him, save for a vastly long and ornately decorated carpet snaking up the wood to a decadent but quiet throne.
Ah. So this is one of the many halls of a Wanderer. He was unsure the figure that peered at him from the delicate chair. A lord? A prince?
An echoed answer caught his ear.
"Ryoichi Tatsuki— king and savior of the People of the Sea. We present to you a man who has claimed to be the king of the Inlanders, Mitsuru Azoroa himself." Something long and hard - most likely a pole made for the sole purpose of forcing a guest to a kneel - dug hard into Mitsuru's back. He gave a soft grunt of pain before taking a knee.
Bruised, and with a sharp, tired gaze, he stared up at Ryoichi with a gaze not unlike that of a sea serpent.
"I have sailed here, your Majesty, to strike a request."
(May have gotten a bit long lmao)
The Islands had always been lacking for resources. Food, cattle, places to live. The limited space had made the entirety of the sparse areas feel smaller than they already were. Those that lived far off into the waters had boats. Had an endless supply of food and cattle just beneath the waves. Inlanders had nothing but the own resources they meticulously grew themselves. Starvation and famine was common despite their evident militant abilities.
Mitsuru Azoroa had the unfortunate position of leader of those very cramped, baren bits of land.
He'd taken the throne on the dawn of his sixteenth cycle, marked in blood by the assassination of his late father. The boy's rise to power and the process he took to learn how to govern a dying way of life had been one of difficulty. Death, market crashes. Tragedy after tragedy had struck the island dwellers under his stead despite his wise disposition. It was as if the Gods themselves despised everything Mitsuru had done to keep his people - pun unintended - afloat.
The decision had been simple. His people, by the next cycle, would begin, as erudites claimed, the worst famine the people had ever seen. Food, clean water, shelter. Over-population coupled with a recent bout of cattle death would send the country as a whole into unbearable suffering.
So what did a King do, when his people were about to enter a new age of tragedy?
He remedied it.
The Wanderers were uncontactable. Refusal to cooperate or trade, coupled with a deep hatred scarring the nations, had led to six fruitless months of Mitsuru trying and failing to extend a hand of greeting. The only solution dreamed up by himself and his Council was a physical visitation. A leap of the corporeal to make refusal near impossible.
It would be genocide, of course. Any who travelled with the royal Highness upon a ship headed toward foriegn waters would be slaughtered like a pure-blood lamb. It had meant that - instead of killing a few hundred sailors and soldiers; his Majesty opted for a much more solitudal approach. He planned to both sail on his own and leave the eldest of his younger siblings (a twenty-three year old woman by the name of Nastia) to replace him in his stead. She would be instated as Queen, if Mitsuru were to meet his untimely demise at Father Sea.
Sailing for another near two months by himself had been easy. The water was windy, allbeit dead of civilization. The only glimpses of life were the occasional aquatic fish spiraling under the water or a three hundred foot siphonofore preying on a whale.
His ship had been raided sixty-seven days in.
A border ship, patrolling in the middle of twilight, had descended on the poor little fishery vessel and raided it to sawdust. The thing had been sinking by the time Mitsuru had been binded and gagged into silence. Even the glimpse he stole as he was dragged to a rowboat was that of the bits of his ship sticking up from the waves being consumed by flames.
He had no idea how long the journey lasted. Time was... hard to decipher, below a deck. The only way Mitsuru judged it was by the amount of food he was given. Twenty-one meals, or a week, had marked the morning a bag had been stuffed over his head and his aching figure dragged from his damp wooden cell and into daylight. The King had been hastily cleaned and dressed before recieving a sharp, hard hit to the head.
Gods, that hurts.
The noise was overbearing. Not quite loud, but being accompanied only by the sound of beatings and rocking waves for a week tended to damage one's ears.
The bag over Mitsuru's head had been torn from his cadence and tossed aside to reveal a beautifully crafted door in an equally gorgeous hall. Built from the scales and oldest woods from trades decades past, the pillars themselves radiated a mystic undertone that made his Majesty's chest curl like a striking snake. The ages and experiences in the old architecture had to be vast. Vaster than his people's own halls.
The heavy set of doors, pushed open by a pair of uniformed figures, made to pull Mitsuru from his wanderings. The hall beyond was a near twin to that behind him, save for a vastly long and ornately decorated carpet snaking up the wood to a decadent but quiet throne.
Ah. So this is one of the many halls of a Wanderer. He was unsure the figure that peered at him from the delicate chair. A lord? A prince?
An echoed answer caught his ear.
"Ryoichi Tatsuki— king and savior of the People of the Sea. We present to you a man who has claimed to be the king of the Inlanders, Mitsuru Azoroa himself." Something long and hard - most likely a pole made for the sole purpose of forcing a guest to a kneel - dug hard into Mitsuru's back. He gave a soft grunt of pain before taking a knee.
Bruised, and with a sharp, tired gaze, he stared up at Ryoichi with a gaze not unlike that of a sea serpent.
"I have sailed here, your Majesty, to strike a request."
(May have gotten a bit long lmao)
...Ah. This whole thing had been a terrible mistake.
The Islands had always been lacking for resources. Food, cattle, places to live. The limited space had made the entirety of the sparse areas feel smaller than they already were. Those that lived far off into the waters had boats. Had an endless supply of food and cattle just beneath the waves. Inlanders had nothing but the own resources they meticulously grew themselves. Starvation and famine was common despite their evident militant abilities.
Mitsuru Azoroa had the unfortunate position of leader of those very cramped, baren bits of land.
He'd taken the throne on the dawn of his sixteenth cycle, marked in blood by the assassination of his late father. The boy's rise to power and the process he took to learn how to govern a dying way of life had been one of difficulty. Death, market crashes. Tragedy after tragedy had struck the island dwellers under his stead despite his wise disposition. It was as if the Gods themselves despised everything Mitsuru had done to keep his people - pun unintended - afloat.
The decision had been simple. His people, by the next cycle, would begin, as erudites claimed, the worst famine the people had ever seen. Food, clean water, shelter. Over-population coupled with a recent bout of cattle death would send the country as a whole into unbearable suffering.
So what did a King do, when his people were about to enter a new age of tragedy?
He remedied it.
The Wanderers were uncontactable. Refusal to cooperate or trade, coupled with a deep hatred scarring the nations, had led to six fruitless months of Mitsuru trying and failing to extend a hand of greeting. The only solution dreamed up by himself and his Council was a physical visitation. A leap of the corporeal to make refusal near impossible.
It would be genocide, of course. Any who travelled with the royal Highness upon a ship headed toward foriegn waters would be slaughtered like a pure-blood lamb. It had meant that - instead of killing a few hundred sailors and soldiers; his Majesty opted for a much more solitudal approach. He planned to both sail on his own and leave the eldest of his younger siblings (a twenty-three year old woman by the name of Nastia) to replace him in his stead. She would be instated as Queen, if Mitsuru were to meet his untimely demise at Father Sea.
Sailing for another near two months by himself had been easy. The water was windy, allbeit dead of civilization. The only glimpses of life were the occasional aquatic fish spiraling under the water or a three hundred foot siphonofore preying on a whale.
His ship had been raided sixty-seven days in.
A border ship, patrolling in the middle of twilight, had descended on the poor little fishery vessel and raided it to sawdust. The thing had been sinking by the time Mitsuru had been binded and gagged into silence. Even the glimpse he stole as he was dragged to a rowboat was that of the bits of his ship sticking up from the waves being consumed by flames.
He had no idea how long the journey lasted. Time was... hard to decipher, below a deck. The only way Mitsuru judged it was by the amount of food he was given. Twenty-one meals, or a week, had marked the morning a bag had been stuffed over his head and his aching figure dragged from his damp wooden cell and into daylight. The King had been hastily cleaned and dressed before recieving a sharp, hard hit to the head.
Gods, that hurts.
The noise was overbearing. Not quite loud, but being accompanied only by the sound of beatings and rocking waves for a week tended to damage one's ears.
The bag over Mitsuru's head had been torn from his cadence and tossed aside to reveal a beautifully crafted door in an equally gorgeous hall. Built from the scales and oldest woods from trades decades past, the pillars themselves radiated a mystic undertone that made his Majesty's chest curl like a striking snake. The ages and experiences in the old architecture had to be vast. Vaster than his people's own halls.
The heavy set of doors, pushed open by a pair of uniformed figures, made to pull Mitsuru from his wanderings. The hall beyond was a near twin to that behind him, save for a vastly long and ornately decorated carpet snaking up the wood to a decadent but quiet throne.
Ah. So this is one of the many halls of a Wanderer. He was unsure the figure that peered at him from the delicate chair. A lord? A prince?
An echoed answer caught his ear.
"Ryoichi Tatsuki— king and savior of the People of the Sea. We present to you a man who has claimed to be the king of the Inlanders, Mitsuru Azoroa himself." Something long and hard - most likely a pole made for the sole purpose of forcing a guest to a kneel - dug hard into Mitsuru's back. He gave a soft grunt of pain before taking a knee.
Bruised, and with a sharp, tired gaze, he stared up at Ryoichi with a gaze not unlike that of a sea serpent.
"I have sailed here, your Majesty, to strike a request."
(May have gotten a bit long lmao)
The Islands had always been lacking for resources. Food, cattle, places to live. The limited space had made the entirety of the sparse areas feel smaller than they already were. Those that lived far off into the waters had boats. Had an endless supply of food and cattle just beneath the waves. Inlanders had nothing but the own resources they meticulously grew themselves. Starvation and famine was common despite their evident militant abilities.
Mitsuru Azoroa had the unfortunate position of leader of those very cramped, baren bits of land.
He'd taken the throne on the dawn of his sixteenth cycle, marked in blood by the assassination of his late father. The boy's rise to power and the process he took to learn how to govern a dying way of life had been one of difficulty. Death, market crashes. Tragedy after tragedy had struck the island dwellers under his stead despite his wise disposition. It was as if the Gods themselves despised everything Mitsuru had done to keep his people - pun unintended - afloat.
The decision had been simple. His people, by the next cycle, would begin, as erudites claimed, the worst famine the people had ever seen. Food, clean water, shelter. Over-population coupled with a recent bout of cattle death would send the country as a whole into unbearable suffering.
So what did a King do, when his people were about to enter a new age of tragedy?
He remedied it.
The Wanderers were uncontactable. Refusal to cooperate or trade, coupled with a deep hatred scarring the nations, had led to six fruitless months of Mitsuru trying and failing to extend a hand of greeting. The only solution dreamed up by himself and his Council was a physical visitation. A leap of the corporeal to make refusal near impossible.
It would be genocide, of course. Any who travelled with the royal Highness upon a ship headed toward foriegn waters would be slaughtered like a pure-blood lamb. It had meant that - instead of killing a few hundred sailors and soldiers; his Majesty opted for a much more solitudal approach. He planned to both sail on his own and leave the eldest of his younger siblings (a twenty-three year old woman by the name of Nastia) to replace him in his stead. She would be instated as Queen, if Mitsuru were to meet his untimely demise at Father Sea.
Sailing for another near two months by himself had been easy. The water was windy, allbeit dead of civilization. The only glimpses of life were the occasional aquatic fish spiraling under the water or a three hundred foot siphonofore preying on a whale.
His ship had been raided sixty-seven days in.
A border ship, patrolling in the middle of twilight, had descended on the poor little fishery vessel and raided it to sawdust. The thing had been sinking by the time Mitsuru had been binded and gagged into silence. Even the glimpse he stole as he was dragged to a rowboat was that of the bits of his ship sticking up from the waves being consumed by flames.
He had no idea how long the journey lasted. Time was... hard to decipher, below a deck. The only way Mitsuru judged it was by the amount of food he was given. Twenty-one meals, or a week, had marked the morning a bag had been stuffed over his head and his aching figure dragged from his damp wooden cell and into daylight. The King had been hastily cleaned and dressed before recieving a sharp, hard hit to the head.
Gods, that hurts.
The noise was overbearing. Not quite loud, but being accompanied only by the sound of beatings and rocking waves for a week tended to damage one's ears.
The bag over Mitsuru's head had been torn from his cadence and tossed aside to reveal a beautifully crafted door in an equally gorgeous hall. Built from the scales and oldest woods from trades decades past, the pillars themselves radiated a mystic undertone that made his Majesty's chest curl like a striking snake. The ages and experiences in the old architecture had to be vast. Vaster than his people's own halls.
The heavy set of doors, pushed open by a pair of uniformed figures, made to pull Mitsuru from his wanderings. The hall beyond was a near twin to that behind him, save for a vastly long and ornately decorated carpet snaking up the wood to a decadent but quiet throne.
Ah. So this is one of the many halls of a Wanderer. He was unsure the figure that peered at him from the delicate chair. A lord? A prince?
An echoed answer caught his ear.
"Ryoichi Tatsuki— king and savior of the People of the Sea. We present to you a man who has claimed to be the king of the Inlanders, Mitsuru Azoroa himself." Something long and hard - most likely a pole made for the sole purpose of forcing a guest to a kneel - dug hard into Mitsuru's back. He gave a soft grunt of pain before taking a knee.
Bruised, and with a sharp, tired gaze, he stared up at Ryoichi with a gaze not unlike that of a sea serpent.
"I have sailed here, your Majesty, to strike a request."
(May have gotten a bit long lmao)
He/Him
Trans/Pansexual
18
Work full-time, not on until evenings!
Trans/Pansexual
18
Work full-time, not on until evenings!
(Alright I’m gonna go with this to start and I’ll add more background as we go!)
“They found him in a fisherman’s boat—“ The sound of footsteps cut off Jiyuus brother, Nazuke from finishing his report.
Jiyuu watched as the Eastern Boarder Patrol escorted in a man, with unusually ivory blonde hair and glasses. Stopping at the base of the stairs, Jiyuu observed the calm man with a sliver of respect.
“Ryoichi Tatsuki— king and savior of the People of the Sea. We present to you a man who has claimed to be the king of the Inlanders, Mitsuru Azoroa himself." Makoto, Eastern General, announced.
Raising an evebrow as Makoto hits the stranger named Mitsuru Azoroa in the back with his staff. Forcing the man to his knees, Jiyuu stood from his throne and started his decent down the stairs towards the group.
“I have sailed here, your Majesty, to strike a request." Peering down at the man before him, Jiyuu stopped in front of Mitsuru and crouched down.
Now face to face, Jiyuu rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
“Hm. Majesty. I could get used to that title.” Jiyuu chuckled darkly. “Must be quite the request if the Outlanders would risk you, the only male heir to rule a dying island, traveling alll the way across Father Sea to my home.” Jiyuu asked, watching Mitsurus reaction closely.
“They found him in a fisherman’s boat—“ The sound of footsteps cut off Jiyuus brother, Nazuke from finishing his report.
Jiyuu watched as the Eastern Boarder Patrol escorted in a man, with unusually ivory blonde hair and glasses. Stopping at the base of the stairs, Jiyuu observed the calm man with a sliver of respect.
“Ryoichi Tatsuki— king and savior of the People of the Sea. We present to you a man who has claimed to be the king of the Inlanders, Mitsuru Azoroa himself." Makoto, Eastern General, announced.
Raising an evebrow as Makoto hits the stranger named Mitsuru Azoroa in the back with his staff. Forcing the man to his knees, Jiyuu stood from his throne and started his decent down the stairs towards the group.
“I have sailed here, your Majesty, to strike a request." Peering down at the man before him, Jiyuu stopped in front of Mitsuru and crouched down.
Now face to face, Jiyuu rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
“Hm. Majesty. I could get used to that title.” Jiyuu chuckled darkly. “Must be quite the request if the Outlanders would risk you, the only male heir to rule a dying island, traveling alll the way across Father Sea to my home.” Jiyuu asked, watching Mitsurus reaction closely.
(Alright I’m gonna go with this to start and I’ll add more background as we go!)
“They found him in a fisherman’s boat—“ The sound of footsteps cut off Jiyuus brother, Nazuke from finishing his report.
Jiyuu watched as the Eastern Boarder Patrol escorted in a man, with unusually ivory blonde hair and glasses. Stopping at the base of the stairs, Jiyuu observed the calm man with a sliver of respect.
“Ryoichi Tatsuki— king and savior of the People of the Sea. We present to you a man who has claimed to be the king of the Inlanders, Mitsuru Azoroa himself." Makoto, Eastern General, announced.
Raising an evebrow as Makoto hits the stranger named Mitsuru Azoroa in the back with his staff. Forcing the man to his knees, Jiyuu stood from his throne and started his decent down the stairs towards the group.
“I have sailed here, your Majesty, to strike a request." Peering down at the man before him, Jiyuu stopped in front of Mitsuru and crouched down.
Now face to face, Jiyuu rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
“Hm. Majesty. I could get used to that title.” Jiyuu chuckled darkly. “Must be quite the request if the Outlanders would risk you, the only male heir to rule a dying island, traveling alll the way across Father Sea to my home.” Jiyuu asked, watching Mitsurus reaction closely.
“They found him in a fisherman’s boat—“ The sound of footsteps cut off Jiyuus brother, Nazuke from finishing his report.
Jiyuu watched as the Eastern Boarder Patrol escorted in a man, with unusually ivory blonde hair and glasses. Stopping at the base of the stairs, Jiyuu observed the calm man with a sliver of respect.
“Ryoichi Tatsuki— king and savior of the People of the Sea. We present to you a man who has claimed to be the king of the Inlanders, Mitsuru Azoroa himself." Makoto, Eastern General, announced.
Raising an evebrow as Makoto hits the stranger named Mitsuru Azoroa in the back with his staff. Forcing the man to his knees, Jiyuu stood from his throne and started his decent down the stairs towards the group.
“I have sailed here, your Majesty, to strike a request." Peering down at the man before him, Jiyuu stopped in front of Mitsuru and crouched down.
Now face to face, Jiyuu rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
“Hm. Majesty. I could get used to that title.” Jiyuu chuckled darkly. “Must be quite the request if the Outlanders would risk you, the only male heir to rule a dying island, traveling alll the way across Father Sea to my home.” Jiyuu asked, watching Mitsurus reaction closely.
(All good! I'll check up occasionally and then reply when ur reply is finished >:)
(All good! I'll check up occasionally and then reply when ur reply is finished >:)
He/Him
Trans/Pansexual
18
Work full-time, not on until evenings!
Trans/Pansexual
18
Work full-time, not on until evenings!
This is it. Four months of travel and planning, along with his pride and dignity, had gone into Mitsuru's journey. He had laid down everything he had to endure the deafening silence of Father Sea. Endured the beatings for near a week in the damp cell of a Wanderer's boat. All of thid will have been useless if I am to fail in this request. Regardless of the future consequences, it must be struck. Endless lives depended on it.
Mitsuru inhaled heavily, arching his head to peer at the visibly larger figure of Ryoichi from where he kneeled against the hall's floor. Speak with the confidence of a God born corporeal.
"My people starve, your Majesty," the king spoke with resign. His sharp eyes didn't so much as blink. "Our cattle die and my people suffer a plague. I have travelled near one sixth of a year - coupled with two more months to plan my departure - to reach the Outer Shore. It has been a long and arduous journey to reach you. I, as a man of substance, have subjected myself both to the abuse of your people and the solitary of endless blue." Mitsuru reshuffled his legs, leaning forward to place his forehead to the floor. It was a gesture used most commonly by prisoners trying to bargain for their lives.
The posture's importance was further accented by several soft gasps of surprise from surveying guards.
Mitsuru, gathering the last bit of dignity he would've had and stuffing it bacl down his esophagus, spoke with the resolve of a man on death's door. "I beg of you. Please, reinitiate trade with my people.
"I will do most anything short of selling either my family or my country to your vast cities, your Highness. But they starve. They die. If I am not successful, then I am doomed to return to a civilization ground to bonemeal."
The royal rose once more, pale eyes set on Ryoichi. "Spare the lives of a clashing nation, sire."
Mitsuru inhaled heavily, arching his head to peer at the visibly larger figure of Ryoichi from where he kneeled against the hall's floor. Speak with the confidence of a God born corporeal.
"My people starve, your Majesty," the king spoke with resign. His sharp eyes didn't so much as blink. "Our cattle die and my people suffer a plague. I have travelled near one sixth of a year - coupled with two more months to plan my departure - to reach the Outer Shore. It has been a long and arduous journey to reach you. I, as a man of substance, have subjected myself both to the abuse of your people and the solitary of endless blue." Mitsuru reshuffled his legs, leaning forward to place his forehead to the floor. It was a gesture used most commonly by prisoners trying to bargain for their lives.
The posture's importance was further accented by several soft gasps of surprise from surveying guards.
Mitsuru, gathering the last bit of dignity he would've had and stuffing it bacl down his esophagus, spoke with the resolve of a man on death's door. "I beg of you. Please, reinitiate trade with my people.
"I will do most anything short of selling either my family or my country to your vast cities, your Highness. But they starve. They die. If I am not successful, then I am doomed to return to a civilization ground to bonemeal."
The royal rose once more, pale eyes set on Ryoichi. "Spare the lives of a clashing nation, sire."
This is it. Four months of travel and planning, along with his pride and dignity, had gone into Mitsuru's journey. He had laid down everything he had to endure the deafening silence of Father Sea. Endured the beatings for near a week in the damp cell of a Wanderer's boat. All of thid will have been useless if I am to fail in this request. Regardless of the future consequences, it must be struck. Endless lives depended on it.
Mitsuru inhaled heavily, arching his head to peer at the visibly larger figure of Ryoichi from where he kneeled against the hall's floor. Speak with the confidence of a God born corporeal.
"My people starve, your Majesty," the king spoke with resign. His sharp eyes didn't so much as blink. "Our cattle die and my people suffer a plague. I have travelled near one sixth of a year - coupled with two more months to plan my departure - to reach the Outer Shore. It has been a long and arduous journey to reach you. I, as a man of substance, have subjected myself both to the abuse of your people and the solitary of endless blue." Mitsuru reshuffled his legs, leaning forward to place his forehead to the floor. It was a gesture used most commonly by prisoners trying to bargain for their lives.
The posture's importance was further accented by several soft gasps of surprise from surveying guards.
Mitsuru, gathering the last bit of dignity he would've had and stuffing it bacl down his esophagus, spoke with the resolve of a man on death's door. "I beg of you. Please, reinitiate trade with my people.
"I will do most anything short of selling either my family or my country to your vast cities, your Highness. But they starve. They die. If I am not successful, then I am doomed to return to a civilization ground to bonemeal."
The royal rose once more, pale eyes set on Ryoichi. "Spare the lives of a clashing nation, sire."
Mitsuru inhaled heavily, arching his head to peer at the visibly larger figure of Ryoichi from where he kneeled against the hall's floor. Speak with the confidence of a God born corporeal.
"My people starve, your Majesty," the king spoke with resign. His sharp eyes didn't so much as blink. "Our cattle die and my people suffer a plague. I have travelled near one sixth of a year - coupled with two more months to plan my departure - to reach the Outer Shore. It has been a long and arduous journey to reach you. I, as a man of substance, have subjected myself both to the abuse of your people and the solitary of endless blue." Mitsuru reshuffled his legs, leaning forward to place his forehead to the floor. It was a gesture used most commonly by prisoners trying to bargain for their lives.
The posture's importance was further accented by several soft gasps of surprise from surveying guards.
Mitsuru, gathering the last bit of dignity he would've had and stuffing it bacl down his esophagus, spoke with the resolve of a man on death's door. "I beg of you. Please, reinitiate trade with my people.
"I will do most anything short of selling either my family or my country to your vast cities, your Highness. But they starve. They die. If I am not successful, then I am doomed to return to a civilization ground to bonemeal."
The royal rose once more, pale eyes set on Ryoichi. "Spare the lives of a clashing nation, sire."
He/Him
Trans/Pansexual
18
Work full-time, not on until evenings!
Trans/Pansexual
18
Work full-time, not on until evenings!