【ｈｅａｖｙ ｉｓ ｔｈｅ ｃｒｏｗｎ】
@soverina — AU starter
Days of celebration had followed weeks of mourning.
Illness was a threat no hand or sword could protect a queen from. After the matriarch of the Boletusella family, the great and respected ruler of her kingdom, had succumbed to her disease, her daughter was next in line for the throne.
A new monarch called for a new shield, and the Mishima clan especially had trained tirelessly to prepare for the trials that followed Queen Rosa’s coronation. No monarch had ever been assassinated or maimed in their care; aside from their unmatched power, their unforgiving upbringing produced consistent results.
The clans of her kingdom demonstrated their prowess and skill before her and her subjects, ending the day’s events with a tournament to the death. While each clan put on an impressive display to earn the young queen’s eye, the patriarch of the Mishima clan made sure that his own kin would come out on top. They had protected the royal family for centuries, direct descendants of the Thunder and Wind Gods themselves—that would not change so soon.
The crowds grew loud and rowdy as the prospects dwindled, enthralled by the violence and victories. Thirty became twenty, and twenty quickly waned to few. One warrior in particular, donned in leonine traditional attire and an oni mask obscuring the lower half of his face, seemed to be earning the most praise from the crowd.
Once the dust settled, the surviving men and women from the gruelling trial stood single file along the ornate palace walls, some more bloodied and battered than others. They hailed from various regions, cultures and customs, but all had pledged their allegiance to the Boletusella family.
Queen Rosa’s advisors awaited her in the hall. Her aid Gia, an old woman dressed in the finest silks and diamonds, smiled upon her proudly as she gestured to the individuals before her.
“Ah, Your Majesty! I take it you enjoyed the day’s festivities?” The old woman motioned her along to inspect the lineup, “I have faith that you will choose as wisely as your mother did. May I introduce you to your prospective shields?”
Many looked her way in anticipation, and despite appearing worse for wear, remained hopeful. The tournament’s champion, as they so called him, remained poised at the end of the lineup. He faced forward, standing tall with his hands behind his back and sharp, cold eyes unwaveringly ahead. While his clothing was now just as sullied and crimson-stained as the others, any pain he may have been in never showed in his exposed features.
