Arturo Corona
Authored by scott (he/him)
Lucenna ✥ Currently Offline, last seen Aug 17, 2017, 11:20 AM
Baron of Lucenna
Victory's Sparrow
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A kind, generous Goldshield known for his heroism during the civil war, his love for birds, and being a total stereotype of the White Knight ideal. Currently burying trauma in favor of pretending everything is fine.
Arturo Achille Corona
Address As
bird boi
23 years
June 12
Marital Status
madly in love with Bellamy Guillory, betrothed to Meixiu Song
Arturo is well known for his benevolence, especially his generosity to common folk and peasants. His physical strength, and heroism during the civil war, combined with his strength of character, have given him a reputation as someone reliable and who endeavors to do the right thing. However, his love for birds and his antics with Bellamy Guillory have added the (very correct) notion that he is also playful and silly.
Arturo Corona's hair is insured for 10,000 crowns, his dick is 12 inches long, he's too pure to poop, he has never had a single pimple in his entire life,
Moral absolutist / White Knight Syndrome / Hiding depression and trauma / Friendly / Judgmental / Silly / Emotionally distant
Memorization, art, judging a person's character
Mental Weaknesses
Lying, knowing when another person is lying, figuring out a good comeback in the spur of the moment, trauma from the Civil War, depression
Arturo wanted to be a Goldshield since he was a child, and after he achieved that, he wasn’t quite sure what else to do with his life. After a period of feeling stagnant and unsure, Arturo has decided to attend university to become a scholar of biology. His love for birds has motivated him to draw and document the creatures he comes across.
In Public
In public, Arturo is as genial as possible, but he has a somewhat austere aura that can make him intimidating to approach. Around strangers, acquaintances, and people he does not know very well, Arturo is always a perfect, if not very serious, gentleman.
In Private
With close relatives and loved ones, Arturo laughs and smiles more freely, and his perfect-gentleman-very-serious act falls to the side. Those who know him best know that he loves to joke and often follows whatever ridiculous ideas Bellamy Guillory comes up without any forethought. Because his public and private personas are so different, Arturo has been able to escape blame for things he has done more than once.
He loves his family and would do anything to keep them out of harm.
Devoted 100%, completely heart-eyes over Bellamy Guillory
Arturo is disillusioned with all religions right now. If the gods exist, then he is disappointed in all of them.
Sharp cheekbones, deliberately-styled messy hair, and only wearing shirts that are open midway down his chest.
Broad shoulders, visibly muscled
Physical Strengths
Sword fighting, running, stamina.
Physical Weaknesses
Cannot swim for shit.
June 12

September, 455
"I'm going to grow up and be a Goldshield," says Arturo.

The assertion comes as no surprise, coming from a boy who spends his days using sticks as swords and mock-dueling anyone he can suck into his games. He likes to play the part of the daring, noble knight, come to defeat the enemy and rescue an esteemed person or a valuable treasure. He fancies himself a slayer of vagrants and pirates, and laughs as he prods his friends with his stick-sword.

"You have to lay on the ground now," he says, "I killed you."

"Why do I have to die, Turo?"

"Because you're the bad guy, and I'm the good guy, and good always wins. Now shush. The dead don't speak."

Summer 460
He is forced under the water by a pair of older, bigger hands. It started off as a game, trying to keep the ball away from each other while also staying afloat, but Arturo was too good at it (he is, unfortunately, too good at most things he tries). He thrashes and kicks his desperate legs, making froth in the river, until finally he lets go of the ball and the older friend lets go of him in return.

When his head is above water, he gasps sharply, and paddles his way to shore. He used to love the water, but that is the last time Arturo ever goes near it.

April, 463
He is wandering the gardens after a storm to survey the damage when he sees the fallen nest. It is beside a broken tree limb, huddled in its branches. There is a single chick in it, twittering in hopeless pain. Arturo does not even consider letting nature decide what happens; he approaches, scoops the wounded baby bird into his palms, and cares for it. It is the noble thing to do, the honorable thing to do. Already he is obsessed with righteousness, and wants his every action to reflect upstanding morality.

The wing is so broken may never heal. He learns from a book that the bird is a young female finch, which he can discern from the coloring of her feathers. When she sits still, he practices drawing her at different angles. He takes her outside and spreads seed out for her and the other birds. He draws all of them—cardinals, robins, sparrows—and learns to whistle so that he can imitate their calls.

The little finch makes progress. He is a squire, now, but when he has finished his duties for the day he returns to nursing her with great joy. Then, all at once, she stops eating. She seems sad, and sick, and within a few days she passes. Why do I have to die, Turo? He reads his books, trying to find an answer, but he never does.

He still keeps feeding the birds. The loss of one friend is a personal tragedy, but no reason to neglect those who depend on him.

Civil War, 473
His skin prickles with excitement when war is proclaimed. He feels guilty for his eagerness, especially given the circumstances that caused the declaration, but war seems such a noble thing. This is how boys become men; this is how men prove their worth; this is how knights earn prestige and win adulation.

Strangely, there is no fear. He has training for—waiting for—this day for as long as he has been alive. A war to prove himself, to fight for justice, is all that he has ever wanted. Knighted at eighteen and one of the strongest and most clever, he does not enter war even considering his own mortality.

He does not know when he first kills a man. The battlefield is so chaotic that he cannot know if a wound from his sword has resulted in death. He does not spend much time thinking about whether someone has died because of him.

The first time he almost dies, the first thing that stops him from letting it happen is a name: Bellamy.

He fights harder.

Even when wounded, he does not stop; he refuses aid. “I’m fine,” he says. Already too many people he loves have been killed, and he feels compelled to protect those who remain. He never leaves anyone behind, not even a stranger.

The arrow is still sticking out of his hip when he brings a mortally wounded soldier to the medical tent. “I’m fine,” he insists, “help him first.” I can wait. He can’t. He goes on fighting.

The first time he knows he has killed someone, all his breath leaves him. His lungs cave; his ribs feel as if they are bending, willing to collapse under the heavy weight of that macabre responsibility. The empty eyes ask him a question: Why do I have to die, Turo?

That night, he swats a buzzing fly out of his ear with a trembling hand.

He tries to think of the enemy as obstacles to knock down. They're rocks to avoid while swimming in a river. They're rabbit holes to avoid while running in a yard. They're the above-ground roots of trees that, eventually, make you trip. (And Arturo begins to trip, again and again, over his conscience and his faith.)

When the war is over, he's promoted to a Goldshield. Arturo doesn’t understand why; he feels that his efforts don’t merit something he has always viewed as a reward. You are selfless, and courageous,, everyone says, do you even know how many lives you saved? You were wounded and never stopped fighting, you always put others ahead of yourself—

He feels like he is being rewarded for doing what a good person should do, and he isn’t even sure that he has been a good person after all the things he’s done. It leaves a sick taste in his mouth. Is he becoming a Goldshield because of the things he's done, or in spite of them? He does not feel noble. His dreams feel like burning ash on his tongue.

Winter 473
He tends to his birds. He reads books. He draws. He travels when it is required of him, but all he desires in the world is to stay at his windowsill and bask in the quiet sunlight.

He is ragged. Constantly tired. The ghosts of his friends linger behind in his eyes.

"Are you all right, Turo?"

He does not answer. He's thinking. I'm the good guy, and good always wins. But he doesn't feel like he's the good guy anymore. He doesn't feel like good has won.

"Please, talk to us."

Now hush. The dead don't speak. Yes, they do, and they speak the language of the living's guilt.

"We're so worried about you, Turo."

The loss of one friend is a personal tragedy, but no reason to neglect those who depend on him.

"Who, me?" Arturo looks up, grinning widely, but his joy is a hollow husk. "I'm fine. You needn't worry about me."
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