Name: Retsudo Oro Other Aliases: Oro the Wave, Wave Man Gender: Male Race: Hylian, Human Physical Description: It doesn’t take particularly long to figure out Oro is a bit of a hermit, with skin like leather, tanned, scarred, and battered by both his age and the extreme weathers he’s dwelt in, from the scorching winds of Tantari, to the biting chill of Snowpeak. His pate has been shaven down to the skin, with the rest of his hair left to grow long. He keeps his long beard well groomed, the moustache trimmed to avoid his mouth. Beneath the hair and skin lies a powerful build, with muscles like coiled steel cables built from years upon years of training, conditioning, and fighting. This martial nature suffuses his demeanour, he walks with his back and neck bolt straight, gaze steady, treading strongly with the heel without stomping down, his face in a serene expression. While the wildly varied climates he subjects himself to demand a variety of clothes for the appropriate situation, there’s a few common threads to be seen, such as the simplicity of their manufacture, the muted colours he prefers, and a few choice accessories. In particular a heavy crest of burnished brass can be seen on his waist, alongside a golden disc hanging from a braided sash he slings over his shoulder, and the wine flask which has often been a source of woe for him. It goes without saying, but he’s rarely parted from his swords, wearing his longsword on his hip, and his greatsword slung over one shoulder like a rifle sling. He’s taken to flying a small banner off the handle of his greatsword, advertising his services as a swordsman for hire. Boring Outfit Details Below Spoiler In the heat of his desert home of Tantari, he wears a single, loose fitting robe tied at the waist with a wide cloth belt. The robe is coloured in a muted orange, and hemmed in black, his crest fastened over the belt alongside his disk. The torso of the garment left open, exposing the chest and back with the wide sleeves often being shrugged off before more rigorous activity. When he spends time in the Hylian fields, you can find him in a set of layered, closely fitting brown and white robes with a short, yellow haori like garment worn on top and held shut with a wide blue sash. A few tools and possessions can be seen hanging from his person, a large flask, a small dish for both drinking and eating, and eating utensils. To shelter him from the winds, he wears a short, collared cape ending just past the elbow and fastened with simple silver chains across the front, and wide tassels at the hem. When venturing to the chilling peaks of the far north, he prefers a sturdy, warm undershirt and pants worn under a thick zupan and heavy duty kontusz, with the fur lined cloak and mantle, complete with hood. A simple scarf tied over the mouth and nose, complete with a woolen hat shelter his face, with carved snow goggles to protect his eyes. Personality: While equal parts occultist, soldier, fencing master and drunkard, Oro’s true calling, according to him at least, is that of a theologian and philosopher, his exceptional skill at splitting men is merely a result of his ardent studies. He claims to be a pupil and seeker of “Royalty,” a spiritual higher state of being characterised by intense desire and ambition, and sheer overwhelming will power. While still only a student, this pursuit of Royalty makes Oro quite the striking individual, if he wasn’t a known hermit, mercenary, and contradiction-laden mad-man he could almost be described as regal, speaking and acting with certainty. He’s fiercely individual, deeply proud, and tolerates no evil, having often abused or often broken contracts he no longer considered just. Of course, there’s two sides to this coin. His dogmatic dedication to his own Royalty means he often butts heads with authority figures, refusing to recognise anyone’s authority but his own. And while intelligent, he often finds the bottom of his wine flask during formal debate, leaving him impatient and prone to more colourful methods of debate, having very little love for rhetoric, leading to his formal ban from a monastery after he brought a wild dog onto the premises dressed in a crude approximation of the vestments of the highly esteemed monks there, declaring the clearly quite feral hound to be the wisest soul in the room. Several stitches and heavy treatment for rabies was required after it wriggled free from his grasp and bit the face of the abbott. His radically different ideas on this cosmology of the universe have lead to most of his writings being banned from being sold in Rauru Village, with the exception of his sword manuals, which still retain a degree of popularity among some instructors for their blunt pragmatism. That said, he makes for an exceptionally difficult master for anyone who seeks to be his student. To begin with, he detests people who seek a life of violence as idiots, and often sends prospective students home with a sound thrashing on these grounds alone. His teachings are outright contradictory, extolling the virtues of self love above all, but also encouraging charity and kindness, claiming violence is the highest art but also condemning violent men. Some former students have claimed these contradictory ideas are an excuse to let Oro smack them over the head with his infamous stave when they fail to grasp it. Family: A small pack of dogs that have gathered around his Oasis hut Magical Talents: Want, Oro’s Crown, the fruits of his studies and training, and the object of his teachings is in truth nothing more than a simple application of Spirit Magic; refining one’s will into a cutting edge and turning it on the world. The most simple and famous application is the Blade of Want, a sword manifested from the Oro’s desire to split a target, appearing as nothing except for the gleaming edge of a sword that doesn’t exist, with a blade sharp enough to cleave stones. Manifesting one’s spirit like this requires an extreme degree of cognitive dissonance, believing in a sword that doesn’t exist in the face of overwhelming evidence, even acknowledgement of its non existence, and then using it to cut a target neatly in half. It’s for this reason Oro’s teachings focus so much on contradictory ideas. Of course, it takes an incredible fool to only want to cut objects, and Oro more often than not uses his magic to move strengthen his own body, allowing him to move faster than an old man has any right to, as well as leaping great distances to close the distance on his foes or run down fleeing parties. While incredibly versatile, this form of magic will not heed an irresolute wielder, if Oro were attempt to use it to do something he was unsure about, he would be left swinging nothing but empty air. (I’d like to submit a ticket for this magic, if that’s okay with you.) Weapons and Talents: Striving to reach Royalty necessitates a keen knowledge of martial arts, of which Oro is a master, enough to have founded his own school of swordsmanship. His technique is an application of Royalty, dominating the enemy through use of aggressive counter attacking, keeping enemies on the back foot and harassing them until they make a mistake, before brutally punishing them for it. While the basic principles of this technique can be applied to any weapon, but her personally favours his long and greatsword, a pair of unnamed swords, finely crafted though entirely bereft of decoration. More Boring Details Below Spoiler His longsword is 130 centimetres long overall, with a blade length of 100 centimetres. The blade has a shallow curve and comes to a fine tapering point, with a wide cross guard to assist binds and a knuckle guard and nail to guard his hands. The blade is finely balanced, letting it cut smoothly, while not compromising the thrust in the process. His greatsword is a monstrous 180 centimetres long overall, with a blade length of 130 centimetres. This sword is noticeably heavier and longer than its twin, the blade alone being as long as the overall length of it’s smaller sister. It’s wielded differently to the longsword, using its mass and superior leverage to carry it’s momentum through long sweeping strokes and striking patterns, and to overpower the enemy in a bind. Strengths and Weaknesses: For Oro, Want and Hunger are the twin essences of existence, anything else is death. A redoubtable foe, talented in the arts of war and philosophy, with a hatred of stagnation and an ambition that has no rival. He doesn’t accept the way the world is unless it pleases him, instead seeking something greater, carving out of stone with his instruments While undeniably a talented warrior, having bested countless foes both in his life before and after his time spent in the Tantari desert, his life style has left him ravaged. His emotionally exhausted, deeply unhappy, and filled with so many holes that will never be filled, no matter how much he tries to fill them. While this weakness has fuelled his power, the truth is he wished he never had to walk this path to begin with. When he takes a student, his wish isn't that they emulate him, but learn from his mistakes. That way when he finally dies, he can do so knowing he was able to do something right, to create something valuable. He has an outstanding reputation amongst the leadership of the Twili, originally for having helped recover a shard of their mirror, and for years of faithful service to them, from protecting their caravans to educating nobility in swordsmanship. While he’s still an outsider, he’s generally trusted in the enclave as a man you can seek out if you need something doing. (I’ll be submitting a ticket for the relationship with the Twili as well, if it’s okay with you.) Spoiler History: Oro’s first memory is waking up to the charnell scent of an abandoned battlefield, a perfectly blue sky overhead, a small stone pressing into his arse, and a large dog trying to eat his leg, though it seemed to be struggling to get through the tough leather. After thrashing the hound with a broken spear shaft he found nearby, Oro picked himself up and took stock of his situation. He was surrounded by dead men and carrion beasts, he was covered in wounds and deep amongst the carnage, so he was clearly a belligerent, but any livery or armour he might have been wearing was absent now, so he had no way to distinguish which side he was fighting for. He couldn’t recall a second before waking up, outside a terrible heat in his brow. It was quite a pickle indeed. He could either wait here for whatever found him, but given he wasn’t recognisable to any side his chances of surviving that were slim. So, he came to a decision. After prodding a nearby corpse with his handy spear shaft a few times to check it was dead, he pilfered it’s charming blue tabard and armour and began wearing it. The way he saw it, if he couldn’t remember a thing about the side with the nice blue coats, they couldn’t be that bad. Using the broken shaft like a walking stick, he took his new found disguise and fled the battlefield, followed by the large dog who before now was trying to snack on his calf. Oro didn’t mind, it’s not like the dog knew he was still alive. He would later find several other soldiers with blue coats on, and would find himself fighting a war that he didn’t really understand. He would walk for miles with the men in blue coats, who he later learned were part of the Kingdom of High Rule, fighting against some people called Dragmire. Apparently they angered a golden god with six arms and three heads, and the High Rules were here to punish them for it. He never really asked the details. On the occasion they’d tell him to stand in a line and run at the Dragmires, and then cut them into small pieces. Oro was quite good at this part, so good they sent him out to cut up a lot of important people so they couldn’t lead the Dragmires on the field. This was the routine for five years, walk, wait, run, cut, walk, walk, wait, run, cut, at first it was terrifying and lonely existence, running into a wall of steel and ill-intent, he was afraid to reveal his ignorance to his compatriots so instead only associated with the large dog who was tried to eat him all those years ago, and who now followed him around in the camps on account of him feeding it. In time he grew used to it, to the point where when the war ended he wasn’t really sure what to do with himself. He’d heard his compatriots talk about home, about family, jobs, the future. Oro didn’t have any of that, so when the peace was finalised, he took the swords the High Rules had given him for his diligent cutting services, the spear shaft he’d taken from that field years ago, and left. He had left his armour in the camp, the way he saw it it wasn’t really his to keep. Likely to keep its meal ticket, the large dog, who he had now named Dog, followed him He walked for a while with Dog and his swords, hiring out his ability to cut things open to anyone who needed it, caravans, nobles, pilgrims and diplomats alike. With his first payment he bought a large barrel, inside which he lived for some years, having never been inside a house he never really saw the appeal in sleeping inside one. It was inside this barrel he did a lot of thinking, he thought a lot about the war, he thought a lot about what he was doing, he thought a lot about who he was. This was his new routine, cutting and thinking. It was during a period of him thinking about violence when someone knelt in front of his barrel and spoke his name, someone who was quite unlike any of the High Rules he’d seen so far. She was really quite terribly tall, with bone white skin and bright hair the colour of a fire. She greeted him kindly and told him she needed him to cut something for her. Apparently she wasn’t a High Rule at all, but a Twy-lee, he was willing to tell her he didn’t know much about them, and she was willing to tell him more. She told him about her people, and how they were now trapped far from their home, the door now smashed and broken beyond use. He felt a tremendous sympathy for them, after all it’s not like he had a home either. So when they told him they believed they had located a small sliver of the doorway, and that they would like his help to secure it, he was more than happy to accept the offer. He walked with her and her men for quite some time, where he spent a lot of time talking to her. He told her a lot of things, she was quite pretty, and didn’t tell him what to do or bark orders at him, he enjoyed talking to her. She taught him how to read the runes in the village he lived in, about the history of the places she took him to, the ruins and temples where clues to the lost sliver could be found. She corrected some mistakes he had, that Princess Zelda Ann-Link where actually two people, about the nature of Ganondorf Dragmire, why he was fighting that war for so long. She said it made her sad that he couldn’t remember, but he wasn’t sure why. In truth, that expedition was one of the few times he was truly, a voyage of discovery and danger, surrounded by good friends. It was a shame it all had to end. They came upon an ancient ruin, the location of the shard, and a bulwark for the dark and wretched things that remained in the world. For a week they camped on the cusp of darkness, readying themselves for a very long, very dark journey, from which they could not be certain they would return. After a week, brows were swept and they departed into the deep and dark, beyond the comprehension of happy men. No matter how far they travelled, Oro never found an end to the Ruins. This is because it held one purpose, to swallow men whole, or else make monsters out of them. A task it would carry out without fail. Oro saw more death than he wanted to, he was no stranger to violence of course, but as each friend fell to the denizens and traps of the Ruins, he saw a light sputter out in the dark, irretrievably lost. It was a feeling that was entirely alien to him. He refuses to speak of what happened there in detail, but months later, it was only Oro who emerged from that place, carrying with him a dear friend, and a sliver of glass no larger than a strand of hair. For weeks Oro carried the Twili on his back, wrapped in the linen of her old tent fastened with the Mirror Shard she’d spent her life retrieving. When he reached the Enclave, they took his friend off his back and told him how great a service he’d done, how it wasn’t his fault she’d died, that he was a hero. They let him stay amongst them, and the jobs and money came rolling in. It meant nothing to him. Every night before he went to bed he wondered where his friends went, about how something so real, so warm and bright could just disappear. He struggled with the fact he didn’t talk to them more, that he didn’t stop them going in. That he couldn’t have saved her. So one day he took his stick, his swords, and his Dog and he left into the dessert, where he would dwell for some time. He built a small shack near an Oasis, where he would write much of his later work. It was here he entered a pit of self pity, which lead him into a deeper pit of self loathing, which dropped him into an infinite ocean of utter contempt for the world, where he would float for a year eating nothing but hard tack and lizards, and imbibing various reality altering substances to escape. It was during one of these attempts to escape reality, that Tantari received a rare thunderstorm, and while standing atop a dune swinging his greatsword at the sky; declaring that all gods are bastards and that they better have the stones to kill him before he finds them, that he was struck by lightning. Perhaps in a more reasonable world, that would have been the end of Oro, but he survived, his scorched and battered body being dragged back home by his Dog, where he dreamt great and terrible visions. Visions that would inspire him to follow the path he treads to this day. And so, for the next ten years Oro began to found his school of thought, codifying his philosophy, studying the poets, leaders, heroes, saints, the masters of their craft. He sought to attain true mastery, Royalty, rather than languishing in his pit. He travelled Hyrule throughout these ten years, practising and honing his skills, carving off the weak and useless things from himself and forging himself into a more pure form. After these ten years of duelling, fighting, studying, drinking, and pondering, he returned to the dessert to perfect his craft in isolation. This was largely because he had grown tired of petty nobility seeking him out to train their overfed and under disciplined children. Now he’s the most ardent student of Royalty, seeking to put his big muscles to good use, living in the dessert near the Enclave with the many dogs his dear companion hound had sired during his time wandering the world. He ventures out into the wider world fairly often of course, whether it's as a favour to the Twili, or to seek employment to fund his studies. After all, there'll always be a need for his brand of expertise.