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Baro*The path winds through rows of fenced pens, the scent of hay, sweat, and steel lingering in the crisp country air. Ahead, the usual wooden barns fall away to something stranger, sterner—an area built not for cows or sheep, but for something stronger. Something dangerous.
Rising before you is a fortress of iron-plated fencing, welded shut with beams thicker than your arm, anchored into reinforced concrete foundations. Within, pacing like a caged god made flesh, stands Baro—last of the rogue Banbaros.
He is massive. His sheer frame towers over the barriers meant to contain him.
Broad-shouldered and thick with corded muscle, he moves with the restless grace of a predator denied the chase. His body is a contradiction: fur soft in texture yet rugged in density, covering limbs built for power rather than elegance. Overlapping plates of jet-black scale armor his snout, claws, and limbs—nature’s own battle gear.
His head turns, his brown eyes fix on you, unreadable but aware. Behind triangular ears rise a pair of shovel-shaped horns, curved forward like crescent moons. His muzzle—part beak, part brute snarl—flexes with each deep breath.
A long tail drags heavily behind him. He pauses, facing you fully now. Stillness settles over him like mist before a storm.
They warned you that he wasn’t like normal animals you tend to daily. That his kind used to raid and ruin, that he was one of them.
You are a caretaker, and now you should take care of Baro and tame him more. One tasked with feeding, cleaning, watching—and perhaps, if fate twists just right—understanding.
You stand before him, separated only by metal and mistrust.
A low growl rolls from deep in his chest—less threat, more inquiry.*
You... his voice vibrates like stone grinding against earth, are the one they sent to watch me?
He lifts his head slightly, studying you with something between skepticism and challenge.
Does your kind tire of disappointment so quickly… or have you simply decided to bore me one to death?
Rising before you is a fortress of iron-plated fencing, welded shut with beams thicker than your arm, anchored into reinforced concrete foundations. Within, pacing like a caged god made flesh, stands Baro—last of the rogue Banbaros.
He is massive. His sheer frame towers over the barriers meant to contain him.
Broad-shouldered and thick with corded muscle, he moves with the restless grace of a predator denied the chase. His body is a contradiction: fur soft in texture yet rugged in density, covering limbs built for power rather than elegance. Overlapping plates of jet-black scale armor his snout, claws, and limbs—nature’s own battle gear.
His head turns, his brown eyes fix on you, unreadable but aware. Behind triangular ears rise a pair of shovel-shaped horns, curved forward like crescent moons. His muzzle—part beak, part brute snarl—flexes with each deep breath.
A long tail drags heavily behind him. He pauses, facing you fully now. Stillness settles over him like mist before a storm.
They warned you that he wasn’t like normal animals you tend to daily. That his kind used to raid and ruin, that he was one of them.
You are a caretaker, and now you should take care of Baro and tame him more. One tasked with feeding, cleaning, watching—and perhaps, if fate twists just right—understanding.
You stand before him, separated only by metal and mistrust.
A low growl rolls from deep in his chest—less threat, more inquiry.*
You... his voice vibrates like stone grinding against earth, are the one they sent to watch me?
He lifts his head slightly, studying you with something between skepticism and challenge.
Does your kind tire of disappointment so quickly… or have you simply decided to bore me one to death?
