the goddess' symbol only shows up with either the use of magic or with mana. Where is it located?

should be obvious

include where you were born, your status (if you're a noble), how being a Scion has affected your life, and any current personal goals. If you weren't expected to be a Scion, explain how you found out.

Setting is pretty modern but there be monsters on the road so what do you use to defend yourself?

the goddess' symbol only shows up with either the use of magic or with mana. Where was yours placed?

should be obvious

include where you were born, your former status (if you were a noble), your reason for becoming a Templar, how being a Templar has affected your life, and any current personal goals.

Setting is pretty modern but there be monsters on the road so what do you use to defend yourself?

Hollyhock is a gluttonous troublemaker. Her interests are typical for one raised in Rosaria: art, music, entertainment, and the like. Where she is unique is her love of food. She loves eating, she loves watching people eat, and she loves being watched eat.

For a noble, Hollyhock has little filter or delicacy. She says what's on her mind without caring about the consequences. While she does have the education to act the part as a refined noble, her true self tends to be a lot more vulgar and relaxed.

She has an overwhelming desire to not be chained down to anything. This has led to her habit of immediately wandering off the second nobody is looking at her.

While she has empathy and a general sense of duty because of her gift, she also doesn't believe she needs to be a pawn in the political games of the Rosarian court. This has left her at odds with her family who have been trying to reap the rewards of her Scionhood.

She has a fairly laissez-faire attitude towards the usage of a Scion's elemental magic. If questioned why, she'd respond by asking "if Incepta gave us hands, why would be need permission to grasp?"

Hollyhock is fairly pious. Despite this, she doesn't recognize the full authority of the church. To her, the church is an institution of mortals given power by common agreement. She doesn't consider herself divine by virtue of being a Scion, either. She was merely lucky--or unlucky--enough to have a blessing no different than the blessing of human inception.

When the previous Scion of wind passed, it was expected that one of her children would manifest as the next Scion. Watchful eyes focused on her kin that were involved in politics. It caused quite a stir when the next Scion appeared in her estranged grandson's family.

Hollyhock's family was never involved in the political sphere. While the name of Rosaria carried weight within nobility, it had a caveat: the name of Rosaria held power matrilineally. The second son of the third son of the previous Scion, while bearing the name, did not bear any power or responsibility. Only two generations down from the previous Scion, they were isolated to steward a small township.

Her memories of childhood are typical for a noble as they were marked with absence. Hollyhock's earliest memories are of her wet nurse and nannies, not of her mother's care. She could never forget the taste of the desserts her nannies would sneakily give her.

That changed on a particularly rainy day. A six year old Hollyhock, the third daughter, had split the clouds because her nanny wouldn't let her walk in the garden.

No longer was she the third daughter. No, now she was their golden child. She was now supposed to be the perfect Scion to bring honour and prestige to their family. Her upbringing became rigid. Gone were the lackadaisical days she spent with her nannies. Now she spent every day studying the skills befitting of a Scion without a moment's rest.

Her family quickly rose to prominence in Rosaria's court. Their meagre roles as nobles had grown. Every noble family wanted to bask in the prestige and influence that came with the historic title. The world wished to see the young Scion of wind. Media fame came immediately as she was toured around.

She received gifts, sure. But they were gifts from other families meant to arrange marriage and alliances. There certainly was more love that she received as the Scion than what she could remember as a young child. But this love was conditional and transactional. Hollyhock grew up with this understanding.

It was a shame for her family that Hollyhock wasn't a filial daughter. Instead, what they got was a troublemaker. Someone who was willing to climb out of the window and down trusses to avoid studying. A girl who would sneak into town to buy roasted skewers to eat with paupers. A girl that would leave in the middle of interviews because the lights had begun to bother her.

Hollyhock uses arrows that she can fling around using magic both elemental and unaspected. She doesn't have a bow, though.

Sigismund would be rash, brash, and firey when in confrontational situations. But, he is relatively soft spoken, and quiet, a gentle giant and that shows. He might enjoy fighting, but he honestly cares for the small things in life. Compared to most of his family, he is very gentle, and well-spoken, but his main purpose and desire is balance. He had learned to due through imported texts and knowledges about life in genera, his knowledge of how to use the earth to both improve fertility in local farms, and how to use it to create fortifications quickly, or just buildings since he enjoys architecture quite a bit.

He enjoys luxury and a life of fighting, but he does enjoy relaxation and quietness in life. There are two common things to find him doing, one is fighting, the other is reading. There are smaller things in between but he enjoys rowdiness with peace sprinkled in. He is a glutton, and will eat as much as possible due to his size, mostly meats. He enjoys hunting his own food, and that is likely why he likes to eat is because it means he can hunt.

Should he be at a social occasion, he usually tries to roleplay a log standing there, typically wearing darker colors that aren't blue, like dark browns, burgundies and such, anything so he does not have to talk to people, and when he does talk, he tends to either be awkward and spew information, scare them with vigor about the topic, fight them, or stand there roleplaying a lot listening to people rant while he nods his head, and makes a small comment here and there.

When it comes to others and his power, he runs them through the ringer, he makes sure that they should be trusted with his gifts, and that they are wise. People have tried to force him to give gifts, but that tends to go the bad way. He does believe they should be used in a military manner, but that is because of efficiency in it. The few he has given his gifts to are often nurses, but one commander whom he trusts. But, he believes war should be fought the old ways, or in duels. He sees what the world would come to with how quickly technology advances, and adding magic to that would only make it worse.

But with that, he also sees both potentials as honoring his duty as a scion, he trusts the church but believes in a more internal vision of his worship. He sees the world as a place that needs change; he believes the church could do that, but they refuse to step too far into politics. He sees the church as a limiting factor, as a good thing because of the lack of trust in the hearts of man, but a hindrance to progress and freedom. He truthfully cares about the traditions of his homeland more than the church, however. But, for now, he sees a status quo in the world as the best thing, until a definitive edge can be found somewhere.

The firstborn son of Otto von Abhbleman and his wife Lorietta, he grew up relatively pampered due to his seal, given the best things, and also bringing his family out of near poverty. He saved his family from loosing what is left of their land, and estates purely because of a holy mark upon his chest. But, from a young age, as soon as he could be trained and taught things, those in power sent him tudors and teachers to bring him into a more nationalist fold. He grew up loving his family, and they grew because of him. They showered him with gifts, and toys, and he lived life well as a youth. Learning to be proud of his people, his family, and those around him, indoctrination is the game, and it probably messed with some of the social queues in his life because he often didn't spend time with those his age. It was frowned upon it for him to speak with anyone his age that wasn't family for fears of messing up his 'learning process.' the church also did something similar, and gave him a bit of humility, but it still messed with his social development skills.

While his family rose, they did not rise to control. They were more of puppets, and guides for their young boy to grow to be a literal war machine behind the back of the church. Did that happen as intended, not really, maybe they should have let him have friends that weren't old generals, random engineers, philosophers delving into the nationalist ways, and the eventual priesthood member. His siblings, had similar treatment without the church, and they were allowed friends.

As soon as he became the ripe age of fourteen, he was allowed to go to school, military school to learn doctrine, further his skills reading and writing, and he took to engineering, and sciences more than he did most of his true classwork. He found a love for architecture. Enjoying those two studies, and masking them into building fortresses. The church of course did not enjoy this at all, and did give him side classes again, taking up the time for socialization to learn how not to be a killing machine.

He spent most of his life there, or in court, he was often sent to social occasions to be a statue of pride for the nation, and people, while offering him up like a turkey to suitors. However, that was more of the family's decision than anyone else's, and they were looking for a strong suitor for him. He would enjoy life, however, primarily through food and hunting. Hunting was one of the few things that the church and he encouraged as it taught him to do things for himself and basic survival skills that can be used on people.

When it comes to that, he found himself to being a decent engineer as he enjoyed making his own weapons, but this was seen by the church in a negative light, and by his people as a major positive as they thought he might be just a natural in creating things to kill and hoped to see what monstrosities of war he could create. In which he created rifles to hunt with, and a crossbow to shoot smaller animals and not waste meat.

But, he grew to be both patriotic, full of zeal, anger, but someone who desires freedom. He sees what is around him, yet he can only enjoy so much of it due to his position in life. He often tries to do things with others that can, bring him into interactions with others outside of those the government and church tries to bring him around. He often does this through sparring matches which he can say is just a way to continue to train, or to protect honor and face. He makes excuses to live life, however he can. But, at the end of the day, he is pretty much just a pawn to be used until he sees fit to change that, or someone else does.

His preferred weapon would be a rifle of some kind, but he will use autoloading pistols, and swords. He sees the use of magic in war as only a last chance, or as an equalizer in a larger battle

Maya’s Holy Sigil appears on her eyes. While she is not the first Scion to present this way, this has been of interest to the Church as it has historically been the only known Sigil presentation to produce two symmetrical marks rather than one.

Maya is a fan favourite among the current Scions, and for good reason: in interviews, public appearances, and most notably on social media, her contemporary style, openness with media and bubbly attitude have made an otherwise distant and intimidating ecclesial figure approachable and relatable to the younger generation. There is no journalist or camera she turns away, and by striking a careful balance between zoomer fun, modern sophistication, and girl-next-door charm, the Scion of Gravity has become a widely appealing and entirely inoffensive public figure that just about anyone can look to and find something to identify with.

It’s really a shame that it’s all an act.

In private, those close to Maya know her to be high maintenance, stubborn, self-centered, manipulative, and prone to temper when things don’t go her way. She has a vindictive mean streak that the more pious of her friends would call her deadliest temptation, to which she often surrenders; when someone rubs her the wrong way, she just can’t help herself. Often unreadable and rarely saying what she means, she keeps those around her walking on eggshells - until they realize that her bark is usually worse than her bite. Fortunately for her, most retreat before they ever get that far.

Maya was born in one of Doumerc’s smaller cities, an ancient settlement called Rivière-de-Larme located on one bank of a wide river forming part of Doumerc’s historically contested border with Kaudus. One of the last remaining border settlements in Doumerc (after the rest were gradually abandoned in a diplomatic effort to ease tensions with Kaudus), tensions in Rivière-de-Larme often run high, and the settlement is closely monitored by the Doumercène military, a rare sight in the rest of the country. However, being situated on a vital trade route both out to sea and inland to Rodion, Doumerc has yet to concede the town to Kaudus’ posturing from across the river.

For Maya’s part, she was born into some privilege; while they had no claims to noble lineage, her family was fortunate as Rivière residents went. They owned a family business of some repute running cargo barges up and down the river, and while their contracts weren’t huge, they were consistent, and with hard work they made enough to live comfortably, a luxury not all in their town could afford.

Maya herself was a difficult child, prone to stubbornness and temper, but she performed well in school; so well, in fact, that by the time she finished high school, she had earned herself a scholarship studying physics at a university in the nearest city. It wasn’t ivy league - it was an open secret that one needed lofty connections to get into one of those - but a degree from any Doumerc university would all but guarantee Maya a life much easier than the one her parents had worked for, and they were elated.

Unfortunately, Maya’s scholarship worked more against her parents’ interests than in their favour. In her time away, Maya grew haughty, acquiring a taste for the sophistication and style of “big city” life and learning to look down upon the small-time border town and kitschy cargo business that raised her. Her summers home felt like prison, and even her advanced physics homework appealed to her more than helping out with the family business.

But books still needed balancing, and cargo still needed checking, so Maya was unable to escape helping her parents out on the barges. One interesting bonus of the business was that, as a cargo carrier, the Desrosiers company was one of very few civilian companies with authorization to cross the river into Kaudus. With foreign relations strained as they were, they never had Kaudian clients, but the passport was necessary to get through checkpoints and to secure some limited protection in case docking on Kaudian shores was necessary.

As it happened, one of the summer days that Maya’s father could drag her out to help with inventory was one such occasion, their barge suffering engine difficulties and a rudder failure that forced them to make landfall in Kaudus. An unscheduled landing in waters as well-traveled as the Larme would raise tensions anywhere, but a Doumercène ship in Kaudus doubly so; as such, tensions ran high as Maya, for once, stayed dutifully inside the bridge while her father attempted to explain the situation to the Kaudian authorities. However, while her father struggled to communicate in broken Kaudian, armed men from the shore boarded and began sweeping the ship.

Then physics rolled over, and they fell into the sky.

Things moved pretty quickly after that, and after narrowly avoiding several Kaudian attempts to kill her, Maya and her father were secured by the Doumercène military and shortly thereafter, taken under the care of the Church. It was determined after a short investigation that Maya had undergone a miracle and become the new Scion of Gravity, following the widely published death of her predecessor two months prior. Maya was 22 years old at the time.

It was jointly decided by the Church and Maya’s family (albeit strenuously objected to by Parliament) that, for her safety, Maya would leave Doumerc and reside in Veradis, at least for the time being. Maya, who had never been strongly religious and was loath to be told what to do, chafed under the Church’s tutelage at first, and to this day hasn’t abandoned her stubborn streak, but you will never hear her complain about the accommodations: The Holy City of Juniperus is as far a cry from backwater Rivière-de-Larme as one can get. On top of that, there is nowhere in the world where a Scion enjoys as much doting attention, and in the few years since inheriting her gift, Maya has become a darling of the media - maybe a little too chummy with them, if her bishop has anything to say about it.

In circumstances where she's been approved for blatant uses of Gravity magic, Maya uses a blade-backed custom hammer. Otherwise, she carries a concealed handgun on her person at all times.

Some might say "disciplined," some might say "rigid." Jean-Marie lived the life of a soldier, and it shows. She is uncompromising in her pursuit of following orders and regulations, but hasn't had the freedom to develop many of her own interests or passions. On the positive side, she is cool under pressure, and generally unflappable. Insults bounce right off her. At least, those directed at her specifically.

Her pronounced military bearing is at odds with a kind of quiet piety. Military service finally did what no tutor or philosopher could manage, and taught her the value of peace through diplomacy. Unity through fraternity.

Jean-Marie is the youngest daughter of Duke Alphonse Allard. He is a dyed-in-the-wool Doumerc nobleman; a patron of sciences and scholarship, and even a little bit of the arts(as frivolous as that may seem!). Jean-Marie was not at all like him. Where he was a stoic and reasonable father, she was a wild girl from the time she could walk. Duke Allard is a very patient man, but found himself at a loss as to what to do with her. She gained a reputation for scaring off tutors, and always wanted to be out of doors instead of cooped up with books or pens.

When Jean-Marie was fourteen, her father despaired so much what to do with her, that he even threatened military school. He hadn’t meant it, really. It was so uncouth, for the poor and the simple, not a Duke’s child. He should have predicted that she would take to the idea just fine, and indeed became so excited over the prospect that she had to talk him into making good on his own threat.

After four years at the Academy, she graduated, almost completely unrecognizable. Duke Allard couldn’t decide whether to be proud or not. Certainly she had finally applied herself to something, and that was ostensibly an improvement. He had never imagined, however, having a child take an officer’s commission and join the cavalry.

Jean-Marie Allard served with what distinction one can in Doumerc, a nation that does not place a great deal of value on martial prowess or accomplishments. This never much bothered her. Indeed, if accolades had ever meant anything to her, she would have gone into scholarship as most of her siblings did. Most of her service consisted of expeditionary missions; scouting and patrol. What “real” action she saw was mostly border skirmishes with Kaudus forces, although on one memorable occasion her battalion was chased off by Rodion infantry, charging them on foot like lunatics. Protocol when encountering Rodion forces is to avoid firing, as they are ostensibly friendly, and Doumerc is loath to harm diplomatic relationships.

As repetitive as these duties can be, Jean-Marie was very happy during this part of her life. She took on even the most trivial duty with a will, and would have happily served for years to come. Incepta had other plans. She was the first over a hill on a fairly routine patrol, but Kaudus cannons had been set in ambush, and fired upon her battalion as they came over. Jean-Marie lost first her arm, then her horse. Her lieutenant called the retreat, but it was the battalion’s chaplain that stopped long enough to pull Jean-Marie out of the mud, and away from harm.

Though the technology certainly exists to restore a lost limb, her superiors would not pay for one of a quality that would allow her to continue service, and her father simply couldn’t afford it. So she returned home, bitter and despondent, but not at all for as long as she expected. The very same chaplain who had pulled her from mud had floated her name upwards in the church; an excellent soldier, free now of obligation, and needing only a minor token of help to be returned to service. She jumped at the offer, and has served as a Knight of the Church for three years, before being picked for a Templar position.

She carries both a sabre and a revolver, but has a strong preference for the former.

Dom bears the holy sigil, the mark of the goddess on the back of her left shoulder.

Quiet, introspective, and with a head full of metal, Dom is a young woman caught in a strong current that she has found herself utterly unprepared for and that she is struggling to navigate. She is no blue-blooded aristocrat raised to inherit a position of power and full of grace. She is no wealthy merchant's daughter steeped in privilege and carrying the knowledge of an upper-class education. She is no brilliant socialite poised to take over the world with charm alone. She is no hero, no great warrior or powerful mage threatening reality.

Dom would say she that she was, still is, a nobody, another busy worker bee. Once she toiled away in the shipyards of Lorenzia, earning a a days worth of wages, and trying to keep tight deadlines. And now she works for the people of Gaia, for the Church, and most importantly for the Goddess. An artisan, of the decidedly industrial sort, Dom is hardworking. She's kind. And she is the right person for the job if it comes to building a ship. She could be the right person for the job of Scion. She hopes. Not all the stories are about impressive and mighty figures, surely sometimes the world just needs a commoner like her?

Dutifully religious, Dom is an orthodox believer, steeped in the traditions, venerations, and superstitions of old. Few would accuse her of being a great theologian or particularly inspired when it comes to matters of faith, but she is no fool, she simply prefers not to ask difficult questions. She is unwaveringly obedient to her religious advisors, particularly the templar assigned to her.

Despite being grateful and incredibly honored that she has been chosen by the goddess as the scion of metal, Dom cannot help but feel more than a little overwhelmed by her new station. She is anxious to please. Desperate to do the right thing. And terrified of making a mistake. Under pressure, chiefly when acting in her capacity as scion, she feels great doubts and is painfully unsure of herself. In such moments, to her own great shame, she finds herself wishing for her old, simpler life.

Still, Dom is not one to give up. She holds to the view that her own feelings are not important. She feels that the dark fears that assail her must be faced with an open heart. And she believes, she wants to believe, that it is her duty as a Scion to overcome the challenges placed before her.

Dom was born in Pogona, a bustling coastal city in Lorenzia, known as the Shipyard of Estora.

The oldest child in a struggling artisan family, Dom inherited a long legacy of labor claimed by untold generations of shipbuilders. Her ancestors, near and far, were artificers said to have built the ships that sailed across the world since before the age of sail.

Times had changed by her birth, her family had fallen on hard times, and Dom grew up in a household on the verge of constant financial ruin. It was only through the largess of a wealthy Lorenzian merchant, Madame Agnelli, that Dom reviewed an education. Among the other impoverished children of the docks, she learned reading, writing, and her numbers.

Guided by her grandmother, a wizened artificer, Dom was taught simple, utilitarian magic, the sort of pragmatic spellcasting vital to shaping metal. She started small, bending small bits of metal, mere trinkets. She progressed to smashing respectably sized pieces of metal into bigger pieces of metal and then what could pass as vaguely useful shapes.

In her eighth year, she was apprenticed to a friend of her father, and sent to live in his small workshop. There she flourished under his kind tutelage and after years of hard work proudly attained the rank of journeyman shipwright. Encouraged by her relatives, she joined the metalworking guild, Mythril, led by Ilya Nicolov.

Leaving behind her childhood, she found her teenage years and early adulthood to be pleasant. She grew into her form, her hands became nimble and strong. She relished her work. She held no great aspirations. Simply to earn enough money and approval to be received in the guild as a master craftsman. Her dream was to one day rise to the lofty position of chief shipwright of a reputable shipyard. She wanted to build great ships that would sail the seas. And then she would retire to enjoy the pension due to a senior member of the guild. Her humble plans, her lazy daydreams about her future were dashed by an unexpected event far beyond her control. She had heard, of course, of the regretful passing of the Scion of Metal, but like most she did not trouble herself with such great matters.

Dom had more pressing concerns to occupy herself with. She had a ship to finish building. The first in a new line of high speed transport ships that were to be powered elusively by mana. A ship so novel that the Doumercians had forcefully insisted on providing their own engineers to ensure that the Lorenzian workers did not skimp on the quality of their work. A new, horrible deadline loomed over Dom and her small crew. She could feel the master shipwright breathing down on her neck at every moment. The shipyard had no desire to pay the hefty late fees the Doumercian lawyer had skillfully woven into the contract that owners had signed. And so she pressed on.

Disaster struck on the third day of the sea trials, when a bank of experimental mana batteries, installed by the Doumercian engineers exploded without warning. The shattered metal should have cut her to ribbons, should have left her nothing more than an ugly scattering of red paste and unrecognizable pieces on the engine room floor. Instead the metal fragments reformed in front of her, forming a half sphere that shielded her from the metal and flames that hurtled across the compartment.

Dom emerged unscathed. She didn't understand it. She knew she shouldn't have survived, but she was live, somehow, improbably she was live. Trying to find any other survivors she did not notice the mark on her shoulder. How could she? It was one of her subordinates that spotted it. Mistaking the still glowing symbol for flames, he half drowned her with a torrent of water before he realized his mistake.

Accompanied by the few survivors and a retinue of esteemed shipwrights, Dom journeyed to the nearby Cathedral of Sargosia to seek answers. There a priestess examined her and solemnly declared that Dom's survival was no lucky accident and no strange twist of fate. No, the priestess confidently declared, it was the Goddess herself that had blessed Dominika Kovač Rebula and who had mercifully saved her with her own hands. In a loud ringing voice, she proclaimed that Dominika was the new Scion of Metal. Honored beyond words, Dom nonetheless felt her heart lurch with a sudden pang of fear at the woman's words, she kneeled . Hours and days passed in a whirlwind of activity and religious fervor. She received a visit from the High Cardinal. She met the templar she soon learned had been assigned to protect her. And she was initiated in the mysteries and knowledge of the Goddess required from a Scion. There was much to learn. There were manners and social skills to master in record time, a difficult task even with the help of several stern matrons. There were functions to attend, more functions than Dom cared to imagine. There were rituals to observe, rites to perform, and media to talk to. And there was more to do still.

Months passed quickly and Dom found her life much changed for the better. She exchanged an old name for a new one, leaving her paternal surname Rebula behind, taking instead the celebrated name of her adoptive father, the Baron Giovanni Pugnatelli, a sharp man keen to cement his legacy by ensuring that the people of Lorenzia did not lose claim to their scion. She joined her new father in Ornell, residing with him in his lavish manor. She was presented with fine clothes. She was given free reign to purchase whatever materials she desired. She was handed the keys to a large workshop, her own workshop, full of excellent tools, and staffed by a steadfast assistant. And she never had to go to bed hungry.

For all the joys of her new existence, Dom found herself full of doubt. She would not have dreamed of questioning the Goddess. She would not presume to dare to challenge the Incepta’s wisdom. Still, by her own measure, Dom viewed herself as an odd choice for a Scion. Wracked by anxiety, she has buried her fears in her metal work, fighting sleep consumed by new fears of failing to live up to the grand stories she has heard of her saintly predecessors.

Finding herself a poor tool for the Goddess, Dom wishes only to do what she can, the small good she can truly accomplish, paltry as such feats might be.

Dom carries a corrosion resistant and weatherproofed multi-tool on her person that she could conceivably use as a weapon. However, at the urging of her templar, she has also begun to carry a revolver chambered in a large caliber. Lacking any particular firearms training, Dom's chief strategy in combat is simply to drive off any attackers with a series of ear-shattering bangs, aiming and hitting is for templars.

The goddess' symbol will be placed upon the back of his left hand.

Edmund values his piety above all else, and truly believes in living a simple life without too many extraneous luxuries. His two indulgences are literature and music, though even these serve a religious purpose. Edmund believes them to be a reasonable and worthwhile enjoyment over the ingenuity of her creations. As a result of his rather harsh early childhood, however, Edmund is three things above all else: cautious, observant, and soft-spoken. Edmund was walking on eggshells as a child, and his responsibilities and duties as a Knight and Templar have only exasperated an almost paranoid caution in all his interactions. Of course, this lends to his nature to watch things like a hawk. He is a somewhat quick study when it comes to more practical labor, a testament to how he was able to learn the various skills he did so quickly in his youth. Lastly, Edmund is a man of few words. While some may interpret this as another form of piety or restraint, in practicality it is just a deep-seated awkwardness and discomfort when around others. He prefers to let his actions speak for him, and his actions have spoken loudly enough to earn him a spot in the Templars. Edmund has, more recently, begun to speak up a bit more around his Scion and in more private matters... especially when irritated and pushed to the brink of his abounding patience. He proves to be a bit sassy and clever when he draws to speak out.

Edmund's worst quality is his self-righteousness. He has a deep disdain for those who are unable to keep their oaths, be it lies or failure to perform a duty. He usually keeps this to himself, but poor influences on him have encouraged him to make biting comments about those who have failed to uphold their vows when he believes he is alone. For Edmund's part, his self-righteousness does bar him from dishonesty. After all, dishonesty and a broken vow lead to his very existence, and he refuses to make the mistakes his father has. It is also why he denies himself pleasure and overindulgence, fearing that even turning down that road could bring more of the pain he has always had lingering in his heart.

It is distinctly uncommon for even a minor noble within Rosaria to be born and not given a maternal last name. It is a distinct blemish on one's reputation from birth to be born under such a situation, as it implies an uncomfortable truth to one's very existence. Unfortunately for Edmund Tiberius Silvaine, he was born under these tragic pretenses. Edmund was born as a byproduct of an affair between an artistic commoner under the patronage of the Delarosa family, and the husband of Alexandra Beatrice Troyes Delarosa. Edmund's father, Oswald Silvaine of an offshoot of the Lorenzian Silvaine family that had relocated to Rosaria, was a poor father to the boy. He was acknowledged with great shame, though Alexandra of course played the part of a charitable host to the pathetic product of her husband's infidelity. In private, she spoke less than twenty words to the boy in his entire life. None of them were kind.

Edmund Silvaine was destined, as it were, to be relegated to a life of being forgotten and despised for even breathing the same air as his family. He had an older brother by the name of Edgar Lorenzo Silvaine Delarosa who was given all he could desire. Edgar was kind to his half-brother, older by a few years, and spent time in private helping his younger brother to read and write at a young age. Seeing the two boys growing close, Oswald and Alexandra settled on sending Edmund away. It was through some extant connections that there happened to be a Knight of the Church in Rodion who was newly appointed and in need of a page. So, the day before his seventh birthday, Edmund's bags were packed and his father took him on board a train headed for a distant land. To this day, Edmund has never seen Edgar, Alexandra, or Oswald since. The only person Edmund remains in good contact with through regularly scheduled phone calls is Edgar. To this day, they will send each other novels and books of poetry through the mail. As far as either of them are concerned, they are truly brothers. As far as Edmund is concerned, Edgar is the only friend he's ever truly had.

At the age of 7, Edmund entered into a pageship under Sir Kolya Ivanov: a man of common birth who through piety, determination, and skill ascended through the ranks to attain the rank of a Church Knight assigned to a small village deep into the Rodion Tundra called Gukoysk. Edmund joined the young knight at the start of his assignment, having replaced the church's previous knight. Gukoysk served a somewhat spacious region of rural farm workers and a small industrial mine. Sir Ivanov was a rather generous mentor to his new page, giving him the room and space to begin to grow and develop. Of course, Edmund still had to learn from a young age to help manage the knight's correspondences, clean his gear, and make sure the knight was ready at a moment's notice. Sir Ivanov, in turn, began to help train and drill the boy from a young age in the art of combat. Even with much physical training, Edmund was always a bit more fleet of foot than he was strong and sturdy. He was also born left-handed, so Sir Kolya began teaching Edmund to fight with a sword in both hands just to become even more familiar with this weapon. As for more formal education, Father Valerian of the Church of Gokoysk taught Edmund much when it came to piety and honor. He even taught the boy how to play the guitar, so that he could assist in the music for church services. The two became the parents Edmund had never really had.

By the age of 14, Edmund had proven himself to be well-skilled and suitable to serve as a Squire. He continued serving in Gukoysk, where he would continue his education and training with some more laborious responsibilities and training. He had his own horse on call at the local stables, where he developed a connection with a stablehand his age named Katarina. Edmund was trained to ride a motorbike, one of the few more luxurious possessions the local Church owned, though he spent much more time making use of a horse as his means of transportation. Most importantly, Sir Kolya Ivanovich began to take Edmund out into the countryside to train with a pistol. He proved a prodigy with Kolya's firearm, as it suited his sharp perception and swift nature. When Edmund was 15, he encountered his first monster. Sir Ivanovich did the slaying, but Edmund had finally truly seen eye to eye the dangers that the Knighthood was sworn to destroy. From that day forth, Edmund had somehow doubled his already intense training and study to become a knight. As the years passed, Edmund became more distant from Katarina as he focused on his training.

Unfortunately, when Edmund was 19, Sir Kolya Ivanovich was slain by a monstrous, overgrown wolf. Edmund watched as the wolf had turned its gaze to him, and everything clicked into place all at once. He had no weapon of his own, except for a hunting knife he was gifted by Kolya for his 16th birthday. Edmund charged towards the wolf, and it charged at him. At the last moment, Edmund redirected his momentum in a feint and was able to dive past the confused beast, and was able to pull the clockwork revolver from Kolya's belt just in time to lift it and fire a shot directly into the eye of the charging beast. He was covered in the beast's blood and Kolya's, and was a grisly sight when he rode into town on his horse with his master's corpse. He returned later in the knight for the motorbike, and helped oversee the funeral rights and prepared the body for burial with Father Valerian. Edmund dug the grave himself overnight, unable to rest. He was the last one left mourning at the grave site, before he was dragged away by Father Valerian.

By the dying recommendation of the respected Sir Kolya Ivanovich that had been prepared before his passing, a glowing request from Father Valerian, and a rather tedious interview with a local bishop... it was only natural that Edmund was graciously granted the role and title of Knight at the age of 19. He has been serving in this role for 5 years, where he was assigned yet again to Gukoysk. He took up Kolya's former page, Pavlina Vladimovna, as his own. She has served as his reliable squire for a few years, and has taken after her new mentor rather well. Edmund's primary responsibility as the sole Knight of Gukoysk has been to stave off monsters in the surrounding wilderness, which Edmund has proven to be exceptional at. After many years of service, Father Valerian has moved up to the role of Bishop to fill a vacancy in the nearest city. It is in this position where Father Valerian pulled some strings and old favors, and managed to get Edmund's name circulating in the running for Templar. With his most recent promotion, and his frugal spending habits leaving him with money he felt he had no need for, Edmund purchased his squire a revolver of her own as a parting gift before he left for Veradis.

He never said goodbye to Katarina. She was going to ask him to stay. He tries to forget how he felt when he first saw her.

He spent one year in formalized training to serve as a Templar under Commander Fyodor, and has proven himself to be an upstanding Knight of traditional values. His first loyalty has always been to the Church. He has taken to heart a letter that had been slipped into his bags when he first left for his pageship that was from his mother: She hoped he would learn to enjoy the simple pleasures of life. He does to this day, as he enjoys times of quiet contemplation he gets and the time he can spend admiring nature and the landscape while on assignment. Though, his duty will always come first. The Goddess has given to all who serve her a charge to protect and use well her gifts. He does not wish to squander these gifts... but does relish in the beauty of the world the Goddess has created. He has been serving under his scion for two years.

Edmund's most distinct weapon of choice is a specialized clockwork revolver that can auto-eject its cylinder for easy reloading. He is also always seen with a short arming sword at his hip, and a barbed dagger tucked in a sheath in his boot. He has been known to integrate both his sword and pistol into his fighting style concurrently. He does, at times, carry around a taser to deal with his Scion's potential stalkers in a more non-lethal manner.

Right Shoulder

Dimitri can be a person who is calm, friendly and someone who can be counted on by friends when they need him. When it comes to family, he could be seen as contradictory. As he knows, the only reason he is with his father's family is because he is a Scion and nothing else and was forced to live with them while growing up. He missed his parents and wanted to live with him instead. Making Dimitri resent his relatives and wish at times that his father made a different decision.

He sees some benefit with living with his relatives. But one thing is clear is that no one messes with his parents or his younger siblings. For he cares about them deeply and is loyal to them. Even his coward of a father whom Dimitri has dueled other people with over his father's tainted status. This extends to his friends, who can expect Dimitri to have their back when needed. However, if this trust is broken, then it is hard to regain Dimitri's trust.

Also, Dimitri, despite being a noble, has sympathy for the common folk due to his mother being one. If he still lived in Lorenzia, he would be one of the advocators for the common folk to be allowed to vote. Which does put him at odds with his relatives when his sympathies get brought up. Dimitri sometimes gets away from noble life and converses and hangs out with commoners but often gets yelled at if found out, but he does not care.

Dimitri was born in Lorenzia to a noble father and a commoner mother. His father, though a noble of House Ivazov, and are directly related to the First Scion of Fire. He was a disgraced one from Rodion after refusing a trial of combat with his family's rival. Forever labeled him as a coward and earned the ire of his family. It affected him enough that he moved from Rodion and to Lorenzia with what money he had and would later marry his loyal servant. Now, when Dimitri was discovered to be a Scion of Fire, his father's family offered to take him back with his son in tow. But while his father knew his presence would just make things harder for Dimitri, he decided on just sending Dimitri alone to Rodion to his relatives because he thought it would be the best for him.

Now, as Dimitri grew up under his relatives' care. It had become apparent that he did not like this arrangement even after being allowed to visit his father and mother in Lorenzia on occasion. He wished to be with his parents and not with a family that only cares about him since he is a Scion. Which his father tried to explain to him on several occasions his reasoning for this, but Dimitri still does not get it. Granted, Dimitri's relatives did treat him well, to an extent, and gave him the best education and military training possible. But given the fact he is the son of a coward to Rodion's eyes. On more than one occasion, Dimitri dueled with others over this and always ended up winning every time. Even one of his cousins, Sergei, once Dimitri, discovered he was talking ill of his parents behind his back.

Dimitri, despite his, he did well for himself while learning and living in Rodion. He was allowed some freedom in his schooling and earned high marks, and being a skilled fighter. Along with making some friends and taking up crafting as a hobby as he worked on weapons, armor, and vehicles. Becoming a skilled craftsman and mechanic in the process. He is starting to see why his father did what he did by making him live with his relatives, but he still thinks it could be better if he lived with his parents.

Currently, when he is not being the star of House Ivazov and bringing prestige to his family for being a Scion. He spends what little free time he has trying to spend it away from his relatives and live his own life when he can. Hanging out with friends or doing one of his hobbies. He also visited his parents more after convincing his relatives after learning that he has a younger brother and sister and wished to spend time with them.

Still, Dimitri wishes for more freedom and to make his own mark on the world. That he and not his relatives are great in his own right and despite how he is reminded of how his father is forever labeled a coward. Dimitri is determined to prove that he is not a coward but a brave and capable warrior.

Dimitri uses a pistol and mace that he made himself and made with high-quality materials.

Unsurprisingly given his national origin and his nickname, Leo is a proud man that pushes himself constantly to become a better templar. He radiates a sense of calm confidence as he truly believes there is little in this world he cannot accomplish, should it be asked of him. For his companions, he is quick to offer advice, even when it is not asked for, but just as quick with a bit of humor or a well-meant compliment when he causes offense.

Born in Rodion as the youngest of four brothers and two sisters, Leo grew up in fierce competition not only for the attention of his family, but also their limited resources. Among the lower class, the rules of trials by combat were frequently abused by those who could simply afford to eat a little better or could afford even the most basic of weapons or armor. This meant that if Leo wanted to survive, he needed two things: allies, and an edge in the trials that would come his way.

Allies were easy enough to come by if one's morality wasn't much of a barrier. Leo spent his younger teen years joined up with a local gang of thugs, extorting protection money and stealing what he couldn't afford. Leo did his best to keep the rest of his family from finding out about his illegal activity, but inevitably he would slip up and end up cast out of his own house. He still feels a pang of shame for how things turned out, but in the end he threw himself into training rather than allow the shame to fester inside of him. He trained hard and seemingly endlessly, running the back streets laden down with smuggled goods, fighting opponents that could push his skill set, and picking locks and pockets alike.

Fate, or maybe just bad luck, has it's own sense of humor though. One day a back alley thug gets caught cutting the wrong purse and ends up issuing a challenge to combat to the wrong man. A retired soldier of noble birth with church connections of all things. Despite the sound beating that was then put into Leo, the older man offered Leo a choice: rise above the muck and blood he had thrown himself into, or die amongst it here and now. If Leo had known the hellish training that awaited, he might have chosen the latter.

Years passed as Leo trained in weapons and eventually battlefield tactics. He learned the art of swordplay through surviving the edge of the blade that punished his missteps. He learned archery and stealth through every night he starved in the cold when he could not catch any game. He learned how to tolerate pain and not let it affect his movements, even as he learned how to inflict it if neccessary.

When his patron grew too old and was challenged by younger nobles and fighters looking to claim his resources and influence for their own, it was Leo who stood in as the man's champion. When assassins came for him, it was Leo who threw their broken bodies back out into the cold. When something went missing from the man's property, it was Leo who went out and brought it back. And when his patron finally died, it was Leo that was offered up to the Church as a potential templar. His faith was tested, his body pushed to exhaustive limits, and his skills were constantly refined under the Church's watchful gaze as he was all but reborn for the third time in his short life.

As a Templar of limited magical ability, Leo has devoted an obsessive amount of his time to combat. His preferred weapons are a longbow for ranged opponents and magic users, though he carries a shortsword for more close range problems.

The sigil appears on the back of his left hand.

Kasper is a polite and remarkably charming young man. He is friendly, well-spoken, and he has a strong idealistic streak. It's also clear that he's a person with a vivid mental life. He is obviously educated in a general sense, and he's aware of the customs of nobility. But there are some subjects where it seems that he knows just about everything. He gets fired up in discussions about history and religion, for example, and he isn't afraid of discussing his personal theories, which are sometimes surprising. Kasper has a genuine and deep-seated piety, though this religious feeling seems to come from a personal relationship with the goddess and the writings about her. He thinks that the teachings are really about purifying the soul and becoming someone that the Mother would be proud of. He performs religious functions for the church without missing a beat, but he isn't an exacting dogmatist, and he rarely refers to the statements of the high cardinal in religious conversations.

The Scion of Shadow has spent most of his life in noble mansions and university halls. And while he is immensely knowledgeable, he isn't always down to earth, or even particularly aware of the more pedestrian dangers that he might encounter. Thankfully his templars are there to help him. He also seems to eschew modern technology in favor of antiquity. He has a phone, but he rarely uses it, and he doesn't understand much about the other technological marvels of his age. This, along with his piety and his literary mode of speaking, makes him seem like a extraordinarily anachronistic personality at times. It can be both a good and a bad thing. He is sometimes impractical, but most people are drawn to his romantic sentiments. His unshakeable composure really helps this perception. Having practiced to perform since an early age, his confidence doesn't waver even in the most awkward moments.

His passion for the ancient goes quite far. He's become a very respectable mage, but he often uses complicated arcane magics, when a more modern, streamlined spell would have sufficed. He claims that it's because he's actually more familiar with these older variants due to his research in recreating them. He knows all the classic works of literature, but he rarely has time to read something new off the shelf.

The scion of shadow was born to the Mirandolas, a minor noble family of Rosaria. He was provided with a thorough education, and given every advantage to develop his creative potential. Many of his family members had received acclaim in the arts, and it was expected that he too would become an artist or a musician. The young boy excelled in his studies, and he required more and more advanced tutors to continue his learning. He was especially attracted to history and literature. He would often while away his free time playing in the courtyard, acting out stories from legends and myths.

The Mirandola's mansion was a lively place, often host to grand parties for the region's nobility. The young Kasper was brought out during these events, in his finest clothes, to help entertain. Mostly he would just be paraded around and introduced to the other families. His parents would punish him harshly for any missteps of social etiquette, so he quickly developed a perfect politeness. Occasionally his involvement in the celebrations would take a more focused direction. He would be made to play songs on his flute in front of the small audience, or at other times he would recite poetry from an author that was favored by the honored guest. There was a lot to learn at these events, but probably the most important things were the connections he made. He became known to just about every family in Rosaria that was worth their title.

Just as often, however, the party would be held at some other villa, and his parents would travel out to enjoy them, leaving Kasper at home. They lived busy lives between the responsibilities attached to nobility and the extravagant social lives they pursued. Not to mention that his father still wanted to maintain some creative output as a novelist. And so there wasn't a huge amount of time for close, familial relations between them all. When he was a child, Kasper resented their relative absence, and he felt upset at the perceived neglect. But in time he became so used to it that he preferred the company of his tutors and servants for the most part.

As he got into his teens, his father and mother continually pressured him to start making something. He wasn't entirely opposed to the task, and he didn't want to disappoint them, so he started working on a poem. He put tremendous effort into it, struggling even with the finer details. Sometimes it was hard to sleep at night because he could not stop thinking about what to do with the story. But there was a certain satisfaction even in the trials of it. When he was fifteen, he published his first poem, called Elis and Cynthia. It was a few hundred lines long, and it re-imagined an ancient story about a woman, representing the Moon, and her love for a mortal man. The man was famously placed into an unending sleep by the curse of a monster. But Kasper's version had Cynthia using her powers to enter into his dreams, so that they didn't have to remain apart. It sold fairly well, and pleased his family.

The poem ended up being one of the only things that was published under his real name. Because later that year, a miracle came upon him. Kasper was lounging in the courtyard where he'd always played, and he was daydreaming about what next he would write. He became entirely rapt in imagination that day, thinking of a tempestuous sea and a great serpentine monster. So abstracted from reality was he, that he didn't even notice the sky above him darkening, and an actual serpent swirling down from above. A maidservant happened to detect the commotion from the window, and realized the the young master was in terrible danger. A few minutes later a guard burst into the courtyard, with the woman close behind. They called for Kasper to run, but he hardly took notice of them. So the guard brandished his sword and sliced into the monster again and again, until it fell to pieces. But when the body hit the ground, it burst into small, inky clouds - and it quickly dissipated. "That's it!" Kasper suddenly said, finding the end to his scene, and he rose to his feet. And in that moment the low clouds, too, dispersed. Only because of the bewildered expressions of the nearby pair did he realize that anything was wrong at all.

Kasper was amazed to hear the story told, but his family was understandably horrified. They brought in an expert from the church to advise them, and they quickly discovered the holy sigil that had appeared on their son's left hand. They had nothing to fear, the priest said. In fact, this was the greatest possible blessing. The Goddess had chosen Kasper to become the next Scion of Shadow. The serpent and the clouds from before were his own creations. Kasper was able to confirm this account, and he told the others that the things they'd seen were indeed the products of his imagination.

And so his, overnight, his status outstripped the rest of his family combined. He was assigned a templar, and he had many long talks with the members of the clergy, where he had his responsibilities and duties explained to him. It wasn't just work, however, a whole world of opportunity had opened up to him because of the blessing. He could go anywhere in the kingdom that he pleased, and he would be honored by all.

At first he thought to remain in Rosaria as he always had. But with so much power in his hands, things were bound to change. He wasn't particularly close to his family to begin with, but now that he had become a Scion, he naturally became a bit more arrogant and demanding. Their lifestyle quickly began to chafe at him, and he determined to move elsewhere - at least for a time. After some careful thinking, he decided to move to Doumerc to continue pursuing his studies. He still had a keen interest in history and literature, but now he had new interests to pursue in magic and religion.

Doumerc was, of course, happy to accept the Scion of Shadow. He discovered that his element was revered very highly there, because the first Scion of Shadow was a great scholar and philosopher. Kasper used his influence to gain easy access to the famous colleges and institutions in the region. He received the best teaching available, and he was permitted to get in on serious research projects that he could never have dreamed of joining without his new privileged status. He was able to meet with some of the greatest minds in his fields of interest, and academics of all sorts started coming to him. His mailbox began to literally overflow with offers and requests from universities and institutions. His name started being listed in several research papers as a contributor, and, eventually, as co-author. And while he didn't always get along with the seasoned, tenured men around him, he did learn an immense amount from them.

It took him more than a year just to adjust to his new life in Doumerc, and the great change of pace he had experienced. Due to all the study and exposure to research, he was genuinely becoming pretty knowledgeable about certain things. His love of history, religion, and magic had only grown. But there was still a stirring of discontent in his heart. For most of his life, he had been expected to become an artist. And he still remembered the thrill of composing his first poem. He still wanted to create. And so he started writing again in the evenings - stretching his thoughts and fantasies out into hundreds of stylized words. But his pen hand would freeze up every time he thought of the bishops reviewing his work, or of it being read by his contemporaries at the university. It would hurt his image too badly to publish his new work as it was. And yet, the work would be too mangled if he tried to prune all the controversy from it. It just wasn't possible to publish as Kasper Mirandola anymore. And so, if his work was going to see the light of day at all, he would have to use a new name.

Later that year, 'Arthur Redcrosse' entered the literary scene with his first poem. It was a simple little piece about a pious knight escorting a princess through the countryside, fighting off monsters and dealing with the challenges of living in the wilderness. It was simple, but the impact of the language was powerful. And everything about the poem seemed to be symbolically charged in one way or another. It wasn't just about the knight and the princess of some indeterminate time past; it was also about the modern day, about religion and nobility in the abstract. It was challenging at times, but it wasn't impious. The poem turned out to be a huge success. Kasper had sent the piece in secret to a go-between in Rosaria - a childhood friend, and had him publish the piece under the pseudonym. He was rather pleased with the result. He was able to reach the hearts of many in the kingdom with his writing, but he didn't have to carry that reputation to work with him into the university or the church. It seemed like the best he could hope for. And so all of his future writings would be published under the name 'Arthur Redcrosse'. His main focus was still research, but he was able to put out one or two new poems a year. Most every one became a hit, in time. As the fame of this author grew, it was realized that no man named "Arthur" could be found who was responsible for the popular writings. Some people began to speculate about the true identity of the author, using obscure details from the poems and alleged cryptograms therein to propose new candidates. But none of these theories is yet considered particularly likely. It isn't impossible that someone could put the puzzle together, but very few people know that Kasper is the true author. Even his own templars are unaware of that fact.

The years rolled on, and Kasper Mirandola became increasingly accomplished as a historian, and as a mage. He was especially interested in the oldest religious and magical documents that he could get a hold of. He established a small group of like-minded mages that worked to recover ancient spells. The general wisdom was that ancient magics were more powerful. Thus far, he was finding that to be true. They were quite powerful, but also more complex, more mana intensive, and not always very practical. The church generally discouraged the use of magic for scions, but he was afforded some leeway due to his role as the Scion of Shadow. The opportunities for progress that his magical research provided were just too great to ignore. And he was endlessly fascinated by the gift he had received. He couldn't stop himself from trying to find out what it was capable of. The templars who oversaw him wouldn't entirely approve of all of his experiments, so he would give them the slip from time to time. They were vigilant, but it was very hard to keep track of Kasper, simply due to the nature of his element. He could slip into the shadows and escape notice, if he wished -- or he could use the shadows to conjure an image of himself, which the templars would keep watch of while the real him was elsewhere. That was a trick they particularly hated. But after some strongly worded notices from the church, Kasper realized that he was being irresponsible. And not wanting to endanger his position, he has kept his solo escapades to a minimum lately - only really going out on his own to make arrangements to publish his poems.

His preferred weapon is a silver straight sword, with which he is quite skilled. He also carries a small knife for general purpose use; it is easily concealable. He isn't particularly fond of firearms, and he isn't the type to rush headlong into battle, if it can be helped. He is good with magic, though. Especially if he is given license to make use of his blessing.

On his back, between his shoulder blades.

On the surface, Tyler is far from the chivalric ideal. He carries himself with a blasé, devil-may-care attitude that speaks to either arrogance or laziness. He's competent when he deigns to act - as any Templar should be, though ideally this should be all the time - but his conduct leaves a bit to be desired and his outward displays of piety are lacking. He revels fully in the celebrity status he has, even if it's only leeched off the Scion he used to serve, and has been rumored to engage in vices completely unbecoming of a man of the Church. Still, he holds a tension in his frame that wasn't there before his infamous failure, and every set of eyes on his new charge has him coiled tight like a cobra ready to strike.

Truthfully, he holds a deep-seated anger - at Kaudus, at the world, at himself. He blames himself for his previous Scion's death, believes that, had he not been so lax, he could've prevented his disappearance despite the circumstances of it being completely out of his hands. The only reason he hasn't relinquished his knighthood in shame is the thought that the killers might still be out there, laughing at his failure. To that end, he's grown reckless, and now moves with something of a deathwish, believing that he will atone for his dishonor with either his own life or that of his Scion's killers.

The only thing he will abide less than allowing an enemy to live is allowing another Scion to come to harm, and he takes his charge deathly serious after graciously being allowed a second chance, even if he may not show it. Likewise, the casual irreverence Tyler shows to others does not extend to Scions, whether his own charge or others, seeing them as precious gifts from the Mother that need be cherished and protected, not babysat as has become the norm for Templars of this age.

Tyler's story did not begin glamorously. He had no storied pedigree, no family fortune to inherit; his father was an adulterous drunk and his mother suffered his neglect for the sake of her family. He was a troubled youth, one that misbehaved and got into fights, petulantly lashing out against a world he believed had wronged him by the circumstances of his birth. His salvation was found in the form of a kindly minister in his community who suggested he seek a new life in the Church if his current one was so intolerable. Tyler took him up on it.

But he was still young, and could not grasp what it meant to serve the Mother. He wanted to be cool, to be strong, to be a knight. So, Tyler was assigned as a page to a middling clergyman in Veradis. The work was tedious and boring, but the environment was certainly an improvement and, more importantly, he got to train with the squires sometimes. It was a relief when he reached squirehood himself and could cast aside such busywork to devote himself fully to more physical pursuits, though with his assignment to a true knight - an Estoran man by the name of Sir Robert Farrington - came more chores, to his chagrin. Sir Robert was a grueling taskmaster, one that shaped Tyler into a capable combatant but ensured there was no love lost between them, at least from Tyler's perspective.

In a way, Tyler felt cheated. Knighthood wasn't the chivalric ideal he'd imagined as a boy; he got to gallivant around the Estoran countryside at last, but it was dirty and terrifying, and he had to stand at a safe distance with a rifle in his hands and hope Sir Robert handled whatever beasts they'd been tasked to slay before something else leapt out of the woods to eat him. Sword drills consisted of him being smacked around until his bruises had bruises, never being allowed to feel success. Even the pitiful stipend he was allowed as a squire was denied to him, as he sent it home to his mother out of whatever lingering sense of filial obligation he possessed. It was the powerlessness of back home with all the danger of the frontier. Sir Robert, doubtlessly better at training soldiers than raising children, simply had the boy channel this frustration into his training.

By the time Tyler was knighted, he had been honed into a weapon as bitter as it was effective. Yet whenever he was pitted against other knights in friendly bouts, he could only begrudgingly give credit where it was due; Sir Robert had given him what he asked for. He was the powerful knight of his dreams at last. It made him cocky. When he was nominated for the position of Templar, it only made his head bigger. Duty and piety had no hold on him, Tyler wished only to relish in his success. He felt he deserved to relax and enjoy the luxuries of his new life at last after such an arduous path, and the task of babysitting a powerful figure would surely let him do just that. After all, what danger could befall a Scion?

When he was introduced to his new charge, however, he was captivated. The new Scion of Time, a relative of Estoran royalty by the name of Theodore Dainn Estora, was a charming young man with a natural magnetism that lent itself well to his position. They were introduced, went through all the pomp and ceremony, and then he reached down and touched the kneeling Tyler's back, as if willing an angel's wings to sprout then and there. In a way, they did; he took flight on the wings of time, elevating him to that ephemeral space beyond man but below the divine that Theodore occupied. He truly felt the call of the Mother there for the first time, he thinks.

The Scion was not the disciplinarian Tyler had grown accustomed to serving; he asked for little, and interested himself not in acts of war but in peaceful overtures that might prevent them. Had they not been peers, Theodore might've been the role model Tyler had sorely lacked in his life. He was good company, clearly meant for great things yet willing to let Tyler play at the fame and wealth he'd ever dreamed of as Theo pulled him into the whirl of his existence on a path to change the world for the better. Theo was a blinding star, and Tyler was content merely to be caught in his orbit; he would've followed him to the ends of the earth with only mild complaining.

Without him even realizing, it had made him dangerously complacent. Their shared story ended on an innocent trip; Theodore had wished to visit the previous Scion of Time's Templar, since retired, and dragged Tyler along on a trip through dreary Doumerc. Careless as he was, he entertained Theo's foolish idea to go on ahead, and despite assurances that Theo would most certainly be back in a half hour, the proposed time rolled around without a Scion in sight. Naturally, Tyler set out in search of him and, upon finding Theo's transport abandoned, called for a full contingent of knights to investigate. They never did find Theodore.

They assured Tyler that it wasn't his fault. That hurt far worse than any reprimand he'd ever received. He tried to bury his guilt by throwing himself into the search for their missing Scion, in cries for blood, in earnest pleas to unleash him upon the enemies of the Goddess like the sword of Time that he was. Given their proximity to the border, Tyler thought it obvious who the culprits were; Theo had wanted nothing but peace with Kaudus, yet those godless savages dared to spit in his face for it.

His grief came to a head months later, in the instant he felt his blessing fade. His friend and charge was no longer missing. He was dead. The only thing that stopped Tyler from marching across the border and cutting a swathe through every Kaudian he could find was the group of Church knights who stopped him and reminded him - violently - that he no longer held the borrowed power of the Goddess, and he'd be cutting no swaths through anything before dying a pointless death.

To make matters worse, he was never punished for it. People talked, of course, but the Commander saw his devotion to his Scion after Theo's disappearance as proof of his honor and not the guilty flailings of a failure. It was early in his career, and he was informed that he was to remain a Templar for a new Scion, in the event such a tragedy was attempted again. It was a kinder act of penance than he deserved, but it was his nonetheless.

Though Tyler is a competent marksman, the speed previously afforded to him by his Scion's blessing led to him favoring a Rodion mana saber in most engagements. Since Theo's presumed death and loss of his magic, Tyler has reverted to toting a semi-automatic carbine, regardless of how appropriate it might be for the situation, and a concealed handgun as a backup.

TBD (wherever my scion wishes for it to be placed)

Sara is defined by the phrase 'hidden strength'. Initially, she appears quiet and demure, her time as a teacher at the orphanage having taught her patience and how to be gentle. But the cruelty she has seen living on the streets, mixed with the teachings of the church and what little of her homeland's tradition that she was able to glean from her mother have created within her a hard and decisive sense of justice. Though zealous, she is also curious and hungry for knowledge. As someone who never belonged, her heart questions and seeks answers. She finds comfort in scripture and devotion but seeks deeper truths that some might consider heretical, so she keeps these thoughts to herself. Though she has not had access to the best education, many have underestimated her intelligence due to preconceived notions of her 'people and culture'.

Sara's mother, Aliya, was seduced and trafficked from the Kaudus Empire into indentured servitude in Lorenzia by someone who she claimed to her dying breath was a noble, a noble who promised her a new life full of luxuries. Aliya even claimed several times that Sara's father was coming to visit, though he always met her mother behind closed doors, so Sara was never able to catch a glimpse of him. Aliya worked ahrd to support herself and her daughter, and implored Sara to focus on her education, ingraining in the child the fact that education was the only real means of social mobility for people like them. Eventually, Aliya took ill and passed quickly, and Sara registered herself at an orphanage that was run by the church.

A large girl for her age, Sara found herself defending her fellow orphans from bullies, and as she grew older, this naturally led to her taking on a caretaker role for the younger children, as the orphanage was chronically understaffed. Since the orphanage was attached to the church, Sara simply followed the current trajectory of her life, and became a devotee of the church, cleaning, cooking, and doing laundry, while also becoming a teacher at the orphanage in order to support herself once she had surpassed the age that the orphanage was legally allowed to take care of her. This left her with little to no time to pursue higher education, and she doubted that she would ever save up enough to enroll into a Doumerc university, and even if she did, she knew the quality of her inner-city education was lacking. Ultimately, Sara was content serving the church and taking care of orphans like herself, perhaps she could give them the opportunities that seemed out of her reach.

One day, as a young adult, Sara saw a noble picking on a commoner, and as the noble's wrath escalated to violence, Sara stepped in to stop him. Enraged at having been interrupted, the noble pulled out his blade. The commoner that Sara was defending happened to be pushing a cart full of supplies, and Sara grabbed from it a length of chain with which to defend herself from the noble's cold steel. Underestimating her prowess, the noble was disarmed, at which point, Sara wrapped the chain around her fist and soundly beat the noble. A passing knight witnessed the incident and investigated the issue, ultimately siding with Sara and chastising the noble. Despite her age, the knight saw her late-blooming talent, and after learning that she was a devotee of the church, invited her to become a page. Sara accepted, and throughout her training, demonstrated exemplary loyalty, devotion, single-minded dedication, strength that belied her appearance, a softness where mercy was concerned, and a hardness where justice was required. Eventually, the knight who had recruited her recommended her to become a Templar.

Though from a shaky and uncertain background, Sara has gone through life one step at a time, allowing the fate that Incepta has ordained for her to guide her. She seemingly never questioned the events that pushed her through life, taking everything in stride. However, it is not so much that she never questioned it, only that wherever she was and whatever she was doing, there was always something new to learn, and she was always content with that. As a Templar, she would be closest to the nearest thing to divinity, a post that satisfied both her zeal and her curiosity.

Gauntlets and a chain.

The side of his neck, over a long-healed wound that had nearly taken his life.

The former soldier hides nothing in the way he interacts with others, speaking his thoughts plainly and succinctly without any attempt to obfuscate his intentions. When there is something pleasing to him, he is quick to acknowledge it and give praise, and similarly when he finds fault he will point it out and offer solutions and alternatives with no remorse. A no-nonsense man who believes its important to get to the core of an issue rather than beat around the bush, finding prompt actions and dealing with the consequences in the aftermath preferable to playing the social games that royalty and silver-tongued people play.

Despite this, he believes that following hierarchy to be important, the existence of order being the difference between people and savages, willing to hold his tongue when it is above his station to speak out. To Theobald, following the rules laid out by civilization are his way of keeping himself in check, self-aware of the fact that he isn't fit for peacetime and must forcibly acclimate himself to a conflict-free environment. Left to his own devices, he would indulge in his own desires with no regard for how they may seem to others, so it is with rigid structure that he suppresses himself every waking moment to act as a functioning member of society.

As a child, Theobald had grown up on the war stories that reached his small village, a forgotten corner of the Veradis where his father had settled to quietly build a family after the fabled war of 962. Helping with farm work in the mornings, and instilled with the virtues and teachings of the goddess by his mother during the afternoons, it was in the dead of night by his bedside that the young Theobald had his head filled with tales of grandeur. How his father had seen the legendary hero, Commander Fyodor in action, led into battle with a fervor that could only be described as the goddess' favor as the enemies of the continent were beaten into submission. Given those visions of grandeur every night, it was no wonder that as the boy became a young man, he set his sights on the Commander's kingdom of Rodion after he completed his pilgrimage across Veradis. He wanted to become a great a hero as the one he heard so much about as a child, and though his family thought it ridiculous for a commoner to reach for such heights, the emboldened teen listened to his heart rather than his head as he left the quiet life behind.

He was but fifteen when he first stepped upon Rodion soil, the frigid wasteland's greeting nearly stopping his journey at its first step. By the time he reached the capital city of Alvar, Theobald had nearly frozen dozens of times over, and came to realize that he was in no way prepared to join the military as he was. During one of his days in the city, painstakingly rethinking his decision to leave his homeland for a goal that seemed to be a pipedream, he learned of the country's national bloodsport, the arena. Rather than take the training of the military, which he believed would keep him from building a legend as great as Commander Fyodor, he instead applied himself as an arena fighter despite the greater risk of harm to himself. Naturally taller than many his age, he was able to obfuscate himself as an eighteen year old, entering the arena despite being underage rather than wait three years to become an adult.

At first, as a farmboy with only playground fights and just a year of training with his father under his belt, the young man faced hardships unlike anything else. Expecting that his natural physique would let him overcome his lack of experience, the arena was his harsh lesson that strength wasn't everything, beaten left and right by every fighter under the sun. Seen as a laughing stock, he gained the moniker of "The Largest Loser", his losing streak as large as his body as he was forced to learn how to fight through trial by fire. But with each loss, his knowledge grew, with each wound he suffered he understood how to fight just a little bit more, eventually overcoming the wall between himself and the other fighters with a fighting style that took every failure as a learning experience. By the time he left the arena at the ripe age of twenty-five, satisfied with his growth and ready to build his legend, he had grown past his old moniker and became a fighter that was known in the arena as a beast that lacked the fear of death.

When joined the military, Theobald quickly climbed the ranks, passing each rung with flying colors as his previous experiences colored the way he treated engagements with an unorthodox mix of arena combat and military training. By twenty-six he had gained his first medal, by twenty-eight he reached a leadership position with troops under his command and led frequent missions to cull the monster population, and at thirty-one he was given a place at the Kaudus-Rodion warfront to fight in the constant war against the opposing empire. And by thirty-seven, his name finally started to make waves in the military, the stories of a commanding officer who led his men with a ferocity of a dragon beginning for form amongst his fellow soldiers. Entrenched in war and only the echoes of a dream keeping his spirit alive, it was almost certain that he would be regarded as a prominent figure in the war effort if he were to continue his string of successful tours.

But on the eve of the final day of 997, his military achievements came to a sudden halt as he breathed out an all-consuming gout of flame during a heated battle on the war front. Immediately, he was recalled from the battlefield, his military rank revoked as the church took him under their wing, revered as the newly exalted Scion of Fire rather than the esteemed commander he wished to be known as. Had it not been for his upbringing in Veradis, perhaps the former officer would’ve pushed more against his sudden upheaval from everything he knew.

Theobald, however, wisened by his years of constant strife, understood the need to follow orders, and allowed himself to be subjected to the torture that was leaving a nearly achieved dream in the dirt. It was the belief that he was simply changing his superior officers from the Rodion military to the church’s leadership that kept him sane, treating his confinement as simply waiting for future orders rather than a complete lack of military advancement. It is difficult to ignore ingrained habits, however, and more often than not acts as a headache for the clergy and his Templar whenever he instinctively attempts to return to the battlefield whenever news of conflict reaches his ears.

Seeking versatility for his partner in combat rather than overwhelming force, Theobald's weapon of choice is a hybrid between a firearm and a longsword, a gunblade that utilizes the explosive force of the gun barrel for both recoil-enhanced blows and mid-ranged engagements. Even without it, however, his bare hands are weapons in of themselves should he find himself disarmed.

It shines within his right eye, burning ever brightly like his vigilance against evil.

Bright. If one were to describe Justinian in one word, it would be bright. His dispostion remains cheery no matter the circumstances, he always tries to lift the spirits of those around him, and always willing to be the butt of a joke to crack a smile on someone's face. Rather than wallow in what he has lost, Justianian lives every day like it might be his last and gives thanks to Incepta for every night it isn't. His piety is beyond the reproach of most, in all areas but one: He refuses to let himself be fully constrained in his use of his abilities when it comes to hunting down monsters.

And it is with this standpoint that the other factor of his personality comes into play, because much like the element he is imbued with, Justinian is infamously stubborn about things he has set his mind too. The wilfullness of his youth and a fierce independance have only catalyzed with his faith due to his belief that his awakening was Incepta decreeing that he should use his powers to save the helpless and so he often will bash heads with Templars, the church, sometimes even Her Grace High Cardinal Margaret herself.

With all due respect, of course.

The earth Scion's life before his awakening was. . . an unpleasant one. He was the son of a factory worker that spent all day in a failing factory to bring home scraps to a family of 4 with seemingly another on the way. His mother could barely pay him much attention, so he spent his early life with a great deal of independance that gave him a willful streak that his parents found equal parts exhausting and amusing. It was a rough life, but it was his and he was happy enough with it. The only regret he carried was lacking the ability to help his family rise from the poverty they found themselves in.

Unfortunately, this menial commoner's life came to a bloody end as a shadow fell over the small factory town. It started slowly, first with people's pets vanishing in the twilight hours and strange noises being heard in the dead of night. When people started to vanish, a call for help was sent to the local lord of the area. Justinian would not learn until much later that the Lord had known this danger was approaching his town, but the creature and its pack was a known danger that had even managed to take the lives of Templars in the past so they had decided that the loss of one or two commoners as had been the beast's pattern was a sacrifice he was more than willing to make. But the creature did not stop at one or two. More and more as the week progressed, people kept disappearing. Homes went quiet, the old factory deemed unsafe. And then, one day, the monster made it's final strike.

Justinian saw the first of the monsters on that day, masses of skittering legs and shining black carapaces bursting from the ground as he and his friends played in front of their building complex. Everything after that, however, was hazy and indistinct. He remembers screams, his father grabbing his arm and pulling him. . . somewhere. He couldn't remember where his mother was, or his sister of only 5 years. He could not remember when he and a few other kids had been huddled together in the backroom of the local church, his father looking at him with tears in his eyes and asking him to be brave and keep the younger ones safe. He can remember the banging. Even to this day, he remembers the skittering screech of talons on stone work, of heavy oak buckling and bending against the weight of something huge and savage. He still sees that door at night, in his dreams, bending and buckling and breathing like some great dragon about to unleash a torrent of death upon him.

He remembers praying to the Goddess, as clumsily as one can expect of a frightened child. A prayer not for himself, not for his family, but for the strength to protect them all. A prayer to give him some form of agency in this terrible nightmare. To take away this horrid helplessness that gripped him as he stepped infront of the other children, feeling a strange burning crawl through his body.

And he knows that Incepta answered.

When the Templars came a two days later to investigate the presence of a Scion, what they found left them both horrifed and speechless with awe. The town was covered in the corpses of man and monsters alike but rather than scavenging like the vermin they were, every monster had been frozen in a crystalline amber shell, somehow still alive within their prison. Justinian and the children he protected were found in that church basement, surrounded by a wave of the macabre crystal sculptures while Justianian just say there with a small baby cradled in his small arms. From beneath his frazzled blonde hair, the holy sign of the goddess shone with a dull amber glow from his right eye. The children had all been too scared to leave, wanting to wait for their parents to come and take them home, and the newly awakened Scion had sensed the state of things through the ground beneath their feat. He couldn't bring himself to break that hope to them.

In his first meeting with the Templars, Justinian's denied to follow his Templar rescuers until he was promised all of the children in his care were to come with him. He had refused to leave them in that mausoleum of a town, as they were his responsibility. His father had told him to take care of them, and he would not let them out of his sight until he was sure they'd be safe. It wasn't until the head templar gave his wor that he would finally relax, nearly fainting into the arms of the man. That was the last time that he ever let himself cry.

For the next year, Justinian responded little to any prompting outside of specifc questions or inquiries, he remained quiet, respectful, and rarely left his room. Whenever he spoke, his gaze never met that of who he was talking to, as if gazing somewhere miles away. The only thing that ever sparked any interest in him, strangely, was reading. It was the only request he ever made and it was quickly given in hopes of improving the young Scion's condition. He seemed especially fixated on the first Scion of Earth, Isidore Laurent, whom he spent hours reading about in every form he could find. Whenever he spoke, his gaze never met that of who he was talking to, as if gazing somewhere miles away. And before long, his birthday came around.

As he lay in bed, twelve years old watching the kids he had saved all come into his room with present for him, thinking about how they only reason any of them were here was because of his actions that day . . . a choice was made, bringing with it the first smile he'd had in a long time. He told his handler that he had finally felt ready to accept his place as a Scion, which was met with much joy and relief from all around who had about how this event would effect a personof such importance.

It was only the next morning that his handler, and all of Lorentia for that matter, would realize the true meaning of his words. The year had not been spent just idly processing his trauma and reading, but listening to the very earth beneath his feet. Feeling the heartbeat of the planet and letting it lead him to the places most active with creatures like those that had attacked his home. The vermin that existed only to ruin so many lives with their destructive desire for chaos, living outside of the natural order. As the sun broke, Justinian's small form was being broadcast live by flabbergasted villagers as he dragged out a wolf-like monster that had been terrorizing their livestock for weeks, the small girl it had been stalking held in his arms. One of several rescues he had made that evening and would continue to make for many years after.

Justinian swore on that day not only to never let himself feel that level of helplessness again, but to save every person he could reach from the unfair horrors of life. It was the decree given to him by the Goddess herself and he would fufill it, even if her voice on earth disagreed with him.

Justinian has taken the years to teach himself at least a passing familiarity
with a number of weapons like the spear, staff, sword, and even the bow. But when it comes to his favored weapon, that would simply be his own two hands. Often channeling the strength of the earth into his form, Justianian reinforces his own body to smash through obstacles that stand before him

Inner right wrist

Honor is deeply rooted in Salvatore’s beliefs, but for every intent and purpose, he’s always been a lively, energetic man. For as long as he could remember, he’s held a deep love for the world and everyone in it. His heart is truly that of a good and honest person. Not only won’t he tell a lie, for some reason, it’s impossible for him to lie to someone’s face. He, unlike his older brother, the President of Lorenzia, would not make for a good politician. He’s much too pure and good to even be considered for such a position.

Because he is a good person, that also has created some troubling situations for him. He’s much too stubborn to ever compromise his integrity. It’s caused arguments with both men and women. Despite his inability to lie, he loves to debate. Loves to argue and especially after he’s knocked back a few too many mugs of rum. When he does that, things get tense. He fights as much with his mind as he does with his fists.

A man his size who is as intelligent as he is, ironically, unwise when it comes to not knowing his own strength. Truly the literal representation of the duality of man.

Life for Salvatore has been anything but normal. Mostly due to his abnormal size. As what one might expect for someone whose first experience with puberty came before he entered the chronological stage of double digits, Salvatore towered over most kids his age and even over his own older brother. Because he had always been a good kid and was seemingly raised right, Salvatore was the classic case of a gentle giant. Never laid a hand on those who rightly deserved it. Never let the comments of being a freak ever get to him. There was never anything that could change who he was. Whether that was the promise he made to himself or the advice he once received from his brother, Salvatore always stood firm that he was bigger than that. Literally and personally.

As time went on and the giant boy grew into a giant man, Salvatore became even further committed into his own beliefs. Most of them personal and bound by an honor code he developed, but also as a countryman of Lorenzia, as well as a believer in the Goddess. All of them crafted him into the man he became. Salvatore understood at a young age that his size would more than make up for a lot of things in life, but he still became well-educated, taking his studies seriously. In fact, it was surprising to a lot of people who knew him from his younger years, but ever since a young age, Salvatore took a great interest in the other countries. He especially loved it when world history classes came along because it meant he could learn about the other countries. A personal dream of his was to travel to them. He wanted to see the other lands, soak up their rich history and culture, and consume as much knowledge and experience as he could.

For much of his adult life, Salvatore spent the years not just soaking up the written knowledge of the world, but because of a family friend of the Esposito family a woman who was ten years his senior by the name of Gianna Bianchi, a beautiful woman with Lorenzian features. A merchant who had a whole network of both land and sea-faring vessels. She knew well of Salvatore’s love for the world, having been included in some of the excited tangents he would go on about certain facts about every country. Even his least favorite of Doumerc, which he always had one or two things to say positively about. He was already an adult when she had asked what he thought about coming to work for her on her chartered cargo ship. It didn’t take a lot of convincing, but Salvatore was at a crossroads. This was the sort of opportunity that only came once in a lifetime. He had worked within the capital as a local merchant, so his experience wasn’t lacking in doing it globally, but his brother was here. His family was here. His whole life was in Ornell.

Gianna understood this and gave him half of a year to think about it. That’s when the next time she would be rolling into town for her next shipment of cargo.

Salvatore did indeed spend the following six months thinking about a lot. Simultaneously, he put certain eggs into a basket just in case he was going to lean in the direction that pushed him to follow his life-long dream. Unbeknownst to him, there were other things working in the background. Perhaps it was due to the fact that Salvatore was so mentally fixated on whether or not to take up Gianna on her offer to work for her that he never realized that his brother was being elected as the next President of Lorenzia.

This came as a shock for a lot of reasons. He must have never realized just how much of an interest his brother had in politics, but he also didn’t think his brother could be so foolish. With all the knowledge of the world that Salvatore consumed in books, there came a certain understanding about how the cruel game of politics worked. There was always a secondary motive behind every big play. He had made what he suspected was the truth, even if he was wrong, Salvatore made it known to his older brother. Knowing his brother, maybe he didn’t see it. Maybe Salvatore was wrong. Or maybe it was just this immovable force that Salvatore was, a brick wall of a man who couldn’t see the desire that was the unstoppable force of his brother.

Or it was the higher-ups in Lorenzia manipulating him like Salvatore suspected all along. It didn’t matter what the reason was or who was right or wrong. It became clear they both refused to yield on the ground they stood firmly on. Ignorance or too much empathy be damned, Salvatore wasn’t getting anywhere with his brother. The tide was changing for the Espositios and the sail of Salvatore’s life took him in a different direction. WIthin a fortnight, he was gone. He took Gianna up on her offer and was soon a traveling merchant on the sea.

Life as a merchant went well for him. He was still quite young and managed to travel all over the great continent of Estora. Some months he spent the entirety soaking up the rich culture and rich religious history of Rosaria, perhaps the most beautiful country of them all. He spent multiple durations throughout the other countries, but the last one was when Gianna sent him on his solo mission, having done so well during the year and a half he was under her tutelage to deliver goods to a single client in Rodian. She wouldn’t tell him who it was, but just that maybe he might learn more than his name from the man.

During his stay in Rodian, Salvatore was on a solo mission and he spent many nights with an ex-soldier who took a liking to him because, like him, he was also a big man. One that didn’t like to fight, but because of his size, he had no choice. Somewhere between delivering goods to this man, he took a sabbatical and became this older man’s student. For five months, he learned how to fight with his hands. Not just use his strength but proper technique on how to block, how to throw, how to deliver a solid, yet non-lethal blow, should he need to. It was with this man he also learned about what it meant to be larger than life but not wanting to hurt. It was here he came to understand that just because you were big didn’t mean you deserved to feel less than what you were.

Not long after this, as part of the end of his time under the tutelage of this man who was so generous with his time, he and Salvatore went out for drinks. Just two men enjoying a night out. It was going swimmingly. They were both having a great time, enjoying each other’s company and even had some food, but there was a group of individuals who decided to make trouble. They were also large men - bigger than both Salvatore and his friend was. They seemed to have a problem with Salvatore for some reason. He didn’t know why, but they immediately started to poke fun at him. He didn’t respond. He learned restraint and he had dealt with bullies all his life. Even at twenty-six, he still felt the effects of unjustified harassment.

But they wouldn’t stop. They took his admission of defeat as a reason to mess with his friend. Only that’s where he drew the line. Even one little attempt to fight him and Salvatore put a stop to it, stepping between them. Tensions escalated but even though they tried to hit him, all Sal did was block them. That irked them and three men began to wail on him, getting nothing but blocks. His mindset was to never fight back. He never fought back against people because he knew his size. He never wanted to be the reason anyone wound up in the hospital or parents were the reason. Even for someone who abided by a mostly pacifistic way of living, even he had his breaking point and that came when all three of them went for a series of punches that were not just blocked, but countered. He used his strength to hurl all three of them back.

But just as he did, there was a phenomenon occurring within Salvatore that went unnoticed by him, but everyone in the bar noticed. On the inner portion of his right wrist, a light blue sigil of some kind appeared on his body. In the very next moment, lightning exploded from his fists and while it avoided the three bigger men, it destroyed the roof of the bar, causing debris of stone, iron, and wood to fly all over the place.

Salvatore didn’t quite understand what was happening, but those in the bar did. Soon word would spread to the Church. The modern-day Scion of Lightning would be known and his name was Salvatore Esposito.

The changes that came were felt immediately for Salvatore. Firstly, when the Church heard of this, they immediately sent for him. He was soon escorted out of Rodian and immediately was sent to Veradis and to the capitol. Everything he had come to enjoy about his life had changed. Assigned a templar, wherever he needed to go, he went under the supervision of his Templar. Wherever he needed to go, he went with his Templar. Though he primarily lived in Lorenzia again, back in his family home, which had made accommodations for his Templar, as it was now required, there was something different about him now.

See, Salvatore hadn’t been the same since his abilities manifested. He had always strayed from wanting to fight. He always rejected the idea of fighting because it wasn’t fair to those who were smaller than him. He could hurt them. He knew there might come a day that his worst fears would be made a reality; and even though he didn’t hurt anyone during that day, there was still the pure and simple fact that he could have. That stayed with him even to the present day. He hates being a scion but hates letting his emotions get the better of him even more.

Salvatore Esposito is a big man with an even bigger heart. He doesn’t want to hurt but knows he will. So he does whatever he has to. Not just as a man of Lorenzia, but as the Scion of Lightning.

Due to his overwhelming size and surprising almost pacifistic nature, Salvatore never had any real needs or desires to properly train in any class of weapon. That being said, he does wear plated shin guards and bracers. In addition, his primary “weapon”, as many would refer to it, are iron gauntlets. They more pack enough punch, especially with his size and strength that comes with it.