Xiro Zean

Scion: The Prophecy of Anani

_{Interacting with | @Hero as Some Poor Saps & Belle | @OwO as Hollyhock}

---

Focused upon piercing the darkness with his Incepta-given sight alone, it was a wonder that Theobald could make out anything at all. Though he attempted to find the other Scions within the biggest spheres of activity, he could barely make out the individual humanoid figures moving in the shadows, let alone any specific faces.

But as he stared out into the dim lighting, he began to notice the strange, red dots that seemed to come from nowhere that shone from multiple corners of the room. Aiming his weapon at one of the lights, he could just barely make out a hooded figure making their escape just as a loud wail pierced his ears. Barely twitching from the noise, it was the strange emptiness that overtook his body that caught his attention.

Though at first it seemed nothing important was affected, not feeling anymore tired than usual nor weaker in any respect, it was when he started to hear more screams than usual from the familiar voices of Scions around the room that he realized the problem. Drawing his stance tighter as to make himself at least slightly a smaller target in the near perfect dark, his eyes had barely started to adjust to the essentially blind surroundings before another loud noise shook his senses.

The cavalry had arrived, bringing the light from outside the manor along with them.

With the new sources of illumination, he could finally catch what he'd been missing. The Scions of Metal and Shadow, watching each other's backs while their Templars sped to their aid. Maya and Edmund, scrambling to save themselves as their powers failed them for a brief moment. A formation of rock in the shape of a person and the Templar of Earth by its side, with five masked soldiers on the ground in front of it lacking everything below their knees. The distinct lack of the Scions of Light and Lightning, a fact that made the soldier's hands ball into fists.

But it was the wall of ice, assaulted by many of the masked men while the Templar of Water was under duress, that made Theobald move.

Expecting that Hollyhock, as the most experienced Scion with her Templar in arm's length, knew what she was doing, the former soldier left her behind as he sprinted toward the frozen barricade with thundering steps. With the ballroom well-lit and the people finally being directed by someone with sense, he didn't slow even a hair to avoid any civilians as he rose his gunblade to bear.

One. Two. Three heavy slugs were fired at the assailants. The first was a warning, crashing into the ice and cracking it harder than any of the masked men had with the butts of their rifles, drawing their attention. The second pierced one of their arms, causing the gunman to drop his weapon and fall to the ground stunned. And the last, hitting center of mass, the giant too close to miss and shattering another assailant's chest in a shower of shrapnel and blood.

The remaining guns raised in retaliation, the former soldier grasped a table as he ran past it, heaving it with his superior strength and throwing it down in front of him. The rifle rounds dug into the furniture just in time, obscuring his position and forcing them to hesitate as he leapt over his own man-made obstacle to stab one of the still-standing two on his way down, crushing their sternum under his weight at the blade cracked their mask and dug into their skull.

In a moment of panic, the last attempted to swing their gun around and fire their rifle point blank, but Theobald caught the barrel of the weapon in his hand just before it could center upon his forehead. The first bullet still grazed his cheek, his ears ringing from the gun discharged rapidly so close to his head and the skin of his palm boiling from the heated gun barrel. It didn't change the outcome for the final assailant, however, pulling them close with their hands still gripping onto the gun as he rose his bicep to meet their rapidly incoming body, clotheslining them hard enough to make their feet leave the ground and slam the back of their head into the tiles beneath.

The former soldier stood there for a moment, his gaze rapidly moving around to make certain all threats were neutralized while the ear closest to the rifle spilled blood, only stopping when he found no one else to fight. His balance was shot, at least until he recovered enough for his temporary lack of a working eardrum to settle, but he had enough sense to pull out a knife and finish off the two still-living intruders before they could get up for round two.

Splattered with blood from the up-close executions of those final two assailants, Theobald let out a sigh as he leaned against the ice wall, knocking on it in a specific morse code only known to certain soldiers. Those who had fought within the Rosaria-Lanvaldear campaign would know it as the 'friendlies with no hanger-ons' signal, a battle he knew the person inside hadn't been apart of personally but mayhaps heard of due to her relation to it.

"I have rectified my mistake," the Scion of Fire spoke aloud, not even certain his fellow Scion could hear it as he could barely hear himself.

It was something that had gnawed on him for many years, a blunder he made as a young man that even after his tours upon the Rodiaon-Kaudian warfront he never had a chance to redeem. Though he didn't expect any thanks, as they had never interacted personally, he hoped at the very least that his quick dispatch of the assailants looked good for his reputation as he ejected the mana battery from his gunblade. Slowly, he slotted in five new slugs to replace the ones he fired, watching the surroundings just in case a new threat attempted to get the jump on him and his temporary charge.

"Will they reprimand me if I ignore that command to escape until someone notices?" Theobald grumbled to himself, watching the reinforcements do their job from the sidelines as he prepared to throw himself back into the fray.

Scion: The Prophecy of Anani

_{Interacting with | @Hero as Some Poor Saps | @OwO as Hollyhock}

---

It was chaos.

The darkness hung over the ballroom like a curtain of death, with only the Scion of Light's ball of illumination, suppressed muzzle flashes and occasional glow of magic piercing through the gloom. People ran about with only the thought of their own safety on their minds, the lords and ladies that had once populated the halls absent in the veil of shadow.

Familiar voices could occasionally be heard through the mayhem, Scions and Templars alike shouting over the cacophony to find their partners, all the while under the assault of a still unknown enemy. To many, it would be a day they would remember for most of their lives, a trauma that would undoubtedly haunt them each night they turned off the lights, reminded of a fantastical party at the end of the millennium that fell to disarray.

For Theobald, however, it was a Saturday.

One that was losing his interest by the second, the two intruders left to deal with circling around him warily after seeing how swiftly he'd dispatched their comrades. To have been so bold as to break into a function with many of the highest ranked in society must have required a lot of guts, but it seemed that whomever was in-charge of this endeavor didn't share this enthusiasm with their servants.

"Will you not approach me?" From the weapons in their hands, these merry-men were well and capable of killing if required. And, from the unfamiliar sounds of gunfire unlike any of those in the king's guard's employ, it was clear that they were stocked with ammunition, but it was quite strange how they weren't attempting to kill him.

In fact, if he thought about those taken down beforehand, the only ones who came close enough to engage in melee had only attempted to eliminate the Templar in his presence, with the other having aimed to disarm him before the redhead had gotten in their way. Did they perhaps have some other motive for the Scions?

Well, he wasn't going to give it too much thought. That was the job of the investigators after the fact. As he drew himself into a lowered stance, the two assailants visibly tensed as he spoke. "Then, I shall come to you."

A man of his size should not have closed the distance that quickly, yet the strides he took were deceptively long, only requiring a few steps before entering one of the masked thugs' range. Sparks flew as their weapons clashed, his partner in the dance of death forced to follow the path of his swings as they reeled from the intense blows. Unlike his previous foes, who had been caught off-guard by his sudden burst of motion, the intruder was able to divert his strikes from killing blows even under constant duress, belying the skill those within the group possessed.

Even in their close quarters, however, the former soldier had not forgotten the other assassin, sending the man he first crossed swords with to stumble before catching the blade that had aimed for his hamstring with his own. With a grunt, he discharged a round into the floor, destroying the poor bastard's foot while his weapon rapidly disappeared from the blade lock as the recoil translated into a vertical slash the other direction, his rotary cuff immensely disliking the motion yet completing the devastating vertical slash down onto the first man. Their sword, battered and shaking from the assault they endured moments before, snapping in twain as their guard broke, the gunblade continuing its motion through the defender's collarbone down to the opposite hip.

Another immobilizing strike? This was not a coincidence. The thought crossed his mind even as he used his free hand to stop the final intruder's gun from firing into his shoulder, crushing the masked fighter's fingers in his grip and the bullets popping uselessly into the ceiling above. The man's scream rung in his ears, causing his eyebrows to draw closer while disarming the desperate swing made to make him let go of the assailant's hand.

As the assassin's sword dropped to the ground, removed by a measured strike to the wrist, the giant moved his crushing grip from the hand to the masked figure's neck. The yells became a choked wheeze, the interloper clawing at his fingers for a chance to breathe while he walked over to a certain spot, ending the struggle with a powerful slam that cracked the tiles beneath their feet.

After taking a step back, Theobald took a moment to compare the places of the new body crunched into the floor and the one from the Metal Templar, his frown deepening when he noted their near identical craters. Clearly, he was getting rusty.

A shout drew the lone man from his musing as his Templar loudly directed the Templar of Gravity to his position, and for a second the former soldier had to struggle with the rough mental gymnastics of either praising Sara for making him the center of the attention, or to berate her for gathering the Scions in one place for the enemy to prey upon them. He eventually settled with a classic grumbling, annoyed that the Kaudian had made him even think of her in the first place.

"Watch your six!" Theobald warned his, technically, senior Scion, noticing the approaching figure of the Wind Scion and the flickers of wayward shadows closing in to intrude her path rather than attempt to catch up to her speed. Closing one eye, he steadied his aim and fired heavy slugs into the floor as the brunette passed them by, cutting of the enemy's approach and allowing her to close those last few dozen feet of distance between them.

Acknowledging the woman with a brief nod during what was essentially their first introduction to each other, his gaze scanned the cacophony around him, eyes focused on the biggest patches of activity for any signs of the other Scions. There were a couple he hadn't heard a peep from, whether that be in the form of a fear-filled scream or a response to their searching Templars, and it was they whom the former soldier sought to look for specifically.

If these intruders weren't trying to kill the Scions, despite clearly targeting them and ignoring the other high-priority members of society, then they must need them alive.

That was the only factor that kept him from merely attempting to cut losses and gather the ones already accounted for.

Scion: The Prophecy of Anani

_{Interacting with | @Hero as Some Poor Saps | @Mcmolly as Ionna | @Stern Algorithm as Sara}

---

If there was something he could respect in a person, it was when they toughed it out through pain they could clearly feel. So when the redhead asked Theobald a rather innocuous, shoot-the-breeze question about whether fighting or dancing was easier to teach, his thoughts returned just seconds before when she had smiled through the audible cracking of her fingers.

"To teach someone how to fight well is not simple. It takes dedication, suffering, and the right teacher." It was clear the old soldier put some thought into the Templar's throwaway inquiry, his gaze rising to watch the nobility who danced beneath the candlelight with narrowed eyes. "A child can be taught how to fight in an instant when their life is on the line, but the time and experience required to mold a good soldier from someone who only knows how to move is too long compared to teaching how to dance. Soldiers are disciplined, and the experience of fighting is not unlike dancing. It is an easy choice."

His hands balled into fists, unsatisfied with the answer he came to despite knowing it was correct. Bringing up the fact that such a peaceful era no longer needed soldiers would simply add fuel to the fire that burned constantly in his heart.

It was easier simply to listen to his new companion ramble, rather than address the feelings he held within, nodding along to show he was at the very least lending his ear. Only to notice, as the Templar had, the disturbance in the air. His hand had come down to his gunblade before he could even recognize what happened, the fake flash of blue causing the Scion to furrow his brow. Moving his gaze just a bit to the side, the crumbling Scion of Time filled his vision, the former soldier releasing a scoff before loosening his grip on his favored weapon. What was the use of power if you couldn't control it?

Not that he had any say to be thinking that.

But the moments of flickering before the darkness, unlike the strange surge of power from the newly minted Scion, were very tangible and real. With the Templar's sentence cut off yet again, the older man didn't bother warning her as the first break of a window caught his ear. The nobility, who once were merry and celebrating with lavish food and drink, became nothing but civilians. Screaming distractions that obfuscated what was real and what was fake.

Theobald closed his eyes. Listening for familiar voices beneath the cacophony, the sounds of gunfire music to his ears.

Ah.

He was home again.

The flash of light that filled the room coincided with the opening of Theobald's eyes, his gunblade leaving its sheath and pointed toward the approaching shadow with their weapon glimmering from the sudden illumination. With a click of the hammer and a squeeze of the trigger, the heavy slug from his weapon caved in the would-be-assailant's chest, armor and all. In the same motion, the old soldier used the force from the blast to clash his blade against that of the assassin who attempted to sneak into the redhead's blindspot, his own unnatural strength combined with the recoil-boosted swing collapsing the unsuspecting intruder's guard and neck in a single swing. Protecting her just as she had him.

Magic or not, rusty or not, the Scion of Fire wouldn't allow himself to be caught slipping in front of his junior. She'd earned his interest within but a couple of minutes, and with how she'd been able to defeat her opponent with little to no injury, she would undoubtedly do so again in the future.

Theobald eyed the last three nearby assailants slinking in the dark, staring them down through the eye sockets of their masks with outward contempt. Slinging his gunblade up to his shoulder, the soldier held not a single ounce of worry in his body, even taking his eyes off of them to glance down at the Templar who seemed more than a bit skittish. It took him a moment to realize she was probably looking for her actual Scion.

A thought that didn't take long to come to fruition, the redhead choke-slamming one of the remaining three who attempted to approach them as she left his side. The old soldier let out a whistle of approval, seeing how to floor had cracked from the force of her blow. Speaking of, didn't he have his own Templar?

Understanding from their body language and focus on his person that the intruders were undoubtedly there for the Scions, and not attempting to take any nobles as hostages, Theobald merely kept them in his sights as he roared with a commanding voice. "Sara! Protect the Scions! If I see you fully intact when this is over and any of them are missing, I will kill you myself!"

Scion: The Prophecy of Anani

_{Interacting with | @Hero as Commander Fyodor | @Mcmolly as Ionna | @Stern Algorithm as Sara}

---

Theobald hung onto the Commander's every word, pleased to hear that the old war hero perceived the situation in a similar manner as himself. The former soldier knew better than anyone else that he was born in a relatively peaceful world, the conflicts and suffering he faced on the battlefield all his own doing. Were he born but a decade or two ago, when the world was filled with strife and when might truly did make right, perhaps he would never had struggled with the emptiness he felt in the present.

"How unfortunate. I request you keep me informed should there be any updates on the situation." But as expected, Commander Fyodor would not allow him to act without the full approval of the powers above, and as long as there was no evidence of foul play the kingdom would not send anyone out to pursue their vengeance. With a slow nod, the Scion glanced towards the double doors, noticing the approaching party as the war hero had and sent the man off with a salute. "Until we meet again, sir."

Following the instructions of the senior Templar, Theobald obediently joined the others in the procession to the main chapel, feeling Sara's gaze upon his back as the Templars had been ordered to follow behind their Scions. If he were to be honest with himself, the former soldier envied the armors gifted to the Templars, existing as yet another reminder of his confinement and the coddling of the church. Although, compared to the familiarity of his military uniform, perhaps he was better off without it. He was used to the feeling of polyester and army-grade body armor, and was certain that attempting to fight in anything aside from it would feel like walking in a different person's skin.

He shed his thoughts as they reached their destination, another set of double doors opening to reveal the audience of influential figures and various nobles, the flash of paparazzi and the whispers of gossip familiar yet tiresome. Knowing that they were here for the new Time Scion and not himself, and even further understanding that if they were it would be for the Fire Scion, their presence seemed more irritating than usual. His features pulled into a frown, the warhawk observed the sight of the noble Tsar among the world leaders in attendance. Feeling ashamed that such a person would bow even tangentially to a mere solder such as himself, Theobald would have no doubt bowed deeper in return if the ceremony wouldn't have been disrupted by his actions.

The ceremony, not unlike the conferment of the titles of Time Scion and Templar, went about as expected. A formal affair, completely devoid of any personal attachment. Having a complicated relationship with religion, born believing in the goddess but spurred by her followers' decisions, the former soldier didn't know what expression to make as the crowd praised the goddess and all of her creations.

---

When the congregation dispersed briefly as they moved locations for the after party, Theobald spent most of his time during traversal staring silently out at the scenery rushing past his car window, watching as the sun dipped below the horizon and the city lights flickered on to greet the night. Though he had the power to light his cigar on his own, the familiarity of a lighter's metallic click was cathartic in of itself, the smoke trailing out the open window as he did his best to ignore his company. The Fire Scion could never be trusted alone, after all, and so his Templar sitting beside him during the car ride was nothing more than a drain on his patience.

"Leave me." As soon as he arrived at Gile Manor, the former soldier sent his perpetual shadow away. Not even attempting to be subtle with his disdain as he left her behind, his mood soured by the armor she donned during the ceremony, the large man wasn't certain what he expected to feel when he joined the festivities. Relaxed? Relieved? No, just more of the same, completely out of his element among the higher caste of society.

The name of the Time Scion was on everyone's lips, both the current and former, the conversations freely spoken for anyone to hear unlike at the ceremonies before. But even with the significantly less formal atmosphere, it was still a noble's environment, and so Theobald expected to relegate himself to the sidelines. Or, perhaps, speak with one of the few people he knew at the party. Their hunting trip was on the horizon after all, he would need to straighten out the details with the Templar of Gravity to iron out the details.

And then he saw her.

He wasn't certain if they just happened to meet gazes, or if the woman had been staring at him for a longer period of time. Her approach was immediate, beelining for him through the crowd without a single complaint from the nobility despite the armor she refused to doff, the former soldier's impression of the woman increased slightly by the sight as strolled up to him and spoke her greeting with a great, big smile. Her name continued to escape him, but the Fire Scion recognized the face of the one who gave out cookies to her fellow Templars and the other Scions. A strange one to be sure.

Perhaps the Templar of Metal realized that offering her prosthetic hand would draw attention to it and offered her real one, yet the towering figure's gaze still drifted towards it. He wondered what the story was behind her replacement limb, the large hand that clasped around hers squeezing with a strength that tested the limits of what a human hand could endure. It was customary, at least for the former soldier, to test how strong of a grip a fighter had whenever he met one.

"Likewise." Not making it clear if he meant he was just as honored to work with a fellow soldier, or if he knew of the Templar as much as she knew of him, Theobald shook their connected hands once before letting go. Despite having observed him from a distance, the redhead seemed to feign interest in his thoughts on the afterparty, and so the former soldier played along if only to break the monotony of standing around awkwardly. "It feels restrictive. I am not used to spending time around the nobility. I feel more comfortable in a barracks than a ballroom."

While the circumstances of her arm were up for debate, it was a nice change of pace that there seemed to be at least one person who recognized him for his reputation rather than position. Meeting her grin with his usual, stern expression, the warhawk stared down at his impromptu companion as he attempted to grumble somewhat amicably, "What are you so happy about? Was your attempt at currying favor with that box of pastries of yours successful?"

Scion: The Prophecy of Anani

_{Interacting with | @Hero as Commander Fyodor | @Stern Algorithm as Sara}

---

Though on some level, he had expected such a response, Theobald couldn't help but clench the fist at his side when he heard the Commander's form of address towards him. His brows lightly pressed together, his continually serious expression somewhat tense as he lowered his saluting hand, the words he wished to say formed on the tip of his tongue and only held back by the determination to continue interpreting the leader of the Templars as someone with command over him.

His hero did not see his medals, nor his uniform, nor the respect in his gaze.

All Commander Fyodor saw was the Scion of Fire.

Rather than say something that would break the chain of command, as while they may be equals in theory their military ranks were a divide apart, the former Rodion soldier turned towards the bustling crowd of people. Unable to meet his hero's gaze, the large man cleared his throat to keep his emotions in check while he replied, "These formal engagements do not suit me, Commander. I feel more at ease trekking through trenches among comrades rather than standing stiffly among the nobility."

Theobald sighted the growing group of Scions and their Templars, gathering in what seemed to be three distinct groups, with one engaged in greeting the new Scion of Time, another his re-admitted Templar while the other was... indulging in a box of sweets? It was shameful that many of their names were lost to the former soldier, but he could at least match most of their faces to their station, and of the few he could actually recognize he thought it amusing that Edmund was humoring his Scion and her love for pictures despite his apparent discomfort. The giant did not remember the face of the young woman who brought the confectionaries, a Templar so recent they’d never even crossed paths, but he certainly recognized the technology that replaced her arm. His eyes narrowed, knowing the lives that had been sacrificed to keep such a marvel under wraps, only to be on display for every known nation under Estora's banner to get an eyeful practically for free.

And, as his glare slowly drifted toward the woman by his side, even those from foreign powers. For once, he actually acknowledged the presence of his own Templar outside of her attempts to keep him bound to the church, grunting to catch her attention before gesturing in the general direction of the congregating Scions and Templars with a flick of his head. "Leave us. You have no need to watch over me here."

He wouldn't attempt escape with so many eyes on the event, and with his hand patting the sheathed weapon at his side, he made it clear that he could protect himself should something disrupt the festivities. Expecting her to leave him be, Theobald once again ignored her presence as he moved his attention back to the Commander, his emotions settled enough to feel comfortable speaking with him some more. It felt a bit strange, needing to look down upon one's source of ambition due to their difference in stature, and so he subconsciously lowered his head and shoulders a half inch as he addressed the warhero.

"What is the status of the investigation, sir?" He made a very overt glance toward the Scion of Time, making it clear that there could be only one sort of investigation he was discussing. The death of Theodore Estora continued to be the biggest unsolved mystery in the continent, an event unprecedented in modern times. For a Scion to go missing was thought to be unthinkable, and to die during such time even more so.

Which is why, knowing that the Kaudus Empire was believed to be the most likely suspect, the Scion of Fire thought it prudent to get his foot in the door to deal with the issue as soon as possible, his voice becoming low so that others would not hear his request. "If manpower is required, I can offer assistance in taking down the perpetrators of the incident. Dealing with the troops of 'external threats' is my specialty."

He didn't expect to be accepted, knowing full well how much Scions were cradled by the church and how unwilling they were to even think of putting them in harm's way. But perhaps the Commander, as a man who experienced war and understood that there are moments that required a gamble or sacrifice to proceed, would be willing to see the potential merits of the former soldier's inclusion and allow him to escape his faux-confinement.

But if he were to be honest with himself, the idea of working alongside his childhood hero sparked his interest far more than simply returning to a battlefield. If Commander Fyodor were to simply allow him to shadow the legend for but a moment, to peek behind the curtain and observe with his own eyes how a warhero conducts his business, the large man would be content enough to be compliant with the church for a few months. An entire year, even.

Scion: The Prophecy of Anani

---

Dream Sequence (Not required reading)

Theobald's boots sunk into the ground beneath his feet, the ground muddy from the rain that overtook the landscape, puddles pooled in the deformations made from explosives and tank treads. The bodies of men lay face down in the dirt, as numerous as the raindrops, their blood mixing with the water and feeding the earth with their lives. He looked up at the skies, dark with thunderclouds and smoke and chemtrails, the flash of lightning accompanied by the frequent flashes of muzzle fire that came from aerial combat.

It was the familiar sight of the Kaudus-Rodion warfront. His warfront.

"Lieutenant!" The voice of his sergeant came quick, barely audible over the scream of gunfire as the man wadded through mud and people to reach his commanding officer. Brought back to reality, Theobald was reminded of the current situation, decapitating the enemy soldier who clung to his leg and removing the knife that had sunk into his thigh during his moment of absent thought. Reaching for a fallen comrade, he lifted the wounded ally onto his shoulder, carrying them like a sack of potatoes as he turned toward what was left of his battalion.

"Ja, Herrman," the leading soldier acknowledged his advisor, ejecting the spent mana batteries in his weapon and reloading it as he addressed the visibly frantic younger man. "How is the eastern side? With your arrival, I assume it has been stabilized?"

"Sir, you must retreat!" The man yelled instead, his veins bulging from his neck from the exertion it took from crossing half the warfront to reach the commanding officer. "Those Kaudian bastards took the flank! We've been had! You must escape before they-"

Cutting himself off, the sergeant rose his head to the air just as Theobald had, both becoming aware of the dreadful whistle of ordinance flying through the air and catching sight of the three mortal shells directed at their position. While the lieutenant rose his weapon and discharged rounds into the skies to prematurely detonate one of the shells mid-descent in a ball of sparks and fire, the others were near impact just as the soldier beside him finished his chant. "-et dominum meum incolumem!"

The mortar exploded against the barrier erected before the duo, their vision enveloped in smoke as the sergeant panted from exertion, the sounds of approaching warcries reaching their ears before the enemy became visible. Cresting the ridge, the next wave of Kaudian soldiers approached, their eyes full of triumph and bloodlust as victory filled their sight. Theobald looked back at his men, cut down in number and weary from battle. Against an enemy full of morale, there was no way his men would survive the next engagement.

Despite himself, the bulky man cracked a smile, the rapid beating of his heart filling his ears and the blood leaking from his wounds warmer than the cold rain. The goddess was a cruel woman, to give him such a trial when he still had men at his back. Handing his injured charge to the sergeant, the lieutenant's stern expression hid the manic excitement that threatened to bubble over as he headed towards certain death. "Take them and go, sergeant. I will hold them off."

"Sir! There's too many of them!" Barely able to sling the wounded soldier's arm over his shoulder for support, the mage yelled at his commanding officer who seemed hellbent on suicide. Yet, realizing the large man's determination, started dragging the injured away as he yelled for help from the other soldiers of the battalion.

Was this not what he wanted most of all? A thought that plagued his mind as he stared down the men charging down the ridge, armed to the teeth and ready to skewer him like a fish while others readied their guns at the crest to fire at his retreating men.

A story that could be spread far and wide, of a hero who fought back an unbeatable legion with but his sword and body alone? The first sword that reached him was batted away, the user cut down as the second and third took their place, with four others taking theirs, and eight soon after, with sixteen more on the way. It was an unending swarm, his body covered in red as both his and the enemy's blood spilt across the earth. But even the greatest soldier could not fight hundreds as one man, and his neck was soon cut across the artery by a floundering sword. A lucky blow among dozens seeking to take his life.

But as his life slipped from his fingers, the fire in his heart surged outwards, the pain unbearable as it threatened to swallow him whole. As he opened his mouth to scream, the flames spilled from his open maw, and his vision was filled with rivers of fire.

And everything burned.

Theobald awoke with a cold sweat, his eyes bloodshot as he rose to attention just as the first rays of light streamed through a window. His hand shot up to his throat, where the invisible mark of the goddess' favor lay branded on his body. With a sigh, he rose to his feet, the clock by his bedside reading oh-five-hundred as he checked a small notebook by his bedside.

The Millenial Ceremony was scheduled that day, a ceremony that he had no choice but to attend yet had no reason to avoid. It was a change in the monotony of church life, after all, and a potential chance to change the course of his life. He scored it off the page, noting down the other necessary events of that day onto the paper before filing it neatly in his pocket.

After dealing with his general hygiene, he gently thumbed through what little varieties of clothing he owned in the luxurious dresser the church offered him, picking out the finest of his military uniforms among the many that filled his meager selection. Within a cabinet, he removed a leather box that had been carefully maintained, revealing the decorated medals laid inside. Polishing off each one, he snapped them into place across the front of his uniform, adjusting each so that they lay perfectly across the polyester.

As he went through his preparations for the ceremony, he stopped as he passed by a weapon displayed in his room, whose metal blade gleamed in the sunlight and was held aloft like a trophy upon a wooden plaque. It was something he used quite frequently, a partner who he maintained his skill with each day in preparation for the day he could bring it out into the world once more.

After a moment's hesitation, he took the gunblade off the plaque, sheathed and strapped to his side as the clock neared the ceremony time. He needed to make an impression, after all, and a soldier without his weapon was but a civilian in costume.

---

The ceremony itself was formal, as expected, the air somewhat tense from the events that had preceded and brought about the ceremony in the first place as the Estoran prince and his Templar continued to speak privately on stage. He had not known the Scion of Time, barely in parting and only learning of the man through the peace talks between him and Kaudus, and felt only indifference when it came to the internal struggles aired out by the people's feelings on the Templar of Time.

If he was truly at fault with the previous Scion's demise, they would have discharged him immediately. The fact that he isn't means that it was the fault of the commanding officer, something that the former lieutenant thought could be seen a mile away from the moment he thought that the Kaudian Empire could be dealt with amicably.

Unbidden, his gaze drifted to the woman by his side, unintentionally meeting her gaze. It was a sick joke that a child of his previous enemies had become his warden, but there hadn't been much he could do about it in the grand scheme of things. By the time he'd come to his senses after being ferried to the church, the choice had been made long after he had the chance to refuse it. Though she annoyed him on a personal level, and even more so under the command of the church, it wasn't to the level that he would break formality before the royalty of the state.

And before, of course, the man he wished to speak with. As soon as he was able, the ceremony concluded and the participants allowed to socialize, he approached his target as swiftly as he could without seeming rushed. His large stature towered over many of the other attendees, and many gave him a wide berth as he single-mindedly attempted to meet with the leader of the Templars.

Commander Fyodor. A man who needed no introduction, at least in Theobald's eyes. He waited patiently until the Commander was prepared to acknowledge him, and snapped into a formal salute when the older man turned towards him. "Commander Fyodor. Lieutenant Colonel Theobald Gaumand, leader of the 5th battalion of the 2nd Assault Army. It is a pleasure to meet you, sir."

If it were him of twenty-eight years ago, perhaps that child-like him would've jumped for joy meeting the man who led him to his dream, the hero of the battlefield that garnered victory wherever he went. But it was not a child who met the Commander, but a soldier, and so he maintained his salute until the commanding officer on field would let him ease himself.

What he wanted required his childhood hero's commendation and approval, he would not allow himself to breach formality unless the man before him allowed it.

No matter how much he wished to grab his notebook and ask for an autograph.

Scion: The Prophecy of Anani

The Legend Unfulfilled

Theobald Gaumond

________________________________________ Theobald Gaumond Male | 42 | Veradis/ Rodion Scion of Fire _______________________________________________ "It is said that a man is as strong as his will to succeed. If that is so, then that man's will can conquer the world." - An unnamed soldier on the Kaudus-Rodion warfront, circa 995 ________________________________________

"I was born for a world of conflict, yet it is the goddess herself who chose to pull me away from it. For what purpose then, was all the sweat made, blood split and the tears spent? Holy Sigil Location The side of his neck, over a long-healed wound that had nearly taken his life. Appearance A towering figure at six feet and nine inches of pure muscle, Theobald's physique is a testament to the life he lived before he became a Scion. Beneath his attire, his body is littered with scars, some recent but many old. A tapestry of every combat he's ever participated in, able to attribute each to an event by name. Usually dressed in formal attire, it is by choice that his wardrobe lacks what is considered casual clothing, continuing to live a soldier's life of duty and respect despite no longer participating in the wars between kingdoms. Personality 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. Biography 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. Entering the military under an age three years older than he actually was, Theobald was one of the many fresh cadets sent to support the Rosaria-Lanvaldear campaign. A cruel three years that taught the boy turned man how ill prepared he was for his dreams. Spending most of his time struggling to keep up with his peers as a mere farmboy with no formal training, by the time the war ended and he was returned to the capital city of Alvar, Theobald had nearly died dozens of times over with nothing to show for it. 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 additional 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, even as just a fresh eighteen year old the arena organizers thought highly of the would-be-fighter. His time in the gladiatorial spotlight did not come easy, facing hardships unlike anything else he faced during the war. 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 thirty, 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 he rejoined 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 thirty-one he had gained his first medal, by thirty-three he reached a leadership position with troops under his command and led frequent missions to cull the monster population, and at thirty-four he was given a place at the Kaudus-Rodion warfront to fight in the constant war against the opposing empire. And by thirty-six, 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 that consumed both enemy and friendlies alike, saving him from a situation that could've cost the soldier his life but drawing undue attention to his battalion. 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. Weapon of Choice 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. Misc. "Until my final breath, my fight is never over." As of writing this biography, Theobald has been the Scion of Fire for an agonizing two years. Before becoming a Scion, Theobald had a full head of hair and a pure black luster. With the stress that came from knowing he couldn’t continue to aid his fellowmen, however, the white hairs and growing widows peak revealed themselves. His only known hobby, outside the shared occupational disease of smoking and drinking among military folk, is the piano. He is not very good at it, and the expenses for his hobby wouldn’t be manageable if not for the wealth that came with becoming a Scion. The real life equivalent for his military rank when honorably discharged was Lieutenant Colonel. Soldiers of the battalion he once led occasionally visit, much to his chagrin.

Scion: The Prophecy of Anani

Let’s gooooooo


Fs in the chat for anyone who didn’t get in. Hope to see y’all some other time.

Scion: The Prophecy of Anani

Patch Notes:
1.0 - CS Released
1.1 - Increased Theobald’s height from 6’8” to 6’9”. Nice.

Theobald Gaumond, Scion of Fire

Theobald Gaumond

________________________________________ Theobald Gaumond Male | 42 | Veradis/ Rodion Scion of Fire _______________________________________________ "It is said that a man is as strong as his will to succeed. If that is so, then that man's will can conquer the world." - An unnamed soldier on the Kaudus-Rodion warfront, circa 995 ________________________________________

"I was born for a world of conflict, yet it is the goddess herself who chose to pull me away from it. For what purpose then, was all the sweat made, blood split and the tears spent? Holy Sigil Location The side of his neck, over a long-healed wound that had nearly taken his life. Appearance A towering figure at six feet and nine inches of pure muscle, Theobald's physique is a testament to the life he lived before he became a Scion. Beneath his attire, his body is littered with scars, some recent but many old. A tapestry of every combat he's ever participated in, able to attribute each to an event by name. Usually dressed in formal attire, it is by choice that his wardrobe lacks what is considered casual clothing, continuing to live a soldier's life of duty and respect despite no longer participating in the wars between kingdoms. Personality 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. Biography 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. Weapon of Choice 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. Misc. (Remember to add a theme here) As of writing this biography, Theobald has been the Scion of Fire for an agonizing two years. Before becoming a Scion, Theobald had a full head of hair and a pure black luster. With the stress that came from knowing he couldn’t continue to aid his fellowmen, however, the white hairs and growing widows peak revealed themselves. His only known hobby, outside the shared occupational disease of smoking and drinking among military folk, is the violin. He is not very good at it, and the expenses for his hobby wouldn’t be manageable if not for the wealth that came with becoming a Scion. The real life equivalent for his military rank when honorably discharged was lieutenant colonel. Soldiers of the battalion he once led occasionally visit, much to his chagrin.