[hider=Ionna, Templar of Miquella][CENTER][h1][COLOR=silver][img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/231109/0ba929c62ce0023295985d603785fcba.png[/img][/COLOR][/h1][/CENTER]
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[b][color=E40040]Ionna Rani[/color]
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[color=gray] Female [/COLOR] | [color=gray] 24 [/COLOR] | [color=gray] Rodion 
Templar of[/COLOR] [color=gray][b]Wouldn't you like to know, weatherboy?[/b][/color][/CENTER][CENTER][SUP]_______________________________________________[/SUP]
[color=gray][i]One day, when the Scions' reach exceeds their reason but not their grasp, they will pose a dire question to Estora. Malen'kiy mech, she is my answer.[/i][/color]
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[center][h3][i][color=E40040]"I had no idea having a sacred duty would be this much fun!"[/color][/i][/h3][/center]
[b][color=E40040]Minor Holy Sigil Location[/color][/b]
[indent]Appears on her right shoulder, just above her prosthesis's anchor.[/indent]
[b][color=E40040]Appearance[/color][/b]
[color=FFFFFF][indent]Hair like fire, eyes a burning gold; Ionna strikes a distinctive figure—or would, were it not for her demeanor. Of all the words that may come to mind when one sees her, ‘[i]imposing[/i]’ would not be among them. She’s taller than average, with lean muscle built under a scrutinized training routine, but most eyes go directly to her prosthesis. Her right arm is entirely magitech, housed most often in a Templar-gold casing that, while pretty, functions with the perfect control of a natural limb. 

When they’re done staring, people often then look to her face, perhaps expecting an answer. Instead, what they usually find is a smile, and eyes that welcome conversation from friend and stranger alike. 

Though very fond of her Templar uniform, she does have a preference for more comfortable clothes. Long sleeves, jackets, and hoodies are a staple to cover her arm, the casing of which she swaps for something darker and less ornate.[/indent][/color]
[b][color=E40040]Personality[/color][/b]
[indent]Most people would be surprised to find out Ionna is Rodion. Warm, friendly to a fault, and perhaps a bit gullible, she entirely lacks the stereotypically frigidness of her homeland, and is often the first to strike up conversations, even and sometimes especially with those who may not appear receptive to it. 

The life of a Templar both excites and fascinates her, but she’s also had to temper her expectations somewhat—in a good way. Her father has always impressed upon her the necessity for the Church’s influence over the Scions, and how important it is they be kept in line for everyone’s safety. However, rather than come into the job expecting to struggle with whoever she’s assigned to, she would rather believe them to be reasonable people. After all, Scion or not, humans can learn from their mistakes, and avoid them, too. To her, there’s almost always a peaceful solution to be found.

And if there isn’t…well, like her father, Ionna has no love for violence. But neither does she fear it.[/indent]
[b][color=E40040]Biography[/color][/b]
[indent]It began, as many things do, with a demonstration of power. 

On a cloudy dawn in 981, when the lakeside village of Vuzkymist was inextricably occupied by its Kaudian neighbors, a Scion arrived to liberate it. By noon nothing remained, not of the Kaudians, nor the village. They called it “[i]The Wrath of Vuzkymist[/i]”, as if to imply the people, so incensed by their occupation, would have dutifully chosen to see their village destroyed, rather than surrendered to the enemy.

In the ruins of his birthplace, a Rodion scientist by the name of Sascha Rani lost his faith in the Scions. And the little [i]syrota[/i] he had come to collect had lost her home.

She had been orphaned long before [i]The Wrath of Vuzkymist[/i], and was brought to Sascha’s attention when he heard tell of a young ward of his hometown church overloading their older, mana-based technology. He had come down to see her for himself when the Kaudians invaded, and despite everything, he was not disappointed. His status and stability made the adoption easy; in a month’s time she had his name. Ionna Rani. 

For a child, she recovered quickly. The attack did not leave her frightened and withdrawn, but rather, Ionna was boundlessly curious about the world, and especially other people. Living in a sizeable town not terribly far from Alvar, she enjoyed relative safety and comfort, though the Rani house was far from some lavish estate. 

Sascha spent much of his time away at work, or holed up in his workshop, neck-deep in personal projects. Often, Ionna was left in the care of her uncle, a former knight named Dragomir, well-reputed for his service repelling Kaudians at the border. Age and injury saw him walking with a cane, but he found many excuses to draw his sword even in retirement. Dragomir was tall, broad, and vicious as a gnarled bear, and Sascha was…much softer. He was kindhearted, passive, and seemed quite averse to conflict—not qualities many would say suited a Rodion, especially not other Rodions. So, Dragomir often stood as champion to the family name, defending it and his brother from conflict and slander. 

Ionna took much more after her father, which aggravated Dragomir to no end. When she was ten, he resolved to teach her swordplay, assuming she would be hardened in the crucible of combat. He prepared himself for the arduous task of instructing someone so seemingly disinterested, but as it turned out, that was the lesser challenge. Ionna took to the sword quite naturally, it was her levity that resisted. Every session, no matter how long or how battering, she smiled, and thanked him, and looked forward to the next.

Over the years this never changed. His last hope came when he finally convinced her to step into the ring, fight a few duels herself. It was for naught; Ionna spent an hour before the fight chatting with the young man who had purportedly impugned her father’s honor, and when it came time to draw blades, they seemed like lifelong friends. Dragomir watched in horror as Ionna bested her opponent, and what ought to have been considered a humiliating defeat at the hands of a teenager with no record, was instead played off with good-humored laughs, and kind wishes of farewell. She was utterly incorrigible. Worse, he was too proud to abandon her. 

What time she didn’t spend training or socializing, she aided her father in his workshop. She wasn’t permitted anywhere near his official duties, but for his personal projects he often asked for her help directly—and she always, enthusiastically agreed. She had little technical expertise, and while well-educated, she was by no means qualified for advanced robotics. She did, however, provide an excellent source of energy. 

Ionna was a mage by the most technical of terms. She had zero aptitude for spellcasting of any sort, even the lowliest of parlor tricks were beyond her capabilities. What she did have was an astoundingly large pool of mana. With practice, she no longer shorted every bit of arcane circuitry she engaged with, and could easily provide power to her father’s prototypes. He was fascinated with magitechnology, with the influence of human will on machines. As time went on, fewer of his inventions needed a raw outpouring of power, and instead required her to carefully manipulate her mana output. As with swordplay, this too became natural to her with time, and practice. She liked being useful to him, they spent more time together this way. 

Near the end of her twentieth year, Doumerc successfully created the first artificial limb, and many of the Dominion’s governmental robotics sectors swerved to find ways to improve and weaponize the concept, Sascha’s included. He was away from home much more often, and for an entire year, Ionna saw worryingly little of her father. 

Dragomir, for his part, did his best to distract her with duels and training—though he was growing too old to keep up with her. It was the first time he had seen her truly distraught. He didn’t call, or write, and what little time he did spend at home he hardly acknowledged her. She became convinced that, somehow, she had upset him, and it was beyond his power to change her mind. Even with an old soldier’s heart, he found the treatment cruel.

Eventually however, when he did return in earnest, all it took was a smile for Ionna to light up again. She came to him like a loyal hound, all neglect forgotten. Sascha burned with inspiration, and the two of them quickly fell back into habit. Dragomir did not see Ionna again for months.

When he did, her right arm was gone.

In its place was a crude prosthesis awash with veins of arcane circuitry. It moved a bit stiffly, but responded down to the slightest motors. Not biotechnology, Sascha asserted, but magitechnology, anchored not to the brain, but the [i]will[/i]. Dragomir was aghast; Sascha had created an artificial limb, but he’d mutilated his own daughter to do it. He nearly reported it, partly for the ethical failings, and partly out of his own patriotism. Regardless of how it had been done, it had been done, and the Dominion ought to know about it so they could get ahead. But alas, twenty years away from war had softened him to his niece’s pleas, and ultimately he agreed to say nothing. For now. 

Two more years passed, and Sascha’s magitech prosthetic evolved. A fine-tuning of mechanics combined with Ionna’s control over her own mana saw it functioning as naturally as her old arm, better even. With long sleeves and a glove, the difference was all but imperceptible. 

The last time Dragomir saw her, she dueled with a blade Sascha had embedded into it. The way she moved, she might as well have been born that way. His congratulations were empty, and though he expressed his displeasure to Sascha in private, his brother brushed him off. So be it. Dragomir decided it was time the Dominion knew. 

Too late. They were both gone the next day, and though the house was untouched, the workshop was empty. All of the prototypes, all of the research, vanished. 

A week later, they reappeared on the news when Sascha was accepted into the Church’s order, where his secrets would no doubt be put to good use. 

And Ionna, standing excitedly beside him, was now a Templar.[/indent]
[b][color=E40040]Weapon of Choice[/color][/b]
[indent]Technically speaking, Ionna always has a weapon on-hand. Her prosthetic arm is equipped with a [url=https://i.imgur.com/bMHYStn.jpg]retracting blade[/url] which, when deployed, can extend to a proper sword's length, or be shortened. Its single edge carries a slight curve and, while kept sharp, the arm's connection with her own mana allows her to ignite it with arcane energy, making it useful for defense against attacks both physical and magical.[/indent]
[b][color=E40040]Misc.[/color][/b]
[list][*]Theme tbd
[*]In her first days as a Templar, between her casual clothing and friendly, almost servicing demeanor, she was mistaken several times for a maid. Her penchant for tidying her surroundings, as well as cooking and handing out snacks has some still unsure.
[*]Has yet to win a single bout of Rock Paper Scissors with her prosthetic.[/list]
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