Avatar of Xiro Zean


Recent Statuses

2 yrs ago
Current Have you heard of the MMORPG Final Fantasy XIV? With an expanded free trial, you can play through A Realm Reborn and Heavensward expansion up to level 60 for free with no restrictions on playtime.
1 like
5 yrs ago
You know that feeling when you feel like you should be doing something, recognize that you're not doing anything, but then proceed to continue to do nothing? That's me. Everyday.
5 yrs ago
The only thing that kills worse than guns is heartbreak.
6 yrs ago
Controlled by our desires, we as sentient beings are molded by them, lifted by them, and crushed by them. The only advantage we have is our ability to choose the path we take towards reaching them.
6 yrs ago
Our lives are born in the light of spring, ablaze in the heat of summer, and eventually burn out into mere embers to be snuffed by the winter.






...I got nothing. *shrugs*

Most Recent Posts

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?"

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.

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.
Let’s gooooooo

Fs in the chat for anyone who didn’t get in. Hope to see y’all some other time.
Patch Notes:
1.0 - CS Released
1.1 - Increased Theobald’s height from 6’8” to 6’9”. Nice.

April 8th, first day at boxing club.

“A-Ah. So the fights are relatively safe?” Himōri hesitantly asked the leader of the boxing club, hands clutched around the complimentary gloves she’d been given when she entered the building. Internally, she released a sigh, wondering how she got herself into this situation.

She had been locked in conversation with the club leader for a while, having went straight to the club as soon as the school day ended. While there was always things to be done at home, the brunette allowed herself a moment a selfishness to satisfy her curiosity, and so she had followed the directions on the pamphlet she found that morning to reach the sports gym in record time.

If she were to be perfectly honest, she was initially disappointed to find that there were only two people aside from herself, save for the history teacher who acted as an advisor for the club. Her enthusiasm spiked once again when their homeroom teacher appeared to speak to Shinsato-sensei, but as she was reminded of whom had left with the homeroom teacher beforehand, a sinking feeling began to settle in her gut just as quickly.

A few minutes had passed since then, leading to her current predicament. Himōri fumbled with the laces of the glove in her hands, her mind wandering as she felt the grainy texture of well-treated tanned leather. High quality stuff. Goatskin was usually reserved for designer handbags for their smoothness, yet the school seemed to have opened up their wallets for the sake of their rising star. Her mother would kill for a chance to have some to work with. Slowly, the brunette looked up from the gloves and toward said star.

Uemura Akihiko. She wasn’t sure what to say about him, but then again, that was her general consensus on most of the school’s body. Even before his newfound fame garnered by his athletic achievements, Himōri never really had a chance to speak with him. Or rather, she never really spoke to anyone, and Uemura just happened to be included in that general population.

Before she could get an answer to her earlier question, however, the doors to the gym had opened, and the weight in her stomach calcified into a lead ball. She’d seen the newspapers like everyone else, just as bored by life and wishing for excitement. That boredom was what brought her to the club in the first place, but she never wanted anywhere near the level of excitement that came from seeing the newly formed delinquent duo of the school entering the club room.

Himōri did her best imitation of a mouse when Uemura had her follow him, becoming as small as possible without bending her knees, keeping herself from making eye contact with the giant who she was brought to stand in front of. As long as she didn’t attempt any sudden movements, he probably wouldn’t even register her as a person on his radar.

…Wait. If he was going to be in the boxing club, didn’t that mean she was going to have to fight him at some point regardless?

”Shit,” Himōri mumbled absentmindedly, her hands flying up to her mouth a second later as her eyes widened with shock. Oh god, did she say that out loud?!

After making sure her stupid, impulsive brain didn’t make her say anything else without her permission, she slowly lowered her hands as she spoke in a quiet, downtrodden tone. ”I-I’m Hattori Himōri. I just joined, s-same as you. Please take care of me.

If Totsuka-san didn’t kill her during this first boxing club meeting, Himōri would make sure she finished the job. She couldn’t even attempt to hide the embarrassment on her face.
Punching this in while I'm still awake, will finish tomorrow after working

Nicola Miles Sturgis


Place of Birth:
Seele, from where one would have seen a small speck in the distance where city of Sonnehall lies on the horizon


Background Check:
Nicola was only nine when a fateful morning started with a paltry sprinkle of rainfall, a light veil of moisture as miniature clouds formed overhead. Hardly anything to remember or even pay notice to. The teasing laugh of his father and the reassurance of his mother dissuaded any doubt in his young mind that there was anything to worry about before they left their home to restock for the winter. Only small beasts slightly bigger than his childish self had shown up in the city that day, and the people could only scoff as the unthreatening Regentier were chased off or subjugated with ease. A man who'd been leading the local militia, wearing an SNDP logo with pride, tipped his hat as Nicola and his father passed by.

No one had been prepared for the sudden explosion that rocked through the city's foundations, the screams of his neighbors reaching Miles just before a blinding light consumed both the smiling man and a chunk of their city block, a roar of power and the sounds of destruction filling his ears. Unable to see nor hear within the cacophony, all the young boy could sense was his father clutching him tightly until it finally died down.

When the dust settled and Nicola's eyes adjusted to his surroundings, a sea of devastation awaited him where there was once recognizable landmarks. The auntie's diner, his uncle's barber shop, the nice grandma's bakery, all glassed by the superheated blast and reduced to rubble. His father, covered in cement shrapnel from the aftermath, whispered for him to run away as bloody fingers slipped from around his arms down to the pavement.

Nicola's memories after that moment are hazy. He didn't remember if he had ran as his father had instructed, or if he had frozen in fear, or even if he'd reached into his father's coat for the blaster he always carried. He could only remember what happened afterwards, embraced by his mother while amongst the rest of the refugees of Seele as a cleanup crew from the SNDP explained the circumstances of the incident. An unidentified assailant had infiltrated the city, causing untold amount of damage to the city that may take several years or even decades to recover from.

He remembered that his mother had questioned what had caused the destruction, and where it went. He remembered their hesitation in responding, the looks the agents gave each other as they were unable to disclose such information to civilians.

Graft / Weapon Specialty:
Heavy Firearms/ Utility
© 2007-2023
BBCode Cheatsheet