[PK] A Man of No Renown

[Boom_steel 252]

Spoiler

 

 

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Theodorus Sebastian Guile—Theo to those who knew him—was never a man bound by convention, nor did he ever fit the mold of the perfect knight. His early years were spent on a farm far, where the simple pleasures of working the land and chasing the horizon were enough for him. Theo was a man who lived for the moment, full of laughter and rebellion, never one to abide by the strictures of duty or ceremony.

Though born into a humble family, Theo’s life would eventually take a different turn. Under the venerable Ser Philip and powerful Ser Robert Stroeim 's tutelage, he received and trained with the diving blessing of the Archaengul Malchediael. Soon after, he was inducted into the Church’s order, where he was sworn in as a knight under the guidance of the righteous Holy Ser Macskaul. But even as he was bestowed with the sacred title, Theo’s heart was never truly in it. He did not seek the divine mission for faith or virtue, but only for his own vanity.

Theo’s knightly life was anything but conventional. Where others dedicated themselves to prayer and devotion, Theo found himself more often than not found himself off in taverns, telling crude jokes, or seeking out the next scrap of combat for the thrill of it. His swordsmanship, though refined, was nothing special, his oaths of fealty lightly sworn but rarely upheld. Not above using deceit and immorality to achieve his goals, he looked with disdain at the pious rituals of his order, and the discipline of his fellow knights was a foreign concept to him. It was all a game, a game where the prize was nothing but glory. 

In truth, he had never truly understood the gravity of his calling. The Church had given him a sword and a title, but it was the land he had come from that had truly shaped him. The farm was where he had learned to live for the day, to chase the fleeting moments of joy and abandon, to run barefoot through fields of green.

So, when Theo embarked on a routine patrol to Port Tatiyana with Cardinal Ivan, it was little more than another diversion from his duties. They rode north, nothing more than a simple check-up—no danger, no conflict. But, as fate would have it, they stumbled upon what was the end. A gathering of darkspawn, necromancers, and paleknights stood in their path—a twisted assembly of unholy forces. For a moment, Theo’s ever-present nonchalance faltered, but only briefly. He was not a man given to fear.

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"Ivan, take my horse, get help."

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As he stood alone against the horde, it was clear he was not focused on victory. He fought not for honor, nor for glory—he fought merely to survive. The undead closed in, and Theo’s movements were a frantic blur of evasion. He ducked beneath strikes, dodged blows, and desperately avoided being overwhelmed. He never sought to strike down his enemies in those first moments, only to avoid being crushed under their numbers.

The fight dragged on—Theo’s movements were growing slower, more sluggish. He was tired, his body battered from the relentless assault. 

As Theo fought alone, his strength waning with each passing moment, the sound of hooves on the horizon reached his ears. Ivan had returned. The light of hope flickered in his chest—reinforcements had arrived, and with them, perhaps the chance for survival. Through the haze of battle, Theo could see the figures of Haeseni soldiers charging toward the fray, the banners of the Light fluttering in the wind. Among them were the youthful squires, about to prove their mettle in combat. Their faces were set with determination, their eyes filled with the courage of youth.

The reinforcements slammed into the darkspawn with the ferocity of a fresh wave, cutting into the rotted warriors and paleknights that had hemmed Theo in. The undead forces staggered under the assault, and the soldiers fought valiantly, their swords flashing, their cries of battle ringing out with great fervor. 

But it wasn’t long before the weight of the enemy began to tell. The undead horde was vast, and their numbers seemed endless. Flesh constructs—controlled by masters of twisted inclinations—rushed forward with terrifying speed, skeletal knights, unexhaustable with their unending reserves of stamina surged forth. The soldiers, though valiant, were not prepared for the sheer number and grotesque strength of these abominations.

Theo could see it now—his comrades were being overwhelmed. The initial hope that had surged through him began to drain as the battle turned against them. The soldiers, now spread thin, struggled to hold their ground. Theo could hear their cries, their voices choked by the agony of battle, their hopes slipping away with each step the enemy took.

His heart sank as he realized—this was no longer a fight they could win with numbers alone. The darkspawn were too many, their ranks too thick, their bodies too relentless. The squires, once eager and full of spirit, were now being overwhelmed where they stood, the enemy sparing no quarter with the youth.

Theo struggled on, but the weight of the situation grew clearer. Reinforcements had come, yes, but they were not enough. The light was being overwhelmed. The battle had become unfavorable, and  the darkspawn seeming nigh undefeatable. 

Theo’s heart pounded, and as they fought to hold their ground, he knew the battle was slipping away.

Pinned beneath two undead warriors, he could do nothing but watch as they fell beneath the weight of the horde. His sword, once bright with the promise of valor and glorious stories to tell, now felt like a dead weight in his hands. His life—his carefree, thrill-seeking life—had led to this moment: watching others struggle while he could do nothing but fight for his own survival.

Then, in the chaos, in a rare moment of clarity and gravity, he knew what had to be done. It was not a call to glory, nor a cry for vengeance. It was something deeper—something that had lain dormant within him for all these years, something much greater than he. 

 

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"Malchediael...Aengul of Courage...Grant me your strength."

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And in that instant, everything changed. The world seemed to pause as a burst of divine fire consumed him, burning away his exhaustion, his doubt, and his very flesh. His limbs, broken and battered, were restored in an instant—replaced with limbs of pure, radiant light. His wounds healed, his strength renewed. The power of Malchediael surged through him like a tidal wave, pushing him beyond the limits of mortal endurance. In that moment, Theo was no longer the carefree, unserious man who had sought nothing but his own pleasures. He was a vessel of Malchediael.

With his sword raised, Theo turned the tide of the battle. His strikes were swift and devastating, cutting through the undead with precision and force. He cleaved through the enemies with the power of a thousand men, each swing of his blade sending waves of divine light cascading through the ranks of the darkspawn. The enemy scattered before him, retreating into the shadows. Victory seemed assured.

But as the last of the darkspawn fled, Theo could feel the cost of his power. The divine fire that had healed him began to burn too hot, too bright. His skin cracked, white light spilling from the fissures. The power of Malchediael that had saved him now consumed him from within, pulling at his soul, tearing at his very essence. He turned to his good friend, a smile upon his face as he spoke to him.

 

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"I'll be laughing at you from up there."

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There was a response from the Cardinal, a somber chuckle

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"Save a chair for me, you little rat."

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It was then that he saw her.

His soul's anchor—emerged from the mist of the battlefield, her movements hesitant as her eyes scanned the chaos around her. She had come looking for him, perhaps knowing something was wrong. Theo’s heart sank when he saw her, her face pale with horror as her gaze locked onto him, her steps faltering when she saw the condition he was in.

She came forward, her hand reaching for him, but Theo, his body trembling, felt a coldness settle within him. She had seen his soul faltering. They shared brief words of reminiscence and encouragement, Theo handing her what little worldly possessions he could give. Yet as they spoke, the Templar could not help but feel one thing, regret, thoughts swirling and overwhelming his mind.

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Too much to say, not enough time.

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They embraced, the soldier waiting for his end in her arms. With one last heavy sigh, he closed his eyes. The moment of surrender came in like a gentle ushering. A beam of light shone down, taking hold of his spirit. His essence, his soul, relinquished to the Aengul of Courage.

Yet in this final moment of surrender, a strange thing happened. As Theo’s soul was taken by Malchediael, his body—now pure flame—began to transform. The divine light that had consumed him did not simply take his soul and destroy his body, it reshaped it. The ground beneath him trembled as the flames that had once been Theo’s flesh took form.

Where the Templar of No Renown had stood, there was now a tree. It was no ordinary tree. It was a thing of white, ethereal beauty—its bark like shimmering silver, the leaves glowing faintly with an otherworldly light. The tree stretched toward the sky, its branches reaching out as if in search of something—redemption.

The light from its leaves illuminated the snow around it, casting long shadows on the battlefield, a beacon in the night. The tree stood as a silent monument to the man who had given nothing until his last moments.

And Reronda, standing a few paces away, could only watch as the man—flawed, reckless, and yet so full of life—was transformed. He was no longer the Theo she had known, but the light of Malchediael had shaped him into something eternal, something that would never fade.

And in the end, there was no more Theo Guile. There was only the tree, standing illuminated in the snow.

 

Theo had no letters written at the time of his death. For he had expected to live on for many more years. 

Spoiler

Spoiler

 

[olpx 549]

Vangelis Mareno looked at the missive still sore from the connection ritual "I'm only T1 you bastard!"

[Otakuu 69]

Reronda had stood there for hours upon hours, gazing up at the tree with disbelief.

He was really gone, wasn't he?

Theo's saddened yet loving smile, their last words shared between each other being burnt into her mind, never to be forgotten.

His cloak, which he had wrapped around her shoulders, was pulled around her tightly, his sword hung from her hip from beneath it.

 

"Always...I will always love you." 

She whispered up towards the leaves, a few fresh tears rolling down her cheeks.

She then turned around, walking in the direction of Haense, her shoulders slumped and her demeanor melancholic.

 

~~~~~

 

Later on in the evening the wind blows gently in the snowy land, the white leaves of Theo's tree rustling with it. Reronda steps forth, her battle gear and weapons having been left at home. His cloak and a blanket had been wrapped around her shoulders to shield herself from the cold.

 

The woman couldn't sleep. The house was empty, the warmth and the homeliness having left with Theo's untimely departure of this world. So she walked forward, finding a spot between the roots of the tree before making herself comfortable there. 

 

It was there she felt the closest to Theo, it was there where she could finally close her eyes and find slumber...

 

~~~~

 

Amara Fenwarin sits at the table of her office, reading the missive with saddened eyes.

 

"Oh Sebastian...My friend, you will be missed."

 

She closes her eyes briefly, taking a moment of silence for the fallen holy knight.

[Wavey 1996]

A battle of immense magnitude, it was henceforth engraved within the Cardinal's mind. He had charged his steed alongside the Haeseni youth and soldiers. One of the youths who went by the name of Ivar Colborn sat behind him, ready to fight for the defense of his kingdom. All the youth had fervently insisted on travelling to Camp Tatiyana to protect the northern Haeseni border, for they refused to heed Ivan's objections. 

Nevertheless, they had charged alongside the Cardinal. Many were injured in the ensuing fight. Both the Cardinal and Holy Ser Theo were ready to sacrifice their life for the faithful of Haense. However, it was Theo who acted before him, ignoring Ivan's objections. Perhaps it was the LORD's plan to prevent Ivan from death. They had won, but at the cost of his dear friend's life. 

The aftermath was somber as the Cardinal evacuated many of the injured to the clinic. He was met with anger, blame, and many other words from the parents and families of the youth. 

"You will die alone." Said one in pure contempt and anger upon seeing the state of her brother, the heavily injured Ivar Colborn.

Yet, the Cardinal remained silent in regret and guilt at the state of the brave Haeseni soldiers and youth who stepped forward to defend the Kingdom's borders.

If his death was to come, he shall welcome it. For all who were close to him return to the LORD's kingdom above in the seven skies one by one. If he was to die alone, then very well. It is part of the ALMIGHTY's plan. If this was the test to his faith, he shall remain resolute in the face of the Unholy Darktide. 

Before returning back to the south, the Cardinal and Reronda returned to the now erected tree of light beside Camp Tatiyana. It was one last blessing from the LORD for the martyr. He stepped forward, touching the warm bark of the everlight tree. 

"Da. Save a place for me...camico." A gentle smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
.
.
.
"I am growing tired." 

 

[Ryanark 2458]

The call to action was unquestionable. The Cardinal's horse rocked the halls of Morteskvan— inside, where Ivar Colborn was in the middle of playing charades.

"Fort Tatiyana is under attack!"

 

Ivar is no more than fourteen, with a fresh and unmolested set of raiments from the Marian Regiment. All he bore was a hand-me-down Aurum sword strapped to his hip— and a honeyed dream.

 

The ride there was grueling and seemingly took ages despite the fort resting on the castle's doorstep. He worried deeply on the back of the Cardinal Ivan's horse. Thinking back on his mother, father, brothers, and sisters. He had never adequately fought anyone, let alone anything before but a few trees in the forest.

 

He only recalled arriving there. The rest of the battle was a complete blur, the boy relying on survival and luck alone to do his best.

 

Imps. The imps. A thought that could never leave his mind. The grating sounds of his innards being ripped into, how his body quaked with the tearing of flesh and intestines. His screams seemed to deafen him, vocal cords quickly drying up and all the same swelling with a ball of tears— a blood-lusted fury that ended the imp that dug into his intestines. It was the most satisfying thing to ever happen to him; beating that imp into a gory pulp.
It was a type of anger that the boy never knew he was capable of.

 

From there, it was all a blur. He knew deep inside there was more to the story, yet he could never hope to recall it. He woke blind in the clinic, surrounded by strangers, unsure if it was true or merely a dream, not being able to recall his name, barely being able to move through the pain. All that was real was pain.

 

He wished to die upon this very bed, to be spared from the pain, as silent tears welled in the back of his throat— he begged for God to take him.

Ivar tried his best to remember, but there was nothing. His vision returned to him slowly but surely, yet the faces around him were familiar but unrecognizable. Too, did the boy unfortunately struggle to remember what truly saved him, that Templar, Theo— it was nothing but a burning memory from this tragedy. It was perhaps the biggest tragedy of it all.

 

"We love you, Ivar. Don't forget that."

 

Ivar was my name.

 

 

 

Spoiler

big thanks to all of the darkspawn that were on the opposing side, they were all really chill and fun to fight against despite being severely outgunned and outnumbered

huge thanks to @Waveyand @Boom_steelfor the super great roleplay, defo some of the greatest rp I've had in some while and of course considerable respects to boomsteel for pking, the rp was excellent overall. it'll defo have some ripple effects and contributed massively to my character's development.

 

[ToddTheArchitect 319]

 

Permafrost melted.

Cold air turned to Steam...

There, before the tree, stood Kazvalikar. His gaze rose from its roots, to its canopy. 

Today, he spoke no words, told nobody he was here, nor pay any vigil. Only a huff escaped him. Between this Templar, and the onlooking Nephilim, there was a long History. It will be a History nobody knows, because it is one he won't ever talk about. It was of deals, duels, teachings, and at one point, in the end, a rare spark of unity, sadly never lasting long enough to fuel those fires of friendship. 

It was snuffed out.

Snuffed out by the very same force which extinguished so many of whom he fought alongside. 

But now, Guile finally did beat him at something. Something Kazvalikar could never achieve. 

What was it, again? He tried to remember.

 

Death. Answered the Moon for him.

 

[framalam 543]

Far away, in rock the man would rather have shattered than mourn for him, Zet’gul’s stone wept. The menhir misted, for in some twisted turn of fate, the man who had seen Anluan’s vengeance come to fruition had perished by his own legionnaire’s hands.

“Strife,” a hiss came, “Strife and war for you always, maleficar.”

The stone shifted, stopped, then molded back into a spire once more.

[JesterMilk 230]

Holy Ser MacSkaul looked upon this news with sadness, he did not expect the man to be gone so soon. He would search for Cardinal Ivan to handle the proper burial dealings.

[mollys world 520]

Gruff veterans of Saint Karl's Brotherhood sat in reverent, hallowed awe before a great roaring hearth in the Brotherhood's lodge-like barracks. Their voices, when they spoke, held this.. somber, almost sacred awe as they recounted that great battle. There was a hallowed reverence reserved especially for the sacrifice of a selfless Hero- a soul whose unwavering valor manifested the graceful will and divine fury of an Aengul. They recounted with holy reverence and fervor of the man whose holy fury cut through once indominable hordes as though they were nothing more than paper.

A Page-Mage named Greiret Elverhilin, had joined in their conversation, donning an equally hallowed reverence about his words, "It was only for a blink I had come to know of him. In that little time, there were many things apparent. There was a just, confident fire in his eyes. A love of life in all of his words. And a strength of heart that could be felt in every word, every movement, every glance. I tell to you brothers, they were everywhere about him -- a rare thing, seen only a scatter of times in my centuries. Let his sacrifice outlive him, and be testament to the strength of his soul." 

 

They had said where once there had been a man, now there was a holy tree which stood as testament to that man's valor and sacrifice. The Page, bearing incense to be burned, made pilgrimage with his brothers to pay respects under shade of that hallowed, earthly memorial. And to be reminded of the unwavering valor of humanity the centuries old elven Page had come to deeply respect. "Come, brothers. Let us pay tribute to a true hero." 

 

Spoiler

post gave me chills dude, great read. you're a chad for PK'ing. 

 

[marikandaperc 1546]

Kasula Tennallar sat serenely by the Celian river