The Awakening (LC v DH)

[LocoColt04]

((Okay, I tried to remember all the things we discussed earlier and work it into this post. It's a very... very long post, so I hope you don't mind. I wouldn't usually write something so long, but it's full of history and somewhat needless description. I guess it's just because it's a new guy. In any case, the character profile should be the newest in the thread; if not, it's very close to the end.))




THUMP.

Theon stooped over to lift his nine-foot lance from the floor. Placing it back upon the table, he grabbed the rag and continued polishing the mythril blades. Over eight feet tall, his large frame loomed over the table. As he buffed the metal, he began to think about his past, specifically his mentors. There wasn't much he could remember about them these days; they'd been deceased for well over thirteen hundred years. Regardless, he could distinctly see old Evzen's aged face as he neared his death, smiling at the grand accomplishments Theon had made in the decades of his training.

"So it has happened... the student, surpassing the master..." croaked Evzen.
"Yes, I suppose so, Sir Evzen. It has been an honor serving under you."

Evzen's eyes shifted from Theon to the lance resting in a case on the wall. Theon followed with his own eyes, and gasped internally. He'd only held the simple, yet highly balanced lance twice in all of the years of his training; it was Evzen's personal favorite.

"It's yours... You've earned it."

Theon said nothing to the dying man, continuing to stare at the mythril masterpiece. He stepped toward the wall, lifting the casing from the shelf. He ran his fingers along the staff from the base of one blade to the base of the other. As though it were even possible, the cold metals emitted a sense of solitude, and Theon finally felt accomplished. He turned back to Evzen, searching for approval. Evzen nodded, and Theon picked up the lance.

"My legacy... it is yours to continue. Train only the pure of heart."

The lance couldn't even be held upright in the weapons chamber; the ceiling was too low. The two walked out of the room, through the house, and out the front door. Theon began to toy around with the lance, running various practice techniques and experimenting with the double-bladed aspect of the weapon.

No matter how many millennia passed, Theon knew he would never forget the grin on Evzen's face as the old nobleman watched him adjust to the lance. He looked down at the table to see his reflection warped upon the blades and staff of the ancient lance.

-=-=-=-

Putting his memories aside, Theon picked up the weapon and began preparing for his journey. A letter had arrived the day before from an aspiring young student who had received praise from Vincent, as well as a recommendation. The letter was simple, asking for training and nothing more. It was accompanied by another letter from Vincent complimenting the teen's work ethic.

Since only his students (only three were alive) and the letter carrier ever knew where his house outside of Skiathos was, Theon always journeyed to their homes to retrieve the new ones. In all his centuries of life, Theon only had sixty students, and this promising youth would be sixty-one. The disciple's name was Ronaldo, and the trip was to Napali, the heart of the Roman Empire.

Theon walked to his bedroom in the back of his little house with the big ceilings. He pulled the bookcase from the wall, revealing a staircase which led underground. He entered his massive weapons chamber, gazing about. The wall to his left was loaded with countless wooden training lances of all types and sizes; the wall to his right had a dozen wooden shields and a pair of wooden swords for each type of blade. The wall opposite the door held eight lances of various metals, one of which every student would choose upon his or her completion of training. Theon made each of the lances himself, and never made the same one twice. Also on the wall were a broadsword, two knightswords, and a rapier, in case the student opted for a sword. They never did. Three heavily dented shields sat on the floor beneath the swords, and were used for training with the metal weaponry. But the glory of the room lay patiently behind him.

Only four items were ever placed on the wall of the door. These were Theon's personal favorites -- the weapons that only he would ever use. Though he occasionally allowed his students to experiment with the lance he held in his hands, it was rare they ever even touched his sword or his shield. Theon placed the lance into its case; the very same case that was mounted to Evzen's wall ages ago. To the left of the vertical case was a horizontal one that held his pride and glory.

Two centuries of dragon slaying produced enough perfect scales for this blade. Years were spent forging the essence of perfection in his eyes. The deep burgundy blade uniquely reflected the light from the oil lamps in a way Theon had never seen from anything else. The broadsword was nearly indestructable, withstanding more punishment than any weapon Theon had ever seen. It was almost a millennium old, and it still polished to a perfectly smooth shine. The petrified oak handle had been rewrapped with a new layer of brown leather a decade ago, and the dull silver hilt was in need of attention. Theon carried this meter-long blade on every journey and used it in almost every tournament; sometimes it seemed as though the blade was ageless, just like its creator.

Directly beneath the sword was the housing of the timeless glove. The Dragoon Gauntlet, once thought to be only a myth, rested in Theon's possession for over five hundred years. No one knew what the glove really did, but the wearer supposedly grew stronger with each use, especially in defense. Though the rumor was nothing more than speculation, he continued to use the gauntlet in tournaments, succeeding time and time again.

In contrast, a very plain, very beaten mythril shield was propped in the square case below. There was nothing exceptional about the shield other than the fact that it had withstood over three centuries of use -- more than any of his other shields ever did. It was littered with scratches and punctures from hundreds of fights, and was well beyond repair. Though Theon knew he should invest in a new shield, he was determined to stick with his mythril one until it broke.

-=-=-=-

Theon exited his house with nothing more than his heavy white pants, lightweight leather boots, the white armband on his right arm, and the scars which covered his bronze skin. He had strapped the shield to his left arm and carried his broadsword with his right hand. The gauntlet remained locked away with the dozens of lances and swords underground. He left Skiathos and headed west, toward the Roman Empire.

Weeks went by as he went from town to town, graciously accepting food and shelter from those who offered it. Finding a place to stay was relatively simple -- the man was a legend in his time -- but it had been a couple of days since he'd found a decent meal. His stomach began to argue with him as he approached a vast field. To make matters worse, the storm clouds which had been gathering for more than an hour shifted from a light sprinkle to a steady flow of rain. It was still fairly bright outside; he was only a few days away from Napali, so he broke from his pause and treaded through the tall green grasses.

Lightning struck just meters away from Theon, who hadn't realized how much of a target he was in the empty field. He fell back from the blast and kept himself low to the ground. Crouched, he waddled back to the impact site for a closer look. What he found was far from natural. Sword in hand, he leaned toward the swirling purple mess, shifting his center of gravity forward and losing his balance.

-=-=-=-

When Theon awoke, he found himself in a very depressing place. He was in the middle of a field, very similar to the one he left, but he knew it wasn't the same one. The smell of the foreign grasses, the taste of the heavy air, the feel of the darkness -- none of it was his. Even the light rain seemed strange, as though somehow altered. He rolled to his left, examining the spot where the lightning struck. It was now a black abyss, but solid as a rock.

He lifted his sword from the short amber grasses and stood tall. He pondered the thought of an alternate dimension or a parallel universe, but couldn't figure out how that would be possible. Lightning struck once more, half a kilometer away, and Theon broke into a sprint before leaping into the air. He landed a few meters from where the electricity surged, and he carefully approached the swirling purple mass.

The moment he decided to jump into the hole, it hardened. Confused and now upset, Theon began to walk around the field, using himself as a lightning rod. With the feeling that he was being followed, Theon whirled around to find nothing. When he turned back around, he spotted a silhouette low to the ground about two hundred meters away. Theon took one glance at his sword, and noticed its dim white glow, barely visible in the cloudy air.

If only it were darker... a lot darker. The glow isn't strong enough for this mediocre dusk...

Theon leapt toward the silhouette, thundering down beside it.

"Umm... I don't know where I am. Any chance you could help me out? Last time I checked, I was in the Roman Empire." Theon squinted for a better look at the figure shuffling about on the ground, but couldn't see it very well. "Can you hear me? Are you even human?" He stepped in front of the shape, planting himself firmly in its path. "Am I even on earth any more? I'd appreciate some answers, you know. The sooner you help, the sooner I can go home."

The annoyed figure arose aggressively, and Theon backed away a few paces.