The Enigma Of The Flame

[Swgrclan 2682]

“I͏ fail t͠o s͡ee yo͝ur͏ d͘ȩsi̷g͠n̛,͘ youǹg̵ f̴l̛am̨e.̨”

“Bu̶t͠ ͜Į ̕fe͜e͡l ҉I̴ ̡w̢i͠l̵l ņòt s̶ee͠ m̧uc͘h̶ an̛y̧ḿore̵, d̵o͜wn̡ h͝er̸e͘.”

The fire had grown. Stygian as a spark, it was found, and nurtured, and fed, and raised; it’s darkness had sprouted iridescence, and from this iridescence, the father thought, that the future would become bright, and it’s blessed flame would touch all -- all above, with enough life to nurture it. But the journey to this goal is long, and it is achieved with hardship. The road is jagged and perilous and to progress it means to sacrifice all there is to know. All there is to live for. Only through the vision brought from the Stygian Spark would suffering end.

“Ho͞w ̶lo̧n̴g̶ h҉a͞v̵e ͞yo҉u̶ ͜w͏ait͏ed͠,͟ ̵m̵y child̵?͜ ͢H̵oẁ ̸muc̷h ti͡me ͘has҉ p̕assed, an͜d҉ ̵w̢h҉y ̢h͟ád ̷ỳou bęe͡n̸ ͢a̴ll b̢ut͞ fo̕rǵot͟t̛e҉n?͠.”

The flame procured no answers, only more questions in reply. However,  Nimdravur the Father, whom had happened upon the Stygian Spark, served this arisen Iridescent Fire without question. The Lord of Infliction need but fabricate answers himself, for it knew that children could not produce logic in return of the Lord’s rhetoric entrenched with madness. Only when the time came that the Iridescence Flame, first of it’s era, grew it’s highest would Nimdravur find it’s answers. There was no time to waste on asking. Only working.

The Lord took them from the roads, it did. The Lord made tireless trips from the Sanctum of Fire to nourish itself from the life above, and to capture travelers from the roads far from the Sanctum’s tunneled, earthen entrance. The Lord Nimdravur dared not kill it’s prey, nay -- for it’s child only desired the essence of life, not the husk that it left behind. The First Iridescent Flame demanded life, and so life was what it was fed.

The sacrifices were innumerous, and in time, the floor of the pit which hosted the Iridescent Flame was littered the fallen, hollow bodies of the immolated -- the sanctum was a mire of the damned, but not the dead. Nimdravur no longer thought itself a Lord of the dead, but an equilibrium. The Druids thought their balance was the truth, and the Creatorists thought their faith would bring truer enlightenment. The followers of light, too, thought their patrons of purity knew the best truth of all, but they were all wrong to Nimdravur. There will only be an equilibrium when the flame reached them all, and in the end, there will be no religious rhetoric or progression of society. There will be no wars and nor unsettled, tensious peace. There will be no happiness, nor pain or fear. Only fire and ash will coat Athera and lands beyond, and the fire will assure no life will live and no dead will remain to abask the soils with the stench of rot. The Creator had miscalculated his plans, for the dawn of the four brothers only brought about an endless exodus that followed an endless war. Only the Iridescent Flame could snuff the mortal races from their mortal plane, and the end will be truly peaceful. Even in the progress of the Lord’s tireless task, when Nimdravur knew the finality of it’s undeath would arrive with the flame’s growth, it had already accepted it’s end before it had arrived.



Nimdravur’s child would grow to purify the world of the Creator’s misdeeds, and most important of all, it would surely put it’s soul to rest. It was rest Nimdravur desired most. That is all it wanted for a long time, for this immortal coil it bore for the longest time offered no such thing. Death was never an option until now.

Catching itself being distracted with it’s own thoughts, Nimdravur had snapped from it’s daze and peered into the depths of the Iridescent Flame. It was so peaceful, crackling and churning below; it was not as bright to bring it’s father of darkness harm, but it’s embers were enough to bring brief moments of contentment to Nimdravur’s old soul. But something shifted within the flames -- the Wraith knew this. Absurdity, surely, for nothing could survive the throes of accursed fire that laid unending in this pit. Nonsense. Impossibility. Survivors could not sustain themselves for long in the face of the fire’s fury.

But one had, Nimdravur noticed. One had, despite the absurdity of such a possibility, and upon focusing upon the near-skeletal figure that trembled at the bottom of the flaming mire, the agonized being raised it’s head and stared back at the Father. It stared back, and in turn, raised it’s hands toward Nimdravur as if reaching out in embrace.



“Mỳ… ̴m͠y c̴hi͠ld́.͜ ͏M͡y̸ ̧bo͜ý.̨”

And amongst the fire, others began to rise; decrepit and corrupted. Alive? Nay. Dead? Evidently not. Undead, perhaps? Not even Undead, Nimdravur thought. The sacrifices to the Iridescent Flame had purged their souls of sin, and had brought them the blessing of equilibrium. But they were not strong enough to crawl from the fire- not yet. Like the flame that Nimdravur thought as it’s child, his newfound children must grow for such a feat to become a reality.

“M̵ỳ ̡chi̧ld͝re͜n.̡”

“W̨el̢̕c̢͏͏o͝m̧̕e̸ ̨́h͏̸́ò̸͘m̶̵e̛͢.”

A low rumble causes some regions of Athera to shake for a brief moment in time; most prominently around Embermoore’s territories. The scent of ash is prevalent.
 

(2/??)

[Mephistophelian 977]

((I will write an RP post later, when I wake up tomorrow, but I would like to say that this was very nicely written. You kept my attention from the beginning, which is hard to do, trust me. What's more, you kept the vibe that 'caught' my attention the entire way through. Kudos :) ))

[Glyc 234]

Moved to the Great Library. It shall be sorted into appropriate category shortly.