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A Call to Flame; Draconic Tutelage


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A CALL TO FLAME

A draconic tutelage

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Spoiler

 

 

 

Brothers, sisters. I write this with difficulty, not because my mind is struck by misery, or trists take my heart, but because I pen these words before candle-light, and my eyes fail to stare upon this parchment and stop me as I mean to write this. Look upon that fire - how it twists and it turns. It heaves, it shudders in it’s primordial dance. What is fire, but the hope in our hearts? What is fire, but the spark of the soul. What is fire, but the dragon in our heart. 

 

- Wer kornari; seat di wer navnik. Ixen qe acht coi.

 

Some years ago did it come to my attention, the hatred spawned for that of dragons. And I looked at the men, the women, and the children of the world in confusion. For how dare I know them? How dare I know these that live in ways different than mine. But then - how dare they not despise us. My brood’s song is flame. My Father is a mountain. My kin are barred from the realm of spirits. The Burning Bush has no love for me. We are outcasts to Ebrietas likewise. No Aengul, no Daemon shall have us in their realm. But then are we agents to the Creator? He who had shown me mercy, he had given me life. Now I pay my due. I do my duty and nothing more. My kin have discarded the Light, but so too have they exiled the Shadow. We are fire. We light your halls but cast shadows of your frames. We are both and we are none. But returning to the topic at hand - what of the Creator? Shall I ascend to the Heavenly Halls, the Heavens Seven, kneel before Horen - he who had made pact, and he who had allied with the Dragons, from whom he shares his blood and strength? That I do not know. For it seems so that my spirit is locked upon this world, as is righteous of draconic duty of preserving earthly creation against corruption. Duty towards fire is my only concern, if those rightful Emperors would have me serve them, as we did cooperate in those ages forlorn and lost, let them call, and we shall answer. But no such call has been made. Instead they call us snakes - greyed, twisted serpents, with venom in our teeth. Though this is not without cause; some Nephillim have lied, some have cheated their gift of flame and turned vile. But do not listen to those, but see my erring brothers cast to stone. 

 

- Bahsk darastrixi geou qe rechan. Astahii geou qe ternesj. Nomeno si inglata. Tir ti shartleg de wer opsola.

 

But what of those that are not dragon? What of the descendants that do not share my burning blood? The race of Man is wise. Your lives are short - but with it shall accomplish more than elves with their infinite lives, as I have known myself. Your people have made a pact with mine ‘afore. They have broken bread with me, cherished me, and then they have cast me down for the actions of the few. The Single God is highest - for He has made the world, and all that is and will be, so therefore am I not birthed from Him? I pay my dues to my Father, but have I even stricken from a righteous path when He had shown me mercy? I have culled the vile. I have defended the race of man; for this is the duty of flame. The fire which burns in the hearts of mankind, the inner beast which toils and consumes, the fire that pushes your people to accomplish more, and to go beyond what has ever been done before. Your people are makers of miracles. Your Saints sit in Heaven, immortal and beauteous, and you have crafted dragons of steel; great cannons that roar when sparked aflame. 

 

- L'gra wer ithquent. Ihk jaci ui shio.

 

And so my race are accused of praising the Dragon more than God. I am Dragon. I do not praise myself, but offer thanks and reverence to my good Father, for he had given me strength and visitation, and kept me safe in the harsh winters, and cast away shadows of doubt. So I give him thanks, as the purity of flame burns bright within him, and has never forsworn the Creator, but kept vehemence for the Aenguls, for they despise my kin, and are filled with lies. My Father is no god. He is a Dragon. He is Firstborn, and he is mighty. I am Nephillim; sworn to my Father and his Tenets; to defend the realms of Men. We seek Asioth, and in this we seek truth, and in this I had found God. 

 

- Kii ui coi batobot wux dartak udoka? Ihk yth re svabol wux shilta ti qe?

 

And what of Dragons then? Mine are a brutalized race. Many would shoot us down for nothing more than fame, or for greed of our great scales and our hearts. This is the folly that has taken you - as you claim the frog-men humane and wise for their ability of speech and reason. Though you decimate mine for their frightful shape and strength, soon forgetting their great wisdom. Let the hunting to the paladins, for as we hold only grudges for their murders, they seem to possess little reasoning for bringing about our deaths. Even the drakes - those corrupted, may be saved by our intervention. Why bring wrath to them so they may bring death to you? But let us soothe and heal them, much like one might take out a shard of glass from a mad dog to calm it’s temper. Call upon us, if you are so keen to rid the world of this threat, and we shall send such a beast on it’s temperate way. Do not call upon our ire, and you shall not have it. 

 

- Ini sia opsola. Nomenes batobot donu, nomenes batobot wharac, nomenes batobot clax wer mitne nishka valignat.

 

We mean no ire to those that share not our blood, though are eyes see more, and our minds think differently. We are dragons, we are beasts of ire, of vengeance, but also of justice. We desire no destruction, but preservation, and duty. Let Asioth be our gift to this world, as is our servitude, and our blood. For let any come forward, let us share our wisdom and gifts. May your hearts guide you well, and may we meet. Perhaps you shall have the stone to debate with us our race and our ways, perhaps you shall even wish to join our camaraderie. 

 

Some call me Irsauriv, others Gul’Sthyr, and even old man. But this makes no matter. Fire be with you. Strength be upon you. I grin to the Heavens and raise my arms. I shall not tolerate the magi. I shall not tolerate the liar, nor the one who stabs in the back. I shall not tolerate the vile. I will show mercy to those who repent. I shall be a flame; an ember amongst a pyre, warmth to the living and bane to the dead. God bless my Father; so that I may lift his lantern to illuminate truth amongst this black sea. Fear the Void. Fear it’s torment. Fear the gift of Nothing. By God, fear it.

 

- Nomag ixen soves wux. Nomag Asioth xtirl dout sepa. sia opsola thesekic; wer verthicha batobot wiapi.


 


 

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Knowing eyes drifted the writings from start to end in scintillated candle light, all the same as the one which lit the page's surface when scribed. "No finer an observation from a Titan's child," drawled the grated voice from within the chambers. "Pray, pray that we misunderstood are seen in righteous firelight. It would do the whole world a goodness."

Haskir takes a copy to save for the coffers, words for eternity he may reference for years to come.

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The forests shrub festered with swaying embers, a conflagration of hatred crippling verdant bushes. A shrouded figure garbed in ebon black sauntered past the tree lines, head craning upwards to be met by a bristling canopy. “Brother.” 

 

It muttered, disappearing into the flames pluming smoke. 

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Helinathe listened along as she heard her brother speak over the words he wrote before he published. She offered a silent comment in response, "Who could say our Father and the saints are Gods when they have forever said they serve the Lord alone, for he is the Creator? If only those of the accused Aengul listened to reason and the truth. Who would serve that foul being that wishes to purge all protectors of God because one has done them ill--- by killing their mortal lover..."

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From within the City of Crows, an elfess would regard the missive with some degree of fondness, having remembered her talks with the Herald Kleo, on the exact nature of Asioth, and what it might take to achieve the gift of divine privilege. 

 

"Iheiuhii narne narneyem'ehya, Child of the Firstborn. Perhaps we might sit and discuss, should you find your way this far north..." She would muse, a small smile stretching across her lips as she snapped her fingers, a golden haze carrying the pristine parchment to a nearby shelf, depositing it within gently. 

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