The Saints We May Become

[don dada 579]

Prologue

 

 

 

Spoiler

 

 

 

 

 

A HERALD'S JOURNEY

YEARS 186 through 188, SECOND AGE

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I. New Beginnings, Beside Destiny He Shall Stand

 

 

"Go forth on your path, as it exists only through your walking."

 

A vast pit of lava rests before He - with no clear path depicted. Yet a whisper berths from the halls before him as a voice washes over his ears, comforting in a tongue understood by those Men who lay their path upon the temple.

 

"Allow faith to guide your steps, trespass forward, and believe."

 

But should he, was a question that ebbed along his thought. Surtr found himself in the temples of Tor'Praeth under the guidance of another; Laelia, whom he was sworn to protect, who sought to soothe his anguish and thoughts in the wake of hardship in Moz'Strimoza. She had found Him battered, beaten to a degree unfathomable to Human perception, and corrupted once more upon the faint skin where his Heart lay, veins crossing along the remainder of his humanity as he lie defeated.

 

Yet his thoughts did not wane to journey alone, but to another. Azli, the dracon whom he fought beside, whose fate lied unknown to Him in the conclusion of their long strife. What did the Archlich seek in chaining the Nephilim so fervently as to ravage a city? It was in this thought that birthed a destination, one that Laelia was able to guide the path toward.

 

What challenge beset upon Surtr was not one of faith, nor a path to take. But what lies in wait at the end of the molten mold. To walk into the unknown, not knowing whether he would return as He once was.

 

"But had I not always loathed what I am?" thought Surtr, upon the silence.

 

And so too did He take the first step; not knowing that his path would soon free something restrained within him since conception.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

...

 

 

"What was it that he sought upon you, Egg-Bearer, that meant such dire consequences upon I and You?"

 

Along the steps, did Surtr find the Azlihessan, who descended down from his chambers to greet the one descendantkin that fought along His side, to protect what He had not known to be present. In their brief exchange, the Azlihessan was met with the lesser extent of injuries that Surtr was at the behest of, for dragonkin had their own means of healing compared to those of a mortal flesh. In this, Surtr found comfort, yet a curiosity came, one that Azli entertained.

 

"I can only imagine it right that you see what you were truly fighting for, all that time."

 

And through the smokey wisps and the haze of embers floating around his form, Azli withdrew something that did not quite register to Surtr at first. A round sphere, one that seemed so fragile as to simply placing it down upon a surface it was not meant for would cause the very shell to shatter.

 

Surtr stepped forth, to greet this sphere. For years time, almost a decade now, he had become a bastion of guardianship among those mortal kin where coin enticed, and his sword was received in exchange. To guard the lives of those young and old, frail and strong, it became routine for him to almost rescind such a prospect into mere routine lest a bond would birth upon his undertaking.

 

But here, he is met with nothing but an orb in the palms of a dracon. Though as he closed the distance, he felt as if something cooed into his ears as those same whispers from the halls before returned again. A single word uttered from beneath, as what was a simple shell became more than, with a simple murmur.

 

 

 

 

D̸͖̳͝ë̵̲̰͠s̶̤̣͠t̵̘̕i̸̲̗̔n̸̞͐y̵̟͝͝.

 

 

 

A fixation grew as then his palms settle upon the form that was Destiny in a sphere, with a gentle touch akin to a father meeting its first-born.

 

"The child."

 

"He sought to take it,"

 

"To allow it to become one of his own."

 

 

One of his own. Something He could never share a relation to, but with Destiny set before him, it was almost as if the sheer euphoria of the idea nestled upon his mind. Fatherhood, that was, that concept that the Lady Deia once spoke of. Something He had not understood then, and something He bore witness to now, only in emotion, and not cohesion. No tears were shed here, neither an inclination to covet that Child, only a belief to leave a mark upon the one that was conceived in this world to be cursed, of something he was yet to understand.

 

What that was, remained a mystery, for He had only just begun his transcendence into self-actualization upon being left with the archives of the dragonkin; endless shelves of books, literature that He was once unable to grasp upon his arrival in Aevos, now challenged with the task of seeking only one thing in respite.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

II. A Past to Lament, A History to Learn

 

 

"You will be a seeker then, to these people. It is best to introduce yourself as such.

Your future shall come from labor; but be wary of those that wander before you.

Guard your heart, as you trek. For there are sinister things you are yet to know of."

 

Reading was something that, once upon a time, Surtr did not have the luxury of, as was the case for many things for He came as but a lonely child upon a haunting galley ship that served as his only home for the longest time, washed ashore. There was where he learned quickly to scour the lands of Aevos, visiting cities, a little boy travelling from East to West as he labored for those who were otherwise unassuming of his origin, only that he was capable of menial work. And so he labored, for years, until a point in time when he met an elder Orc that would soon become his only mentor in the time when coin became a promise, a sword was more valuable than a body, and a head would fill one's pockets with no end in sight.

 

As they travelled, the old, humble Orc rendered a gaze upon the Boy, Surtr, as they offered the plate they had just fixed together in their small camp upon the outskirts of the Lowlands. His intervention had come not of the good of heart, but of recognition of something deeper within him, something that tore asunder to be liberated, and yet perhaps it was of the intuition of the elder to guide them toward what was chosen for Him. Of course, He was not at liberty to say what exactly that was; for he was but a being of calculation and rational thought, and not one of aspiration like those He was in the presence of before.

 

"What do you seek, Boy?" as the Elder separated small strips of chicken between his plate.

 

The question came to his blindside, as Surtr returned that

humble look with one of confusion. He held his plate dearly,

for it would be the only sustenance He would be at the behest

of for a longer while. "I hadn't given it any thought." Surtr

admitted, for this had not ever come across his thought upon

the wise orc's tutelage.

 

 

A smile came, then, and a nod. Much alike to how he maneuvered now, the Elder became something of a larger

influence for Surtr to take after, even with those lingering inabilities to feel more than a faint touch of emotion.

"When the time comes, you will find something, or rather, someone you may wish, or are required to protect. 

When you do, observe them. Look upon that which you were once bereft of, for that, will be what you seek. 

When you recognize it, embrace what that is. Cherish it. For it shall give you what you do not have."

 

Another passage, Surtr surmised, as his lips remain pursed in that stilled expression of his, yet the faint touch of curiosity upon which the Elder orc's words did not register at once, but to remember it, He shall. And the day after, when the Boy had just returned from seeking sustenance in a hunt, the Elder orc was gone, and so too was Surtr left alone once more. This would remain routine for the longest time, until he came of age to begin a journey in which a sellsword he was known for thus,

 

 

 

 

And now in the halls of dragonkin, he had thought of those same words from the Elder, what he had meant to part with before his disappearance, as he lay a finger upon the first book he saw splayed upon a lectern.

 

The Return of Azdromoth, depicted by one certain dragonkin named Gamling.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

III. Asioth, and Peace

 

 

 

Surtr was found in the library, alone. His cloak beseeched the form of the stool aside, while he rendered upon himself the next tome. The Lessons of An-Gho. Several others sat on the table adjacent of it; On Asioth, Azdromoth & Azdrazi History, Cinders & the Return of Azdromoth, all bookmarked upon the last page.

 

Ashes coalesced. And from those ashes, did a being merely form, walking forth. Uztrahmel, one of the dragonkin that found an interest upon the one Surtr that was duly recognized as one of the seekers in this very library.

 

With Uztrahmel's entrance, came a lifted helmet from the one Surtr. He's offered a brief, bowing head, Surtr remaining seated.

 

"Surtr," Uztrahmel drawled in greeting, an armored gauntlet lofted. "You've been reading, it seems."

 

"Beseech me, once more; which tomes have you yet read of?"

 

"Little, I may admit," Surtr gestured to the small volume of books. "But much."

 

"I had just finished enlightening myself of Asioth; its meaning, or rather, one lack

thereof as to my perception yet. It had birthed an essence, One I had not recognized

nor acknowledged until now. Not of want, but of reflection."

 

A silence came between them, with the nephilim granting a singular nod. Surtr found himself entranced by the exposé by the Caspian of Rhen, On Asioth. To merely elaborate it as a simple book to teach a faith, a religion, much like those of Canonist origins or the Red Faith, was to betray the very essence this book was found to have by the seeker, as it was more than. A spiritual objective, one for only each reader alone; and for themselves to reflect upon the instilled insight and philosophies that the language of The Aurulects endowed, but never in a literal sense - that which Surtr found struggle in for he was but the very definition of a literal man. Yet, a challenge he welcomed all the same.

 

"And your histories, naturally. From the lands of the Four Siblings, to those of now."

 

 

But there was one thing that drove Surtr further into his studies; an interaction

between the dragonkin's prophet, An-Gho; and the one protecting Destiny to the

point of obsession, the Azlihessan. And he was encouraged to enlighten the one

Uztrahmel to it, as well, and so came: "I had also witnessed something; a

conversation between the Egg-Bearer and the An-Gho, of a path in which

the latter wishes to bear now in his volley."

 

Smoke coiled and seeped from the pallid-gray metal of the nephilim's armor, the very

particles of ash and cinders almost whispering unto themselves, echoing unto their own verbatim.

And then, Uztrahmel paused, gaze narrowing. A talon lofted, archaic flames etched unto the

very ash-laden ambience of the sanctum. "And what did the Azlihessan speak of? He was

not present for the conversation where the An-Gho, and I, visited █████ ███ █████;

and so what does he beseech, specifically?"

 

"From the one Azlihessan, reality. The situation as to which the lands of this world,

Canonism continues to wish a damnation upon your kind. Something your kindred

would be familiar to, being beset of it for far too long. But in the end, acceptance."

He hummed thoughtfully to Azlihessan's conclusion that time.

 

"For what the An-Gho preached was not of conquest, or hate. Not of rulership, or envy. Not of zeal nor deceit."

 

"But of a peace."

 

"A peace which he wishes upon his kind; and of it's followers. That of which he

wishes to walk the path of a Saint, where he shall lay upon this same thought

to others, as well. To be loved, once more. Tales enlighten one such as I to a

time when this was true; to a time when Man made pacts with the Dragon."

 

"To protect, and be protected."

 

Uztrahmel smiled, then. "Correct."

 

His voice tolled in turn, those runic etchings continuing to carve themselves

unto air; from pyre into cinders. "He speaks what we all dreamed of," he

revealed. "The very reason myself, An-Gho, and the Ki-Urn visited;

to begin the first pact of many."

 

"A path not unlike one to be met with contempt, and not without mistake," Surtr

spoke of then, "But only one undertaken by those of a great will, and of themselves,

and more than." He settles a hand on the cover of the Lessons of the An-Gho,

having not opened it quite just yet.

 

"Surtr," the voice chimed oncemore from Uztrahmel. "What, in essence, is what

splits the line between man and dragon? Am I man? Am I dragon? Am I, perhaps, Saint?"

Silence hung, light rippling from those runic pyres which hung within the air as he lamented

upon those tomes Surtr stacked. "What am I?" In that moment did the drakaarikin merely smile;

utterly inhuman, yet a beauty in that same lack of humanity. "There are some which yearn for

annihilation, and apocalypse; and yet they shall realize what they yearn for shall only lead to

their own failures."

 

"I've come to find much to contemplate this, for I had asked myself this, once." Surtr's

hand wanders across the cover, to wipe the dirt off of it. ".. And I believe what splits the

line; is of purpose, and not of being. Yours and mine," he perceived then, imperfect, yet

a perception far from what was once his own. "For I am to live a hundred years; to do as

I must, for that is the freedom I have been bestowed by those I am not at liberty to meet,"

he spoke of a creator, or gods, perhaps, but one he humbly willed not to seek perceivance of.

 

"And yours, to live indefinitely, for that is the essence of which your kin have been bestowed.

A greater purpose than mine own, and the shaping of the world thus in both your volley, and mine."

 

"In collection, the birth, the building of a new age. A new..."

 

Faintly came the smile of his mentor, the Elder, that once parted knowledge he now understood.

 

".. Life."

 

"Come," beckoned a scaled hand, almost in the gesture of a handshake.

 

And so too did Surtr collect that hand; and to the newcomers that encountered the pair in their conversation, they found themselves to witness flight between Man and Dragonkin.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

IV. The Gift of the Titan, and Purpose

 

 

 

The two impact downwards unto some island; distant off the shores of Aevos. To the far south - the edges of the storm ebbed, the collosal streamstorm that surrounded the continent.

 

"Here, you may speak freely, without any fear of harm." Those colossal wings crumbled

unto ash, and smoke, ebbing unto the salt-laden breeze. His gaze beset Surtr. "█████ has

become demon, or perhaps, become something further. I am well aware of how their kind work;

one warlock was a close friend to myself, from my days as a mortal - and even still today."

 

Where being were but himself and dragonkin; the face, the mane of a descendant plundered

by a darkness scarring him endlessly and an orb carrying a suspended fire is blessed as Surtr

removed his helm. "Has he, now?" His words revealed his lack of awareness to this. "I had

suspected it a possibility, given his ramblings of retirement. But one to associate themselves

with those I had once fought; it was not a retirement in fate, I surmise."

 

The nephilim was well-accustomed to this bizzare island, wherever it was. "My kindred seek acceptance;

they seek peace from the lands of mankind and elvendom alike, of peace wrought within the lands."

Silence hung, for a small moment. The chirping of seagulls unto the distance softly echoed across

the Spire. "And yet I wish to take one step further; of preventing my kindred from any

risk of corruption nor death."

 

His armored digits interolck; assuming of the intent Uztrahmel spoke before descendant. "To

rid yet another threat to this correspondence between your kind and mine, I'd assume?" he hums

thoughtfully. "Though I suspect in my days of bounty hunting, I had found myself finding much

greater adversity in my transition past a mere guardian," he recalled that battle prior to his arrival.

Surtr himself treks the edges of mortality, his scars the very representation of this vulnerability.

 

And with those words, did Uztrahmel laugh, perhaps some semblance of surprise from dragonkin. "No, Surtr,

you are mistaken. If I wished to eliminate them, why would I be so passive in doing so? Utterly on the contrary,

in fact." His palms interlaced before him, embers and fumes softly arising forth, spiralling upwards. "I seek to

make a peace with him, and his kind."

 

"Of his retirement, he has likely gone down the path of ████████, the same path that the individual named

███████ is soon to take." He wafts a palm. "Self-█████ification, a penultimate act a ███████ can undertake."

 

In his mistaken perception, he is quick to accept mistake. Yet a look is sent upon Uztrahmel,

lamenting unto the doubt that sowed its seeds upon his thought. "Hm," he hummed. "I see. And

how do you wish to meet this ideal outcome, with the ████?" He asked of Uztrahmel.

 

"I merely seek they pledge to not harm our kin, or students." He said, so sparingly. "Lest they face war,"

and that calmness became a quaking. Smoke spewed about Uztrahmel as their scales began to gloam a

red-hot light; the heat wavering the very ambience about them. Surtr felt it; the pressure of pyres, the very

heat of such a raging flame. And yet it was peaceable, his words were soft, flowing clearly and smooth,

without even a hint of rage or wrath. "I am Uztrahmel, the Arbiter," he softly declared.

"I have met such an outcome sparingly, before."

 

"Many of them are powerful; many of them are murderers, corrupters, wrathful," he droned forth dryly.

"And yet, they are still mortal. They have families, kin, companions and allies. They too, deserve that,

unlike death." The freedom of choice.

 

"Then may I ask, Uztrahmel," Surtr rose with a scabbard held upon his hand. "How do you wish

to proceed?" The scabbard met oak, and his hands beset upon pommel in a stand much like a knight.

 

"With a question." Uztrahmel softly hummed, the blazing heat receding unto his body oncemore.

"Not to those of the ████████, or the ███████, yet to you alone."

 

"All within the hals of Tor'Praeth, come to a reasoning before long; a fate, an endless search."

Silence lingered, for a terse moment, before it was broken. "For the An-Gho, Eresar, the very Titan;

that was Asioth."

 

"For Balthazar, Azmoldreaus, and the very Aulkhorian, they seek forth justice."

 

"In that, do I merely seek balance." He shrugged to this.

 

"And yet; what do you seek, for the time being? What have you read,

have you contemplated, that is your goal, right this instant?"

 

Surtr falls a look upon the pommel, momentarily. It's a question that defers not only to perception; but

of being, and much like with the Elder, the speed of the answer that came was slugged. The warmth of

the pyres Uztrahmel allowed to lurk seem to berth with one of his own; a fire in his heart that was once

dim upon the confines outside of Tor'Praeth.

 

A modest worm came first: "Purpose." And what came after was where he sought it: "Amongst those who

now wish to bestow a peace upon this world; between your kind, and mine."

 

And it was thus, destiny sent forth humanity's grievance: a warrior cursed in darkness, and not only of one form. Necromatic leprosy was healed upon this man's very gaze, to restore a humanity that was once lost for a time, and the scars of malflame continue to scorn his being, marking a permeance to a human form, the indignity of emotions lacking beneath a tainted soul.

 

Yet that same grievance sought more, out of the blessing of knowledge, and the recognition of destiny.

 

"I had once become a symbol of protection; for one." That singular noble that changed much of his perception

of those he came in the company of. "But thus, in a time of emptiness, I've come to realize that only that was

not enough."

 

"Not anymore."

 

"Purpose." He echoed the word, their maw spewing forth a word to become a relic upon Uztrahmel's form, a weapon

made from the ivory of a fallen Dragaar, whispers flowing from it softly; "Dhrun." His gaze softly fixated upon him. "Surtr.

I offer forth a path; one between the lines of mankind, and those draconic." He bids once. "In our tongue, we call them, █████."

The word was harsh, abrasive, almost lacerating at his ears with a blazing fury. "Yet in our mortal tongue, it goes by another name."

 

 

 

Stagnance lingered, for a moment, as Uztrahmel calmly gazed upon Surtr. "A herald."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

V. Trials, Tribulations, and Reflection

 

 

Through travel did Surtr began his tasking; to seek those that would otherwise wish to achieve this same peace. In the lands East and West did he wander, to find those he was oftly familiar with among the higher echelons of descendantkind. Many wavered of the prospect, for there lied a fatal flaw among the Earth that was the fear of another that resembled what the Nephilim once wrought: total destruction, and annihilation upon them, away from the pursuits of peace.

 

And upon his last duty for the year until he returned, he found rejection. A kingdom with long history that cast aside the notions of an opportunity for a treatise, a kingdom he once thought himself to belong with, ever guarding their interests come what may, and here he was split between both Kingdom and Nephilim, wrought of a history still ebbed within the minds of those that bear witness. 

 

Despite the rejection came a few words that birthed opportunity, one that would seek self-growth before actualization; not only from those Nephilim that sought to become a co-existing kind among Man, but Himself.

 

"For now." spoke the equally-armored woman, who lay gaze upon the face of the one Surtr.

 

And in this, a nod came, one not of defeat, but of understanding.

 

 

Surtr bid his way from the stone walls of the Kingdom, to return to the temple once more, presenting himself before the one An-Gho who had just finished communion with his fellow kindred.

 

"Come, sit," urged a sat An-Gho from their maw, gazing upon the warrior.

 

"I am glad to meet you in more formal decore."

 

"Tell me your name, and where you are from."

 

"Ubba," Surtr spoke. "Son of Hroðgar, chief of a clan whose name has been lost,

For I am the last of my kin, where famine took the lives of many in the form of a

curse upon my people, that which they had beseeched upon the Essence of Greed,

a treasure that transcended our mortality, and brought upon us a wrath unseen."

 

"I come not to seek strength, nor a place of belonging among your people, but

I have been welcomed among your halls by the Azlihessan, who I had once done

battle with against the Archlich, who sought a treasure that which he was not meant

to have."

 

"But I had not come on my own volition; for it was a cursed child who brought me,

Laelia, who I was sworn to protect of an agreement between us that surpasses the

throes of a coin."

 

The An-Gho was silent, pondering upon the

one Surtr as they taled their journey. "You are

Uztrahmel's herald. So you have come before me,

and to what degree may I help you?"

 

And it was then he paused, quietly. What exactly did he need require assistance with?

For Surtr was capable than many; seeking more than what he had been tasked with

in order to find acceptance somewhere within the confines of the mortal world, yet,

a lingering thought came, for He to part his lips to speak, until,

 

"Those scars of yours. May I?" asked the An-Gho, as

he lay their eyes upon the scarred form of his being.

 

So too did Surtr show the scarred appendages; malflame of a hue contorted between

red and gold, plundered along his form in scars insurmountable. And along his

complexion were the scars of a scalpel's work, to heal necrotic leprosy through

conventional means, considered a greater testament of mortal healers ability.

 

"I wonder then, have you found your

respite among my kindred, among your

fellow seekers, and heralds?" he solely asked.

 

A conviction came from the one Surtr, enveloping two words that signalled

a journey among dragonkin, one of self. "More than." He bowed his head gently

in contemplation. "I had found more than respite here; for I had found the very

reason Fate would not have me, that day."

 

"Purpose, even of the curse that stagnates within me, to shine a light upon I."

 

"A curse?" contemplated the An-Gho. "I lament,

that in this world, there is nothing stronger

than a curse, than one's own conviction."

 

"In Asioth, all life is sacred. For it carries with it,

life within you, life among my kindred, life along

and past these very walls."

 

"God bestowed life, thus one must recognize the god

within ourselves; one that empowers us in our

will, when we have been blessed with that which

is sacred."

 

"In this world, a curse shall not define you. Neither

the throes of a light to shine upon you, nor a darkness

to covet what remains of you."

 

"For in that same world, in Asioth;

there is no light, nor darkness."

 

"There only is."

 

One that Surtr could never see, until he could see past what he sought after;

a chance through the darkness, a light to shine upon He, yet neither would come.

Because there never was a need for either.

 

Life.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Spoiler

 

 

 

VI. Of Benevolence, Self-Actualization, And A Goodbye

 

 

 

Under the tutelage of Uztrahmel, and the prophet An-Gho did Surtr start to resemble something he had sought after in a life-long journey. The light birthed something of a comfort upon his helm; while the whistles of the winds and the grasslands became a sweet song to reminisce upon as he travelled with the older stallion Falhófnir, who had grown to become his only lifelong companion as Surtr grew from but a mere boy that sought to free the mere horse from his reins of a desolate, undead warrior. The steed had almost routinely came in the company of Surtr in his volley in liberation, becoming his stallion of judgement; oft accompanying the warrior into cities without restraint.

 

Yet now he was but a mere reflection of a past grown weary, and fogged of a mortality that Surtr once had no regard for. They find rest in the crevice of a tower overgrown of the vinery surrounding it, desolate from civilization; as Surtr birthed from nothingness a flame from the tips of his scarred palms, while Falhófnir laid upon a haystack in the corner, to regard their ailed self.

 

Mortality was but a cruel thing; Surtr was once at the behest to take a life without reason but a coin to gain at the end of the bargain, but here laid a life whose soul started to come awry of the energy it had. And in the blaze of a campfire that comforted them both, he began a communion, not with the gods, not with dragonkin, but that same lifelong companion.

 

"I wonder, Fal,

 

Of all the things I've done. All the things I've taken. To never

worry of sustenance through the means of my sword's sway,

or sheer presence upon those who would not dare challenge,

 

That in this world, there is only ever enough until you grow

tired of the throes of what this world sets for you. What the

world begets, when one takes from another.

 

Never had I thought to be in my position. A herald of

the eternity that is dragonkin, once wrought of a corruption

so deep that no one would be any wiser as to reminisce past,

 

But that in this, you had always remained by my side.

Judgement from you came not of a moral stance,

But merely of a simplicity that was a destination.

 

You and I both know, you've a lesser soul; yet mine tainted,

And yet that has never bothered you once. Not a single

moment passed where you would once take from me,

 

And only did you give yourself in the pursuit that was my destination.

I wonder then, if that was truly of your doing, or simply

the way of the world; where one's nature simply preceded all.

 

A duty."

 

Surtr watched as Falhófnir did little but to omit the sounds of a raspy, dated breath into the haystack. In the fleeting moment of peace, came the rain as they patter upon broken stone, darkening those within while a fire berths to illuminate the shadows it could. Little did it take for the sellsword to finally realize that the horse wittled in the darkness, in that sheer corner it tucked itself into. And so too did Surtr grow close, while a hand births that same flame, and only a peacable intent came upon it; to illuminate Falhófnir's surroundings. What he witnessed, here, had struck a chord within him.

 

A tear fell from the horse's drooped lids, as their breaths grew slower, and slower. And in this, came a benevolence that drew upon the draan channeled along an arm to keep that flame alight; as his very form grew even closer, knelt before their head as they could do little but watch.

 

"I see, now.

 

It truly was your choice, and you'd

settled for sacrifice than preservation.

 

And so shall your end lurk closer,

I shall carry those with a weight once mine own,

 

To see to their journeys, and guide them along,

to protect them from what may come of this world.

 

For fate has come. And your conviction shines upon it."

 

Silence came after. Nothing but the showers of the world,

and nothing but the crackling of a blaze that remained,

stowing away the darkness and irregarding the corruption

that plundered this world, and a bond now complete of its journey.

 

"It's been a long journey, friend.

Your duty shall be mine in this, now."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

END. The Saints We May Become

 

 

"You've lived your life well, for me.

 

And so I shall do the same."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Spoiler

much like before, this is only a creative writing post to depict the events that have happened with my character and their introspective on their journey as a Herald of Azdromoth. s/o @Jentos @ibleesian @Pallodium for the amazing RP thus far and hoping to be able to write more of these with far more accurate details as I continue to store all the roleplay logs I can for them.

 

fate has been a huge theme with surtr's journey from conception to his journey now, and now that azdromoth is the daemon of fate & conviction, stay tuned for more!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Spoiler

 

 

 

 

 

 

Epilogue. The Guardian in the Flame

 

 

"I will do my best. My training is near an end - and I intend to do whatever I

can to remain strong and sure." She folds her hands into her lap. "I feel I've

already grown stronger in these years, and I would like to keep doing so."

 

"The training never ends," he advised her, "If you wish to know what that means,

you may call me on outside of the throes of guardianship. I surmise I shall find

somewhere to place myself, here," wondered He for where he shall camp.

 

"I only say this, to you, of your undertaking as future warrior-Queen,"

 

"Never be content. Those greatest never were. Strength

is not only in honing your trade with a blade, but of self."

 

"I know it doesn't. But I will find you all the same." The Queen pauses for

that very moment. "I don't know if I'll ever be satisfied. But I know I'll

never give up."

 

"A friend once said," he hums. ".. One must seek the god within you."

 

"For god is in nothingness," he showed the palm of his gauntlet, where

it was devoid of any obstruction. "And everything." Suddenly, a tiny spark

births the child of a flame out of sheer nothingness.

 

It was miniature, much like the one dancing as an eye of the guardian, like

a child to covet away from dangerous winds that seek to diminish it.

 

She watches as the flame appears, her eyes widening. "You are a mage?"

 

"Something of the sort," he coos the young Queen, "Your father knows,

for He has seen as much of my trade."

 

"It is in this flame, I seek strength." That child-like sense of the Queen

is encouraged to grow, as the blaze is manipulated from its infancy, to an

adolescence, reminiscent of the Queen's own growth. The baby flame

thus became an ebbed fire, yet no harm came from it, but illuminating

the concept of darkness, the small shadows shrouding between them

waded off. "To walk among the dark, where fear means little."

 

"It is in the palm of my hand; and within us. That flame of yours,

that grows the same way you age."

 

 

"Life." He spoke of that fire.

 

 

Edited May 5, 2025 by don dada

[satin 7600]

Spoiler

exceptional writing and formatting, all-round lovely post. massive fan

 

[Borin 7645]

Spoiler

too long didnt read

 

[Man of Respect 5471]

[spoiler] too long, Didn't read either, loved it! [/spoiler]

[Frisket 4538]

God I loved reading this