RETURNED TO FLAME [PK]

[PolarLoLs 984]

 

 

Spoiler

 

 

First came nothing, then came the light- A single flame in which it came.. Illuminating the dark and warding off 

those that feared it… suddenly did it heave and thus it spurred, cleaving itself in many, one came two

And two came three, three came four and so on and so forth.

 

Eyes opened and then came sight, the First lie in which we were tossed.

 

Then wagged the tongue, the Second lie planted in the form of muscle and flesh.

 

There they were irremediable.. The more they spoke and the more they saw, the farther they stray from where they came.

 

 

 

✦•━•⊰⊱•━•✦

ʀᴇᴛᴜʀɴᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ɢʀᴇᴀᴛ ꜰʟᴀᴍᴇ ᴏꜰ ꜰɪʀᴇ

“HAIL THE KING WHO IS; HAIL AZDROMOTH!”

Words that burned with more reverence than anything else the herald had spake, nothing more than

A Seeker, one who does not see the truth until his own death.

 

His path was paved by many.. A ‘shinobi’ raised by the blades of the once beautiful Rokudo temple, did it last. Now the boy found himself wandering a path he may as well have walked blind. Soon, he sat within ash and bathed in ruin, he supped on the now hollow bones reaped from the cadavers of acolytes, dedicated to the inverse.

 

He sought glorious battle; his Um’ei was exactly that. The aurum path chosen for the sake of  this dream he so longed for. One he would shed further blood and cleave flesh to reach… be it his own or others. Upon the mont, there he basked upon it… what would be the dream he so longed to dream. In this sleep he could only see the edges of what was... they burned, Truth Burns! but he did not burn, why was that? He saw clearly that darkness that came before… all he needed to do was reach it.

 

👁

“Everything must burn”

“Burn it all! Truth can be seen, then! Descendent-kind will witness the truth then…”

👁

 

He was selfish for certain, Unknowing he was not himself, he did not own a thing. He was a mere vessel.

Hino Keishi or Kanba.. He never bothered to correct those, or tell his real- It had no name for it bore the many.

 

He had already died, he no longer feared death, as did his Elder Hina he longed for it. It would teach him,  Upon death, many tell the stories of their lives, Yet he lived many; a thousand and one lenses his flame had already peered.. You may learn and tell – Look around, you witnessed his life, or its perspective.. He had loved like many men do, he cried like many men do and the thousands before him… his children would not see his face but wear it, for they shared his flame all the while. Joelina was the first to witness his realization, he saw once he was blind, spoke when his tongue stilled. Still, she got out of him what many would not, genuine love. She was the last to witness his indulgence in what was a lie. Twice, that day he treaded the edge of that burning he wanted, only the second time he would reach it in dual tones he learned from both Mul’naar and Tor’Uldar,

 

✦•━•⊰⊱•━•✦

ᴀʟʀᴇɪ ᴛᴀᴜɢʜᴛ ʜɪᴍ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀɴᴀᴛᴏᴍʏ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴀɴᴀᴛᴏᴍʏ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴠᴇꜱꜱᴇʟ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰʟᴀᴍᴇ

 

ʜɪɴᴀ ᴛᴀᴜɢʜᴛ ʜɪᴍ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍ 

 

ᴇʀᴇᴍᴜɴ ᴛᴀᴜɢʜᴛ ʜɪᴍ ᴏꜰ ʟᴏᴠᴇ, 

 

ʏꜱɪᴠʀʏɴ ᴘᴏɪɴᴛᴇᴅ, ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀ ʙʀɪᴇꜰ ꜱɪɢɴ ᴜᴘᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀᴛʜ ʜᴇ ᴡᴀʟᴋᴇᴅ.

 

ᴊᴏᴇʟɪɴᴀ ꜰᴏꜱᴛᴇʀᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʟᴇᴀʀɴᴇᴅ ʟᴏᴠᴇ

 

ᴛʜᴇ ᴀɴ-ɢʜᴏ ꜰᴏꜱᴛᴇʀᴇᴅ ʀᴜɪɴ

 

ʀᴏᴋᴜᴅᴏ ᴛᴀᴜɢʜᴛ ᴅɪꜱᴄɪᴘʟɪɴᴇ

 

ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴏɴ ʜᴀᴅ ᴛᴀᴜɢʜᴛ ʜɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴇᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇᴅɢᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴏꜱᴇ ꜰɪʀᴇꜱ

 

ᴊᴏʜɴ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ʜɪᴍ ᴡɪꜱᴇ

✦•━•⊰⊱•━•✦

 

 

Before the mighty Wraith the mere Herald stood, his marks spurred and choked while slithers of grey and gold plumed from the man's nose and mouth, A single hand wielded a blade wreathing in wicked hot flames.. A ‘gift’ if not borrowed, the first and last he’d wield something of such a make, In all honesty… It was in this very battle he’d utilize his Draan for the first time. He followed in his elders' steps, even before those that saw them as enemies.. He protected them with a great flame of fire that wrenched away the forces of the wraith. 

 

Further on, many steps quaked the wood he stood on, the forces of man ran - he wouldn’t blame them, in the final stand against the wraith, he had quelled all that he had felt, Something anew. Before him, stood not a threat but the answers to his prayers, the sleep to the dream he sought.. Behind him stood the cog, a wheel that turned his very motive. He would not lose it today, nor will he turn away the dream.. Thus, he stepped forth to pursue his RUIN, his  ASIOTH.

✦•━•⊰⊱•━•✦

 

“HAIL THE KING WHO IS; HAIL AZDROMOTH!”

Words that burned with more reverence than anything else the herald had spake, Nothing more than

A Seeker, one who does not see the truth until his own death.

 

ʀᴇᴛᴜʀɴᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ɢʀᴇᴀᴛ ꜰʟᴀᴍᴇ ᴏꜰ ꜰɪʀᴇ

 

Spoiler

Thanks to those who helped pave the path for this character of mine, still fairly new, probably a couple or so months old. He was never meant to be a herald but the RP just went that way, shoutout 2 KidKrinkles for finishing our part of the event the final stand was very cool

 

Shoutout to Tor’uldar and Mul’naar for the great RP they’ve provided AND Laotte for being a great teacher as well as Security and everyone else i RP’d with 

 

[F1F4 121]

"Hail Azdromoth"

Edited April 4 by F1F4

[Casualty 77]

 

━─━────༺༻────━─━

 

The air seemed ever still, warm and yet cold and clammy, the buzzing of flies like an omen to the dead that approached shook the air violently, made it tremor, closer and closer. 

 

Sweat had accumulated under those thick padded leather gloves and her shoulders rolled, the warm aura softly wafting off of her, prepared for the fight that was to come, alongside those with her upon the Northern Front. 

 

What was exactly coming for them, they didn’t know, they didn’t need to. They had heard the whispers, the rumors that traveled through Ildon, past its walls through alleys, taverns and inns.

 

It started, as the first contorted and abused corpses floated down the river…

 

And so the Rook was set ablaze, blue fire, bursting barrels of oil, bloating bodies that spilled and spat their gore to be fed to flame and claim the wooden Bridge in the roaring explosion. 

 

“WESTERN SIDE PUSH BACK TO THE WESTERN GATEHOUSE, EAST GROUND FLOOR PUSH BACK TO THE GATEHOUSE WE REDOUBLE NORTH TO HELP THE CANNON CREWS ABOVE!”

 

The command echoed through her dazed mind, as she recovered from the force that had sent her careening and slamming into the floor. Her right hand clawed her weapon free, the other dragging her up along the wall and off she set into a sprint. 

 

Feet thudded over the wooden footbridge, in tandem to the beating of her heart - hair singed, the smell of ash and burning wood clotting her mouth and nose - an oh so familiar scent, that belonged to someone else, tainted with the rot of the wretched foul spawn that dared assail. 

 

THUMP - THUMP - THUMP

 

Her eyes went east, across the drawbridge, a fraction of a second, before she pushed onward - a shade of her soul lagged behind, stood longer, stared longer and even all it may gleam, it was unknown to the mind it belonged to.

 

Aboard the Vessel did she wait, wait for the last familiar faces to trickle in. Wounded and limb rendered pulled into the bellows of the ship to be tended, the rest remained atop. All of the North made it out, such she was sure, she had seen the Virúvian armor aboard the other ship, but her nerves only calmed once the anchor lifted.

 

Unaware of what was left behind, of who, who entered the city and never left..

 

---

 

It was a simple thing really

 

Him bickering with her sister, a backbone shown, a belief defended as mindless as she could have believed.

 

His head shown separate from his body,

Him still roaming the lands - she had vowed to herself, she won’t let it happen again, as long as he stayed within reach - if it wasn’t for those now changed beliefs that had her keep it all hidden.

 

From said sister, from her family, from her friends, from prying eyes, she could have had it all. But it was her whose backbone weakened with garnered tasks and worries, distrust in those around. 

 

In the aftermath of the battle, did she roll a pair of rings within her right, the left hanging useless as it healed, she needed to finish them. Stake her claim for all to see. 

 

Soon … she needs to write a letter.

 

She missed the smell of ash and sulfur, of promises whispered to the wind, the easy love and profound trust, the bickering.

 

Soon…

 

A warm hum left her, as she reveled within thoughts,
soon.

 

But the truth would burn.

 

━─━────༺༻────━─

 

 

[Security_ 2287]

⸸.-─────────.-──–──-.─────────-.⸸

RUIN

⸸.-─────────.-──–──-.─────────-.⸸

 

There arose torrents of flame from a near-melted censer, the heat bubbled whatever charred incense had yet to atomize. A third serpent coiled, dancing retrograde with its two sisters, 

 

FATE and CONVICTION

 

It was felt in the depths of the mountain when Telemachus did turn to ash, and now it reared only further as another herald of the King-Who-Is was whisked away, cleaved back into the Flame whole. The student learns from the teacher just as much as the teacher learns from the student, yet FATE would have it that Alrei would only learn so much. The censer burned brightly in the offering pit, and a question gnawed the mind of the man.

 

Was there salvation to be had for the ash that was Kanba?

 

[KidKrinkles 2043]

The Hexwraith of Martyrdom has finished casting Morion within the Herald's gullet: those final words ringing true through the air.

 

Hail the King who is; Hail Azdramoth.

 

Fire within, fire without.

 

The form of the ferverant, the dead, dropped with a heavy thunk to his knees, in Ildon... it warmed the dead's cold heart to see some truly willing to die for their beliefs.

[latte 2238]

r

[Moumins 378]

 

A blind hand reaches out, into the dark, clasping at rosary beads. “O’Child of Azdromothian Fate, you approach the narrow strait. Bleeding, your heart is hollowed. Do not resist fear, for its shackles do not bind you.”
	A branch is thrown onto an unseen fire, hissing out crackling smoke where it landed.    “O’Child of Azdromothian Fate, it is the first day of your dying. You are meaning, and performing the most meaningful act. Address the Logos, and submit to the addressee.”
		The Loving Ordained remained ignorant, bent over that shrine she, who was he, and ultimately ‘It’ in this moment prayed over. “May you sprout branches of amber leaves. Wings Shroud you, brother, who will be met again.”