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Abstract ProxyTwenty-Two Years Ago
Brennen felt the wind being knocked from his lungs as he fell back against the harsh, unforgiving ground of the swamp, wincing in pain as his back spasmed from contact with a rather large tree root. Looming above him, surrounded by a small group of fellow children was Kipper. Pug-nosed, narrow-eyed, and broadly built with a head of thick dark hair, Kipper was the son of one of the tribe's most unrelenting warriors, inheriting his father's intensity, propensity for violence, and militaristic way of thinking. The boy demanded respect, and chafed under Brennen's indifference. The two had come to blows before in the past - fickle disputes that often resolved themselves sooner or later, resulting in tentative alliance, but this was not one of those cases. In fact, neither of them would have likely been able to explain what started the fight in the first place, but that was no matter here.
Recovering his breath, Brennen slowly rose to his feet, anchoring himself in the spongy ground in preparation for another blow. Brennen's heart flared, incensed at whatever-had-presumably caused the dispute, no doubt a disagreement of some sort, marked by physical coercion. But there was something different this time, something from within. Brennen could feel it in his Inner Fire, his anger, his rage gave him strength and intensity. Not just the desire to retaliate, but to hurt, to maim. The familiar tingling in his fingertips, twitching with the desire to lash out.
And then it happened.
Kipper swung a meaty fist, his form and power unrefined but marked by brute strength that granted him the advantage. On instinct, Brennen swerved out of the way, his fury made tangible as a small ball of fire lashed out and hit the ground between them, prompting Kipper in his flimsy stance to fall back, the few lingering flames lashing, stinging at his ankles. The gaggle of others with him could only look upon Brennen with mouths agape, unsure of what to do or say.
The larger boy's smugness turned to fear, he could only ask, "Fire? H-how do you know fire!?" Before his question could be answered, another called out, their tone sharp as a steel blade being drawn from the scabbard: "Brennen!"
The Chief's voice was unmistakable, prompting all to quickly look to him. His normally-gentle features were contorted with anger as he stepped towards the children, prompting Kipper and the others to scurry away like rats, leaving only Brennen behind.
The Chief grabbed his son forcefully by the arm, dragging him away from the scene to the chieftain's hut near the center of the village. Shoving him inside, the Chief gave a quick left-and-right to ensure they were unseen before following in behind.
There was initially silence, Brennen sat huddled in the back of the hut, worriedness clear upon his features. His father rarely got angry, but when he did, few were foolish enough to stay in his way. "Did I just see what I think I saw?" The Chief asked, narrowing his eyes at Brennen as if trying to read his answer before he was able to speak. "Did you try and attack that boy with fire?"
"He...he pushed me." Brennen responded, meekly. As the rage that guided him to act was burning away, he began to see just how flimsy his reasoning - and response - was.
"He pushed you." The Chief repeated, internally trying to process what had taken place. Taking a deep breath, the Chief closed his eyes for a moment or two before speaking. "I took a great risk teaching you pyromancy when I did. Tradition dictates we wait until a child is twelve before we begin even the simplest instruction, to ensure the child is old enough to understand the responsibility and danger involved with it. I thought you were ready, I thought you understood well enough the power you are dealing with and the great stakes involved with using it. But I see now that my position as a father has blinded my duty as chief."
"No! No!" Brennen tried to protest, desperation clear in his voice. The Chief held up a single hand to silence him, letting quiet fall between them before speaking again, this time his tone softer.
"Brennen. We may live in tribes, away from the rest of civilization, but we are not savages or barbarians. We're not to use our powers to harm one another. And especially...we are not to let anger and fear control us. That's what caused this, didn't it? You were angry at Kipper, you wanted to hurt him back - is that right?"
Brennen nodded solemnly, turning his head away as though ashamed to look his father in the eyes.
"Many pyromancers both great and small have taken the quick-and-easy path to mastery. Drive and passion is easily substituted by rage. Some even claim their pyromancy is stronger when fueled by anger. But this perverts the very nature of our gift. We are humble guides of Valaista's fire. We honor her with every use of our gift - and sometimes that means utilizing it in combat to defend ourselves and those under our care. But when driven by rage, we no longer guide our Inner Fire, but dominate it, control it for our own selfish desire. And in nearly all those cases, those pyromancers, in their fury, destroyed everything they cared for - including themselves."
Taking another deep breath, the Chief rose to his feet, moving towards the hut entrance. "Tomorrow we'll begin on self-control and discipline. Every experience is a lesson to be learned. And this is a very important one."
Present Day
As the other adventurers arrived at the palace, one after the other, Brennen said nothing, merely eyeing them as they came in, picking up distinguishing features as he did so. The Emperor's call had reached all across Eon, attracting Human, Semper Fae, even an Elvkiin. This one, this 'Lothian' was a remnant of that past, experiencing firsthand the death of his people, his tribe. This, Brennen sympathized with. Whether by plague or Scorned, to lose tribe was to lose history, to lose identity and the culture that defines it.
The one who had come before him, Kean, as he was called, bore the look of a man fully understanding the gravity of the situation - the risks they were all facing. Brennen agreed in his mind. Though adventurers and fortune-seekers they were, they may as well be counted among the Damned. Survival wasn't guaranteed or expected; this meeting was simply a reading of last rites.
A disciple of Luna followed shortly after Brennen, himself, did, white-haired and pallid, dressed in simple robes that Brennen presumed were sign of his discipleship. In the two years he had spent wandering the rest of Eon, he had heard the name Luna, but put little stock in it. At the very least, he was aware that her worship was enigmatic, oft-misunderstood and rife with rumor. Regardless, Valaista would be the flame to light through even the darkest of shadows.
The first of the Semper Fae was next: Mynx Jes-Tereth. She looked, to Brennen, more Human than he was expecting from a Fae, the only indication of her true race being the subtle tint of green of her skin and the wilting green color of her hair. The Fae always intrigued Brennen. Few were ever spotted in the Charred Bog, and certainly none in Brennen's lifetime. Some of the tribal campfire tales spoke of the occasional Fae who was spotted and communed with by pyromancers of old. Brennen wasn't surprised by their absence in the bog. Swamps were where beautiful flora came to die. It was a dark place, one no Fae would likely enjoy visiting, let alone settling.
Another Fae followed suit minutes later, this one absolutely gigantic, with Brennen barely reaching her midsection. She was introduced as the 'greatest sorceress' of the Brightwood Grove, a title that held no meaning to Brennen. She bore the look of a child seeing a parade for the first time, eyes full of awe and curiosity. Truly, could one of such apparent naive innocence be capable of wielding magic? Perhaps time would tell.
With the Elvkiin was one called Keenan Thrace of the Twin Fangs. Brennen had heard the name before during his travels in the smaller settlements of Eon, a warrior duo, a house name for tournaments and contests that many paid more than they could afford to go see. Yet only one of the Fangs was here.
Finally, the Emperor himself addressed the crowd of adventurers, greeting them all by name before leading into an address. 'Here it was,' Brennen thought, 'the beginning of the end.'
Brennen felt a pang of bitterness in his chest when the Emperor made the offer for any who wished to return home to their families. It only cemented further just how alone the pyromancer was now, all that he bore upon his shoulders. There was nowhere left to go except to wander, to waste time until death took him. At least here, at least now he had purpose. And if that purpose killed him, then he would die as his tribe would have wanted him to - as his father had.
The Emperor declared that the Templar beside him would lead the group - the man seemed not to react. The Templars in Eon were shrouded in mystery to Brennen, more like a force or unseen power than a physical organization. Rumors abounded, of course, whether they were men at all. What lay hidden beneath that helm? What thoughts did he think, if any at all? Brennen's own thinking was interrupted by a small guffaw by Kean, prompting Brennen to turn his direction, that short bark of a laugh echoing off the old walls of the palace. Regardless of its propriety, Brennen found the outburst at least somewhat comforting. Candor was in short supply these days, words weren't the only way to express honesty.
Once more, the reverent silence was interrupted, this time by the last-minute entrance of one more adventurer, an eccentrically-dressed woman (as Brennen later deduced from her voiced) garbed in an outrageous assortment of reds and purples, face hidden behind an iron mask. No introduction followed this one, but Brennen presumed that a woman like this didn't need one - her actions would speak for themselves.
Now, with seemingly everyone there, Brennen turned his gaze back to the Emperor, who had finished discussing payment and transportation. It was cursed gold, cursed gold signed to corpses. The money wouldn't hurt, of course, but Brennen didn't find himself tempted by it. All the gold in the world wouldn't bring back what he lost, but he would try as he could. The Scorned would give him back his past, whatever the cost.
