[center][i][u]Darlien Garandinar (MAIN)[/u][/i][/center] [center][h1]Praelian Badlands[/h1][/center] Darlien took a weary gulp from his waterskin, sucking the water down as if he hadn't drank in hours. Mostly because he hadn't. He'd been trying to scale this godsforsaken mountain for what felt like hours, hopefully it was worth it. He had heard that a branch of the infamous "Beacon" or something of the sort lived up here, they'd help him destroy Praelium, this horrid, brutal country that had cost him anything good in his life, he would show them. He would make them pay. He would make them [i]burn.[/i] Darlien's hand lit up in that flame, that same flame that burned behind his furious eyes. He held his flaming hand up to the wind, watching as the flame, stoked by the winds of the Praelian mountains, began to burn ever brighter. His hand tingled, it had long since lost most feeling as a result of his use of the flame, but every now and again he felt that tingle that told him that they were still there, that he was still alive. Sometimes it was hard to remember that. His senses were dulled, eyesight weakening, hearing fucked as a result of a poorly-timed detonation, and almost every inch of his skin was burned to some degree. On most parts this just meant stinging pain and bleeding, but on some it meant he felt nothing at all. He had taken some Sikali herbs that were said to heighten every sense, and it had only given him agony, and it was all his fault. His stupid, moronic fault. He hadn't taken the time to learn, and as a result he had ruined himself. He would fix this, he would fix this all. The Beacon had a way, or at least that's what he had been told. He lowered his hand and again looked at the mountain. He tightened his hood against the cold air and leapt up the steep cliff wall. The snow-covered stone not even registering in his blackened fingers. He cried out in frustration as one of the hand-holds freed itself from the wall and tumbled into the snow below. He cursed all of the earth gods he knew of and attempted to continue his climb. A hand shot from the newly-made hole and tightly gripped Darlien's ankle, causing him to gasp in shock and almost lose his footing. He kicked at the hand fruitlessly, watching in terror as the rest of the wall crumbled around him. Finally his hand-holds fell too and he began falling. The hand still held on his ankle, and the sudden shock of the hand stopping his fall sent the back of his head slamming into what remained of the cliff. He awoke later, staring at a blue-stone ceiling, vines growing in every crack and a quiet dripping noise ringing throughout the room from somewhere he didn't know. He was laid upon a firm surface. So firm it caused him to ache. He grappled at it with his hands and felt the sharp square edge, the cracking around the structural weak-points, and the meager cold of polished stone. He felt. His hands felt. Darlien held them in front of his face. No cuts, no bruises, no scars. Like the hands of an adolescent had been sewed in their place. He stared at them with mouth agape, following the trail of veins as they ran down his arm towards his heart, the connecting sinew on the back of his hands hidden once more by a lair of skin, black hairs innocuously prickling their way out of his pores. He set a fire on the tip of his pointer finger, feeling the warmth with closed eyes, the slight pain but most of all that sweet warmth. It had been far too long. A cloaked man tapped the stone floor with a wooden cane, shocking Darlien into a seated position. He had crossed half the room without a sound. "Darlien Garandinar of Praelium-" [color=f7941d]"Sir Garandinar of Nowhere to you. Back off!"[/color] Darlien growled with a handful of flame. The man retreated slightly, offering a passive stance. "We mean no harm to you, Sir Garandinar of Nowhere," the man spoke with a voice like dripping wax. Darlien had to admit, he hadn't actually expected him to call him that. "You have come far, Sir Garandinar, do you wish for a heated drink?" Darlien turned up his nose. [color=f7941d]"Er... no, I'm alright. Where am I anyway?"[/color] "You are home, Sir Darlien of Nowhere," the man said, placing extra emphasis on the "nowhere". Darlien got the point. [color=f7941d]"Oh, I see, do you belong to the Withered Beacon by any chance?"[/color] "Where can a man be said to 'belong'?" the man waxed. "I simply am, belonging is of no importance." Darlien snarled. [color=f7941d]"Fine, is this the Temple of the Withered Beacon?"[/color] "This is [i]a[/i] temple, one of many," the man said, his voice was detached and lacked all emotion, combined with his unmoving body and hidden face it was quite unnerving. "You pursued us for a reason, no?" [color=f7941d]"Yes, but... you seem to have already addressed my concerns."[/color] Darlien said, again looking at his hand. "We have fixed your hands, Sir Garandinar, but we have not fixed your body. You have yet to be of use to us." Darlien bared his teeth and a raging fire appeared in both of his hands. [color=f7941d]"Use to you? I am no-one's errandboy! I came here to learn the dark arts and get my hands fixed, not to pledge myself to some bullshit cause!"[/color] Darlien moved to stand, but in an instant the man's walking stick was jabbed into his chest. "You are powerful but foolish, Darlien, you [i]will[/i] do our bidding, consciously or unconsciously." Darlien roared and fired a powerful ball of flame into the man's chest, sending him flying across the room. [color=f7941d]"I am not a toy! Play around with someone else's fate! I am here to destroy Praelium, and you will accommodate me!"[/color] The man's corpse sat on the ground only for a matter of seconds before suddenly appearing, as if he had never been struck. "It is the nature of time that the old order must fall, and Praelium will fall with it, do not fear, Sir Garandinar. You will learn respect in time. For now, eat your fill of Praelian blood, return to us when you see the truth." The man lifted his cane and slammed it against the ground, releasing a sound louder than any other Darlien had heard. His hearing became all he could focus on, he grasped at his ears but did not feel them, all he could do was hear. Then he awoke. He looked around, only grass and the sun shining down, blurried by his failing eyes. He looked at his hands. Good as new. Ready to be abused again. He would be more careful this time, he knew this was his only second chance. He wouldn't waste it.