let all become cinders.
Tribal Rank: Vagabond.
Spiritual (magic) Rank: Conceiver.
Biped Syndrome: Y.
Stones ❂: 92.00
This user has no items.
Magic • A pyromancer. Quarion wields fire as easily as he breathes- perhaps even more so, yet he is limited by the scope of his power, the strength of his flames.
Robust, roman nosed.
Pale colored, tinged with yellow, accentuated with dawn hues on his back and legs. Darkened as if with ash on his underside, including his neck and portions of his face.
Dual-toned mane and tail; lighter at the base, which darkens to a rich umber.
Antlered akin to a stag, though colored similarly to his body, in warm orange and golden tones.
He is at times, quite literally, decorated in flame; perhaps lighting the tines of his horns as if they were candles, or sparking from his hooves as he walks.
Biped form to come.
Bright light, which flickers and burns. In the depths of his soul it resides- that which purifies and destroys. Quarion is a creature of elements, of fire, the lightning which strikes and sets the forest ablaze. But also that which illuminates the dark and gives the sun it's glow. Contradictory, simultaneously pure and coated with ash. He is not Essence, but it is his essence.
What mortal birth and life brought him to this plane of existence is merely a paltry detail to the simple, focused mind of Quarion. He is beyond that. Alone but unafraid, although at times all too aware of the solitary existence his gift has forced upon him. For fire can only beget fire, and even if he wished it, there were times that the power within him desired otherwise- when stone was struck like flint beneath him, and sparks flew forth, igniting his surroundings. But he accepts it, ultimately.
Quarion is calm despite his innate connection to flame, which might conjure the idea that he is reckless in action, wild in demeanor. It is true that he has a fierce anger capable of being drawn forth from within him, but that has rarely occured. Instead he is somewhat fey, alluring, and perhaps deceiving. Not unkind, but flung far from mortal wants and needs. A lover, a family, a home. Friends and companions. He has never truly wanted for them, beyond mere imaginings. Because there is nothing that can replace flame, and nothing that can withstand it but flame.
He can be haughty, mocking, but not with true ill will. He pities those without similar gifts more than any other, and scorns those even more that are gifted and yet despise their gifts. In his light, his fire, Quarion finds steady purpose. But it is not a purpose with a goal- a goal, perhaps, to gain the power of prestige, of leadership. It is the purpose of existence. What would he want otherwise?
But he is not fully complete, not fully immortal. He may deny it but the softening of his heart does occur, when his flame is most dim. When he does feel the strangling dreams of a life where he was not alone, but shared and reveled in the presence of another. But those dreams are fragile and bitter and hold no sanctuary to him.
Nothing but a foul temptress, leading him astray, reminding him that he is a living, breathing creature like any other.
In great swaths, Quarion has traveled, has encountered and abandoned clans, cities. Yet his travels were not as a fleeting being, not as one with no home to anchor it. Home was not a question he sought to answer, whereas many traveled to discover it. Rather, he was- and is -aware of his place. His home. His destiny, and it is not in words or places or people, but in fire.
It was in ash and bright, purging flame that he found his home, and it found sanctuary within him.
Though Quarion might ignore his past, it does exist regardless, and those with prying minds might force him to reveal it. His birth was unremarkable- forgetable. His appearance was not unusual, for many members of his herd were similarly horned and colored. They were followers of the wind and sun, traditional travelers, not city-goers. It was perhaps the one guiding light that lingered within him into his adulthood, into his awakening- courage on the cusp of the unknown, unwilling to be held sway by the wilds beyond.
But his awakening did come. Still young, but no longer a child; fire blossomed like a crimson flower around him, cradling him, and did not wound him. No, it soothed his soul, and brought forth a joy he had never experienced before. He left. There was no hesitation. Was he missed? He did not know, nor did he ask for many moons. In the wake of his departure came his travels, his struggle to understand and control his power. For flame is a fickle mistress, and it was no secret that fires were often left in his wake- fires he could not quench, for that was not in his power. Only the creation. Eventually he came to the acceptance that it was inevitable; he would destroy whether he willed it or not. And then, his true understanding began.
Yes, he did come across strangers, but such encounters were always fleeting. He never experienced kinship with another, nothing to compel him to remain. Some, who heard of him, even feared him- and what a strange sensation that was, for was fire to be feared? He supposed it must, to any other. Had he feared fire once? Those were the sort of thoughts that troubled him. He could not remember. It was as if, along with his denial, his power purged all memories of what he had once thought, once felt.
And one day, he felt something else. Something new. Something calling. His steps faltered for the first time that he could remember, and he felt himself seeking something new. When once his travels were merely guided by the direction of the wind, now there was something else.
Fire leapt in his breast. His steps quickened. And Quarion felt himself galloping, flying, as he searched.