Flameborn Eyrie

Out of Character:

Closed to Redford. 400 word maximum for intro posts, 300 maximum for all subsequent posts. Bunnies approved.

Phoenixes, the desert tribes claimed, were born of the moon goddess Suravani’s blood. Shed in her battle with Mishra the Merciless Sun, it dripped upon Fallien’s highest peaks, bursting into flames in the light of the first dawn. From those flames the first phoenix rose. Like dragons, legend prescribed divine lineage to the mythical birds; remnants of the Old Magic surely still coursed through them.

Elijah Belov resolved to see one himself.

Dunes glistened beneath the blood moon. The sorcerer pulled a scarf over his face against the cold, sandy wind. Wrapped in layers of flowing linen, Belov looked like any other desert nomad, save for the magnificent sword strapped to his back. Mount Fayari, ancestral home of all phoenixes, loomed before him, a great fang jutting from the desert. And all around him were strewn freshly charred corpses, already half buried in sand.

Those were his doing, of course. Bandits and religious fanatics, two of his least favorite things combined into the most wretched of villains. They mistook him for a pilgrim, but he sent them to their gods instead. Former Master of the Dajas Pagoda and one of the most infamous sorcerers in Salvar and the known world, Elijah Belov no longer feared such mundane threats. He departed his self-made scene of carnage, smoke still trailing from his fingertips.

No, Belov now feared himself more than external threats. He feared his own power and the constant risk of arrogance and corruption great power brought. He feared the cost of his own failures, which dwarfed any ordinary man’s. Most of all, he feared not being powerful enough to face the challenges arrayed in his future. Thus he journeyed here, seeking to increase the power he already feared.

The ground shifted from sand to rocks as Elijah swiftly traversed Fayari’s outer escarpments. As the incline steepened, he only hastened his pace. He scrambled up sheer cliffs, channeling his magic to make the wind itself gather beneath him and propel him skyward. Another spell hardened his skin, letting him skid across jagged stone without a scratch.

He reached the top, chest heaving, mouth grinning. Fayari’s summit was oddly flat, as though sliced cleanly by a huge knife. A crescent of rocky protrusions bordered the northern edge, thirty feet high, smooth and glassy. Caves lined the formation, glowing orange shapes nestled within. They’re real.

He froze mid-step; he was not alone.

The wind was briskly cold, but dry across John's exposed head, the rest of his sizable form rendered immune by the silvery armor he'd grown to endure. The half-giant looked down for a moment, nudging a pile of fine ash He'd made that the wind threatened to erode. It was true, this place was death. But it was also life, and perhaps a little of in between. Tazok The Wind spoke, tapping at the metallic second skin.

"It is not a curse," His voice sounded frail upon the ears, but any who knew him properly knew there was a sharpness to his mind and a strength in his arm that defied age.

John grunted, lifting his eyes to the moon and stars. "It is."

"Only because you feel you must bear it as one, my student."

John folded his arms over a patchwork shirt, looking down again. The little pile of ash he'd created was now worn by the wind, barely a lump of dust on the mountaintop. He was sure it meant something profound, but at the moment he wasn't quite in the introspective mood.

He decided to change the subject to one more pressing, as Tazok's 'friend' had still not arrived.

"What could he possibly teach me?"

He winced as Tazok flicked his ear, again faster than he could blink. In the two years of training with him, John had never liked or gotten used to it. The shorter man scolded him.

"It is not your job to teach, it is your job to learn, hm? He may help."

"He's younger than I am, though."

His other ear stung this time.

"You assume too much again, my student, for his strength is not in years," Tazok said, pointing a bony finger across the plateau, "Ask him yourself."

The sorcerer turned to face the two strangers, immediately shocked at not noticing them sooner. One was an old man with a neatly trimmed gray beard. The other... Belov’s eyes widened. He’s a giant. Well over seven feet tall, built like a bear, and covered in thick armor under patchy rags. He may as well have been a golem silhouetted by the moonlight.

Eli blinked to keep from gawking. “...hello.”

“Elijah, yes?” The older man stepped forward, hands out in a welcoming gesture. “I am Tazok.” His smile deepened the lines in his face. “I had hoped to persuade you to teach my student, if only for a moment.”

“Come again?” He blinked once more, pulling down his hood and scarf to reveal a young face, with old eyes peering through locks of wavy brown hair. “Have you been waiting for me up here? Not that weirder things haven’t happened to me, but... why?”

“Is it not not a fitting venue, my friend?” asked Tazok, gesturing around the mountaintop, the great altar in the sky. “A place of life and death, of--”

Eli waved his hand, cutting off the polite old man. “No, I mean why me? Also, how did you know to find me here, now?” He then pointed at the huge brute beside Tazok. “And how in Creation did he get up this mountain?”

Tazok smiled again, returning his arms to the folds of his robe.

“Well, it’s hard to move around with such a large bounty on your head, son.”

Elijah's hand immediately hovered over the sword at his hip, but before he could fully react to the first statement, Tazok offered another.

“I mean, of course, that you have something in common with my student.”

John folded his arms across his chest, the armor moving with an elasticity that belied its true strength. He spoke a few words in answer to Eli, the timbre of his voice carrying across the mountaintop.

“I climbed,” he said simply. He reached down to grab a dehlar shield from the ground. It would have looked comically large had John not been the one lifting it, as it was nearly eight feet tall and half that wide.

“Worry not, friend Elijah, I know the healing magic of Ai’Bron. No lasting harm will come to either of you,” his old teacher said, stepping forward. “I merely ask that you take a moment and show my student a few things.”

He glanced up at John, who leaned against his shield.

“He is stubborn at times, forgive me.”

"Only when I'm right," John muttered softly, flinching again as Tazok flicked his ear. He wondered for the thousandth time how he got to be so absurdly fast.

“The ‘healing magic’ of the Ai’Bron? Is that what you think they do?” Elijah could not help but laugh, a warm rumble like a campfire. He stifled it fast, lest he offend the old man. The monks transcended mere healing, restoring fighters even from death or utter destruction. “I mean no offense, but I’ve spent a third of my life in and out of the Citadel and Dajas Pagoda; there’s a reason they almost never practice their arts outside those two sites.”

“Ah, quite right, but I did not select this place by accident. There is ancient power here. Can you feel it, Elijah?”

Eli knelt down, placing his palms upon the smooth as glass stone, closing his eyes. Like a hush falling over a crowd, his mind cleared and quieted as his Mage Sight opened up. “I can see it.”

Through closed eyes he saw the innumerable strands of magic weaving in and out of reality’s tapestry. Gold and silver permeated ground and sky. Amidst it all, thousands of crimson threads cascaded into the mountaintop, forming a pulsing knot at its heart.

“Remarkable,” Belov breathed. “The phoenixes have nested here for so long that their energies have fundamentally altered the flow of magic.” Before his Sight faded, he glimpsed several burning auras in the nesting caves, little tangles in the tapestry.

The sorcerer stood. “You can use this place’s power to replicate the Citadel’s enchantments on a smaller scale?”

“Yes, I believe I can.”

“Let’s strike a bargain, then.” He shed his outer layers of clothing and stretching stiff muscles. “I should like to see you do this; I might learn something. In return...” He smiled a toothy, shark-like grin. “I will give your student the most educational beating of his life.”

Tazok grinned as his hands found unseen folds in his robe. He spoke upwards to John as he strode by.


"Told you he was good."


Tazok seated himself cross-legged on a small ledge close to the eastern point of the nesting caves. He closed his eyes, seeing the ribbons of power that saturated the mountain. He was not so much a conduit for the power as he was a director, forming a beautiful symphony of energy and magic, carefully untangling the threads and setting order from the chaos. It would decay, as order always did, but for now it would hold. He smirked, finishing more quickly than he thought, opening his eyes. A soft white glow appeared, shimmering up from the edges of the mountain a few feet before fading into the night.

"So struck, Elijah Belov! The match begins!"

John eyed his new opponent warily, knowing that if Tazok held him in regard, he would be a fierce adversary indeed. He shifted his gaze to his shield, knowing that it would likely only slow him down. With a frown, he let it fall over, and it kicked up a cloud of dust.

The half-giant's armor snaked up his head, covering eyes, ears, nose and mouth. A split second later and he saw and heard again.

John rolled both massive shoulders, sliding his left foot forward and out to give himself a good base. His fists grew studs at their knuckles, and he knocked them together. A ring hung in the air for a moment before fading. Tazok's words came to John's mind as he waited on Elijah's move.

"You must know your enemy to defeat him. And what better way to know your enemy than to see him in battle, hm?"

The sorcerer allowed his mage sight to flicker on once more, just long enough to perceive the patterns of Tazok’s spell and commit as much to memory as he could. He nodded, turning his attention to his opponent, shocked still at his immensity. The man’s aura only amplified his stature, making him seem as one with his armor. His very essence was strength and mass, but beyond that, Elijah could sense little else threatening.

“No weapons, then?” He glanced warily at the brute’s clenched fists. “Permit me to don my own armor.”

He tossed his shirt with the other linen, revealing a torso of whipcord muscle. Scars covered his arms and torso, shaped so perfectly like flame that they could have only been intentionally inflicted. He fished in the pile for his pack, producing blueish prevalida gauntlets.

“I know a thing or two about metal, myself.” He kept a casual air, sliding the gauntlets on until they covered half his forearms. The metal shifted on its own, molding perfectly over his skin, forming claws at the fingertips. Next, he traced his fingers through the air, weaving invisible thread. With a tug, he pulled those arcane energies into his body. His muscles tightened with sorcerous vigor and quickness. A metallic sheen washed across his skin making it hard as steel.

He approached the brute, who remained defensive, watchful. Good. Not reckless. Eli dropped into a low stance, right foot back. He’d studied many martial arts techniques in his travels, a fact often overlooked compared to his sorcery.

“Pay attention, there’ll be a test on this later.” He sprang forward like an arrow, right hand lashing blindingly at his foe’s head. It might not hurt, but he could take the brute’s measure and ring his bell in the process.

John barely had time to wonder if Elijah would be able to explain the mystery of his armor before he closed their distance in two quick steps, slashing a clawed prevaldia gauntlet at his face. It was only his long, arduous training with Tazok that allowed him to react. His responses were quick and precise, brought on by years of training with the former Ai’Bron monk.

A clash of metal on metal, and the half-giant’s ears rung mightily, disturbing even his sight momentarily as reflexes kicked in, and as his head snapped to the right, he kept with the motion, turning his torso and lifting his right leg, hoping to connect with Elijah. The boy was quick, perhaps even enough to dodge, but Tazok’s lessons, drilled by hours of fighting, asserted themselves.

“John, I am faster than you, you know this. The secret to beating me is not to be faster than I am. It is to know where I am going to be, what I am going to do, and then meeting me there.”

Perhaps he would hit his opponent, but even if he could not, John prepared to strike with his left fist as he came full circle, should the boy prove capable enough to dodge.

Feet beat a staccato rhythm as Elijah brawled the brute. As expected, his punch more annoyed than hurt his foe, revealing their speed disparity in the process. Eli skid lightly across the smooth stone as he landed. Satisfied with his advantage, he nearly failed the notice John’s abrupt counterattack.

A metal-clad foot surged at his chest. He could have ducked or jumped back to evade entirely; instead, Belov jerked to the left, matching the kick’s arc. This served to cut the kick’s impact, though it still knocked the wind out of him when it struck his side. Suppressing a groan, he looped his right arm around and under John’s knee before the brute could retract his leg.

Eli saw the follow-up punch coming a mile away. He ducked, coiling his body like a spring as the metal fist sailed over his head. The muscles in his legs and back strained, his arm still locked around his foe’s leg. Strange, inside-out words spilled from lips and bluish flames swirled up from his feet to his left fist. The Pagoda Master burst up and forward with all his strength, twisting John’s captured leg and launching his fire-wreathed fist launching at the brute’s midsection. The spell released, delivering a crushingly forceful, fiery explosion with the punch.

The phoenixes, roused by the noise and magical disturbances, emerged from their nests and took to the sky – a flowing fiery crown circling the mountaintop.

The thought that his opponent was more powerful than he seemed ghosted through John's mind as he was thrown to his back by the explosion, pain blossoming from his ribs as he inhaled and hit the ground. His armor was strong, but even it had limits. He took another breath, shallower this time, and the lancing pain lessened a bit.

As he began to stand, however, John realized that Elijah had other plans. He strode forward, planting a foot on his massive chest right above the scorched armor, eliciting a groan from John as he felt a broken rib grind.

"Now," he began, mouth curling into a smirk, "What have we learned?"

That you're too arrogant, John though, swinging his arm up at Elijah's other leg, driving his fist into the back of his knee. He faltered, and John grabbed his leg, dragging him to the ground with him.

Dust kicked up as they struggled, John rolling above his opponent, planting his hands on Elijah's neck, prevented from crushing his windpipe by whatever strange magics the man had conjured. His skin was strong as steel.

But he'd bent steel before.