Ash second
The driftwood Pyre, a monument to death and failure, and the wish for something better.
Myles had spent the entirety of the previous night dragging a shipwreck from the shore and finding what dry wood he could from the shoreline and gathering it under a rocky outcrop several miles down the beaches from Drathera’s docks. It recessed deeply into the cliff and had the remains of many previous campsites.
It would not been enough to merely build a fire, there was a purpose behind Myles every movement that he himself wasn’t fully certain of, only that the hands of fate were urging him towards a strange necessity that pulled at his very being, a need to scourge the guilt that weighed him down. The visage of the shipwreck had haunted him since he’d seen it. A symbol of broken military might and wasted life. A symbol all to familiar to him, every time the shipwreck appeared in his minds eye, the broken form of Zaichaer would overlay it.
Preparing for this endeavor Myles had packed kindling, oil and two lesser Pyroleth shards and one sharp minor Pyroleth shard with a crude leather handle meant for inscription, and with them, all the pieces to the maddening puzzle in his mind were present.
The girl, the child, the cursed little thing, another source of guilt, slept peacefully nearby in a comfy tent he’d erected beneath the cliff, she’d fallen asleep beneath his cloak watching him pull wreckage from the shore. Scorchmarks seared Myles’ palms and inner arms where he’d again used his scrivening to try and draw the excess magic tormenting the girl into himself once more, an act that seemed to have diminishing returns. It was still worth the semi limited success, it had still given her relief.
Madness tugged at the edges of his mind, like the violet streaks of static that occasionally arced across his flesh. The voidrillium poisoning he’d been acquiring had ramped up significantly since he’d started willingly drawing the excess magic from the girl, and without the skills to properly disperse it Myles had begun to break down, pushing his body towards limits he didn’t know the capacity of. The agony he felt had become far more mental than physical, his mind had become trapped in a self-perpetuating loop of self-loathing and guilt. The film of time and memory playing a steady feedback of his darkest memories and shames.
Shaking himself from his thoughts Myles continued his labor. Digging a hole four feet across and two feet deep at its center in the sand Myles made short work of the task, appreciating the simplicity of dumb labor and the purpose it gave his hands. Lastly Myles dug a small channel away from the fire and layered itt was stones giving the fire, a snorkel from which to pull air to coals and increase the potential heat of the fire built within.
When the hole was dug Myles placed down several flat medium pieces of wood, and on top of them a single minor Pyroleth shard, and atop that, kindling, finally stacking more medium pieces of wood atop that, none of the driftwood however had been thrown on the pile. Still, he was ready to at least start the fire, he would have to get it significantly hotter to achieve what he wanted. Pouring a small draft of oil over the wood. Then Producing a small flint box Myles struck sparks across the soon to be fire, spiting the other Pyroleth shards and starting the fire by hand, a small act in defiance of magics power, the Zaicheri ember that still burned in Myles. In a few moments the sparks took and Myles dropped to his stomach blowing across the infant flames, gently encouraging warmth and life to them but cautions not to snuff them out. Still he needn’t fear, he’d taken the right steps to start the fire, and the moment the heat of the fire reached the small Pyrleth shard in the center it began to glow with enough heat to ignite the oil, and with a woosh, a real fire roared to life. Myles allowed himself a childlike grin as the flames briefly burned away his sorrow and reminded him of campfires with his comrades.
Still, he could not rest, a shudder ran through his system caused him spasm briefly as the void static danced across and through his skin reminding him of the dire timer he was on.
Taking the first of many pieces of driftwood and his Pyroleth makeshift inscribing tool Myles set to work. On the first and largest piece of the shipwreck Myles began to inscribe the name Horst Bron Vaumison, his fist commander, and the man who’d taught him most of what he knew about war and battle. The man had died with his sword in the belly of a wizard even as his flesh was burned to cinders. The Pyrloeth stylus he’d fashioned smoked and spit sparks as it was drawn across the wood leaving a charred trail in its wake.
Then the next piece of wood, Wagner Fainvel, He’d died in the same attack as Horst, however he’d been a recruit, it had been his first real mission outside of zaichaer, and it had been his last. Every memory of the lad had been of him smiling, until the last, finals terrified expression he’d worn as death took him. At the edges of his vision myles was convinced he’d begun to see other soldiers sitting around the fire he’d started.
He was feverish now, his body wracked with occasional spasms but his hands stayed true to their task not erring in the lettering of the names of his fallen friends. At some point he felt that he’d blacked out, yet when his eyes opened, new wood was in the fire, another plank of driftwood on his lap, the girl still slept soundly in the tent? Had it been the apparitions lurking at the corners of his eyes, silent sentinels watching his task? Something else entirely? He didn’t know, he only knew that he had to continue.
After what felt like hours Myles was ready, all but one piece of shipwreck had been inscribed with the names of the dead. Taking the last warped plank of salty Wood, Myles inscribed one last name into the wood that would become the Pyre.
Myles James Arnnett, Born Glade, Solace 1, 95th year of the age of steel – MIA Searing 45, 122
With the shipwreck inscribed Myles began to add the wood the fire, the final pieces to a terrible puzzle. The salt logged wood sputtered and spit as the names on them glowed with embers, the fire flickering with green flames now as the shipwreck burned.
Laboring to add what fuel he had left to the fire Myles watched as the flames began to lick the edge of the cliff face it was recessed into. The fire making the very stone hiss and steam as the torrential rains intrusion began to be fought back by the inferno he’d built. Myles noticed that the girl was awake now, watching the fire from the safety of the tent, her small form wrapped in Myles cloak and the fire reflecting off the voidrillium shard in her brow giving her an infernal air in spite of her gentle nature.
Looking towards the beach towards the sky Myles could only see darkness, the fire he builts light lost once it hit the black night waters of the beached of drathera. The inky darkness lapping at the sands under the storming sky.
There was something darker still out there, not dark like the eclipse, not dark like a starless night, but a darkness that covers the soul, a darkness that swaddles you in warmth, a darkness that is eternal… the darkness of death.
Not seen yet, but felt in its weight, like a pressure upon ones very existence, flapping its midnight wings above the typhoon, the coming black dragons, the flight of death, Wreaden’s flowing cape had come to Drathera….
