Cathun

The fires burned, consuming life and growing stronger, if only until destruction of everything was assured.  That would come with time.

With the grim prospects before him, Cathun had chosen quite foolishly to attempt to run from fate.  Each night, the smirk of the God of the Spark glimmered in his mind's eye, the annoyance building.  Like other Gods, the options available for his salvation placed a heavy weight upon his shoulders.  One option cast his life aside for months, at the expense of Ranjiri's own being frozen in time.  The other tied them together inextricably, but would cause her no harm... so long as he did everything right.

Given his history of fucking things up, he could not agree to such terms.  Something more than his own mortal fear rose in his gut, the thought that his failure would cost the only thing he believed in to perish.  Defiant to the last, he willed another option that had not been offered, another escape that would spare the world and Ranjiri his weakness.

Maybe too proud or just too weak to make such a desperate bargain for his life, Cathun had disappeared.  Flight left him with the opportunity to reflect, away from the prying eyes of Ranjiri and the mocking confidence of the Gods.  He sought an alternative, some other power like the priests had given him to contain the inferno within.  All the while, his life slipped further and further away, the beads keeping his facade of flesh in place broken.  Flames burst into the air, expelling the years of his life with their rage, dissipating his life into hideous ash.
He had nearly resigned himself to his fate, to burn fiercely until the fuel of his soul had been spent - finally, allowing his burning body to flicker into darkness.
Yet, a nattering voice in the back of his mind, reminding him that he did not want to die.

Through the wreaths of flames, glowing in the dark around him, an expression of defeat on ephemeral features.  The Gods had won.  The curse of his birth would not be so easily broken by stubborn will and mages.  The only offer to absolve him of his inevitable fate rested in that annoying son of a bitch's hands.  "These lands are full of damned horror stories. Go listen to a few and come back. If you can convince me that you've lost the chip on your shoulder, then the necklace is yours."  The first step would be to find those who struggled in their lifetimes, supposedly an easy task if he were to believe anything the old bastard said.  The crackle of his own flames echo the words: "You said you didn't want to die? Then prove it."

Thus, he returned, marching his way back over the crimson sands and arid air.  A walking pyre, signalling in the depths of night his approach without a sound, aside from the occasional crackle and hiss.  Though this place had been his home, few would recognize the boy in his current state.  Though fire had always burned within his eyes, it now became apparent why.  Where a coat of grey and blackened tips had resided, only flames could be seen.  Ethereal, like some sprite born of the element, Cathun walked.  His steps left small scorch marks in his wake instead of hoofprints, the only evidence he existed in this world.  The mark of his identity could be found in the metal chain suspended around his fiery neck - the former lock to the fires' cage, his golden necklace with beads broken beyond repair.

Cathun, son of the Silverthorn, had returned to the Dragon's Throat.

""

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ooc -- Open for anyone.  Please excuse the bumps of me trying to fit into his character.  <3

so tell me why, baby, they might call me crazy
for saying I'd fight, until there is no more