FOUNDER-075: Svarog

Youth 

Svarog was a unexpected blessing. Born to parents well into their years, older siblings long departed the roost. But not only that, when he emerged, he was *different*, tail in triplicate, body covered scales and iridescent fur, a fire seemingly burning within his tiny chest flowing out along his wings. Born into a family whose bloodline was much more... common... he was doted upon by his parents, yet his peers and even siblings shunned him for being different, a freak.

Thus it was much of his childhood was spent sad and alone, so much so that after despairing for his child, his father sought the help of the Shrine Maiden. With little opo to spare for her services, she nonetheless took pity and recognised there may be something special within the unusual child. Returning with a large branch, from one of the trees on the shrine's grounds, she directed him to carve a series of figures for his son, maybe that would allow him the growth that interaction gives, even if just imaginary.

Weeks passed, until with great pride Svarog was presented with a beautifully crafted set of figures, characters to play with and live out his imagination through. For once he seemed content, happy even, frequently taking himself away to explore and to play alone, seemingly no longer lonely. After a spell even this began to concern his parents, for Svarog had started to talk of his beloved set as if they were individuals, alive and independent. Determined to talk to her son, his mother sought him out when he was off playing one day, only to return dumbfounded to her life partners side, for they *had* been moving independently without touch of control. It almost seemed as if her son had given life to the sacred wood from which his toys had emerged.

None living truly know what followed, the sounds of rare argument, shouting, crashing and screaming were distantly overheard from the family home. A fire breaking out somehow and Svarog returned back just as the flames blazed strongest. Returned back just prior to the arrival of those intent to help, those who now viewed him with distrust and even fear... he was growing large, kept to himself and fire *did* seem to be an association he held. Ignoring the stares of those feebly skirting the inferno, he tried to find a way inside to his parents but having only recently gone through his first shedding, even is body was not strong and resistant enough to force a way in. Despairing he cast down his prized possessions, desperately imparting a thought, an unwritten command, to seek. To find his parents, to find a way through.

But it was in vain, they never returned, his parents never escaped and everything was lost. Amidst mutterings of accusation, glances quickly turned when caught in the eye, gathering of the fearful mob, Svarog searched the embers of his life. Finding little remaining, he uncovered the remains of his parents, wrapped together in death as they so often were in life, a tiny movement from his father's hand. A solitary figurine, sheltered within, a presence with his parents at the end, and yet a final gift back from his father. Charred and blackened it was, one arm burnt to a stub, almost seeming proud, as if to say "here", before magic faded, it's command fulfilled.

Gathering it up Svarog turned to leave, there was literally nothing left for him here. And so Svarog's childhood ended before he had a chance to really become an adult, a limbo enforced upon him by tragedy. Keeping his distance from others and relations with them he would wander for a time, becoming cold he did not need anyone, telling himself he was better alone and could just ignore the gaping hole left by the loss of his parents, his only loved ones. Never able to bring himself to replace his treasured figurines, for what could replace such as given by someone who held such a dear place in his heart with such pure intent?, Svarog ended up filling a pouch with a handful of ragged torn fabric shapes. Meager company maybe but they at least he would never really lose, and in turn his ability became much more honed as time went on.

Time passed and he *existed*, for no other way could really describe it. Until, as his second shedding approached, he heard tale of a legendary gargoyle sighting. Now *that* would would be an achievement, and one which would be with him, always.

Trial of Ember

It took some time, gargoyles were increasingly rare, fallen nigh unto myth with their scarcity. Solitary creatures who seem so infrequently sighted that most now dismissed their existence, maybe once more common, but now... earning one's loyalty, protection, friendship and dedication? That would be something significant for Rog, it would cement a lifetime companion, whilst also affirming his worth beyond that of his parents unfaltering, yet bias, devotion. So, at even the barest whisper that one had been spotted once more, he set his path to seek it. He **would** find it, he **would** pass its trial, else yes he would perish, as so many others were storied to have done before him.

It was a long road, but if anywhere would have word of where to find the source of this elusive rumour, it would be the library of Lamphia. Travelling the distant path from the tagia somewhere along the borders of Nenian and the Empire, his mind set, so distance was no barrier to his determination. Upon reaching his goal no time was wasted in seeking entry, and answers of his final destination. Yet it seemed he would be doomed to frustration, yes he himself looked impressive, peak of physique, taller than most all, a solidity to Svarog few matched and his unique tail and wings truly made him stand out. But it also only seemed to emphasise the lacks he had, dirty and ragged trousers the only clothing he had, never bothering to replace after the fire, nd a charred wooden toy hanging from the scrappy makeshift belt around his waist. So yes he was where all were welcome, but, as always, it seemed some were more welcome than others. 

A constant stream of redirections for assistance, never a straight answer on whom could assist if any began to wear thin on Rog's patience until on the third day in a vent of his frustration his body pulsed, it seemed as is his inner fire burned brighter for a brief moment as he took a deep breath. They *would* answer him, would listen and render their knowledge unto him. Breathing out the gathered breath he firmly stated, "close," far louder than required, faint wisps of red light, ribbons of crimson, almost invisible to the naked eye spread from him to every open book, every tome and scroll being read. With a newfound life they each sealed their contents within themselves, none would release their secrets till Svarog had his own answer. The focus of attention suddenly upon him, a hooded figure approached, imparting to him in a hushed tone, "it was spotted flying over the glacier in the mountains, just over the borders into 

Berkir. None dare seek it, for none have yet returned."

Taking his leave as the magics wore off, it was time for Svarog to take to the skies and seek out his goal. The next part of his life lay just ahead of him, the self imposed task, this challenge, and he knew his life would be changed forever. He just didn't yet know by how much.

Heading east Svarog headed into the mountains, green fading into white as snow consumed the ground. With only a vague heading he knew it may take some time to find his goal, but of everything he had, time was most abundant. There was no set boundary up this high in the isolated mountains, for none cared to mark the tundra and taiga changing domain, even nominally. Yet when he reached Berkir he *knew*, there was something palpable in the air, some sense of foreboding filled him with a sense of ill, that this land had a fell aspect, something to avoid. However a determination was set within his chest, a purpose fired his core, and with little to lose he pressed on.

Alighting on a tall peak svarog scanned the skies, traced the land with his eyes as wisps of light emitted from them. Signs of life were scarce, sole movement from the sway of skeletal trees in the winds gusting fiercely, snow drifts blowing across the barren ground. As night pressed ever closer svarog remained, wrapped in his burning wings, both shelter from the boreal wind itself and the frigid chill it brought. He was nearing moving on for the night when he detected slight movement against a backdrop of grey clouds. Far enough away he almost dismissed it as a trick of the mind, look long enough and the brain tells you there is motion... almost dismissed it until the faintest of glimmers, dual pinprick of red, reminiscent of his own external fires.

Without wasting a moment Svarog launched himself into the air on powerful legs, gliding down rapidly until he caught a thermal to help raise him high over the ground below. Eyes locked upon the movement ahead, it was something and even if not his target then perhaps a clue could be found. Whilst only minutes passed it seemed like an age as he closed the distance, almost losing sight of it when it reached a shadowed dell aside a ragged peak. As he dropped down to land he was unsure of what to expect, and briefly stopped at the sight before him. Far greater than he would have expected the creature was over 5 feet, crouched atop some sort of obsidian plinth wings outstretched, a threatening hiss reverberating out of the jagged rocky maw of the gargoyle. He had found his goal, now it was time to see if the decision was a wise one.

From what he knew, admittedly little and even that shrouded in myth, gargoyles were not aggressive creatures. They would protect themselves and their.... ward?....family?... clutch?... fiercely, but would not generally seek to initiate aggression. Of course first impression here seemed to belay that fact, maybe a more proactive defence in the face of a large infernal appearance in the dusk was warranted it felt. 

Folding wings behind his back, shrinking his imposing profile, Svarog spread his arms wide in a universal gesture of peace. "I seek your bond, set me your trial," speaking the fabled words seemed to have the intended effect on the rocky beast as silence suddenly reigned upon the bleak mountainside. Eyes burning like embers it too folded in its stone pinions, rearing back upon hind legs, almost in a mimicry of its petitioner. The silence stretched on as each moment grew longer as eternity approached, or so it seemed to Svarog. One brought up alone with two doting parents had never been forced to learn much in the way of patience, an all too easy immediacy had been the common occurrence through much of his interactions with other living beings. 

The shift in behaviour had shown a recognition of at least his movements, maybe the gargoyle had not heard or understood his words. "I see," He started to repeat his statement when a gravelly growl emitted from the chest before him, "patience! You wait, you stay, I learn.... you pass... or fail." Hopping down with surprising grace the creature gestured to the plinth, expectantly looking for Svarog to take his place. Unsure when the trial would begin, or indeed what it was to be, Rog closed the distance, walking within feet of the hulking beast as he approached his dictated seat. Perching atop he looked over at the gargoyle staring intently at him, like a carven statue it looked immobile as if it had not, and would not again, move. The flickering glow of its eyes soon all that could be seen as twilight claimed the land and the light of the twin moons was cloaked by a haze of clouds. 

The night passed in this way, tiredness tugging at the lids of his eyes until with a blink the creature was gone and the sun was cresting the horizon. A sudden burst of cold made Svarog jump as water crashed upon his back, starting to stand before the gargoyle landed feet away, "stay. Leave and fail, get up and fail, fight and fail." Flexing its taloned hands as it spoke, a clear suggestion that failure was not a simple matter of departing alone. Settling back, disgruntled for he had never been thus treated, Svarog wanted to ask how long this was to go on but at even the suggestion of his mouth opening, the burning orbs of the creatures eyes squinted in warning.

The day dragged past, the slow crawl of inactivity and boredom a struggle for the giant Opexo, wrapping wings around to shelter and ward off the chill air. Hearing a growl Svarog looked up from counting the rocks at the base of the plinth, looking to see what the gargoyle was doing now, only to realise it was his own stomach communicating its displeasure at the dearth of sustenance it was being provided. Pursing his lips Rog pondered his situation, he had expected time, or something *to do* not just sit for some as yet indeterminate time... maybe he should have planned better, but the situation is what itnis and he would work a way around. Pulling his lone figure out of his pocket he held it out in his hand, noticing as he did the gargoyles head cock askew in a potential semblance of curiosity but nothing more as Rog's actions did not seem to impart a sense of impatience. "Forage," a firm utterance, mind fixed on thoughts of food, and a ribbon of crimson light wrapped it around before sinking in to animate it with a shake. The simulacra immediately hopped down and set off with a determined wobble. It was before long that it returned, a short branch dragging behind it, a few scant leaves... and a small cluster of berries. Reaching to take it Svarog hoped there was no ill in these fruits found within this land, but with no other option he plucked and consumed the lot. Settling back and smiling over at the creatures whose burning eyes remained fixed upon him. At this point Svarog knew he could succeed, a determination residing in his chest, that he would find a way to satisfy this task, as limited as it seemed.

This went on, never satisfied but enough to survive at least for a time, yet a burning grew in his throat, bile rising with an ever increasing thirst. His little wooden figure could bring morsels of food yes, however water or fluids were beyond its capabilities. Head became fuzzy and focus seemed harder to grasp, his earlier confidence waning as his consciousness fluttered. Hands clenching and bunching upon his trousers, Svarog battled his mind, the sensations providing a temporary focus. At last an idea crept in throught the slowing morass of haze that had become his mind, it might work, and in this barren wilderness it had no real detriment to the ever warm opexo.

Slipping free the only clothing he wore, svarog remained upon the plinth, a curious head tilt earned from the onlooking gargoyle. He began to tear the trousers apart, fashioning the most rustic of figures from the fabric, "soak," muttered as each formed and hobbled off with a crimson glow. But the time he was finishing up the first sodden little figure returned, tiny prints left upon the stone to mark their passing. A feeling of guilt washed over him, but they were not in truth alive and his needs demanded action anyway, picking it up he held it up above open lips and squeezed it dry, a tiny trickle of precious water dropping into the waiting mouth greedily devouring it. 

Before long his tiny army was traversing back and forth, food and water enough to sustain a meager existence at the least. Sitting bare naked as the day he was born, Svarog looked into the burning eyes of his silent company, a smile stretching over his face as he slowly popped a berry into his mouth, eating it with a slow deliberate manner designed to taunt the beast. Silence reigned as time continued on, eventually it became clear that Rog was perfectly suited, the elements could not hinder his firey form, sustenance could be obtained without much effort now, a determination and self satisfaction within him allowing for no failure now. 

"Enough. Stubbornness, determination, patience, fortitude, will... pass the trial of stone." The words seemed to shout out suddenly in the utter silence of the mountains, grinding out from the rocky maw of the gargoyle. Relief, pride and pleasure coursed through Svarog, he had passed, he had earned the loyalty and bond of this creature, and maybe one day friendship... but that could be a matter for time. Standing on shaking legs he initially staggered as blood flowed through properly for the first time in days, hand falling upon the shoulder of his new companion who had moved to brace. "Thank you. Maybe we should go get some proper food... and clothes... those embers of your staring at me are slightly disconcerting." Again the creature tilted its head, looking thoughtful for a moment, "Yes, Ember..."

Looking down the slopes at the darkened tagia distant below Rog knew that at least some of what he needed would surely be found within. Food first, then he would decide on his plans. And so the giant Opexo and his newly bonded gargoyle set off, shaking stiff wings free to glide down to the woods below, and their future.