Submission (#177) Approved

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.

Reward	Amount
Opo	90