AN: Long story short this is the backstory for a character sheet for the Deep RP run by @Parris, this was meant to be the backstory for a character in that RP but it got more detailed as time went on and so now I will post what I have in bits and pieces
Feedback, aid with grammar and spelling, even that most dreaded of things known as criticism is welcome.
Above all I hope you enjoy and thanks for @beast_regards for getting me to post it, and yes Parris, I will be working on this further during the Break I have from school and getting to the rest of the family.
The Conquering of the Flames of Agorth
The story of Bal begins with the birth of the Dead Cosmos, a subsection of the Death Verse that came from the entropic collapse of a entire universe into a pit of fire and pain, millions of lives being thrown away to be devoured and fed on by howling demons and monstrous horrors grown engorged by the gluttonous feast they made of the souls falling into their endless jaws.
In the fall of this universe when the Unseen Fire of entropy burned away light from the forms it touched so only rotting darkness could remain, there was a Sorcerer painting a portrait of the love of his life.
The Sorcerer had fought a great bloodlust since birth, a boiling heat had driven him nearly into the depths of flesh tearing madness many times but he denied his rage.
He devoted himself to the mystic arts, spending long hours reading the texts of the great sages, devoting himself to straining the limits of his mind.
It was the discipline in spell working he sought, the iron handed grip one needed on their emotions for magic to work. He thought if he mastered the arts of shaping mana and bending reality he could cool the savage hunger that gnawed at his mind like a worn bone.
That is what he thought, but even there did he feel a black wrath come over him at times, a terrible red would shadow his spells and ruin them. His rage was not to be denied, the heart of a Berserker had been crafted in his chest and it beat to the thundering beat of bloody battle, the Sorcerer however was not easily broken and so through many years of study he kept to his arts and in time found the anchor he needed.
She was the daughter of one of the greatest archmages of his world, her hair was like woven dawn light, her eyes a beauty of shimmering colors and her voice?
Not even the most divinely gifted of bards with their skill at drawing emotion into life through song could sing of the true glory it held.
The Sorcerer wanted her, he hungered for her and this become his quest, a obsession that was to be the spear of purpose that pushed back his rage, it simmered in him, in his blood a terrible flame seared his flesh and left his souls howling for the wet slaughter to fill it but the Sorcerer was not moved by the storm.
His passions of violence no matter how they battered at him with the fury of the tempest were ignored in favor of the scalding hot thoughts of possessing the girl.
He suffered to hold back his anger, he felt agony puncture him daily with the pain of his savage heart beating against his steeled will and yet the Sorcerer kept back the clawing thing that sought to rip itself from his flesh, with chains forged of his dreams of love he bound his hunger. It tore at them, burning at the bonds that held back the crimson tide but they held and the Sorcerer kept to his goal of having the girl.
He studied her likes and dislikes, found every way he could to be at her side without imposing on her, at the door to offer help with her books, in the garden with its tree that she sat at to read to give advice. Listening to the timber of her laughter, watching the light fall on her hair and slide down it in bright patterns.
She become his world, the object his entire being revolved around and slowly, with careful planning put to nerve breaking perfection he claimed her joys and sorrows, delicately worming his way into her innermost circle to fully capture her heart.
There were many trials the girl had created so that none would take her hand but the Sorcerer was mad with both love fluttering in his heart like a trapped bird and rage dripping through the bars of the cage he put it in to blacken his mind.
He threw himself at each trial she had, saying words that could have broken his mind, speaking spells that should have burned his body into cinder and ash to be blown away.
In his madness though the Sorcerer proved resilient, far too heavy handed in his will to be destroyed so easily and so he passed through the fire and flame of Agroth the Dragon that burned nations
He surpassed the drowning grip of Ican the serpent that had dwelled in the oceans of the world since time begin.
He crushed the skull of Anu, the demon king that ruled the southern wastes with searing winds of plague and armies of the dead empowered by his dark magic rooted in the ritual blood sacrifice of his slaves.
Angroth of ruby scale, a beast of blood red fury, who's eyes were burning suns. His every wing beat a crashing hammer of flame and his claws radiant with volcanic fire that sundered the earth he rested on.
The Sorcerer came to his cave and when he let loose such flame as to burn the dwarfen holds of his world to charred ruin, he raised his hand and commanded the world with words that struck the center of creation.
Let the flames be parted he spoke with thunder that blistered his throat. His robes bellowing around him, the hot wind of the Dragon's breath cooking his skin, the heat of its beating heart pounding at his body.
The Dragon fire was a wall that smashed into his hand, nearly breaking it in two but the Sorcerer commanded and the World heeded his demands, the fire would not reach his flesh, though the heat was a knife scarping the walls of the cave pristine still did the hand of the Sorcerer remain unwavering in its resolute determination but the fire would not let him pass.
He could hold it off but the Sorcerer was unable to move a single step as long as the flames of the Dragon held him at bay.
He was trapped, unable to move, to reach beyond and slay the creature and if he could not slay it, then the heart he so hungered for would not be in his grasp.
This could not be allowed, it would not accepted by him.
But how could he strike back against such a hammer forged of burning radiance he asked?
Let go whispered the fury, release the hold you have over the flame and let it beat you, let the flame wash over you to tear away skin, have the fire shred through your robes and blacken your bones.
Burn and in burning master the flames.
The Sorcerer heeded the voice of fury and let the flames pour over him, the inferno of Agroth melted his skin, pierced through the shielding of muscle to cook his bones, fire engulfing him and leaving no surface unburnt.
Fire smashing his body into burnt cinder, he sang to the flames, his words now barbed by bloodlust, he hooked the flames essence with the shaping of his magic, yoking the inferno that roared over him to will, blistering heat being beaten by the hammer of his spellcraft to gather in his arms and be bound to his fury. Agroth chuckled with glee as the spear of his searing breath seemed to obliterate the interloper.
The Sorcerer though was not dead, his flesh was now at best could be called a molten cloak of blistered skin but he was not dead, no fire and fury melded into red hot wrath churned in his hands, the fire of the dragon bent by his rage into a bubbling orb of flame that he held with his magic now echoing with the rage filled chanting of warriors giving into battle madness.
Where his words were once thunder that shook the core of the world, now they had become spears of iron will cast by the frenzy that overtook his mind. The pain of his wounds were but fuel for the fire he shaped in his hands and when he could on longer chain the inferno he let it blast forth to race into the gullet of Agroth.
The great Dragon that has made bonefires of entire nations felt his own flame cast back at him, its heat punching into his gut and expanding outwards to burst through his scales that had broken even the blades of the great heroes of the ages.
The expanding fireball blasted Agroth everywhere over the cave, splattering his boiling dragon flesh all over the caverns and slathering the nearly dead Sorcerer in searing fluids still holding a trace of the inferno that had raced through the veins of the Dragon.
The Sorcerer rested to heal his wounds and sought out the second trial.
Feedback, aid with grammar and spelling, even that most dreaded of things known as criticism is welcome.
Above all I hope you enjoy and thanks for @beast_regards for getting me to post it, and yes Parris, I will be working on this further during the Break I have from school and getting to the rest of the family.
The Conquering of the Flames of Agorth
The story of Bal begins with the birth of the Dead Cosmos, a subsection of the Death Verse that came from the entropic collapse of a entire universe into a pit of fire and pain, millions of lives being thrown away to be devoured and fed on by howling demons and monstrous horrors grown engorged by the gluttonous feast they made of the souls falling into their endless jaws.
In the fall of this universe when the Unseen Fire of entropy burned away light from the forms it touched so only rotting darkness could remain, there was a Sorcerer painting a portrait of the love of his life.
The Sorcerer had fought a great bloodlust since birth, a boiling heat had driven him nearly into the depths of flesh tearing madness many times but he denied his rage.
He devoted himself to the mystic arts, spending long hours reading the texts of the great sages, devoting himself to straining the limits of his mind.
It was the discipline in spell working he sought, the iron handed grip one needed on their emotions for magic to work. He thought if he mastered the arts of shaping mana and bending reality he could cool the savage hunger that gnawed at his mind like a worn bone.
That is what he thought, but even there did he feel a black wrath come over him at times, a terrible red would shadow his spells and ruin them. His rage was not to be denied, the heart of a Berserker had been crafted in his chest and it beat to the thundering beat of bloody battle, the Sorcerer however was not easily broken and so through many years of study he kept to his arts and in time found the anchor he needed.
She was the daughter of one of the greatest archmages of his world, her hair was like woven dawn light, her eyes a beauty of shimmering colors and her voice?
Not even the most divinely gifted of bards with their skill at drawing emotion into life through song could sing of the true glory it held.
The Sorcerer wanted her, he hungered for her and this become his quest, a obsession that was to be the spear of purpose that pushed back his rage, it simmered in him, in his blood a terrible flame seared his flesh and left his souls howling for the wet slaughter to fill it but the Sorcerer was not moved by the storm.
His passions of violence no matter how they battered at him with the fury of the tempest were ignored in favor of the scalding hot thoughts of possessing the girl.
He suffered to hold back his anger, he felt agony puncture him daily with the pain of his savage heart beating against his steeled will and yet the Sorcerer kept back the clawing thing that sought to rip itself from his flesh, with chains forged of his dreams of love he bound his hunger. It tore at them, burning at the bonds that held back the crimson tide but they held and the Sorcerer kept to his goal of having the girl.
He studied her likes and dislikes, found every way he could to be at her side without imposing on her, at the door to offer help with her books, in the garden with its tree that she sat at to read to give advice. Listening to the timber of her laughter, watching the light fall on her hair and slide down it in bright patterns.
She become his world, the object his entire being revolved around and slowly, with careful planning put to nerve breaking perfection he claimed her joys and sorrows, delicately worming his way into her innermost circle to fully capture her heart.
There were many trials the girl had created so that none would take her hand but the Sorcerer was mad with both love fluttering in his heart like a trapped bird and rage dripping through the bars of the cage he put it in to blacken his mind.
He threw himself at each trial she had, saying words that could have broken his mind, speaking spells that should have burned his body into cinder and ash to be blown away.
In his madness though the Sorcerer proved resilient, far too heavy handed in his will to be destroyed so easily and so he passed through the fire and flame of Agroth the Dragon that burned nations
He surpassed the drowning grip of Ican the serpent that had dwelled in the oceans of the world since time begin.
He crushed the skull of Anu, the demon king that ruled the southern wastes with searing winds of plague and armies of the dead empowered by his dark magic rooted in the ritual blood sacrifice of his slaves.
Angroth of ruby scale, a beast of blood red fury, who's eyes were burning suns. His every wing beat a crashing hammer of flame and his claws radiant with volcanic fire that sundered the earth he rested on.
The Sorcerer came to his cave and when he let loose such flame as to burn the dwarfen holds of his world to charred ruin, he raised his hand and commanded the world with words that struck the center of creation.
Let the flames be parted he spoke with thunder that blistered his throat. His robes bellowing around him, the hot wind of the Dragon's breath cooking his skin, the heat of its beating heart pounding at his body.
The Dragon fire was a wall that smashed into his hand, nearly breaking it in two but the Sorcerer commanded and the World heeded his demands, the fire would not reach his flesh, though the heat was a knife scarping the walls of the cave pristine still did the hand of the Sorcerer remain unwavering in its resolute determination but the fire would not let him pass.
He could hold it off but the Sorcerer was unable to move a single step as long as the flames of the Dragon held him at bay.
He was trapped, unable to move, to reach beyond and slay the creature and if he could not slay it, then the heart he so hungered for would not be in his grasp.
This could not be allowed, it would not accepted by him.
But how could he strike back against such a hammer forged of burning radiance he asked?
Let go whispered the fury, release the hold you have over the flame and let it beat you, let the flame wash over you to tear away skin, have the fire shred through your robes and blacken your bones.
Burn and in burning master the flames.
The Sorcerer heeded the voice of fury and let the flames pour over him, the inferno of Agroth melted his skin, pierced through the shielding of muscle to cook his bones, fire engulfing him and leaving no surface unburnt.
Fire smashing his body into burnt cinder, he sang to the flames, his words now barbed by bloodlust, he hooked the flames essence with the shaping of his magic, yoking the inferno that roared over him to will, blistering heat being beaten by the hammer of his spellcraft to gather in his arms and be bound to his fury. Agroth chuckled with glee as the spear of his searing breath seemed to obliterate the interloper.
The Sorcerer though was not dead, his flesh was now at best could be called a molten cloak of blistered skin but he was not dead, no fire and fury melded into red hot wrath churned in his hands, the fire of the dragon bent by his rage into a bubbling orb of flame that he held with his magic now echoing with the rage filled chanting of warriors giving into battle madness.
Where his words were once thunder that shook the core of the world, now they had become spears of iron will cast by the frenzy that overtook his mind. The pain of his wounds were but fuel for the fire he shaped in his hands and when he could on longer chain the inferno he let it blast forth to race into the gullet of Agroth.
The great Dragon that has made bonefires of entire nations felt his own flame cast back at him, its heat punching into his gut and expanding outwards to burst through his scales that had broken even the blades of the great heroes of the ages.
The expanding fireball blasted Agroth everywhere over the cave, splattering his boiling dragon flesh all over the caverns and slathering the nearly dead Sorcerer in searing fluids still holding a trace of the inferno that had raced through the veins of the Dragon.
The Sorcerer rested to heal his wounds and sought out the second trial.