Ignis
Ignis Darkmoon
Some are born to the pride and happiness of their parents, and Ignis' story was no different. Born during a week long thunderstorm, scholars would proclaim it to be one of the worst in recorded history. Just outside the window trees were being buffeted by intense winds. The kind that causes stray animals to huddle under ram shackled shelter for safety. A young woman was going through the endeavor of her life, her brow not soaked with rain but instead soaked in effort. They say he drew his first breath of air to the crackle of lightning, that the static electricity in the air made all in attendance arm hairs stand on end, his father would say he had thunder in his lungs as he let out his first cry.
Ignis was a gift to his mother, she'd insist it was divine intervention, that burning incense every third week for two years
finally drew the attention of a divine entity to answer her prayers. There could be nothing more important to her than the welfare of her new baby, she'd never let him go she vowed, she'd die for him. She had lost so much hope through the days and weeks, until the bulge in her belly and stirring in her stomach confirmed it. How long had she cried over her inability to have offspring? Fortune tellers mused to her about omens and karma. The alchemists and physicians swore there was nothing that could be done. No salve or poultice could ever cure her ailments, but biology had a different story to tell.
His father was a man of distinguished heritage, a line of accomplished mystifiers, magicians, and wizards that could be traced back to time immemorial. Thassian Darkmoor, Lord Regent of the Everly estate, Grand Magister of the Council of Wizards. A man feared for his conviction, ambition, and authority. Few commanded respect, an enduring presence like a looming phantom tickling your spine, and to match his imposing demeanor the wits of a man twice his age. Many loved Thassian for these qualities, but even more despised him because of them. For eight generations a Darkmoor sat on the council of wizards, and Thassian would see to it that continued on even after himself. Ignis was his legacy given form, a gift he never expected to receive, the feast he held lasted for two days and for once in Thassian's life he had felt an unerring pride that was never there before. For once he cared about someone more than himself, and they were all happy.
Ignis had a wonderful early childhood like any other born into such a dubious family of great renown would. His father was more than a little excited to begin to teach his son the ways of mystery and magic. Afterall, it was a family tradition. Ignis proved to be adapt at magic faster than his father had ever seen, and to the surprise of many of his colleagues Thassian's son was more of an enigma than a prodigy. Proving even more capable than most novice wizards at a young age, Ignis could use magic without the need of study or rote memorization. This caused a great deal of mistrust, skepticism and fear.
Thassian was dumbfounded he had never heard of such a talent before, but deep within' himself he couldn't help but feel pride. Thassian always knew his bloodline was strong, but this only confirmed his suspicions. His own father used to tell him of the inherent capability of their lineage, and how it was only a matter of time before they came to rule all of the Magus Magnificant. Though his son was powerful he was still far too young and green to control his powers. He'd be just as likely to sear your skin as caress it. This raised questions and doubts among Thassian’s colleagues, causing Thassian to become disenfranchised with them and their opinons. He saw their criticisms as only a stain smeared on his reputation, and as a way to undermine his authority and snuff out his legacy. He would never let that happen.
It wasn't long before the rumors of the demon blooded child began to circle the tower, and not long after that it spread to the common folk. Every man and woman knew of the cursed child. How he had hands of fire and eyes of lightning, how he hungered for your soul and slept under your child's beds at night hoping to have one of their limbs drift off it's side so he may taste their flesh with his serrated teeth. How at the witching hour if you were caught in his gaze you'd be sent straight to hell, more and more the tales grew as more people relayed them.
This situation wasn't an isolated incident, there had been scrolls recording this phenomenon before. A child born with blood that has magical properties, able to manifest magic at will, but usually it was chalked up to divine will or a mutation of the fetus in the womb due to magical resonance. Of all the recordings they all had the same distinction, that those born with such power are a danger. Oft they were executed in secret, or exiled to die alone and disappear from sight. However, never before had the child been the son of such a powerful and influential person. Thassian wasted no time in cementing his legacy and he balked at anyone's opinion of dissent.
Thassian didn't see it as an illness, instead it was an opportunity, a new type of wizard that could be harnessed and perhaps replicated, but seeing how easy magic was for his son began to conjure a different kind of feeling inside his father.
Envy.
A father is supposed to love his child unconditionally, but what happens when your progeny serves as a symbol of your own shortcomings. For awhile Thassian struggled teaching his son, a perfectionist by heritage, he tried to teach his son his way. To a person like Ignis, this wouldn't work. Ignis didn't need these magical incantations or movements, he need only will it and he could manifest it instantly. Thassian slowly became more and more detached, his mental state heading toward instability and indifference. He became intolerant and easy to anger, and because of this his relationship with his family suffered.
He'd be remiss if it hadn't crossed his mind to find a way to steal his son's power, to make it his own. He struggled with this thought and his reason often won over it. With his pool of knowledge and his son's blood, he'd be unstoppable, he could fulfill his family legacy without doubt and he'd bring them all under his rule. He often daydreamed of himself standing mightily atop the tower, all the other wizards bowing to him like dogs waiting for scraps at the edge of the table. Is that truly what he wanted? He'd get wrapped up in these thoughts and then he'd remember the day of his birth, a small baby boy wrapped in a blanket smiling up at him happily and those thoughts would fade.
How long had he studied? How many books, how many endless nights with eyes bloodshot red, throat dry and a mind wracked with information? Ignis would need none of that, Thassian often felt it to be a cruel joke, a punishment. He found it difficult to be happy for his son, he found it difficult not to want what he had. He remembered it had taken him over a year to learn how to light a candle with the tip of his finger. How many painstaking hours for something so pathetic, so simple? His son could burn a house down with the blink of an eye, and he was but a child. This envy drove him mad, day after day he could think of nothing more than how talented his son was in comparison to himself. It was this comparison that he abused himself with, and that revelation was too much for him to bear.
It was his blood, the source of this power. As rare as a flawless precious gem, Thassian needed access, no... he wanted access. The secret was within' a finger's reach, he needed to weaponize it, to covet it for himself, to make it his own through any means necessary. Ignis was his son, it meant the blood was his property, his work, he owned it. This anger and resentment boiled over slowly, as days went on it started with angrier tones and then fell into beatings. Ignis tried to love his father but he never understood, how could he?
A child's mind only understands so much, but he understood his father was always angry when he was around him. His mother was his fiercest ally, constantly shouting with his father, but she was powerless to stop anything, just a common woman with no magical skills. She'd do everything she could to comfort her son, to make the bad feelings and the fear go away. Internally she had been making plans to run and try to make it on her own with Ignis, but she knew she could never make it far enough. A man as powerful as Thassian gets what he wants, no matter what.
It was a blisteringly cold evening, with a fresh coat of powered snow. Thassian was on his third jug of ale, a mixture of alcohol and desperation drove him to the edge and with it he made a decision to repossess what was his. Ignis had done none of the suffering, the tireless work and study, he'd done nothing to "deserve" this gift.
Thassian would reclaim what was his, he was deserving, more than anyone else, he'd put the work in and his son, his son was worthless next to himself.
The experimentation was subtle at first, hidden from his wife, Thassian would give Ignis poultices and alchemical concoctions to dull his mind lulling him into paralyzation. Observing and studying like he had his entire life, hoping to find a glimmer of a secret or an answer. The experiments could go long into the night as his wife was beset by an incantation to help her "sleep." However, these bore little fruit in Thassian reaching his goal, frustration built upon frustration, nights after night. When nothing elementary worked, Thassian decided it was time to go literal. He had exhausted all techniques his magical background had afforded him.
He bled his son, a vampiric like pleasure on his lips as he watched the deep red liquid fill a small beaker he had on hand. He could feel this power emanating through the glass, he could feel the static electricity in his fingertips, the need in his veins. His mouth watered, his eyes painted in lustful wanting. He promised himself it would be euphoria, that his ascension would be a grand event. His dream of ruling the tower was at the tips of his fingers. Soon enough he would know, he would feel the imminent strength he desired for so long.
Thassian tapped into the most forbidden magic, the kind he read and taught himself away from discerning eyes, the kind banned by the magic council. Blood magic, consequentially viewed as criminal or unnatural by most of the civilized world. Concentrating heavily on the task at hand, he broke his focus, freeing his wife from her imposed slumber. The screams of delight emanated from his mouth as the blood melded with his own, seeping through his pores like a thirsty sponge. his wife rushed to the room to see her son lying on a wooden table his arm bleeding profusely.
She screamed as Thassian spun around, there was an exchange of only two words before she ran at him burying a cheese knife into his shoulder.
Thassian grunted loudly before he slapped her to the ground, he cackled with a maddening glee. Like devils dancing in the darkness, he stalked over her, his finger pointed at her. He remembered lighting the candle, how hot it felt on the tips of his fingers, but how it didn't burn him at all.
Ignis struggled to rise and come to her aid, but his legs had no strength his mind as cloudy as a rainy day. Slowly his fingers uncurled from their balled fists, and he reached out to her slowly unable to take his feet. She didn't make a sound as she was engulfed in hellfire, burning her to ash in nearly an instant. Thassian could not believe the power, such a simple spell had been magnified to a thousand times the power with his new found blood. For a moment he felt like a god, well and true, like the world was in the palm of his hand. He wanted more of this bood, if only such a small dose gave him this strength what would happen if he took it all.
He thrust his hand out of his chest and the dagger came with it, he scuffed loudly as he tossed the blade harmlessly to the ground. "A peasants weapon, you whore. I hope the devil's fuck you bloody for this." Thassian cackled loudly and turned to his son.
Ignis found himself trying to scream but nothing came out from that dark pit of his stomach. Modern science would call it a traumatic experience, he did not move or utter a sound instead he stood like a statue his eyes fixated on the smoldering pile of ash that was once known as his mother. Thassian stood over his helpless son, a devious grin on his features, it’d be so easy to just burn him and erase the evidence.
When he saw his sons eyes it only filled him further with rage. “You think you’re better than me, don’t you son?” He said awkwardly staring at the broken boy. “No... you were never my equal, you are just a boy and for your hubris you will suffer.” Thassian thought for only a moment and then narrowed his eyes, he lifted his hand and with a five fingered claw like shake his father broke his vows and began to use the most devious form of magic again.
The spell was vicious and cruel, quite literally draining the victims life source from him. A slow and painful torment that eventually leaves your target a dried out husk. Ignis' blood was being drawn out from the very pores on his skin, his face drawn as he felt intense pain, gritting his teeth so hard that his gums bled. Thassian was exsanguinating the very essence of his son, pulling his entire life force from his body. Like a funnel directly into his own veins, gorging himself on the magical blood like a giant mosquito.
Thassian could only smile his largest smile, the energy pouring into him and just as he felt like he could not be stopped the latent magic in his sons blood proved far too much for his body to contain. His heart exploded in a burst that sounded like a small explosion, Thassian dropped to the ground instantly and the spell dissipated. Though he had been released the damage had been done, Thassian’s dark magic left Ignis with hair as white as the driven snow and with eyes golden like amber.
Ignis would lie in his own mess as he fell to the ground into the growing puddle of blood leaking from his father’s dead body. The next time he awoke he was brought to the court of the Magus Magnificant, it would be decided who would foster the child. None on the council would claim him, claiming he was tainted that he would surely bring ruin to any house he entered. It would come down to two things death or exile. No matter the nature of Ignis’ blood none of the mages wanted the death of a child on their conscious.
Perhaps it was a mercy to dump a child on the streets instead of sticking him into another loveless home. Ignis struggled to survive at first, learning the hard reality of the streets over time. Many days and nights with no water and an empty stomach. The townsfolk had names for the child homeless, street orphans often mostly compared to vermin. Like most people forced to adapt or perish he became an accomplished pickpocket and thief. Stealing a loaf of bread here or there, rifling through the pockets of a drunk merchant. He survived as best he could.
However, his reputation followed him. He was the demon child, the one who could ignite you or have you struck down with a pillar of lightning. This misunderstanding of the danger surrounding him led most people to avoid him at all costs, it didn’t help that his appearance was so different from an average child. Ignis was mostly empty inside, going through the motions with no one to care about him. He retreated inward and became a person of few words.
His young age and dangerous reputation caught the interest of a local crime lord. Gaedren lamm. Gaedren saw an opportunity, and started their relationship with kindness, something Ignis hadn't felt in a long time. The manipulation was slow at first, a bed of straw to lay on, some food to fill his belly. He'd ask small favors of Ignis, like stealing a ring or someone's prized pocket watch. All the while grooming the child to be under his complete control and rely solely on him for everything.
Though Ignis had small hands and quick feet he was not the ruthless demon child that had been advertised. He proved too be far more difficult to break, his nature was not as the rumors claimed. He had far too much of his mother's influence in him, and he found it difficult to be ruthless at all. Where Gaedren tried to foster hatred and anger in the boy, he found instead a melancholy a need to just exist. He was now killer, just a charming affluent child with a sophisticated education, who had seen horrible things.
This angered Gaedren, and he beat the boy to within an inch of his life with a walking cane. A year of effort wasted, he'd get his revenge on the boy for wasting his time, lashing him for every day he wasted. Bloodied and dying the man left the young boy in the gutter to perish.
The librarian of the Torn Page, a small unassuming library that provided books to the denizens of the district was run by an elderly old man. The place was a small but historic building, tucked away in the bowels of the district. Inside a cacophony of old hand written books and musty old tomes littered shelves burgeoning with scrolls. He had lived a long and tenured life but spent it mostly alone after his late wife passed away from plague. It was in the twilight hours on his way home that he discovered the child lying face down in the gutter. It was compassion that would finally save Ignis from his fractured life and give him something he hadn’t had in a long time, stability.
The old man did not see a demon or a vermin, he didn’t see the white hair and the golden eyes. He saw only the dire situation at hand, he saw a life worth saving. Adopting the child as his own, he took Ignis in and with the little money he had saved, he had his wounds tended. Ignis was given proper medical care, recovering fully a month later after days of being bed ridden. Though his wounds healed a jagged scar served as another reminder of the people in his life ultimately betraying him. A life so short was rife with tragedy and loss, it took weeks until Ignis finally was ready to speak again. However, Ignis remained untrusting of all around him.
The old man told Ignis he would like to be his grandfather, that he was welcome to stay with him for as long as he wanted. That he would treat him like he would his own family, but Ignis remained skeptical. the old man would bring Ignis food, making sure he was well fed, and he afford the boy the space he desired. Slowly but surely things began to change, and Ignis finally began to understand what true kindness was. Grandfather would read to him through the door at night telling him grand tails that lie between the pages of those musty old books, from heroic tales to those of danger and adventure. Taking his bifocals from his eyes when he finished, and wishing the young boy a good night. Ignis came to appreciate this small act more than any other, to share an adventure together through the pages of history it was a kindness he came to covet.
He was given a new lease on life. His new grandfather was an attentive man, well read, and with a rich history of stories he could tell endlessly. He'd been a scholar most of his life, even penning books of his own. Ignis found an escape in the stories he found on the pages and for once he was putting his education to use. For nine years he spent almost every moment with his grandfather, either nose deep in a book or endlessly sorting and alphabetizing their growing collection of books. While his grandfather would complain of his aching back and struggle to mount a ladder, Ignis would use his magic to do the heavy lifting for him. When Ignis turned twenty his grandfather began to fall ill, his grandfather stressed the importance of restraint especially when it came to his magical affinity. Those words stayed with Ignis, they resonated with him, that magic didn't make him evil or bad. He was who he was and his grandfather could see it all along.
When his grandfather finally passed away from old age Ignis inherited the library. He remembered the empty feeling again, the loneliness and he found it difficult to spend time in the place without him. The quiet could only bring about distant and violent memories, they were his scars and if he stayed here alone they would never truly fade. Closing the doors he vowed he’d return with enough money to turn the library into something truly worthy of his grandfather’s memory, a place of learning and compassion. A place of safety and charity, and a place where any could come to find an escape between the covers of a book. It would save lives, much like it saved his.
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