Embers of the Heart
Along the rolling plains of Uzrash, where tall grasses swept over the hills, a man walked with a calm confidence, undaunted by those who inhabited these wild lands. The sun hung high in a vibrant sky, casting rich light over the sea of wild oats and amaranth, and the air was thick with the sweet, intoxicating scent of grass. The man’s indigo robes, accented by black leather straps, concealed his lithe build. His dark, untamed hair fell in waves down his back, and charms jingled softly from his belt with each step. A rose-carved staff tapped rhythmically along the goat path as he strode onward, humming a bawdy tune about a brothel in Tor.
Ahead, his goal lay within reach: the tents of the War Clan Wildrage, dotting the horizon like low, smoldering embers. A mischievous grin flickered across his lips. Kazcadan Blackheart had been roaming these plains in search of conquest, driven by an unquenchable fire that forever pushed him toward new pursuits. Yet, in his heart, he longed to find the one who would truly set his soul ablaze. At least he hoped would this time
At last, he saw her. Grishka Wildrage, the half-orc princess, was out on the field, her presence commanding. Her skin was the rich hue of earth, her piercing amber-gold eyes gleamed with the fierce spirit of the mountains. She was adorned in glimmering pieces of armor crafted by orc artisans, her braided hair woven with jewels and beads that sparkled in the sunlight. She danced around the fire with her clan, moving with a wild grace that held him spellbound. Kazcadan couldn’t tear his gaze from her.
He didn’t realize he had wandered into the clan’s circle, drawn forward as if the rhythm of the drums and the chime of his own charms called him to her. She halted mid-step, her fierce eyes meeting his, and moved in a way that invited him to join. With a subtle grin, he waved his hand over his staff, and flames sparked to life, dancing up the wood and tracing fiery patterns along his skin. He began to move, keeping perfect time with the beat, his body vanishing and reappearing in twists and turns, each step a graceful flourish.
The drums quickened, and with them, his motions intensified. Flames spun around him, swirling in a mesmerizing display that held the clan’s gaze. Yet, his eyes never left hers, locked in a silent challenge—or perhaps, a promise.
“Forgive my intrusion. I brought fire, but only enough to warm you,” Kazcadan murmured, his voice soft yet laced with confidence.
“You think you can warm me?” Grishka’s tone was full of challenge, her amber eyes sparking with mischief.
Without another word, she turned and sprinted away from the fire, a silent dare left in her wake. Kazcadan hesitated only for a heartbeat before taking off after her. She was faster than he’d expected, moving like a flame through the tall grass, her laughter ringing out and igniting his own exhilaration. The sun dipped behind the hills, casting a warm glow over the land as twilight settled in, streaking the sky with hues of deep purple and gold. Kazcadan’s pulse raced, matching her playful pace, enchanted by the chase.
The two spent days lost in each other upon the grasslands, Kazcadan reveling in the chance to show off his magic while discovering the wonders of Grishka's homeland. Together, they chased the wind over the plains, stealing moments of laughter and passion. Kazcadan had skillfully managed to avoid her father, who persistently urged them toward marriage. Yet, despite the flames that blazed within his soul, he knew her heart met his only part of the way.
On their final night, caught in the throes of passion, his magic surged, as it often did when he was overcome with emotion. He felt the familiar shift—the heat, the intensity—before realizing too late that the spell, Vuthaelruun, the Everburn, had slipped free. Flames crackled to life around them, spreading rapidly across the plains, encircling them both. He cursed under his breath in Draconic, his magic was strong and unpredictable at times It was part curse he had taken on when his soul was split in two. He'd given up half for soul of a fire elemental.
Kazcadan returned Grishka safely to the Wildrage camp, only to find himself surrounded by warriors holding spears pointed at his chest. The orcs gestured furiously toward the burning field, its relentless flames defying all efforts to quench them. Thinking quickly, he leaned close to Grishka and whispered softly, “Forgive me; it’s time I go. May my love burn for you on that field.”
She pressed one last, lingering kiss to his lips before stepping back, leaving him to face the gathered warriors alone. Running his fingers through his dark waves, his eyes glinting with inner fire, he raised his hands, summoning flames to swirl gently around him.
“It is a gift,” he proclaimed, voice strong and steady. “A gift from Hyara and Poopugh, blessed by the embers of Tulo’s forge.” His flames wove into intricate patterns, forming symbols upon the ground in an enchanting display. He cast one last glance at Grishka, their shared spark still flickering between them.
“For the Orcs of Uzrash, a field to hold the fiercest tournaments. And to the bravest warrior…” With a flourish, he crafted a crown of fire, its flickering embers woven with the unending Everburn enchantment. “…to wear this, a symbol of unyielding strength.” He cast the fiery crown toward Grishka, and it settled on her head, its flame dancing but never consuming.
“May you find who is the bravest among you,” he said, voice steady. With a final whispered spell, he vanished, transported back to the Council of Roses. He fell in a heap upon the cold stones of the castle, exhausted from his magic. A map sprawled across the council table now marked an area of flame upon the plains of Uzrash—a new landmark, known thereafter as the Flaming Fields. To this day, the Orc Clans of Uzrash gather upon these fields to fight for the honor of wearing the Everburn crown, proving themselves the bravest and strongest.
As for Grishka Wildrage, she lived a full life upon the plains, becoming a legend herself. She bore many strong children who would go on to grace Uzrash, and it was said that, in the gleam of their eyes, one could sometimes catch a hint of Kazcadan’s fire. Rumors told that he visited from time to time, a shadow on the horizon, watching over his legacy.
The Everburn Crown. the flames never harm the wearer of the crown, the do mark the bravest and winner of the Tournment now held annually on The Flaming Fields of Uzrash, it is also rumored that small Temple to the Gods has been built here and some come to seek blessings for unions here or for Glory on the battlefield.
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