Fire is named the chief of the Divine elements. A righteous flame to drive back your foes and crush whatever darkness hinders you. This is the chosen element of many great warriors and fierce mages alike. Those who wish mastery over it must take control over their emotions, but must not extinguish them. Instead they must use them in whichever way they see fit.
The Mad Pyromancer burned hundreds of cities down to make his name. How will yours be made?
She knew the destruction that the Mad Pyromancer had cause. The burning of Asyngarth was a deed not easily forgotten by Tolians. But what the Dwarves had done those years ago did not intrigue her. It was the fire that mage wielded that did. How one person could cause such destruction and chaos, it amused her. She began to understand as she looked down at her hands; they were clean, pale and brimming with energy. A flame licked from one finger to the other. How curious that even after roasting those men just a minute prior there was not a speck of blood nor ash on her hands.
There is destruction in fire, yes. But there is also life and rebirth.
They were idiots, the lot of them. Charging into a fight they knew nothing about. What if, at the other end of that canyon sat an army that could wipe them off the face of the plane in a matter of minutes? They still continued forward. Or, even more likely, a trap or an ambush. They still continued forward. She still followed them, a delicate flame nervously dancing from her fingertips. Whatever lay at the end of this canyon, they would need her, that was guaranteed. And so she continued forward.
Set your wings aflame and let your wrath fly free.
They had hunted these brigands from one end of the continent to the other. They had something he wanted, and he was determined to get it back. Fire encircled his arms as he unsheathed his sword, the sound of it leaving its scabbard melded with that of the blaze cutting through the air; a beautiful harmony. He caught eyes with the man he was looking for. He saw nothing but fear and the reflection of fire. The whole ordeal ended much quicker than it started. With his blade and a bouquet of flames.
Upturn the very roots of hells, then burn it all to ash.
The young tiefling's knuckles were bloody, ash covered his face and sweat dripped down his neck. He readjusted his grip on his sword and tightened the strap on his shield that was wrapped around his pulsing forearms. Orks some called them. But that was a misleading name, at least the Orks of old were Underlings, but he atleast had some sense of empathy for them. These Corruks were an unholy union that deserved nothing more than fire and death. He stood up straight, panting. The devils that surrounded him smiled menacingly, so he returned the grin.
Scales like cooled magma, breath like a forest fire and wings like a twister. This is the way of the Dragon.
The porous backsteel sword was engulfed in a beautiful flame. His wyvern landed behind him and roared at the oncoming enemies. He never thought that the end of the Dragonriders would end up becoming a hunt, by the very empire who they had served just months prior. A gust of wind coming from the wings of the scaled beast behind him deflected an oncoming volley of arrows. A few stray hunters ran at him, but he dispatched them as quickly as they came. It wasn’t the end any of them hoped for. But these unfaithful bastards could burn all the same.
Steadfast, vigilant, red-hot and tempered. Refine yourself, like a piece of steel between a hammer and a mighty iron anvil.
The Justicar brushed a chitinous hand across the darkened iron helmet. His kind never usually wore the same metal clothing like the rest of the races. They didn’t need it, of course. But it was symbolic, and the rest of the order wore it too. He was apart of this order now, though he looked vastly different from the rest of them they accepted him. He put the helmet on and drew his blade as the massive wooden doors opened, revealing the night sky, painting with smoke, snow and ash. His sword began to glow orange. A city and its people needed protection. His duty was to make sure they got it.
Be the flame ever burning atop the wick of a candle. For the dark needs but one light to halt its approach.
The Tolian trudged his way closer through the marsh. Water surrounded his ankles with every step and the mud threatened to swallow him whole. He heard the threatening click of mandibles that he had become ever so familiar with the night before. He was silent as of now, and nearly invisible. His eyes, now adapted to the darkness that hung beneath the canopy whether it was day or night, picked up the Eraknae that scanned the swamps for him. There was four of them. His hand slowly crept along the hilt of his dagger, and in his other hand. A flame, lapping at the darkness. Finally, the Eraknae found their prey. But the hunter had found them first.
Consume.
They told us to be patient. They tried to teach us about self-reservation, or was it self-preservation? I can’t seem to remember; I wasn’t paying attention. They knew that when they started talking of course, what they didn’t know was the ferocity we would unleash when the time came. It was reckless, it bordered on complete disregard for ones own safety. Fire flooded the forest, the creatures that had chased them thus far were discouraged from taking another step forward.
Don’t let them stand in your way.
Don’t fight the Dwarf, they ordered her. His magic is far stronger than yours. This wasn’t about proving herself, or even about making her race proud. It wasn’t about showing these damned Dwarves their place. This was personal. A wreath of flames surrounded her hands as they clenched into a fist. He stood not fifteen paces ahead of her, fire too engulfed his hands. She launched fireball after fireball at the Dwarf. He did the same. Both dodged each other's attacks. She conjured another flame on her palm. While she was here, she may as well show this damned bastard his place.