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    Dragonmark of Making Kalanth's Avatar
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    Default The light still shines

    Crowds moved through the busy streets of Thrane, for today a ceremony was planned. A hero of the flame would be honored, a hero that was the first of his kind to receive such accolades. Many had come to the city in preparation of such an event. Dignitaries representing the nations from Breland to Karrnath, Dukes and Duchesses, Lords and Ladies, and many of the common citizens who wished to simply lay eyes on this rare specimen. The grand halls of the Church of the Silver Flame had been emptied to allow the Cardinals of the Flame to clean, bless, and prepare for the arrival of the honored guest. And so they did, the banisters shown, the holy waters sparkled like a brook of fresh water, and the entire chamber smelled of fresh pine and the wax that coated the floors. Not a speck of dust or fleck of dirt could be found in the grand halls of the church, only a solitary soul who had slipped in unnoticed in all the commotion. A warforged, his body covered in massive plates of adamantine with spikes protruding from them. Quietly he stood before the symbol of the Silver Flame, calm and serene, his voice but a whisper as the holy words tickled the stone walls of the church around him. None would hear what those words were, none but the warforged and the Silver Flame itself.

    Turning toward the door the warforged stared at the portal that had led him inside the most holy of churches. A moment’s work and the massive living-construct adjusted the various bits of adventuring gear and weaponry that adorned his body. This was it he thought to himself, outside those doors thousands of people await you and the news you bring from Xen’drik… and you, a hero of the people. The words felt course, and hollow. It hurt him to think them, to say them would have brought only more pain. He felt like no hero, no great figure to be celebrated this way. On his mission to Xen’drik Sanction discovered only death, betrayal, loathing, destruction, and pain. There were those he had once called friend there, those that would treat him as family and attempt to teach the warforged the meaning of humanity. But those people are now long dead, remnants of the Silver Flame they once held dear to them. All that was left behind was several memories that he had no intention of reliving.

    With grace the doors parted, the massive figure setting his gentle blue eyes on the world beyond the carved wood and polished finish. Pausing in the door the warforged watched as two children played in the streets of Flamekeep. He could not smile, it was a function that most warforged were not designed to complete, but he could feel a warmth pass through him as he watched the children. There was something to their laughter, a song of sorts, one that made him feel for the people he had left behind in Xen’drik. To travel all this way from Stormreach it was not possible for him to never have thought of those that he had met along the way. Shaking his head quietly, Sanction stepped out from the threshold and into the summer’s sun. There was more to Xen’drik than just death, betrayal, loathing, destruction, and pain. There were friends and companionship there as well, things that he would not experience in the kingdom of strangers. With heavy falls of his feet the warforged approached the two children with his hand gripping a necklace that hung limp about the warforged’s neck.

    Restrained gasps greated Sanction as the children looked to the warforged with awe and frightened silence. Sanction kneeled slowly and plucked the necklace from his neck. Palm toward the sun the holy symbol of the Silver Flame rested in the metallic hand of the warforged priest. The hand was marred with cuts and dents, signs of battle and of wounds suffered in his past.

    “Take this to the Cardinal, and tell him his hero did not return,” the words felt like a drum beating in the chest of the young children, “Xen’drik’s son returns this day, born of a new light.”

    The two children paused, boy and girl, frozen in the moment. Reaching forward with cautious hands, the boy removed the symbol from the adamantine hand of Sanction. Two slow steps provided the distance, as the boy turned and ran with all the speed he could muster, the girl stumbling over her dress in toe, shouting for the boy to slow for her. Sanction looked to the palm of his hand, now empty of the symbol of the Silver Flame. A carving in the metallic hand looked back at the warforged priest, and Sanction felt the comforting warmth pass through him once more. The symbol of the Dark Six was his new light, and under that light Sanction would find his way back home, back to Xen’drik, and back to Stormreach.
    Last edited by Kalanth; 03-21-2007 at 10:02 AM.

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