Kyrius

Given Name: Kythor Theomire 

Street name: Thor (fighter) 

Street name 2: Mirus 

Street Name 3: Theoicus (On the down low) 

Street name 4: Kyth 

Clean name: Theo

Goes by: Kyrius Thaesar (to the Vana) 

Nickname(s): Kyth, Ky

Vision in the Elven Crypt

You can hear the sound you have been trying to forget. Screams. Terrible, horrible screams. You don’t want to open your eyes. You know what you will see if they open. And yet, you are unable to stop yourself. Your eyes open, and you are back on the outskirts of the Oakheart Forest. You can see the flash of swords. The glint of armor. Blood. Bodies. 

You hear the gurgle of someone mortally wounded. Your mother pleading for her life. Your father attempting to explain.  

You feel the blood rushing through your veins, and some base part of your being takes over. The anger and fear courses through you, and your very being seems to crackle with arcane power. The energy overwhelms, consumes. Soon there is nothing left but this strange power. Time seems to slow, and you become hyper aware of everything around you. Words leave your lips unbidden, and with a smooth flick of your hands, a deluge of flames descends out of the sky, engulfing the armored figures. You scream in satisfaction as they burn.

Your mind turns quickly to your parents. You rush over to them and drop to your knees. Your father’s eyes are vacant, his body still. The front of his tunic is soaked in blood. 

Your mother sputters. Kyrius. Kyrius? She reaches out to you. it. You have the power. Just remember, you decide what you are. Not someone a thousand years ago. You can decide how you use your powers.

Don’t let them find you. I know how good you are at hiding. 

She pulls you close. Beneath the ashes, you will find all that you need.

Then she grasps the sides of your head, and kisses you on the cheek. You can feel the blood on her lips warm against your face. 

Take this. She hands you black stone, inscribed with strange writing. The writing glows brightly, as if a fire burns within. It’s up to you now. Keep this safe. You need to…Kyrius…I…you…

Her body slumps back into the mud, her blood glistening in the firelight.

There is a might rush of wings, and you feel yourself being pulled up and away from this horrible scene. You find yourself standing on a barren landscape. Immense rocks pierce the blasted earth, and the sky is a dull reddish hue. There is not a tree to be seen. Before you stand a vast door, wrought with iron. This door is impossibly large, stretching hundreds of feet above you. Behind the door you can hear noises. Faint at first, but gradually becoming clearer. It sounds as if a thousand pairs of claws are scratching at the other side of the door.

Next to the door you notice an exquisitely beautiful woman. Dressed in the finest of silks, wearing golden jewelry. Sprouting from her back are a pair of wings. She points to the door. You notice something strange. At first glance, you see a keyhole, but then you realize that this keyhole is huge. The size of a person. It looks almost like it was made for a person to step into it.

The woman points again. 

And then you wake up, finding yourself slumped against the cold bars of a trap inside the crypt.

Your vision begins to blur as the rhythmic drumming grows louder in your ears. Shapes begin to change and distort, colors grow more saturated. Fractals undulate all around you. You are sitting on your father’s lap, and he is telling you another story. It’s a story you’ve heard before. You can almost tell the story from memory. But your father’s voice is comforting. Familiar faces begin to appear before you. They are familiar, and yet alien at the same time. Your father. Your mother. Fozergan. Tolly. A green flame flares, and they are all on fire. The great heat begins to melt their flesh, their very features away. All that is left is their bare skeletons. The hollow holes where their eyes used to be stare at you blankly. Suddenly the bones begin to crack and break. Their mouths open to scream, but no sound escapes. All there is the cracking of bones. Their skeletons are violently transformed into the shape of a vast, bony crown.