As the funeral pyre smoldered, nearly burnt out, the first flakes of snow rained down, falling over the bones like frozen tears over a flaming grave. The few who stood there still, unable or unwilling to leave the man until they must, stood watching, the snow melting on their faces and tracing the tear tracks on their cheeks almost lovingly. The fires sputtered, and then went out as the snow fell faster and harder, the skies opening with a vengeance and seeming to lash the earth itself with it bitter, cold tears. One, by one, the people tore themselves away from the last resting place of a man they had loved in their own ways, and plodded slowly into the castle, as the snow and wind raged outside, screaming into the growing night.

Inside, the feasting and the merriment was subdued, but even that was too much for his one time companions, and they each sought solace in their own ways, and in their most private of memories. One went to her room, seeking the solace of her meditation and her private rites for the dead. Another quietly reminded himself of how short life was, and comforted himself with the fact that his friend's short life would live on well past them all. Yet another comforted herself in the arms of the man she loved, never thinking that he had taught her how to love. The last comforted himself by railing at the gods, by offering them everything a demon could give and everything he was if only they would bring him back.

His anger and his prayer as always went unanswered, but unnoticed to him a soft glow began to form around him. Runes and markings of binding lifted from his skin, disappearing into the damp chill air like mist on a warm day. He fought against the memories that assaulted him, but in the end he was helpless to deny the memories of his student, his friend, and eventually, the one who gave him the courage to continue living when he was offered the sweet oblivion he had so longed for.

The Plane of Seers

245th Rotation

6th Age of Erinyet

He was pulled from a world of ice and hate into a world of warmth and confusion. The first face he saw he lunged at, being used to his demonic heritage and having given up the only rags and slips of humanity he could have claimed long ago. A circle of protection stopped him, and he growled angrily "Do you summon me to torture me? If you do, know now that your tortures are nothing compared to the infinite levels of hell."

The man looked at him, and said calmly, and without fear, "You know how to fight, how to track, and you know about elemental magic." He lunged forward, waiting for the pain this time. "Yes, I do know." He snarled, as he forced his way through. "I am a descendant of the destroyers." The man should have flinched, but instead he looked at the demon clawing through his barriers. "Good." He said. "You are the one I wanted."

"Wanted for what?" He demanded. The figure smiled and said, "I wanted you to teach him what you know." Shock made him stop, and let the barriers pull him back inside. This man wanted him to teach someone the old ways, the ways that were considered the deepest evil and depravity a human could indulge in? Why would any man wish to place another elemental on the face of the world, unless he sought to control it? And if this man had enough power to summon him, the greatest of the demon-children of the destroyers, why would he need a mere human child trained?

The man before him, small and frail, still stood unflinching under his gaze, and then dropped his cloak. The scripts and runes of the seers scrolled across his arms, an odd tapestry of mythos and magic. "You must train the boy." It was said simply, without emotion, as if it were nothing but simple fact. "I do not have to do anything old man, no matter what you have seen!" Anger boiled in him, anger that after all that had been done to him, after all that had been done to all of the children of destroyers, that they would dare order him to make another faithless one, another one who would be treated like a god while they condemn all others, even their own flesh and bone.

"If you wish to save the children of first blood, you must train him." A feral gleam rose in the odd black eyes of the demon in the circle, a look like the glow of a hunting cat. "Save them to damn a new generation? What a wonderful choice." He snarled, even as he knew what his answer would be. "All the first blood children must be released, or I'll never do it." He finally said, his voice taut with strain and a kind of hopeless anger. If the seer was powerful enough to summon him, then he had the power to release the others.

The seer, for the first time, displayed a real emotion. "I cannot release you, Tarrial, chosen of the first blood. I do not know any seer with the power to do so." His voice was soft, and a little sad. The demon snorted in derision and said coldly "I knew that. Just promise me the others will be free of the dark worlds, and remember that if you break your promise, you break the bindings, and I will be free to travel the worlds and seek my own vengeance, and I have the power to release the children of the first myself if my bindings shall break."

The seer smiled slightly. "I am well aware of your power. It is truly a great power, and I can barely contain you even with your bindings. Believe me when I say that as you are now, I would never wish you unbound." The seer raised his hand, and opened a small, blue corona in the wards. It was enough however for the demon to reach out and grasp the seer's hand, as the seer swiftly drew an enameled knife across the point where they joined. "I swear, I shall release all of the demons that are under your care, and no demon under your care shall be condemned to the dark worlds again."

He said, and there seemed an odd sparkle in those eyes, as if he was seeing the demon in two different lifetimes. Tarrial growled as the runes on the seer's skin flared, and a searing heat filled the room. When it was done, the demon's silver-white skin was traced over with runes the color of their fresh blood, runes that looked nothing like the seer's script word. The seer released his hand, seeming to wilt slightly. "You now are living proof of my word." The seer said softly. "The marks will never fade and cannot be removed. My vow is bound to you."

Tarrial inspected the marks with a dispassionate face, not letting any of his thoughts show. Instead, he nodded gruffly, and told the seer he would begin the training when the boy was delivered to him. "I'll deliver you then." The seer said cheerfully, seeming to ignore Tarrial's outraged protest. It took but a few moments for the sending spell to be activated, and as Tarrial spun through the featureless void, the last thing Tarrial remembered thinking was "I hope he breaks his vow. I'd really enjoy killing him slowly for this."