The tearmachai stuck to themselves for most of the day. Beatrice had helped them setup tents in the back yard since they barely fit into the building. Their tents were tan cones that stood 10 feet tall made of rope and leather. Though the others tried not to watch they still noticed some of their guests' peculiar mannerisms. For instance, they greeted each other by tapping antlers together and before any of them entered a tent they would grab any weapons from their body and set them next to the entrance.
Despite the tearmachais’ towering physiques most of what they did throughout the day was practice on intricate flutes and two stringed banjos. Occasionally they would buy food from the inn or ask for news of the world. It wasn’t until the sun had set that their camp sprung to life.
A huge bonfire about 15 feet tall had been constructed in the center of their encampment. As if that weren’t enough to draw a spectacle soon arose a chant of, “Come one. Come all. The flames are growing tall. Come sit. Come eat. This feast can’t be beat.” Slowly the five humans wandered out to the festivities. Each person was greeted with a cheer upon their arrival. Finally, when Lachlann had arrived the tearmachai that had spoken before spoke again.
“Welcome friends before nature’s hearth. Your food and hospitality, when you have so little, has inspired us to show you what we have a talent for. I am called traveling chieftain but you can refer to me by chief.” Chief reached into a leather pouch that hung at his side and pulled out a small crystal that glowed silver. When the boys from Elderbrook saw it they each were reminded of the crystals from the cave with the statue of Lykos.
As he raised the crystal above his head, its light hit the bonfire and the flames began to dance away from the wood. “We are known as storytellers far and wide, and the story I wish to share is one of caution. This story is one predicted to pass should we not try our hardest to avoid it. However, as is customary I must set the scene.” The flames gathered in a circle and grew until they looked like a group of giants conversing. “We all know that our world was created by a congress of gods. However, when they saw that the world was empty each among them created a race and gifted them a piece of their divinity. “ The flames then one by one separated into smaller flames until only 3 large flames were left. “Those who made a race drifted into sleep until there were only 3 gods to watch over us. Fuaracean, Athairte, and Malagon.” At the first two names a cheer rose only to be drowned out by jeers for the third.
“Malagon hated mortals so he created an army of demons to hunt mortals and since the new races had no experience in combat, they soon were almost extinct.” One of the tall fires gained an evil ghoulish grin as it sent out smaller flames the gobbled up the other small flames. At this moment a somber melody began on the pipes. “As all of our ancestors were about to be extinguished, the twins Fuaracean and Athairte picked up their weapons and forced the demonic horde back.” The flute played a triumphant movement as the two large flames dashed the smaller ones with what looked like a spear and axe.
“It wasn’t long before they found Malagon cowering in his cave. Though he tried to fight back that place would be his tomb.” Ashes swept up into the fire to make the appearance of a black claw that tried to attack the other flames but failed. As the flame that represented Malagon shrank to an ember a drum mimicked the sound of a heart beat slowing. “So, Malagon fell to slumber and peace was restored. However, a new threat arose when the races intermingled. Their divine sparks clashed and harmed their descendants. This was the beginning of the Porils.” The flames were wiped clean and then two human sized flames hugged and created a smaller flame that seemed to struggle to move. “The gods who created us had accidentally cursed us. Soon these creatures began to propagate and fall for the call of Malagon. Using their power, Malagon managed to curse the land around him and begin his resurrection.”
A gathering of small flames tried to coax the ember to rise as foreboding music sounded. “Luckily, the twin foresaw this and split the tomb from the rest of the land with a single bridge for each race to guard. So, now every 20 years the Porils grow to dense for their own home and try to breach the forts but we valiantly stop them.” A rift in the ground separated the ember from everything else. “Thinking our world safe Fuaracean split himself into 7 aspects meant to guide the races. Then Athairte not wanting to be alone entered his own eternal slumber.” One flame broke into seven embers while another died down along with the music. “Now we uphold our duty and every 20 years raise forces to combat the threat but in the corner of the world where none can see... he lurks... preparing to rise.” The ember began to stir from within its prison. “Malagon is returning to burn all you love and return the world to vacant. So, I beseech you join hands with the other races for we must enter the tomb during the next swarm to slay Malagon while he is weak.” A man shaped fire moved forward and stabbed the ember in its infancy.
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