This Eyrie is like fire, they used to say. They used to say loads of stupid things – not that they ever really stopped. But nowadays, you probably wouldn't hear anyone comparing Siskal to Fire itself. Sometimes his eyes would blaze up, but those moments were like flashing lights in summer storms… although daunting, they passed too fast and would usually be forgotten soon.

Upon hearing his story, most would say that it was probably time that got the best of him. Fire, after all, is bound to expire at one point. Nothing can burn forever.

Maybe time benumbed his limbs, clouded his mind, choked the fire he had within. Maybe.

But who knows, in the end? Who can tell what state he is in, when he himself refuses to either admit or deny any questions?

memories

It doesn't matter how much of an excellent fighter you are if you try to go up against the past. Past itself is not beatable, since it is not changeable. The things you did you have done. There is no way to turn this around. It doesn't matter how heavy your regrets weigh on you. You can't go back in time. You can't change who you were then.

never show them how scared you are

Oomph! Air left all of his lungs and for a moment, he was only aware of blackness before his eyes and the taste of sand on his tongue. From somewhere far away, laughter came through to his ears - then he regained the sense of himself and rolled around onto his back, just in time to avoid another hit.

Siskal hissed angrily, but rather at himself than at his opponent, who outdid the small Eyrie easily in speed. It didn't seem as if Siskal had any minor chances against the Kougra in front of him, who - similar to himself - only wore some bandages to protect her paws during the fight.

Because their leader called them an unfair advantage, Siskals wings were also tied onto his back. With the aid of his wings, he could maybe have kept up with the amazing speed of his opponent - but there was no time to be spent on such thoughts during a fight, so Siskal abandoned them and charged, stirring up the sand beneath his paws.

This time he avoided the hit that had led into him being sent face-first into the sand - he thought it strange that she didn't use another method - and went straight towards her throat, planning out in only a few seconds how he had to hit her just right on the back of her head to put her out for a few minutes - it would be enough for him to win - but somehow, he didn't even see her doing it, she had twisted her body and he found his head in between her hind paws.

Time slowed down.

Siskal knew he had lost, saw the ground coming closer, knew that he would hit the sand really hard and there was only one thing he could do - try to lessen the impact.

He was able to put his paws forward but not much more and he couldn't help the fact that the hit to his head couldn't be avoided completely.

Pain took his breath away. Someone yelled Alright, that's enough!

The students that had gathered round to watch the fight - it was them who were laughing, it was quite something to see one of the best rookies in the camp being manhandled by a girl, even though it was a more experienced, older student, she was still a girl and the rookies, mostly boys, were young enough to appreciate this as something quite hilarious - they scattered away and the chattering died down with their disappearing.

It was the leader who had yelled before and who now stood between his two trainees. Can't get up, can you?, he said, with worry in his eyes that was pure mockery and stooped to make eye contact with Siskal, who grunted in anger and pain, his eyes pure fire.

There will always be someone stronger than you,, the leader continued to say, ignoring the agony of his student, but you are still a kid and you will make it far. Remember this fight. Learn from it.

The leader stood up, but made no move to help Siskal up, who struggled to lift his body weight off of the ground. It was the Kougra girl who aided him almost forcefully to push his body in a standing position, although he felt shaky on his legs. She smiled a loopsided smile and brushed some off the sand and dust off of his fur. On the positive side, you're still an impressive kid - you should be out cold after that last hit, you know.

born to be whatever. raised to fight.

You know those unwritten laws everybody talks about once in a while? Those abstract concepts of facts that can't or sha'n't be any other way?

Here's another one:
If you are raised to fight, that's what you'll do.

Where Siskal came from, who his parents are - all of this is a little blurry. As far as Siskal himself is concerned, he doesn't have parents, his home is the battlefield. He spent his childhood in a preparation camp that concerned itself with the always looming danger of war, where he was trained into an excellent fighter, a warrior who earned himself an infamous reputation.

Don't try to go up against that one, they whispered among each other, it's like playing with fire.

If you belong to the few who haven't ever heard of him, you may find that he is altogether a pleasant sort of fellow, easy to talk to and likely to invite you to a cup of tea and an intelligent conversation.

But this, my friend, is nothing but a shallow picture. Maybe that's how he could have been, if it weren't for his past, that is.

Because no matter how much time passes, no matter how he tries to distance himself from any battles - the warrior within him exists and cannot be erased. The excitement and intoxication of a fight is always present in memory and those memories push him towards the battledome.

In his subconscious, at least, he wants to fight. It is what he was raised for, what he is good at. It is what he needs.

These days, Siskal seems harmless. He rejects the idea of war, probably so because he experienced it himself.
But as soon as he enters the battlefield - what he does every now and then because it is his addiction, he needs the rush as much as he needs air to breath - he is ablazing again.

It is only at night, that ghosts of the past haunt him.
It is only at night he sees all the suffering he is to blame for.

It is at night that he discovers he can't sleep anymore.

Conscience can be a heavy thing.

nobody said it was easy

There were times of war, when nobody cared much for the body count and nobody asked how one managed to kill the enemy. With a sword, with claws, with fire... Siskal never had to explain his techniques. He was efficient. And that was the important thing.

Sometimes, Siskal turned blind with rage in a battle. It happened rarely, but it did happen - those times when his vision was filled with fire, when he couldn't see anything but flames - and when he came to himself again, he had burned his enemy to a crisp, or worse - could watch them scream, afire.

Siskal never had many friends, the least of all in battle. Not many liked to be close to him when he lost control. There were a few who stood close to him, but they are difficult to get a hold on - some simply vanished, some are wounded by the memory of war more than he is. Contact has been lost.

The reason?
Nobody ever knows the reasons for things like that. They simply happen.

the present

These days, Siskal is mostly on his own. He doesn't like to be alone, but he's wary of approaching others and tends to be a little paranoid concerning those who try to approach him - in other words, if he feels someone is following him, that someone is very likely to make the acquaintance of his dagger accompanied by a rather unsettling interrogation - who are you? how did you find me? what do you want?

I ask you, guest, how would you react with a blade on your throat and threatening questions in your ear? If you answer like most, you will be fleeing the scene after pleading innocence or something equal to it and Siskal could watch you run without much of any kind of emotion in his glance. Good riddance or grave mistake? Siskal is lonely, but he can't help being paranoid towards strangers (or towards those he knows, but can't help mistrusting even then).

cellacrimo

Not everyone, however, reacts the way I mentioned before upon meeting Siskal. One exception is cellacrimo, a mutated eyrie that made Siskal's acquaintance on a rather involuntary basis.

It is easy to recall what happened because it was so very unusual. Upon having the typical questions thrown in his face while having a dagger dangerously close to his throat, all cellacrimo could think of doing was shooting right back. Are you mad?!, he hollered into Siskal's surprised face, As if that day wasn't screwed up enough already without someone trying to kill me!

Basically, cellacrimo ranted and didn't stop ranting for a while, even after Siskal backed off. Siskal continued staring at this very, very strange kind of moron, talking on and on about the day he had, the serious mess life was in general and how uncalled it was to be attacked yet again by some kind of lunatic or other... the list goes on. cellacrimo really doesn't know when to stop talking.

Once the much younger, foolhardy eyrie ran out of breath, there was a moment of silence between the two - a silence that Siskal broke. I'm Siskal. Do you want to be my friend?, he asked, ignoring all that had been thrown into his face a few seconds ago. cellacrimo stared at him, flabbergasted.

Are you mad?!

The two of them should probably measure their issues against each other, it is difficult to say which one has more. But since that day, Siskal keeps declaring cellacrimo a friend, and cellacrimo keeps denying it. Sometimes, they seem to get along. But, well... only sometimes.

to be yourself is all that you can do

Siskal is a very proud wearer of fire and collected some pictures of Fire Eyries over the years. Come closer, have a look:

dream of alternate realities

Siskal's looks go with fire - fire is what defines him. These days, this fact isn't as obvious anymore. And that is because Siskal learned to conceal his true self to everyone's eyes. It's a hazardous task to go into what one may call fume mode to hide his fire, but once managed, he can easily keep it up for however long he pleases. He can't hide the fire fully, though. The signs under his eyes that represent the alchemy fire symbol are always visible, and similar markings can be found on his wings. (Un)Luckily, few know of the meaning this symbol has, so Siskal can easily pass as harmless on the first glance when he is in fume mode. It is also that mode that makes it hard to believe in his past.

When Siskal doesn't hide his fire - moments that are rare these days, he allows his fire to burn hardly anywhere outside of the battledome - he seems to embody fire itself (which is, of course, nonsense). His mane, tail and wings are burning in this state, and although this does not bring any discomfort to Siskal, it can burn others by touch. It is with that appearance that Siskal becomes a fighter to be feared.

Reference picture yet to come.

Drag the picture in the address bar for full size. If you want to draw a portrait of me, I would be more than happy to see the results and show them off in my gallery.

I can't do this by myself

You have changed so much that I can hardly recognise you anymore. What happened to the green ixi with a head as thick as steel who I've learned to know?

There are many times I've been close to death, but the one I remember most vividly is that time when you've saved me from drowning. I never told you how I ended up there and you never asked. The one thing I dislike about you is the distance between us.

Young and foolish in so many aspects - but still I am glad you are around. You are someone I can trust. And if somebody tries to harm you, I will set them afire.

I don't understand how someone can be so very beautiful, and never do you do harm to anyone, never do you mistrust or suspect... I envy you for this pure soul of yours. Never change.

let's head for somewhere

So, guest, you've had a look through Siskal's life, his personal thoughts and fears. You should feel privileged... and be aware, too, that if you get strange ideas, like stealing or trying to use any of the information here against Siskal, you will be roasted alive. For now, farewell! And please be careful on your journey home.

backdoors

Harwol's dreams

cellacrimo's roleplay introduction