A fire to be tended.

Scorpius D'Angelo · 06-21-2012, 07:32 PM

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ooc 400+

Without the torches it would always seem like night reigned within the Howling Caverns of Anathema, the maze winding so profoundly that the sunlight could not penetrate the depths of the inner mountain. There was a time when Scorpius, the shadowy son of Naniko, would have reeled away from the lights in horror, knowing all too well the pain that the flame could inflict. But that was not the case anymore. The moping, weak puppy who was so terrified of the fire now walked down the hallways, checking on the strength of each flame and lighting those that had gone out. He paused around one darkened bend and retrieved a spent torch from the sconce on the wall, replacing the dead wood for a new, dried and carved branch. He had affixed dry straw and kindling to the end so it would light fully.

Reaching into a pouch tied to his belt he proffered his fire tool; a lump of mineral… flint and steel. He had perfected this action and it only took him two strikes before a spark leapt from his hands and landed in the straw. He blew on it gently, and within seconds the curl of smoke was swallowed by a brilliant flame. That should do nicely. Satisfied with his work, he picked up the spent torch and the few new ones he carried, and continued down the hallway.

This particular path had taken him to the kitchen. He knew he was there by the smell of the cook fire that constantly burned in the center of the cavern long before he ever saw the glow of the well lit room. The scent of food also filled the area, a hundred meals cooked here for his pack. He stepped into the kitchen and glanced around. Somehow, despite the food stores nearby, he could not find his appetite here. He may have overcome his fear of fire – traded it for a deep lust – but to him this room still smelled like his burning flesh and he would never find it possible to eat in this place.

Ruby eyes stared at the flames that danced in the middle of the room for a moment. All trace of what once happened here was gone. The wood had long ago been burned, the ash swept away, but still a part of him always remained here. At least Harlowe, that bastard brother of his, was dead...

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