Dillon

To tell the story of Dillon we have to start with the story of the CinderHeart, their stories are intertwined. You want to start with the reason the CinderHeart went insane? There are many reasons, but mainly it has to do with the mark. You know, the Starburst mark that Dillon now bears. You see, once many years ago, the Starburst belonged to the CinderHeart. But he didn't go by CinderHeart back then. Then he was known Anselm. He was a great warrior, the pride of his people. He was intelligent and charismatic, a born leader in every sense.

His father was the guardian of the Sechiel tribe. The Sechiel were an old people who lived in the jungles of Dornicia away from the protected domain of the Lord at Port Regency. To the tribe there was danger all around. Orcs and goblins were a constant threat to village, raiding livestock, attacking traders and often invading the village to take what the villagers worked so hard to produce. Because of the constant struggle, there was always a warrior who protected the tribe. This was the job of Anselm’s father, and was to be Anselm’s when the time was right.

But then, perhaps too soon, Anselm’s father was killed in a freak accident. The villagers tried to save him, they pulled his body bloody, and crushed from the landslide. Quickly, the carried the body to the village shaman. The shaman examined the body and knew that it was beyond his ability to heal. He would have to transfer the Starburst to Anselm, and do it quickly. Starburst you ask? Well, I'll come back to that in a few minutes.

Never before had the Starburst been transferred from the dead to the living and the shaman was afraid of the consequences of doing so. Anselm was brought to the shamans hut, and without explanation and prepared for the ritual. He looked on as his father slowly lost his grip on life and the Shaman chanted on and on in an eerie, singsong manner. Then suddenly, the Shaman moved, his hand swiping quickly over his father’s face and hitting Anselm, palm outward over his left eye.

Anselm struggled to clear his vision, and saw the shaman slowly closing the eyes of his father’s body. The ritual marking of the Starburst over his eye was gone. Quickly, Anselm crawled over to the shaman's wash basin and looked at his reflection in the shimmering water. Over his left eye, almost glowing, was the Starburst his father once bore with such pride. The shock was intense, losing ones father and becoming responsible for his people in mere seconds.

Some think that perhaps, that is where the seeds of insanity were sown. Others think that perhaps it came from a darker place. That maybe, despite the shaman’s efforts, Anselm’s father lost his fight with the reaper just as the ritual completed. And when the shaman took the Starburst, a part of Anselm’s father so deep that it touched his soul, he unknowingly took part of the underworld where the soul had departed to. Nobody can say for sure.

Oh, the Starburst. Yes, I did say I would come back to that. The Starburst was a symbol of power among the Sechiel. Actually, it was not only a symbol of power, but a source as well. It was a passed through a long line of strong, noble warriors. Each and every one was proud to be the Champion of the village, to protect his people from the dangers of the Jungle. Legends say that Arcovian was the first to receive the Starburst. Now, their legends have, of course, idolized the actions of Arcovian to the point of immortality, but I can say with certainty that the Starburst was an accident. Granted, it was a fortuitous accident, but an accident none the less.

Arcovian was a warrior all right, but not what you would considered an honorable warrior despite what the legends say. He was even considered by those who knew him to be a bit of a rogue. And he had a vice. He loved to gamble. The problem was he was not very good at it. He lost more often then he won. Well, one day Arcovian was playing a game of poker with a particularly powerful mage whose name has since been lost in time, and for a change, Arcovian was winning. When the last hand was called, Arcovian was the winner. He grinned triumphantly, and scooped the shining pile of gold and silver up into his helm. The mage scowling, muttered something under his breath, and left the table.

When Arcovian got back to the room he had rented and started counting his winning, he noticed that all the gold the wizard had bet was turning into lead. The damned mage had used a glamour spell to make it look like gold. Enraged, Arcovian grabbed his sword and ran into the street looking for the mage. Finally Arcovian tracked his quarry to a different tavern. He barged in and flung a handful of the lead disks into the face of the mage.

Humiliated in front of the crowd, the mage began an ominous incantation and pointed his crystal tipped staff at Arcovian. Realizing the danger of angering mages, Arcovian slashed with all his strength, not at the wizard, but at his glowing staff. As Arcovain’s sword bit through the hickory length of the staff, the wizard released his spell. Unfortunately for the wizard, the staff was severed before the magic could reach the crystal to focus the might of spell. The magic, almost as if it had a mind of its own, flared back at the mage. When the smoke cleared, nothing was left of the mage at all, except a small smoking pile of ash on the floor and the crystal tipped end of his staff.

Arcovian stooped and recovered the crystal and quickly exited the tavern. He returned to his room, shaken at his near encounter with death. If he had been a second slower, he would have been the pile of ash smoking on the tavern floor. At least he had gotten something for his efforts. He pulled his hard won prize out of his pocket, and pried the crystal from the wooden tip. The crystal sparkled nicely in the light; it could be valuable. Arcovian pulled it close to his eye to look for flaws that would devalue it. Holding it up to the light, he looked deep into the crystal. At which point it moved, flying of its own accord directly into his left eye. A final act of vengeance from the wizard? Maybe.

Partially blind and in intense pain, Arcovian cried out to the goddess of his tribe, the earth goddess, to make the pain go away. As if infuriated by his cries, the crystal dug deeper and spread outward. In a final desperate act, Arcovian pledge himself to the earth goddess if she would just make the pain go away. And in that instant, the pain faded and Arcovian sight returned. A changed man, Arcovian returned to his village, a proud blue Starburst emblazoned across his left eye. Through prayer and meditation Arcovain found ways to use the magic of the crystal in his role as the Champion for his people and he carried it successfully until he passed the Starburst to his son.

The Starburst has since been passed down through the ages, always to the Champion of the Sechiel. Always to a good, strong man. That is until Anselm. Oh, yes. There is much more of his story. You could even say, it is still being written by the fates. You wish me to continue? Perhaps a drink to sooth a parched throat?

Now, back to Anselm. Where was I? Oh yes, he had just received the Starburst and lost his father. He became Champion. His training in the use of the Starburst had barely begun when his father had died, and he had just begun his true combat training. Now the Champion of the Sechiel is a post that comes with very great responsibility. Anselm became the protector of the tribe even though he was really just a boy, and that great weight may have added to his instability. For the next 5 years he was trained rigorously by almost every member of the tribe.

The village elders drilled the duties of his position into him. Anselm was clever, and he studied hard and soon was able to recite his long, proud lineage and all their accomplishment. He knew the ceremonies he was to be part of precisely and the ritual words to speak at which time. The village elders were delighted in his diligence in study and his quickness of mind.

The village shaman worked him long and hard on ways to use the Starburst. He learned that it could be used to make trees, bushes and grass grab at his enemy’s legs and slow them in combat. It could be used to mask his passing through the jungle, so he could move without leaving a trail. It could be used to create bright light to blind his enemies or even to ward off magic cast at him. He learned all these things and many others that his forefathers had discovered and, in private, found new uses for the Starburst. Its magic was very powerful and exacted very little penalties for its use so Anselm was able to experiment without fear. Soon he had mastered all that the Shaman could teach him of the Starburst.

The village warriors all took turns teaching Anselm as well. It was probably at combat that he was the most adept. He quickly mastered all the bladed weapon techniques used by the village warriors, and by the end of his training, was able to beat all the warriors with or without weapons. The orc and goblin raids began increasing again, just as Anselm’s training was completed. It was at this time that he began to develop his other major skills, leadership and tactics.

Anselm was a very charismatic young man. He was able to organize resistance far superior to any that his ancestors had contrived. Time and time again he destroyed vastly superior orcish forces brought against his small, poorly equipped forces. Eventually the orcish attacks subsided and Anselm decided it was time to continue his training elsewhere. He departed his people and went east towards the great city of Port Regency and then North to the arena at Alsorona. Always observing and mastering techniques requiring greater and greater skill.

It was almost a year before Anselm returned to his people, his skill greatly sharpened. He returned to the village expecting a heroes return, but finding the village gathered around the chief’s home. Asking one of the warriors what was happening, he found that the chief’s daughter, Mehyr, had returned from her schooling from the followers of Gaia in the great city Wyer Cliff. Anselm remembered the girl, thin, scrawny, and rather plain, who had left for schooling almost 8 years before. The villagers were probably just excited about the stories of the great city. Well, he had stories as well!

Pushing his way to the center of the crowd, Anselm suddenly came face to face with the most beautiful woman he had ever met. Raven dark hair framed her creamy white face and her perfect body was encased in a flowing white robe. Her glittering, sky blue eyes stared at Anselm, slightly startled at his sudden appearance. Anselm was speechless. He was able only to stare in rapt awe at the woman before him. He vowed to himself that someday, she would be his.

In the following years Anselm did his best to impress Mehyr, but many think that she saw the dark seed in his soul and did her best to politely refute his advances. Each and every failed attempt to win her built up inside of Anselm until he decided on a different course of action. He would force her to see him as her protector. In secret, Anselm began meeting with the orc and goblins. He guaranteed them that with him leading them, he would increase the bounty they gathered if the followed his every order. Awed by his combat skill and charisma, the orcs and goblins agreed. He began to organize them into force to attack the Sechiel and many other tribes in the area. His plan was simple, set up attacks that he would drive off and Mehyr would have to see him as her protector.

He started leading attacks against the outlying homes and farms wearing black chain armor and a helmet formed in the likeness of a skull. He issued all his commands in orcish, killing many of his people as well as those from other tribes, but always leaving a few survivors from each attack to spread word of the events. Then he escalated his plans. He would give the orcs the battle plans and layout of the village defenses, and when they would overrun the village, he would force them back almost single handedly.

The orcs and goblins were still pillaging more than they had in years, and their devotion to him continued to grow. They showered him with riches and answered his every whim, but Anselm still lacked the one thing he so desperately desired, Mehyr. The rage and frustration in Anselm continued to grow and, finally, became too much for him. If she would not be his willingly, he had the power to take her.

Donning his black armor and skull helmet, he led the orcs directly into the heart of the village. The warriors were in disarray. Never before had they been lacking their champion when the attacks were directed against the village itself. Many were slaughtered; even more were wounded as Anselm drove towards the heart of the village. He broke off alone, and tore into the chieftain’s home, heading directly for Mehyr’s room. He found her there alone, cowering in the corner. He moved into the room, his skull mask gleaming in the moonlight. He forced himself on her, tearing her robes off, slapping her into submission. When he finished, he left her there, limp and beaten and headed back to his home. Unseen, he changed his armor, and headed back to the battle, to drive the orcs from his village.

When Mehyr awoke, she was alone and bloodied. Sobbing, she dragged herself to the window and cried out. Anselm looked up from the street below. Acting surprised, he ran into the home and gathered her in his arms. He covered her in a sheet from her bed, and carried to the stream, where he gently washed the blood from her face. Eventually her sobbing came to an end and she asked to be alone to clean herself up. Anselm walked away from the stream, a shadow of a grin on his face, and went to see to the wounded and dead.

When the village recovered from the attack, Anselm covered his absence by contriving a story of being ambushed in the jungle. He explained that after beating his foes, he made his way to the village, driving back many of the orc raiders. It had been after that when he heard Mehyr cry out to him from the window.

Unknown to Anselm, his rape had caused a child to form in Mehyr. It was several months later before she knew she was with child, and she told only her father and the village shaman.

The orc raids continued in the outlying areas and Anselm was actually enjoying himself. He had a horde of loyal followers, the power of the Starburst and an unmatched skill with the blade. Being a Champion made him merely village property, protector of farmers and weavers, but with the orcs, he was their Leader. He made the decisions. He decided who lived or died.

But there was something missing, there was a hollow part of his life was where Mehyr should be. After the rape, he had pretended to be a gentle and considerate friend, and yet Mehyr refused to turn to him for comfort. Well, he would just have to repeat the experience for her. Grinning evilly, he donned his skull helmet and summoned his troops to him.

The village was a lot more prepared this time even though their Champion had disappeared. A farmer had seen the orcs gathering and had run to warn the village. The warriors planned to cut off the orc leader from the main body of the troops and dispose of him quickly. Without a leader, the orcs were likely to fall into chaos. The warriors fell quickly back under the onslaught of the orcs, allowing the best warriors to flank the army and cut off the black clad leader.

Anselm was surprised. Without him to lead them, the villagers had always fallen before the strength of the orcs. He suddenly found himself surrounded by his old teachers, all intent on killing him. Even a swordsman as skilled as Anselm has some difficulty fighting off eight weapon masters. Luckily for him, Anselm was familiar with all their tactics, and was able to slay three of them without them so much as scratching him. The remaining five concentrated their efforts and Anselm found himself forced to rely on the power of the Starburst to fend off their attacks. He was enraged, never before had he been forced to use magic during swordplay. He had always had the skill required to beat his opponents. He muttered the incantation and the Starburst flared to life, the hot crystal burning into his eye. His sword burst into flames from the power of the magic.

It should have been easy from there, and would have been if it hadn't been for the bravery of one of his opponents. Kammra, the oldest warrior in the tribe, threw himself on the blazing tip of the sword. He knew he would die as he held tight onto Anselm’s arm. He watched his life blood as it drained onto the ground below, praying it would give the others time to kill this devil spawned warrior. His dead weight drug the blazing sword towards the ground. With his guard down, the other warriors attacked. A razor sharp sword whistled through the air towards Anselm’s head. Anselm jerked backward slightly, but the sword connected with a glancing blow to his helmet, cracking a portion of the faceplate away.

The warriors backed away in shock, with the face plate removed they recognized Anselm, but what horrified them most was the Starburst. The mystic gem was not glowing with the gentle blue it normally did when it was in use. Instead, it pulsated with a blood red light. Anselm staggered to his feet, cursing. The warriors quickly recovered from their surprise, and rallied forth, hurling curses at the black hearted traitor. Anselm was beaten back, but, luckily, before the warriors could subdue him, Anselm’s newest creations broke through the line of villagers towards their leader.

His creations? Yes, you heard me correctly. Remember that I told you Anselm had found new uses for the Starburst. One of the things he discovered was a way to bring out the most prominent characteristics of creatures, and to enhance them. Yes, it had been innocent enough in the beginning. Nothing more than an accident as he was exploring the uses of the Starburst. But he had found a much better use for it.

Cutting through the villagers were several ebon skinned orcs, larger, stronger and fiercer than their brethren. Anselm had brought out all the characteristics he desired in a personal guard. After all, he was almost a king now, and kings had guards. The Black Orcs pushed back the village warriors, giving Anselm time to withdraw. With fresh blood coursing down his face and his ego stung with his first taste of defeat, Anselm gave the command to his troops to withdraw back into the protection of the jungle.

It was several days before the matter of Anselm could be brought before the elders. The village had suffered many losses and had to remove and care for the bodies, as well as rebuild fortifications destroyed during the battle. It was a grim time indeed. An air of despair hung over the village. Not only had they lost their Champion, but also he had turned against those who respected and cared for him. He had used the skills he learned against those who had taught him, and all the warriors knew they he was far beyond them in ability now.

Mehyr was probably the hardest hit by the events. She walked about in a daze most of the time. Filled with loathing that the child of a traitor, rapist, and murderer was growing inside of her. He had even corrupted the purity of the Starburst, the symbol of a proud, good people. For that, despite her training by the priests of Gaia, she could never forgive him. She contemplated suicide many times, but the idea of the value of life had been ingrained in her very being so she was left with no outlet for her pain.

When the elders finally convened to discuss the event, the villagers had begun to notice Mehyr’s growing stomach. Rumors abounded about the father. Mehyr had no choice to but tell the elders of her rape. The elders where appalled that Anselm would sink so low, but this despicable act gave them a small glimmer of hope. If the bloodline was still intact, perhaps they could capture Anselm, and transfer the mark to the child. With the whole of village involved from the beginning, they could raise a good person to be champion. The elders declared Anselm dead the village, the bearer of the Starburst would be know from then on as the CinderHeart. One whose heart had been thrust in the fire of life, and had been consumed to nothing by its flame.

It was really their only hope. Anselm would not be taken so easily again. With proper planning, he would be able to hammer the village’s defenses. With the added power of the Starburst he could possible overrun the entire village. The elders sent runners to the surrounding villages, telling them of the danger they now faced, and recruiting extra men if they had them to spare. They even went so far as to hire mercenaries to aid them in their fight.