â ď¸ Immortals: Scribes of the Flame
Crafted by Veydras to record all thingsâbut some would rather rewrite their own.
I. The Hollow Flame
When the world was raw with war and ruin, and Grimspireâs earth groaned with unburied dead, a shadow rose from the chasmâs heart.
Veydras, the Hollow Flame.
Reaper of Threads. Sovereign of the Underworld.
A being of black fire and bone, tasked with the ceaseless cycle of rebirthâgathering souls from the shattered and returning them to the world above.
Reaper of Threads. Sovereign of the Underworld.
A being of black fire and bone, tasked with the ceaseless cycle of rebirthâgathering souls from the shattered and returning them to the world above.
But even a god weeps beneath the weight of duty.
To aid his burden, he forged the Immortalsâsouls stripped of past, given purpose anew. They were placed into bones pulled from scorched battlefields and ruined tombs. No blood. No fear. No memory. Just⌠duty.
II. Scribes of the End
These skeletal vessels walked where no others dared. Through wars, plagues, and pyres.
They spoke to generals mid-siege, comforted the dying, and whispered with ghosts long lost.
Every word recorded. Every soulâs pain noted.
They spoke to generals mid-siege, comforted the dying, and whispered with ghosts long lost.
Every word recorded. Every soulâs pain noted.
They were scribes of legacyâunbiased, unflinching, unliving.
They bore quills sharper than daggers and minds soaked in story.
They bore quills sharper than daggers and minds soaked in story.
Yet mortals feared them.
To walk beside death unnerved even the boldest.
So the Immortals masked their bonesâdonning flesh-like faces of porcelain, bronze, or bark. Each mask a lie to soothe the living.
So the Immortals masked their bonesâdonning flesh-like faces of porcelain, bronze, or bark. Each mask a lie to soothe the living.
III. Whispers of the Wandering Dead
Immortals possess a rare gift: the Voice of Veydras.
With it, they can commune with the deadâghosts, echoes, souls stuck between moments.
They offer counsel to spirits in limbo, coaxing them toward peace or penning their last wishes into ink.
With it, they can commune with the deadâghosts, echoes, souls stuck between moments.
They offer counsel to spirits in limbo, coaxing them toward peace or penning their last wishes into ink.
Yet not all spirits are kind.
And not all Immortals are patient.
And not all Immortals are patient.
Some bargain with phantoms. Others⌠unleash them.
IV. The Curse of Continuance
Immortals cannot truly die.
When their skeletal form is shattered, their spirit flickersâthen rekindles. A new body, same soul.
But with each return, some claim⌠they change.
But with each return, some claim⌠they change.
They remember fragments they were never meant to.
A loverâs laugh. A scream in fire. A name.
A loverâs laugh. A scream in fire. A name.
Some Immortals snap.
Others seek more than scribingâthey seek truth, rebellion, freedom.
A rare few even become heroes⌠or villains.
Yet there are those who feel the echoes of a life before.
Like whispers beneath the static, some Immortals dream of faces theyâve never met, loves they never knew, lives they never livedâor perhaps once did.
Others seek more than scribingâthey seek truth, rebellion, freedom.
A rare few even become heroes⌠or villains.
Yet there are those who feel the echoes of a life before.
Like whispers beneath the static, some Immortals dream of faces theyâve never met, loves they never knew, lives they never livedâor perhaps once did.
They wonder what memories Veydras burned from their soul-threads.
Some seek forbidden rites to reclaim these lost echoes.
Others drift into madness, chasing ghosts of lives they no longer remember.
Some seek forbidden rites to reclaim these lost echoes.
Others drift into madness, chasing ghosts of lives they no longer remember.
The only known death is The Null Tombâ
A box of arcane glass that seals the soul within,
forever silencing its cycle.
A box of arcane glass that seals the soul within,
forever silencing its cycle.
These prisons are relics of dread,
locked away in vaults⌠or hunted by those who fear what the Immortal might become.
locked away in vaults⌠or hunted by those who fear what the Immortal might become.
V. Tales Yet Told
Though created to observe, many Immortals now live.
They lead rebellions. They write plays. They fall in love. They run bars.
They lead rebellions. They write plays. They fall in love. They run bars.
Some wear crowns, others shackles.
But all remember the first command:
But all remember the first command:
âRecord the truth. Return to me.â
Not all do.
And somewhere in the burning depths,
Veydras waitsâhis hands open, his ledger blank.
Veydras waitsâhis hands open, his ledger blank.