*You stare down at the tatty leatherbound book, the front cover dotted with strange engraved insignias. An 'I' is centred on the front cover. You turn the page to see several small sketches besides messy handwriting.*

Endfires Infernos|| Volume I: Foundation of The Fire by Reece Samuel Fallow

The Beginning: Foundation of the Fire - IV 1403

The Destined Saviours

Virgil – Virgil was born and raised in the small Fishing Community of Salemhope, Northern Bordermere ( IV 1384 ). He grew up with his Father Christopher and Mother Rhoin. Blessed under the Deity of Barose, creator and holder of the Sacred. He was brought up to train as a Gunslinger for the Serrand Imperials. He stands roughly six foot four, his hair a light brown, just over shoulder length. His fringe hangs just above his piercing green eyes. His hair is raised high with long sides of hair brushing his cheek. A single braid hangs from his left side. He has little facial hair but his voice is clear and dominating, if sometimes in a low tone. He is a focused young man with priorities set and goals focused. His kind heart reaches to everyone around him in times of need but is often darkened by confrontation. His soul is some what tainted and his future of alliance is unclear. He wears a long brown coat that settles besides his unstrapped boots, dirtied from his constant desire to walk. He wears a robe top, mere peasant colours; shades of brown, black and light green which are slightly faded. It’s stitched along the belt line. His trousers are loose and ripped but tucked into his boots. Various pouches hang from his belt, containing Gun slinging materials. A small neckerchief hangs loosely around his neck, a light green, worn from years of use. His gloves are tight fingerless patched ones with a small symbol on the back of his left one. The Symbol of Barose. He holsters his Fathers weapons. The Pistol has a long ebony barrel with a murky brown handle. The ammunition is loaded into a cylinder which holds one hundred and thirty three lead bullets. The cylinder is wider than the pistol by about four inches and can fire a single shot which will give the hand cannon affect, knocking back the user or the trigger can be held down for a smoother, rapid fire action. The Pistol has been blessed on his father’s travels, highlighting all ammunition fired with a light blue glow, embedded with holy silver. His long sword hangs loosely from a belt on his right side
( left handed ). A long brown handle with no metal between it and the blade except for the Family Crest Embedded on the hilt of the blade. It sits comfortable in a long leather sheath.


Jessica – Jessica was born one year after Virgil ( IV 1385 ) and grew up in the same town as him, two streets away with her Father Oscar and Mother Diane. Jessica as a child was not blessed but in fact rumoured to be cursed. Her Parents witnessed her as a child committing amazing feats and assumed possession was the case. Through ignorance and anger the two separated, leaving Jessica to live with her Mother who went on to have another two children with a mysterious man. One Boy, One Girl. Jessica was outcast by peers through education and teenage years but one person stood by her, comforting her as a friend. This was Virgil. Her gift was the early signs of extended will powers or witch craft. This is not illegal as this is a world full of Magic Users. She should however, by law, have been committed to the Endfires School of Wizardry and Advanced Magicks. This was not the case and so when Virgil trained she would stand by him, matching his fire power with her own natural source. They practised in secret within a gorge that separated their town from the rest of the world. The only thing near was The Narrow Bridge. As they spent time together a strong bond grew between them, an undetermined love of friendship. They started a relationship which soon shattered when her Father returned, furious at the Brother and Sister she had. Virgil and she met in secret. She is reclusive Witch, her friendship extending as far as Virgil. She is cold and bitter but will always show compassion for Virgil. It is within her to be a good person but as her history unfolded it became harder and harder and now seems almost out of reach. She is a beautiful girl with shoulder length black hair. She wears a multi coloured bandanna that supports her fringe and covers most of her eyes. She gives the illusion of blindness but that is how she likes it, not being able to see what she can’t stand. She is petit girl standing five foot three. Her arms are tattooed and scarred, shrouded in bracelets and charms. She wears a long black robe that she has torn at the knees. The robe is embraided with magical white symbols. Her boots are tall, reaching her knees, leaving bare skin between it and the robe. From her shoulders, long black material hangs, brushing her back wear she holsters a large wooden staff, finely crafted and painted. The staff itself holds little, if no magical abilities but Magic users find it’s easier to channel abilities through objects so not to cause themselves harm.


Gerald – Gerald grew up alongside Virgil, born in the same year ( IV 1385 ) They bonded like Brothers from an early age and became the closest of friends. Gerald was raised by an age old farmer by the name of Lorien. Lorien found Gerald amongst the hay in his farm house, crying on a bleak afternoon. A note stated that Gerald would grow to serve Kings. With this in mind, Lorien began to train the boy to become a patsy of sorts, teaching him affective ways to pack bags, load and unload equipment, polish weapons, ration food and various other tasks that could be fulfilled amongst royalty. When Virgil first began training for the Serrand Imperials, Gerald swore to be alongside him no matter what, fighting beside him with a familiar cliché. Difference being, Gerald was an equal to Virgil, matching all of Virgil’s feats with equivalent ones of his own. Gerald was capable of awesome strength, through years of farming and backpacking for his Father who, shortly after his eleventh birthday, passed on, leaving him the farm and duties that would always need fulfilling. He is a thoughtful if somewhat over protective though he is quite temperamental and argumentative with tendencies to lash out at all those who offend him, refusing to stand down or be proven wrong. He always carries an unrealistic sense of optimism with him as he turns most bleak situations into beneficial ones when all along Virgil knows that the only way out is through a great deal of struggle and more often than not, suffering. He stands six foot two, his hair is short but yet still straggly shades of light blonde and ginger. His face seems dirtied from his work and his face holds a small blonde beard that grows wild from ear to ear, yet no longer than an inch or so. He wears simple farming gear; a dirtied white shirt with brown sleeveless jacket, a pair of baggy torn trousers, a dark shade of mud brown accompanied by a pair of worn boots. He carries a bag about everywhere with him. He wields a small scratched dagger, strapped to his bicep. Two axes hang from his belt; one is larger than the other, held comfortably in its own leather sheath. Towards the back of his belt is a smaller hand axe, showing signs of subtle bluntness. He is slightly stockier than Virgil but by no means fat. His eyes are a light shade of baby blue that contradicts his deep husky voice.



Harou – Harou was brought into the world as a sanctified being four years before any of the other saviours ( IV 1381 ). He was born within the Mountains of Virtuous Leviathan, raised by an order of enigmatic warriors, renowned world wide as ‘Spirits’. The Spirits taught Harou the ways of the Monk, famously known for their unique ability for control, increased natural defences, unarmed fighting and unsurpassed strength and agility. Each night he would stand on the cliff tops, dressed in his under garments and would sit patiently for a bird that he would then go on to train. Once he had fabricated a sense of trust with the bird he would have to remove one bone without killing it. Through extreme tasks like this he grew into a controlled force of destruction, having the ability to give and take life. The rigorous sparring with his Masters built him up to fight efficiently but only if he had to. After he had graduated from his unique lifestyle, the monks sent him on his way to become one of the few ‘Wandering Spirits’. His goal was to change the world. Once he succeeds it is said he would have a place among the Gods. He wandered for a year and a half, passing small villages and towns, running errands for the poor and helpless. He searched weeks for ingredients to present as cures for diseases, defended towns from bandits and even overthrew a Serrand Imperial grasp on a small Mining Colony. He then set off again only to come across a small isolated fishing community, linked to the world by a large bridge. As he crossed the bridge he heard a piercing noise rushing past him. With his amazing speed he rushed forwards ( for a monk this would be like someone teleporting ahead, leaving a blur ). He had just dodged a stray bullet and as he looked down below the bridge, a bright light shone. This would be the beginning of his final quest. He stands six feet four, his figure ripped with muscle for the limits of his skinny body. His eyes are a light blue, darkened by the shadow of his constant frown. His hair is just shorter than shoulder length and sweeps across his face, perfectly shaped and straight. It shines a light brown with a glowing tint of murky blonde. He wears a darkened white veil that masks his mouth and is set below his ear. It extends like shoulder pads and the rest hangs across his back like a cape. He is shirtless, his scars visible across his abdomen. A sun is tattooed just below his nipple. His trousers are a round baggy material, resistant to water and fire. Various chains hang loosely from them, holding pouches. His boots are darkened almost grey from travel and assist him as he runs at extreme speeds to cross water. The belt holding his trousers up holds a short sword that is sheathed just above his rear. The blade itself contains many tribal markings and words.


Scene I

A great darkness swells the screen. Faint glows of red and white erupt in the shadows. Two eerie voices exchange words, their voices deep and echoing, a mechanical tone ringing throughout the scene. Footsteps ring through gloom.

Voice I : The chosen one has not been notified? This is ludicrous. The child was to be told within the third moon rising. Hau crosses Fen and Sin once every seventeen years. This was an adequate amount of time.

Voice II : Please let me finish. Through ignorance you seem to be forgetting. If the child is to refuse its position, the whole cause will be determined void. To force a Human in this day and age is taxing at the least. Give it time Barose.

Barose : Time was given Balmor and your use of it is an insult. The Endfires must be lit. You know this and yet you still persist with this foolishness. They have become too powerful and from the whispers of the wind, I gather they wish to challenge for a place amongst Gods. This can not happen. David was issued a mission to end this lunacy and it seems greed has corrupted him too.

Balmor : Oh please Barose, what ever happened to unmaking err-

The footsteps halt.

Barose : How dare you?! The Holy Scripture clearly states that creations of Gods are irreversible. Tell me this you imprudent old fool, why would I bother revealing the chosen one if all of this nonsense could be upturned by myself?

A faint cackle begins to echo among the darkness and footsteps sound through the ebony scene once more.

Balmor : That scripture can burn for all I care. My friend, I do not abide by that commandment. For what it’s worth, I could end David’s life if you so desire.

Barose : Balmor, we both know David is no prophet of mine. His life is crucial for now, holding Sirr-ick and Evettes at bay. With him to focus their power on, the destined saviours can move ever closer to the Endfires Prism and when they have ignited the Endfires Inferno, a commandment can be broken. Only then will this madness end.

The voice of Barose takes a deep sigh. Light fills the scene, revealing an overwhelming hall. The walls and pillars look as if they have felt the gentle kiss of age, rapidly peeling and engulfed in ivy. Two cloaked figures stand side by side, walking amongst the history of their once inhabited home. The character of Barose is a genderless being ( though is often associated as a woman ), standing just below five foot seven. Barose is sheltered in a long brown robe, hanging just above her bare feet. Her hair is a shoulder length, waxen and is gently glowing. Her eyes are a deep blue, changing through emotion. Beside her is a tall man in pitch black robes, a hood that darkens his face, all except his chin which has patterns scarred into it, woven within a small black beard. His hands are like claws, his fingers long and spindly with extended talon like nails. As they talk, he holds out his palm which generates wispy black flames that swirl into small figures that begin fighting.

Balmor : Yes well. Time... apparently is an issue so I will take my leave. The destined saviours will be notified of a quest they must partake in. The Wandering Spirit will aid them. Do sleep well.

To be continued..

_________________
'We've made a mess of making History!'



Reece Fallow - Ravenclaw

Continued...

Scene II

A young Virgil is running through a forest. He wears a pair of shorts and a torn brown shirt. Chains hang from the pockets of the shorts and drag past his knee high socks, all the way down to his stitched leather boots. He stops and admires the lush green scenery around him with an appreciative smile and inhales a good lungful of air. Suddenly, a twig snaps to his left. He swivels quickly but sees nothing more than thick woodland. He raises his guard, more nervous than before and calls out.

Virgil : Jessica?! I think I’m lost!

There is no reply and he carefully steps away from the noise and suddenly falls to the ground. He holds his nose which seems to bleed due to an imaginary barrier. Suddenly an old hooded man steps forward from the trees. He is short with a long grey robe which compliments his silver hair and beard. He smiles to Virgil.

Old Man : Listen boy.

He opens his mouth to speak but Virgil quickly butts in.

Virgil : My nos- !

Old Man : Is irrelevant, now.

He walks closer, waving his hand over the invisible barrier and he walks straight through with a smile. He leans over Virgil and unsheathes his staff. He holds up Virgil’s chin with the end and nods. His mouth opens again to speak but this time, electricity surges out from it, his body shakes then erupts with an immense blue energy, his body jerks as the intense power bursts into flames. He falls limp to the ground with a thud. Virgil looks at the man in shock, his eyes watering. He sits up, resting on his hands and shakes, his eyes widen as the man collapses in front of him to reveal a young Jessica standing behind the corpse. She runs over to Virgil and throws her arms around him, pulling him close to her.

Jessica : Oh Virgil! He was going to kill you! Thank the Gods you’re alive.

She offers a weak smile and Virgil just stands, looking over to the man. His brow turns from concern to anger and looks to Jessica.

Virgil : You’re sure? He was going to tell me something.

Jessica : Yes probably. Most likely something along the lines of ‘gets your kit off and hand me your possessions.’ Or worse!

Virgil breaks eye contact with her briefly and nods. As his eyes wander over the man he stops and looks back at his hand. His eyes widen and he looks to Jessica.

Virgil : That’s Balmor’s symbol isn’t it. Do you know what that means?! He was a messenger for the Gods! You killed him Jesse! Get rid of the body! I won’t tell if you won’t. Oh dear. The Gods are not going to favour you..

Jessica’s face drops at the news. Her eyes dart between Virgil and the mans hand. Her eyes water and she holds her hand over his body, whispering to herself. With a loud crack, the body vanishes. An illuminate purple light blasts through them and she turns back to Virgil.

Jessica : Virgil. This sounds weird but I saw him in my dream! He did try to kill you, I swear! I couldn’t let him hurt you. We must tell no one.

She shakes all over and holds her hands over her eyes and tears stream through her fingers. Virgil looks to her and sighs. He cups her face gently and leans his head against hers. He plants a kiss on her lips and whispers.

Virgil : Thank you.

Jessica smiles.

Jessica : I love you.

Suddenly all goes dark. The sound of wings draws close. Suddenly the ground shakes slightly and the lights return. Before the two children stands a representation of Sirr-ick and Evettes. Two tall figures, made entirely of black fire and shadow. Their wings are broad, consisting of black feathers and thick wisps of smog. Their eyes burn red. The world around them blurs when they talk. Their voices are malevolent and demonic.

Sirrick : Children. This World is ours. The Three Moons will come crashing down upon its people, to mark the beginning of the new era. The fifth era. A time of Devils and injustice that will be overthrown by our good selves for the benefit of you and your race. Considerate, myes?

Evettes : This fifth era must arrive now. Me and my Brother are currently working to achieve this goal but Barose stands in our way. She created a world that reflects her arrogance, the people pigs in her image. She created us and must now face the repercussions of her… actions. The chosen one must die. Should we fail, the consequences are not worth thinking of. We apologise but you must perish.

The world blurs and swirls. The sounds of battle echoes about the scene. People scream and others roar. Images flash of a great war. The noise is replaced with the sobbing of a girl. The young Jessica cries over a body. Virgil stands and watches her. She looks up to him and cries.

Jessica : Virgil!

Scene III

Older Virgil suddenly wakes up. He is sitting up in bed, running his hand through his hair. He is breathing heavily and sweating. He swivels his feet over the side of the bed and stares at the ground. He turns his attention to the window. Still dark. He stands and walks to his door. He is shirtless, minus a pair of long brown trousers. He turns the knob to the door carefully, so not to wake his Mother or Father. He creeps along the halls of his house and steps into the kitchen. He takes a small leather pouch from a hook and uncorks it. He smiles looking at it and brings it to his lips and begins to drink. His eyes dart around as he drinks and catches a shadow at his kitchen window. He corks the water pouch and hangs it back up. He walks to the back door and takes the wooden sword from behind the coat stand, holding it firmly between both hands as he looks to the door. He reaches out and opens it swiftly without a sound and turns to the left. He brings his right foot up to kick and jabs it into the back of a figures legs. They yelp and as they fall he rushes in to them, holding the stick to their throat and pulls.

Virgil : Who the hell do you think you are, creeping around my house at night?! Tell me, before I choke the answers from you!

The figure turns and gulps. It is Gerald. He looks in pain but smiles none the less.

Gerald : Virgil it’s me, Gerald! I bring important news. I think you should sit down…

A fire burns intensely, shadows darting around it in rhythm. Voices break the silence. Virgil and Gerald sit parallel to each other in old wooden chairs, staring at the fire in a cavalier manner.

Gerald : No no. The farm is fine my friend. Virgil listen, I received a note from the town Oracle. At first I thought nothing of it. Another ‘if you do not succeed within schooling, you will succeed nowhere’. As I began to read, I realised… It was for you Virgil. It mentions Jessica.

Virgil sits quietly, listening as Gerald spills his reasons for sneaking. His eyes widen slightly at the sound of Jessica’s name and he extends his hand. Gerald hands over a small piece of parchment, the seal now broken and the material slightly crumpled. He unfolds It and begins to read.

Virgil : ‘When the time comes my boy, you shall know. What you share with the girl will be destructive but for a better cause. Barose moves in haste to protect her people from the threats to come but only you will serve amongst Kings. Prepare yourself for adventure and meet the Night Watchmen Daniel at dawn. I pray for you.’

Virgil frowns and looks up to Gerald. He rests the parchment on his knee and sighs.

Virgil : The girl? That’s Jessica? What does it mean destructive? And what, I’ll become a royal servant? So my future is determined and I didn’t even know?

Virgil squirms uncomfortably and grits his teeth, becoming slightly more agitated.

Gerald : I don’t know Virgil. Royal servants get paid bucket loads and the adventure part sounds fun doesn’t it?

He smiles to Virgil who just shakes his head and continues.

Virgil : Barose… Why would the Oracle incorporate a God in this message? All issues aside. Do you think this is serious and why did you receive it?

Gerald : I don’t know. The Oracle will have his reasons I’m sure. Serious? Maybe. You gonna’ turn up?

Virgil brings his hand up to scratch his head and nods.

Virgil : Why the hell not? I mean, most people our age are off having adventures, why should we be any different?

Virgil grins.

Gerald : We? Ha-ha! Brilliant. Wait for me here Virgil, I’ll run home and pack some things. I know how useless you are so do you want me to pack you up too before I leave?

His tone is slightly patronising yet some what mocking Virgil in a friendly tenor. He grins.

Virgil : You know me well. We’ll pack now. In the morning, I’ll let my parents know, equip my weapons, go see the Watchmen then meet you at fourteen past the hour just outside the bakers.

Gerald : Right. Shall we start?

Virgil and Gerald stand with childish grins. Virgil heads to his room and Gerald takes bags from beside the shoe rack. As Virgil walks through the corridor, a door ahead of him opens, a light shines gently through, beating back the shadows with a divine elegance. A tall skinny man steps forwards, his hands clutching a lamp. His hair is short and grey yet his face shows no aging beyond his forties. He lowers the lamp and looks over to Virgil with a frown. His eyes a deep green with dark circles embedded below them. His clothes are simple and baggy. He shakes his head and keeps his voice low.

Christopher : Virgil. What do you think you’re doing wandering around the house at this time? Its late. Me and your Mother assumed bandits you fool. Well?

Virgil : Long story cut short. Gerald has brought me a letter.

Christopher : Oh is he your personal messenger now? Is he still here?

Virgil : Yes but Dad, look at this. It was important.

He hands his Father the roll of parchment. Christopher takes it and walks with Virgil to the living room, his eyes running over the scripture, darting to Virgil for the odd glance.

Christopher : Sons of the sacred moon m’boy! The Oracle sent this? For you? This is big Virgil. He mentioned Barose and everything. Rhoin! Rhoin come out here and see this! Virgil I’m so proud. Where’s Gerald? I could hug that scruff!

Virgil smiles. His Father beams at him and turns to his bedroom door where a slightly shorter women steps out in a long flowing gown. She rubs her eyes gently and looks to the two. Her hair is a hazelnut brown, hanging roughly just above her elbows. Her eyes are a beautiful blue and her face shows years of stress, raising Virgil and dealing with her husband’s hidden problems. She smiles and steps gracefully over to them both and shakes her head slightly.

Rhoin : Yes boys?

Christopher throws his arms around her and hugs her tight, placing a gentle kiss on her cheek before handing her the parchment. He smiles and gestures her to read it. She stands smiling as she reads, her head filled with appreciation for such spontaneous affection. She then lifts her head and her eyes meet Virgil’s.

Rhoin : Oh Virgil. Do you know what this means? You’ll finally be out from under my damn feet!

She laughs and places a hand to comfort the side of her sons head, leaning up slightly to kiss him. Virgil shakes his head and smiles. Gerald comes stumbling around the corner, slightly struggling to carry the two heavy bags. He looks to Virgil’s parents and waves heartily.

Christopher : You’re a good lad Gerald. Keeping our Virgil on the straight and narrow and now this. We’ve told you before, if that farm ever starts grind on you, you will always have a home with the Maynard’s. Don’t go anywhere you two. I’ll crack open the scrumpy!

Rhoin looks to her Husband with a look of desperation. Christopher turns to her and then sighs.

Christopher : Well not me but you boys sure can. Enjoy yourself. It’s beside the shed.

Rhoin smiles and then walks over to a slightly red Gerald and leans down to plant a kiss on his cheek.

Rhoin : You’re a good lad. You’re Dad would be proud. Now. We need sleep. So keep it down.

To be continued..

_________________
'We've made a mess of making History!'



Reece Fallow - Ravenclaw