Follower of Izalith, Path of Chaos
His skin glows fire red, the burning inside is unbearable. The Chaos flame sears every inch of his body, having been fueled by the recent kill. It torments him endlessly, as it has for longer than Surtr has memory. Such a conflict Surtr has with the fire. It yearns for combat, feeds on the death, grows with every battle. Oh how he suffers for it. Oh how he needs it. Been that way since the storm. Forcing him to love the battles. A deep, dark, hateful love of combat. He needs it, craves it with every fiber of his being. Every fiber that ignites with pain so intense, so unbearable.
Every lord needs soldiers. The Witch promised him glory beyond measure. He cared nothing for glory. Only battle. And battle they did, until there was nothing left to kill. She calls him by his name, a name he no longer remembers. Protect her, protect her while she works her spells. He obeys, as every good soldier does. Something went wrong though…something happened. The fire, it could not be controlled. It refused. And then the storm. Surtr was the exception, all the other soldiers made only piles of ash now. Not Surtr. The fire got inside him…made his skin boil. Fuelled his need for battle as much as he fuelled the fire with death. So long ago. Its only Surtr and the fire now.
He kneels on the hot stone floor and wrestles the gauntlet from his lifeless enemy. Its now useless weapon falls from its hand and skips off the bridge, splashing in the lake of glowing lava far below. Surtr was offended when the Darkwraith first invaded his beloved Izalith, how dare this fool trot into his home. Doesn’t he know Surtr stands guard? Has he no respect? Well, not now. A heap of gore cant have respect. But it does have some nice gauntlets, and to Surtr’s delight, they fit quite well. Too bad the killing blow split that skeletal mask in half though, he would have liked to try it on. He likes his thorn covered helm, anything that can help him spread his pain to others is a good thing, he wouldn’t get rid of it. Still a shame nonetheless. Can’t be too picky when swinging an ultra great sword though, have to take what you can get.
The flame intensifies, reminds him where his attention should be. Constant pain, unthinkable, unbearable pain. He could make it go away. He could stop killing, stop fueling the fire within. Could have peace. But Peace is a word unfamiliar to Surtr. Peace is not in the vocabulary of Surtr’s mind. No, he cant make it go away. He desires it. He craves the pain, the constant suffering. And does he ever love to spread that pain to others. That’s why the flame chose him. It knows they are one and the same. The pain can never go away, the battle can never stop.
A red orb. He hadn’t seen it before. Its cracked, broken. Probably happened during the battle. Surtr picks it up slowly and holds it to the lava light. It pulsates gently. Broken, but still useful. Strangely reminds Surtr of himself. Maybe this can help Surtr fuel the fire, spread the pain even further than Izalith…Surtr’s blistered lips part and he smiles under his helm….