wolves in our own skin, we're savages; flamevein

[Flamevein]

some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice from what I’ve tasted of desire, I’ll hold with those who favor fire - R. Frost He is not one to conform or alter his life for something as trivial as rules. He enjoys pushing the envelope, toeing the line, and walking the thin ice. After all, who is to stop him? A magician perhaps, though Eight seemed to enjoy having the pyro tucked neatly up his sleeve should he ever need him. There is no one to stop him, and if there is he hasn’t met them yet. Until that day comes he will continue to do just as he pleases when he sees fit to do it. After all, the say rules are meant to be broken. The nebula-faced stallion knows all to well the feeling of burning without purpose. He is largely responsible for the often charred landscape of the Valley. The fires burn for no other reason than I feel like it. He doesn’t need to burn things, but the ability to do so is something he’s grown quite fond of in his five years or so on earth. Of course, he’d been burning things even before he fell from his mothers useless womb but that’s a story for another day. Today, he is slinking through the forest, bored out of his wits and looking for something, anything really to occupy his time. Idle hands are the devils playground, or so they say anyways. There wasn’t much that needed burning in the dead of winter, though he had melted the snow here and there for no other reason than shits and giggles. The Valley had been quiet as of late, and the stallion was growing restless because of it. So he treks onwards, clearing brambles by way of fire as he sees fit. He is just about to clear a group of weeds when he notices that a mares nose is buried deep within them. She is foreign to him, a wild and reckless looking thing. A smile washes over his features, though it holds no humor and fails to go farther than his mouth. “Well what do we have here…a trespasser, or so it would seem. Eating up our food in the dead of winter.” he coos, cocking a hind leg in ultimate indifference as he looked her over. Perhaps it was foolish of him to be so nonchalant and outright arrogant, but so was his nature. “How about a name, and I won’t summon the king. He’s a downright evil son of a bitch…I’d hate to think of such a pretty little thing being punished.” Of course he was lying through his teeth. If anything, Eight was far more reasonable than Flamevein had ever dreamed about being. “By the way, I’m Flamevein. I won’t tell you how I got that name until a little later.” flamevein fire bending son of carnage and alcippe