In the past, across the Sapphire Sea, a hero arose. By his determination
and spirit, the hero chose to perfect himself in body, mind, and spirit.
He strove to cleanse the blemishes of his existence that mortal life
forced upon him. Well respected by his peers, the hero extolled his path
in life to those around him, beseeching them to forego the banalities of
mortality, and seek the path to perfection.

His life was well known even to the Gods who saw him as a shining
example of the heights a mortal could achieve. One God in particular, a
dark God, took great interest in the hero, watching him very closely and
studying the effects of his self-purifications on his soul. The
machinations that ran through the God's mind are unfathomable to
mortals, and ultimately He chose to travel to the hero and test his
resolve. Dressed as a simple travelling philosopher and academic, He met
the hero on the road between two cities.

"I say, good sir, to where do you travel on this humid day?" stammered
the academic to the hero.

"Rest is for the weak, learned sir, as you must well know. Was it not
persistence and will that gave you the insight into the world that you
possess today? I travel to ensure my spirit does not grow dull, and that
my body does not grow weak."

"Ah, I see. You choose to model yourself after that hero, the
self-righteous one," spat the academic. "Are you certain you have his
will to maintain his stifling philosophy?"

"I am quite certain, knowledgable master, as it is I who stand before
you!" The voice of the hero was unstrained, neither with pride nor
disdain with the line of questioning. In his travels he was quite
accustomed to those who did not believe in his ways.

"Ah, I had no clue I was in the presence of such greatness. My humble
apologies, your excellence. If it does not bother you so, and if you
would have the moment of time to spare, would you care to sit beneath
this shady tree and speak to me of your travels and tribulations. I know
little of what drives you to perfection, and I wish to know more."

And so the hero agreed and they sat for a few hours discussing at great
length the path to perfection. The academic would attempt to pry a hole
into the hero's logic, and the hero would, every time, brilliantly
defeat the attack. As the sun drew further down in the sky, the academic
posited one final question.

"Why do you not seek the path of ascension, to become a truly perfect
immortal?" The sweat on the academic's brow dripped onto the ground in
the afternoon heat.

The hero paused for a moment, unsure of the intent of the question. "It
is the path to perfection that is beauty to my eyes, not the state of
perfection. To always improve oneself, against constant odds, that is
victory and achievement."

"It is your mortality that is the blemish on your soul which seperates
you from perfection! Do you not see that?" The academic stared deeply
into the eyes of the hero, testing his resolve.

"I will not be swayed, kind scholar. I do this only for the purification
of my own soul, and ask nothing in return. If my path is difficult, I
shall walk it proudly. I do not ask the same of any person who does not
wish the sacrifice." The hero, his spirit intact, sat firm and his eyes
did not budge from the face of the academic.

"Then it will be your folly. Your soul will never be pure, and I will
show you the corruption in its depths." Revealing His true form to the
hero, the dark God towered over the hero. "I will show your pitiful soul
the perfection best suited for it." Pulling the mortal hero's frame with
Him, the dark God travelled across continents and oceans and once
finding the ideal location, cast the hero into the mouth of a steaming
volcano.

The hero's body weak from the damage caused in the fall, he could only
lay there looking back up at the skies above him. During the flight
across the oceans, he had seen much he had not imagined about the world.
It was much larger and much more rich than he had imagined, and from the
heights he soared, he knew he was nowhere near his home.

The inside of the volcano was steamy and hot, and he laid on a small
slab of rock jutting from a pool of lava. The walls reflected the dull
glow of the lava and he could hear in the distant the hiss of water
hitting the liquid fire. The heat from the lava below singed his back,
and as he struggled to rise, he saw before him the dark frame of this
unknown Immortal. "You want your soul perfected so badly? Then I shall
hammer the kinks of out of it." Raising a glimmering ethereal hammer,
the God struck down on the weakened form the hero, striking not his
physical shell, but his very soul and existence with the blow.

The blow tore through the hero's stability. He struggled to maintain
composure and sanity as his soul was bruised from the strike. Lifting
his head from the rock he could see the God standing above him. "Here I
shall forge your spirit into My form of perfection!", boomed His voice
as He chained the helpless hero onto the rock. Once again, the dark God
raised the hammer, and struck down on His prisoner. The anguished scream
of the hero rang out amongst the Putoran hills, echoing as far south as
the village of Jaru.

The pain was horrible, but the hero suffered from then on in near
silence. Daily the torment was struck down on him, and nightly the lava
pool would rise to heat his stone slab to boiling temperatures. But the
hero would not relent his spirit, nor would he perish from the agony and
torment.

For many years this went on, until one day the punishments ceased and
the anonymous Immortal did not reappear. The hero waited, chained to his
prison, and as the time passed he began to meditate to perfect his mind
and to try to discover the falseness of pain and anguish. During these
meditations, he began to hear a faint rhythm in the distant recesses of
his mind. Strong and powerful, the rhythm throbbed in his ears and in
his head as it invigorated his spirit. As his meditations continued, the
rhythm grew louder, and through the strength of his own will and his
focus upon the rhythm, he perceived neither the searing heat of the lava
nor the pain of his burnt flesh.

The beat consumed his soul, and soon it matched the very beat of his
heart. Once the hero had made the realization that the two sounds
coincided, he looked about himself and noticed his mortal form had
expired. He had transcended mortality through determination and the act
of purification and he now stood the perfect example of existence, an
Immortal.

Grabbing the hammer of His torture, the Immortal strode with a fury of
fire from his prison, erupting the volcano to seek his torturer and to
take his place in the Garden of the Gods as Rahn, God of Fire.

Penned by my hand on the 15th of Khepary, in the year 77 MA.