Shadows Dance Across the Mountain

Within the bounds of the Chaya Nation, far from any of the cities or settlements that housed the bulk of the country's population, a solitary mountain stood. It thrust up at the sky as though it were a spear that sought to pierce the clouds, but had been broken. Its slopes were barren, covered with black ash, soot, and hardened rock. On occasion there had been periods in this mountain's life when green managed to flourish upon it, and the hills that clustered so closely to it, little more than extensions of its own presence. Yet, always had those times been short, and now, such times never came. Once, a great thick forest flourished around it. During periods of eruption, this forest was burnt and blanketed by ash, but the sheer thickness and vitality of the woods saw them return as vibrant as ever. Once, the forest and mountain lived in constant fluctuation as fire and life balanced with each other. Such had not happened in a long time though, not since Fjell Fyr had come to live in the mountain.

Now, while the forest still existed, it kept far away from the mountain. Now, the mountain had a border that stretched for miles. It was not an even circle, at times the forest made an attempt to push back in, sometimes green sprouted up through the ash, but it never lasted long. Fjell Fyr was active often, and at times stood on the slopes of the mountain to practice or train. Any green that existed near his training was almost guaranteed to wither from heat, or be set aflame outright. Today was one such training day. Past the surface of that mountain, one could find many tunnels and a few large caverns. Much of it had been carved out by the Blood of the Mountain in the centuries he had lived within this place. In one such cavern, hidden close to the middle of the great volcano, there was a great flowing pool of magma. It had been carved out long ago, as a separate chamber for Fjell Fyr to sleep in relative privacy, its entrance hidden.

It had taken a few mistakes to make this chamber, and get the lava to flow without going outside the bounds of the stone 'pool' he had pummeled into the floor of the cavern. Yet, with time and perseverance he had managed it. The room was shaped like a half-circle, with the pool in the middle, stretching out with a ring of stone around it, the tunnel at the bottom of the curve, leading back up to the surface. The lava glowed, casting a constant light over the cavern, but the one resting within it had long since grown used to it. Within the middle of this pool of churning orange, black and yellow was a rocky, intimidating visage. With heavy, fanged teeth, and a hide that seemed formed of rough rock, Fjell Fyr slept. The intense heat of the lava was all around him, hotter than his own blood, despite his constant work to match if not surpass the heat of what he called 'the blood of the world.' Yet if nothing else, he at least had the durability and means to survive not just stepping into it, but sleeping within it for hours if not days at a time, but he was not one to sleep forever.

Glaring white eyes opened slowly as he roused himself from slumber. He could feel it, the wounds that he had been afflicted with during his battle with Vanyel were healed over. Which meant that it was time to get back to work. The thick molten rock swelled around him as he started to stride forward, slow, heavy ripples of his passage as he walked through the pool, and then slowly started to rise as he reached the edge. His massive body emerged from the lava, streams of the world's blood flowing off of his cracked, stony hide, falling back into the pool as the first massive foot stepped upon the stone. As his imposing form emerged fully he shook slightly, a slow deliberate motion that dislodged any small drops, and got his own molten blood flowing through him once again. With a low, grumbling growl, he started to walk away, heading through the tunnel that led outside. It had been carved to fit him of course, after all why would he make a tunnel to small for himself? At the end, was a great stone slab, that the demon moved, his great hands gripping small notches and shifting it to the side.

As it shifted, sunlight streamed through, it was day outside it seemed. Fjell Fyr stepped through his now open cave, and upon the slope. Upon this part of the mountain the slope was fairly shallow, making it easy to keep one's footing. As he stepped outside, letting the sun of the Demon World shine down upon him, Fjell Fyr lifted one stony hand, and scratched his chin slowly, pondering. This was to be a day for training, but the demon had many, many things to work on. Both to keep his abilities consistent, but also to improve or devise new ones. However, his battle with Vanyel had given him a spark of inspiration, and so he started to walk down the mountain, to the slightly more level 'fields' where the great forest had once swept across. Always he had neglected Shadow Movement, considering other things more important to how he fought, and where he lived. Yet, now he wondered, if he couldn't find a way to put it to a more practical use, practical as he saw it. First though, a slight refresher in the basics would be good. Something to warm himself up, and perhaps lend a bit of insight as to how he might perform this potential idea.