Once we were lost, we were alone and kept in cages. Banished by the dragons after an angelic war that left all the races crippled those hideous creatures created within us a need to survive.
We went home, home to the fires, to the mountains and cleansed the land that was once ours. We took the land back, snatching it from time and from mother nature. She suprisingly was grateful. No longer was this our burden.
Man tried to extinguish us with petty mages and water. How foolish to attempt using another element against us. How close the others are to our breasts. We keep them close and they in turn help us. They help us to fly, help us to live, help us to hunt. Water carries the memories of another. If it is tainted with blood those memories can be retained and ripped from the earth. There is no need to tempt mother now, no need to make her angry again.
From the womb we sprouted full grown with lust in our bodies and love in our hearts. The need to burn was so exquisite that when the children flocked to continents they brought with them that fire. The rage at pains within the earth was so great entire forests were consumed by fire. Entire regions were burnt clean of man villages and vegetation.
Then man came up with a new name for them. Halocaust. That was until they discovered the use of such creatures. WIth each summer new children were captured, forced into dancing upon the farms that raped mother of precious minerals. This restored them but left the woman captive long into their years. It was only when dispair and longing had become so dark that the creatures finally succumbed to their own fire and ashed.
Reborn again upon the winds that took them to the island these creatures had learned while they could love, they could hate too. Now when they left vengence was carried out. It was for a sister, a mother, a lover, a friend. Harsh realities were visited upon the world of man. The fire bird became cleaver. Its flames would survive long within the wind even if they werent accounted for. Flames every summer season would become an insence offering for mother earth and mother nature.
- Anger of a Dying race. Recorded by Asmorte Preist of Cathulu