Uriel the Purifier

Uriel could still feel the rage eating at his insides, the pompous words of the Khymerian leaders playing over in his head, like a hideous echo of resentment prodding his mind to distraction. So much so, that he failed to notice the procession of temple priests coming towards him along the road.

“Ahh, a fellow traveller. So fortuitous for us to meet you, and on such a golden day where the sun blesses our journey,” the leading priest called.

Uriel glared at him and muttered something under his breath. The priest titled his head, trying to comprehend his reply but in actual fact it was nothing more than an irritated series of grunts.

“Maybe you would like to join us? It just so happens that it's almost time to break our fast, and my brothers carry a fine selection of cold meats and fresh fruits,” the priest continued trying to coax a reply from him.

Uriel wasn't ready for such conversation, not so soon after having been exiled. He'd rather the priests had charged at him, wielding their godly staves and rods so that he might strike them down and ease some of the fury that coalesced in his belly. In its place he settled for some words of warning instead.

“How about you move from the path and I'll be on my way,” he proffered.

The priest looked to the side of the narrow track, his gaze hovering over the wet mud, a dark frown furrowing his brow. “Errr, the passage of truth never falters or leaves the path. If you'll not join us, then you must step to the side and let our holy procession pass.”

He looked at the deep ruts of muck and filth, a smile touching his lips. “How about you step aside and let me pass, for I'm on a mission of the utmost importance and it cannot be delayed for you.”

The priest returned a benevolent smile and opened his arms in proclamation. “The light of the pure never waivers and follows its own way, you should move now my child and let the righteous continue on our journey.”

Uriel felt his nerve snap. The priest spoke of purity as though he knew what it truly was, but how could anyone know, nobody had studied it for as long as he had and it remained elusive even to him. The robed fool had no idea what he was talking about, and there was only one reply for the pretenders of the pure. He drew his sword and stepped forward, a flame erupting along the blade.

“I'll bring you closer to the purity of truth than you've ever been.” Uriel was amongst the many Pelacor that fled Solaki and its military regime when he was young. He found himself in Khymeria, like so many of his brothers and sisters, but even though they practised with life magic it just didn't feel quite pure enough for him and so he travelled to different Worlds, seeking somewhere he could find that elusive clarity of virtue.

On the bright World of Régalien he won his armour in brutal combat, gold and silver plates forged together with the strongest metals known and lacquered in the translucent blood of a diamond giant. An armour that could not only heal him, but would smite his foes should he ever fall in battle. Still, it was not enough.

Then on the fiery World of Temisrok he fought and slayed the terrible drake, Cizilth, winning favour with the bladesmiths who wrought his sword with fiery runes, instilling an everlasting flame into the weapon. And still, the clean virtue wasn't sufficient, so the hunt continued.

But always he returned to Khymeria and the Splinterlands, searching for that ever-elusive purity that continued to remain just beyond his reach. Eventually this quest became such an obsession that it ultimately ruled his existence, a life's purpose transformed into something that would forever remain unattainable. And some say that was his downfall.

The Khymerian leaders banished him from their land, believing that his over-zealous and fanatical behavior was becoming a danger to their people. This sent Uriel into a wild rage and he left them with a promise, that when he finally found what he sought, the magic of life would eventually know the true purity of what was missing from its white light, and when that day came they would also feel the sharp edge of his sword.