#of mire

“Wh--” The half-syllable got stuck between their helm and the air outside of it, suspended in their quickly mounting panic. A few rats huddled behind the servant’s greaves, peering around the human among them to the stranger they had led them to, though most of the denizens of the burrows watched from afar, beady eyes catching only the faintest lights in the darkness. 

They spluttered a few moments more, hands hovering near their chest as they found themself unable to choose an appropriate gesture suited to the situation. Before them was an unfortunately familiar visage of silver armor and a lance of dreadful size. “Wh- What--” They huffed, making a visible effort to get all of their words out precisely. “What. A- Are you. Doing here.”  

“You can try.” He might be a villain, the sort to cut down friend or foe with equal amounts of blood lust but he wasn’t a backstabber. This was going to be a fair fight.

He stood his ground, ready to move as soon as Mire did. The murderer had seen Mire fight enough by this point that he had a fairly good idea of how this would go.

Refusing to fight would be suicide-- or, rather, Mire was more certain the other would try to kill them, regardless of their pacifism, than they were certain Creighton wanted a proper duel. When he was collected, the wanderer was nothing to scoff at with that crescent axe-- they had met its business end more times than they could count, and were not keen on throwing themself at it once again. 

-- nature of pyromancy as opposed to miracles and sorceries

As an art, pyromancy requires neither innate intelligence nor faith in the gods. Primarily, one is allowed to use and wield pyromancies through the possession of a pyromancy flame, which is an object that must be given to the user by someone else ( though there’s no evidence that it cannot be taken by force, either, however ). 

Pyromancers come from a culture all their own, due to being ostracized for their craft. The Great Swamp is the only haven for this culture that we know of, since the destruction of Izalith, and this is presumably where all knowledge of pyromancy arts-- tomes, scrolls, et cetera-- have originated. They’re displayed as being lesser to clerics and sorcerers, perhaps due to evidence of more ritualistic practice of study, and preference for being close to nature. 

-- relationship of student and teacher

Perhaps more than any other magical craft, pyromancy has an emphasis on the intimate exchange of knowledge and learning shared between master and student-- for without teachers, there can be no pupils, and without pupils, there can be no teachers. The pyromancy flame is granted from masters to their students, and they often learn side-by-side one another by a mutual exchange of perspectives, as opposed to a vessel being filled. 

This indicates a deep respect for the act of seeking knowledge and of passing knowledge on, which falls in line with the idea of a ritual-revering society; the act of learning is just as important as the knowledge gained. 

-- pyromancy uses compared to other magics

In spite of being referred to as primitive and heretical, the usages of pyromancy are at least as multi-faceted as those of miracles or sorceries, those being accentuating one’s weaponry, healing oneself, spreading attacks over a wide area, as well as defending oneself or taking the offensive. This range of usages seems to be indicative of its depth as an art. Rather, the development of different pyromancies for different uses speaks to the breadth and depth of the people who practice them. 

The fundamentals of pyromancy have not changed, but have undergone countless iterations and branched out through development in order to encompass more needs. Rather than being set into a single traditional form, it’s likely that, if allowed to thrive, pyromancy would evolve with each no generation of masters, according to their needs at the time. Perhaps pyromancers are encouraged to develop their own pyromancies, based upon the foundations of the craft, instead of being told to adhere to strict lessons found in ancient epics or poems. 

-- being a pyromancer as opposed to sorcerer or cleric

It could be said that being a pyromancer involves belonging to a culture, a kind of religion, and a school of thought, all in one. Sorcerers and clerics exist in addition to other careers, within whatever culture harbors them, as opposed to pyromancers, who all appear to have origins in a singular culture. Which is not to say one from outside the Great Swamp cannot learn pyromancy-- it appears that anyone willing to is able-- rather that pyromancers tend to have more than use their practice or religion in common with one another. 

Silent gesture starters.

Sword all but forgotten in the snow-covered cobbles, the rat servant stood there, inhaling the icy air and not feeling its sting in their lungs whatsoever. Before them, the scorched figure of a knight of Irithyll writhed and groaned, cooking in their armor. Steam billowed forth from the half-alive remains, and the stench of burning hair and seared flesh wafting up in clouds of dense smoke. 

A gnarled hand twitched, reaching toward its fallen weapon, to which Mire took grave offense-- with a sharp grunt, they summoned another pillar of flame from the earth and burnt all the flesh out of the armor, blackening the area for several feet under their boots. This was the price for assaulting their master-- with fire, no less! Seeing the very thing they had used to bring peace and protection to all of ratkind turned against their King sickened them so deeply that they could hardly see straight. 

Weapon descriptions.

Unsheathing the flamberge, they laid it out across their hands with noticeable reverence for such an old sword. It was not a particularly pretty sight, clear indicators of mended chips and cracks from a countless number of years’ repairs marring its tarnished surface. But even so, it was impeccably forged. The blade undulated to and fro in a tapering wave perfect for carving deeply into foes. Straight swords simply slid off its sides, often proving useless if Mire was on the offensive. Paired with their pyromancy, it was brutal to imagine what could be accomplished with it. 

Winter treated the burrows harshly. The water rarely got below freezing, especially on the lower levels, however the season strained the kingdom’s supply of food more often than not, making these foraging trips unfortunately necessary. Some measure of hibernation was of course an option, but it was not uncommon to see all rats awake at some point during the day to have at least one small meal. Lichen usually did the trick, and the party was not necessarily equipped for hunting, but if they came across a fowl or two, it may be trapped and slain. 

Much to the chagrin of both the rats and their protector, a heavy snow had recently blanketed the earth. Mire was up to their shins with every step, and the members of the vanguard they chaperoned were almost shoulder-deep. They would have to do some digging in order to find their prize. There was no way around it; though overcast, the day was new, there were many hours of light remaining, and none wanted to return home empty-handed to their King. 

Breakfast.

During the night, the Rat King and sent his servant off in the pursuit of something proper to eat. Indeed, much to his chagrin, it had taken them several hours to return with it, but the princes would have a decent meal or two, at the very least. Mire had come back with a few sorts of berries, mushrooms, dandelion greens, and even a few carrots. The berries were the most plentiful, as they could simply strip most of them from the bushes-- their wrapped hands betrayed their efforts, sporting new cuts from thorns and dirt under their fingernails.