Can I play with Madness?
The Fire of Life
A shining amulet, protecting it's bearer even in death
Wyatt died on that bridge. He felt his bones snap and the weight of the giant club crushing him against the stones like you’d crush a beetle under your thumbnail. The pain was real, and the echo of it in his mind was more torturous than the original impact.
He saw, for a moment, his friends rushing forward to attack the giant… and then nothing. Black, smoke, hot, fires, stink, grinding and roars in the distance. The black gave birth to a wasted and blasted outcropping of grey and black stone crushed under a red and acrid sky.
“Hello Wyatt…” the grumble and grind shaped itself to words, “You trouble again?” the grind turned into a low cackle like dropping gravel into a pond. Deep, round, and chaotic.
“You trouble. I give you back?”, it asked. It always asked. It just wanted him to beg. To Plea. And so he did. He lamented his fate, he squeezed out insincere tears, he spent days beating his breast and wailing for help. And, as always, it came.
After days in that hellscape, Wyatt returned. Appearing out of nowhere, naked, just moments after he left, watching his friends attack the giant and force it back on the bridge to the other side. He knelt over the polished grey amulet laying on the ground right where he’d vanished, his clothes and arms surrounding it as though they were afraid. Every time was worse… to the others, he seemed to be the man that never dies–but he remembers finding the Fire in a pile of clothes, untouched for decades. He often wondered why that man had never come back.