I am Torch

Content warning: death, LGBTQ, racism, and swearing

The name's Torch. As you can tell by my fiery hair, hot bod, and of course my charming personality, I am a FireBorn. 

I was born in a quaint farming town to Kyrna and Lumina, two lesbian elves. They were very excited, but rather confused. At least that's what mother says. She says that her and Mom were surprised to see that I looked—well, like I was literally on fire.

Turns out that down Mother's lineage; oh, Mother meaning Kyrna, someone banged a genie and well, guess I was the lucky one to have that gene unlocked. My parents even had to interrogate my biological father. He was just as shocked as they were!

Anyways, long story short, you get me; Torch. Well, that's not what my parents named me. My real name is Illumius. Try that one on for size.

Anyways, the rest of the people in town didn't exactly approve that a FireBorn lived in their town. They all had heard some stupid rumor that FireBorn's bring trouble wherever they go, and that by keeping me around, the town was doomed. Stupid right?

Well, my parents had to hide me.

If they wanted to upkeep their farm and keep making the money they did, they had to hide me away and say that I was gone. So, they entrusted me to an old friend of theirs who lived further into the mountains. He was a Dwarf blacksmith who made most of the town's equipment.

Over time, I learned to call him Uncle Dunarth.

I helped him in his shop and learned that my fire was able to heat his forge—a luxury he loved. Uncle Dunarth taught me many things about building and making my own inventions. I fell in love with learning about how mechanisms worked, and began to delve into my own inventions. I made many new tools for the farms. I was able to help create items that worked on their own so the farmer's could split their loads. 

My fire helped keep Uncle Dunarth's shop working. 

While living there, my parents came to see me often. We would explore the mountains and forests together when they came. They always made sure I had everything I needed, and they never let me forget that they loved me. They never let me forget why I was living in the mountains, either.

I missed them dearly, but Uncle Dunarth was more than enough company. He was lively and full of laughter. He had a flaming red beard and a big stomach that hung low over his knees. When he sang, his voice filled the cave and shuttered down the mountain. 

I loved my home and my family. That all changed, of course, when the authorities figured out that my parents were hiding me.

They sent for me at once—I was just barely 17. They stormed up the mountain one night, yelling for Uncle Dunarth to show himself and confess to his harboring of an unwanted monster. The words cut me deep as I hid in the shadows. I had been practicing keeping my flames low in my hair and on my body, but as they spat out words against me, and Uncle Dunarth spitting out lies back about how he didn't do such a thing, I could feel my fire growing.

The more they pushed Uncle, the angrier I got. Peeking around the corner of the cave wall, I could see the soldiers in front of the Dwarf, They had their blades drawn. As they interrogated, I could see they were getting more and more mad. Uncle Dunarth pointed a finger towards the town and began to scream at them, telling them to leave his property if they knew what was best for them.

The blade in the soldier's hand found Dunarth's chest faster than I could blink. My eyes widened and time seemed to slow down. Uncle Dunarth fell to his knees with the blade protruding from his chest. I clenched a fist, trying to slow my breathing down. 

The soldier laughed, grabbed the hilt and pulled the blade slowly out of the downed Dwarf. Blood began to pool around Uncle Dunarth, glinting off the torch light that illuminated the entrance to the cave, and his home. The moon sat in solemness as the soldiers laughed and kicked Dunarth down. He lay unmoving in his blood as the authorities came closer to the cave. 

“That lying Dwarf is hiding that boy. If not him, something. Never trust a Dwarf.” The apparent leader stated. 

Catching my breath, fear and anger consumed me. They killed my Uncle. My protector.

Unable to control the anger that erupted from me, flames ignited from within me, and my eyes scorched red. I came from the shadows, my body burning. The soldiers gasped, turning their weapons me. Orders were barked at me, but I could barely hear them. They destroyed my life in two seconds, and I was about to repay the debt.

It was a blur what happened that night. When I came to, I was surrounded by the bodies of the soldiers in the cave. Everything was on fire. I stood in the middle of a bloodbath, my hands on fire and dripping with what was left of the soldiers.

“Illumius?” A soft voice came from behind me. I closed my eyes, flinching. 

Turning around, I met the eyes of my Mom, Lumina. Her hand was to her mouth, and tears in her eyes. Mother came up behind her and gasped at the carnage I was standing in. 

Their eyes met the clouded ones of Dunarth and they began to cry. 

“What happened here, Illumius?” Lumina asked amid sobs. 

I couldn't answer. I fell to my knees and cried. My fire dimmed as I let the sadness wash over me. I watched my Uncle die to protect me. I killed these men—innocent or not. I really was a monster. I spoke of this in my sadness. My parents raced to my side and held me. My mothers. They still loved me after what I did. As we sat in silence, we could hear the sound of horses and more soldiers. 

“You need to get out of here, Illumius.” Mother told me. 

I shook my head. I couldn't leave them!

Kyrna took my head in her hands and kissed my burning skin. She looked into my red eyes and smiled. “You are a brave young man. You've grown to be a wonderful and smart person. I am so proud of you. I ask this of you, my son. Leave. Leave and forge your own path. Your destiny is now in your own hands.” 

As she spoke, tears filled my eyes as I didn't understand what she was saying. Looking at Mom, then at Mother, then to the blood on my hands, I knew then. If I didn't leave, they could die too. The soldiers would kill my parents for keeping me alive. Clenching my fist, and a few more weeps, I stood up straight and nodded to them. 

“I love you, Moms.” I promised them I would be back someday. 

* * * *

Life was never the same after leaving home. I found odd jobs here and there to make money and stay afloat. I took jobs that no one else wanted, jobs no one else could do, and jobs that I didn't want. I would get the worst tasting food that was left over from inns and bars—thrown out in their back alley way so I could eat. I would walk down the streets in towns, hearing the dreaded word “monster” floating all around me. I would be chased out of bars and diners. Words cut through me like butter and wedged inside. I was a monster, and no one was ever going to want me. It all hurt. It all helped me find my way across the country, though. I moved from city to city taking on bigger and bigger jobs. I lived in a tent if I couldn't get a room at an inn. I learned how to hunt and to take care of myself. The better I got with my weapons and my natural powers the better I got at surviving. I even started to tinker again. 

I would frequent the local forges and metal shops for scrap tools and metal, if the smiths would let me in. I started to make inventions again. I put all that Uncle Dunarth taught me and made moving inventions that helped people with their various jobs. I took on disguises and started to sell them for a small price to those that needed the extra help around their businesses or homes and couldn't afford to ask or pay. I went from town to town selling small machines to people.  

When I turned 21, I had begun to make a name for myself as an Creator, a person who invented items that made life easier for those that paid. I was known as the Hidden Creator, for I would take a request for an invention and would oftentimes leave their order on their door and leave. Finding disguises had become harder and harder as I moved from town to town, so I learned to stay in the shadows and deliver the goods when night fell. I couldn't let them know a monster was the one making their inventions. 

By now you're probably thinking, “Then where does the name Torch come in?” 

Freshly 21, and with some money in my pockets, I had found myself in a much larger city on the coast. I had donned a new disguise and was taking my time in the shops. I had sold my inventions and had been pursuing the stalls for more scrap metal and other wares that could help me make more. As I did, I came across a bulletin for an Adventure's Wanted poster. The poster looked to be faded and dirty—almost like it had been there for a while. A small drawing of a beetle decorated the corner of the wanted ad. 

Pondering the ad, I continued my way down until I reached the end of the merchant's square. The rest of the city was lush with rich homes and cathedrals. I felt very out of place, but something spurred me to keep walking. 

The homes were lavish and full of beautiful grass and plants that complimented the mountainside that swept up behind them. I was astounded to know that people actually had enough money to live like this. I had assumed they were the port owners that lived on this block. 

As I made my way down the streets, I could feel eyes on me. Turning around, I swept my gaze down the empty street. The feeling of being watched never subsided as I kept going down the lavish road. Eventually  I entered the entertainment square of the city. Music floated on the wind towards me as I left the out of place wealth and into the more familiar theatre district. As I hopped onto the dirt road, something tapped my shoulder. I whipped around, only to be met with a gnome who waved up at me. 

Looking down, I tilted my head. Did this gnome just tap me on the shoulder? I was six feet tall! The gnome woman gave me a big smile. “'Ello!” She exclaimed. 

“Uh, hello?”

“Name's Bug! I saw you were looking at my help wanted poster by the docks!” 

Recalling the poster, I realized that the little image of a beetle was not in fact just a weird drawing, but a signature. I started to laugh at this and knelt down to Bug. “I did, I did. What is it that you need an adventurer for?” 

“Not just an adventurer! I need you. FireBorn.”

I felt my chest clench. How did she know what I was? I had done a good job at hiding the flames pretty well. I didn't see any flame coming from under my hat, or through my trench coat.

She waved to me to follow her. Now you're probably asking what the hell describing the wealthy section of town was about right? Eh, I just wanted to share this really cool road I went down to get to the entertainment district. I mean, it was cool amIright?

She leads me through the district and down a dark alley—no this is not where a gnome kicks a six foot tall FireBorn's ass in an alleyway—this is where she knocks on a hidden metal door, says the word “Hairy Fish” and introduces me to The Whispers. 

* * * *

The Whispers became my new home away from home. They instantly accepted me as I was—telling me to remove the stupid little disguise I had on and to wear the clothing they gave me. Bug had explained that she could smell the brimstone off my skin, and it was clear as day to her that I wasn't an elf, or human, or whatever else I was trying to come off as. I was truly a FireBorn and she just knew I had to be part of her guild. I thanked her for being so kind, and listened as they started to explain who this group was.

They were a small adventuring guild that took on mostly hunting and gathering jobs. They made a little bit of money, which helped keep their hideout hidden. Apparently the other adventuring guilds around here wanted to run The Whispers out of town, stating that they had no business running a guild. It was hard to get new members to join because their reputation was so shot.

I loved The Whispers. The guild was made mostly of a human rogue, gnome musician, elf hunter, a brawling half-orc, and me. We were an odd group, but I learned a lot in the time I was with this guild. 

Okay, okay. Yes. This is where Torch comes in. You see, this guild wasn't entirely invisible to the populous. How do you think they got their name, The Whispers? Rumors floated around about a ragtag group of an odd assortment taking the biggest monster hunting jobs that were posted. Yeah, that's right. Our little guild took down monstrous beasts that plagued the forests surrounding the costal city. We always took the biggest monster we could, and would always deliver. In my time of fighting off large creatures, my own powers and skills began to grow. I enjoyed finding new ways to kill monsters. I became creative with my weaponry and what I could do. 

I learned my way around explosives and my own cannons. I learned out of the box thinking when it came to doing a job efficiently. After a while of hunting, I began to trust my own skills and abilities. I slowly became a high-risk fighter. 

I know! Me, who was used to hiding in caves and running for my life, suddenly became the one to charge into battle with just a boomerang and bomb. 

I learned that I had to trust myself. I was the only one who was going to get myself killed. I was the only one who was going to save my ass. I took control of my own fear and used it. 

Also, it became a lot of fun to break the rules. 

Monster after monster, mission after mission, my creativity, my eagerness, my strength, and my abilities grew. Rumors started to shift from a ragtag group taking on insane monsters, to one man taking on insane monsters. I would go alone, I would go without weapons, I would go with all the weapons. I practiced and used everything I could. I made sure I knew my way out of a situation with whatever I could get my hands on, whatever I had on me. I made sure I lived. No matter what. 

I was called “The Maniac” or “Risk” but only one name truly suited me. As we were given our assignments for the day by Bug, the guild master, I had realized she started to sign my name in a drawing like the others. It was a drawing of a torch. When I asked her, she just laughed. 

“It looks like your hair. You're a walking torch!” 

I folded the paper up and put it in my pocket. Torch. Playing around with the name, I realized how well it fit. Illumius was dead. He had died when he had to run away from his parents. When he watched Uncle Dunarth die protecting him. Illumius was weak. Torch? Torch was alive. Torch was me. I was alive. I was strong. And I wasn't ever going to let anyone tell me I was a monster again. I wasn't ever going to hide who I am again. I. Am. Torch.