Azer Monk who wears a fine obsidian filigree studded with rare and valuable gems


Large for an Azer, Blaze is a monk creationist. He speaks Ignan, Celestial, Infernal, and Abyssal. He cuts gems and works with metal, having been apprenticed to the premier metallurgist in the City of Brass.

Blaze only wears his body jewelry, as anything else is too restricting or burns off of his body. His hair is pure flame, and houses, if one looks closely, a smaller, independent flame, his rescued tiny fire elemental.


Creation. The moment of birth. A thing made, a thing given a will, usually to do some particular thing. Mine was a creation of fire, of purpose, wrought to build, to make, to give metal and precious stone form. But more than that, to give it a reason to exist, a function, a desire to fulfill. I was aptly named, come to find out, as my parents gave me to an efreeti as an apprentice. I had always shown great interest in creating things, nearly compelled to build and work, driven to make something more from what I had. I haven’t seen my family since, but I have no regrets, as my master was the greatest artisan in the city of brass. He knew more about brass than even the Grand Sultan himself, which he only got away with saying because he was distantly related to him. Speaking against my master was to speak against the Sultan, such was his fame and greatness, and he took me in, an Azer, for which I am forever grateful, and for which many were jealous.

I learned and grew under the tutelage of my master, feeling the sting of racism, but always protected by my master’s sheltering name and hand. He taught me much, and we worked on everything from the Sultan’s palace to common toolsheds. We believed that every metal deserved to have its purpose made manifest, and whether that was a hammer or a piece of jewelry didn’t make a difference. Finding the True form was all that mattered, in the purity of the forge fire and the skill and faith in metal of the artisan.

This continued for many years, until one day I shall never forget. The fires of our hearts had been exhausted in creating a piece of particular beauty for the sultan, a metal latticework of fine filigree to hang in one of the Sultan’s many chambers. My master elected to take it immediately, not wishing the Sultan’s fire to grow hot with impatience, and so he left, and I went to sleep. Oh how I wish I had not allowed our flame to diverge, as he was at the palace at the same time the most successful raid on the Sultan’s treasury was attempted. That is to say they actually got in, but they never got out. Many efreet died, and my master, never having been a fighter, was one of them. This convinced me that I must arm myself with knowledge of creation and the knowledge of how to deny those who would unmake. Respecting my master’s wish that we never make things that have only the purpose of unmaking, I dedicated myself to the perfecting of my own body into a tool of creation and a weapon of defense, so that the fire in my blood might never be made to run without singing the song of Creation.

Inheriting my beloved master’s forge, I thought all would continue as it had, but little had I realized how safe a firepit was my master’s influence. Many efreet hated me simply because I was an Azer, and I nearly was run out of the city, until it became clear that my work was the product of years of tutelage under the greatest hand the City of Brass has ever known. I worked tirelessly, and every time I neared exhaustion, I thought of my master and how I must continue to build his legacy, spending every moment at the forge or repairing others’ shoddy work. I took to wearing my greatest work upon myself, as the clothing of the city never lasted long upon me, and I realized that nothing would suit me better than a constant proclamation in the face of all who had doubted my skill, so I wrought a fine filigree of obsidian and brass and studded it with the finest of gems. Its true purpose, however, was to always remind me of the weight of creation, and I weighted it to keep me strong, and grounded in the importance of finding the true purpose of metal and gem.

This diligence and familiarity with finding the purpose of things also is what allowed me to save the City of Brass. The disk upon which it sits cracked, and, it is important to note, just as fires don’t start without fuel and a spark, magical obsidian disks don’t crack themselves. However, I found the source of the crack, and helped the chief architect of the city repair the disk by melting obsidian into the crack and flash freezing it with his magic back into a single piece of strong, shining obsidian. I was awarded great honor, fame, and a single boon from the Sultan, who commanded the chief architect to fulfill it.

My life became much easier, with many flocking to get work done by the favored Azer of the Sultan, but what great thing truly came of it was the uniting of two fires as one, as I found my great friend Ignil, my tiny elemental companion. I went to visit the chief architect to receive my ‘award,’ and he let me into his office. I looked around and saw the great opulent wealth in his rooms. Gold dripped from the walls, jewels almost casually splashed among them. I could have had anything there I wanted, but truly none was of a work that rivaled mine. I looked at his desk, and upon it sat a lamp, with an imprisoned fire spirit within, forced to give light or shoot flame upon command, and I felt pity for it. I knew what it was like to be confined, hated, and commanded to work by the efreet, and I then understood exactly what I would have for my boon. I asked him to free the elemental from its confines, to give it the freedom all fire deserved, to spread and crackle, rather than be smothered and choked, neither able to give light nor warmth. The architect readily agreed, thinking me a fool, but little did he know I wanted nothing of his decadent wealth. Freedom to create is greater than the wealth it yields, and the elemental deserved its own chance to find its way. Thankfully, it decided that was with me, and we have been inseparable since, as she cheers me when I’m tired or discouraged from a long or unsuccessful day, and I give her a home, companionship, and protection from those who would enslave such creatures. She is a constant reminder that the City of Brass is full of denizens who think of none but themselves, nor how their actions might harm the lives of others.

I have but once forgotten this, when I gave my heart to another. I loved her, and gave her freely of all that I had, and for a time spent my strength for that which gave nothing in return. She then betrayed me, leaving me as a sudden gust of wind that quenches a flame as it steals the air it needs. She loved me for nothing but my fame and the beautiful things I made for her, and as soon as she caught the eye of another more prestigious than me, she was gone. The lesson was harsh, but needful. I rededicated myself to my work, and I realized that it was not only the efreet who were like that, but that any who allowed their flame to burn not from adding their own fuel, but from stealing the strength of others.

Thus went life, until the day I learned the source of the great crack in the obsidian disk, and another painful lesson was taught to me. Even as a flame burning in the night is visible for miles, yet those within it can see nothing outside of it, so too does ignoring who might have broken a thing not make them ignore he who fixes it.


Operation Potato Ja Nai georgethegreat42