Varan was mumbling to himself as he sat on that bench, rain still falling from the skies like the tears of Kyne, when suddenly his mumbling stopped. Varan rose from the bench, and with him, the rain turned into a raging storm, Kyne herself was now trying to stop Varan what he was about to do.
From the holes in Varan helmet, a flame could be seen, and this flame was the manifestation of his pain and rage, pain and rage that has been suppressed for far too long, now being realised as an all-consuming flame that will consume anything and everything in its path, be it man or beast, it could not be satiated.
Varan started walking, his steps echoing even in the raging storm. Any guard that came across Varan moved out his way, their instincts telling them to not aggravate this man, for he will consume them without mercy. As Varan walked, the memory of that day kept replaying in his mind, fuelling the flame that was his rage and pain that was in his heart and soul.
Varan walked through the city's gate and down the path, past the stables and into the plains of Whiterun, sounds of thunder echoed with his every step, warning every living being that they might be consumed by the rage-filled beast that is Varan Kynor, and that the only thing that they could do was to run and hide, praying that it does not find them.
A bolt of lightning struck, illuminating Varan's tall and wide frame, his body casting a long and dreadful shadow over the plains. Varan drew his greatsword, dragging it behind him, slouching his shoulders and lowering his head as he did so, his flame manifesting in his right hand, flickering and hissing every time the rain hit it, not even the tears of Kyne could smother this flame.
A gust of wind blew at him, it was Kyne, she was trying to warn him, trying to get him to stop, but Varan just continued walking, unfaltered by the wind. He was no longer Varan Kynor the Wandering Mercenary, the man who served Jarls and slayed bandits for coin.
No.
He was now a beast, consumed by its rage, on a path filled with rivers of blood and mountains of corpses, a path that will either lead to its death or the death of anything that came across it, for it did not discriminate.
.
Elien was still siting in that chair by the fire, she didn't know why but the flame brought her peace, comfort, as if it were trying to sooth her sorrows, trying to lessen her grief, and trying to mend her broken heart.
.
Screams, screams that could be heard across the plains, screams of pain, screams for mercy, but Varan did not stop. He did not stop his slaughter of the bandits before him, he did not stop his flame from consuming them nor his blade mercilessly cleaving into their flesh and bone, he only stopped when they fell dead, but even then, his rage was not quelled.
Bodies littered the floor, covered in a crude mixture of blood, mud, and snow, corpses so burnt all that was left was charred bones, corpses so cut up and disfigured one would think that this was the work of beast, not a man. Varan beheaded a bandit as he unleashed his flame on another, he would not stop until everything around him was dead, until everything felt the pain that he felt that day.
.
It was the next morning when Elien woke up, still in the same chair she was in the night before, she turned her head to the window to see the storm still raging, "Looks like I'll be staying inside for a while." She mumbled to herself.
.
Mammoths ran as their giant guardians tried to kill their attacker, a man wearing steel plate armour that was covered in blood and grim, in his left hand a steel greatsword that was soaked with blood, and in his right, a brilliant flame that seemed to consume everything it touched, a flame so horrid it should not even be called a mere 'flame'.
This man... no... this beast was once Varan Kynor, I quiet man who killed for gold and served the Jarls.
A giant fell to floor, lifeless, its body was mangled, limbs were missing, bones piercing through flesh, and the one who caused this walked to another giant who stumbled back in fear at what it was seeing. In its eyes, the thing walking towards it was no man, but a monster, one that should not exist.
The giant tried to helplessly run away, but the monster just unleashed its flame, and the giant was soon consumed by it, leaving nothing but a large, charred corpse, blood still flowed from it, but the embers that clung to the corpse made sure that the blood never touched the wet mixture of snow and mud.
Varan looked up to skies, and from his throat came a yell that was filled with pain, rage, and suffering. And once he fell silent, the flame in his hand bloomed like a flower, a flower that consumed everything and anything without prejudice, Varan looked at the flame before looking to the running mammoths.
Lifting his right hand, he let the flame bloom, letting it consume everything in its wake. The mammoths let out cries of pain, but they were soon silenced, and all that remained of them were their blackened bones, left as a reminder that on this day...
A monster was born.