FICTION
Sepratom - The Elemental Lord

Sepratom’s ancient bones crack with his every step. Having been alive for countless ages, today’s events offer few surprises for him. He is aware however that what he is about to do is probably the single most important thing he has ever done.

Sepratom is a master of the four elements. Few have surpassed him over the years, but none have mastered all four just like him. He wishes he had time to pass his great wisdom to the young Serpente, but events are moving ahead of him. Events are always moving ahead of him. A long life of trying to play catch up, that is what has been troubling his mind lately.

Sepratom can level mountain chains with a mere invocation. He can summon forth material from the planet’s mantle to spew out and onto its valleys. He can travel with the wind and nourish life by extending the oceans. He can cross space and descend upon other planets. All this power and yet none of it matters right now. If only he could trade it for something useful…

What a charming thought, he thinks to himself.

Sepratom’s body borrows from the surrounding environment: when in high winds it looks like fog; when next to stone it becomes rocky; when next to heat it catches on fire; and when next to liquids in turns into water. Sometimes different parts of his body stay in contrasting states, forming an amalgamation of traits.

In earlier times, he would try to make himself look more regal when interacting socially with others. Age though has removed from his mind all preconceptions of appearance and these days he prefers to keep a more primitive look. It somehow seems more natural. Nature is what calms Sepratom’s mind and body. Nature is why he still cares to participate in this madness.

The rocky parts of his body look chipped, maybe signaling his advanced age, and granite plates float around him. He did not wish them to do so, but they just do. They have a tendency to interfere with anything approaching him in a hostile manner.

Thick crystalline structures have grown on his head and shoulders. He thinks they make him look rough and uninviting.

On his chest, lies the heart of Sepratom’s power; The Clondraic Amulet.

Composed of four distinct flat disks overlapping each other, each of a different radius, strange geometric shapes and accompanying ideograms glimmer on its surface. At its center, a large Mnemonic Crystal records all that has been, is, and will be.

Sepratom lifts his Psionic Staff, and the five Mnemonic Crystals placed on it since time immemorial pulse brightly, causing its rare alloys to cast wide shadows over the whole valley.

The surrounding forest starts growing rapidly and gradually extends to hundreds of square kilometers, nourishing varieties of plants that do not exist on this planet, just as its dense foliage makes access to this place all but impossible.

His gaze seems detached and unrepentant. The choices he has had to make over the years have surely unintentionally contributed to the destruction of many worlds; but this does not cause him as much grief as it used to, because, after all, everything was done with the best of intentions.