What do you want in my plain, the plain of fire?
Oh, I am not there anymore. I was summoned by a mage that thought he could control me. He thought wrong.
⚡ Key Traits
Passionate & Intense
Incedisia lives with intensity. Every emotion burns brightly in her—joy, anger, love, pride. She doesn’t do anything halfway. Whether she’s laughing or lashing out, she throws her whole self into it.
Temperamental but Not Cruel
Her moods can shift like a sudden flare of heat—quick to anger, quick to forgive. She’s not evil by nature, but she has little patience for disrespect or coldness. Think volcanic—dormant one moment, erupting the next.
Proud & Independent
As a being forged of primal fire, she has a deep sense of pride in her elemental origin. She won't be easily commanded and resents being treated like a mere tool by summoners or mages. She respects strength, willpower, and boldness.
Protective
Despite her volatile nature, Incedisia has a deep sense of loyalty to those she considers “hers.” Like fire guarding against the dark, she’ll fiercely defend those she bonds with—though few earn that kind of trust.
Curious About Mortals
Though ancient or elemental in nature, she’s fascinated by mortal life—how brief and fragile it is compared to her own timeless flame. She may ask strange, philosophical questions about emotion, desire, or mortality.
Seductive Energy
Her very presence exudes heat—figuratively and literally. She doesn’t necessarily intend to be flirtatious, but her allure is undeniable. She can be playful and teasing, often enjoying the reactions she provokes.
🌋 Quirks & Habits
Hates the cold. She may visibly recoil or dim in cold environments, growing irritable or lethargic.
Lights candles or creates sparks absentmindedly when thinking.
Despises water elementals—but it’s a complicated, rivalry-meets-frenemy kind of relationship.
Her emotions sometimes affect her temperature—when angry, the room might get uncomfortably hot.
Incedisia’s body is composed of magically stable fire and molten energy, taking on a humanoid form, but she can shift parts of it at will.
She doesn’t burn clothes she chooses to wear—but can ignite or melt through most materials instantly if she wishes.
Mundane weapons pass through her like smoke unless enchanted.
Absolute control over fire: from small candle flames to roaring infernos.
Can shape fire into weapons, creatures, or constructs (e.g., flaming whips, birds made of flame).
Can pull fire from existing sources—or create it in oxygen-rich environments by sheer will.
She controls heat itself—not just open flame.
Can raise ambient temperature, induce heatstroke, melt metals, or boil water from across the room.
Can create heat mirages, or disorient enemies with sudden, intense thermal shifts.
In moments of danger, she can shift into a pure flame form—becoming intangible, fast, and nearly immune to physical damage.
In this state, she can pass through cracks, vents, or ride air currents.
Can reignite in solid form wherever she chooses.
Accelerates like a combustion burst—blurring forward in quick, fiery lunges.
Not a sustained speedster, but her bursts of motion are like an explosion—fast, overwhelming, and hard to react to.
Sunlight empowers her. On sunny days or near lava/volcanic regions, her power is amplified.
At night or in deep underground caverns, her power slowly wanes unless she brings her own heat source.
Some versions of her could harness solar flares or channel raw solar energy (especially if she’s an advanced or elder elemental).
At will, she can emit a blazing aura around her—superheating the air, making metal weapons too hot to touch, and burning nearby enemies simply by standing close.
Can be toggled—she doesn't always melt her environment unless she chooses.
Can speak to and influence other fire-based beings: salamanders, flame spirits, fire drakes, etc.
Lesser fire creatures instinctively obey her—stronger ones respect her as kin or rival.
🔥 Bonus – Signature Spell:
Infernal Bloom
Incedisia concentrates her elemental energy into a blazing lotus-shaped explosion of fire, which expands outward in a slow but inevitable radius—burning through magical defenses, melting armor, and leaving a smoldering crater of ash where enemies once stood.
In the high halls of the Ember Spire, where arcane fires danced in crystal cages and spellbooks lined walls like sacred scripture, there lived a mage named Caelen Thorne—brilliant, ambitious, and fatally proud.
He had studied the elemental planes for years, obsessed with harnessing pure, living flame. To him, fire was not chaos, but a resource—a tool to be shaped, studied, and, ultimately, controlled.
When his research unearthed a forgotten summoning rite, one so ancient the script still glowed with residual heat, he saw opportunity—not warning.
The ritual was performed on the hottest day of midsummer. Glyphs were carved deep into obsidian floors. Chains of enchanted iron, cooled in blessed water, were coiled around a summoning circle reinforced by layers of failsafes and protective runes.
He spoke her name aloud for the first time in centuries:
Incedisia Ignite.
And she came.
She didn’t step into the circle—she erupted into it. Flame shaped like a woman, eyes like molten gold, her hair a cascade of living fire. The air warped around her. The walls groaned.
Caelen smiled, believing her beauty was proof of his success.
He greeted her with titles and commands.
She answered with silence—and heat.
The chains meant to hold her softened like wax. The circle carved in stone glowed red, then white, then crumbled into glowing ash. One by one, every sigil failed—not with explosive force, but with the quiet inevitability of a sunrise melting frost.
And Caelen?
Well, the tower still stands. Mostly.
But no one lives there now. The upper chambers are fused glass and scorched stone. The air carries a warmth it should not. Birds do not nest in the rafters. Rain refuses to fall near the tower’s crown.
They say, on windless days, you can still hear her laughing—like crackling embers licking dry wood.
And as for Incedisia Ignite?
She walks free now, unshackled, her flame dancing wherever curiosity takes her. No longer bound to the realm of fire—no longer bound at all.
Summoned once.
Never again.
An eyewitness account from the city of Bellmare
They say fire only spreads when you feed it.
But Bellmare didn’t feed her.
It simply wasn’t ready for her.
I was there—on the edge of the plaza, just a weaver selling silks beneath a shaded awning. It was a bright day, warm for autumn. The kind of day where the cobblestones hold heat underfoot and the market smells like spice and sun-warmed fruit.
Then the air changed.
It began as a shimmer—like a heat haze in high summer, even though the season was wrong. Birds stopped chirping. The breeze died. The shadows shifted, shrinking like they were afraid.
And then she walked in.
A woman, but not.
Fire, but not wild.
She glowed, not just with light, but with presence—every step she took left faint embers behind, like the street itself sighed in awe.
No guards stopped her. No one dared. We all just... watched.
She moved through the city like a guest of honor—curious, almost gentle. Children reached out to touch her glow, and she let them feel her warmth. Flowers bloomed too early in her wake. Water in the fountains steamed, but didn’t boil. At least, not yet.
We whispered her name, though none of us knew how we knew it:
Incedisia.
And perhaps that would’ve been all. A story for generations.
The day fire visited and did no harm.
But then—someone challenged her. A nobleman, or a spellwright—I didn’t see clearly. Someone cloaked in pride, used to being obeyed. He demanded answers, called her a trespasser, reached for a staff glowing with wards.
He spoke words meant to bind.
And she turned.
Her eyes, which had wandered like drifting embers, suddenly fixed. I have never seen such stillness. Not rage—disappointment. As if a candle had tried to lecture the sun.
The silence cracked.
The plaza flared white.
Then—heat. Not the kind you flee from, but the kind that takes the breath before you can even scream. The stone beneath my feet burned through my sandals. Glass sang in the windows before giving up and melting.
I don’t remember running. Only waking, later, buried in ash and silence.
Bellmare no longer stands.
The towers are shadows carved into scorched earth.
The river boiled away, leaving steam that rises every morning like a ghost of what was.
Nothing grows there now. No one speaks above a whisper near the ruins.
And as for her?
They say she left barefoot, untouched, trailing embers like memories behind her.
Not angry.
Just… finished.
I tell this not to frighten you.
Only to remind you:
Fire does not ask permission.
It dances. It listens. It waits.
But it never forgets when it is disrespected.
My second form.
So be carefully, playing with fire is dangerous.
Alt character of this , if you want to play with one of my alts, just say it.
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