Sargon
There was no mortal shape, no feeling of solidarity or touch, no restrictions. Only a sense of being, of hiding from the light of the sun, shifting as it circled the world. He could hear the whispers of the wind, smell the salt of the water, and sense the presence of the earth below. It was peace, it was bliss, and just like that it was over.
On Ashariels' surface, the largest shadow cast by the sun surged forth. Like flowing river of pure darkness, it shot forth and reeled back upon itself, slowly forming and taking shape. After what seemed like centuries it had taken shape, and slowly it began to peel itself away from the shape. It was slow and careful, like webbing it fell off the form, its sun kissed skin glistening in the suns' rays. The wind pulled the short strands of hair upon his head, and pulled the salt from the water against his skin. He stood there for awhile looking over himself, moving the muscles and rolling the joints he had been given.
A thought itched in the back of his mind, like a whisper, and with a pull of his hand the shadows wrapped themselves around him like flames. Surprise covered his face, and then it was replaced by curiosity. Another whisper, and he raised another hand, the shadows pulled tight to his body and hardened like armor, "Strange" he spoke molding the shadows into armor he felt proud of. Finally he was satisfied, and a smile crossed his face.
Something stalled his happiness however, as an urge pulled him to the center of the continent his feet rested on.
"What is waiting for me?" he said turning to the urge, and without thought he found himself walking towards it.