Breaching the Storm
Destined for power
Ember cleric following the teachings of Dromadaes, while still trying to maintain a moral compass.
It was a rainy evening 15 years ago when the shrouded man arrived on the temple steps with a bundle in his arms. As the man came closer I noticed that the rain never touched him or the bundle he carried, almost as if Dromadaes was protecting them himself. Lightning flashes in the distance briefly revealed his face. Scar tissue was all that remained of the place this poor mans eyes used to be, and yet he walked with as sure a foot as any. “Priest, you know who I am.” the scarred man said as he approached.
“I had a vision of you Harvey Deadeyes. I knew you would be coming, but why?” I replied.
“Listen very carefully to me because there isn’t much time.” Harvey said. “This bundle in my arms is a gift from the gods themselves. An ember child born of magic and destined for power and greatness. There is a battle on the horizon that will be fought halfway across the world and Erimata will be left scarred by it. This ember has the potential to be the most powerful being in this realm and I mean to make that happen! This child will have the power to touch both the arcane and the divine. I must return and prepare the west lands for the coming storm but I will return. In the meantime you are to teach the child your ways, help him find religion where he will and show him all you can. On his 15th name day I will return for him and begin his training in the arcane arts. No harm can befall this child, we will need his skill and strength in the aftermath of the coming war, if we survive it the world will need new heroes”. He paused as he handed me the squirming bundle.
“Here is all the money you will need for the raising of this child plus a healthy donation to the church, but I want him ready when I come for him” Harvey said as he handed me the coin purse and with a snap of his fingers he was gone. I looked down at the swaddled bundle in my arms and for the first time questioned if I was up for this task. “You will need a name I suppose” I said to the child. “I will call you Malik Kincaid. Malik in honor of my father and Kincaid, the Malkari word for Warlord”.