“I grew up on an isolated farm in Mittel, halfway between the cities of Gilder and Emberfell. For a long time I thought of my life like that – somewhere between the human-run granaries of Gilder, and the elven temples of Emberfell. My father is a farmer, you see, and every Spring we’d take the Harvestroad by cart. My mother is an elf, and a cleric of Marithael. While we never visited Emberfell together, her private library seemed to rival the greatest universities, at least to my mind. I spent my teenage years lost in study, and we’d often talk through the night debating some theological inconsistency or sharing a story about a tale of old.
That was before the voice came, before I felt the tugging on my soul, before we all realised that I, somehow, had been touched by the divine.
It started when I was 16, soon after I’d taught myself Tharnic. Something about that old, dead language unlocked something inside me, and it wasn’t long before my mind was ablaze with sorcerous power. Whether it was destiny or some fluke of my mixed lineage, I had been marked as something special, a favoured soul. I don’t hear the voice every day, but I talk to It. It’s a god, I know. Perhaps The God. It manifests in strange ways that I can’t always explain. My heart tugs me place, like an invisible lodestone. Sometimes when I close my eyes I can see runes emblazoned in my mind. When I look to the setting sun I see luminescent figures of flame and air. When I walk upon the mountains, I’m haunted by visions, and feel the earth’s patience and stillness. I can’t always control it, and I don’t know whether I’m a vessel or a tool, but I do know that I was destined for something greater, and that I must fulfil my destiny.”