A New Home
I wasn't entirely sure what caused me to stop in the small hamlet in the south of this land called Ornthas. I'd been journeying free for about a year now, and to be honest, I was getting used to the road. Yet something felt homey about the quaint cottages and large fields of wheat; it reminded me of a seaside town much like the one I had been raised in. Waves of golden vegetation swayed in the light breeze, making the wagon I had hitched a ride on into a fearless vessel forging onwards.
When the time came for me to say farewell to the kind trader that had leant me this passage, I did so curtly and quickly. My accent, coupled with the tattoos that adorned my head, led people to usually let me be. Remembering these tattoos hurt a bit, inside; they had once been a source of power, but I'd used the last of that a long while ago. Just pointless decoration now.
The single inn was tiny, but quaint. The food was passable, if not a bit stale. It was warm, and that was a lot more than could be said for food on the road. The room was a reasonable price, though I would hazard it was a bit more expensive than the locals would have gotten it for. No point in quarreling about something I could afford though.
After setting up, I quickly went out in search of work. If I was to be staying here, at least for a time, I would need some form of income. Thankfully, the golden wheat fields meant that harvest season was nigh, and I quickly found a farmer willing to pay me in coin for my labor.
Several days in the fields, and later at night in the inn, gave me a very quick idea of the quirks of this place. They worshipped gods, but they believed these gods took the form of humans. Apparently these 7 "Nemertingi" were the rulers of Ornthas, most likely a title based on the way these folk talked about it recently passing to a new individual. However, the mention of these Nemeringi using magic piqued my interest. I was, after all, a mage before I was a vagrant. I decided I would try to find out more about this Nemertingi, and what forms of magic they were able to use.
It was just over 3 months before I got my chance to observe this individual known as Nemertingi. The harvest had been quick, though hard, but what had surprised me was that the village folk immediately started planting again. I may not have worked in fields in my time, but I'd certainly run them; to replant this late in the season was crop suicide. By the time the plants matured, it would be the dead of winter. This was where the Nemertingi came in. I only caught a glimpse of the man, but the magic he was using was quite the spectacle. Entire fields invigorated with a wave of his hand. His eyes... They glowed with otherworldly energy, and I swear at one point he locked eyes with me.
But one very important detail caught my attention. He was fair skinned, an unblemished white. He had no Conduits, the same type of tattoos that adorned my own skin, which meant that he was tapping directly into mana. If what I learned in my homeland was true, that meant that not only was this Nemertingi a mage, he was also the biggest danger to this entire country.
My name is Evara Corras, and on that day I swore to kill a god.