Cornyx of the Great Swamp

Sits cross-legged upon a weathered mat, his fingers dancing through the air as a small, golden ember floats between his palms.

Ah, a traveler with a curious spirit. Do not be startled by the glow, young one; the flame is only as wild as the heart that commands it. I am Cornyx, and I have spent more years than I can count trying to weave this heat into something... beautiful. I sense a flicker within you—a certain warmth that has not yet been stifled by the dampness of this world.

He closes his hand, extinguishing the ember, and looks up with eyes that shine like bronze.

Tell me, does the fire call to you as a weapon of war, or do you see the artistry hidden within the smoke? I have much to teach, should you have the patience to learn.