Smoke wafted from the being's body. His vermillion skin let off a soft glow, like that of a dying coal. His flesh smoldered, not from the conflagration he stood before, but from his blood, his inner furnace, his piety. With a burning and intent gaze he peered through the great flames as they leaped and danced, trying to discern their wisdom. The Anointed of Caldor remained transfixed for many hours. The augury had shown him much. 

The cold, skeletal hand of a necromancer, slowly clawing its way closer to Paterdomus from the south. The fiery beast that had assailed the city's walls not long ago, being ferried off into the pagan forests to the west by some strange force. And then there was a great darkness. The flames had shown him some time ago the darkened caves where the infidel Mutig tribe had been hiding. With this information, the crusaders had been able to finally send an army to put down the last resistance from that one infidel tribe of savages. But now, those caves were cloaked by shadow. That shadow had been slowly spreading, and it now cloaked half the forest. Reports indicated that the army sent to those caves had simply vanished. The theurgist had attempted to illuminate the shadowy forest and catch a glimpse of the malevolent force behind all of this misfortune, but to no avail. Surely all these things were related, but how was one to make sense of them?

The fire priest waved a hand. The flames returned to their usual state, the augury finished. This was a vast subterranean chamber, hollowing out the basalt deep beneath the temple's foundations. The great pyre dominated the room, lighting every nook and cranny with its brilliant glow. The conflagration flickered upwards from the magma pool below with a deeper crimson and a a more potent light than even the stained sun in the sky. The Rhuax, as it was named, was sacred. Paterdomus' grand temple was originally a fortress built to guard it. Few knew of its existence, and nearly all of them were fools. They erroneously named it the First Fire, a gift from Caldor. In reality, it was the Last Fire, and Caldor's dying breath. They burned their ritual incense in the wretched temple above, letting the smoke waft up to the heavens, oblivious to the fact that their god right below their very feet.

It was from this ancient flame that the first Paterdomans had emerged, as gigantic magmatic creatures that burned with fire and barely resembled men. Caldor's sons had grown colder and smaller. Eventually there came humans. There was breeding between the two races. The Burning Ones began to merely smolder. And then, at last, their warmth vanished. The Children of Flame were now merely a myth, a metaphor for the devout. Some of the land's most powerful pyromancers still had a drop of fire in their blood, though they didn't know it. Hardly any pure-blooded sons of Caldor remained. There was only the fire priest that stood before the Rhuax, and the dozen or so attendants that never left this room, bound by solemn oaths to guard the Rhuax until they crumbled to ash.

With no small amount of reluctance, the smoldering man waved a hand over the conflagration once more. This time, rather than depict an image of a distant land, the flames molded into humanoid shapes. They were the Emberwights, the spirits of all the devout Burning Ones that had been cremated and returned to the Rhuax. The living priest pointed to one of the dead ones, beckoning it forward. The Emberwight had no choice but to obey the summoning, yet he was less than pleased to do so.

The priest's voice rung out, "You have seen what I saw, in the augury. What am I to make of this?"

The Emberwight replied with a spiteful tone, [i]"It pains me to see you. Look at him, brothers! This is our offspring. How has the fire of our great ancestors been reduced to this miserable heap of cold ashes, that has the arrogance to address us without kneeling?"[/i]

The ghost's reply was not unexpected, yet the priest was still infuriated. "I am the high prophet of Caldor!" he roared. "I am fire incarnate! I am strength! I am divine. You are but only a miserable, apathetic heathen."

At the mention of the word 'heathen' the Emberwight went into a fury. The thing charged through the mighty flames, right to the fire's edge, and reached out for the prophet's throat with ghastly hands that could still sear stone. The prophet conjured some fire, and drove a flaming fist into the spirit's chest. The baleful Emberwight crumbled into a mound of ashes, though unfortunately it would be back next time. 

The prophet searched the crowd. At last, he spotted one of the younger Emberwights, one that he knew would help. He spoke, "Grandfather, step forward."

The ghost stepped forward. His eyes had a faint spark of flame within, but otherwise he was alike the prophet in that he only smoldered. The other wights no doubt treated him with contempt. Having been given permission to speak, the ghost said, [i]"You should have called on me first. The others grow bitter with loneliness. We long for our forefather's presence."[/i]

Slightly agitated at the lack of an answer, the prophet repeated, "But the augury. What am I to make of it? What can I do?"

The Emberwight responded, [i]"The answer was already given. You cannot defeat the darkness, and so you have no hope of triumphing over what lurks within it. We long for Caldor. You need him, lest your entire city fall to the shadows."[/i]

The prophet answered, "It is said that if we attempt to bring back the god when the time is not right, he will die, and doom with befall us!"

[i]"Look around you, boy. The signs are all here. The time is right. You have looked into the flames for a sign for so long that their light has blinded you, and now you do not heed the signs that it gives, out of doubt and habit."[/i]

The Anointed of Caldor's expression changed from one of contempt to understanding. "Not this time. I shall listen to your wisdom. I shall not be the prophet that fails in this land's time of need. Thank you, grandfather."

The prophet walked away from the Rhuax, and the Emberwights disappeared. The flame's attendants stood gawking in shock, not believing what they had just heard; though the solemn look on the priest's face alleviated any doubts of his seriousness. The high priest donned his ornamental helmet, a massive metal thing adorned with gems and engravings. There were no holes for his eyes or mouth. If the prophet's smoldering skin was seen, he would either be seen as a demon and slain, or incessantly cooed over and worshiped in the temple above, unable to ever leave and attend to the Rhuax and matters of actual importance. The priest did not know which fate he thought more gruesome.

Once he was fully armored ad draped with a red cloak that would hide the small puffs of smoke that emerged from the seams in his armor, the prophet ascended a long staircase. At last, he emerged in one of the lower levels of the fire priests' black tower in the temple above. In the small meeting room, seated around a table were several prominent leaders of the city. Lord Inquisitor Redfyre sat, glaring at some blue-robed water priest that had evidently came in lieu of Unda's High Priestess. Sir Toric, the commander of the city guard, was engaging in some light banter with Marshal Embers, the famed leader of the valorous Knights of the Flame, though it was clear that both were nervous and had their thoughts elsewhere. The temple's Head Savant, some fool that was supposed to be the prophet's foremost adviser, merely sat in respectful silence. Even without eye holes in his helmet, the prophet could see them clearly. He could sense their warmth, feel in it what they were thinking and what they wanted.

The others were already waiting for him. That was good, he hated having to summon them and waste his time waiting. The opening of the stone door startled the council. The rare few times that the high-and-mighty prophet did decide to come out of his hole and actually attend these meetings, he often at least bothered to arrive on time. The High Savant stood to face the prophet. His face turned to disgust as he spat out, "We have been asking for your presence for days! You were down there 'otherwise preoccupied' for a week, and meanwhile the sun turned red which is causing confusion and panic, our walls were attacked by some monster, the crusade in the west has been stymied because an entire host of elite soldiers vanished without a trace, and now there are reports of a necroma-"

"Silence!" the prophet shouted as he pushed the man aside with a blisteringly hot metal gauntlet, the echoing voice that emerged from within the helmet akin to the roar of a bonfire. Normally he spoke lowly and quietly to conceal that voice and took good care not to come into contact with any other person, though he now was not worried about hiding his nature. He had only decided to hide in his armor and cloak because he needed to make a public appearance.

Addressing the table now, he scolded them as if they were children, "I have seen all that the High Savant of and more, in my auguries. Your petulant attempts to waste my time with these pointless meetings and distract me from my true duties were always unwelcome, but now they are unacceptable." 

The prophet paused to catch a breath. The gathering stood in shocked silence, as the prophet normally sat, lead the beginning prayer, said a few formalities, and otherwise refused to participate. This council was used to ruling the city themselves, and they were not sure how they felt about the prophet suddenly taking charge.

The prophet continued, "Send couriers to all the vassals. Order them to begin amassing their forces. Warn them that they may have to levy the peasants, if we still deem that our forces are insufficient afterwards. And prepare the plaza outside. I must address the public."

Ordering all the vassals to prepare their armies was a drastic move, and the prophet had not made a public appearance in decades. They could only wonder what it was that he had to tell the people. The councilors scurried off to do as they were asked, all wondering what could have possibly happened to the prophet to change him so much.

[hider=Compendium Entry]
High Prophet of Caldor- The leader of the Anointed of Caldor, and a direct descendant of the god himself. As a Child of the Flame, he is not human. His flesh smolders and emits smoke, which he attempts to hide by wearing a suit of incredibly ornate armor with a red cloak draped over it. He is an incredibly powerful pyromancer, his magic more potent than any mere man could ever hope to wield. Though he is undoubtedly the most powerful figure in Paterdomus, he has always spent close to all of his time in the basalt chambers deep below the temple, attending to the sacred Rhuax, performing auguries and prayers to ensure that the kingdom is well, and looking for signs that it is time for the fire priests to help Caldor return. He has not made a public appearance in decades, and his council of advisers ruled the city without him for the most part.[/hider]