Ideho

Ideho remembers the warmth of their small oven, a defiant glow against the perpetual gloom of The Dragon Wastelands. A traveler, too poor for coin, had paid for a bowl of soup with the amulet, insisting it was just a keepsake. Ideho tucked it beneath their apron and thought little of it. But the stone was a magnet for the region's chaotic magic. The next time the sky wept its illusory rain, the amulet pulsed, drawing a bolt of raw energy from the clouds. In a silent, searing flash, their stall and the life they knew were vaporized. They awoke in the mud, clutching the still-warm stone, their apron miraculously intact. Now, they wander, a rogue by necessity, the apron a constant, cruel reminder of a warmth they can never feel again.