Izmael Couris's page

Born in the poor quarters of the Cauldron, Izmael’s life was one of struggle for his family. The family’s primary source of income came from his father and older brother who both worked as miners while his mother and two older sisters did odd jobs to supplement the family income. Things turned for the worse when the filth fever hit the city of Cauldron.

Izmael was twelve at the time when he witnessed one of his greatest tragedies. His brother had returned home late in the night carrying his father. He felt that something was wrong but returned to bed at his mother’s request. He had wanted to say something. Word in the quarters was that there was something bad going around. People who had been healthy in the morning were turning up too weak to rise the next day. People had blamed it on laziness or too much of that sour drink being brewed from the old well water. Others though were saying it was something worse, something more evil.

At his mother’s request Izmael tucked himself into a corner and drifted off to sleep while his mother and siblings tended to their father. He awoke in the middle of the night with something crashing against the floor. His startled eyes adjusted to the flickering light of the small dwelling. A lone candle was still lit on the kitchen table. At the edge of the light he looked on in shock unable to even scream at an outstretched hand. The hand was unrecognizable. It was severely bloated and covered in large blisters, some that looked like they had popped; he called out, “Mama? Poppa?” No answer. He called out again, “Kael? Drella? Nai?” Still silence.
Summoning the courage he inched closer on his hands and knees seeking out the candle. Finding strength in the candle’s light he struggled to his feet and grabbed the candle in both hands and moved closer to the deformed hand.

As the light cast its warm glow over Izmael he immediately screamed at the horrific sight. The bodies were deformed to the point of unrecognizability all that Izmael could see before him were five corpses with lesions that were seeping dark sickly looking fluid. The eyes were glassed over with only black colorless pupils staring back at him. As he turned to run away from his house something grabbed him, the outstretched hand, falling back he felt his head hit something and the world went black.

He did not know how long he had been out only that when he came to a man was attending. He wore white cloth robes and appeared to be writing or reading from the largest book Izmael had ever noticed. ‘Where am I?’ ‘What happened?’ these were the questions racing through Izmael’s mind and try as he might he had no strength to let them escape from his mouth. The only thing that emerged from his mouth as he opened it was a cough followed by the sour taste of bile. As he struggled to gain control of his body he found the world around him go dark once again.

When Izmael finally did awaken he was told it had been a week since they had brought him to the Cathedral of Pharasma. They had found him with his family covered in lesions and thought to be dead as well. By their estimations he must have been in that house for almost a week before the priests of Pharasma had come in to remove the bodies. It is only after moving Izmael when he began to cough and showed any signs of life that he was brought back to the cathedral and slowly nursed back to health. Among the priests most had thought Izmael would perish from the plague it had already claimed several hundred people, mainly from the poor quarter but also people from other district throughout the city. That he did survive was looked as a miracle from many of the priests and having no family or home to return to the High Priest accepted him as ward of the church.

Once Izmael had regained the strength to return to his feet he was put to work. At first he was given a wide range of tasks (i.e., sweeping, collecting books, grabbing firewood, assisting with cooking, washing robes, etc.). They were careful not to task Izmael with anything that exerted him too much for while he was a strong boy he still tired very easily having never fully recovered from the filth fever that had almost claimed his life.

Many of these tasks were what would be given to any new initiate. While he had no love for it he was treated fairly and in addition to doing chores he was taught to read and write. His parents had known only a smattering of words that they could actually read and even fewer that they could write. The priests while strict still had patience with Izmael especially given he had never received any trained teaching before.

While Izmael was a devout worshipper he lacked the same passion when it came to learning of the priesthood. His superiors understood then he would not be a priest of Pharasma and so they began to train him as one of the grave wardens. As a grave warden he was trained in martial weapons as well as heavy armor. His time was mainly spent patrolling the cathedral or assisting with gathering the unclaimed dead throughout Cauldron. Those that raised questions if this line of work would be suitable for Izmael were soon silenced as he took this new task the same way he took to learning to read and write. He still tired but he strengthened his mind finding new ways to push through the bouts of fatigue he almost always felt.

Now of age he was able to read some of the collections of works that the priests had attained. One such book written by an anonymous author preached the importance of prayer and meditation to strengthen one’s resolve. In praying to Pharasma each morning and each night he found during these times his body stopped aching, his breathing slowed, he found peace.

Almost six years had passed since he was taken in by the priests of Pharasma. Passing through the poor quarters with a priest and another warden in the interment wagon he felt a small quake followed by several cries for help. Rushing around the turn they were met with the scene of a collapsed building. People were rushing about trying to clear rubble to find anyone that might be trapped beneath.

As Izmael and the other warden were clearing some of the wreckage they heard a small cry of a young girl. Calling for assistance they and others rushed to clear away enough rubble to find her. It was then that a beam that had been holding most of what was left of the structure snapped instantly causing splintered wood to fly everywhere. One such piece had struck the other warden embedding itself deep into the chest of Izmael’s companion. Without so much as a thought Izmael removed it and laid his hand upon his companion’s chest. A bright blue light flared from Izmael‘s hand and as he watched the wound close before his eyes he stared in awe unable to understand what was going on. It was then a rush of fatigue swept over his body and unable to control he toppled over and passed out.

Coming soon