Zolaire Aratha's page

The orc rushes forward, heedless of the blood streaming from its wounds, as Velar, soldier of Lastwall, stumbled backwards over the bleeding bodies of the grievously wounded. This is the end, then he thinks, as the sword is drawn back. Then, out of nowhere, he feels heat on his back, and the sound of rushing wind behind him. Three rays of golden-orange fire arc down from the sky, striking the orc, leaving a charred hole in its chest, and it topples over, dead and on fire. Turning around, he sees a figure, wreathed in wings of flames, flying between him and the light of the sun, and the figure descends to the ground, looking around at the wounded and falling. The fire-angel man mutters a spell, and his wings of fire flare brightly, golden flames bursting out across the battlefield, and where the flames touch Velar and his fallen companions, it burns away wounds, cuts closing and broken bones mending as a wash of warmth flows over your body. As Velar struggles to stand, the winged man, clothed in the white, red and gold robes akin to a priest of Sarenrae, turns toward him, and quickly moves over, wings crumbling away to dust, reaching out a hand to help him rise, "Stand strong soldier," he says, his voice gentle yet strong, "What's your name? Velar? Good to meet you. I'm Zolaire. Don't worry about continuing the fight, I'll finish it for you. Good work this far, though. Is your commander still alive?" Velar points out where his officer is struggling to stand up, and Zolaire strides over, careful to avoid stepping on the wounded. The two converse for a moment, before Zolaire nods, steps back, and summons an enormous wall of golden flames, which bathes all the fallen in its warmth, healing what remained of their wounds, then leaps into the air, massive red-golden wings erupting from his back in a burst of flames, and Zolaire flies off into the distance. Shortly thereafter, the warcries of orcs drifted over the battlefield, but the rushing sound of magical fire quickly changed the cries to that of pain.

As the sun begins to set, and soldiers settle in for the night in their encampment, all talk is about the 'angel' that turned the tides of battle, and a hush falls over the soldiers as wings of fire descend from the sky into the center of camp. With a look, the sentries move aside as Zolaire enters the command tent. Sometime after, he emerges alongside the General, who looks around and triumphantly announces, "The orcs have been routed!" there is much rejoicing, and many questions had. Velar joins a group of other soldiers questioning Velar about who he is. Eventually, after several mis-starts, they all sit down around a fire to hear Zolaire's tale, his voice captivating, "Well, I was born in a small Varisian town on the Storval Plateau, and my fire magic developed from a young age. People used to laugh when my grandad said he'd had a phoenix as a pet- but when my magic first showed its nature, people stopped laughing." He smirks, then muses that, "If you've ever met a phoenix, you'd know they would never be a pet, but it's still likely that he met one at some point, and something happened to put fire in his blood. Anyway, I digress. I had some minor tricks I could use, but of more help were my healing flames- they always had a use, and I didn't really mind people always asking me for healing- I was happy to do it. My town lived in harmony. Then, everything changed when the orc nations attacked. Only my mentor, a master of arcane rune magic, could have stopped them. But, when the town needed him most, he vanished. Only a few days had passed when our town was completely destroyed and the orcs moved on to the next town. I and a few survivors hid in the hills- I was twelve at the time- until the orcs returned to Belkzen. Although my pyromancy skills were great, I had a lot to learn before I was ready to save anyone. Still, I believed that I could save the other villages on the Plateau." He paused to take a breath and drink a sip of water, "And you know what? I did. It took the better part of a year, but eventually my powers grew to where I was able to defeat every last one of the orcs, and they all burned. I helped the few survivors of my village rebuild, but I knew it wasn't enough. So, I headed into Belkzen, and I spent about five years, living off the land and growing my magic. I killed orc after orc, but it was never enough. I came down here for a while- met your general when he was just a Captain, actually. But, eventually, I heard rumors of an undead menace growing in Ustalav, so I joined the Knights of Ozem for a few years- fought back several necromancers, put down an aspiring lich, and burned a few Walkers to cinders. That's where I've been for about the last decade, but when General Callum sent a message saying a massive army was gearing up to attack, I had to come help. Soon, though, I need to head back. That answer all your questions?"

Naturally, it didn't, and Zolaire was still talking when Velar went to bed. When he got up in the morning, the pyromancer was gone.

Zolaire is kind of like Superman, kind and gentle, endlessly patient, and always willing to help out the 'good guys.' However, unlike Superman, Zolaire has a core of fire, and so he can be prone to snap judgements and emotional reactions. However, he knows this, and so prefers to fight enemies where it's easy to tell who's in the right. That's why he's spent his life fighting the Orc Hordes of Belkzen and the undead of Ustalav- they are very straightforward, easy to identify enemies, with few 'good' members of their kind, and most importantly, they know how to burn. He has to use his powers, he rationalizes, and he loves the thrill of the fight, burning evil away in his holy fire, and so makes sure he points it towards the right foes. While obviously skeptical of any who claim to be good, he isn't hostile towards half-orcs, as he realizes that in any population, there are outliers, and so long as they have witnesses who can verify their goodness, he is willing to accept even full-blooded orcs and the occasional undead into his company, though usually keeping a wary eye on them until they prove themselves.

He does have, quite literally, hot blood, and is prone to anger, but is usually good at keeping himself from lashing out, and when he does, he always makes sure he heals any who might have been injured. He's also never quite still, fingers always dancing when he's sitting, and is likely to summon small flames and play with them to keep himself occupied if he's likely to be waiting. He does, though, absolutely love flying, and goes soaring at almost any chance he gets.

Zolaire stands at a bit below six feet, but when his wings are out, they reach much higher. With green eyes and brown hair, he doesn't look all that impressive, though he does have some sort of invisible presence that makes him impossible to ignore. He usually wears white robes, with red highlights and some gold ornamentation (including a small holy symbol of Sarenrae), and a red cloak that flutters behind him when he's flying.

When he summons his wings, though, his unassuming appearance is completely gone, as they cloak him completely, wings made of both feather and fire, weightless and almost insubstantial when needed, or with a heavy presence that fills the room depending on what he wants. When he dismisses them, they collapse into ash, crumbling away without a trace until he rebirths them in a plume of fire. His flames, unlike his wings, though, are golden, and when he uses his magic, his eyes and tattoo (hidden under the sleeve of his left arm) glow, and his voice takes on an echoey timbre, as though hundreds of people with different voices were speaking at the same time. His healing flames are a golden-white color, not unlike divine magic, but when he uses them to burn, they are a much deeper orange-gold hue.