A confused Warlock who doesn't understand his powers.
It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Randoon was the first born of Ranlon the Shaman. The first born always took the mantle from their father as healer of the People when the father could no longer perform the duties, as had occurred countless times back into the days of the Ancestors. Tending to the inhabitants of a cluster of villages high in the mountains, it was a position of respect and honor.
Randoon had studied hard to honor his father and the People. He had spent countless hours learning the ancient ways of magic, the histories of the lands, and even the many religions that existed throughout the lands – although in truth understanding many of these strange events and beliefs did not make sense in his world, the real world of the mountain tops and the true Gods. He had struggled endlessly to learn the complicated language of the primordial beings- a language passed from Shaman to Shaman and carefully safeguarded from those who did not understand its powers. He had done all these things.
Then something went wrong. It was around the time of his Turraa, when a boy became a man and took his true name. Randoon started to feel something just beyond reach, calling to him. Somewhere in the stars was a whisper, a suggestion, even maybe a command. It was strongest in the night when he gazed up at the points of light representing the souls of his Ancestors, but in truth it was always with him, even while he slept. The simple healing magics he had been learning started to go wrong. Soon thereafter they would not work at all- and other, more sinister, magics began to manifest instead.
Some of the People started to whisper things- cruel, untrue things. They said he had been cursed by the gods or possessed by evil spirits. The voices of these People began to grow louder, and more and more begun to repeat their words. They would have killed him, except they feared his father. It was clear that things were getting out of control but he could not stop the calling from the stars. One night his father woke him from a troubled sleep. The Shaman gave his son a backpack filled with food and equipment and a pouch of what was probably all the coins he possessed. “Go”, he said, “perhaps in the great city of the rulers beyond the mountains you can find those who can cure this evil affliction.”