Kozma began his mundane life in a thick, rugged, and mountainous forest
that dwelled in a cauldron of a vast volcano. He was learned in the ways of
the almighty axe. Every time he left his small humble village to practice
the ways of bushcraft, one was always by his side. It kept him alive
through many perilous expeditions.
One overcast day when he was out building himself a shelter. A massive
earthquake shook under his feet. The old trees shivered and flailed. Their
brown and grey branches snapping and falling all round him. Green leaves
seemed to come out of the sky like snow.
Immediately smoke filled his nostrils and he took off for the village. Lava
exploded from the earth seemingly everywhere. His ears hurt from the
quaking booms they produced when erupting from the earth. The molten rock
burned everything it touched, the trees, grass, bushes and even boulders
ignited from the immense heat.
Then the village was in sight. The air was filled with smoke, screams as
people's flesh melted from their bones and flames that easily tore through
the wooden structures. Forms rose from the liquid flame that he later
learned to be fire elementals. One built itself before him and towered over
the cabins. It struck Kozma with it's super heated arm, causing him to fall
Kozma came too to find the land to be nothing, but a sea of ash. Everything
was black all the way to the horizon. The sun seemed to be blotted out by
the black clouds that glowed orange. Struggling to move and find his
family, every inch he gained was a pain. He found nothing. Everything was
a void and again he collapsed in despair. Curses filled his mind along with
the echoing screams from the event.
Images flashed through him of the torture. His body twitched with each
glaring mental blow. As he struggled with his sanity, anxiety and despair.
He came to a conclusion. First he would research the event in great detail,
who was responsible? What caused the catastrophe? And second he would find
a way to tell the masses of the event.
The scars on this man's face look as if someone sharply splattered pale
paint on a yellow wall. His lips bleed here and there like a tomato that's
been split open. Black hair of the night sky is tightly pulled back into a
small ponytail. A deeply broaden chest fills his stature and meets with his
broad shoulders. Overall he is a little less squat than a halfling, but
barely reaches the height of a human.