In each era, there are those who dedicate themselves to the purest form
of a religion. Each is convinced that theirs is the truest, at the very
least and one such was Ingra. Raised as a part of the temple of Sarich, he
was found lacking, despite his heritage. His heritage was one of clerical
power and communion, dedicated to the good works of the Lord Sarich. Upon
that day, when he was found to be without the power to call upon the gods in
prayer, he was sent to study under the tutelage of the powerful guardian
clerics. These fighting men and women dedicated themselves to the art of
combat and war. It was upon these stewards that the defense of the church
fell, not to mention the hunting down of those wanted by the church for
crimes against their fellow mortals. After years of study, Ingra found a
new home upon the road, seeking out those to whom he could preach and save.
Barring that, he would do as Lord Sarich commands and pull the weeds that
infested this particular garden.
A dark skinned man, head and face totally bald and covered in tattoos is
here. The markings are difficult to see against his skin, each swirl
blending into his skin tone. The markings curl across the visible skin of
his body, undulating and writhing as he moves, or blinks, or breathes. He
is broad of shoulder, with thick arms and chest, balanced upon a pair of
well muscled legs. Each movement he makes is like the markings upon his
skin, a concerted effort of motion, dedicated and with a sense of finality.