Traveler

This Gaoler seeks what cannot be found in the strange and cautious way so unlike either his father or mother. He seems remote and aloof, always seeking something he can't put a claw upon. The Gaoler Orders of old reject his charge and endless wandering; he does not seek to destroy, but to cultivate. Life calls to him, laughing and wild. While accepted in the Killjoy ranks, he does not acknowledge their king or their priest of the Plaguemother, and owes no debts to the others, providing for his own needs, forging ahead on his own.

What does he hear in the distance, a bright ringing of clamor and joy? Or even the pains and screaming of birth?

He calls himself a Life Cleric. His magic runs deep and green under his fur. The putrid air clears in his wake. The surface of the altar he bows to is rough and unfinished, a still-living log held in stasis by his power. The light behind his eyes glows with passion and fury. What wrath will he bring to the land long laid bare by pestilence so rabid it wil eat itself alive?

The pan pipes he carries sing with a bright yet cold sort of music. The Dragon of Spring arrives with force to bless the ground. The stubborn will to live is his highest faith, one he brandishes as a banner before the shade-corrupted claws o disease. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, and Traveler is very, very strong.