This fellow’s a kind of fire spirit, descended from a supervolcano; his people are in a state of perpetual war with elvenkind, after high elven geomancers sealed up their volcanic foremother with mythril and mighty incantations to render her dormant. The firefolk, big on self-expression, a fire’s right to burn, a volcano’s right to explode, etc., consider such workings an outrage; the elves, fearing that letting grandma erupt would render the world uninhabitable for multicellular life, consider it a matter of self-preservation.
This fellow has a more quietly nuanced opinion on volcano-suppression, thinking that sometimes, organic life has to just suck it up and burn, but there have to be limits and sometimes you have to avoid incinerating all your neighbours even if it means quenching your inner fires. Also he likes to read books before burning them; all of which makes him something of a race-traitor, so he keeps his unusual opinions quiet.
(I was thinking of a story the other day involving these people; on reflection it wasn’t terribly interesting, but the visual image of the fire peeps was striking and fun to draw, so I drew this.)
inadaptation 