Caelum Taloncrest

Caelum’s childhood was spent between the creaking hulls of fishing vessels and the cobblestone streets of a seaside town that knew the smell of rain before it fell. His mother, a seamstress, could coax life from thread with patient hands, while his father, a deckhand, told stories that sounded like wind chimes in a gale. They were ordinary people who learned to read the weather as thoroughly as they read people, and they taught Caelum to listen—to the hiss of rain on a rooftop, to the distant thunder that sounded like an omen, and to the quiet between lightning strikes when the world seemed to pause. It was during one of these pauses that a Talos temple caravan arrived, preaching that storms were not simply disasters but messages from the gods. Caelum, ever the disruptor, asked questions that made the priests frown: Why do storms punish or reward, and who among us is worthy to wield such power? The caravan offered him a path—discipline, ritual, and a vow to learn the storm’s true language. He joined, partly out of curiosity and partly because the priests offered him a framework to channel the chaos he felt inside. He learned to read the weather not as an omen but as a library of possibilities, each gust a page, each bolt a sentence. The Acolyte training codified his worldview: Talos’s power is not merely to destroy but to reveal truth through upheaval. Caelum vowed to protect those who cannot ride out a storm, and to use his gifts to disrupt tyrants who wield fear like lightning rods. His life has become a mosaic of sea spray, thunder, and the steady rhythm of prayer and practice; a relentless search for balance between the unbridled energy within him and the order he feels his faith demands. He carries talismans etched with storm imagery, a reminder of the day he realized his gift was both a burden and a beacon. His road ahead is not clear, but every gust that lifts his cloak tells him he is moving toward something greater—perhaps a destiny that will reshape the storms themselves. Caelum’s discipline is not born of fear, but of a fierce belief that storms are a language the world must learn to speak if it hopes to survive. He travels, he learns, and he fights when needed, always listening for the next wind-sung omen that could signal his next act of courage or his next challenge to faith and fate.