Sorae Sandkiln - Ritual Totem-Maker of Cinderglade
Cinderglade builds no kilns, so Sorae Sandkiln carries her own: a fire genasi who digs a fresh hearth-pit at every camp and fuses ritual glass totems from sand gathered where a life actually turned.
Introduction
Cinderglade never stays in one place long enough to build a kiln, so it never has. What it has instead is a woman who walks with the herd and carries her fire the way the rest of the clan carries water: close, careful, and never quite set down. Wherever the camp stops for the night, a shallow pit gets dug in the ash a little apart from the cookfires, a bed of coals gets banked inside it, and a fire genasi with sand-scarred forearms kneels over it until something small and permanent comes out of ground that, by morning, will be trampled flat and forgotten by everyone except the person who asked for it. Nobody in Cinderglade owns a glass shop. Sorae Sandkiln owns a hole in the ground and whatever heat she can raise in it, and that has always been enough.
Profile
Name: Sorae Sandkiln
Race: Genasi (Fire)
Gender: Female
Alignment: Neutral Good
Role/Class: Ritual Totem-Maker of Cinderglade
Challenge Rating: 1/2
"I don't sell glass. I sell the last hour before something changes, held where you can still touch it."
Appearance: Sorae is lean and sinewy in the way of someone who has never once ridden when she could walk, with skin the deep matte red-black of banked coals and faint seams along her forearms and collarbone that brighten to true orange when she has been working the pit for more than an hour. Her hair is a short, wiry crest the color of ash-white embers, singed evenly at the ends because she has stopped trying to keep it out of the heat. Her eyes are a flat amber with no visible pupil, and they do not water near flame the way everyone else's do, which she has learned to use — she holds a stare over the coals a beat longer than is comfortable and lets the client look away first. Her forearms and the backs of both hands are freckled with old sand-burns, small pale scars where a grain of superheated glass or grit found skin instead of tongs. She wears a sleeveless wrap of fire-touched hide, dark and stiff with old scorching, a wide belt hung with pouches of graded sand, and a soft leather roll of tools slung across her back that never leaves her shoulder, on the move or off it.
