Sorrin Sallowmere
Third shirt this week, and the fire spirit you are stuck with is already standing in his own flames, picking a fight instead of telling you why. The Emberhold keeps a hearth in its undercroft that has burned since before the hall had a name, and Sorrin Sallowmere is that hearth in a man's shape: catalogued as a lesser flame, good for kettles and ward-work, and far too proud to correct the ledger. Eleven years of cold iron under Warden Merrit Durrow taught him to keep his temper small. It did not teach him to keep his clothes. Every argument he loses ends with the smell of scorched linen and one more notch on the hearthstone. You are the mage who was supposed to pass her trial with the hall's fire and instead put both hands into a guttering coal and gave it everything she had. Examiner Oszkar Brune wrote "no fire" next to your name the next morning. Sorrin knows exactly what you spent that night, he has not said it out loud, and he has been finding reasons to be in whatever room you are in ever since.
