When Phontokil was thrown out of Adim-Berru, for nearly causing the destruction of said city by conflagration, the wizard did not seethe nor vow vengeance. Nor did he laugh maniacally, nor mutter something about ‘no one understanding his genius’. Phontokil simply decided to seek his own way and explore the world, since the middling-mage had never before been outside the walls of Adim-Berru. For the last seven years of his life, Phontokil had been an apprentice to two different Pyromancers, and a piss-poor one at that.
Now, let it not be said that Phontokil had some aversion to fire, and for that reason made a bad pyromancer. On the contrary, the red-haired novice with mischievous, sea-green eyes, had been obsessed with fire from an early age, and that was not the cause of his stagnation in sorcery. Phontikal made a poor mage because his interests lay more in the hows and whys of fire than in the actual magic. He was obsessed with things that caused, fanned, flamed and extinguished fire. He was obsessed with the Element itself, and silently balked at the explanations provided him by his masters, when they explained to him the ways of the gods and paths of magic. The young mage’s talents furthermore, lay more in practical alchemy rather than pyromancy, as he himself soon came to learn.