After some frenzied pounding the inn door gave way, with the farmer at the front of the jostling, panicked crowd falling flat on his face. Despite their fear and desperation, the gathering fell silent after surging into the building, all expectantly looking at the man sitting at the table, enjoying a lunch of pork sausage and -despite the early hour- ale. At first glance, two things became apparent; firstly, this man was a fire priest of Caldor, just as the stories had said. His deep red garments were proof enough of that. Secondly, though, he did not appear at all pious. His long, spiky red hair, sideburns, and goatee would have been scoffed at by any of his brethren, and his characteristic red robe was torn in places and interspersed with other gear for function and comfort rather than to maintain appearances. Beneath the cloth, his impressive size and physique were not hard to guess. This appearance gave the tall man a dual look of power and disdain, more of a fighter than a preacher—just the sort of man that might be the farmers' savior. After a few tense moments, the fire priest turned to look at those who had intruded so suddenly upon his meal. Screams, as well as a demented lowing, could be heard not more than a hundred feet away. “What do you require?” the man boomed.

A minute later the pyromancer strode from the clustered buildings toward the fields, followed by a posse of farmers eager to watch and reluctant but willing to help. It did not take long for him to find the source of the village's troubles; death stalked the fields and pastures. Skeletal cattle, with raging black points of flame in their empty eye sockets, accompanied by other animals and a few people recently killed and risen again. One Walker nearby sighted him and lowered its broad skull to charge. In response, the fire priest upturned a palm to the heavens, and an orb of flame appeared above it. The orb quickly expanded into the shape of a bow, with blazing white for material and intense blue for string. As the Walker charged for him, a fiery spike manifested on the bow that the fire priest notched and then nonchalantly fired when only a few feet separated him and his dead foe. The arrow melted a path halfway through the cursed creature and lodged in its spine, igniting the marrow. Still 'alive' and now aflame, the Walker reeled momentarily before homing in on the priest once more. Before it reached him, the fire spike detonated, immolating it almost instantly. The farmers cheered and the pyromancers sauntered forth across the smoldering ground, magical bow at his side and a triumphant smile on his face.

With the fire mage leading the charge, the farmers pushed back the undead forces. By quickly learning to incinerate any fallen man or livestock, the pyromancer kept the Walkers' numbers from growing, and under his purging fire they were falling fast.

[u]Compendium Entry[/u]

Famine – the Herald of Despair and the Third Horseman of the Apocalypse. Also called Moros. Taking the form of a pale, emaciated, red-haired northerner from Altearx, he wields the ability to drain the strength of others into himself in his quest to reunite the Horsemen. Carries an urn, which, after an infusion of his power, contains grains of rice that can become weak, skeletal minions called The Host.