Velius gumm

The pain was far worse than Velius Gumm could ever have imagined, but now was not the time for weakness, even the smell of his own burning flesh didn’t deter him,

his teeth clamped hard on the leather sheath of his dagger, the sweat and smoke from the fire stinging his eyes. But in the half light of the cave and with a steady hand, he slowly carved the last of the symbols he’d need into his body.
For fourteen years they’d planned this and in that time he’d lived many lives, had more names than he cared to remember, but he only planned on using one more before he died.
During the last part of his journey, to this forgotten cave in the Fallen Mountains, he’d taken the identity of a prospector from Kotaan, who he’d met after leaving the city on a boat sailing up river to the floating town of Rashdak. A man he’d grown to like, who he’d shared many an ale with, who even saved his life when the bear attacked while they camped by the frozen lake, the man he killed two weeks ago with a axe to the back of neck while he was ice fishing.
Forcing the body under the ice and letting his own inferior horse loose, he loaded his belongings onto the mule, took the reins of the prospector’s horse and set off into mountains.
Winter had announced itself with its usual ferocity, sending a snowstorm to hinder his vision and strong winds to try and drag him from the mountain path, he was surprised he found the cave at all, riding past it once; he only discovered it when the mule broke loose and he had to backtrack to retrieve it.
Once inside and with shaking hands he lit the fire, the caves walls seem to dance with the flames as made his preparations, only when the ice had thawed from his beard did he strip to the waist and using a lump of charcoal, start to draw the symbols onto his body, symbols that would he would need, if the Demons were to walk again.