The village was in flames, homes burning around him, the smoke in the air choking him and making it difficult to breath. His hair was gone, head burnt and blistered when the Chantry caught fire, and he barely escaped with his life. He placed a cloth over his mouth to try and ease the pain in his throat as he ran through the clouds to his home.
Flames had already destroyed half the home, blackness and soot coating the walls. I will make them all pay, he thought as he picked up his wife from the floor and placed her on the bed.
Her eyes were closed, her head turned to the side, black residue from the fire hiding the snow white skin. He wiped her face gently with his sleeve and caressed the hair that fell out of place in front of her. He then placed a hand on the blanket covering her stomach, which protruded enough to show she was several months pregnant. He leaned down and kissed it, resting his head there for a moment, longing to feel the movement that often excited them both.
But it never came, just as his wife's chest no longer raised with breath. He cried softly, holding his wife and unborn child close to his heart, wishing the fire would consume him as well.
They will all suffer, he repeated in his head, cursing the mages that had destroyed his village. Five of them, apostates on the run, were given shelter by the locals. After they got the food and rest they needed, they turned on everyone, torching their homes in the night. He chased them from the Chantry as they stole silver and gold from the offerings boxes.
As the rain came from the sky and extinguished all remaining flames, Otto Alrik gathered what little gear he could find and began his travels to the nearest city. There I will become a Templar, he decided, and destroy them all. I swear this to you my love, my son; I shall avenge you both.