Joed was born to a rich noble family in Tyrus, descended from King Leontius, that helped Tyrus gain independence, and had a large amount of mercantile influence. However, two years after he was born, his mother, Lauren Karamus, and father, Doxarimo Karamus, committed suicide together, jumping off the city walls. They had no love for their son. And so he was left in the care of his aunt, the wife of a middle class banker.

All his new parental figures talked to him about was politics, the corruption of the high council, and how things were better in their day, when they were kids. He was endlessly schooled on all the noble families, their relationships, and this bored him. This bored him very much.

Interestingly, in his spare time, Joed felt himself drawn to the blacksmiths' furnaces, as well as executions by burning, and the many candles that burnt around the city. He discovered something within him that he had never seen before, and every now and then, he could have sworn that he made the flames flicker and flow to his will.

 After ten years of what was, to him, torture in the form of reading and writing, he ran away. Through the many streets of Tyrus he ran, stealing food as he went. He had taken his uncles's money, stolen it, and had a thousand sols in a pouch to his side. And with this, he paid a merchant to take him to the Kuyam Desert. He had heard of great lava rivers there, as well as stones that burned eternally, and blue flames upon Mount Sawan. And the merchant, not bothered about the boy's safety, took him there, and left him there with a barrel full of water skins and one of dried and salted meat. And it was here, in the desert, that Joed learnt, more than anything, to survive.

He scavanged for food. As an intelligent 12 year old, he rationed his food carefully. He survived a month on what the merchant gave to him, and in this time he explored his surroundings, where little desert mice lived, and even geysers that he could get fresh water from. His only protection from the heat and the cold was a small wooden-tent like thing he built out of the barrels, but it worked. There was no rain, only the heat of day and the chill of the night, and so he lived life for 30 years, away from the politics, the power seeking, away from his aunt and uncle... he was at peace, albeit not necessarily comfortable.

And he would have returned to the comfort of a bed and a house and other people after only a day but for one thing; the fire that surrounded him. He was attracted to it, like a magnet, and began to study it. He could predict the flames movements, how high they would go, to the left or right, towards him or away. He tried to catch the fire sometimes, burning his hands but satisfying him oh so much. And the pain bagan to not bother him so much.... he could hold fire!

He had discovered fire magic, and that he could hold fire that was around him, even create sparks out of nowhere sometimes. And this is what stopped him dying in the winters; he made little fires for himself to keep warm in the night, to cook his beetles and bugs and mice and rats to eat, and, although he was a little insane, he was happy. He grew in power with his magic, and soon was able to burn writing into the stone, and turn parts of the red rivers into cold grey stone. The first time he tried this, he fainted - heatstroke probably, though he didn't know that at the time - and after a few days of recovering, he was able to try again, this time transfering the heat into him, and then straight into a little rock next to him, so he didn't die. And it worked. A small part of the river turned cold and grey, and the little rock became white hot, and viscous like magma, forming a small puddle next to him of molten rock.

This was when he decided to leave - he wanted to share with everyone the mysterious ability with the people he grew up with, perhaps giving his aunt and uncle a few burns from what they did to him. For their boring lectures, they deserved revenge.

Maybe not branding them though. No, that's a tad harsh.

He travelled over the course of 3 months to Isanti, meeting few people on the way there, only one of which tried to take him as a slave. Luckily, a Qumori rider saved him, though not before he was struck a few times on his cheek. And once he was in Isanti, he used up the remaining sols hidden in his pants that mostly didn't fit him but kind of did to return to Tyrus. He was only going to pay them 50 sols, but they had swords, and he didn't fancy trying to burn more than one person to death - besides, there was nothing hot enough near by to do so - and so he gave them all the money he had left. And they returned him to Tyrus, where he had grown up.

It was here that he became a scholar. He went to the libraries to tell them about where he had been, and at first they had turned him down as little more than a drunkard with mental problems. But the black fingers seemed to interest them, and so, after they enquired about his experiences, one of them by the name of Dyrius took him as an apprentice. He saw something within him.

Joed could still read and write, though it took a few months practise to get good at it again, and was mostly used, not taught, for his experience as a fire mage, and growing up in the wilds of the desert.

Joed almost set the library on fire on multiple occasions. Dyrius beat him for this, but it didn't matter too much, just that they gave him a bed and food. And after Dyrius died from old age, he sort of assumed the role of a scholar. He was never asked to be one or anything, but he just stayed at the library - he had been around for more than a decade as an apprentice, and so no one questioned him with anything about what he was doing, continuing to get his wages, continuing to write books about fire, and continuing to steadily grow his abilities in fire magic, secretly planning something which no one but him could EVER know.

Ever.