Like every Daughter of Artemis, Seno Fosh was ushered from her birth mother barely out of infancy, into service to the goddess under a full moon. She took to the faith like a night-blooming jessamine, opening fully after dusk, basking in the love of her temple-mother.
Her wondrous, mystical childhood ended abruptly under lunar eclipse. A vampire baroness attacked the temple, killing her beloved temple-mother in retaliation for an unexplained slight a lifetime ago. The temple stood, but the priestesses—Seno included—were felled in spirit.
One clear teaching of the goddess, however, is phases. As the light waxed, Seno took up the scythe, symbol of Artemis and her power over life cycles. Denying the call to revenge, she named herself a reaper for justice. She might still cling to vengeance more than she says aloud, though.
The full moon returns now, a hunter’s moon, and Seno emerges as a beacon against cruelty and horrors. Her scythe radiates divine energy and her legendary moon boots grant ethereal grace on her grand hunt. Her time in the temple is at an end; her cold light shines in the world now to dispel shadow.
Moving was the only constant in Ghada Zayd’s life. Her nomadic tribe taught her that moving was the answer to every question. Move to greet trouble, then move away before it returns the greeting.
The tribe followed gazelle herds in the warm months and sheltered on city outskirts in the winter rainy season. As she grew, she learned to ride horses, to chase, and to fight with her bearded axe. But never rely heavy armor. That’s for people who plan to stay put and get hit.
One simmering summer night on the plains, an impossibly large band of goblins—Hundreds of them! Who ever heard of such a thing?—blew over camp, burning, looting, murdering. The tribe scattered that night . . . and never recovered.
Ghada wandered alone for days before arriving at Raquma, the very city she camped outside during the rainy, bored days of her youth.
Her strength in battle quickly (is there any other way for Ghada?) earned her a place among the Raquma city guard. She became a fighter renowned for nimble footwork, precise strikes, and unassailable shieldwork.
But now she has to be at the same place every day. Talk to the same people. The same problems find her in the same places. Ghada needs to move again, to greet trouble and then move away. If she can find and reunite her tribe as she goes, that too would be a life well lived.
Magic! Ancient dwarven magic! Combines the best of both worlds—solving arcane problems and delving into your family history. Why would a fireforge dwarf do anything else? No higher calling, says Unthar Shalehart!
Fire elementals! They’ll teach you everything about fire magic if you give them enough fuel! Sure, one left Unthar crisped and technically dead for several seconds. But he lived! Newfound respect for fire after that!
In those seconds that felt like forever, Unthar heard his ancestors call out. Study the link between fire magic and his family history, they said! Unthar snapped back to consciousness and was reborn to the task!
Soon after, Unthar was making rubbings in a menhir library some thousand fathoms deep in lost Darad-Dul, when he ran across Frixx, his salamander familiar. They were fast friends! Guided by ancestors, he was! The flickering lure of flame and hidden depths of history opened wider.
Unthar has studied every book and carving in the stronghold by now, and he knows his ancestors traveled to other planes. But he knows he doesn’t know the whole story. So it’s time to go looking! Fire in his belly and antiquity in his ticker, Unthar Shalehart is headed into the world to show what he knows. And then find out more!
The defalcator life was not Elaizon Hailsigh’s first choice. Or his second. However, the philosophical reflection taught by a cloud elf upbringing leads him to think this might have been where fate was winging the whole time.
The long, noble braids of an elven soldier still adorn his flaxen hair, his own reminder of days as a reconnaissance scout in the Eidolon Wars. False accusations leveled by his captain drummed him out of the legion. But the loyalty of a Hailsigh elf remains true beyond lies.
How could they not see a doppelganger at work? Answers to that question twist down dark, unseemly roads, which Elaizon is no longer in place to walk. Branded a traitor by his own people, exile was the merciful sentence in light of his former meritorious service.
Bitterness is a luxury he allows himself on occasion, eking out a living as a spy and scout in the low grounds. He’s gathering evidence and resources from the outside. He’ll be back to cleanse the rot that eats at the roots of his highborn home. He’ll bring his own army, if need be.
After all, fate wings its own way, but it hasn’t come to roost just yet.