Vantra

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Hair
Dark, soft brunette
Eyes
Dark russet
Age
24 years
Occupation
Finder acolyte

Personality

Positive:

• motivated
• willing to take chances
• open minded
• willing to self-explore and find herself
• does not like to harm others

Negative:

• bows readily to authority
• self-doubt/imposter syndrome
• underestimates cruelty of beings

Gasping for breath, reaching for help.
Her mother's agony filled the blackness but seeped slowly away while Vantra regained sense. She stood before a dirt tunnel entrance lined by gnarled bushes, loose grass hanging down into the opening. Mist shrouded the area, despite the fresh wind that kicked up dust from the pebbled ground, playing with it before the small bits tumbled back to earth. Trees rustled lightly and birdsong swirled about her, rather than the coolness of clean tile, the scents of flower incense and a luscious meal.
What happened?
A low, ominous growl. She turned and regarded two vulfs, canines with long fangs, intense blue eyes, soft black fur, their shoulders as tall as her waist. They lifted their lips and snarled in unison. She shrieked and surged into the tunnel, the only place to hide from the beasts.
She stumbled to an ungraceful halt long after darkness engulfed her, pressing a hand against her chest after her wild flight. Her heart should be pounding. It was not.
A delicate wisp of ashen mist floated lazily to her, filled with the loving sigh of her mother.
She wanted to run from it, fear lashing her, but the vulfs had followed her. They barked and snapped, jumped at her; she fled through the wisp, further into darkness.
More appeared, heavy with sight, sound, impacted her. Vantra witnessed, remembered, her first strong memory; her delight as a four-year-old, holding a soft-winged moth. She witnessed, remembered, her lie about tearing her gauzy yellow dress a few days later, blaming another child who bore her punishment.
The vulfs continued to follow her. They barked and snapped and she fled even further into darkness.
Her exuberant happinesses, her soul-sick depressions, her helpfulness and her harmful acts, her kindnesses and her cruelties, her life, all played before her. The wisps whisked to her, engulfed her, forced her to relive that which she cherished and that which she desperately desired to forget.
Unfelt tears raced down numb cheeks, as she attempted to retain her belief that she was a good person, a just person, and not a hoax she created to excuse her meanness.
She choked and collapsed as she bore witness to her last moments. She watched her mother's enemies gloat at her demise while her parent mentally broke over her gold-clothed, still body.
She never knew her father; her mother kept his identity secret. Rumors spread, that the High Priestess of Ga Son slept with an undesirable, someone beneath her station, her rank, her importance. It haunted Vantra's entire life, though she did her best to ignore the hate. Those sadistic rivals, intent on harming her mother and her popularity, poisoned her on her nineteenth birthday, the day she was to gain majority, the day she was to become her mother's official heir.
She squeezed her eyes shut; she could no longer watch. She ached for her mother's agony, her own pain. Why was she shown this?
A gentle caress of breeze passed her cheek. She opened her eyes to meet the soft umber gaze of a woman as pale as Death, shrouded in her jet-black hair and her undecorated, jet-black, bell-sleeved dress. She sat in a simple blackwood chair, legs crossed, observing her with a gentleness she had previously only experienced from her mother.
"There is promise, in the Evenacht," the woman said, her low thrum vibrating through her. "But not for all. This ancient wrong needs surcease. The choice is yours, to follow the path."
"I don't understand," Vantra whispered. Confusion misted her thoughts.
"You will." She motioned to the man at her side with a black-nailed hand. "The Evengates await."