The Spell Forge
Tiefling sorceress with Draconic heritage.
Nyvane has no memory of her parents. The last thing she remembers from that time is being mercilessly kicked out onto the street, with nothing but half a loaf of mould-infested bread.
Growing up an urchin on the harsh streets of her hometown, Nyvane honed the skills necessary to survive. She learnt never to freely trust anyone, only helping those who helped her and taking what was needed to survive. The only beings Nyvane could rely on were Meeses, her rodent companion, and herself.
As the days, weeks, months and years crawled by, Nyvane began to dream of fire, blood and chaos. Dragons filled her dreamscape and spoke to her, violently encouraging her to follow the footsteps of her ancient Draconic ancestors.
Nyvane would often roam the clandestine streets, pace the twilight alleys, trying to avoid these incessant visions. She grew more and more agitated as time passed; the dreams would not stop. Each time Nyvane closed her eyes, the visions that came were stronger, more vivid…
She awoke many times from her fitful and unwanted bouts of sleep, to find balls of flame hovering above her clenched fists.
Little did she know — this was a sign of great things to come.
One fateful night, roaming the near pitch-dark streets, a sleep-starved and distracted Nyvane was surrounded by a group of snarling, heavily armed men. The glimmers of light that shone from their weapons and gaudy jewelled vests gave them away as the hired thugs of a nefarious lord she has once stolen from.
As they edged closer and closer to her, Nyvane brandished her dagger. Her charisma and stealth would not help her here. It appeared that this would be her end.
The thugs dived at her all at once, Nyvane thrashed wildly, hoping to eviscerate as many of her attackers as possible before taking what would be her last breath. A scorchingly hot, fiery light took over her vision.
Each and every one of Nyvane’s attackers lay in twisted positions around her. Their crisp and blackened skin could not hide the expressions of agony on their faces. A stench of burning flesh and hair, of molten steel and gold filled the air.
She scanned the alley for the source of the fire. Apart from Meeses, Nyvane could not see another living soul. She began to wonder… She began to suspect… Lights approached the entrance to the alleyway.
Nyvane ran, leaping over the simmering corpses, her tail lightly scraping the skin from a gnarled hand, to grip and carry the light crossbow that would no longer be needed by what had once been a man. She nimbly climbed the stones with Meeses tucked into her shirt pocket, escaping the gasps and cries of the city guard.
Several miles from the town that she would never again call home, Nyvane lay against the mossy wall of a shallow cave, staring at her hands. She would have to journey far to find what she was looking for, but she would find it.
Nyvane grinned, her pointy teeth reflecting the fire she held in her palms.