It began in very regular slums, where a nameless child first learned to survive. No home, no family, only the ever-shifting tides of fate that carried her from one city to the next, shaping her in ways none could have foreseen. She was a wanderer, a mischief-maker, a spark of laughter in the dark corners of civilization.

She had no banner, no allegiance, and yet she belonged everywhere. In Hashan, she learned the art of intrigue, weaving tales that could turn strangers into allies. In Cyrene, she found warmth in the embrace of poets, Targossas gave her the taste of righteousness, where she stood beside warriors who sought purity in fire and steel. Mhaldor tested her resolve, forcing her to understand the weight of cruelty and strength. And in the streets of Ashtan, she met a strong jawed human who gave her a weapon and a chance.

Everywhere she went she left a mark: not through conquest (although the Manaran gnolls could attest to this), nor through grand proclamations (except that she's the worlds greatest assassin), but in the hearts of those she met. Hardened soldiers, ruthless assassins, devout priests, and cunning merchants alike found themselves drawn to the childs mischievous laughter, her boundless energy, her unbreakable spirit. They scolded her, fed her, trained her, protected her, warned her away from murderous geese. And without realising it, they became something more than mentors or guardians. They became family.

But what was a child raised by all, if not a bridge between them? In a world of conflict, where cities stood divided by war, doctrine, and history, she moved freely, untethered by politics, carrying with her the whispers of every place she had called home. She did not speak of alliances or peace; she simply existed, and in doing so, reminded those she met of the world beyond their walls.

And so she remained. Unclaimed, yet never truly alone. A ghost of laughter, a flicker of mischief, a reminder that beneath the banners, beneath the wars, there was something deeper that bound them all.

A child, raised by the world. A Razor to the boundaries of mortals.

Penned by My hand on the 1st of Ero, in the year 970 AF.