AraMina Vishael

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Ara Mina Vishael
Ten year old Ara Mina followed her Papa everywhere. She sat with him as he drove the caravan wagon, helped him tend the horses, and always went to market with him. The afternoon that her family’s caravan had made it’s stop outside of Wolves Ear was the same as it ever was. Papa gathered his trade goods and they headed to market. This afternoon was not like any other though. Wolves Ear was bustling with people, come from far and wide as they made their journey to Sand Point for the Swallowtail Festival, an annual feast honoring Desna.
She somehow managed to get separated from her father in the marketplace in town. She was only ten, and distracted by all the sights and sounds. As evening fell, she realized she was lost. She wandered the darkening streets and marveled at the full moon.
Her father found her early the next morning, even before the sun had risen. There had been an uprising in Wolves Ear. Several lycanthropes had attacked. Though her shoulder bore several bite marks, Ara Mina remembered nothing of the attack. Her father had kept her cloistered in their wagon, waiting for the change to happen. Miraculously, it never occurred. Her wounds healed and the scar that remained bore a startling resemblance to a butterfly.
Her father took this as a sign and sent her to train under Mistress Koya Vishanti. The cleric gifted her with a holy symbol of Desna and taught her the ways of the faith.
Professor Lorrimor got wind of her story and became very interested in what she could remember of her encounter. He agreed to meet along the caravan route to speak with her. Fate granted that they met at the same spot outside of Wolves Ear where the attack had taken place eight years ago.
After their meeting he maintained correspondence with her. Sharing different strategies he had discovered for dealing with lycanthropy. One of his last letters had implied that he had found a cure for the disease that Desna had saved her from. Expecting more news of his research, she was deeply saddened to learn of his death.
She wiped a tear from her eye as she tucked the letter into her pocket.

AraMina Vishael

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