Death: 1486DR, I was 30years old. I was in my prime as a young adult Tiefling. My family's huge pear orchard that bordered the Silverwood, had just been commissioned by Silverymoon to fund their wine reserves for the next 10 Shieldmeets. That meant we could have expanded exponentially to at least triple our fields in 5 years. The last memories are of my family and homestead outside of Silverymoon, and the final ravishings of war that brought the Darkening and it's ilk from underground to burn everything they laid eyes on, the thunder magic that obliterated me, along with my home.
Current Calender year: 1501DR
Vane doesn't fight for glory, and she doesn't fight for the crown of Mithral Hall, or the splendour of Silverymoon. She fights because a war turned her family's harvest into ash, and now the warmongers are the only crop left to reap. She speaks with her hands, swinging a warhammer, a lance, and a greataxe with the terrifying,and innately tireless rhythm of a farmer simply clearing a dense harvest. Only with much more pent up rage.
She still hears the fluid language of the underground technomancers as they experimented on her resurrected body, but has not yet filled most of the other blanks her death has left. Her only glance at a calendar had told her 15 years passed since she was alive.
Her sharpest memory, the one that fuels her hatred, is one of the thunder magic that was set off directly against her ears. The one who did it laughed maniacally when Vane speared them at the same instant they shattered her eardrums and left her bleeding to death. That memory spurred her on when she stole their weapons, killed her captors in her blinding fury, and escaped from the underground caverns, returning to the daylight above a changed being.
