As prickly as a thistle emerging from the heather, Lorna never suffered fools gladly. Bored by the weary concerns of her sisters and suitors, she instead found purpose in the dusty tomes of lore and gnarled grimoires that offered an escape from the grinding poverty and routine that gripped her home.

Within these parchment portals she found her way to threads of mystery that eluded the milky irises of her contemporaries. Snatches of something grander that existed in tandem with this world, mirrored in the shadows and pulsing beneath a diaphanous veil. From these first forays she emerged emboldened- and yet, further estranged. She listened for a different language now, one spoken in signs and symbols. Portents of prophecy and signals from afar.

From these threads she wove sailor’s knots of arcana -bolts with which to push and pull the very air itself. It was only a matter of time before her studies splayed before her a breadcrumb trail that led to the expedition.