Myrjana

Myrjana looked at her two sisters. Their identical faces stared back at her, their eyes flickering in the candlelight. All three had the same dark wispy hair, all three had the deceptively innocent faces of youth. Perhaps Myrjara's face was tightened slightly by toughness, but youth prevaded. Myrjana knew she would follow her sisters anywhere they thought to go, not only because she was the youngest, but because that was what she had done all her life. She was her sisters' sister, they were hers. There was trust there, complete and absolute. All three had trained their own particular abilities, not with masters of the crafts, but with each other, practiced and trained them to survive.

Myrjana fingered the smooth talisman hanging on a leather cord around her neck. It was a gift from Lan, the last thing given to her by the woman she had come to think of as her mother. Once again, she and her sisters were alone, refugees, as it were, of another Age.

Many years have passed since Myrjana and her sisters had fled the destruction of the realm they had regarded as their home. Myrjana, softest of the three, became hard. They were all still relatively young, as elves perpetually are, but they were no longer children. Myrjana found her healing abilities were even more useful while wandering the lands of other realms. They seemed to be searching, but Myrjana knew not what for. A place perhaps... some place to rest. The sisters attracted no little attention, their matching faces mystifying some, and their skills impressing most. One day, they met up with a man who called himself Nosferatu. He had a prescence about him, of strength and confidence. They fell in with him for a while, the four of them traversing the villages, towns, and cities. He parted ways when the triplets decided to stay in Tenrahda, a large teaming city, for more than just a few days. The stay lasted longer than months, stretching into years. Myrjana never felt kinship to the bustling, dirty city, she wanted trees and fields and thatched roofed houses. She never got use to the gutters, the smells, the corruption. She missed her true home, detested living her day to day in the filth of Tenrahda.

It was perhaps her aversion to her home, though she never regarded it as such, that when Nosferatu sent a messenger to their modest house on a side street, that she quickly dispatched the messenger back, with a confirmation. Nosferatu had sent a summons of a sort. So, the power emanating from the man hadn't been just imaginary. He had created a world, a realm. The man was strong, had powers beyond what Myrjana had ever thought. He needed help though. The fool man, like most men, had gotten himself in a trouble. She was glad to get out of the hated city, get out into the battle. She may not have been able to fight in the war that had ripped apart her childhood home and taken away her parents, but she would revel in this one. She could finally prove herself, she would fight until she no longer stood. In this endeavour, Myrjana went alone, without her sisters. A new experience, but welcomed.

And it was in the war against the Nameless, that Myrjana saw herself rise to the need. She created a race of beings called the Arachnoids, after seeing that armies would be needed to defeat the Nameless' creatures. She, and the others Nosferatu had called to assist him, fought the battle and won.