To say that Lady Aravia Murra hated the common peasants in Blackwash would be an understatement. She took any opportunity that arose to remind them of their station, lower than her. When she had haughtily ordered a family of gypsies arrested, however, she had abused the wrong person. “May your first born reflect what you truly are!” the gypsy mother screamed as she was clasped in irons, though her curse fell mostly on deaf ears. Lady Aravia ignored it, and over the years forgot it entirely.

The Lady did eventually marry. She did also eventually bear child, an attempt to breed an heir in her own image. The child she recieved, however, was not human in any stretch, but serpentine and scaled instead. Lady Aravia’s beautiful daughter, Maurissen Murra, was a monster.

For years she was kept away from public eyes, hidden in a tower and taught by the best tutors House Murra had in their employ. As her daughter aged, the Lady sought desperately for the Gypsy woman who had cursed her, to no avail. Then, she met with mystics, wizards and priests from the world over, but none could break the curse. By the time she was fifteen, Maurissen was disowned and kicked out of her childhood home.

For over a year she wandered alone, having to hide herself carefully most of the time. As she made her way south, however, she came into the Troll kingdoms. The stares were of a different sort, more of awe than fear. The Blacktooth Collective found her rapidly, and put her under their care. She found a home with the cadre of shamans and mystics, taking to their ways like a fish to water. By her eighteenth birthday, she was deemed ready to act as a dignitary to the “human” lands to the north.

Since travelling in Deepwell and Blackwash, an attempt had been made on her life, by a man in the employ of the Duke of Blackwash. She no longer felt so eager to put her past entirely behind her. Not only that, but the failing of the legal and just to assist the situation only served to make her disillusioned. Embittered, she resolved herself to carving a piece out of House Murra, identical to the one carved out of her by their disowning. Saving her unknowing sister, Adalia, seemed a good start. Pushing her into the arms of an elf seemed even better.

She fights with herself on a personal level. Achieving the prestige of Diplomatic Immunity from her time in the Blacktooth Collective only served to shake her careful demeanor, letting the vain, capricious nature of her race seep in. Two Murra guards were made statues the day the Earl suddenly left for an audience with the king, and their only folly was being an annoyance. She would love nothing more than making House Murra’s castle in Blackwash little more than a statue garden, but reminds herself daily that foiling her father’s plans with finesse and gentle pressure is the only thing that will serve to last.