| This flame-haired man sits in a high-backed silver throne, his robes immaculate white. His right hand supports a orb divided into four quadrants, a gleaming red gem embedded in its center, while his left holds up a sword with a golden design worked into the metal of its blade. His green eyes speak of disquiet knowledge, and his mouth is slightly quirked, perhaps in mild amusement, perhaps in mild disapproval. |
| On a desolate field stands a dark-haired blue-eyed woman garbed for battle, indistinct forms locked in fighting all around her. Her foot pins the neck of a giant serpent to the ground, the spear in her hands aimed down at its head, which has swung up to strike at her, but her expression is serene. |
| A small, sloe-eyed woman stands in a formal portrait-pose in a dark-panelled room with four windows, each showing a different season. She is wearing full plate armor decorated with a simple design inlaid in gold, one slender hand resting on the matching burgonet-helmet lying on a table, the other on the hilt of her sword. Dark hair cut page-boy style surrounds a pale, almost mask-like face, pale gray eyes looking out past the viewer into the far distance. |
| Bright green eyes shine from a pale face framed by russet curls. Her head is thrown back in laughter and she stands, hands on hips, in front of a blazing hearth. A tawny cat rests to one side of the mantel behind her. |
| A tumble of dark auburn hair flows over one of this slim woman's shoulders. She appears to be anout nine kalends of age. Her bright green gaze glitters with humor and intelligence as she seems to gaze at something just beyond the image. Beyond there, there is little readable expression to her almost regal features. |
| She sits on a grey marble bench by a grey marble wall, grey marble angels crouching over her frail dark form as though set to carry her away on the instant. Her head is bowed in sorrow or prayer over a withered red rose, long black hair half-concealing her delicate features and spilling down the front of her flowing black dress. Fallen rose petals strew her breast like drops of blood. |
| A dark-complected young woman in a black gown sits on a fur-covered divan, reclining at ease with a cheerful fanged smile. She looks no older than her majority, though she seems comfortable in a gown cut in a style fashionable in the day of Queen Morwen: high-collared and full-skirted, patterned and layered black on black except for the orange-gold chevrons decorating the flatteringly-fitted bodice. Her black hair is short and sleek as fur, with a single copper-braided lock dangling before one pointed ear, and her eyes are huge and orange-gold as a sangrel's. A fanged saurian skull longer than her own height hangs on the tapestried wall above her head. |
| A thin girl of perhaps seventeen, sitting in a damasked chair, dressed in a formal gown of black trimmed with amethyst and deep blue. She could be pretty, but her gray eyes are too bright and lustrous, the colour in her cheeks too hectically brilliant. Her black hair is draped over one shoulder; cut short it would curl, but the length of it is so heavy that it falls halfway to her waist with only the faintest of waves. There's a leather-bound book balanced in her lap; her hands, folded over it, seem almost transparent in their delicacy. |
| Dressed in a dark blue kirtle belted with copper, a golden-haired, green-eyed woman leans on the parapets of a castle, looking out to the sea. The wind sweeps her hair back and she carries a silver astrolabe. |
| A young girl, possibly four kalends old, her flame-red hair is caught up in pigtails. The dress she is wearing, red trimmed in white, is extremely frilly and poofy. She sits mildly impatiently on a rock in the Summerlands, while butterflies dance in the background. Her eyes are green, and give the impression that she would like nothing more than to grow up and get out of this silly dress. |
A variety of background information on this campaign is available:
