Zana

Zana's earliest memories are of the rhythmic thrum of the loom and the earthy scent of raw wool. Born into the lowest caste of Free Women in the Southern city of Port Kar, her future was sealed from birth, she would be a weaver, just as her mother and grandmother had been before her. Her childhood was spent not in playful games, but in learning the intricate patterns and sturdy weaves that were demanded by the city's merchants and households.

She knew little beyond the narrow confines of her small, shared dwelling and the bustling, dust-filled market where her family's wares were sold. The grand, columned buildings of the higher castes were a distant, unapproachable sight, and the veiled women who passed by in their rich silks seemed like creatures from another world. Zana's life was one of constant labor, her fingers calloused and nimble from years of manipulating threads. Yet, within the repetitive motion of her craft, she found a quiet satisfaction, a small measure of control in a life otherwise dictated by circumstance. She could, at least, create beauty with her own hands.