This post is going to be difficult, because I don’t want to give away too many details. I’m also not sure how far down her path to go. Nonetheless, off we go.
Sarintha Wyrell is the oldest of two sisters. When she was six and her younger sister, Mirian, was two, they were orphaned after an explosion occurred during a worship ceremony being performed by the priests of Thavatos. Their parents had recently converted and were at the ceremony. The two girls, along with some of the other children, were being cared for elsewhere.
Sarintha, Mirian, and four other surviving children were brought back to the temple of Aliyah to grow up. Sarintha felt responsible for Mirian, and did everything she could to protect her little sister as well as teach her whatever she wanted to know. If Mirian wanted to learn how to sew, Sarintha would spend nights teaching herself so she would be able to teach Mirian. When Mirian decided she wanted to learn how to cook, Sarintha convinced the kitchen to let her work there so she could pick up enough to teach her sister.
When Sarintha was sixteen, she was injured in the kitchen. Mirian surprised everyone, including herself, when she healed the wound in Sarintha’s arm. It was haphazard, and a wicked scar developed, but Mirian had done it.
Immediately, Mirian gave up her fascination with cooking to try to develop her healing powers. Sarintha floundered. She had no way to teach Mirian what she wanted to know. In desperation, Sarintha began experimenting with alchemy. She became quite adept at mixing various parts of dried plants, saps, roots, and minerals to mend wounds and ailments.
It wasn’t enough though. Mirian wasn’t interested in alchemy, she wanted to know more about her magical healing ability. When Mirian tried to teach Sarintha to heal using magic, it was even worse. Sarintha knew she didn’t have that power, and Mirian nagging at her to try harder made her feel inadequate as an older sister. She finally snapped and said things that she later regretted.
After yelling at her sister, she left in anger and moved to Trior. She supported herself with her alchemy, despite the stigma of the many phony “potion mixers” in the area, her reputation grew as an accomplished healer. She met a man, and they lived together working in the area to help others.
One night, there was a knock at the door. Belron answered, called out once, and fell to the ground. Dead. A group of tall, gangly strangers; they couldn’t be human; barged into the house. They ransacked the house, searching for something. Binding her arms and legs, they drug her out the door, setting fire to her home as they left.