Once a young and hopeful freedom fighter, Taraza's life, destiny and very body have been stolen and remade without her consent, turning her into an unnatural slave of the magocratic order she sought to bring down.


Taraza's lithe beauty has been maimed by the brutal punishment and magi-surgical reconstruction of her body. Once tall, lean and graceful, her body is now scarred and hefty with interlocking horns and plates of magically hardened ceramic, making her heavy, ungainly and lumpen. Her delicate hands have been bent and the fingers partially locked into a grasping position, making them only suitable for holding a weapon. Her eyes are still vividly green… but she now has four more, spaced equidistantly around her skull. Her silky black hair, once long and luxuriant has been cropped short and ragged to allow her extra eyes to peer out in all directions as she watches over her master. In battle, she wields a hooked polearm (a guisarme), and her favourite tactic to discourage enemies is to tug their ankles out from under them.


Formerly joyous, flighty and freedom-loving, Taraza has been changed by the brutal necromantic process of turning her into a servator into a bitter, cold and dutiful slave. She obeys commands given by the one who holds her command token to the best of her ability - as she has no choice - and takes her role as a protector seriously, but finds no passion in it… or anything else, any more. Conversely, her hatred for the wizard lords of Peria has been dulled by her enforced service to them, so she enjoys neither the highs of pleasure or the depths of rage. Her life is a numb, endless drudgery… though exploring the Wound may once again open her eyes to the world's wonders.

Unlike most servators, Taraza's geas has been modified to allow her to inflict harm on the civilised races of Manus, but only in defence of herself or her master. She can only fight lethally when under direct instruction from the bearer of her command token.


Taraza's parents were part of the magically ungifted riff-raff of Peria. They were tavern keepers, until a wizard took their property through legal rort; then they were itinerant farm hands, until a tranche of agricultural servators were introduced to do the manual labour; then they were dissidents. They took to publishing ant-government pamphlets and holding rallies with their fellow dispossessed and oppressed second-class citizens, always careful to avoid the scrutiny of the wizards that could pluck secrets from their minds. Slogans and posters eventually turned to firebombs and riots, and they were contacted by a cell of rebels based in an abandoned lead mine in the hills, which provided some protection from divination.

Taraza grew up with the rebels in her teenage years, learning to fight in their militia, learning to keep watch for government agents, but above all learning to dance. There was nothing she loved more than the simple joy of music and movement, and her fireside twirls brightened many a long night in the rebel camps. Alas, their relatively idyllic life could not last forever, and the forces of the wizard-lords beset the mines after one too many bold raids. The rebels fought bravely, but had little chance against the overwhelming arcane power of their overlords, and were soon brutal bewitched or blasted into oblivion. Taraza and her parents were judged by the Seekers and sentenced to servitude. She had to watch as her mother and father were agonisingly flesh-sculpted into a living writing desk and a scroll rack - it amused the sadistic Mortician in charge of the process to turn the rebel publishers into scribing furniture. When it came to Taraza's turn, the Mortician had other ideas; she was a well-built young woman, tall and fit enough to make a good prototype for a new type of servator he had been designing, a bodyguard that would be easier to create than those clunky guardian golems…


Taraza has been assigned to defend Xarin, a Seeker-in-training on a fugitive hunting expedition into the Wound.


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