Delphine Obsidmourn
the Wildgrave Countess
Named for obsidian, the volcanick glass that holds the dead's last reflection, and mourning — the weight that sinks into stone when grief becomes geography.
Power
You call obsidian spires from the earth with a thought — they pierce the living and mark the dead. But each spike costs a memory you will never retrieve.
- Familiar
- a pitch-black adder named Slate
- Bloodline
- House Obsidmourn
They say you were never born, that you were carved from a cliff of black glass during a thunderstorm. You have never corrected them. The truth is worse: you simply woke one day in a cairn of your own making, with a mouthful of soil and a grudge against the sun. You still carry a shard of that first obsidian in your pocket, smooth as a worry stone.