Sabi is clan Chef at Mirrormere, she will feed you, even if you are not hungry. The wind carried her to the Mirror Lake and she stayed, finding strong bonds of fellowship with her companions there. She is fiercely loyal to her Clan and fights along side them to rid the world of the evil scourge of Zebian filth.
Here is her story -
They say she came from beyond the endless mist that clings to the eastern horizon — a land where the sun rises red and the mountains breathe clouds. None here knows its name, and Sabi does not often speak of it. When pressed, she smiles softly, her eyes tracing some invisible memory, and says only, “The wind carried me farther than I meant to go.”
Born in a mountain village where the forests whispered with spirits, Sabi learned early the language of the wild — the bend of grass before a storm, the warning cry of a crow, the scent of rain on stone. Her people were foragers and hunters, taking only what the land offered and giving thanks in quiet rituals of incense and folded hands.
But the world changed. Traders from distant shores brought strange metal coins, and with them came hunger for more than the land could bear. When her village’s game began to vanish, Sabi took her bow and her pack and swore to follow the paths of the old spirits — to seek new grounds where the balance still held.
Weeks turned to months, and months to years. Through storm and salt, she crossed the seas with a caravan bound for lands none of her kin had ever seen. When the ships finally reached the western shores, she stepped onto soil that smelled alien, richer, colder, heavy with iron and old magic.
Here, she found her trade anew. Sabi became a forager and hunter-merchant, bartering herbs, pelts, and wild meats with villagers wary of her strange tongue and stranger tools. Yet her quiet patience and keen eye won respect. She taught the locals which roots could heal and which would kill, how to read the flight of birds to foretell the weather, and how to dress a kill so nothing went to waste.
Sabi lives by a simple creed: “The land provides, but never forget its price.” She believes every hunt demands gratitude, every trade a fair hand, and every friendship a quiet truth. Though she speaks little of her homeland, she keeps its customs close: a carved talisman tied to her bow, a morning prayer whispered to unseen spirits before each hunt.
To the people of this new world, she is a mystery: a foreign wanderer with the calm of a monk and the aim of a hawk. Some call her Sabi of the Far Winds, others simply the fox merchant, for her cunning way of always finding value where others see none.
Now, she roams the wild edges between village and forest, her campfire a beacon for travellers and traders alike. She gathers herbs that only bloom by moonlight, hunts beasts others fear to track, and whispers to the old spirits of the land — in a language the West has long forgotten.
When asked if she will ever return home, she only shakes her head.
“Home is where the wind pauses,” she says, “and it has not paused yet.”