Eir grew in relative comfort, the youngest of three sisters in a life of modest repose. As many others, she spent her youth in flashes of rebellion, some mischievous tendencies with neighboring kids, and the other various idiosyncrasies so becoming of adolescence. Proximity to the steppe made an adroit rider and hunter of her, and practice kept her keen.

In her early teens she happened across a wyrmling mount, the dragonhorse she came to name Pips after its speckled hide that took after a collection of dice strewn about a table. Several injuries (now pink scars ringing her wrists) stood between their bond. It took the aid of a passing mage, her eldest sister Vindr, and a local strongman to win Pips's favor. Even as a young wyrm, the dragonhorse harbored a fiery heart, ripe with conviction and a disdain for fruits.

Eir's proudest accomplishment perhaps was getting Pips to accept a saddle. She lost count of the falls, the brambles, and the broken bones that spun the tale of that particular victory.

She left the roost shortly after with a desire to experience the truth behind the splendor of Oban across the narrow strait. Acquiring funds for that journey led her to delivering letters between local settlements. She found some comfort in the work, simple as it was, and even greater satisfaction at the quiet nights on the road. She ranged wide for several months and learned to travel in the company of larger caravans; a close brush with centaur highwaymen drilled that necessity home. Relying on Pips only went so far to ensure her safety.

When the opportunity to book passage on a ferry across the strait arrived, she took it, and has since spared little thought for the steppes of her youth. Now she travels, the stars as her guide, enjoying such time as she has before her. If nothing else, she houses a determination to enrich herself by experience before settling down.