The Sword Princess of the Shattered Isles.  The Dirge Lady of the Dread Marches.  The Archmagus of Alliteration.  These are but a few of the titles bestowed upon Satari Creed by the greatest visionaries of the modern age (read: herself).  Among the few things that even the slovenly masses can agree upon are that Satari is a nigh-peerless mistress of song and tale, and an unparalleled dervish of martial beauty with a blade.

Little is known for certain of Satari’s upbringing.  She cheerfully admits that most of the stories in circulation about her are cut whole from a tapestry of lies.  Attempts to unravel the truth are generally met with a sharply-arched eyebrow, a cutting word, and the understanding that curiosity isn’t always welcome (read: press on and be cursed unto damnation).  Among the few more-or-less verifiable facts (read: told to members of the Silver Company unprompted) are that she was raised in a small city, the daughter of a fairly skilled tailor and his wife, who would have prospered more in a larger city where they weren’t looked down on.  With the voice of a Deva and the temper of a furious displacer beast, she was quite the handful for her parents, and eventually shipped off to study under a Bard in her kingdom’s capital.

While she was a talented singer and musician, it was clear that Satari wasn’t destined to seek out ancient and forgotten lore for its own sake.  Instead, she learned to mix blade and song in harmony as a graduate of the College of Valor.  Bright-eyed, headstrong, ambitious, and convinced of her own immortality in the way of the young and foolish, she set off as an adventurer.  She earned a reputation as a consummate liar, cheat, flirt, and warrior, whose word wasn’t worth the air to breathe it UNLESS she meant it; then, no force among the infinite planes could make her break it.

She met the Silver Company in the Shattered Isles, where, due to circumstances she still refuses to expound upon, she has been worshipped as a queen and demigoddess, until the day she was most emphatically not.   She took the opportunity to join the Company, and get on with her adventures.  She added to the group’s mystique, using subtle magics to amplify her voice as she crossed battlefield after battlefield, blade flashing as she wailed haunting funeral dirges for her foes.

Off the field, she was a light of well-intentioned wickedness, with a joke on her lips and laughter in her eyes, uplifting her allies’ spirits.  As the Company began to drift apart in later years, Satari had the misfortune to accidentally strike down a prince in a tragic case of mistaken identity.  Being merciful (in his way) the king bound her to an oath to raise no sword, cast no spell, and share no contact with her old life until she earned weregild for the prince’s death.  By her calculations, all these years later, she’s only a handful of performances away from her goal.