The Orchid Widow

The Widow carries a pale flower beside their pointed green face, a small token from a court that no longer exists. Its hive was consumed by a rival, and the survivors were so thoroughly scattered that the conqueror declared the line finished.

They were away on a trade run when it fell, and so survived with what had traveled with them: memories, a few companions, and living traces the enemy never reached. Pollen of the Last Court shelters those remnants while they search for others who might have carried something away. A name, a practice, or a fragment of a shared song can be enough to draw them across a dangerous route.

The Widow’s grief has made them patient, not gentle. They will help another displaced brood if they can, because they know how little a survivor may have left. They also remember the hunger that took their home, and they intend to make certain its victor never mistakes survival for forgiveness.