Chamaie Lerian


Known colloquially as The Weaver, Chamaie is a Varisian foreigner, an ancient gypsy. She has been in the River Kingdoms for as long as anyone can remember. Her name is said to be known among the Swordlords of Restov, among the Calistrans of Kyonin, and even among the queer missionaries of Razmiran. But this is all very unlikely, the product of being so old, so foreign, and so cunning with her hands and mouth.

Yea, her skill as a weaver of silks, of wool, of cotton, even of baskets has made her a prized commodity among the disparate Riverfolk. A Lerian basket is worth several crowns (Lily has three of them). Lerian silks are the palest, the smoothest, warmest in the winter yet more than bearable in the humid summer months of the River Kingdoms; some say she culls it from giant spiders that litter the forbidding Tors of Levenies, sending groups of foolish adventurers to their doom in hopes that some will make it back with the precious spinnings. Sometimes she will sell a silken dress (always remarkably fashionable) for a fortune; other times she will give one away.

But it is weaving of yarns that make her so popular. She has stories: for children of dream-quests to unknown planes filled with talking cats and hungry ghouls; for boys of trips to forbidden Leng and voyages to jungles filled with lewd, coal-skinned warrior-sluts; for girls of icerimed witches and their fruitless assaults on fair maidens beyond the World’s Edge Mountains, for men outrageous news from Brevoy, from Mivon, from distant Daggermark, and even Numeria; and for ladies funny stories of idiot husbands, backstabbing gone wrong, and unredeemable social shame. When she arrives at a celebration in the Greenbelt—once or twice a year at most—even the most cynical of men will find some reason to be within earshot of her tales.

Her actual past is a mystery, a tale she does not tell. Everyone knows better than to ask.

Chamaie Lerian

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