Val was born to a gypsy caravan tribe, but she was always apparently more than just a gypsy. Born paler than anyone is her tribe, Val looked as if her skin was chiseled from a pearl and white hair finer than strands of silk. Even so Val was the caravan master’s daughter as such she was raised to take his place leading the caravan or joining her mother as the caravan’s healer. Valdilen’s runic tattoos are that of her people’s magical culture, they crisscross her body and cloths as a means of Status and magical aid. When Val was young she was fond of wandering beyond the protective circle of the caravan’s camp fires.
One such night while she wondered the cold winter woods, Val came across a woman whom’s gown flowed and shifted like the snow falling. Being young Val knew little of death, but as Val reached out and touched the lady’s. Within moments Val knew what life within the caravan held for her, she knew that the woman before her was Morana the goddess of winter, magic, night and death. Morana reached an alabaster hand to caress Val’s cheek looking Val over she stopped and smiled. “Ahh, my sweet little dragonborn. You shall learn and grow always strive to be more than what people set for you. Once you are strong enough a black knight shall find you and you shall know the world as one of my chosen.” The goddess kissed Val’s check and as a seering pain shot threw her frame leaving Val unconscious with the mark of the ice dragons burned into the back of her neck.
