The daughter of Malcolm Quickskitter, Serenity of the Scroll, Cherlyndria Snowdrift has withstood an embittered childhood to become a renowned priestess of the Black Unicorn…a survivor, in all respects.

     Born an albino, the young Sheri (as friends and family call her) seemed condemned to a life of a semi-invalid. Never robust and rarely able to play, she was subject to a numbing variety of ailments that constantly taxed the healing magics of her father and the other priestly Rats. Bedridden much of the time, she found few diversions save the endless source of books the Library provided.

     Sheri’s personality was largely formed by the time she was fifty years of age. Her illnesses had made her irritable, moody, and withdrawn. She was saved from the fate of an emotional as well as a physical cripple by only a handful of tempering influences, the foremost being the love and wisdom of her father. Despite her youth, Sheri was able to draw a parallel between her own physical trials and Malcolm’s spiritual ones, and that realization taught her patience and courage. She was also fond of her grandparents, her Uncle Richard, and her twin cousins, Charles Sworddance and Daniel Halftail. Though immersed in their studies of the arts of war, Sheri’s cousins never failed to stop by her bedside whenever they were home. Their cousins’ noontime visits reminded Sheri that she was not alone in the world.

     Outside her family, Sheri’s only real friend was Quinathuli, the guardian wyrm of the Library. Ordinarily a cold and dour personality, the dragon would allow the frail Sheri to ride on his back, and it was he who took her on her rare excursions into the open air. Sheri cherished these field trips beneath the sun and moons, and though he would never admit it, the dragon enjoyed her company as well. They cared for and trusted each other.

     On Sheri’s coming of age, Quinathuli convinced Malcolm to allow the dragon to take his daughter on a trip to the distant seashore. Sheri’s health had been unusually good of late, and with the lovely weather and the dragon’s protection, Malcolm could see no reason not to allow it. The two arrived soon after dawn, and while Sheri took in the novel sights, the dragon began to chant softly.

     When midday arrived, Sheri cried out in alarm when a monstrous form of burnished bronze emerged from the surf—Lady Saltbreeze, a bronze Dragon of the Silahr. After introductions were made, Saltbreeze presented Sheri with a wonderful birthday gift: with the magical blessings of the dragon, Sheri spent the day beneath the waves, exploring the sunken ships and natural wonders of the nearby shoals, and guarded by a school of talking dolphins.

     Quinathuli’s plan was working perfectly. While Sheri was away, he admitted that he had come to petition the Radiant Wyrm through his noble priestess. His request was humble: would not one of the House of Light take pity upon Sheri, so that her life could have as much meaning and fulfillment as any other being’s?

     Ehlaar heard the prayer and was deeply moved. Calling out to his fellows, he presented the wyrm’s plea before the House of Light.

     All heard. One answered.

     Sheri emerged from the water at dusk, waving goodbye to her new friends and basking in the sights few land dwellers would ever see...but she soon sensed that something was terribly wrong. The skies were choked with black clouds, and both dragons lay prostrate on the shore, their wings flat on the sand and their heads bent as if in homage. Only then did she see the Avatar—and her legs lost all life as she gazed upon Phyrrus, the Black Unicorn.

     The True God stared back at the Rat, and she knew without asking why the Black Unicorn had deigned to reveal himself. All her life she had known suffering and heartbreak but had refused to surrender to them. Her spirit was tough but not brittle, and her heart was not shut off from love, respect, and trust. At that moment, Sheri saw her future reflected in the Avatar’s fiery gaze, and her soul embraced it willingly.

     Phyrrus did not speak. There was no need. With a snap of his head, the horn of the Avatar raked the flesh of the Rat’s narrow chest, and the blessing of the True God entered her being through the open wound. The Rat fell to her knees, crossed her arms over her bloodstained chest, and gave thanks to her new lord.

     That evening, Sheri stood before her dressing mirror, scarcely able to recognize herself. Her once frail body stood strong and firm, and her eyes, once a sickly pink, were now as bright and black as the hooves of the one she now called Master. Malcolm roused her early the next morning to begin her journey to Araseph, the capital of the Fourth Kingdom of the Elves. There her training would begin, under the tutelage of the legendary Timewanderer.

     Sheri was a favorite of her instructors and fellow students alike. Confident, clever, and tough as nails, the Rat soon had but a single "rival" among her classmates—her dearest friend, Mierri Hirroven. With her ordination ten years later, Sheri decided to take Mierri on as a partner on her journeys. Though a highly unusual move, the decision was an inspired one. They rose through the ranks together, taking on the most dangerous of assignments and never failing in their duties to the Black Unicorn and to each other.

     Sheri’s devotion is more than enough to curb any personal ambitions she might have. Seventy years after her ordination, the Serenity of the Order in Miren was slain in the line of duty. To the core of her being, Sheri knew that Lady Hirroven was by far the best choice of successor and quietly stepped aside, much to the surprise of many within the Order. Mierri never forgot the selflessness of this gesture, and rewarded her friend’s dedication with an appointment as Knights Commander at the earliest opportunity. The Order’s rank and file enthusiastically supported the Serenity’s decision.

     Where Lady Hirroven is the very embodiment of the vengeful defiance of her divine lord, Sheri embraces the Black Unicorn’s role as redeemer of the fallen. Having insights into mortal frailty and suffering as few have ever known, the Rat’s unique blend of compassion, patience, and utter ruthlessness have helped scores of "lost souls" reclaim their dignity and humanity over the decades. Sheri’s efforts have actually generated a modicum of respect for her Order in the hearts of the Mirenian people.

     The Rat has a deserved reputation as a barfly and a most undeserved one as a drunkard, though she enjoys a good stiff drink from time to time. Sheri knows that sleazy dives can be a rich source of information, and has built an impressive network of informants who frequent such locales. She takes the barroom culture in stride, and is a veteran of many a tavern brawl.

     Sheri has two distinct personalities that she casually refers to as "on" and "off duty". The former is sometimes coarse, often aloof, and usually quick to take offense. Blunt and undiplomatic, she speaks her mind with no regard given to the reputation or rank of those around her. She brooks no insult, and doesn’t hesitate to put common scum to flight with the point of her blade.

     Many would-be adversaries have found the Rat to be full of her own self-importance, and deserving of the contempt of her "betters" in Mirenian society. This foolish notion has cost many of them their reputations and even their lives. Sheri’s lack of "decorum", "discipline", and "proper manners" is nothing more than a calculated façade, designed to goad the enemies of her divine lord into revealing the darkness hidden within. In truth, the Rat has all three of these traits in abundance.

     The "off duty" Sheri is another creature entirely. The Rat enjoys life very much, and has (by the standards of her Order) a rather wide circle of both casual and intimate friends. A trusted confidante and a shrewd judge of character, Sheri is rarely at a loss for the kind word, thoughtful gift, or proverbial kick in the rear that her friends and family need the most. Case in point: one morning, Sheri decided that her long-widowed father had been alone long enough. Bursting into Malcolm’s bedchamber, she roused her father and his devoted consort of forty years by bellowing, "All right, you two, get your furry butts out of bed. You’re getting married—today!" Rude, crude, and socially unacceptable? Sure. But hey, it worked!

     Unlike most of her Order, Sheri has found happiness in marriage. The lucky fellow is Borrox Featherpaw, a master thief and infiltrator. Rare among his fellow rogues, Borrox uses his talents only in those causes he deems just and right. Though they barely knew each other in youth, the mature Sheri found his charm and gaiety irresistible, while Borrox was instantly enamored with her grit and passion. Even so, it was many years before Sheri could admit to herself that she truly loved him, or more to the point, that she could dare to.

     In the wake of the Rending, Sheri has channeled her grief into a renewed commitment to her ministry. She has sworn before Phyrrus that she will do her best to rescue other mortals from the insanity that claimed her uncle—but failing that, she will stop at nothing to prevent other innocent souls from paying the price.

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