In the sterile, silver-etched halls of Silverymoon’s botanical conservatory, Thistle was once known as Thistledown Elanil, a prodigy of rigid classification and taxonomic order. Her life was a series of glass vials and Latin labels until the day a translucent, prismatic butterfly fluttered across her parchment. She followed it through a hedge that shouldn't have been there, stepping out of the Material Plane and into the neon-drenched delirium of the Feywild. She didn't get lost; she got found. The crushing weight of elven expectations evaporated, replaced by the humming vibration of the universe's many flavors.
When she returned to the world years later, her professors didn't recognize her. The 'Thistledown' who cared for lineage and posture had stayed behind in a mushroom circle. Reborn as 'The Steep,' she now views reality as a grand infusion waiting to happen. She traverses the most lethal corners of the Abyss and the Hells not for glory, but because the 'Obsidian Peppercorns' found there make a tea that tastes like a forgotten childhood memory. She speaks of herself in the third person because she views her soul as a guest in a very interesting house—one that happens to be an expert with a longbow and a tea strainer.