For forty years, Granny served the Great Blue Dragon Irynthar, not as a warrior, but as a humble trap-maker. She spent her youth deep in the scorched sandstone tunnels, lacing corridors with falling stones and poisoned needles. Her lungs became heavy with the soot of the dragon's lair and the fine dust of the desert, earning her the name 'Cinder-Lung.' When a band of heroes finally slew the Blue Terror, the cave collapsed, and Granny was left alone in the silence. Walking through the ruins, she found a patch of sand that had been fused into a jagged, prismatic spire by the dragon’s final, dying lightning breath. It wasn't a weapon; it was beautiful.
She didn't flee the desert. Instead, she claimed the dragon's shattered workshop. She realized that the chaos of magic—the very thing that had enslaved her—could be shaped, cooled, and blown into something purposeful. She traded her trap-wire for a blowpipe and her fear for a focused, white-hot trance. Now, she wanders the dunes with a massive crystalline maul and a glass didgeridoo, seeking 'molten souls'—people who are raw and unformed—to help them find their final, glorious shape. She believes the entire world is just glass that hasn't been heated enough yet.