Pip-Pip was born in a dragon's hoard, where kobolds lived in perpetual terror of their master's wrath and their own mortality. She watched her grandmother die in the dark, whimpering apologies to a dragon who didn't care. That night, huddled in the treasure pile, Pip-Pip made a promise to the universe: no one should ever be afraid at the end. When she finally escaped the hoard, she found her way to a crumbling temple dedicated to the Great Sleep—an almost-forgotten deity of peaceful transitions. The old priest there was dying, and Pip-Pip held his hand through his final hours, telling him stories of places she'd never been until he smiled and let go.
She took his vestments, his silver bell, and his scythe, wrapping the blade in marigold garlands because 'death should smell like sunshine, not dirt.' Now she wanders from village to village, offering her services to the dying and the dead. She'll sit vigil with terminal patients, casting gentle spells to ease their pain and fear. She'll track down restless spirits, listen to their unfinished business with genuine interest, crack terrible jokes until they laugh, and guide them toward whatever comes next. Local undertakers initially feared her, but now they send for her—she makes their work easier, and the bereaved always seem comforted after Pip-Pip explains that their loved one 'graduated with honors from the School of Living.'
Her most treasured possession is a patchwork quilt she's been sewing for years, each square embroidered with the name of someone she helped cross over. She plans to be buried in it someday, surrounded by marigolds, probably still giggling at her own jokes.