Irhostre had been cast out from society long ago, ever since she had been found to be a prodigy of dark magic. Ever since the pork roast her mother had so diligently cooked had risen from its feasting platter and begun dancing for the amusement of the very bored teenage girl. Her parents had tried to hide her, but they had feared her, too. The church had found out anyway. Given her age, they'd tried to turn her toward the light at the College. No talent for it, she'd only honed her darker skills. Reanimations, shadow magic, summonings, curses... no knowledge was forbidden, in her mind.
Most would have viewed it as a tragedy, to be exiled from polite society at a young age, all alone. Even she had cried at the time. But that had been long ago, and she was no longer alone. She'd made a home for herself, and the murder of crows she had befriended kept her company. It was rare to find work, but she had a little garden to grow food in, knowledge of what could be foraged to eat, and the occasional coinage that her bird friends would bring her from town, currency and trinkets that had been dropped and forgotten.
Often, she sat by the fireplace in her cabin, relaxing in the plush armchair as she wrote in a tome about the results of her latest magic experiment. She didn't know who would ever read it, if anyone. Most likely, her death would bring the church to her home, and the books would burn. But she liked to pretend her knowledge wouldn't die with her. This was how she spent the current day, until a knock on the door drew her attention from her work. She looked up and frowned. Visitors were rare, and not guaranteed to be good. Still, she set the inkwell and book aside.
Outside, the crows had gathered on the tree branches to watch the young man arrive. The door creaked open slowly as Irhostre stood in the doorway. She stood tall, around six feet, a figure clad entirely in black with a wide-brimmed hat shading her face and covering her blonde hair.