After necromancer sacrificed Tubar's family in a ritual he swore to stop the vilain no matter what. But despite his efforts Tubar lost. Necromancer even tried to raise him as a servant! Day after that Tubar awakened and hearing necromacer moved to North followed him

Wild madness became Ophelia whence first drifted the dreams swimmingly, swimmingly up, as snowflakes swirling into a shadowed sky, calling to her like arctic starlings newly hatched, twisting and winding, the strangling fruit snaking through a shattered visage upon on the storm-shorn stone to bring forth the the seeds of the dead and share with the pale worms who gather in darkness, surging, surging through the Skyfrost Tundra like frigid black water beneath a midnight sun lie the dead, my lady, dead and gone, at their head once, long ago growingly, growingly grass-green turf, at their heels, the now bleak land, once larded all with sweet flowers which bewept to the ground, blossoming, blossoming within the skull, expanding the mind beyond what any man can endure or woman bear, to reveal the fatal softness of the frozen Earth, whence round the bitter decay of that colossal glacial tomb, boundless and bare, yet beckoning, beckoning to her with whispering wind-weathered strands like icy fingers, the lone and level snows stretch far, far away, shivering sweets to which the sweet must stray.

(Yes that is intended to be one sentence.)

Ophelia, based very loosely on the character from Shakespeare's Hamlet (among with other sources), is an otherwise gentle and sweet soul who has been driven insane.  By the tragic loss of her father, brother and true love (all three, as in the Shakespeare's play).  Though in the case of this Ophelia, also by Wild Magic which has blossomed within her, perhaps as a response to the trauma inflicted on her mind and soul, rather than her suicide which ensued in the play.  Though she has little comprehension of it, the raging, chaotic arcane storm within her whispers of a need to venture north from her aristocratic high elven family home in Noubourg City where she has spent her entire life.  To seek out secrets hidden somewhere in the Skyfrost Tundra.

No longer is Ophelia one who walks the world or speaks to others in straight lines, her mind meandering and her words wandering.  What remains of her horrified extended family looked the other way as she took what she needed and departed for the Last Hearth without a backward glance.

Her madness is neither cruel to others, nor selfish.  Just the opposite at times, though her ravings make little sense to most, and the wild arcane power that bursts from her, seemingly involuntarily, is not for the faint of heart.  Perhaps in the frozen north, Ophelia shall find... something... to ease her insanity for good... one way or the other.  All she knows is that she must go.  It calls to her.

Some time ago, the community of the wood elf girl Eithne was disastrously annihilated. Eithne remembers nothing else about it; no details. But something terrible must have happened, because since that distant day, when she awoke in the middle of the battlefield where everyone else died (and where she must have been left for dead), the Voices have been a part of her.

Yes, the Voices... because Eithne hears voices in her mind. So many voices. Voices of the wood elves of her massacred community. Confused and left with no one dear or trustworthy, Eithne is forced to take up a wandering existence, but she also decides to make the culprits pay for what they've done, sooner or later, at all costs! And not a day goes by without the Voices in her mind reminding her of this.

Currently, Eithne has put her talents to good use as a Bowen Empire scout; she is making her annual trek along the borders of the unknown ensuring no threats are present, and she has stopped temporarily at The Last Hearth.

Backstory: Ardwan grew up the seventh son of a poor family that made its living serving a much richer one. He was a slight lad, but quick and reasonably hearty, and found his role as a local guide. He'd show this baron or that duchess around the most beautiful local natural sites, and they'd talk loudly over trickling streams and the susurrus of rustling leaves.

Or at least that was true until he met the woman who would change his life. She was everything the other nobility were not: reserved, measured, and possessed of a gaze that, while gentle, effortlessly peeled back the layers of Ardwan's psyche. When she stopped in a field to meditate, he could only watch, awestruck at her poise and the quiet competence that cascaded off her like mist in the morning sun. She noticed his stare, of course, and they got to talking, once he could overcome his shyness. She told him about the ways of the monk, the ways of mercy, and he recognized who he was for the first time.

For the next few years he studied, and helped people, and studied some more, until he was no longer a student, and went out into the world. Ardwan decided to cast his lot with fate, going wherever he heard a need, taking only meager provisions from grateful commonfolk. Until one day it turned out that the old fur boots he was given were magical, and kept him warm. He took that as a sign, and made his way north, to see if he could be of use there.