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She was born Ann Moriah Redrain, a Princess with her nose buried in books and planted firmly at the feet of wise elders of the North, absorbing their tales, or off having adventures. Her childhood was indeed full of these - crossing into a spooky copse of trees or venturing upon high mountain peaks for the sheer exhilaration of it. As she grew into womanhood, these adventures became a little less childish and a little more odd. Always the one to goad into temptation, once she heard tales of wondrous relics or academic tomes, Ann (or sometimes Moriah, depending on her mood) would plead, coax, and cajole an intrepid (or sometimes reluctant) member or two of Redrain to accompany her to explore the tale. Among her favorite to pull to these adventures were her three brothers: Valerian, Torrus, and Angus - all three having perished, the latter valiantly so in the Night's Grove with the King and Sherrod. Within the Silent War, Princess Ann Moriah Redrain found herself taking vows to Duke Asger Crovane on the ashes of the once proud city, laid low. Together they rebuilt the city from inside out. Together they had three children, each showing small hints of personality of both mother and father. Shortly after the twins were born, Duke Asger Crovane was poisoned by an unknown assassin while visiting the County of Coastside to talk to House Crackneck. Devastated, Ann stepped down from being Duchess to allow the Crovane family to have the direct bloodline at head of the house. With no title nor succession for her children, she returned to Redrain to take up her position as Princess again. Seeking new adventures, and helping her family navigate the politics of the Compact.

Everything about this woman, from the coy lift of her dark, thicker eyebrows to the fullness of her lips speaks of an intelligence lying in wait behind her cobalt eyes. High, noble cheekbones with a hint of ever-present natural blush are coupled with a regal forehead and smooth nose and a chin that never seems to lower. Her hair is dark and thick, a mane of tousled black waves that frames her face and almost gleams blue in the right light. She carries her willowy frame with sophisticated grace, her slender build a testament to the more bookish hours of her life or perhaps more than one night spent hungry on the road.

For a supposedly stuffy old scholar, Ann is a remarkably devil-may-care Princess. For an older sibling, Ann has more often been the goad to temptation and the road less traveled. Any semblance to a bookish, authoritative woman is purely coincidental. But those are the two disparate sides to Ann Moriah Redrain, and they are as interchangeable as the sun and the rain, pulled out to suit the occasion or the mercurial nature of the woman herself.