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My name is Kelsternian. My sister calls me Kels. My father calls me nothing. Disowned daughters have no names in the great ancestry scrolls.
I am best known by my title in the moral laden parables of the nightmare weavers. I am the Bone Eater. It’s morose and vile sounding, but like any other merchant selling something the weavers must hawk their wares, they just do it in the temple courtyards. It is a smart business to be in. Temples are never taxed. I can appreciate that, my work is tax free too. Of course if I were to alert the local guilds about my trade my earnest honesty to give the Governor his cut would result in my death.
The nightmare weavers love emphasizing that bit. I don’t hold it against them, the more horror and warning they can work into a tale the better they are paid. It works too, for its purpose. Control through fear. Scare the crowd enough and even the amorally inclined will obey, more or less.
I have never thought of myself as amoral. I do most certainly fall into the category of ‘less’.
Bring me the finger bone from an enemy and I can tell you all your enemy’s secrets. With your ancestors’ finger bones I can tell you all the secrets of your past. For one of your finger bones, I can tell you your future.
I am Kelsternian and I am the bone eater.

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