Born into the last golden age of the Quel'dorei, the young Aria had everything to look forward to. While they were not wealthy, her family's prestige ensured her access to the finest education.
House Dawngrace were scholars and artists, beyond skilled in arcane craftwork. Practiced and cultivated over centuries, nigh-on millennia, theirs were enchantments the likes of which the mortal races could only dream of.
Aria would be next, of course. The darling of the House, and so studious besides.
But the march of the Scourge took everything before she was of age to even hold a rod: Her family, her home, and her future. All cast to ash, buried in the Dead Scar.
She survived. The only one. And the injustice of it dwelled in her, carved its way into her very being. They had done nothing to bring on such destruction. Aria herself had done nothing more than dare to be born.
And if the world would not grant justice to her people, she would find it herself.
Rejected by the Blood Knights - too young, and too emotional, besides - it was all she could do to try and train herself in the ways of war. To hone her mind and body for the trials of combat.
The junior Farstriders gave her some time of day. And though through relentless training did she grow into strength, her viciousness and disposition made her unpopular - impossible to work with, almost.
Then the Sunwell reignited, and the sheer potency of her connection to this divine source was made bare. With the righteous power that suddenly became her right to wield, nothing was left to stop her.
And if the martial orders of Silvermoon would not take her to vengeance, she would find it herself.