St. Trothnon was exiled from the Dustlands in their adolescence, having caused a great betrayal to a venerated member of the community. They wandered about their homeland, remaining ignored for a generous radius outside of their birthplace, until they fell prey to mal-intended company. In the darkest of nights, they could stand the abuse no longer, and slayed the topmost member of this toxic band. This began the slow, laborious process of communal healing among its remaining members. Still there was much damage that could only be coped with, but St. Trothnon's impressions lasted upon its youngest members, who saw that though St. Trothnon could never enjoy peace within their lifetime, they had affected at least the beginnings of harmony for the next generation.
funding, housing, cleanliness
St. Saorina ran away from their parents at a young age for unknown reasons, traversing the Sea of Gauntlings in a crate originally intended for lavish silks. The barrel was to be delivered to the Queen of Cormande. Upon unpacking the crate, the servant at hand was merciful, and, seeing how emaciated they had become, sent them away with little food and clothing without disclosing any information to the royals. In the city of Cormande, St. Saorina became involved in keeping an orphanage, and conducted basic chores until it was discovered that they were excellent at keeping the organization's affairs and state of order, all the while remaining dear to its humble occupants. No matter was too big or too small for St. Saorina, and they remained an accessible friend to all.
St. Wilby was a professor of natural studies and a conscientious objector. Nevertheless, the Magistrate sent him off to die in the Salmon Wars, like all good boys between the ages of 14 and 43. He was put in command of a small band of vagrants, rascals, and other sorts of ne’er-do-wells, and at the Battle of the Fisher of Men, he told those boys to turn tail and run, that this was not worth what their payment paid, and rode forward in their stead. As we all know, none survived the Battle of the Fisher of Men, save that small group of dirt-faced rapscallions, who were given the sweet, small mercy of another day under the Sun.