A lean wood elf with sun-browned skin, moss-green eyes, and hair the color of birch bark braided with feathers and dried herbs. They wear soft leather dyed in muted forest tones, a carved wooden shield slung at their back, and a druidic focus of antler and ash wood hanging from a cord at the throat. Their hands are stained with soil, sap, and medicinal dyes, and they always seem to carry the scent of rain on pine needles.

Patient, observant, and quietly protective, they speak with deliberate calm and prefer listening to arguing. They are deeply compassionate toward the wounded, whether those wounds belong to beasts, people, or the land itself. Their gentleness can harden into fierce resolve when they sense exploitation or needless harm.

Long before they learned to speak in full sentences, this wood elf learned the language of creaking branches, fox tracks, and storms rolling over the treetops. Their earliest memories are of a hidden grove where an aging hermit tended a circle of stones and whispered prayers to the living world. When a blight swept through the nearby wilds, the hermit took the child in and taught them to listen for sickness in the soil, fear in the birdsong, and balance in the pulse of root and stream. In time, the student became the caretaker, then the wanderer, carrying a druid's calling beyond the grove. Now they travel between farms, ruins, and sacred places, mending what can be mended and warning others when greed begins to wound the land. They still keep the habits of a solitary ascetic, but they have grown kinder than their teacher, and more willing to intervene when cruelty endangers the weak. They see themselves as a temporary steward, not an owner, of any place they protect. Every seed they plant and every beast they soothe is a promise that the world can heal if someone is patient enough to help it.