Mother Yvaine
Cleric 14, Life Domain / Druid 4, Circle of the Land, Coast
Mother Yvaine
Species
Human
Appearance
Mother Yvaine is short and startlingly spry, moving with the quick, economical steps of someone who has spent a lifetime crossing wet stones in bad weather. Her unruly silver hair forms a windblown halo around a deeply lined face, while warm hazel eyes crinkle with constant amusement even when she is stitching a wound. Her fingers are permanently stained green from herbs, black from soot, and amber from healing resin. She smells of salt, thyme, hot stone, and medicinal smoke. Her hands tremble slightly when she is resting, yet become perfectly steady during surgery. The unexpected contradiction is that her grandmotherly softness conceals the posture and alertness of a hunted smuggler, and she can outrun most younger people across the cloister's slippery galleries.
“Her voice is husky, bright, and surprisingly powerful for her size, with the musical rhythm of a tide pulling over stones. She laughs easily, mutters at dangerous objects, and becomes almost whisper-quiet when discussing the dead.”
Ability Scores
Alignment
Distinguishing Features
A halo of unruly silver hair that lifts slightly whenever nearby wards activate
Deep laughing lines around warm hazel eyes, even when she is exhausted
Hands permanently marked by green herbal stains, amber salve, and old burn scars
A driftwood walking staff notched with seventy-three tiny healing tallies
A thin line of pearlescent scales along her left wrist, a lingering sign of her bond with the Basin
A missing upper canine tooth that gives her smile a mischievous, lopsided character
Voice
“A low, weathered contralto with a bright coastal lilt, capable of filling a cavern when she gives an order and becoming tender enough to soothe a terrified child”
Clothing
A plain patchwork tunic of sturdy homespun wool, a thick gray-blue shawl pinned with a polished abalone shell, soft leather sandals reinforced with seal hide, and a belt crowded with herb pouches, bone needles, folded bandages, and tiny brass keys
Body Language
She leans lightly on her driftwood staff but rarely puts weight on it. When listening, she tilts her head like a shorebird and studies the speaker's hands. When angry, she smiles, folds her shawl tightly across her chest, and taps the staff three times against the floor. During healing, she hums under her breath and rocks gently from heel to toe.
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