Tavian Reed

Create your own NPC
TR
0

Witness

Tavian Reed

0·Male·Medium
Neutral Good

Species

Human

Appearance

Tavian looks like a man who has been folded and unfolded by bad weather. His narrow face is sunburned across the nose, his cheeks are rough with wind-cracked skin, and his dark hair hangs in damp ropes around his ears. He moves with a pilgrim's careful shuffle, placing each foot as though the ground might remember where it was stepped on. His hands shake constantly, yet his gaze is unnervingly steady whenever he studies a tree. The unexpected contradiction is that his travel-stained body smells faintly of crushed lavender and clean rain, a comforting scent that seems completely wrong for someone who fled a haunted grove.

HeightFive feet, nine inches
BuildThin and wiry, with the compact endurance of a long-distance walker and the underfed shoulders of someone who has missed too many meals.
EyesStorm gray with thin amber flecks that become visible in bright light
HairNear-black brown, damp-looking even when dry, with several prematurely silver strands above his left temple.
SkinWeathered olive with a reddish burn across the nose and cheeks, roughened by rain, cold, and charcoal dust.

His voice is soft, breathy, and quick, with frequent pauses to listen for sounds beyond the conversation. When describing the marked trees, he becomes calm and almost scholarly.”

Ability Scores

STR
10+0
DEX
10+0
CON
10+0
INT
10+0
WIS
10+0
CHA
10+0

Alignment

Good
Lawful
Chaotic
EvilNeutral Good

Distinguishing Features

A pale crescent scar beneath his right eye shaped like a tiny claw mark.

A brass lantern charm around his neck that contains dried lavender rather than a flame.

His left thumb is stained permanently black from charcoal dust.

He has a habit of staring at tree bark as though reading a written page.

Voice

A low, rain-worn tenor that rises into a hurried whisper whenever he hears branches creak. His laugh is brief, startled, and usually followed by an apology.

Clothing

A faded russet pilgrim's cloak patched with mismatched wool, a gray undertunic, mud-dark trousers, and cracked leather boots. Around his neck hangs a small brass lantern charm filled with dried lavender instead of oil. His belt carries strips of white cloth used to mark safe paths.

Body Language

Tavian hunches forward as if expecting branches to catch him. His fingers tap a nervous rhythm against his staff, but they stop completely when he sees a marked tree. When calm, he tilts his head toward distant sounds. When cornered, he smiles apologetically and backs away without turning his back on the nearest exit.

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