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Name: Unknown, but answers to the alias of Feverfew
Birthplace: Torchkey, an isolated, almost nomadic raccoon settlement hidden in the southern forests of Maze
Current Occupation: Peddler, selling herbs, salves, and the occasional fate-reading
Physical Description: Slim and diminutive, with long, slender fingers and a docked tail; his fur is pale gray with white marks where you'd expect to see black marks on a raccoon. He looks perpetually tired and a bit haggard, but clearly has a bit of youth left in him. He wears a plain brown tunic and a series of talismans strung onto a necklace (a vial of ash, a crayfish claw scraped clean of meat, and a tiny bundle of lavender).
History: The wandering village of Torchkey served as Feverfew's home for the first twenty-odd years of his life, and he was born as the oldest child of two herbalists- the only form of magic allowed in the strict traditions of Torchkey. When tragedy struck the village, it was tradition to sacrifice one of their number to appease the gods, and when a severe drought hit, Feverfew was to be sacrificed. When the elders of the village approached, however, the earth split uunderneath them, and as they stumbled in the tiny chasms that had sprang up under their paws, Feverfew escaped, running deep into the forest with only the clothes on his back.
Likes and Dislikes: While he was raised under the notion that ale was a perversion of the purity of water, he adores it, and will tell you anything you want to know if you get him drunk enough. He has quite a sweet tooth, and if you can make him laugh, he's a lot apter to trust you. He hates the taste of salted meat (it was a mainstay in the lean times of his childhood and he's sick of it), and he's a giant pacifist-- he refuses to so much as weild a weapon, let alone use it to harm another animal.
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