I didn't see a character thread around so I figured I'd make my own! Bonus: I found a pretty good portrait for a male nature godlike, so feel free to use it if you like, it should be the proper size.
Chanter of the White that Wends, Mystic, Godling and Companion of all-folk.
Verdane's birth was unlike most of his kind. It was uneventful. He came into being deep a in a hidden place that did not judge him to be a monster. Instead, it judged him be alone.
Verdane was abandoned deep within a chill pine forest, a glade that was untouched by evil, but similarly untouched by the presence of voice, word, or writing. However, this did not last. As nature itself fed the young one, and cared for him, there was something amiss. As he slept, he was moved. A shelter appeared. Books, drawings, and paper were found upon waking. As he grew, no matter how much Verdane struggled to stay awake to see his benefactor, he could not. He slept, and upon awakening, found meals for the mind.
The books told him of strange lands, strange creatures, and most of all other peoples that lived -- all together -- in huge cities, where should prove nearly impossible to be alone. It told him of the workings of the world, of fate, and prophecy.
The Druid, whom Verdane had come to learn must be guarding this grove, never deigned to speak to him. This was painful. It was as if Verdane was judged to have nothing important to say. And perhaps that was true.
But. Verdane found, after being struck by the true cold and the true danger of the world, making it to a nearby road using The Druid's maps, that he in fact had much to say. So much that, already intimidated by his form, the first few bands of folk he met fled before him as he overpowered them with loud, fumbling banter.
He soon learned better, and became a companion to many, though not all were scrupulous. He was a pet curiosity, even if he did not realize it at the time. He spoke and spoke, and listened and learned, and it was novel, and it was good, even if perhaps at times he was being used. He learned much about people, and the power of words. The power of words to touch the soul.
The magic came easily. It was only the words he was missing. And so he sought them, high and low, and he found that if he aided those who kept the knowledge from him instead of berating him, they would open their books or share their stories over a fire.
He learned of hatred, and evil too. To some he was an abomination, but he had found solace in knowing too that these people were simply afraid, because they did not know.
He knew, now, what he was, at least in part, and he was not surprised when fate brought him events that others would call coincidental. He was chosen. And someday, he would return to the Grove, and speak with the Druid, his guardian, mentor, and... he realized, foe.
Years passed. He aged, and so did the world. He found himself on a Caravan, bound for a distant land, ready for whatever the mysteries might bring...