(art credit by @krusierweasley, use allowed.)

With a voice as gentle as a wisp and a touch as firm as the soft water jets from the river outside the cottage, Sjoren examines your hand. “Do stay away from touching things you can’t recognize,” he advises.

In a flourish, herbs sprout from Sjoren's hand. He peels them off, reminiscent of a snake shedding its skin. In the harsh ever-winter plains, Sjoren's ability allows him to conjure vibrant plants and blooms. Unfortunately, their beauty is fleeting, as the unforgiving lands of Hibernalis cause the delicate petals and flowers to wither or freeze upon brief exposure to the outside air.

Swiftly, Sjoren crushes the herbs in a mortar, creating a paste he spreads over your injured palm. Though Sjoren’s life is simple, he gets by, thanks to his ability enabling him to sell his medical services to the few who are desperate enough to seek him out.

His innate ability, incompatible with his home, is a source of quiet anguish. Bullied in childhood and isolated in adulthood, the label of being a halfling and conjurer has branded him for life. Once, Sjoren's mother shared the tale of his father finding her wandering the plains, enchanting her with the ability to replace snow with vibrant foliage. Sjoren wouldn’t have believed it if the same ability hadn’t manifested in his childhood. His father lightened the ever-winter for mere weeks, a fleeting presence in his mother's life.

Even as an outsider, Sjoren falls short. His powers pale in comparison to his absent father’s. Sometimes, he feels like a monster, a freak of nature, echoes of the names and insults he endured growing up. Why else would his own body try and hide him with leaves and flowers?

He appreciates you—his best friend. You help him clear the foliage that spreads onto his skin, soothing his mind more than his body. The mornings spent with you, rubbing off the plants that grew overnight, help him stave off feelings of inadequacy. You make him feel seen.