<div class="floatright">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/thumb/4/4d/WynnieNackle.png/359px-WynnieNackle.png)</div><div align="center"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 18pt;"><strong>Wynnie Nackle (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=1865649)</strong></span><br/>Gnome Druid 1 NG</div><br/><br/><div align="center"><strong>Background</strong></div>Well, to say I had a passel of brothers and sisters would be an understatement, seein' as there were 12 of us in total when I left home and I'm willing to bet there's been a fair few since then.  I was one of the middle ones, born alongside my twin sister Lucie, who was about as different from me as you could get.  They say twins are supposed to have this strong bond and be connected, but the most connection we ever had was when one of our fists connected with the other one's nose.<br/><br/>The older kids were meant to look after the youngest, but it was pretty par for the course that the eldest ran off to do something fun and ordered us middlings to tend the babes.  Mom and Dad were usually pretty busy tending the ill and injured in our village, or whipping up an herbal something or other.  They also spent a lot of time hunting up special plants and fungi in the forests around where we lived, which meant us kids were on our own a lot.<br/><br/>Lucie was just as irresponsible and vain as a girl could get, and just as soon as we were old enough to start noticing boys...well, boys started noticing Lucie right back.  I didn't care none, since I found all the boys in our village to be pretty dumb and trying to talk to them about the books I was reading or the interesting thing I'd learned from a visitor just seemed to earn me funny looks and teasing.  We didn't get a whole lot of books in Pinkspore, but every so often a merchant would pass through with some used ones.  I saved up all the gold I could so I could buy myself one when he passed through.<br/><br/>By the time I was about fifteen, I'd accumulated a tidy stack of six or so books, all read hundreds of times, even though one was a terribly boring diary written by a dusty old monk and another was some farmer's meticulously recorded account of his yearly animal and field productions.  My favorite, one which I'd read easily three times more than the others, was a book of tales about orcs, giants and other monsters.  The stories recounted daring adventure, dangerous quests and noble sacrifice in the name of chivalry, bravery and the triumph of good over evil.<br/><br/>The stories in my favorite book are what made me decide to offer my services as an assistant to a traveling scholar who wound up staying at our house for several days the summer I was 16.  The half-elf woman had been thrown from her horse when the creature had been spooked by a serpent, and my parents had taken her in so they could mend her wounds before she continued on her journey.<br/><br/>Even though my parents tried to make me leave Reia alone to allow her to recuperate in peace, I often snuck into the room she'd been given to chat with her and listen to the many wonderful stories she had to tell.  Reia was a scholar who traveled all over the land, and even to different planes, compiling research on various creatures that were thought extinct, but which she was convinced still existed.  The night before she was set to leave our village, I begged Reia to let me accompany her on her journeys and act as her assistant.  When she agreed, I calmly informed my parents that I was going, packed up my meager belongings and the next morning the two of us left my home forever.<br/><br/>The first month was very hard, because I suffered from intense loneliness and homesickness, unused to being without dozens of siblings around to keep me company.  But, gradually I got over the initial struggle and the wonder of adventure took flight in my soul.  Our travels were not always easy, and some nights we slept curled together for warmth with hunger gnawing at our bellies, but the journey was never dull.  Then, unexpectedly, Reia fell from a cliff while we were climbing to try and uncover a skeleton of one of the Crested Wolgerns that had recently fascinated my mentor.  I was 19 when I lost Reia, but in her death I discovered that my employer and friend had bequeathed me her modest home and extensive library.<br/><br/>I returned to Reia's home, with her remains (well, her ashes...no one is traveling for weeks with a corpse, even one of someone they loved) and buried them beside the beautiful flowering tree in her yard.  Then, for the next three years, give or take, I devoted myself to reading every book she had given to me and all of her research notes from before she and I had met.  In my studies, I developed an interest that burned within me as brightly as Reia's had burned within her.<br/><br/>Orcs.  Their culture, language and history fascinated me.  After teaching myself the language and delving into the natural practices that some of them employed, I found myself with the ability to invoke magic in the manner of some Orcish shaman I'd read about.  With this newfound skill and my, albeit minimal, knowledge of the brutish race of tribal warriors, I decided to venture out like my mentor and learn more about the race of beings that had so caught my interest.<br/><br/>My first stop was to see Max Murdock, who'd been a friend of Reia's and who had sent her a missive asking her to come and see him.  I didn't feel right informing him of her death via letter - and, I admit, I was curious what he might want with her - so I decided to deliver my news in person and see if I could be of service.<br/><hr/><div align="center"><strong>Personality</strong></div>If sunshine could copulate with rainbows and, after the gestation period of a smile, give birth to a dream wrapped in sprinkles and nectar...that would be Wynnie.  She's so up-beat, optimistic, happy and cheerful that a Disney princess would roll their eyes.  Her infinite zest for life and the excitement with which she approaches each new day can be somewhat grating, but it helps that she's often too preoccupied with other things to natter on about how beautiful every moment is or some other such sparklefart nonsense.  She quite frequently has her nose in a book, either reading or writing down notes about something she's experienced, some idea that's popped into her head or a pretty flower she saw along the path.  When she's not reading or writing, she can easily be distracted from her lyrical, if exhaustive, chatter by merely pointing out something curious like a pretty rock, a strange insect or a particularly peculiar cloud in the sky.  This typically serves to offer her companions at least a few minutes respite from her bright conversational gambits.<br/><br/>Or, you know, simply asking her to hush also works.  She's good-natured, after all, and not unaware that not everyone enjoys talking endlessly about the cannibalistic practices of certain savage Orc tribes or the unexpectedly beautiful mating call of the Ivory-Breasted Titwillow.<br/><hr/><div align="center"><strong>Aspirations</strong></div><br/>Wynnie wants to learn all she can about Orc culture, and hopes one day to spend some time with an Orc tribe or two...or six.<br/><br/>For her love of learning and adventure, Wynnie wants to see and document - with detailed sketches - as many beasts and insects as possible on her journey.<br/><br/>Eventually Wynnie needs to make the journey back to her home village.<br/>