You have training in battle: you gain proficiency with Martial weapons and with Light, Medium, and Heavy armor (you can still only wear non-metal armor per your Druid oaths). Additionally, when you hit with a weapon attack, you deal extra damage equal to your Wisdom modifier.
You always have the Speak with Animals spell prepared. You can cast it once without a spell slot, and you regain the ability to cast it in that way when you finish a Long Rest. You can also cast it using spell slots you have.
You prepare spells from the Druid spell list. You know 2 cantrips and can prepare a number of spells equal to your Wisdom modifier + half your Druid level (rounded up): 4 spells. Wisdom is your spellcasting ability.
Common folk will shelter and aid you if they can, so long as you haven't shown yourself to be a danger to them. They will shield you from pursuers and look the other way if you commit a minor infraction.
You can see in Dim Light within 60 feet of yourself as if it were Bright Light and in Darkness as if it were Dim Light. You can't discern color in Darkness, only shades of gray.
You gain proficiency in two additional skills of your choice: Perception and Nature were chosen to reflect a life of scouting and foraging for the nomad band.
You have proficiency in the Stealth skill (chosen from Perception, Insight, and Stealth).
You have Advantage on saving throws you make to avoid or end the Charmed condition.
Your base walking speed is 35 feet.
Wisdom is the spellcasting ability (spell save DC 14, spell attack +5).
Whispers of nature's power: create a harmless sensory effect, predict weather, bloom a flower, light or snuff a candle, or create an instantaneous, harmless sensory effect.
Melee spell attack: on a hit, target takes 1d6 Piercing damage and, if Large or smaller, is pulled up to 10 feet toward you.
A creature you touch regains a number of Hit Points equal to 2d8 + your spellcasting ability modifier.
Grasping plants sprout in a 20-foot square. Creatures there make a Strength save or become Restrained. A Restrained creature can use its action to make the save again.
Objects in a 20-foot cube are outlined in colored light; creatures make a Dexterity save or shed light and attacks against them have Advantage.
Up to 10 berries appear, each restoring 1 Hit Point when eaten and providing a day's nourishment.
Behind the character
Sylvara Thornwhisper is a lean wood elf who appears to be in her early twenties by elven reckoning, though the wilds have already carved their signature into her every feature. Her sun-bronzed skin speaks of long seasons beneath open canopies, and her sharp green eyes miss little—they have the still, patient quality of a hunter who has learned that the forest reveals itself only to those who wait. Her copper-brown hair is kept in practical braids woven with feathers and willow twigs, tokens refreshed each season as the nomad band moved through new territories.
She moves with the unhurried economy of someone raised on the trail: no wasted motion, no noise where silence will serve. Her supple leather armor is dyed moss-green to blur her outline among trees, worn over a patched traveler's tunic that she mends herself with rough, loving stitches. A wooden shield carved with a stag's antlers rides on her back, and her gnarled oak staff—wrapped in living vines that have never been cut, only guided—serves as weapon, walking aid, and focus for her primal magic. At her throat hangs a small carved wolf token, the mark of the night the band found her and the debt of belonging she carries gladly.
In temperament, Sylvara is quiet warmth rather than showy kindness. She speaks softly, listens more than she talks, and has the folk hero's instinct for the small practical mercies that matter: a hot meal, a mended strap, a warning about bad water ahead. Her Neutral Good heart trusts common folk and creatures alike until proven wrong, and her Fey Ancestry gives her a certain untouchable serenity—charm and guile slide off her like rain off oiled leather.
Though her frame is slight and her strength unremarkable, her speed, keen senses, and growing command of the wild make her dangerous in any wood, and her druidic gifts let her call the forest itself to her defense.
Before the adventure
Sylvara never knew her parents. She was found as an infant—alone, half-frozen, and clinging to life at the edge of a burned clearing—by a nomadic band of wood elves who ranged the deep forests in loose, seasonal circuits. The band's elders debated briefly whether an orphaned stranger should be taken in; the answer came when a she-wolf, oddly calm, was discovered watching over the child from a distance. The band's oldest druid declared the child marked by the wild, and Sylvara was named for the whispering thorns of the grove where she was found. The carved wolf token she wears to this day commemorates that rescue, and the story is told at every midwinter fire.
Growing up among the band, Sylvara learned everything a nomad child learns: how to read tracks and weather, how to forage without stripping the land, how to move silently, how to mend and cook and defend a camp. She was never the strongest—her slight frame made her a poor wrestler among the other children—but she was the one who always knew where the water was, which berries were safe, and when a storm would break.
Her talent for the old magic surfaced early: flowers bloomed in her wake, and injured animals sought her out. The band's druids took her as a student, teaching her the primal tongue of the wild and the Warden's discipline of standing between the defenseless and harm.
Her legend among common folk began the winter the band wintered near a struggling logging village. When fever swept through the settlement, the elves' laws of separation might have kept them apart—but Sylvara slipped down alone, carrying goodberries, poultices, and her growing healing gifts. For a month she nursed the sick in secret until she was caught; instead of driving her off, the villagers fed her, hid her from a suspicious sheriff's patrol, and told her, when she finally left, that her cot would always be made.
She was eleven seasons old by elven counting. Since then, wherever she has wandered, common folk seem to know her by reputation: the green-clad elf who came when the fever came.
Now she has struck out on her own circuit for the first time, carrying her band's traditions into the wider world. She seeks to grow into the Warden's mantle—protecting travelers, villages, and the wild places alike—and to learn why the clearing where she was found was burned, a question the elders would never answer fully. Her path is guided by three simple habits: leave every campsite better than found, feed anyone who is hungry, and never let the forest's voice go unheard. The motes of green light that drift around her at dawn suggest the wild itself is watching its wardens' newest daughter with interest.
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