• Willamir's left arm has been replaces by a prothetic resembling a censer, a gift from his patron after he lost his limb at the start of his journey. It billows with smoke and smells sweetly of flowers and fruit when he weilds it as an arcane focus.
• As a Hexblade his staff can extend into a blade from the mouth of the snake, this can either extend into a sword or swipe out into a scythe.
• Speaks to his Patron often, sometimes in his sleep. 
• The Dreamer has unclear goals, and can make many different demands of Will, but the most common one is an offering of food. By carving a small sigil into a corpse, animal body or other possible meal, his patron can consume the body, turning it into a pile of salt.
• Tends to nap often, mainly when traveling in a cart or when not walking. 

In a cold, dark field stands a little shack. It's rickety and full of holes, but the furs on the wall help keep the young half elf man warmer than he would be out in the rain. Huddled in a fur, sitting on a bed, clutching a smooth wood crossbow, the guard watches the wind and the rain whip past the window set in the old door. Under the bed, through the well hidden metal trap door, down the old ladder and through the winding cavern, a concession is being held. An answer to demands that, perhaps, should never have been heard. Within the wide chamber at the end of the natural tunnels, a gathering of robed individuals speak hushed but practiced lines from old tomes. They grind and mix herbs and plants in carefully balanced amounts, and burn them in carefully forged copper censers placed around a painted emblem on the floor. They delicately measure out piles of minerals, and hand out small cups of clear spirits to the handful of individuals in the centre of the emblem.

These individuals speak freely, sharing words of reassurement and understanding, before most of the break away to take precise positions upon the sigil. Only two, a couple, stand now within the centre of the maeleomark, hands held. The taller man's face is covered in another sigil, markings intricately painted upon his soft features. He is to watch, and to ward. He holds a blade in her free hand, hand steady. The other man has markings around his mouth and across his forehead. In his hands he grips a staff, of redwood and dark iron, it's head shaped like a snake's, it's mouth gripping a jagged, oval gem that shines green in the firelight. He is the speaker, the instrument. He will act upon the silent demands.

These are the last memories of Willamir Evenroot, half-elf, single survivor of the explosion near Reedcroft Village. Dragged from the ashen crater in a field west of the village, and once it was discovered he was alive, taken to Nithrii Hospital in the city of St Lilin. For a week, the man slept, unwakeable. After he woke, he was inconsolable, talking and laughing to himself for 3 days and 3 nights, clutching a snake headed staff that was not brought with him. The nurses believe he was talking to a husband or male partner who is assumed to have died in the explosion. Afterwards, Willamir was a model patient, cooperative and polite to orderlies as well as calm and relaxed with doctors. After another 5 days, the man was healed and well, and the doctors had no reason to keep him in their care