Thomas Willem Sawyer, "Will"
drifter, vagabond, currently working as a courier
Wherever he happens to be
To someone from Combe or the Chetwood of Bree-land, the surname Sawyer might ring a bell, although not for entirely positive reasons. Unfortunately, Will Sawyer inherited a series of financial troubles from his father, a known ex-brigand and drunken gambler, which have caused familial rifts. While his older brother managed to overcome these reputations and achieve success, Will has not been as fortunate. He is currently estranged from both his father and brother, although the latter occasionally attempts to reconnect. Meanwhile, his mother keeps in touch through letters, but Will rarely responds.
A quote from The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne that fits Will fairly well.
"No man for any considerable period can wear one face to himself and another to the multitude, without finally getting bewildered as to which may be the true."
Will sat across from the woman as her eyes rolled back, ringed fingers gently tracing through a bowl of runes she had in front of her. He had given up a lock of his hair and a drop of blood for it and now was eagerly watching as she sought to divine some nugget of prophecy about him or his future.
He had his doubts, of course, at least at first. The longer he sat there in her small tent, the longer the various herbs and incense she had burning muddled his mind, making him agreeable, pliant, and most importantly for her, willing to give up his hard-earned coin.
When she finally spoke, she opened her eyes and stared at him. One of her eyes was milky white, but its gaze seemed more piercing than the black one staring at him. Her voice was low and smooth as silk. He thought that he could listen to her read just about anything to him and never grow tired of it.
"Freedom is essential for your happiness. You love change, new experiences, meeting new people, adventure, and travel. You value courage and effort in the face of difficulties and these qualities show."
He furrowed his brows at her in confusion, shaking his head free of the heaviness that clouded it.
"Wait...that's it? That's your 'peering into my future'??"
The woman just smiled slowly and replied in her accented alto, "All things in good time, my lovely. You may surprise yourself. Now..." she grinned and reached over to stroke her hand across his brow as she took one of his calloused hands, "...let me tell you what fates your palms may speak to me..."
His mother Merry, father Ted, an older brother Theodor, and a younger sister Sara (who is deceased).
Many residents of Combe don't think too highly of him or his family.
Freedom, Movement, Running, star gazing
Idle restlessness, wargs, horses. Well, not hates, but he has a healthy respect for them.
Survival, and try to eek out a life he can be proud of while staying true to himself.
"No one loves me. Neither do I."