aka. Thingie, the Oaken-hag (Acenhæg)

Female Half-hag Level 8 Witch Neutral Good
Height: 5’9" Weight: 120lbs Age: 23

HP: 23
AC: 14
> Flatfooted: 12
> Touch AC: 13
Spell Resistance: 0
CMB: 4
CMD: 16

STR: 10 – 0
DEX: 14 – 2
CON: 8 – -1
INT: 20 – 5
WIS: 13 – 1
CHA: 18 – 4

Fort: 4
Ref: 7
Will: 10

Speed: 30’
Initiative: 2


Svelte, slender, and graceful are words one could use to describe Blodthigne. Or, if one is willing to call it what it is, scrawny and frail. Having spent her entire life scavenging and living in the wild, Blodthigne has virtually no fat on her body, and appears all together fragile. Her skin has an unnatural paleness, which is strikingly offset by her long, corbie-colored hair; heterochromia (her right eye is sky blue, her left is ivory grey) further emphasizes her somehow inhuman and slightly unnerving appearance. A white witch-eye about the same color as her skin is placed between her eyebrows.

Glowende, a signore from the countryside, had fallen in love with an elven princess named Æfengloma, and left to the Ufden to elope with her. Æfengloma’s father hated Glowende, however, and he was driven out of Elf-land into the darkest depths of the Ufden. While mourning his loss under a willow tree by a stagnant pond, he saw Æfengloma running towards him. Overwhelmed with passion that she had disobeyed her father to be with him, Glowende presented Æfengloma with a dower worthy of a princess, and the two consummated their love. When he awoke, he discovered a hideous hag inspecting the treasures, and suddenly realized that Æfengloma had not come back for him after all. In his despair Glowende hung himself from the willow tree. Blodthigne is the offspring of this union.

Nihtgiw was surprised to find herself pregnant, and several times tried to kill her unborn child with various herbs and potions, miraculously to no effect. When she was born, Nihtgiw, knowing nothing of humans or babies, did not give her milk but blood instead, from beasts, elves, and humans, and so named her Blodthigne, meaning She-Who-Tastes-Blood in Elf-speak (Elf-speak being the native tongue to most beings of the Ufden, whether elf or human Marchlander, or hag for that matter). Though not necessarily malicious or hateful towards her child, Nihtgiw found little interest in raising her, and so left her exposed to the elements for days at a time. Though frail and tiny, Blodthigne survived, being fed and looked after by the birds and beasts of the forest, particularly a blackbird who would speak the language of humans.

Blodthigne thus enjoyed a rather idyllic life in the forest alongside Cannwæg and her many animal friends. When she reached puberty upon her thirteenth year, Nihtgiw finally took an interest in her daughter’s life. As is the custom of women of outsider status in the rural regions of the Marchlandes, Nightgiw placed a witch-eye upon her forehead, the symbolic mark of her new life, and began to teach her the brewing of potions, the writing of occultic glyphs, and other secrets of black magic passed down from hag to hag. It was at this time that Cannwæg began telling her secrets, and revealing to her great powers.

This continued for many years until, at last, Nihtgiw had died; slain by elven hunters and her head put on a pike as a warning. Despite the closeness they had obtained, Blodthigne did not mourn the loss, seeing the event as just an aspect of the circle of life and death. If anything, she was intrigued, for she had never met another person other than Nihtgiw before, so she decided to follow them, directed by Cannwæg. Upon reaching the elven village she was promptly captured and interrogated (she found conversations with them to be quite fun) and accused of witchcraft and of being a hag-spawn (which she didn’t understand—of course was, and why is this a bad thing?). When she discovered that she was to be burnt at the stake, however, she grew weary of the elves, and with her powers slew several and drove the rest away in terror and madness.

Bored with elves, Blodthigne grew curious to learn about humans and Dwarves, and so has left the darks of Ufden to find the nearest village, encountering and learning from a few humans along the way—as well as a few elves, who have heard about her from their kin, and loathe and hate her, calling her the Acenhæg (Oaken-hag). While she has reasonably good intentions and is kind-hearted (at least towards animals), she was raised without any concept of morality or social conventions, and often sees other people as play things and her interaction with them merely games. She loves conversations with people (particularly talking people into contradicting themselves), and takes great delight in both well told stories and witty turns of phrase (though she is growing rapidly irritated at learning about the existence of idioms and cliches). At the moment, she really has no goals in life, and is simply fascinated with the idea of there being a world outside the forest.

Other than her would-be-mother’s jewelry, Blodthigne dresses very simply, wearing only a drab, plain blue dress. She does not yet understand social conventions of dressing very well (for that matter, why clothes are even worn, as she spent much of her childhood naked in the forest with the animals), and it has not dawned on her the length of her dress is quite provocative in the conservative, rural Marchlandes (which is merely a practical matter for her, and would something of no notice in the bigger cities). It’s worth noting that Blodthigne has no particular interest in men or sex, yet something in her blood gives her particular joy in toying with men—something she is rapidly finding herself quite skilled at.

She was taught to give the Father proper admiration and respect, but ultimate cares very little about Him, her devotion towards him being little more than superstitions and rituals she grew up with. She was not aware that the Father is viewed in a negative light amongst civilized peoples until very recently, and has quickly learned to keep her mouth shut about it. She is also surprised (though somewhat amused) that witches are a thing of fear and respect amongst rural Marchlanders.


The Marchlandes trappums