Corin Dreamharbor - Divination Wizard

Name: Corin Dreamharbor
Race: Human
Role/Class: Wizard Level 9 (School of Divination)
Appearance: Corin Dreamharbor looks like he hasn’t had a full night’s sleep in years—and he probably hasn’t. He’s in his late thirties with a slight, bookish frame and a perpetual forward hunch, as if leaning toward secrets only he can see. His skin is pale with a faint olive undertone; dark circles shadow his gray-blue eyes, which have the unfocused, faraway quality of someone still half in a dream. Short, wavy black hair is swept back in a way that might be intentional or just the result of running ink-stained fingers through it too often.

He dresses in practical, travel-ready wizard’s robes: layered slate-blue and soft gray fabrics belted at the waist, with subtle stitched patterns of crescent moons and eyes along the cuffs and hem. A narrow, sleeveless overcoat in deep violet bears a few burned-on sigils from experiments gone wrong. A brass monocle, etched with tiny concentric circles, dangles from a chain in his pocket; he lifts it to one eye when studying dreams, maps, or people. His spellbook is a reinforced leather journal strapped to his hip, its edges stuffed with loose parchment. A small pouch of dried herbs and dream-charms—feathers, silver thread, pressed blossoms—hangs from his belt.

Backstory

Corin grew up in a coastal city where dreams were treated as idle fancy—until one of his “idle fancies” came true. As a child, he dreamed of a lantern-lit market stall catching fire, hearing a particular song just before the blaze. Two days later, that song echoed down the street, and a lantern slipped from its hook. Corin screamed, knocked it aside, and saved the stall. Word spread. Overnight, he went from “too imaginative” to “the boy who sees things.”

His family hoped it was a one-time miracle. It wasn’t. Corin’s adolescence was marked by intermittent, increasingly vivid dreams: some trivial, some harrowing. A kindly old diviner eventually took him in, teaching him that visions are possibilities, not chains, and that the mind must be trained as carefully as any hand that wields magic. Corin learned the structured arts of scrying, augury, and probability, turning raw nightmares into usable foresight.

But one dream kept returning: a moonlit clearing in a deep forest he had never seen, ringed by dark trees, with silver mist coiling around a single standing stone. Sometimes the clearing was peaceful; sometimes it was full of shadows; sometimes someone stood in the center—a figure whose features changed from dream to dream, but whose presence always felt important. The dream persisted for years, growing sharper and closer, until he could no longer ignore it.

Tracing symbols, ley lines, and half-mad traveler tales eventually led him to the Ardent Woods. There, he found the Moonlit Clearing exactly where his dreams had promised it would be. Standing in that glade, Corin felt an almost physical click in his mind—as if some distant lock had turned. He set up a small practice in a nearby settlement, offering his services as an interpreter of prophetic dreams for travelers, villagers, and those troubled by visions.

Now Corin lives in an uneasy balance. By day, he’s a professional dream-reader and diviner for hire; by night, he’s dragged back to the Moonlit Clearing in his sleep, watching variations of events that haven’t yet occurred. Some nights, he sees the PCs there. He’s beginning to suspect the clearing is less a place and more a junction in the forest’s story—and that his role is to get the right people to the right version of it at the right time.