Mina Fenjari

Name (Etymology):

Mina — A name rooted in the Glenwarren dialect of Old Gnomish, meaning “bright-tongue” or “eager one.” Often given to those who speak before thinking — and end up being right.
Fenjari — From fenel (Wendmoric root herb prized for bittersweet flavor) and the suffix -jari (“keeper of,” “tender of”), used among eastern forage-clans.

Combined Meaning: She who tends what others overlook — and makes it sing on the tongue.

Details:

• Age: Appears early 30s (young for a Gnome)
• Gender: Female (She/Her)
• Race: Forager Gnome (Flavor-Seeker, Herb Witch)
• Occupation: Culinary Explorer, Wilds-Harvester
• Region: Eastern Spice-Ridge, now thriving in Wendmor
• Affiliation: Respected by Bella, trades often with Alaric and Ramu

Appearance

Mina is short even by Gnome standards, with a bouncing walk and quick, expressive hands. Her blond hair is always half-pinned and dotted with leaves, burrs, or the occasional coriander sprig. She wears a sturdy apron lined with dozens of spice-pockets, and her eyes gleam the color of roasted chestnut — bright, warm, and focused.

She smells like citrus peel, toasted cardamom, and wild mint. Her boots are mismatched, but perfectly worn in.

Home

Mina lives in a vine-wrapped cottage tucked behind Bella’s bakery, where herbs grow from the shutters and sun-dried peppers dangle from the eaves. The red door creaks with personality. Inside, the air hums with old spice and fresh plans.

Her shelves brim with jars of pickled roots, smoked flowerbuds, powdered bark, and sealed scrolls annotated with tasting notes. The hearth is flanked by a built-in mortar. Her spice-grinder sings when she’s in a good mood.

Background

Mina hails from the Eastern Spice-Ridge, a temperate band of land famed for its soil memory and crop-divining traditions. As a child, she followed her grandmother through fog-thick canyons, memorizing the smells of fermenting citrus and listening for the pop of blooming seeds.

She left young — not in rebellion, but in pursuit of flavor beyond the ridge. Mina believes taste holds truth, and that every region hides a signature note. She’s crossed fireplains to roast salt-root and traded honeyed ginger in cliffside villages where “sweet” means survival.

Now in Wendmor, she’s made a home among those who value taste not just as indulgence, but as language. She trades bartered roots for stories, and teaches children to smell the difference between basil and basil pretending to be mint.

She’s not a mere chef. She’s a translator — of flavor, feeling, and earth.

Skills

• Identifying edible plants by scent, vibration, and petal tilt
• Fermenting for effect: memory, courage, clarity, or warmth
• Recording taste as metaphor, emotion, and alchemical pattern
• Inventing powders that bloom on the tongue in stages
• Wild food preservation, especially under magical moonlight
• Skilled in non-verbal communication — especially with herbs

Notable Belongings

• A hand-stitched map marked only by taste — citrus, smoke, honey, ash
• A spice satchel that reshuffles itself according to intent
• A drying cord strung with clove stars, velvet pods, and laughing thyme
• Her grandmother’s tasting spoon, with a warm-wood handle and six notches
• A mortar named Grizzle, which only works if you talk to it sweetly

Ongoing Project

Mina is developing a Flavor Index of Wendmor, not by region — but by emotion. She’s cataloging which tastes evoke delight, resistance, reflection, or courage.

Each flavor is tagged not just by source, but by when it’s best served.

• Grief calls for toasted fennel and old smoke.
• Hope tastes like lemon bark that lingers.

Bella says it’s brilliant.
Azar calls it edible poetry.
Mina calls it necessary.

She hopes to finish by next solstice, but she keeps getting sidetracked by “new deliciousness in the ditches.”

Quote

“Spice is just mischief you can taste.”

Reputation

Mina Fenjari is known for cheerfully overwhelming the senses and refusing to apologize. She’s beloved by children, respected by root-sellers, and feared (gently) by anyone who’s ever tried her vinegar without asking.

She talks to herbs. They respond.

Bella swears Mina once cured a cold using mustard petals and the threat of hot sauce. Alaric claims she can smell a spoiled root before the wind shifts. Enzo just avoids her pickled turnips — “on principle,” he says.

Mina believes every taste tells a truth. And if you’re brave enough, you’ll hear it.