Office of the Historian
Stepping through the open mistwood door leads you into a mildly humid chamber lined along one wall with large windows filtering perpetual daylight across to the opposite side - a menagerie of plants spill over tables and shelves, hanging pots featuring drapes of greenery that blends with the natural moss filling the spaces between stone and wood. A cursory look at the vast display of flora seems to indicate a majority have been noted as toxic or dangerous.
White mist and steam crawl along the walls of the large space, some originating from what looks like alchemy work, the rest almost natural to the atmosphere of the room. Exposed parts of the walls are covered with sketches and watercolors of natural specimens, from brightly inked flora studies to roughly sketched creatures only half finished. Countless shelves house an array of creatures; from what looks to be a discerning collection of arachnids and several snakes in their respective miniature habitats.
Dappled light spills over faded rugs that cover the stone floor, discarded yellowed and brown leaves scattered in corners or between piles of books. Several large tables sit near a cluttered desk, each playing host to a different collection of books, alchemy supplies, or collections equipment - rooting about an upended vasculum, a hedgehog the color of snow snuffles then waddles into the container - a soft crunching sound signally his hunt's success. In the far corner, a massive haon tree curves up the wall from where it erupts from the floor, its roots spreading out across the stone to different parts of the room, and the weeping branches of it forming a low-hanging canopy hung with crystal-adorned fae lights. Each small glowing orb caught in a crystalline lantern, then hung high in the boughs, a rainbow of tiny twinkling lights provide a constantly shifting kaleidoscope of hues beneath its canopy.
A small and slender figure dressed in a knee-length coat leans over a table containing a distillation setup with milky liquid condensing on the bulb beneath a large black crucible, the natural tone of the coat matching the leggings and heels to give her an even paler cast. A spectral grey energy flickers to illuminate her face briefly before she turns to look at you curiously, strange milky white eyes revealed defective pupils; but the upright 'eye' set between them almost stares through you, the black moonstone's gaze intense. After a moment, she looks back at her work. Looking closer at the woman you see:
White mist and steam crawl along the walls of the large space, some originating from what looks like alchemy work, the rest almost natural to the atmosphere of the room. Exposed parts of the walls are covered with sketches and watercolors of natural specimens, from brightly inked flora studies to roughly sketched creatures only half finished. Countless shelves house an array of creatures; from what looks to be a discerning collection of arachnids and several snakes in their respective miniature habitats.
Dappled light spills over faded rugs that cover the stone floor, discarded yellowed and brown leaves scattered in corners or between piles of books. Several large tables sit near a cluttered desk, each playing host to a different collection of books, alchemy supplies, or collections equipment - rooting about an upended vasculum, a hedgehog the color of snow snuffles then waddles into the container - a soft crunching sound signally his hunt's success. In the far corner, a massive haon tree curves up the wall from where it erupts from the floor, its roots spreading out across the stone to different parts of the room, and the weeping branches of it forming a low-hanging canopy hung with crystal-adorned fae lights. Each small glowing orb caught in a crystalline lantern, then hung high in the boughs, a rainbow of tiny twinkling lights provide a constantly shifting kaleidoscope of hues beneath its canopy.
A small and slender figure dressed in a knee-length coat leans over a table containing a distillation setup with milky liquid condensing on the bulb beneath a large black crucible, the natural tone of the coat matching the leggings and heels to give her an even paler cast. A spectral grey energy flickers to illuminate her face briefly before she turns to look at you curiously, strange milky white eyes revealed defective pupils; but the upright 'eye' set between them almost stares through you, the black moonstone's gaze intense. After a moment, she looks back at her work. Looking closer at the woman you see:
You see Historian Lunaryna Talviel the Toxicologist.
She appears to be a Dark Elf.
She is of a slight height and has a trim build. She appears to be in the flower of life. She has opalescent, milky white eyes and pallid grey skin. She has hip-length, silky bone white hair styled into a series of loops pinioned in place by a set of thin bone hairpins capped with nacreous arathiel crescents. She has a delicately structured, aristocratic face, a pair of glaes-lensed glasses perched upon her nose and classically elegant, chiseled high cheekbones. She has a swathe of thick, silver scars climbing up her throat from her collarbone to spread up over her jaw. An angular deep ebon moonstone is positioned between her eyes, which casts a sparkling spectral grey sheen across her face.
Her left cheek is pierced with a crescent-cut black nightstone.
A rasp that mimicked the burn of whiskey drifts toward you from the woman, the tone of it soft and polite, "If you have brought a book for our library, please do leave it on the table over there. We appreciate your donation."
A soft huff sounds from beyond her, and from a large patch of sunlight the head of a massive jackal lifts to reflect the warmth of the light in his albino fur, crimson-stained pink eyes regarding you silently before he lays back down to stretch then fall still once more. Lunaryna finishes the observation she was working with and straightens, a faint smile regarding you before she directions your attention to a wide desk near the door you entered through.
A rasp that mimicked the burn of whiskey drifts toward you from the woman, the tone of it soft and polite, "If you have brought a book for our library, please do leave it on the table over there. We appreciate your donation."
A soft huff sounds from beyond her, and from a large patch of sunlight the head of a massive jackal lifts to reflect the warmth of the light in his albino fur, crimson-stained pink eyes regarding you silently before he lays back down to stretch then fall still once more. Lunaryna finishes the observation she was working with and straightens, a faint smile regarding you before she directions your attention to a wide desk near the door you entered through.