The Written Word

Oh he was a curious sort, mischief playing at the edge of this man's features would either be entertaining or a nightmare with little in between. He was hoping for the former rather than the latter as his life went largely untouched by mischief anymore in the absence of others in his life. No, I haven't taken my lunch yet. More often than not I simply take it at my desk and resume working. Though if you would like me to send for something if you find yourself hungry, I can do so. it didn't occur to him immediately that this newcomer was referring to the empty halls, it was simply his norm. I am the only one that haunts the repository anymore.

Turning to return to his study, there was a hand extended, drawing this stranger with him. Please, come, sit, and we shall see what you've brought me. I am Faelyn, the archivist of Arlathan. it was a bit of a formal introduction, to match the formal yet still somehow humble looking elf. What it didn't match was the curiosity in his eyes. That danced like flames and promised something more than a stuffy, closed up ancient.