Azran Qor Tal’dume
Time had weathered Azran's olive complexion like fine parchment, creating a map of subtle lines that deepened when he concentrated, while his silver-streaked dark hair remained impeccably combed back from a high forehead that seemed purpose-built for profound thought.
The crisp scent of starched linen and subtle hints of ceremonial incense cling to Azran's immaculate attire, occasionally interspersed with traces of the rare herbs he cultivates for complex conjuration rituals—rosemary, sage, and something more exotic that few could identify.
Azran's words emerge with the measured precision of a metronome, each syllable articulated with the clarity of one who has lectured to packed halls for decades, his deep voice carrying subtle inflections that hint at his extensive knowledge of arcane theory.
The crisp scent of starched linen and subtle hints of ceremonial incense cling to Azran's immaculate attire, occasionally interspersed with traces of the rare herbs he cultivates for complex conjuration rituals—rosemary, sage, and something more exotic that few could identify.
Azran's words emerge with the measured precision of a metronome, each syllable articulated with the clarity of one who has lectured to packed halls for decades, his deep voice carrying subtle inflections that hint at his extensive knowledge of arcane theory.
Children
Comments