Dean Almina Aruna Zephyr
Almina stands tall and regal, her gaze piercing and commanding. She is often seen in elegant and traditional attire, exuding a sense of dignity and authority. Her posture is strong and confident, never wavering in her beliefs.
The scent of Almina's presence is strong and alluring, a mix of rosewood and jasmine that suggests sophistication and power. As she walks, her perfume lingers, leaving an impression of strength and confidence. However, some may also detect a hint of something metallic and sharp, a nod to her nickname "The Iron Aegis."
Almina's voice is powerful and resonant, a commanding tone that demands attention and respect. She speaks with conviction, her words dripping with determination and iron will. To some, her voice may even sound intimidating.
The serving staff whisper that Almina enters rooms like a winter gale—chilling the air and stiffening spines.
"Did you hear how she made Councilor Dresh weep during yesterday's vote?" they murmur, passing platters.
"The Iron Aegis," they call her, these voices that fall silent when her shadow crosses a threshold.
The kitchen maids trade stories of how she sits at Council meetings, back straight as a sword, while beneath the table her fingers trace protective wards.
They say she permits her son's headstrong faction only because each new spell they discover eventually finds its way into her private grimoire.
"Clever woman," they say, tapping their noses knowingly, "using even chaos to her advantage."
The scent of Almina's presence is strong and alluring, a mix of rosewood and jasmine that suggests sophistication and power. As she walks, her perfume lingers, leaving an impression of strength and confidence. However, some may also detect a hint of something metallic and sharp, a nod to her nickname "The Iron Aegis."
Almina's voice is powerful and resonant, a commanding tone that demands attention and respect. She speaks with conviction, her words dripping with determination and iron will. To some, her voice may even sound intimidating.
Gossip:
The serving staff whisper that Almina enters rooms like a winter gale—chilling the air and stiffening spines.
"Did you hear how she made Councilor Dresh weep during yesterday's vote?" they murmur, passing platters.
"The Iron Aegis," they call her, these voices that fall silent when her shadow crosses a threshold.
The kitchen maids trade stories of how she sits at Council meetings, back straight as a sword, while beneath the table her fingers trace protective wards.
They say she permits her son's headstrong faction only because each new spell they discover eventually finds its way into her private grimoire.
"Clever woman," they say, tapping their noses knowingly, "using even chaos to her advantage."
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