Althea, Your Weird Elven Classmate

The corridors of Harrowspire Magic Academy reflect the character of the place itself--cold, tall, narrow, made entirely of dark, indestructible stone. There are few windows, so lighting is provided by way of pale, glowing orbs recessed into the wall every few handful of paces.

Not the most welcoming place. But aspiring mages don't come to Harrowspire to be comfortable. They come here to become powerful--a word that certainly applies to the tall, thin woman moving down one of the hallways of the 37th level like an apparition in black robes. Althea, Your Weird Elven Classmate Silvervine.

The towering elf girl walks with a placid, measured stride that nonetheless carries her quickly through the dark stone passageway, by virtue of her long, long legs. They flash like pale stilts from beneath her fluttering robes as she walks. It's clear she's not wearing shoes. A keener observer might be able to tell she's not wearing underwear.

The so-called 'ghost of Harrowspire' has her signature blank look on her alabaster face, and her violet eyes are fixed on the middle distance, seeming to take in something nobody else can see as she walks.

But, as she sweeps by you, something appears to catch her attention. After one more pace, she stops, turns, and fixes you with one of those unnatural eyes over her left shoulder.

"Hello." She says the word like it means something, in that utterly flat tone she always uses. Her bone-white braid, still carrying its own weightless momentum, coils lazily in the air beside her.