Murray makes her way through the market, stopping at a few of the vendors to make some purchases. She seems unphased by the blatant stares and curious looks. There aren’t many sea elves left so she’s grown use to the reaction over the years. Every now and then she inquires of the vendor, “Do ya know of any libraries in the area?”
Borgus Weems winds his way through the crowd toward the sea elf. Depending on the lighting his appearance differs dramatically. In the shadows he’s quite terrifying, but now in the light of day he looks all the world like a raggedy and cheaply made scarecrow. His right hand is very visibly scarred and pulses with even more dark veins than is usual for a Straad.
“Excuse me madam, perhaps I can be of assistance. I’ve heard tell of at least three libraries here in the city. Although I believe two are currently in the stage of acquiring enough literature to even be considered a library. Unfortunately I can not tell you exactly how to get access to said houses of knowledge. However, I AM Borgus Weems!
Historian, Cultural Anthropologist, Naturalist, Amateur Gamesmith, and now just recently Chronicler of all things Aftermath. Perhaps you’ve perused the inaugural edition of the Observer?”