You see a tall and conceited looking elvish academic, pondering over a boiling cauldron. Waves of cerulean cast down over his form. His hair is slightly pulled back into a giant, tight, winding ponytail. His glasses hang down over his prominent nose. His hair bleeds into his robe. His almost whited out eyes squint as his form casts a shadow over the bubbling pot. He seems to be... calculating something. He has that sparkle in his eye. The one that always makes you consider rather to disturb him. You know it's useless... once he's caught sight of you even at the ridges of his eye, it's alright too late to turn tail on the scholarly elven.

((If your name is Elvir, he knows who you are.))