[CurledSpiral]

"All knowledge hurts."

Name: Claude Vey Pelleaux Sex: Male Age: 19 Height: 5' 10" Weight: 188lbs 

Scattered about a cloistered study are those things which signify a man of thought. From the ceiling orreries of various styling hang, charting the cosmos in brass detail. Each wall is lined with shelves, neatly organized tomes detailing subjects ranging from War of the Dragon  to Currency Through the Ages. A collection of mirrors and lens decorate those parts of the wall not covered in shelves. Stacks of papers and books cover the floor haphazardly leaning to and fro as if tempting fate to topple them, anything from trashy coin novels, to student reports, to detailed theorems on migration patterns in the Essharian Swallow. 

One's eyes can't help but be drawn to an ostentatious painting set above the central desk of the room. In it a trio appears each dressed to impress in their own ways. Within the picture one's gaze is drawn to a blue-haired man whose angular features were split by a wide smile. Dressed in what would be considered over-doing it even among the nobility, yet clear was the signature star of the Pelleaux upon his hand. Next one's gaze shifts to the woman said hand was wrapped around. A head of scarlet sits in contrast to the man's own azure hues, just as contrasting is the stern expression upon her face. Wearing the formal uniform of those Knights within the Order of the First Light. From there one's gaze only has to travel downwards to the  child with indigo locks between them. Dressed in what appeared to be a stylized version of the woman's outfit the child smiles awkwardly.

Below the painting rested the center-piece of the room. A mighty work desk fashioned of sturdy mahogany carefully sculpted to mimic a lion resting over it's pride. Feet stylized to appear like claws, the trim vibrant so as to invoke imagery of a mane, upon the front like a chest puffed in pride was displayed the herald of the Pelleaux. As one approached they'd notice letters strewn about the desk. The first was a letter, a recently broken seal of the Imperial Academy upon it, half opened one could make out the words "Honored to welcome to our esteemed faculty." Before what is visible fades. More letters litter the top of the desk each bearing the seal of the Order and dated, the date's and city of origin seem to start with 1647  in Nuburg and end abruptly at 1650 in Hessalia.

Finally that searching gaze shifts in exploration of the room towards a tall mirror. Gazing back from the reflection is a man dressed in what could be a military uniform, stylized to accentuate the deep wells of silver that peer from a mane of indigo. A self-assured smirk curls at the corner of his lips as he glanced downwards to the signet ring marking him a member of the Fraternity. The reflection would be brief, as its owner settled behind that great desk of mahogany. Calmly retrieving quill, ink, and parchment.