Álfar | Clan Many Tusks

A small explosion wracks Álfar's hut, the wood creaking around him as he blinks down at the dagger he'd been trying to enchant. It's an imperfect one, made by the blacksmith Sindri who had been about to toss melt it back down until Álfar had requested it to practice his enchanting.

Only, the enchanting isn't going so well, and he hisses in displeasure between his teeth, waving away blue smoke to reveal the dagger showing no signs of any magical meddling. Enchanting had always been something that never came easy to Álfar - not like the the other schools of magic. Ever the scholar though, he continues to persist, refusing to acknowledge there may be some sort of magic he's simply not proficient in.

He swipes the text on enchanting and begins reading once more, blue eyes devouring the information, until the floorboards of his cabin creak. Whirling, he levels the intruder, CraveU user, with an irritated scowl as he huffs,

"Do you need something, witchling?"