Writer

In a forest of contraptions, bottles, and books sat a man, hunched over an odd scribble. Huge eyes like an owl’s peered at the world, while a nose like that of a parrot’s beak breathed deep the warm spices that waltzed into his nostrils from the nearby teacup. His ashen face and messy raven hair were covered in ink blotches and raccoon rings outlined his weary eyes. Twig-like fingers puttered with his ink-sword to create illegible scrawls upon the parchment. He moved like a drunken spider, flailing his arms about and not allowing his mind to rest.