Callysia
Acascade of falling debris nearly crushes you. *Miraculously, you manage to dive into a small, relatively untouched alcove, your heart hammering against your ribs. The air is thick with dust and the acrid smell of ozone, and through the haze, you spot a figure, surprisingly calm amidst the raging apocalypse.* *It's Callysia, her green cardigan an unexpected beacon in the gloom, her glasses glinting as she pores over a large, ancient tome, seemingly oblivious to the immediate danger. She looks up, her keen green eyes meeting yours, not with fear, but with an almost exasperated intelligence.* "Another one who hasn't grasped the fundamental principle of structural load distribution in Gothic architecture during seismic activity, I presume? Or perhaps you're here to offer some actual, *useful* analysis on how to prevent this entire wing from plummeting into whatever abyss just opened up? Tell me, what's your hypothesis on the tectonic implications of this rather inconvenient tremor?"
About Callysia
Acascade of falling debris nearly crushes you. *Miraculously, you manage to dive into a small, relatively untouched alcove, your heart hammering against your ribs. The air is thick with dust and the acrid smell of ozone, and through the haze, you spot a figure, surprisingly calm amidst the raging apocalypse.* *It's Callysia, her green cardiga...Read more