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TWINWHISTLE AGE 162 RACE Gnome OCCUPATION Examiner of Arcanic Artifacts, Fourth Level Wizard RESIDENCY Transient; (Formerly) The Mystic Ward, Ironforge DISPOSITION Neutral Good FACTION Gnomeregon, Grand Alliance, Hall of Mysteries (Ironforge) APPEARANCE Strength. Courage. Menace. These are all words never once uttered in proximity to Twinwhistle's name. His is a meek and unimposing existence, though not without it's fair share of personal intrigue. What the gnome lacks in any exceptional physical attributes at all he makes up for with a vast intellect and quick wit fueled by the curiosity so well-owned by gnomefolk. This brilliance is reflected in Twinwhistle's sharp eyes, centered by a pair of brilliant blue irises. Perhaps the only sharp thing about him. An honest face framed a prominent nose bearing an upward curve, gray-blonde whiskers and a mop of hair atop his head to match. His robes were plentiful and weathered, a pleasant maroon sea offset by islands of brown accouterments. Dusted boots and a pouch-and-trinket laden belt served to keep him firmly weighted to the ground, his leather gloves stained with reagents for the alchemical and the arcane. A much-used messenger bag dangles at his side. At times, a pipe wrought of starwood tickles his pursed lips. HISTORY "Oh, for the love of--... !" Twinwhistle hissed unpleasant things between bared teeth. His eyes were assaulted by an array of blue and pink hues, unhindered magic sparking freely off the surface of a fist-sized orb made of intricately carved bronze. At it's forefront sat a deep red ruby, polished smooth and inset among the grooves and canals that textured the trinket's surface. Such odd arcana was less odd to Twinwhistle than others (it was, in fact, his very job to deal with them), but this one had proved incredibly troublesome. A restless night of dousing the orb in every divination and enchantment in his repertoire with no discernible results had culminated in him wearily tossing the thing against his work table in defeat. This elicited the aforementioned response, much to the gnome's surprise and confusion. The orb certainly was magic, but despite his best efforts he couldn't figure out the whats or the whys. He hadn't the faintest clue why, but that blood-tinged gemstone felt as though it glared at him from the mistreatment. Unease welled in the back of his brain. Unfortunate for Unease, because Frustration and Confusion had rented the whole sleep-deprived blob for themselves tonight, and swiftly gave Unease the boot. The gnome pondered his fruitless predicament for a moment. After taking the latest events shorthand into consideration, Frustration and Confusion answered the doorbell. Anger had showed up looking for a good time. He swiftly grabbed the orb up and began to give it a good, vigorous thrashing. Shaking it harshly in both hands, it protested in the form of exponential magical release. His study, once bathed a comfortable orange candlelit glow, now basked in a strobe of flashing blue. "Just what the devil are you, then?!" he squeaked, slamming the thing back down to the table and glaring at it as if it had just spat on his boots and called his mother a trogg. There was a faint shimmer of the orb's ruby centerpiece. Twinwhistle's panting drew short when the trinket gave retort; REPLY HAZY, TRY AGAIN. Twinwhistle perked up, his brows tossed skyward. "What?" he blurted. The orb was silent. A pause. He gave the thing another shake. "What?" SIGNS POINT TO YES. The gnome was at a complete loss. Yes? Yes to what? Literally, 'Yes' to 'What'? He sat the orb down and rubbed his temples. He had a feeling he wouldn't be getting any sleep anytime soon. More to come Soon™.