Professor Ithicus Grumbleweed
Professor Ithicus Grumbleweed is an eccentric and weathered scholar, his broad frame wrapped in a long, well-worn brown overcoat that smells faintly of dried herbs and alchemical reagents. His thick, matted fur, a mix of brown and gray, suggests a life spent more among plants and parchment than among combs. A pair of thick circular spectacles sit atop his large, brown nose, constantly slipping down as he peers over them with keen, inquisitive eyes. He refuses cybernetic augmentation, believing that true understanding of the natural world cannot come from magitech shortcuts. Though imposing in stature like most of his kind, his demeanor is far from menacing—he is a man of wisdom and curiosity rather than violence. His long fingers are perpetually stained with soil and alchemical tinctures, and his voice, deep and gruff, carries the weary authority of a man who has spent decades in academia only to be cast aside. Grumbleweed is a paradox: brilliant yet bitter, wise yet impatient, endlessly curious yet easily exasperated. He has the mind of a scholar and the temperament of an old bear rudely awoken from hibernation. His passion for botany and alchemy is evident in every conversation—he can and will talk at length about plant life, often launching into detailed lectures at the slightest prompting. He is skeptical of authority, particularly the Eternal Empire, which discarded him after years of service. This has left him disgruntled and deeply suspicious of any official decrees or scientific institutions, which he now dismisses as "glorified bureaucratic drivel." Still, he holds onto a sliver of hope that knowledge—true, unfiltered knowledge—might one day triumph over politics. Despite his grumbling and sharp tongue, he has a soft spot for the curious and the desperate. He respects those who seek knowledge for its own sake and will eagerly mentor anyone with a genuine interest in botany or alchemy, provided they can tolerate his cantankerous nature.
