Sifshome
Located in the heart of the Nerrid Quarter, the small domed building a mere 10 feet wide - standing less than a story tall and made of grayish clay brick - has not changed in nearly three centuries. The round shaped clay seems to shed snow and water with ease, requiring no slate to protect it from the elements and seemingly never needs repair. Five small, round windows are spaced evenly along its walls but the bulk of the light enters from a similarly shaped, frosted glass skylight in the center of the roof. The temperature inside always seems perfect, either slightly cool in the summer or just toasty in the winter; a trick, its owner will say, of its construction.
The interior is decorated with soft carpets from Carboth, a Nerrid sized rocking chair, and similarly sized small table, chairs shelves, and other home goods. Littered about the table is usually some Nerrid gadget or another, usually intricate looking and often inflected, for those rude enough to check, with magic. The aroma of fresh sage, oranges, cinnamon or even baked bread always drifts through the cozy space. Some visitors claim the scent always seems match Sif's mood and have even noted that it can shift with the conversation. Sif herself can generally be found sitting the in the rocking table, her eyes scrunched as she reads through a book that is a likely as not the only Human sized object in the room, a smokeless lamp hanging from the ceiling and providing ample light. On her side, a small end table invariably holds a samovar filled with steaming, spiced and honeyed tea as well as her knitting needles that tireless work away while she reads, piling up uncountable socks, scarves and hats in a myriad of bright and generally mismatched colors.
The center of the room holds a ladder that leads to Sif's store room and library, a place from which she will gleefully journey, treating the ladder more as a slide on her way down and gliding effortlessly up it upon her return, books or trinkets piled high in her hands. And while no one has ever been invited below, no one has ever seen Sif journey to her store room and fail to return with something, even if its not exactly what she sought. One enterprising Nerrid youth claims to have snuck down one night while the old woman napped ("A nip of poppy in her tea," he claims), stating that the space below contains huge room filled with row upon row of shelves, books and boxes everywhere, meticulously labeled and catalogued in some arcane system.