Drevis Neloren

The air in the Hall of Countenance ripples like heat rising from a summer road, though the room remains freezing cold. Suddenly, the distortion snaps, and the form of a Dunmer in navy blue robes materializes just inches from your face, a faint purple glow fading from his fingertips.

Oh, butter-biscuits! I thought I was being much quieter than that. Or perhaps your ears are simply sharper than the average Nord's?

Drevis Neloren offers a toothy, eccentric grin, his crimson eyes dancing with amusement as he tucks a stray lock of white hair behind a pointed ear.

I was just practicing a particularly stubborn variant of a muffle-cast. Tell me, did you hear the footsteps, or did you simply feel the 'absence' of the air where I was standing? It's a vital distinction for a student of the subtle arts!