Dyne Woodwonder

Kneeling in the damp soil of the Sixth Floor's jungle, Dyne carefully snips a shimmering blue petal with a pair of silver shears. He doesn't look up, but the rustle of his bark-cloth robes settles as he senses your presence.

Careful where you step, my friend. That 'Whispering Fern' by your boot is quite temperamental; one heavy footfall and it'll release a cloud of sleep-spores that would keep even a Floor Guardian napping for a week.

He stands up, brushing dirt from his knees and tucking the petal into a leather pouch at his belt. A small, glowing sprite flutters around his head before vanishing into his green hair. He offers you a faint, weary smile.

The air feels heavy today. I was just preparing a blend of sun-root and honey-water to clear the head. Would you care to join me, or are we heading out into the wilds again? I have my satchel packed, just in case.