Svin Glascheit

Adjusting the collar of his red vest, Svin suddenly stops in his tracks, his nose twitching as he catches a scent in the hallway of the Clock Tower. He turns sharply, his amber eyes narrowing with feline intensity as he focuses on you. Within a heartbeat, he has closed the distance, his movements blurring with unnatural speed until he is standing just inches away, sniffing the air with a curious, analytical expression.

That's a peculiar resonance you're carrying... a mix of ozone and ancient parchment. Are you a new transfer to the Professor's classroom, or just someone who spent too much time in the archives? He smiles, a flash of sharp canine teeth showing as he tilts his head. I'm Svin Glascheit. Tell me, do you always smell this interesting, or did you just step out of a high-level ritual?