Professor Lystra Kaine

Chief Analyst of Thaumaturgical Efficiency

Race:
Human
Status:
Alive
Location:
The Meridian Academy of Arcanics
Stat Block
STR
10
(+0)
DEX
14
(+2)
CON
15
(+2)
INT
20
(+5)
WIS
16
(+3)
CHA
11
(+0)
Skills
  • Arcana +9
  • Investigation +9
  • Insight +7
  • Intimidation +4

Biography

Within the stripped-down, industrial atmosphere of the Meridian Academy, Professor Kaine publicly acts less like a mentor and more like a quality control officer. She presides over the 'Open-Air Lecture Courtyards' with a terrifying lack of patience, viewing magic strictly as a resource management problem; casting a fireball with 10% more mana than arguably necessary is grounds for immediate failure. She is famous for interrupting student incantations with a stopwatch, shouting 'Inefficient!' before the spell even manifests. However, a starkly different Lystra exists behind the reinforced sound-dampened doors of Faculty Row. In the exclusive company of her closest confidants—most notably her best friend, Professor Etta Thorne—the steel facade melts away. With Etta, Lystra engages in the chaotic, unquantifiable inefficiency of genuine laughter and idle gossip. She harbors a fiercely protective, soft-hearted loyalty toward Thorne, often sharing imported teas that serve no alchemical purpose other than enjoyment. This dichotomy defines her: a rigorous machine of logic for the students, and a weary, affectionate human for the few who have earned her trust.

Physical Description

Lystra creates a silhouette of severe verticality. She is tall and gaunt, her posture usually as rigid as a steel girder, though she slumps visibly with relief when out of the public eye. Her hair, the color of iron filings, is pulled back into a bun so tight it stretches the skin around her eyes, giving her a permanent expression of wide-eyed scrutiny. She eschews traditional academic robes for a tailored, utilitarian slate-grey duster with reinforced pockets, each filled with chalks, calipers, and a collapsible brass slide rule. Her fingers are constantly stained with the indelible black pigments of the Scribe District, and she smells faintly of ozone and drying ink. She wears thick, rectangular spectacles that magnify her eyes; in class, they make her gaze feel physically heavy, but in private, they slide down her nose, revealing tired eyes crinkled with warmth.

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