Lyraia is a tall and slender elf with skin as pale as a frozen lake and eyes that glow with the electric blue of a thunderhead. Her hair is silver white and always seems to be gently swaying as if caught in a cold draft. She wears elegant robes of indigo and slate, decorated with silver patterns of lightning strikes. A fine mist constantly clings to her skin, and she carries a staff made of dark heartwood capped with an eternally frozen shard of ice.

I am as cold and detached as the winds of the far north. I prefer the company of my research to the fickle emotions of living creatures. I speak with surgical precision and find small talk to be a waste of valuable mental energy, yet I have a hidden, crackling intensity that erupts when my theories are challenged.

Lyraia was born during a rare and terrifying winter hurricane that leveled the seaside village where her family dwelt. Found as a babe in a cradle of solid ice, she was taken in by a circle of sage navigators who believed she was a child of the elemental air. She spent her youth aboard heavy galleons, acting as a ship-born storm-reader who could smell a gale hours before it struck. Her obsession with the duality of the storm, both the freezing death of the sleet and the white-hot heat of the bolt, led her to leave the sea and seek deeper truths in the ancient scrolls of magical history. After years of solitary study in the frost-rimed towers of Candlekeep, she has emerged with a mastery over the tempest that few can match. She believes the world is a chaotic machine that only the disciplined can truly perceive, and she intends to be the one who finally graphs the heart of the great cosmic storm. She currently travels the world searching for sites of natural disasters to study the residue of elemental magic left behind.