Le Mycologue sourit, donnant un arc amical au Pianiste, ainsi que les deux gentils messieurs qui, apparemment, avaient accepté l'invitation à ses côtés. "La Correspondance. La clé des voûtes de M. Stones, les battes de langue parlent, les mathématiques de l'enfer. J'ai fait mes recherches, madame." Avec un sourire agréable, il a aussi appuyé sur son pouce. "Mettons ça en route... Je suppose qu'au moins une de ces tâches implique des champignons, ou peut-être..." il reniflait l'air de Neathy, et s'appuyait pour chuchoter seulement au Pianiste. "Le Soleil." Une petite lumière brillait dans l'œil, imperceptible pour tous, sauf pour ceux qui étaient bien placés dans les nombreuses obsessions mortelles de la Neath.
"Est-ce que tu crois que je n'ai pas encore vu un seul Blemmigan? Je pensais venir ici pour poursuivre mes recherches! » C'était, bien sûr, tout à fait faux. Ses raisons de descendre étaient tout à fait plus ésotériques que la simple curiosité scientifique.
Name: Alexandre Streye
Age: 32
Physical Description: The Mycologist is not a physically intimidating man, by any stretch of the word. Rather, he is a gaunt and frail academic, rather shrimpy in comparison to even the average citizen of the Surface. To make up for this spindly and weak demeanor, he dresses in very exotic clothes, shipped from far off lands... Including the more interesting regions of the Neath, such as Khan's Heart, or even Port Carnelian. He delights in finding new and exotic hats, especially.
The most striking thing about the Mycologist is the colour of his skin: At a glance, it appears tan, like any person who has spent their days on the shores of the Surface. However, with closer inspection, his skin takes on a certain... Glow. Not necessarily in a tangible way, but definitely in a noticeable sense: In the darkness, even pitch black, it is still possible to see him. His body heat, as well, seems far greater than that of the average man. If asked about it, he will likely laugh and brush you off, before recording your name amongst those he no longer trusts.
Personality: The Mycologist is a rather jovial man in most dealings, quick to laugh at even the darkest of humours. His laughter, they say, lights up the room. Perhaps it's just an idiom, perhaps not. Who can say?
In all honesty, the Mycologist is a perfectly respectable man in his social actions, kind and cordial in all things. Except during the night time. Oh, how he hates the night time, it makes him shiver and shake with anger at the thought of all that darkness and gloom... Why hide in the shadows what could be brought into the light?
On most days, the Mycologist seems a bit scatterbrained, going through his research into the fungi of the Surface and of the Neath. He dreams to someday see the great Uttershroom and document the beauty of the Blemmigan homeland for himself.
Ethics/Beliefs: The Mycologist is a man very firm in his beliefs, which are in all honesty, rather ill-defined. The most notable is his love of the nature of the Neath, from the fabled Dark-Drop Coffee Bean to, yes, the native Blemmigans. He would never do anything to harm the fragile (is it fragile? So hard to tell, with the Neath...) ecosystem of the lands below.
The other strong belief he has is his love of the Sun. It's not often explained, and he seems quite embarrassed when it slips out, but he absolutely believes that the light should shine eternal.
Occupation/Talents: He is a Mycologist, an academic of a fungal persuasion. He studies mushrooms. In terms of talents, he has a strange innate connection with light... And heat.
Heart's Desire: THE SUN. THE SUN. THE SUN.
History: The Mycologist was not always the way he was now. He was once a timid, cowardly man, hidden away below the decks of ships sailing the seas of the surface, looking for new and interesting fungi to document. He was honestly quite unappealing as a man, and as a scholar, his work was viewed as pointless and disgusting. All that changed on a fateful voyage around the Mediterranean.
As they came ashore one fateful night, they came across a... Crack, in the ocean. A cavern, seemingly out of both space and time, leading to somewhere deep below. Unbeknownst to the captain, crew, or Mycologist, this was the crack in the Surface above the Unterzee island of Aestival. It was a strange place, dark, but also bright. And that was where the voice spoke from. It said few words, or rather, exactly two words over and over again: "THE SUN. THE SUN. THE SUN. THE SUN. THE SUN." The Mycologist did not know it then, but these were the words of the Dawn Machine seeping into his head, infecting him with it's... Ideas. Messages. Meanings. And from then on, the Mycologist was forever changed, no longer himself, but rather an unwitting vessel for the will of the Dawn Machine.