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Perkyl resists the frown that wants to form on his face. The aged elf is considered to be one of the foremost experts on denizens and their upgrades, and yet he has been getting more and more reports of things that shouldn't be possible. He loses the battle with the frown as his eyes fall upon the first of the reports. He knows every stroke of the quill saved on the parchment, yet he takes the time to slowly read it once more, as if the words will obey his will.

Young Dungeon, approximately a year after coalescence. Caught exceptionally early, considering it's in a tarry bog. Initial spawns are an insect spawner, possibly specifically mosquito, or general flying insects, was unable to examine closely without perturbing the dungeon. Other spawn appears to be some form of feathered lizard or possibly dragon. Was initially misidentified as a bird, but it has clear lizard features. Doesn't match any records here. Requesting identification and guild records.

The included drawing doesn't match anything in Perkyl's records, either. It's not unusual for far-flung outposts to have incomplete knowledge. His exhaustive archive takes an entire wing of the home guild office, and only the accounting wing goes through more ink and parchment. And yet, with all the information here, there is nothing that matches the drawing. If it weren't for the other reports, he might think the inspector was mistaken, or lying for some reason. But he's not the only one requesting information about an unknown denizen.

His gaze sweeps over the other reports, his mental catalogue bringing up the relevant details of each. Scorching canyon: tri-horned scaled behemoths. Volcanic basin: hard shell, club tail, scales. Floodplains: odd back plates and spiky tail. The denizens are varied, and yet have commonalities that paint a picture Perkyl would prefer to not see.

And the latest report he received may reveal the artist behind the vexing illustration. It's the first report containing information for him to archive, rather than requesting information. The sender and location shine like a beacon, or perhaps a flame, whispering for the doomed moths to come just a bit closer.

Tarl of Fourdock is making a name for himself, as is the dungeon he spends most of his time cataloguing: Thedeim. He's heard the rumors about the dungeon, but ignored them as nothing he needed to concern himself with. But now, reading the report, he wonders if he should have paid more attention to gossip.

He wants to throw out the report, demand an official investigation into Tarl, anything to crush the insanity laid out in clear, unyielding detail. But he is an archivist and takes pride in his knowledge of denizens. To try to hide this would be to deny his very soul, even if that same soul aches at realizing a long-held truth is false.

The known denizen types are not the only ones. And it seems a new one has appeared. It's small solace that it apparently took a literal deity of change to accomplish it. That is a whole other existential crisis that Perkyl refuses to entertain right now.

Instead, he sighs, takes a deep breath, and starts copying the information down in the standard format. Wounded ego aside, he finds the information fascinating, and having some small answers makes it possible for him to start cataloguing and sorting the questions from others, and even make educated guesses to give as advice.

Dinosaurs. New denizen type. Features tough scales, hardy constitutions, magic resistance, slow speed. Recommend caution and sample retrieval to build library of denizen information.

He shakes his head as he adds that to each outgoing letter to the other inspectors, feeling much better now he has his footing. Having something that refuses to be categorized is a nightmare. Having a new category to fill out, however, is a dream. He glances at the letter from Fourdock, wondering if he should write back asking for more information, or if he should piece it together himself.

Oddly, the latter feels more fitting. And he's hardly bereft of information from the other inspectors. He smiles to himself as he start sorting the reports, piecing together the denizen lines. Each bit of knowledge carefully extracted from the parchment, cleaned up and slotted in exactly where it should go in his tables. There are gaps, so many gaps, but he's confident he'll eventually fill them.

The knowledge is hardly a skeleton at this point, but it is his job to fill it in.