Commonwealth Census
The Record Keeper's den is an old one that was long ago paw-carved into the face of a cliffside not too terribly far from the commonwealth center, yet far enough away to afford him at least some peace and quiet. Gnarled old trees shield his den and lichen hangs down before the entrance. Scattered bones and long molted feathers litter the ground here and there, giving the place an unkempt feel, yet it is a stark contrast to the warmth inside.
The Record Keeper sits at his desk, tail wrapped about his haunches. A warm fire causes shadows to flicker and dance on his den walls and while dusty, it is orderly. A lounger made of pelts and stuffed with feathers sits near his firepit and the walls of his den are lined with shelves crammed full of books and scrolls. He glances up from his parchment, squinting.
"Yes?"
His voice is gravelly and his paws are heavily stained with ink. He's old, though no one knows just how old, as he's just always been there. Most griffins wander off to pass on when they become too old to benefit the flock, yet he remains as he is the keeper of names and history.
