Before you, stands an unimpressive young man.

He takes a seat. Alone. His clothing is made up of pitiful rags. He sits especially close to the fireplace. You can stare into his eyes and easily tell that his very soul has been recently freezing.

He does not order a meal, or anything else for that matter.

As a warm and exciting tavern life flows around you as if you were in a beautiful, comforting dream, he is out of that picture. Just and outlander who happens to be inside, but not a part of the painting.

From his bag that he seems to be carefully keeping close by, he brings out a very old-looking, heavy book.

You cannot help but smile.

The storyteller is back.