A hand reaches up and strokes a graying beard. Zenphere is sitting at his usual spot in the Tavern; a small table in the back left corner of the building. He was wearing a detailed white tunic and black pants. He was unarmed, like usual these days, and he was wearing his infamous golden ring around his neck. There were books and quills all over the table as he jotted down notes and took some sips of his cup of water. He had grown out of the alcoholic bevrages that he had tried after the strange incedent with him, Akon, and the old dwarven paladin. He had not been seen around town lately as he used to be. He was getting old, he noticed, and spent most of his times in-doors and scribing down strange texts and post-apocoliptic legends that local bards would sing of. He was becoming quite the mysterious-town-oldy. He didn't care, as long as he could do his studies in peace. He looked around the Tavern for anyone that could possibly disturb him at the moment.