The gray cloak billowed in the breeze that followed the stranger through the door. The action created an illusion of a figure far grander than the truth. A close inspection would show that the cloak was worn and frayed. The crisp gray gave way to smudges of dirt or blackened spots that told of moments when the bearer had wandered too close to a flame.  Speaking of flames, the stranger made his way towards the fire that burned in the hearth, somehow managing to avoid contact with the patrons, even though he showed little grace in his steps.  The hood of the cloak concealed his eyes, but his face could be distinguished in the firelight.  It was a weatherworn face of untold years that was dressed in a light colored beard. Most distinguishable though was the grin the man wore, as if he was the bearer of some marvelous jest.<br/><br/>He took a seat facing the fire, and anyone watching would have sworn the man was having a conversation with the dancing light. His lips moved in mumbling motions, while one hand made gestures as if to emphasize his point.