Theron sits near the middle of the tavern as the sunlight angles in to show the dust motes flitting about the air. He wears his red and black, with a nominal amount of unkempt quality to him. On the table is a round wooden disc with carvings that have faint glows of different colors that shift slowly as he holds a hand above a small essence stone. Mana drifts slowly from his finger tips, slipping into the stone like mist drawn into a vacuum. He mouths something inaudibly as the last of the energy binds into the stone, the board's light solidifying into a faint blue and fades. Theron looks over the stone, his other hand reaching for a nearby tankard that wafts steam, and with a yawn, takes a drink. At the moment his attention shifts the stone arcs a small jolt of energy back into his hand and he coughs from suddenly drinking too quickly, setting the tankard down, and wiping his mouth from what splashed. "Apparently the ending matters in enchanting as well as storytelling." He says as a note to himself.