Myrddin sits on the porch of the high town tavern looking out to the woods. He appears lost in thought one eye twitching slightly. He looks disheveled and exhausted like he has not slept in days. His skin is pale, occasionally his half elf ears seem to twitch rapidly as Myrddin jumps slightly where he sits trying not to fall asleep. He clutches a dagger with both hands in his lap gripping it to hard. Blood can be seen slowly dripping from his fingers, but he does not seem to notice. Wind ruffles his wavy hair and he shivers.