[Quiet Man Cometh]

The old man looks like an old man, save that, unlike some other servants, perhaps, Leonardo Da Vinci looks like the spitting image of himself from every modern reproduction of every Renaissance image. The greatest painter would make excellent self portraits.

Rider likewise looks at his Master; her pony-tail, headband; canvas jacket.

"A magic cup. I suppose there are more foolish things to wage war over." He gets out of his chair by the window. Everything about him is long and flowing, from his grey beard and hair to his rich coloured clothes. He drops his brush into a leather pouch at his side, almost swallowed in his robes. "I assume it is the magic you desire, not the cup? There is no shortage of vessels to delight if the latter were so. I could save us the trouble and make some, myself."

Rider tilts his head a little as if listening to something.

"We are summoned, yes? The overseer would have us convene. Shall we go?"

He smiles slightly, reaching up to adjust the cap on his head. It remains crooked.