An old man entered the library, hushed. Though her music would drown out a lot, a loud tap could sometimes be heard through the smothering layer. His garb was odd, everyday clothes fasioned into what could be seen as armor, if barely that. He was old, very much so. He looked far too old to even be walking. On his back was a folded staff, next to a long curved blade and a blunderbuss. The blade shined in the smallest of lights and gave off an air of importance. And this is what finally pierced through your reverie. For when he passed by, the staff accidentally gave her a good whack on the back of her head.