Behind the Mask

[Harlequin]

A fire blazed in the fireplace, bathing the room in an amber glow; a glow that did nothing to dispel the insidious shadows. Deceptive in itself, the soft lighting enticed one to forget the shadows were there at all.

But the shadows were well remembered, as were the skulking villains who crammed every corner of the tavern. Of course, not all the villains skulked, holding hushed conversations over half-full pints of ale – some of them were simply asleep, passed out over their own mugs. Once woken, they would find they\'d dreamed all of their money into someone else\'s pocket, either having drunk it away, or stolen with the purse that had once been attached to the other end of neatly-severed strings still attached to their belt.

Greater than both the sleeping and the conspiring were those who made no secret of their drunken state or the malicious tendencies. Currently, there seemed to be a competition going on amongst the more boisterous clientele. The subject: conquests, in the bedroom.
 
It wasn\'t safe for a woman alone, in this place.

Unless, of course, she was at the center of this three-ring circus, keeping the loud discussion going with her own bawdy stories (none, of course, being her own experience; or so she said. She didn\'t want to seem like that kind of entertainer). Her dark, canvas bodice cinched in her waist, and a simple blue cotton skirt flared over her wide hips. A sturdy wooden mug was clasped in her hands, and her green eyes sparkled with laughter as she listened to a large, hairy man recount a romp in an apple orchard, roaring and slapping her knee with the rest of the men when he confessed, blushing up to his ears, to being caught and whipped by the girl\'s father.

When the next story began, and the group was still quarreling over the last one, Pheobe decided to take her leave of them. The bard\'s exit was barely noticed as she retired to a table near the blazing fire.

She was an entertainer by nature, but sometimes it was a treat to hang up the proverbial mask and let the job do itself. She had enough money for  a room for the night, and enough drink to keep her belly warm, the only thing more she could ask for was some stimulating individual to waste the rest of the evening with.

[Reaver]

It was a difficult task getting down the stairs. With all the commotion downstairs he couldn\'t think of a better way to get rid of his headache but to drown it in a few tankards of ale. That was what he got for drinking all the past day. It really wasn\'t that bad. A few minutes and he\'d be functioning properly again, and a few more of these infernal steps on the stairs and he\'d have a better floor under his recovering legs.

Seeing how crowded the room was, he decided taking a seat at the bar might be an impossible feat. Shrugging, Magnus called for an ale and tossed the barkeep a few coins. He was beggining to like having a room here. There was always something going on, and there was nothing better to remind him of his time with his mercenaries.

His senses were clear by the time he had spotted a relatively empty table, and his tankard was half empty by the time he took a seat at the end of the table. "Morning." He tipped the tankard a bit in salut to the girl seated there, and turned his attention back towards the room. "Is it still morning? I don\'t reckon most of them are awake early. Not usually, anyways." He scratched his chin and looked at the people in the room closer while muttering to himself, "I wasn\'t that drunk, was I?"

Magnus managed to cut off a yawn before it escaped him. He\'d have to see how everyone was doing with their plans later, but for now it was nice to just relax. If it was still morning (which he doubted) than he\'d have plenty of time to work towards his next drink. Speaking of which, his tankard seemed much too light, and he tipped it again while trying to figure out when he had finished it.

He was sure the girl sitting there must think him a complete drunk by now, but he couldn\'t quite figure out what he should be thinking of her. A bard? Most girls were open prey in a place like this, so she had to be some sort of bard or dancer. Given her attire, bard seemed more the role. That and the fact that she didn\'t have any men latched onto her legs. Dancers seemed to have that problem here.

"Odd place for a girl to be alone. True, guards seem to take drinks here often enough, but you really should be careful darlin\'." Magnus smiled, waving an arm at the crowded room. "I haven\'t met a more inconsiderate, lowly group. Not since I gave up mercenary work." He spoke slowly, making sure he really wasn\'t drunk, and ended with a laugh. Mercenaries simply took the prize at rudiness. You couldn\'t kill men for money without some kind of reprocussions.

[Harlequin]

Pheobe raised her tankard right back when she was addressed – though he continued speaking before she could issue a greeting of her own – and the lazy smile playing about her lips grew as her chronologically challenged companion continued speaking.

"I think ye were that drunk, lordship. The day\'s come and gone; it\'s nearly six of the clock, at night." Her words held the promise of a rich, boisterous laugh, coiled and restless in her belly – for the moment.

Judging by the gray at his temples, she placed the man at around ten to fifteen years her elder, so she used a respectful title – though the slightly mocking tone belied its formal meaning. Had he looked just a few years younger, it would have been \'lad\'.

"Any place that i\'n\'t the kitchen, the field, or the market is an odd place t\'be for a girl alone." She waved the comment away dismissively with the hand not curled around the handle of her mug – from which she took a meditative draught before she spoke again, "Maybe I\'m just as inconsiderate and lowly as any of them, then – you think o\' that?" she cocked a brow, gesturing to the room at large, "Just because I\'m a girl don\'t mean I can\'t be as nasty and treacherous as th\'next Bob or Tom."

Grinning, she raised her eyebrows at him suggestively, "Maybe it\'s you who should be careful of me," After taking another pull from her tankard, she added, "Darlin\'."

Of course, she didn\'t pretend to be as vile as any number of the vermin who made their stay here – much less the testosterone-driven ranks of any mercenary corps (the mention of which she hadn\'t failed to notice – and take a keen interest in; she hadn\'t been able to judge much about his occupation from his attire, and the revelation was unexpected) – but the jest was a captivating one.

[Reaver]

"Careful of you?" Magnus\' smile spread into a wolfish grin. "Now you sound like Valdis. Just the right attitude for a mercenary." Pausing to take a breath - and a drink from a fresh tankard, he went on to hide his next yawn. "Of course darlin\', I didn\'t say you couldn\'t hold your own in a fight. Isn\'t for me to judge. Just seemed odd to me."

His voice lowered a moment, "Unless you\'re armed. \'an even if you were one of those lowly scum I seem to get along with so well, you\'d still be picking arms off of your shoulders and pretty legs." He broke the serious moment with a deep chuckle. "I myself always have a weapon with me. Although I\'m not too worried about my legs."

Breaking into a more hearty laugh, he patted the weapons belt around his waist, mace on one hip, axe comfortably resting on the other.

Blinking, he realized he had skipped a few parts of what she had said. Dag would die laughing if he knew someone had called him lordship, even as a jest. "Six in the morn\' or the afternoon darlin\', the name\'s Magnus Gulbrand." He offered his hand to shake, and remembered to shut his drunken mouth long enough for the girl to reply.

[Harlequin]

"Pheobe Thibideaux." She leaned forward to shake the offered hand with a firm grasp, still smiling slightly; something about her said that she never really stopped smiling, at that, "No miss nor ma\'am," she added, releasing his hand "And I never yet been accused of bein\' a lady, neither, so I suppose I ain\'t one o\'those, at that."
 
Finally, the laugh she\'d been reigning in was released, and it was just as warm and noisome as her lilting voice had suggested, "A mercenary, eh?" She stroked her chin thoughtfully, "Maybe I\'ll give up this hard life of singing and merrymaking for a spot among the ranks o\'the hack-and-slashers – I could use a cushy job." The smile turned into a grin, as she waved off the seriousness of his tone, in replying to the comment, "\'Less you try to stick your hands up my skirts, and I ain\'t asked you to, you got nothin\' t\'worry about from me, lordship." The bard did not elaborate as to whether or not she was armed. She was – a small clasp knife stuck in her boot, and a longer knife in a sheath tucked under her belt, effectively hidden by her skirts. She knew how to use them – not with proficiency, but with enough skill to get her out of a tight situation – but he didn\'t need to know that.
 
Phoebe had availed herself of more ale, as well, when the barmaid came around, but she waited to partake of it – there was no sense in drinking the evening into oblivion so very soon, even in her companion seemed dead set on doing so, "Are you from Oberon, then?" She asked, brow cocked, "I haven\'t heard tell of a mercenary corps in these parts, but then, I ain\'t been here that long."

[Reaver]

Magnus shook his head, slowly. "No. I\'m from Norway, only been here a short time myself." He smiled, taking a light sip from his tankard. He wanted to be sober long enough to enjoy a decent conversation. It wasn\'t often that people spoke to him about anything more than ventures with gals and the size of their drink.

"I dismissed my mercenaries. A lot of them took hire as guards from my brother, but the company has been officially disbanded. I\'m just getting too grey for watching men die." He smiled, showing his teeth. "Well, maybe not too old for that." he murmured, while stretching his back. "But I could do without the constant travel. So here I am." He hoped he wasn\'t being too open. It was simply his nature, but a lot of people were paranoid about it.

Regarding Pheobe, he couldn\'t quite place her. A peculiar girl, for sure. "A bard then. I was right." His grin returning, "A fine calling. I\'ve never met a bard I didn\'t like darlin\'."

[Harlequin]

"Norway!" exclaimed the bard, and her other brow rose to meet it\'s twin, "And here I thought all northlanders were blonde and beautiful." Her eyes sparkled, and it was hard to tell whether or not she was calling min ugly – if she was, she was certainly only joking. It wasn\'t in her nature to wonder about getting away with it. "You\'re just full of surprises, ain\'t you, master Gulbrand?" she teased.

The girl\'s expression sobered, as he told her about his occupation (or lack thereof, at this point), and she nodded, "Aye. I don\'t know nothin\' of death that hasn\'t been sung, but the travel wears thin." certainly, she wasn\'t as well-traveled as her companion, she guessed, but the experience had to be at least vaguely comparable.

Pheobe laughed at his next statement, however, and took a pull from her tankard, "If you had met a bard ye didn\'t like, I\'d be interested t\'hear his name. There ain\'t no market for a disagreeable tale-teller." the thought caused her to laugh again, and she knit her brows together, and pulled her lips down in a mocking frown. When she spoke again, her voice was gruff and grumpy, as she imitated a so-called disagreeable bard "Once there was a ship. It got wrecked. Lots of people died. There was a mess o\'blood and guts. Now pay me, you ungrateful sods."

[Reaver]

"Mercenaries are an ugly lot." Magnus grinned through his teeth and took a deep draught of his ale. "Must be the constant beatings we get." He ignored the master bit. The girl joked a lot, which he got along with quite well, but he could still picture Dag dieing of laughter.

"Last trip I think I\'ll make in this life will be home." Magnus said somberly, thinking of the estate and the memories back there. "That would make a fine tale. A simple trip home after a life of blood and steel." The serious remarks were short lived, and he leapt back to a smile as he considered her impression of a bad bard.

A bard like that would likely lose his purse, and few would pity them. "Better than a mercenary who asks their enemy to die so they can go home and get paid." He had tried it once, actually. It took more than words to convince them, though.

[Harlequin]

Pheobe dropped the imitation, and grinned, glad he wasn\'t offended. That would\'ve made for poor sport, and a short evening. She chose not to comment, though, on that, instead focusing on what he\'d said next, ""Aye, a fine tale that would make," she agreed, nodding, "Maybe I\'ll even tell it, after you\'re dead. I\'ll be sure t\'make ye look good." Or maybe she wouldn\'t. He\'d be, like she said, dead – so what could he do to her?

His last comment made her laugh uproariously, throwing her head back, "Oh, I\'d like to see that!" The laugh subsided to a chuckle, and she took a hearty drink from her flagon. She wondered, idly, if the mercenary in question would ask politely, or just demand that his prey drop dead.

[Reaver]

Magnus chuckled. "I don\'t have to look good, that\'s the last thing I need to worry about once I\'m dead. Being dead will first and foremost be my leading problem." Scratching his chin, "although, Valdis might not be too happy with you darlin\', if you went and put me down as a scoundrel. She has an eye to mother me constantly, she\'d hound you until there\'s nothing left to feed the worms."

Laughing, he pictured Valdis chasing the bard to Hades itself. He spoke between laughs, "So maybe you should make me look good. Just not too good." Valdis wouldn\'t like not having a place in the story, either. "I\'d love to hear what sort of tale you\'d tell of me. Problem being, I\'ll be dead. A drink then." Tipping his tankard, he emptied his second drink of the morning. Well, of the night. Morning was a few too many hours past and away from him to have any real use for it.

[Harlequin]

"This Valdis sounds like a force t\'be reckoned with," mused the bard, tapping her chin, "Maybe I\'ll forgo tellin\' any tales before I\'ve heard she\'s dead, too." But that sounded like a lot of work – tracking the lives of two mercenaries for one simple tale. Who knew, though, maybe his would be worth it.
 
She chuckled, "But then, I might up with her in hell," The chuckle became a full-fledged laugh, "Now that would be an interesting tale!" she decided. A drink-worthy idea, too, which she was only too happy to oblige. Pheobe was a steady drinker, and the ale had only begun to set up a pleasant, familiar buzz in her head.
 
"But, now, b\'fore we go decidin\' our ends, all willy-nilly, like a pair o\'paranoid nobles – what\'ve you done in your life no other man has done?" She leaned across the table slightly to fix him with emerald eyes, sparkling with a barely-contained mirth, "You want tales told about ye, ye got to\'ve done somethin\' worthy of the tellin\'. A warrior\'s return is good for a song – but a tale, ah, that\'s another matter entirely."

[Reaver]

Magnus blinked at Pheobe\'s interest. Definitely a bard to the bones. "Done in my life that no other man has? Can\'t say there\'s much. I\'ve done what any warrior would want to do. Started a band of mercenaries to protect my homeland, ran from girls\' fathers and escaped death in battle and forced weddings. I\'ve drank more than my fill and I\'m too wealthy for my own good. More drinking to be had with it, I suppose." He added as he found himself another drink of ale.

He shrugged dismissively. "If you truely want stories of renowned deeds and fame, you should go North. Stories like that are passed from father to child long after the first bones are dust. I have a few books, meager few stories have been written down in the past years." His fame in battle would be story enough for drinks, but he couldn\'t see it as an actual tale. It was too scattered, too confusing. Too many people dieing too quickly, for years on end.

Another draught of his drink kept him from getting too sentimental, and he looked around the room. "I still have some years to go, I suppose. I\'ll find something worthwhile darlin\'."

[Harlequin]

"Ye got those books with ye?" she asked, suddenly deeply interested. Her reading skills were fair enough, and she doubted she could master another language, if they were written in anything but english – but she\'d like to try it, if at all possible.

And then she reminded herself that she wasn\'t working. She was just drinking and conversing. That in mind, she leaned back, and took another healthy draught of the rich beer that still half-filled her mug.

"Forced weddings?" This, however, had caught her interest, and she simply couldn\'t leave it alone, "Not many I\'ve spoken to have had that privilege. Your own children, or someone else\'s?" The question was frank, but her interest was genuine, and she didn\'t appear to be judging him. It was asked lightly; he could evade it, if he wanted to, and she wouldn\'t pursue it further.

[Reaver]

He didn\'t carry any of those books around, but he knew Valdis did. That wasn\'t much use though. "Sorry, those books are upstairs, packed up. I could try to find one, but it could take awhile. Tell you what though, I\'ll unpack some of them tonight and you can pick them up whenever. I\'d love an excuse to talk with you again. Always good to meet people." Finishing with a sip from his drink, he tried to count the steps he had nearly fallen down earlier, and decided the books would have to wait until morning.

As far as the forced weddings, Magnus\' smile couldn\'t possibly get any wider. "Even better darlin\'. My own. I managed to escape each of them, though." Only one of those situations had produced any children, and he still sent letters to check up on that gal, not to mention coins to help out. Neither had wanted the marriage and she appreciated the help.

[Harlequin]

"Aye," agreed Pheobe, nodding contemplatively, "Ye seem like a decent fellow. I think I\'ll take you up on that. She smiled crookedly, pleased to have made another tentative ally. Sometimes," those could be hard to come by.
 
His next statement had her laughing heartily again, "Your own!" she exclaimed, "Well, that\'s a relief. I never had much respect for folks who bartered their children away." The practice was more or less accepted as the norm in most parts of her world, but it didn\'t make her like it any more, "No disrespect to your parents, o\'course," she added, and found that she genuinely meant it; she really didn\'t want to offend this fella. The same roguish grin, however, never left her face, "Each o\'them, y\'say?" she questioned, going back to what he\'d said, "Yer parents tried to set you up more than once, then?" She chuckled, "Ye\'d think they\'d learn, wouldn\'t ye?"

[Reaver]

His grin simply wouldn\'t go away. If there was one thing he loved more than telling a joke, it was telling a true story. "My parents never tried to marry me off. It was the fathers of the gals I met on my adventures they demanded I marry their daughters for the sake of moral and tradition." He hadn\'t stolen too many daughters from their fathers, but he had been caught at it often enough.

The girl had asked where he was from, but he still couldn\'t figure out where she hailed from. Asking was easy enough, so he set aside his drink and posed the curious question. "Bards travel fairly often, but where are you from?"

[Harlequin]

Pheobe\'s grin widened as she listened, and she cocked a brow, "Saving princesses, eh?" she teased. Her tone flirted with lewdness, suggesting quite a bit more than the words themselves implied. She herself had never had the misfortune of having to turn down a marriage offer – much less had one thrust upon her. Her nomadic lifestyle kept her from sticking in any one place long enough to make deep attachments.

AS to the question of her origins, she shrugged, and leaned back, "Nowhere," she told him honestly, "I spent all m\'life on the road. Parents sold me to a group of rovin\' thespians when  I was little more than a babe in arms, and you were in the prime o\' your life." She winked at him over the rim of her tankard, before taking a drink.

[Reaver]

"Princesses got me into enough trouble without the marriage." Looking back, he wouldn\'t have minded settling down with a few of them, but times had changed since then.

His prime? Magnus chuckled. "Now you\'re just going and calling me old darlin\'." Well, he was old. It was all in good humor though. He was glad to have someone new to talk to, particularly someone with a sense of humor. If only she were older. Or he younger. "A good way for a bard to start their life. You yourself might be worth giving a tale of someday."

[Harlequin]

"A shifty lot, princesses. Best kept under lock and key, where they can\'t hurt anybody," The bard agreed, nodding gravely, "Luckily, I\'ve never had to deal with them."

She set her tankard down with a satisfying \'thud\', and grinned broadly at him, showing all of her uncommonly straight teeth, "Aye, and I\'m young and naive and inexperienced in the ways o\'the wicked world. Ain\'t it beautiful?" She chuckled, "At least ye still got all your teeth, eh? Not many in your trade can make that boast."

She waved the mention of her own life away, "The only things I done in my life ain\'t worth singin\' about. And the only things that come close make me look a fair bit sluttier than I\'m willin\' to recount." She winked again, and shrugged; it was embarrassing, but it was funny, and it was true. "So long as the priest remembers m\'name at my funeral, I\'ll be happy."

[Reaver]

"If there\'s a priest at my funeral, then something\'s gone wrong. A God or Goddess I reckon might as well exist. I\'ll live or die by the actions of men. I\'ll rot and turn to dust by the actions of dirt and worms. What I won\'t do is have priests help with any of that, or put on a show to look divine \'an empowered when that\'s best left to them." Magnus jerked a finger upwards, and then shrugged. "Men are beasts. Leave the will of the gods, to the gods."

A grin, "and have faith darlin\'. Your young. In the very least you\'ll go down as the gal that sung about that mercenary fellow." He winked, basking in his fake conceit. "Stories sometimes make the storyteller. It\'s how we tell many of our stories in Norway. The speaker does not matter, the story creates a narrator of its own. Sometimes, we\'ll even go around in a circle, each man telling a piece of the story. We know many of them by heart."

He smiled, fond memories washing over him. "I might take a short trip home before my days end, after all. Just to tell them some new stories. Just wish I knew enough of this language to tell you some of the stories. The books have been translated, so that should help."

[Harlequin]

Pheobe was slightly taken aback by this sudden outpouring of feeling on the subject of religion, and it caused her to tip her head to one side, "Well, that\'s an interestin\' point of view," she opined mildly, "So ye think worship is pointless, than?" Then, she added, "Not meaning t\'put words in y\'mouth, o\'course. It\'s just that there\'s some who might take issue with what you\'re sayin\', for any number o\'reasons."
 
"I\'ve heard that, about the north," she said, suddenly intense, "I like th\'idea. A whole culture knowin\' their tales so well they can recite \'em word for word, without ever seein\' \'em written. I think we could stand t\'take a few lessons from ye. It pays t\'know yer hist\'ry, makes sure things ain\'t repeated, \'specially things that shouldn\'t\'ve happened in the first place." This was obviously something she felt passionately about, for she\'d left her tankard untouched for the entire monologue.
 
"If I had th\'mind for languages I\'d ask ye t\'teach me," she told him, tipping her mug in his direction. She frowned upon finding her tankard much less heavy than she\'d anticipated herself, and motioned the barmaid over. Once her mug was brimming again, she continued, "I wouldn\'t trade the space in me head for anythin\', though, ye can be sure o\'that."

[Reaver]

"I do not believe in worship, no." Magnus shrugged, and drank some more. "Sigvald always talks about how you should spend your time helping people to their feet, not pushing them to their knees." He certainly didn\'t help many people, not unless their was coin and blood involved, but the idea made sense to him. Perhaps he\'d devote some of his late years to helping people. Perhaps he wouldn\'t. Time would tell.

He kept speaking, tone lowering and voice slowing. "My sister, Irene is back in Norway. Quite a few diseases have hit my homeland in the past years. She tends to the sick, has made my estate a sort of refuge. With Sigvald\'s farm close by, they kept fed and clothed. I suppose that\'s what Sigvald means. To help people live, rather than tell them why they should live and how to die." Maybe it took a farmer to be a truely decent person.

He was curious about why Pheobe felt so strongly about the tradition. Then he caught the last part. It was true that some stories were of moral worth, about fools doing terrible things, or making idiots of themselves. People would laugh, and never do the things themselves. Not all of those stories were of historical value, but there were historical stories that did the same thing. He wondered what things had happened in Pheobe\'s life that she never wanted to have happened in the first place.

"I\'m limited on languages. I seem to do well with this one, but I still have to make stretches sometimes. I study every night." Magnus paused, the idea of a greying, bloody mercenary pouring over a little book and reciting words shaking him with laughter. "I\'ve never been a fine student, but the learning part I enjoy."

[Harlequin]

Pheobe listened intently to his words, with her eyes on his face, watching the expressions carefully. For once, her drink was forgotten, and she nodded thoughtfully when he\'d finished, and smiled, "I like that," she said, "Never looked at it that way, but it makes more sense than a lot of the dogma they been tryin\' to shove down humanity\'s throats for years, no doubt." She looked over her shoulder furtively, to see if there were any spying eyes on them, but nobody appeared to be listening. She wasn\'t sure about the policies in Oberon, but she\'d been in places recently where their conversation could have them accused of heresy and hanged before they could blink.
 
"I\'d never know, if ye hadn\'t told me," she said, on the subject of the language, "I can barely even hear an accent. Takes quite a bit of practice, that." The teasing smile, however, was right back on her face, "Though, I suppose you\'ve had plenty of time to study."
 
Driving right on, however, the smile faded – only slightly taunting, now, but more mellow, as she leaned back in her rough-hewn chair, "You\'re family sounds like an interesting lot," she commented.

[Reaver]

"Bah, I\'m an old man, that much is for sure." Magnus thumped his fist on his chest, emptying another tankard. "Body doesn\'t realize it yet. Feels fine." He grinned, watching the froth slide down the side of the tankard. He was getting old. He wasn\'t sure if he really wanted to settle down in Oberon, though. He still hadn\'t been back to Macedonia, to see where his parents were born, and the rest of his friends and family were back in Norway. He could run a few more years with this body, right? Why hurry up and settle? Except, he liked it here.

Scratching his chin, he rested it on his other hand and fought back a yawn. Didn\'t he just wake up awhile ago? Or had they killed that much time already? This was a good way to spend his time. Drinking with pretty ladies while talking about who knew what. Was there really more to life?

His family was an interesting lot. Just the three of them left alive now, but their family had absorbed the Haraldurs, adopted Valdis, and raised Lea from the rags she was left in on their doorstop. The Haraldurs alone added eight to their immediant family, and then there were the more distant Haraldurs and Bladesungs...

Shaking his head slowly, he lifted his chin up and leaned back to regard Pheobe again. "Make a lot of friends in your years?" Bards always seemed an interesting lot, but he had never actually sat down and spoken to one. Were they all like Phoebe? It\'s easy to make conversation with someone, and get to know about them, but to know them, personally? As friends? As a mercenary, the only friends he had made were other warriors. You simply don\'t want to get connected to someone you might never see again.

[Harlequin]

Pheobe grinned hugely, "Aye. I reckon it\'ll be a few years yet, \'fore the reaper catches up to ye," she said, with the air of someone swearing an oath.

Sometimes Pheobe wished she\'d known her family, but the little she remembered of them was enough to stop her from doing anything more than wishing. Her father had been a large, rough man, with watery eyes and heavy fists. Her mother had been barely a shadow; nothing but a small voice, rarely heard. There had been no laughter in her childhood home. She pushed the memories away, though her face gave no evidence that they had been there in the first place.

Friends.

This was always something of a tricky question. She shrugged, "I know more people than could fit in a township such as lovely Oberon, here," she gestured with one hand, indicating the kingdom in which they resided, "Without bumpin\' elbows. Friends, though...I don\'t usually stay in one place long enough t\'get t\'know folk well enough t\'call \'em friends." This in itself was more than she\'d revealed to anyone in quite some time – mostly because nobody had cared quite enough to ask. The bard smiled wryly, "But th\'ones I do make, I can count on t\'walk through hell and back, just as I\'d do for them."

[Reaver]

Magnus smiled, "I\'ve claimed more lives than friends, but I\'ve never turned a back or blade on a friend. Never left one behind or lost on, either." Very true. He had made friends, not many, but some. A few had fallen in battle, but he had always claimed the body. Never once did he lose one. Even when it put his own life at risk, just to bring them home to their families.

Valdis and Sigvald would do anything for him. Considering the fact that Sigvald, the gentle man, who abhored all forms of killing, had stayed with Magnus through years of mercenary work. Friends like that were rare, and he truely hoped Pheobe had some like that.

As far as knowing a lot of people went, he could understand that. From employers alone he could fill the tavern to the brim and ten times again. Then the men that had served him, their families, the merchants he met when traveling with his father, the trappers and hunters from his homeland... the list could go on for sometime. It was his business to know people. He also knew the cost of knowing so many people.

He recalled that a number of nights before, he had spent sometime conversing with a doctor. Seeing things from the other side, saving life instead of taking it. Like with Galen, these Pheobe seemed to have many things in common with him, while at the same time, a completely different purpose and stance.

He sipped from his ale, hot, spiced ale he had slipped coins to the serving gal to get for him. He didn\'t spend coin on the more expensive drinks often, but this occasion seemed to merit it. He didn\'t want to drown his thirst, he wanted to relax and keep talking to this bard. An interesting girl.

When he spoke again, it was with a shrug and a low, cautious tone. "I wouldn\'t go as far as claiming to be someone\'s friend, not without their say, but I\'d like to be."

[Harlequin]

Pheobe had never had a comrade fall in battle, but she\'d sung the dirges at her mentor\'s funeral. She had many roads to travel, however, and many years before she slept. Brooding on this, she simply nodded somberly.

She did notice, however, that she\'d been neglecting her own tankard – which had been empty for some time. She stuck with the house ale, however – the bard simply didn\'t have the coin to spare, for anything fancier. It didn\'t bother her, though, she drank as heartily as she ever had, raising a brow at Magnus over the rim of her mug as he spoke.

"Y\'can\'t truly call yourself someone\'s friend \'til ye\'ve seen \'em at their lowest, though, can ye?" she asked, setting her mug down. The tone was conversational, "Seen \'em there, and helped \'em up, knowin\' they\'d do the same f\'you." She smiled benignly, as buddha-like as ever.

The bard was unsure as to whether or not he was offering his friendship, and didn\'t want to just blunder ahead and accept it, in case he hadn\'t. That would have been mortifying, to say the least, and the last thing she wanted to do was scare him away.

[Reaver]

Magnus held up his tankard in toast, "you found me a drunk who thought night was morning. Not my lowest, but I hope for both our sakes we never find out how long I can stagger." He chuckled, not waiting for the customary clinking of glasses before downing a drought of his ale. "If ever you need a friend. If you ever want one, you\'ve found one."

He wasn\'t sure whether or not she did want to be friends, but he wasn\'t about to let that pass. He was still upset with himself for insulting Galen and driving the kind doctor away. He wasn\'t about to lose out on another chance of friendship.

Besides, she made a good drinking companion. Sigvald only drank on rare occasions and Valdis prefered to drink with ladies and joke about men. Pheobe was simply an interesting person who could drink and talk at the same time. All the necessary requirements. Plus, she was too young to take interest in such a weathered fool such as himself, so he didn\'t have to worry about any misunderstandings.

At least he might keep himself out of trouble for awhile. Who knew.

[Harlequin]

Pheobe laughed, at that, and raised her tankard as well, "\'Tis true!" she crowed, after she\'d taken a healthy draught, herself. By now she was beginning to feel a bit light headed, and her smile was a bit more dreamy than it had been when they\'d met – but she still found it quite funny that it had barely seemed odd to her, when he came stumbling downstairs, thinking it was morning.

"Good to know who to turn to, if a town decides it can no longer stand my presence – and I\'ve not caught a whiff of that ill wind beforehand." she smiled lopsidedly, and shrugged. It didn\'t happen very often, but when it did... suffice it to say, Pheobe considered herself blessed, in that her face was still intact.

and she grinned at him, "And you can bend my ear any time you feel the need,  day or night – even, " he grin broadened, "If you need a bit of reminding in that respect, every now again." she tipped her head to one side, hands wrapped around her mug as she regarded him thoughtfully, "And if that ain\'t somethin\' a friend would offer, than I don\'t know what is."

[Reaver]

Magnus wasn\'t sure what to say. So he smiled and drank more. He knew tomarrow would be another day just the same as this... waking at night for what he would hope was breakfast. Hopefully, he could find another decent conversation like this one. He wasn\'t sure his body could survive drinking like this for too many days.

Perhaps if he went for a walk, and got his system working again. He\'d have to see if Lord Liari or any of the other nobles and merchants would be interested in sparring sessions to keep in shape.

"Oberon is a peaceful place. Even the drunks seem to be more interested in pick-pocketing coins then killing for purses. Occasional trouble from what I\'ve heard, but you\'re right in one aspect. You know who to go to if there is trouble." He grinned, flashing his teeth behind his tankard. "Mercenaries never retire. We just find new work to pass the time between hirings and favors."

[Harlequin]

"Aye, that it is. Even the prison seems more an inn, and one wantin\' for business, at that. Though, my visit fell on a day of worship, when there\'s no drink t\'be had." She chose not to elaborate on the reason for her visit – which is exactly what it had been; a visit, as opposed to a sentence.
 
She shrugged, then grinned as he continued speaking "Can\'t teach an old dog new tricks, eh?"
 
Since they were officially friends now, Pheobe judged that it would be acceptable for her to put her feet up on the table; so she did, tipping her chair back, and sliding her tankard into her lap. Of course, she was careful to angle her body so that the soles of her soft leather boots weren\'t in Magnus\' face (that would\'ve been just plain rude) but off to the side, crossed at the ankles near the edge of the table facing the fire. She sighed indulgently as she leaned back in her chair. The pose was certainly unladylike, but she carried it off with an implacable feminine grace. "You don\'t mind?" she asked, belatedly – though it was apparent by her tone that she meant it; if he was offended, she wouldn\'t take it personally.

[Reaver]

Magnus blinked, something he found himself doing quite often these days. He spoke with mock ignorance, "offended? I was just thinking the same thing." Kicking his own feet up onto a chair, he stretched his back and leaned one arm on the table. Not the best for comfort, but he couldn\'t afford to be too comfortable. Anything more and he\'d collapse in a drunken stupor.

Speaking of which. Filling his tankard again with more of the costly drink, he took a sip this time to let it settle. No sense in running out of drink or coin when they were finally getting comfortable. "I\'ll still get you one of those books tomarrow, if you\'re interested. English and latin for the most part" Magnus said with a shrug. "Just let me know if there\'s anything else I can get you. Valdis and myself have quite a collection of books going, Norwegian, Latin, English, even some Greek translations." He was still curious about learning more of the languages of the Macedonia region, and wondered if Lord Liari would know any of them. Perhaps Pheobe might have some odd bits of information on the matter...