Monetary Rewards?

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Erio sat back and wrapped her arms behind her head relaxing back at the inn before collecting the reward. To be truthful she did not care much about the money, it was useless baggage unless for short term use, not that any seemed to pop up in a small town like this. It would be best to just buy the necessary supplies and travel off to the next town. Sadly though, her patience was rather frayed from the fight. It was not that the fighting had made her tired and muscles ache, her stamina was far too large for something so simple to place her in such a sour mood.

Unlike some popular belief one does exercise the mind just as much as a man does lifting large stones up to train. Similarly the mind gets just as tired as the body, and when they both are tired together it does not boe well for one's mood. For that reason alcohol was created by the sorry souls in the gutter of the world. With one swig of that life's blood you dont have a mind or control to worry about anything. But she wanted to leave the next day, sadly enough alcohol was not the cure that currently would be best for her plans.

[Virgil]

"Another day, another inkling town," mused Virgil. The stalwart crusader had poor choice of direction as of late: tiny village after village with nary cur or bandit in sight. It was not that his pocket was light, but rather his sword was quite restless for the stain of conquest and adventure. However, after inquiring a few locals upon his arrival there seemed to be no gold or activity in the slightest. This did not impede him, after all, he considered, was it not in the Tales of Sir Hiltraud that he learned greatness can come from the quietest of places?

With new resolve, he approached a nearby inn, a small and modest establishment that no doubt would have news of need for a blade. He entered in his tall, proud manner, observing the contents of the room as he loomed at the doorway. Truly this was a small town. The inhabitants, perhaps travelers, were few in far between, though one seemed to catch his eye. Among the bland wanderers was a young woman with black hair dressed rather nicely in comparison, at ease sitting alone. She wasn't a typical patron, for sure, no doubt she would have the information he was seeking.

"Welcome to my humble inn," the inn keeper said as he approached Virgil who was still at the entrance way. "By the look of you, ye seem to be another traveler. Need ye a room? Or maybe you just need to unwind? We got the best ale for that job, sir!"

"Another traveler? No, my good man, I am a wandering crusader," balked Virgil with his proud tone. It was important that he not be associated with the peon sell-swords and vagabonds, as he was clearly different. In a easier, smooth tone, Virgil reached his point, "For now, kind sir, I only require some of your finest ale. I will be sitting with the lovely young woman with the black hair yonder."

With these words, Virgil slipped the innkeeper a coin or two and languidly sauntered to the black-haired woman at her table, "Dear ma'am, would you protest that I enter your company? It is a shame that one should be alone at an inn...." He tried to appear as amiable as possible because, from his earlier examination of her, Virgil was quite sure she was alone for a reason. No doubt, some form of introvert that the brightest of smiles and kindest of words would not pierce. This was all well with Virgil: at the very least he only needed what information she may have.

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Erio lazily dipped a finger into her weak tea and stirred it watching the soft ripples start to form in the liquid. It was rather slow at the inn, most of the bustle from the night before having long since died down. She had to admit that it was rather pleasant though, the rest of her companions out and about spending their somewhat hardly earned gold. If there was a nice tankard of an expensive Ale it would all be just perfect.

Lazily she pushed a hand back through her hair once again to get out the long strands from her eyes. It was unusual for her to not be attentive to her immediate surroundings, yet the battle seemed to have drained her rather quickly. She would head up soon enough to sleep at this rate.

Suddenly her ears perked up catching a drawl that was rather familiar. The odd way the vowels were rolled...and the slightly overformal speech. She turned and glanced over her shoulder at the man a brow crooked and a sly smirk overtaking her lips. There was little doubt that the man was Ilian with a soft wave to his hair and rather nice blue eyes. Only an Ilian would speak in such a manner, the usual Etrurian manner that she was accustomed to was much more frank especially in matters of difference of status.

There was that saying...if you want a loyal man seduce a sacaen, If you want a strong man woo a bernese, If you want money saunter away with a Lycian, If you want romance...capture an Ilian... Then of course there was if you want the fear of St. Elmine whacked into your children marry an etrurian. The western isles were not mentioned as it was thought to be distasteful, worse than Sacae.

"I would protest little for one as fine bred as yourself" she said with a soft laugh tossing her hair over her shoulder with a slight flourish. "It is rather interesting to meet an Ilian like yourself out in such rural parts, from where did you travel from?" If this proved to be an interesting encounter she would just get a drink...or five. If worst came to worst she would find some way to make Hoff carry her, or Kressen...

[Virgil]

"I would protest little for one as fine bred as yourself," replied the raven-haired woman with a laugh. "It is rather interesting to meet an Ilian like yourself out in such rural parts, from where did you travel from?"

How wonderfully observant this woman was, an interesting surprise thought Virgil: few common individuals either cared or were attentive enough to deduce the country of origin of a complete stranger.

“I hail from a picturesque little Illian hamlet,” said Virgil as he gracefully slid out a chair and took a seat. “No bigger than this town, perhaps, but it maintained certain…charm, I suppose.” Virgil gave an earnest laugh with these words, as he was never quite fond of tiny villages, but he could not deny their wholesome and simplistic beauty. “But,” Virgil punctuated, “my travels have taken me far from thence. Bern, Sacae, Lycia? All are lands I have traversed. To say I have traveled from any one place is incorrect. My destiny and origin is not here nor there, but rather from the battlefield where my foe’s weapon falls from their hands…” While his tone had remained fairly causal, Virgil had lost himself in his poetic rhetoric again. It’s quite rude for a hero to lyrically expose himself to an unknown woman he just met. Recovering with a slight grin at his own over-enthusiasm, Virgil finished, “but in shorter discourse, as an adventurer, the roads seem to be my home as of late.”

Shortly afterward, the innkeeper approached the table. “Here you go sir: a pint of our finest ale!”

“Glorious!” cheered Virgil in response. “And indeed a fine ale this appears to be,” commented Virgil as he peered into the rich golden liquid. However, as he took his drink he frowned. “Where are my manners? Surely you must want to partake or at least join me in the enjoyment of this immaculate brew milady,” noted Virgil gesturing toward the raven-haired woman. “Take this coin good innkeep and bring some for the fair lady, if she does not which to take it, I will gladly down it!” With this, the innkeeper smiled and scurried to retrieve a drink for Virgil’s company.

“I apologize if you prefer not to partake in this drink, but I am well-learned that an innkeep is only as hospitable as the amount of drinks you buy.” Virgil paused now, leaning forward on the table, an inquisitive look on his face with attentive focus on her intriguing amber eyes. “If it is not so bold to ask, perhaps you may indulge me with your own tale. Clearly you aren’t a citizen of this place and are certainly more than a mere traveler or pilgrim. What may I call the land from whence you traveled?” asked Vrigil softly.

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The corners of the Etrurian woman's lips curled up into a smirk at the Illian's grace and the fluidity that he pulled out the chair and gracefully took a seat. His artfully messed head of curls flounced down with him and settled back in perfect formation across his brow. Little by little she felt herself be pulled into his pretty poetic words and leaned forward to listen her cheek resting against her palm trying to decipher anything of interest from the sugar coated words he spoke so smoothly.

Obviously she knew that there was obviously a big divide between the way such pretty words sounded and the reality of it all. Yet it was nice to hear some sweet honeyed words after being in company such as before. She looked upon the ideals of chivalry that young noblewomen got lodged into their heads with distaste, some things simply needed to be grasped, after all they lay on a platter before them and they were far too lost in pointless fantasy that it would be given instead of snatching it up. Yet sweet words were still a delight to hear, especially when one took pleasure decoding what was meant underneath. With such things there was always another meaning, after all men took such pleasure in forming them so carefully how could she refuse to break down such a carefully laid language and even more so counter with her own. If he could play she would just as well, like a cat batting at a ball of yarn.

"How gallant and steadfast one must be to traverse so far from humble beginnings to a fine man as yourself. Unless I am simply mistaken you do look far too young compared to many other seasoned travelers about with only a sword in your hand no less. You must be a man among men to commit to so many feats, steadfast and strong. Promising qualities to be shown in such young years." She moved closer letting an almost accidental brush of fingers as she reached for her nearly empty cup of tea and took a sip glancing playfully out of the corner of her eye at his face. She had missed such games since she had arrived in the town a mere few days before, after all Etrurian men were something to scoff at. Mostly. Exceptions did arise.

Though the offer of a drink broke the spell and she glanced up as the barkeep brought another pint of ale for her quickly, the man shuffling away a moment later his mind most probably focused on the events of the night before last.

Raising a hand Erio delicately covered her lips as she let out a soft giggle batting her lashes at him as she slipped even closer. He did know how to get her attention did he not? Yet he wanted a tale, a tale she would not be so quick to divulge. Yet for his information it was customary to give ones own, little consideration did she ever give to customs. Yet with such a fine ale to wet her pallet how would she refuse.

"It seems that I have but little choice to divulge my own tale for such a man" she said softly a melodious tone coming through as the Etrurian leaned in her warm breath brushing his ear. "I come from a joyous little city in Etruria known by some as Delfia, a blossoming city without many flowers with name of my father holding much repute in some aspects of another. A name useless to myself, simply a selfish name would one not think? Afterall, a name is the foundation from which life itself sprouts to that of feeble mind." She paused taking a sip of the ale before continuing a finger tapping her cheek thoughtfully.

"So as all men desire more power the first door that opens to them they take no matter what price is to be taken, no matter the toll to be given. With the bonds of marriage thought of as the strongest chains what would be the return other than simply power from such a bond holding such strength. Sadly enough our eyes did not dance in harmony and the price he saw was lighter than the price I was to pay in his place for his power. So I simply did what the ballads of old taught and dramatically left my betrothed yet not all the same standing like a statue at the alter of the gods and skipped off where the winds whispered to me. By such chances they led me to this quaint little town away from the complications that politics seem to fish out of the very crater of Ostia itself."

"I am not a pilgrim nor a traveler, I pursue what catches my eyes as fulfilling for the moment as there is no better time then the moment I have found. I suppose I may be thought of as a treasure hunter, yet I find that the best treasure seems to be information gained from experiences rather than books." With another soft twirl of her hair she finished off the ale with a soft sigh "information is a treasure that can never stop appearing and can be sold for any price."

The Etrurian knew she had slipped out of the poetic words she had intended originally, yet her words held a rare truth about them as far fetched as they may have seemed