Snippet #1997518

Philomela did not recognize Larloch in the least, and having grown up in the rather secluded town of Anthiro she'd have no idea who the mans father was. She could not even tell that he was from Grauenland by looking at his odd attire. Even if she knew the man before her was son to a necromancer, it was of little consequence. As she studied music not magic, although Philomela would have argued that music was more potent than any spell. The singer stood waiting patiently as the apprentice wizard talked on, he certainly liked to chat or rather explain himself in the greatest detail. She perked up a bit at the mention of Omperus, so he was from the shining city she so longed to see? She spoke to him almost in a sigh before her sky blue eyes took on a vacant look "You come here from Omperus?"

The jewel of Hellenia, with its golden chariots that glinted in the sun, bath houses made of pure alabaster, temples with high arching walls and expertly crafted columns. And the vast forum with its fountains spewing crystal clear spring water, its cobbled pathways lined with Olive and Fig trees, their scent filling the air with a saccharine aroma. Men and Women of all races and creeds intermingling within the endless markets, selling spices, silk tapestries, sparkling jewels and instruments…Oh the instruments they must have had! Peculiar woodwind instruments that made the shrillest of sounds, strings unlike the Lyre and booming hollow drums! Philomela had only owned two instruments in her lifetime, her own voice and the Lyre she held in her hands at that moment. However, her maestro had allowed her use of his Lute and taught it to her, she so longed to own one of her own, but it was an instrument from a far away land and much too expensive for the bastard daughter of a courtesan, despite being a renowned singer, she still didn't have any extra money. Her mind wondered from these thoughts and back to her musings on the place she so admired.

A city of culture, magic, philosophy, poetry, music and foreign ideas, that was the dream she had of Omperus. Philomela had only read and heard of it extensively, but never visited. So she didn't know if anything her mind had conjured up due to information from second hand sources was anything to be trusted. She was broken from the spell of the dreams that danced in her mind, upon seeing a tall woman with ebony locks and a scholarly air pass them by. It was Argenta, a silver merchants daughter who was well liked among the denizens of Anthiro. Of course, she'd said no word in greeting, the women of the town disliked Philomela with passion.

Perhaps if they thought of her as more of a human than simply "The one who shows herself off as if she were a gilded Rose." If they knew that she too held hopes in her heart and fanciful ideas in her brain, they might have treated her with more respect. But maybe not, the songstress was certain that all her dreams would sound awfully silly if mentioned aloud. That was also the reason that so very few in the village knew of the visions of Omperus that resided in her head. It would not matter if she told the villagers either way, if they were not being enchanted by her voice, they snickered behind her back. People were so funny that way, they would applaud you in the night; But when you were seen leaving a tiny room built onto a menial lemon farmer's abode, and striding into a nobleman's carriage to sing at some feast or celebration, they would whisper of you being his whore. And Philomela was no nobleman's concubine, simply a song bird with lovely plumage. Sure, the gentry were amorous of her voice and enjoyed casting their eyes in direction of her countenance, but they would never touch Philomela, as it was not permitted. This suited her just fine, and if it had been allowed she'd of quit right away, then again…Working in the heat of her uncle's orchard was not exactly ideal. And she had to repay the debt her mother owed him somehow, not to mention pay off her Maestro for all those years of free Vocal and Lyre lessons, that were still going on, amassing more and more debt.

Philomela put this out of her mind, having realized there was a man speaking to her and she had drifted off completely into the recesses of her head. In fact most of Larloch's speech had been lost on her when she went into her faraway thoughts. She tried to recollect his words, he'd said some things about magic, and then told Philomela he wanted to speak of dreams. Her pale cheeks turned to roses in embarrassment but she spoke in her ever sweet tone of voice "Please continue, Good sir. Tell me of Dreams…" Was the generic and vague reply she'd come up with, having had a split second to think of a reply, not having heard Larloch's long winded explanations, she cursed that constantly straying mind of hers.