Snippet #1998070

Involuntarily, Philomela's eyebrows rose, had the mage just simply sat upon the ground before her? With his legs folded over one another in such a strange fashion, sitting upon the grassy path that led away from the tavern that flanked her. With her standing up and Larloch posturing himself the way he did, it would have certainly been a sight to see, a bemused singer clutching a Lyre with a grauenlandian sitting at her feet. What was this man trying to do?

Philomela thanked the gods that Argenta had gone, what would be said if she was seen? That she was a lady of the evening ready to be claimed by whomever deigned to visit Anthiro? As standing outside a tavern full of drunkards, in almost pitch darkness, with an unknown man about her age, did not look virtuous at all. And anything involving Philomela tended to become exaggerated beyond measure.


He was now informing her that as an artist, she was an expert on dreams, and yet he did not even know what it was she did. Did he? Philomela hadn't mentioned it but perhaps he'd heard her singing, as her voice had a way of carrying through the village.

It was true that dreams gave purpose, but they never brought her comfort, for hers was a grand dream that few other girls from inconsequential farming villages possessed. Larloch was then explaining to her that, in his opinion, the best way to truly know someone was through knowledge of their dreams, their desires. Perhaps it was, that's what her courtesan mother had always said, albeit, she had used the word desires in place of dreams and was usually speaking of men.

Now the mage told her that Omperus was not all she might have hoped, but Philomela seemed to tune this little dash of information out. As she'd have to see for herself before tossing away her pretty expectations for the city. And Philomela certainly hoped that she would someday, at least once, see for herself what Omperus was really like.

Wait a moment…The mage spoke of being driven out of Omperus? What had he done? Was this spell weaver some sort of criminal? Perhaps he had performed some forbidden form of magic, stolen from a merchants stall, Or…Gods forbid he had committed a murder or abduction?! Philomela was somewhat frightened by this new information, granted she had a tendency to over think things, still he must have been a lawbreaker of some manner? Philomela's stomach turned at these imaginings.

She attempted to banish these thoughts when he quite boldly asked her what her own dream was, but they continued to nip at the corners of her mind and the flush of pink had abandoned her cheeks leaving them the same ivory color as the rest of her visage. "Ah..My dream ..I--"

Luckily, she was cut off by Argenta who had been walking with her silver merchant father. Philomela had often seen the raven haired and ice eyed Argenta in the market with the man, it had caused her on occasion to wonder just what it was like to have a father. Philomela had her uncle, but he had born his own children and paid her little heed. This was not a bother of course, as he'd had the grace and charity to take her disgraced mother in and keep the concubine's daughter as if she were his own. Still, the girl had never met the man who'd given her snowy skin, pale blonde hair and sky blue eyes, or so she thought.

What was this? Argenta who'd never breathed a word to the musician in her life was now asking Philomela to accompany her to the stables? Perhaps Argenta had chosen a suitor and needed a songstress to perform at the wedding? The heavily cloaked girl had never struck her as one to settle for life as a farmers wife, but possibly that had changed?

However, there was a slim chance that Argenta had actually saw the somewhat desperate situation Philomela found herself in and decided to help the much whispered about young lady out. Which would have astonishing as most village females, maidens, wenches, and matrons alike, tended to avoid Philomela as if she were the plague. It was all to due with the rumors about her, but even more so because it was generally thought that by striving for higher company and a life as a performer outside of Anthiro, she was spitting upon the simple lifestyle lived by those in the farming village.

If she was indeed trying to be of assistance, Philomela would have been extremely grateful,For she did not know what Larloch's crime had been. He could have been holding a knife behind his back, for pities sake!

Somehow feeling she was taking a gamble, the singer turned to Larloch and gave an apologetic curtsey and cooed a lie, for she had never once even chatted with Argenta in her lifetime. "My sincerest apologies, it seems my dear friend Argenta is in a state of emergency, please do excuse me, Sir."

Philomela then took Argenta's arm and put on a smile oft reserved for gentry or those she was familiar with.

When they had walked far enough away, Philomela leaned ever so slightly nearer to Argenta and whispered, her voice sounding unsteady for the first time that night"Gods bless you, That man seems to have been an exile from Omperus, I feared he was a criminal of some sort." She paused and cast her gaze downwards, hoping she was not incorrect in her assumptions. "That is why you beckoned me, is it not?"

By this time, they'd surely have reached the stables, and their speech would have almost undoubtedly woken the sleeping Dion.