Aidan stops and ponders Gormann's words a moment, then speaks "Tha' be vertas... A tale fer a drink be fair dealin'"

Gormann grins and sits in a handy chair, then reaches up, doffs his cap and begins folding it into nothing. Just before it disappears, 2 gold coins drop from it onto the table. He flips one to the bar, announces "Drinks on the good wizard!" and pockets the other.

The warrior takes a seat, and ponders aloud "Lessee 'ere... My days as th' General o' th' Iron Fist? Ach, too depressin'.."

"What did you do before becoming a mercenary?" asks the wizard.

"B'fore all tha?" queries Aidan, as the guardswoman observes quietly from her stoop, taking a short sip from her mug.

"B'fore 'tall... Ach, 'ells.. I'll jus' start from th' beginnin'" He takes a deep draught of the newly poured ale, and clears his throat, as Gormann taps his fingers on his staff, making tiny flames shoot out of the end of it. First red, then deep blue.

"A many year ago, thar was a great forest in th' north", the warrior begins " It may o' been th' north o' this lan'... it may 'ave been th' north o' another... Gits 'ard ta tell anymore. In tha' forest, an th' 'ills aroun' it, thar lived a great many folk, mainly men wit' some o' them o' th' fey type. Mos' every un in th' area belonged ta un clan o' another, and we called ourselves th' MacMornag. Un clan was chief amoung us, an' tha' were Clan MacBlannaugh.... my clan."

Across the room, the armored woman chuckles drily, "Fey type. That's what they *always* tell ye. Ho ho." and twitches her lips into a wry smile, as she turns her mug in her hands.

Aidan shrugs and continues, "Any 'ow... we was a people o' th' trees and rivers... mos' people made thar way by huntin', fishin', and tradin' woodwork on down th' river." He takes a minute to recollect his thoughts, while Gormann snores softly. "A'ight, a'ight", the clansman mutters, filling his pipe with fragrant green leaves. He takes a deep pull, and exhales a strangely deformed smoke ring, looks at it and mutters.

"Mayhap ye should light it first." chuckles the mage.

"Aye, aye" mutters Aidan, ".. knowin' 'tall magyr."

"May I?" inquires Gormann.

"Go a'ead.", grumbles the warrior.

The lady guard walks over and pulls herself out a seat, "Don't ye go startin' no fires now, Gormann.", she says, "Reardon said 'e'd toss ye out on yer ear if ye set the tavern afire agin."

Aidan raises his eyebrows as the mage shoots a sullen look at the guardswoman. "I've been practicing, Maryn", he insists.

"I be fond o' ma 'moustache.. so ye bes' 'ave a care..", Aidan glowers.

Maryn chuckles darkly, "Oh, ayyyye. I'm sure ye 'ave. I cin tell by the chars'n'cinders on the edge of the forest out there."

Aidan grabs a candle, pours the wax on the floor, and prepares to light his pipe with it, as Gormann nonchalantly clenches the pipe bowl in his right and snaps his fingers. Smoke tendrils reach up, around, and weave their way into the rafters. "Tha' do work." nods the warrior in approval, as the wizard mutters something, and the smoke gradually assumes angular patterns. He hands the pipe back to Aidan. "Thank ye", the warrior grins.


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