For once, Barras had completed a study in under a day. It had been a simple study regarding the magical properties of various dragon's parts - blood, mostly, though talons and scales were also included. Dragon's teeth had strong magical properties, too, and so did their tongues. Dragon's hide made incredibly strong armour, too...but that was another matter entirely. That was a matter for armor smiths, not wizards. At any rate, Barras was now ready to relax. He was having a nice fat pork steak and some delicious mashed potatoes with beef gravy. He was also having his usual pint flagon of mead.

He wasn't paying much attention to those around him, though there were roughly two score men laughing and drinking throughout the tavern portion of the inn. A gleeman was entertaining people on one side of the inn, but Barras could care less; he'd never really liked gleemen much. They were only good for mundane illusions and embellished stories that served one purpose and one purpose alone: distraction from everyday life. For some, though, life was good. Barras was an example of this. Apprentice though he was, he had great things to look forward to. When he became a fully-fledged wizard, he would have the respect of others. He hoped to one day become an Archmage as well, but that was a number of years off most likely. When he did attain such an honor, though, he would have an unprecedented level of respect and power. For once, he'd more than a skinny boy with no sense of balance.

Lyon trudged into the Wilwarin Pub, panting slightly from exhaustion. He had been walking around all day, in another fruitless search for work, and now he had need to retire to a quiet place for a drink. Hopefully, he would regain his strength in enough time to return to his quest, but until then, he would enjoy himself in one of the best pubs the city had to offer.

Collapsing into a chair, he took off his cloak and placed it, folded, on the table, causing his weapons to come into view. He was fully armed today, with his sword on his left hip, and his crossbow and dagger on his right. When searching for a job, it was a good idea to be in a position of power, and multiple weapons usually impressed the employer. It hadn't done him any good today, unfortunately. It was hard to impress a potential employer when there were none to be found. Trying not to think of this frustrating detail, he leaned back and relaxed. Soon after, a young barmaid came towards him.

"Is there anything I can get you?" She asked politely.

"Water, please." Lyon responded, now looking around him at the other occupants of the room.

There was the usual crowd, all laughing and having a good time. There was also a glee man standing on the stage, entertaining a few onlookers. Lyon scowled at the man. If one wanted to hear about adventures, they should have their own. At that moment, he brought his attention back to the table he was sitting at, and realized that he wasn't alone. Another man was there, enjoying a meal. Lyon's eyes scanned him intently, trying to figure out what he could about the fellow, but without much luck. There wasn't anything to tell upon what his profession might be. He seemed just like an ordinary human that was eating after a hard day's work.

At that moment, the barmaid came back with his drink. Lyon thanked her and began to drink, still studying the other occupant of the table.

((I thought I was sitting at a bar. :lol: Oh, well... :p ))

The table was a large one and so the two weren't close together, but they were close enough to see the details of one another. Barras didn't notice his guest at first, but he did eventually. He finished his steak and noticed the man before him. He immediately disliked him. The dagger was one thing; such items were often enchanted in some manner or other. But the sword was an insult, and the crossbow made Barras' eyes narrow. The man was lean, but muscular, and he had an air about him of knowing full-well how to use those weapon. That, of course, added even more to Barras' growing dislike of the obvious warrior before him. Weapons were the way of the brainless. Magic was for winners. Swords were for corpses.

He stopped a passing barmaid and ordered another mead. She went off to fetch him one. It soon came as he emptied his first and the barmaid took his empty flagon and replaced it with the full one. He drank it slowly, savoring it, as she also took away his plate. He stared at the newcomer as the newcomer stared at him, dislike growing with every passing second. A scuffle broke out a few tables over, but Barras hardly noticed.

"Well," he finally said resignedly, "are you just going to sit there and stare at me, stranger, or are you going to say something to me?"

He was being polite, of course. God-forbid he should engage this man with his usual mannerisms, attitudes driven by his self-appointed superiority to warriors and others of similar mundane practices - a trait so common amongs wizards and other forms of magicians it was like an entire culture in and of itself. In fact, it was one.

((Err...my bad. :ermm:))

The man eventually noticed Lyon's gaze, and the two stared each other down for a few moments. The mercenary got the distinct feeling that the guy didn't like him, and he suddenly felt uneasy. He didn't end his vigilance, however, and soon after, the man spoke to him.

"Well, are you just going to sit there and stare at me, stranger, or are you going to say something to me?"

Lyon blinked a few times, and immediately tore his eyes from the face of the stranger. To distract himself, he hastily drank more of his water, while his mind attempted to think of something to say. He couldn't help but be slightly embarrassed; after all, he had been caught quite openly staring at a complete stranger. No wonder he sounded so brash and affronted. Lyon gulped down some more water to clear his throat.

"Err...pardon me." he said, trying to sound apologetic. "I was somewhat... distracted..." He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. He was getting some seriously negative vibes from this guy, but he did his best to ignore them. Instead, he decided that maybe it would be best to try to converse. Maybe, that way, he could relax instead of being forced to endure an annoyed patron.

"Uh...I'm Lyon." He began, feeling awkward. "I'm a professional mercenary, which you could probably already tell by yourself..." His weapons and armor were always a dead giveaway. Then, he suddenly realized that telling this stranger these things might not help any. A lot of civilians despised the idea of someone living their life getting paid to do nothing more than fight. Hopefully, this was one that was more agreeable with it.

(( :lol: No problem. I didn't really go into detail about my precise location. MY bad. LOL ^_^ ))

The man spoke to him like he was an equal, but that wasn't what irked Barras. The man was an idiot. Barras didn't like being stared at, for one thing. Most people that stared at someone like that was typically casting a spell. This man obviously wasn't, but there was more. He wore his weapons proudly, but he also boasted of them. The way this 'Lyon' fumbled with his words told Barras clearly that he wasn't nearly so eloquent as one such as himself. He might not be a fully-fledged wizard - yet - but at least he knew how to form a complete sentence.

"Oh, no," he responded to the man's inelegant slaughter of the common tongue, his voice dripping with greasy sarcasm, "your openly displayed weapons were no indication at all."

Lyon frowned. What on earth had he done to make this man detest him so? The tone he took when he addressed the mercenary was full of disdain and sarcasm. Was the fellow just having a bad day? It didn't seem like it...which meant that he had, obviously, done something wrong. It didn't really matter to him, whether or not this complete stranger hated him. After all, he would never see the guy again. But he felt a compulsion to get to the bottom of this baffling mystery.

"Have I done something to offend you?" he asked, trying to sound polite, without much success. Dislike was beginning to spawn inside of him, and it showed in his posture. He was sitting straight-backed now, and his eyes had narrowed somewhat, concentrating into an intent stare at the stranger. His glass full of water lay forgotten on the table.

It made no sense for him to have to apologize to someone who had acted so rudely towards him when he had been entirely polite and courteous, but this fellow obviously saw something about the mercenary that he didn't like. Lyon intended to find out what that thing was.

Barras looked the man up and down, paying particularly close attention to his weapons. His leer was rather nasty, though his face showed nothing in particular. His eyes showed nothing but malice, though, as he looked up on this bloodthirsty sadist, this proponent of bloodshed procured by weapons of mundane means. Yet he had been asked an honest question, and - though no elaboration was forthcoming - he would answer the question honestly and exactly as it had been put.

He finished his inspection of the barbarian swiftly and snorted, not giving him the satisfaction of avoiding his eyes.

"No."

He returned to his drink.

This strange man heard his question, and he seemed to ponder over it as he inspected the mercenary. Lyon didn't miss the disgusted look that his weapons were given. The man clearly thought that the things were filthy and distasteful. Lyon scowled; things were beginning to become clearer.

A short, simple "No." was the answer he received.

Lyon's eyes flashed with annoyance. At the very least, the man could explain what angered him so. But Lyon didn't question him. Instead, he picked up his drink, and took a small sip from it, examining him from over the edge of the glass. He could easily just let this go...there was no need to pursue the subject. All he had to do was stand up and walk to another table. Yet something held Lyon in place. Maybe it was his pride. Maybe it was just plain stubbornness.

"At the very least, would you tell me who you are?" Lyon asked. I have given you my own name, and common courtesy suggests that you do the same." The mercenary knew that he was being rude, but no longer cared. This stranger could not give him those kinds of looks and get away with it. To further spite him, he shifted, bringing the scabbard of his sword into clear view.

His eyes narrowed. Barras did not miss the motion, nor did he miss the connotations. He turned to the man with a very dark look, one so strongly evident of his mood and his distaste for the man that most would have backed off immediately. Then again, most people that visited such places as this were nowhere near as intelligent as those that only frequented it on occasion - people like Barras, for example.

"If you're threatening me," he said in a flat, yet somehow menacing tone, "you'd do well to leave this place now. I do not take such things lightly, fool. As for my name, it is of no concern to you. Simply know that I am the Apprentice of a wizard bearing no small amount of power. I am to be respected, not insulted by the presence of one who knows not his place in this city."

Indeed, few knew that it was wizards and sorcerers, and a few necromancers as well, that truly held an icy death grip over the city. The governing body was made up of patriarchs and monarchs and such, but they feared to anger those who had the power to eliminate them. So a simple-minded warrior had no place insulting one such as Barras. None at all.

Now it was out in the open, obvious to be seen. This man obviously hated Lyon, and it seemed to have connection with the weapons he carried. Open hearing what was said next, the mercenary was beginning to make connections. He was a magic-user, one that seemed egotistical and arrogant. Those types normally gloated about their "all-powerful" abilities and scorned those that used physical means to live. No doubt this one was any different.

"A threat?" Lyon said snidely. "No, I do not threaten you. Unless, of course, you consider any man carrying a blade to be a threat, in which case, you are very, very paranoid. What you say, however..." his eyes narrowed, and he reflexively clenched his fist. "Now, that was undoubtedly a threat. I don't want any trouble...but if you start it, I will without hesitation react accordingly."

Lyon scowled. "So, you're a magic user?" he asked. "That figures. And I guess you, like the rest of your kind, think that soldiers like me are nothing but moronic, barbaric braggarts? Let me tell you something now. I don't fear your magic. Arcane powers can easily be bested."

The brown-haired merc seethed inside. He didn't like magic, but didn't go so far as to prejudice an individual for using it! He simply didn't trust it. He was able to admit to himself, it was powerful. He had fought against plenty of combat mages. He had been nearly killed not too long ago by a spell. But for someone to suggest that those that used magic were greater than those who used more mundane means...it was outrageous!

Barras scoffed. Was this man serious? If he was, he was an idiot. If not, he had no business being on this side of the tavern; he should have been by the fool gleeman's side, then. But the man seemed quite serious, which only made him an idiot.

"Clearly, you have never witnessed the power of a fast-acting poison placed in your blood by a quick blade or a clever mage. You have no doubt never felt the shaking of your muscles as a spell of weakness coursed through your body, turning it into a pile of jelly. I doubt you've ever seen the damage a fireball can do. Easily bested? How so very little you know, boy. Get a glimpse at the world of the arcane before you make brash statements such as that one, or it'll be your death more quickly than you can blink."

He turned back to his drink, savoring it once more. Idiots. It was true that soldiers - all warriors, in fact - had their uses. However, they were not the real strength of a battle: it was mages. The soldiers only served to distract the enemy from the wizard's movements - or presence at all, for that matter. If a few of them died in the process, no problem. More soldiers could always be bought or trained. But in the end, they were just barbaric fools craving bloodshed.

Lyon grinned. He couldn't help it. So this fellow thought he had never seen the power of magic? Oh, yes, he had seen quite his fill of it...enough for any one lifetime, that was for sure. He had survived, however, something to be grateful for.

"As a matter of fact," Lyon said, highly amused that he had such a good counter, "I have experienced all of those things. A poison meant to fatigue the muscles was once used on me, all that had to be done was for my foe's dagger to pierce the skin. I was unconscious within a minute. I have seen the damage a fireball can do, because I was struck squarely in the chest by one not too long ago. It nearly killed me. By random strokes of luck, and perhaps, if I may so myself, a little skill, I managed to survive. I am not discrediting the might of magic. I am simply stating that it is not a...fool-proof method."

He sighed and unconsciously ran a finger along the hilt of his sword. Muttering, more to himself than to the mage, he said, "I chose weapons because I favor their reliability and simplicity. Magic is so complicated and has plenty of room for error. No, I would much rather have a blade in my hand, something that I know will bend to my will and not backfire. Magic, it doesn't always do what you want it to...things can go horribly wrong. It's not a risk I would like to take."

"And weapons do not?" he asked bluntly. "It is true that magic can fail, but what about days of hard rain slowing down an army, their weapons rusting and beginning slip in their hands? What about a mountain battle, wherein there is snow and ice that slows one down and slowly destroys one's weapons and armour? Magic, however, has a high probability of success. And, while it takes far longer to become powerful than it does to become skilled with weapons, it is far more useful."

His tone was highly arrogant, but he wasn't insulting the man anymore. Perhaps he had some intelligence after all. Regardless, Barras still had a great deal of distaste for such tactics.

"The only weapons I would consider even remotely civilized is the bow or the crossbow. Even they are beneath the arcane, but at least they do not embody the bloodlust that so accompanies your kind."

He rolled his eyes as he continued drinking his ale. It wasn't the finest ale, but he was thirsty after his meal.

Lyon shrugged. "All methods have their flaws." he said simply. "No one approach to combat can be perfect. I suppose it really depends on the person, not the tactics they use. It depends much more on the individual's own skill and wit.

He felt that maybe the mage was no longer speaking with hate and disgust, but was, now, merely defending his beliefs. Lyon relaxed a little; now that he was no longer being openly insulted, he felt more at ease. He leaned back in his chair, and even picked up the glass he had forgotten all about. The next thing that was said, however, ruined all of that.

"The only weapons I would consider even remotely civilized is the bow or the crossbow. Even they are beneath the arcane, but at least they do not embody the bloodlust that so accompanies your kind."

Lyon sat upright, indignation evident on his face. "Excuse me?" he said, eyebrows raised. The bloodlust that accompanies my kind? And you say that on what grounds? Because some people prefer to fight in close quarters, where they can actually see their opponent, and match them in honest battle? Because some like to use their body to fight, and not just their arms or mind?" He shook his head, frowning. "What you say makes no sense. Yes, melee battle can be bloody. But to assume that warriors enjoy killing...that's nothing but prejudice." His eyes narrowed, and he continued.

"And what about mages? You're one of them, surely you know what magic is capable of. It can blow a man apart from the inside, cause them to drown in their own blood, crush every limb in a body...all while he who works these acts stands a safe distance away, slaughtering without ever taking a risk himself. And you think that soldiers are driven by love of killing?" He shook his head again, and returned to his drink.

"We are driven to battle by the instinct for survival. While that may be the case in the heart of many warriors, I have heard that even the ones that hate fighting get excited when they make a kill, or when they have won a battle. That in itself is bloodlust. Do you deny having ever felt such feelings? Such elation at having slaughtered your enemies mercilessly? I enjoy the feeling of magical energies pulsing within me, flowing through me like a river, it is true, but I do what I do out of necessity - not out of a love for the death of others. Though, I must say that death does not bother me. Perhaps that makes me superior more than my magic does."

Yes, he was arrogant, but he had a valid point. He had never met a warrior yet who did not enjoy putting down an enemy, running a blade through their heart. Perhaps the word wasn't better, but rather cleaner. Besides, the warrior also had a valid point: he liked to be a safe distance away. He wasn't about to throw his life away needlessly just so he could 'see his opponent' in close quarters.

Barras went on drinking his ale. It was nearly finished, and so was this conversation by the sounds of it. All too soon, in Barras' opinion. He had to be back in an hour. He wasn't about to waste any more time than he had to speaking with this barbaric excuse for a man.

"I...would be lying if I said that never before have I enjoyed defeating a opponent. I enjoyed the test of my skills, the situation where I, and only I, have been the one keeping myself from feeding the crows. But...now, I know better. I've been a mercenary for two years. That's enough time to have your fill of fighting. So many people dying left and right, for some stupid, pointless reason..." He sighed, and then, fearing that he may be sounding weak, strengthened his voice, his gaze penetrating across the table. "I do not believe in pointless death." he said. "I will only kill if I must. Either for work, self-defense, or to save another from suffering, as I put it, a pointless death. So I suppose that, like you, I do it our of necessity." He inclined his head to the wizard, a slightly sardonic smile on his face.

"So, no, I at least, am not driven by bloodlust. I'm a mercenary. I fight for money, not because I enjoy it. I the only thing I truly enjoy about my occupation is that it gives me the chance to test my skills with the sword against many skilled opponents. Perhaps you're right, other warriors may feel as you say, but that is no right to prejudice them the way you do. Why, hearing you rant about how horrible they are, one might be tempted to say that wizards are arrogant, selfish, and dishonest. At least, according to the public view. But when have the stereotypes proved to be true?"

Lyon stretched and leaned back again, his arms crossed across his chest. A barmaid came by and asked him if he would like anything else. The mercenary refused her offer, his attention still on the mage. He doubted he could change the man's mind, but at least he could defend his pride.

Barras had to smirk at that. Arrogant? Perhaps, but since wizards were typically wealthy enough to be able to afford the expensive ingredients and scrolls and books and such that they needed for their spellcasting abilities and the intense study they required, perhaps they were rightly so. Those that had to work for their money were those that died without having left anything behind - such as gold and property for their children, for example.

Selfish? Why not? After all, wasn't self-preservation the ultimate sacrifice? If one had to constantly get oneself killed just to do simple tasks, no one would ever get anything done. They'd all be dead. Why save someone's life whom you barely knew if they couldn't serve you or repay you in some way, after all? All that got you was wounded, killed, or worse.

And dishonest? Well, that was open to definition. After all, Barras' necessities were not the same as other peoples'. Sure, he was sadistic and cruel - that was just a part of who he was. But he still wasn't about to risk his neck for strangers he could care less about.

It was a moot point, though, and he knew it. They both did, though their pride didn't allow either to admit it. Finally, though, Barras finished his ale and sighed. He decided to point it out after all. He was not so proud as a pathetic warrior, after all.

"We could argue this point forever. It has been argued forever, in fact - since the dawn of time, I'm sure. Magic versus weaponry. I'm not going to waste my time on it any longer, however. I have things to do."

With that, he stood up and tossed down the coins for his own meal and ale.

"All I can say is that someone like you could never hope to understand the intricacies of the arcane arts, which is why you're so prone to believe that magic will eventually fail. I am not so stupid as that. I know that magic can fail, but the instance is rare."

He sneered.

"We could argue this point forever. It has been argued forever, in fact - since the dawn of time, I'm sure. Magic versus weaponry. I'm not going to waste my time on it any longer, however. I have things to do."

Too right the man was. There had been thousands of generals that had debated the same thing, along with plenty of people who chose to live a life of combat. It was impossible to really decide which was better. As he had said earlier, though, it wasn't the method one used, it was the amount of skill they had. At least, that was Lyon's belief.

It was obvious that the man was becoming impatient. His tone and body language shouted that fact at Lyon from across the table. That was completely fine with the mercenary. He had become tired of this conversation as well, and he felt that he had overstayed his welcome at the Wilwarin Pub. He himself had work to do it the city. He had a lead that might bring him to a profitable employment, and he wanted to go check it out as soon as possible.

The man stood up and tossed money down onto the table to pay for his meal. It seemed that he had finally had enough, and was now leaving. Lyon decided to follow suit. He promptly arose, placed a few coins down on the table, and began to walk away. Before he had taken more than ten paces, he looked back at the wizard, whom he didn't even know by name.

"One had a right to believe whatever they wish. I do not condone your choices. I would appreciate it if you did the same." He turned to the door, and called out over his shoulder, "Maybe we'll meet again. I look forward to the day when the question can finally be answered, which is better? Until then, I think that we can agree to disagree. Farewell."

With that, he walked out the door and into the bright Lomedor street.

((OOC: I decided to go ahead and pretty much end my role in this topic. It looked like you were trying to bring it to a close as well, so I took care of it for ya. Thanks for the RP, and I'll probably see you in another one very soon.))

((Yeah, sorry...I just have too many topics open right now, partially due to the postathon. :lol: But yeah...good RPing with ya. :) ))

He watched the man leave greatfully, silently thanking whatever higher power there was that he didn't have to deal with buffoon any longer. He had to admit, howwever, that weapons did have their uses and their place in modern society despite being uncivilized in their methods. Truly, he himself now wondered how he would match up alone against an army of soldiers. It was true that only Archmages were usually granted that privelege, but he didn't think he would do so bad. Then again, he'd never tried it and didn't particularly feel like it at the moment.

As he stepped out into the streets of Lomedor, he looked around smugly. This place belonged to the wizards and sorcerers, not to the peasantry and commoners that filled it like fleas devouring a rotting carcass. Nonetheless, the huddled masses only served to provide what the wizards needed in the end: an endless supply of victims and test subjects to tax, to toy with, to experiment with, and so forth. They brought in wealth and they brought in - well, themselves, frankly. But this was hardly the time or place for such contemplations. Barras, too, had work to do. He headed down the street toward one of several residences he owned throughout Arda...