He looked at her, as she seemed lost in thought over whether to let him sit or not. He looked her over, as he watched her appraising him. She was young-ish, had more money than most people, and probably knew how to fight, or at least had gotten some training. He doubted that she had yet been covered in gore, filth, mud or water while wearing that equipment. It still had a to-clean look to it. None of the filth or grime that seemed to lurk around the edges of well used wargear.<br/><br/>He said "Thank you m'lady" as he pulled the chair down, and took his seat as she adjusted the items she had under the table. The bulk of a sheild was almost impossible to hide, no merchant's pack was ever that shape. Flat, wide, tall, definitely a sheild.<br/><br/>He mentally shrugged. If she felt that she needed to hide the tools of her trade, who was he to judge. He was blessed in ways that other warriors weren't, he didn't need to carry his arms or armour. He fought with his own methods, and the scars marking him as a warrior were scattered along his body. Some went deeper, shattered bones left few, if any, scars. While other scars had to be given voice, description and their story to be realized. Long sleeves, pants, and boots covered him, the scars on his hands would probably be unnoticed. Sailors sometimes got cut handling rope, or other things.<br/><br/>"A local? No, you do have a keen eye for judging character it seems. I'm sort of... passing through. I go to where I'm taken you might say. And... yourself m'Lady? I take it your not from around these parts either?"<br/><br/>His deep, almost croaking, voice answered her. Although, probably not telling her everything she wanted to know. The seas kept many secrets to themselves, and its clerics often did the same. Hoarding tidbits of knowlege, the way that the sea hoarded sunken ships.<br/><br/>Glais waited until a wooden trencher with roasted meat, gravy, half a loaf of bread, chopped and fried vegetables and a pitcher of ale to keep his mug full was placed on the table, while he watched the dancer move back and forth, he watched her carefully placed mincing steps as she flexed her shoulders and hips independently of each other.<br/><br/>He looked back at the young woman at the table and leaned in before saying to her "She's not half bad, isn't she?" He grinned, but his eyes didn't smile, they merely looked at the blonde woman to gauge her reaction to what he said. Over a decade spent in close confines with other people taught him to be a rapid judge of other's character and disposition. A skill that served him well on shore as well as at sea.<br/><br/>When the bard made the request for the final song, Glais looked up and was about to say a song. Until the bard decided to play .... that. "<em>The March of the Emerald Duke's Honour Gaurd</em>" or the "March of Honour Gaurd", as it was sometimes known. It was a stirring song, but few remembered the two other songs that were part of the "Honour Gaurd" cycle. The next song in the cycle, "The Battle of the Greed and the Red", narrated the battle of the honour gaurd against the Bloody Baron's soldiers, while their Duke left his fortress in exile. The last part, "The Duke's lament", was the roll of the guard that the Duke had written; each member named and described by the duke himself. Each member of the guard dead, covered in glory, heaps of the bloody baron's men; and their own blood, crusted and caked on their faces, arms, legs, chests and the ground they died on.<br/><br/>Glais doubted that the youth on the stage would play the last two parts, especially as the last part detailed all thirty of the guard, and was said only with a voice unaccompanied by instrument or chanting. Mostly because the song was one that made even the Emerald Duke, and every one of his descendents, weep. The Bloody Baron had long been killed for his massacres and other crimes, his demonic advisors gut and quartered; but the "Duke's Lament" was a universal mourning to all who had died so that others may live. The funeral song for dead champions and common soldiers alike.<br/><br/>"I wish that this song wasn't played. It sometimes makes fools of men. Most men don't know what war can really be like, and so few hear the full cycle."<br/><br/>Funny enough, the stirring music had the complete opposite effect on Glais. He felt morose, tired, spent. How many times had he gone with high hopes?