Lucasta listened, hearing the conversation that the fresh scholar had engaged in. She could hear the playing cards falling on the table, the chuckle and grinding teeth of the players who were loosing to the luckier of the men. The two talking to the young map-maker were fighters. One, she cracked her eye open to notice- was a Witch-Hunter. She'd had her life threatened by her kind a few times before, but they were weak and foolish, she hoped that this woman were different. Then the man, who said magic was a cowards practice.<br/><br/>But what was swordplay then? It required both skill and a vent. Her magic could be done without an object, but with it it was an empowerment. The art of the blade was a violent thing, scraping the surface of danger. Piercing, cutting, slicing. In the wrong hands it was pathetic, in the right hands it was death. Just as magic. She couldn't see why people were always so biased. Magic was just as dangerous, if not more depending on the Mage. She knew her darker spells could creep into the bloodstream, cause cancer and inflict unspeakable pain. She had spells in the back of Arclight that could make a person commit suicide, but those spells wrapped darkness around the user, warped them to be wicked. She avoided those when she could, saved the more torturous spells for good uses. Her eyes fell shut again and she let out a dreary sigh.<br/><br/>Humans were either one or the other. For or against, never in between. Under-evolved, even. But they were far greater than Orcs, at least. The Ghost Elf sighed once more, lifting her eyes to see the waitress approaching with her stew. She grinned and nodded, pulling out the coins to pay for the meal and drinks. She dipped the spoon into it and began to eat slowly, truly minding her own business before she packed up and either searched for somewhere to stay the night, or ventured to spend her dark hours in the mist.