Tarian's noticeable interest in Vilpamolan didn't slip past Ernest unnoticed. "To be honest, I was only there because I got lost," she said. "I was exploring Virens Forest and got turned around. It was an… interesting place. I didn't care for it much, though." She had not enjoyed her time in that city, although it had been quite an adventure. It was not a place she would want to go back to.

She noticed his excitement as soon as he started talking about stories. "I suppose I have a few I could tell," she said. "What kind of stories do you want to hear?" She paused, thinking for a moment. "Battles? Adventures?" A mischievous grin crossed her face. "Goddesses?"

"I don't have a story about the divines yet, how peculiar…" He said, clearly surprised by Ernest, a mention of an immortal being wasn't such a common thing in the presence of drunkards. Not in that context anyway. "However, it's always the smartest to start with the beginning, unless you're looking for a poetical metaphor to deepen the meaning of your story, but I digress…"

"Since the weather isn't letting us out, we might as well start now and here. Just, it's unhealthy talking with a dry throat…" He signaled the barmaid to come over by raising his hand, dropping a pouch on the table afterwards. "Don't worry, I'll be paying. It's hard to be broke when you've barely had time to spend, let alone see the road long enough to be mugged." 

"The most important thing to every story would be the why. Why have you started and kept traveling? An aspiration for great deeds and glory perhaps, or maybe a tragedy that took away everything you had?" He already set aside his loot, a parchment and quill in his hands. His eagerness might have seem unnatural to those unfamiliar with the eccentric, but a noble history and interest in arts truly did make him a peculiar fellow. "Or maybe something less dramatic? Were you bored with the simple life or was it the wish to see the world?"

Ernest almost choked on her meat pie. Poetical metaphor? Who did this guy think she was? A storywriter? "No poetical metaphors," she said. "You'll have to add those yourself, if you want them." She grinned as he put the pouch of coins on the table. She wasn't complaining. It was never smart to pass up free food or drink.

"I'll trust you on what's important to a story," she said. "I started adventuring… well, I guess it was because I had no choice. I didn't really have anywhere else I could go. I was looking for an island, originally. But, now, I just like it out there. It's easier to live out in the wild than try to stay in the cities. It's nicer out there. No one gets mad if you have to take a few things to survive. And, well, there's always the chance of discovery out there. Men built cities. They know them. They don't know the wilderness. So there's something for me to do."

She realized abruptly that she was rambling, which was strange because she almost never rambled. "Sorry. I might have gotten a bit off topic there. Is that what you wanted to know?"

Her sudden reaction made him realize he went over the top. "I don't, but if I ever do make a story or a song about you, I think it's polite of me to ask. You can never know what someone wants." He said. He had gotten himself a mug of ale and let Ernest pick for herself. 

"That's exactly what I wanted to know." He scribbled down something. "Don't worry, you can never tell too much. You mentioned an island, would you be alright with telling me something about it? Why is it important to you?" He paused, taking a sip of his drink. Her perspective on cities made him think. The freedom is something hard to find, as you have to work and earn your money, but it had its benefits.

"Other than that, could you tell about your very first adventure? Was it before or after you started traveling? Or, we could just skip to the goddesses part, if you want to. I'm not gonna make you tell me anything" If this goes well, he might even make a short, simplified epic. He'd prefer if he could see what happened instead of hearing about it, but travelers don't trust very easily, preferring solitude over unknown company.

"It's fine," Ernest said. "I'm just rather clueless when it comes to writing. The idea of metaphors and stuff never even occurred to me." She thought about the idea of being in a story or a song. That would be incredible.

She laughed slightly, wondering briefly what would happen if she took him at face value and decided to see how much she could tell before he died of boredom. She decided against it. Knowing her luck, the barkeep would get angry and tell her to leave about ten minutes in. "The island, then. Well, my uncle was an adventurer when I was little. He told me one day that he'd found an island, and that he'd claimed it for me, so I went to find it." She left out the part about her uncle being dead, preferring not to talk about it.

"My first adventure? Well… there was the time I got a bounty on my head for stealing oranges, but I'm not sure that really counts. My first real adventure… that was probably the time I got kidnapped by the Fratians up in Laeto Rainforest. I guess it was about a year ago now. They tried to haul off a caravan I was in, but they got betrayed and we all ended up stuck in the woods together. It was pretty crazy."

"As for the goddesses thing, I honestly was hardly even involved. I was there. I saw almost all of it, but I didn't really do much." She paused. "I considered trying to kill a goddess at one point. Never actually tried, though." She turned to see the serving girl staring at her oddly. "I'll have an ale, too, please," she said as if she hadn't been talking about anything stranger than the weather.