[b][center]Ramara[/center][/b]


	Ramara kept her horse in pace next to Ceceria, listening to the conversation but her eyes facing forward looking ahead of them with the intermediate  eyes shift as she checked the terrain along the side of the roads. She sat there stoic as ever as she listened to the conversation; not really wanting to get involved. Talks of paladins and killings was a combination she would have nearly found humorous if it hadn’t been for the constant barrage her people had to deal with from not just the average everyday citizen but from the Holier Than Art Thou Type. Ramara was a killer; there was no doubt about that. She had slain her fair share of people in the past but it didn’t bother her as much as it seemed to bother others. To her it was a job; her removing a target was no different than a butcher slaughtering a pig for meat.  To Ramara it was as simple as that. 

	“Death claims all, doesn’t matter the means,” Ramara said as her eyes darted over to Ceceria. Ramara doubted any others in the group would really get what she was saying but Ceceria might. Hearing the squires words she rolled her eyes before looking back forward.  Honor thy father and mother was something she had heard numerous times in her life. Why? Because they brought you into the world? So what? No one asked to be born and Ramara had seen plenty of people that their greatest problem is that they did not want the life that was dealt to them. Ramara felt no need to honor her parents, in fact herself and her older sister had [i]shamed[/i] them by leaving and not following in their peoples ways. 

	Ramara thought back to the day Sana left home. It was not a pretty memory. Their parents were furious that Sana was leaving and not taking her place in the troop. Things were said that she knew had hurt the only person she looked up to. She couldn’t blame Sana for leaving, Ramara felt that Sanas assigned path was one no woman should be forced to take to honor a family name. There was no honor in that profession she felt, even if it was the oldest occupation on the planet as some called it. Ramara was luckier than Sana; her assigned path was much simpler. A violinist who wowed the crowd as she played and performed acts of acrobatics was fine but that was not what Ramara had wanted. So when she came of age she left to find Sana.  

	“There is no good in dying in a battle you are too afraid to raise a sword in just because you are trying to honor a ghost,” Ramara said bluntly to the young squire. Her voice was directed to him but she did not turn to look at him. She just kept looking forward, having said far more than she normally would have. Seeing someone coming up on the road, Ramara perked a brow and smirked at the new arrival calling Ishmael a pretty boy. A cleric? That was someone that could come in handy.

[b][center]Regalia[/center][/b]

	Regalia turned slightly and smiled at the young corsair. “Don’t worry, you will learn over time and age brings calmness,” she said before turning her attention forward once again. “Believe it or not I used to be quite the rabble-rouser. My father, may he rest in the peace of the tides, had his hands full with me when I was growing up; the only girl child on the Maelstrom, surrounded by pirates. There was no female influence,” she continued with a reminiscent look playing on her features. “I was rather good in spitting contests,” she said with a chuckle and shaking her head slightly at the thought of herself. “If the young me could see me now she wouldn’t believe it,” she said, giving Inyatas hand a gentle squeeze as they road.

	Hearing Ramaras various comments her eyes narrowed slightly. Regalia saw nothing wrong with honoring a parent. Regalia was the way she was because of her father and her grandfather before her; a third generation Corsair and Sword Wizard. She was proud of who she was and where she came from. Yes, some pirates were ruthless and caused issues but there was a code amongst them that gave them their own personal sense of honor. Something Regalia held very dear to her heart, even after all these years. It was one reason why it angered her to see her people act in stereotypical ways. She felt they were better than that. Thou not of noble birth, they could be very noble themselves. Kings and Queens of the seas, Masters of Storms and Ladies Of The Deep. For Regalia, a Corsairs life was one of the few lives a common born could grow up to be anything they wanted. Birth rights did not matter. Had Regalia never grown up and taken the life seriously, she would not have been her fathers choice to take over the Maelstrom when he died. It would have been his first mate Tseng. 

	Regalia sighed remorsefully when the thought of Tseng came to her mind and quickly pushed it away when she saw the new comer approach. Perking a brow she smiled towards him and gave him a welcoming nod as he spoke to Ishmael. One who could heal a wound from battle was always good company along a voyage.