Seralle Loroughe allowed herself a broad smile, arching an eyebrow at her betrothed; legitimately pleased with his quickness.

 "Of all the things I've been told of you, Brogan Arten, no one ever mentioned that you are a clever man. Strong, yes, they've all praised your strength in combat...and your bravery...even how handsome you are, but never [i]once[/i] have they mentioned you capable of being witty. I daresay that is the most pleasing thing I've learned about you."

 She smiled as he filled her tankard and offered a slight nod in thanks.

 "Your mother sounds like a fine woman," Sera took her now full tankard and allowed herself a long sip, "it will be interesting to meet with her...once we head north." She thought for a moment, of what story to tell; whether it should be of her family or her own excursions into Warrhon. The princess took a chunk of chicken from her plate and chewed on it for a bit. "Alright, since it is my turn, I'll tell you a story. Not about my mother or father, or half-brothers or cousins or anyone in the court. I was sent, on my ninth birthday, to study magic in Gryphon's Keep; far to the east of here, near the Sand Eater lands. I had been there for nearly two years, studying the craft under the tutelage of a man known as Illixion the Mad. One morning, just after I had risen from bed, the old man burst into the room; flames wreathed around his hands. In an instant, he let loose a bellow and began throwing fireballs at me; screaming at the top of his lungs about power. The fire struck my bed and set it alight, along with the curtains and a large number of my books. I panicked and ran past him, attempting to shove him aside with my shoulder, which I did. But, the strangest thing was...I could not pass through the doorway."

 She took another long sip from her tankard and finished the remaining bit of chicken on her plate.

 "It was a barrier spell, woven into the frame of the door to prevent me from leaving, that threw me onto the burning bed; I started to scream. Illixion merely pulled himself up and waved his hand at me. The fire vanished, the doorway vanished, the entire room vanished and I found myself in the old man's study, sitting in a chair with my eyes pointed at the floor. I was crying, then, weeping for my mother, who had been dead for several years. I know it was foolish, too, of me to cry, but it was such an unsettling thing; thinking that I had truly felt the flames on my skin. The old man looked down at me with sadness in his eyes and asked me a question that I will never forget. 'Seralle,' he said in his strange accent, 'why do you fear death?'. I had no answer for him, then...and still do not."

 Sera sat her tankard back in its place and looked at Brogan, briefly tracing her eyes over the lower half of his form.

 "I think, though, that I fear death because I have yet to live," a sudden blush came to her cheeks, "I-I apologize, Brogan, I meant to speak of something more pleasant."