Freya watched as Harol stubbed his kneecap against the table, and tried hard not to smile amused behind her veil. Not that anyone could see, but still, it didn't seem very appropriate to laugh at someone else's pain, and although she was a rogue, untrustworthy and not always that friendly, she did care about manners, even if just a very little bit. When he read the name of the book out loud she listened quietly, although more because of boredom than actual genuine interest. After all, there wasn't much of interest in a library for one who couldn't read. When Harol started reading the book, the slight bit of interest she had for what he was doing faded away, and out of boredom she took a dagger from her belt and started playing with it.

When she heard the door being opened, Freya put her dagger back at her belt and turned to look at who was entering the place. She still had her hand resting around the handle of her dagger, although more out of habit than actual distrust for once. Harol had assured her that she was safe at this place, and from what lord Mortimer had said it didn't sound like she was in trouble, but still, old habits die hard. She took a brief moment to look at the man and decided to remain silent when he spoke, and when he stopped talking for a moment as well.

"Nevertheless", Cyrus continued, "I might just as well introduce myself. You already know that my name is Cyrus, and in fact I am not directly related to Lord Mortimer. I used to be a mercenary of theirs, but they brought me into the house through marriage for some odd reason I am not perfectly aware of. They spoke of Yurnero at the time, and what is a person going to do if they wouldn't follow their own protector? I'm not questioning their choice, I'm comfortable here. I keep an eye out for the guard and servants, kind of being the lord of the house to the people that are not actually a part of the house. Of course lord Mortimer still holds the absolute power but I am a close third on the scales of power here. Now that I've introduced myself, I would like to hear something about you two. Why don't you go first... Harol." He clearly had not decided who to ask to speak first, which was evident from the pause he kept, but he settled for Harol quickly enough to let the conversation flow normally.

"Well as you know, house Clasz and house Arkdal go way back", Harol started, "and given our long-standing friendship and the fact it was house Clasz that encouraged us to speak our minds in the first place, it was only logical that I looked for shelter here. I am still in training of my family's arts, but at the very least I can hold my own in combat as long as collateral damage is not a problem. Some days I hope I could know something simple to defend myself with but... It just won't happen I guess." Harol took a quick look at Freya at this point. He sort of knew she was not comfortable with speaking to people, so he chose to include some of her story in as well to save her the trouble. Harol hoped this would not offend her, and continued: "I can thank Freya for us getting this far though. She is much better at fighting single targets and that led to the victory at the ambush around the bridge. I would like to see her wound to be tended though. Wouldn't want it to remain as painful as it must be."

"Mm-hmm", Cyrus replied to Harol's stream of words. "I will ask the servants to get something done as soon as they have finished treating lord Mortimer's eyes." The Cyrus turned to Freya: "Is there anything else you would like to share?" and right after asking that spoke to both of them: "Or did you have questions for me perhaps?"

Freya listened to what was being said, and she had to admit that she was quite surprised to hear that Cyrus used to be a mercenary. One of the last things she had expected, was that there would be a mercenary, or former mercenary for that matter, in the house, let alone one with such a high position. What surprised her as well, was that Harol was speaking positively about her, as if what she had done was something, like she were a good person. Of course, he was right about the fact that she was good in close combat, but still. What she had done just hadn't been something good or anything to be proud of. She had killed people back at that bridge without even a second thought. Left the families of the men she killed mourning. Even as a rogue she wasn't fond of killing, and she should know better than to do so. What she had done during that ambush didn't make her a hero, or even a good person, just worse than she was already.

Freya looked at her arm when Harol mentioned her injury. While it did hurt, Freya hadn't considered to see someone who could tend it. As a rogue it wasn't really possible to visit a healer without the chance if getting caught, so usually spoken, she only visited a healer in case of emergency. In other cases she would just wait until the round would heal naturally. When Cyrus asked if she had anything to ask or if either of them had any questions, she shook her head. Everything seemed clear enough to her.

As both Harol and Freya shook their heads at first, Cyrus was about to open his mouth, but Harol managed to speak a split second earlier "Wait... uhh, excuse me, this slipped off my mind but... where are we going to sleep? And if I at all may ask, when would be a time we could have something to eat? And I would like to see my room, too, I have quite a bit of excess weight in my robes." Cyrus was at first surprised when Harol spoke but then laughed a little as Harol inquired about dropping off some of his belongings. "Of course, of course. I had taken the privilege to have servants ready a room for you as soon as we heard of the attack on your house, but unfortunately I heard about your companion too late. We should have a room ready for her by the time sun goes down though, so worry not!"

Cyrus opened the door behind him and stepped into the hallway. "Seeing you were in such a hurry, I will see to it personally that you can lighten your load as soon as possible. Right this way!" Harol followed Cyrus as he led them into the hallway. A servant raised an eyebrow as they came out of the library keeping such noise, but she quickly made her way in the opposite direction upon seeing Cyrus come out from the library as the last of the three. The little group made their way through a few hallways and stairs to the floor above the library. "Here it would be. Do use the bell in the room to call servants if you are going anywhere, would not like to lose track of you two just yet!" And with that, he was gone, walking on the hallway.

Harol stepped into the room without saying a word, and turned around to see if Freya would follow. He had a couple of things on his mind he would care to discuss... and he was not entirely certain he should speak up to anyone within the house about them. Not now, at the very least.

Freya decided to follow Harol into the room. She had nothing to do for the moment anyway, save for waiting until someone was available to tend her wound. And although she didn't even know him for two days, Harol was the person she knew best in the house, so she'd rather stick him for the moment. Not that she was exactly planning to make friends in the house or anything. She was quite convinced that even if she would try to make friends, they wouldn't be fond of her anyway. When she was young she had no friends because of her mother's reputation, and as a rogue because she didn't trust anyone. But even if those two things were out aside, she could be quite cold hearted and unfriendly. Not to mention somewhat too serious as well and... The easiest way to put it, was just to say that Freya wasn't good at making friends.

Not sure of what to say, Freya still remained silent, though that didn't mean there was nothing on her mind. Like what made him think that they had done something good back at that bridge that he just had to mention how she had helped him out? Or how did he feel about being in a house with oracles, who could possibly know everything about each of them? And most important, why should she actually still stick with him? The deal they had made was clear, she would protect Harol during his journey, and as a reward she could stay at the 'sanctuary' he was heading to. And now they had gotten there, both kept their part of the deal, and he wasn't harmed or anything. So what was keeping her from just walking away, if their deal was done anyway? Why did she want to stick with him, rather than just being alone? That wasn't anything like her at all.

But then again, it wasn't the first time she act different around him. If it were anyone else, she just would've fled from the fight at the bridge, leaving the person at his fate. And if it were anyone other than Harol, she would've stayed angry longer than she did last night during their little argument. There was something about Harol, something different. She was left puzzled about what that was, and she wasn't sure if she liked it.

As Freya had walked into the room, Harol closed the door behind them. The lock stayed silent, apparently leaving itself open. After taking a quick look around the room and seeing nothing suspicious, he took a few steps closer to Freya and whispered: "You know, I'm not exactly the more paranoid one of us two, but I'm not certain if Cyrus is entirely trustworthy... he is not one of the house originally and he is in charge of the mercenaries. Nothing confirms his stance... I have no doubts against anyone else, and I'm unsure if this feeling should really be considered important, could be just random paranoia... but I'll keep an eye out." Now Harol had shared his worries. As he had said, he was unsure if there was any base to these thoughts, but he had never really met Cyrus before. Maybe Freya's paranoia was rubbing onto him? Who would know?

Harol then proceeded to gather his belongings from within his robe and resumed speaking in normal voice: "In a house full of Oracles we should be safe. Now if you do not mind me, I'll have to pile up some less necessary things here." From what he now said, nobody could (at least easily) tell that he had any doubts towards the people belonging to the house. "I also would like to see the book concerning birthrites in the library again. It looked rather interesting... but then again, you might not be as interested in literature, at least of that sort. And you have fulfilled your end of our bargain too. I guess that after you get your room we won't be seeing each other that much anymore... Well, I'll have to say it was nice knowing you", Harol continued speaking while placing scrolls onto a neat pile next to the bed big enough for two to sleep in. He was not used to beds that spacious, but he wouldn't complain.

Then the scroll containing the incantation of Scree'Auk surfaced again. He couldn't simply leave this here, it was too valuable... He placed it next to the pile and dug out his Grimoire. Without saying a word, he opened the scroll from it's roll and placed it between the pages of the book. There it would sit tight, without a risk of getting lost or damaged. He then returned the Grimoire to the special pocket within his robe. A warlock never left their Grimoire behind. "Much better", Harol rejoiced as he had placed his staff and lantern next to the pile of random stuff (that was next to the pile of scrolls). "I am guessing you did not have any excess equipment on person, but if you do, feel free to leave them here for a moment while they get your room prepared." Harol smiled to Freya. He himself was not exactly sure where the smile did originate from, but he could tell that when he said earlier it had been nice knowing Freya... he had not lied.

Freya listened to what Harol said about Cyrus and shrugged. "Through my life, I've only trusted three people so far and Cyrus is not one of them. To me, he is just like everyone else I meet, but I suppose that we will see what he really is like soon enough." She said soft, looking at the warlock. The three people she had ever trusted were her mother, her supposed husband when he had been alive, and now Harol. Granted, she had hated her mother, but did know that the woman would never harm her physically. Freya had still been her daughter, after all. As for her supposed husband, it seemed quite obvious, and considering.the fact that during their journey Harol had trusted Freya his life, it made sense she did trust him as well, and even if she had no more reason to trust him, she still did.

When he mentioned that they wouldn't see each other as much anymore now that their deal was done, Freya caught herself being sad about it. It was audible in her voice, even! What was wrong with her? "Yes, I suppose you are right. It has been a pleasure to get to know you, Harol." She said. Why was she being sad about not seeing him anymore? She was never sad about anyone, never really got close enough to people to feel sad for them. The last time she had been sad because of someone was years ago, but that was an entirely different thing... Was it? Of course it was, back then she had been really grieving, crying even over the loss of the person she loved, and now, that wasn't the case. But then again, nobody was dying right now.

Unconsciously, the rogue started comparing the two men to each other. They seemed nothing like each other. Matthew had been a merc, Harol was a warlock. One used weapons, the other relied on magic. One had been ordered to kill her when they first met, the other had requested her protection. One was dead, the other very much alive. And... that was about it. Both of them were good at what they did, rather serious and very handsome.

Soon enough, Freya stopped her trail of thoughts, shocked by herself, and was glad for her veil, as it covered the blush that was on her cheeks. Comparing her supposed husband to Harol? What on earth did she think she was doing?! This was ridiculous! There was not a single reason why she should be comparing the two of them to each other! She let out a frustrated sigh and pushed the thoughts aside.

"Three, huh?" Harol tilted his head upon asking this confirming question. He really did not expect an answer if this was in fact the correct way to have heard it, and it seemed to be so. She was selective, that was for certain. Had to be with a life like that though, that was something that had been very evident in the past few days. It made Harol think how many people he had trusted... and how many of them had actually survived the so called "cleansing" ordered by the king? It was not yet time to mourn a potential loss, but Harol couldn't help but feel sad about the incident. The smile on his face faded bcak to a neutral expression, but it was quick to return as Freya told him that she had found their brief companionship a pleasant time as well... or at the very least Harol did interpret her words as such.

That led him into thinking: If she had enjoyed his company... and there was something different in her voice too now... Harol couldn't quite place his finger on it... but it could be that he had been one of the three she had ever trusted. Quite the accomplishment for a random stranger... at least that was what he was to her when they first met, and it has really not been that long since that. A little over the time it takes for the sun to set and rise again to the same place high in the skies. All this was however assuming that he was on that list of three people, and that was not certain.

"But who actually says we won't see each other for now anyway? We are around the same building I assume, so running into each other should not be an impossibility", Harol pointed out. He did not know how long Freya would enjoy the hospitality of house Clasz, but he assumed she would not leave just immediately. Before Harol had the chance to continue from this, the lock of the door made an audible click, and then the door was shaked, as if to confirm it had locked itself. Harol's heart jumped and he was about to reach for his staff and lantern, but then he could hear a voice saying: "Oh, it was open after all..." and a key rattling in the lock once more. Soon enough another click could be heard, the key was pulled out and the door opened. Two young female servants were behind the door, the other looked something around the age of Cyrus, while the other was most certainly only a child. The child was carrying a bunch of cloth, while the older one had several pouches on her belt.

"Oh... well we found them!" the older one said and then turned to Freya and Harol: "Please excuse the intruding, we were simply seeking miss... uhh... ehh..." she stammered, evidently unable to remember Freya's name. Harol laughed out loud: She was kind of cute, and this situation just seemed so far off from having to escape for his life. He simply couldn't help but let the light heartedness of the situation to make him laugh. "Well I trust you found her, because you would remember the name if it was anyone who lived here I trust", Harol replied after managing to pull himself together. He then glanced at Freya's wounded hand, it would be treated properly. It was something that made Harol feel good about himself: He had suggested this, even if Freya could have done it herself... but also it was thanks to him that she even got said wound. He had to make it right somehow, now didn't he?

"Yes, three people, which I suppose have never met each other before in their lives, as I met them all during different moments in my life. One of those three, however, is no longer alive." Freya answered Harol's question, sitting down as she pushed the thoughts from just a moments ago away. There were other things she could think about, important things rather than comparing two men to each other. What kind of use would that be, anyway? It wouldn't get her anywhere at all.

Hearing what Harol said next caused the rogue to cheer up a little, although she wasn't even sure why. Yes, she had been sad about the fact that they likely wouldn't see each other anymore, and hearing they would probably still get to see each other every now and then was nice, but still, she found it difficult to understand why she actually liked to be around the warlock so much. Normally spoken she hated people, and not just a few people or such. No, when she said that, she was actually talking about what had to be nearly everyone she had ever met in her life, excluding her supposed husband and now Harol. She even hated her own mother, for crying out loud! And her husband was different, he had been a very special, important person to her, unlike everyone else. But what on earth was so special about Harol, was something Freya failed to realize.

"Yes I suppose you are right, we might just run into each other while we are both here." She said, and soon after, the two girls opened the door, and when the older one of the two failed to remember Freya's name, she wasn't exactly surprised. After all, Freya did her best to hide her identity to make it harder to catch her, and apparently she was doing a good job at that. Either that, or she just wasn't known in this part of the country. "Freya. My name is Freya." The rogue said to the older woman, looking at her.

Harol moved his eyes between Freya to the two servants for a moment whilst following their conversation, but then turned his attention to his pile of belongings and grabbed the staff he had instinctively reached out for before. "Well, as I am most definitely not needed in the upcoming treating of my friend's arm, I think I'll just head for the library. There was something that caught my eye down there. I trust you all can direct people my way if anyone comes looking for me? I'll be right back here once I'm done!" And with that, he was already on his way back to where they had originally met lord Mortimer for a brief moment, staff making the clinking noise it always did as the rings kept bobbing in the "horns" of the staff.

As he had entered the hallway and closed the door behind him, he let out a sigh. He wondered if he had gone too far calling Freya a friend, but really, he had just been in a hurry to get out before the wound was to be taken out from it's bandaging. He hated to see blood, and Freya only got this wound thanks to him... Harol would rather just forget about the thing existing. Promptly continuing his walk towards the library he said he was going to visit (and his staff announcing it at least halfway through the hallway), Harol wished the book really was as interesting as it had first seemed to be. However, he did not quite make it all the way to the library before somebody called out for him just as he was heading into the stairs. "Sir Harol! Please wait!" Harol did not recognise the voice, but soon another more familiar one could be heard "Oh, we found him already? Good!" The latter voice was of no other than lord Mortimer. Well it did make sense: the servants were scheduled to arrive after Mortimer's eyes had been treated. "I had something to show you Harol. Come to the library with me, will you?"

It was a quicker walk with lord Mortimer actually knowing where he was going (with the added benefit of a servant with a working pair of eyes making sure he didn't collide with anything) than Harol could've done alone, and they were quickly back in the big library. "I think I did let Cyrus show you to your rooms if my eyes were to act up... yes, I did. Not his fault we had to take that little detour. Anyway, I left a book around the table here... Harol, you've got eyes, please fetch it for us and open it where the mark is placed", Mortimer instructed, and Harol did as told. It was, after all, what he had planned to do here anyway. "You see... The Arkdal bloodline does indeed utilize a certain birthrite... they don't tell it to their young at first, as they might rebel against the thought... they are usually told as they finish their studies and are comfortable with how they are... but now, I trust you deserve to know, Harol. Read as much as you'd like, and ask away if needed... for you have always carried the blessing, or curse, depends... of the Eldritchian Battery."

Harol found it hard to believe his ears. What was this all out of a sudden? He swallowed air and slowly opened the book where he had opened it once before, to see the now familiar words: Eldritchian battery, a.k.a. Surgeflow ritual. Another empty gulp followed as his eyes scanned over the first section:
The effects
The Eldritchian battery is to be performed onto a human in their first week, for anything after that will not let their body accustom to the sheer flow of magic the ritual will bring, and will usually render them unable to cast a thing for their lives if performed late. Nevertheless, a properly performed Surgeflow Ritual can, and will greatly amplify the magical prowess of a mage, but on the other hand renders them completely and utterly unable to cast spells of lesser nature, thanks to the sheer overflow of power being absolutely choked in an attempt to produce a weaker spell. Such chokes have also been deemed detrimental to a mage's health[186]
Harol couldn't believe his eyes. Had... had this been... what... ho... I... But all he could muster to as was: "What is this number here?" "It points to a more detailed part on the matter addressed in the end of the book", Mortimer answered. "I can see you find this all hard to swallow. I will give you all the time you need." Harol almost sobbed, but managed to keep the tears within his eyes, and read on. After all, he needed to know.

Freya nodded, but didn't say anything when Harol left the room, although being rather surprised that he called her a friend. She didn't known him for even two days so far, yet he apparently already considered her a friend. Now, in any other situation, she would've considered such a thing foolish, to call someone one barely knew a friend. After all, people rarely bothered to wonder if they hurt another when they stabbed each other in the back, figuratively spoken. But this felt different... maybe it was because nobody had ever called Freya their friend before, or because she actually liked the warlock, but she didn't mind him calling her a friend. Actually, the fact that he trusted her enough to considered her a friend managed to flatter her, almost made her feel happy about it. Letting out a sigh, Freya again wondered what was wrong with her, though believing that the aid of the healers wouldn't quite be able to fix whatever was wrong with her.

Freya's thoughts were interrupted when she felt someone touching her arms, quickly pulling it back and reaching for a dagger, until she realised what was currently going on. The healers were there to help her. "My apologies. I haven't been used to physical contact for a long while." Freya apologised, looking at them. The woman nodded as to show she understood, before continuing to undo the bandage from the rogue's arms, revealing the long, deep wound she had gained last day, during the happening on the bridge.

"That's quite a nasty looking wound you got." The healer said, at which Freya simply shrugged. "Things like that just happen when you're a rogue. Besides, it's not like I haven't been through worse." She answered, looking at the healer.

Harol placed his finger onto the page he was reading and flipped the pages to the end of the book where he consulted the reference number 186. It simply stated No solid proof on the matter has been concluded thus far, but theories point to the direction of magic potentially harming the flesh if tried to drive through in a flow too slow for the volume. Refer to the book Collection of magical theories, vol 2, gathered by yours truly. Flipping the pages back to where he was reading earlier, he muttered "Well that was not exactly very informative", and returned to the text where he had left:

but as is evident by the upcoming section Bloodlines commonly utilizing the rite, this is usually not a problem. Nevertheless, while Eldritchian battery does indeed lock one out of the lower spectrum of spells, the mages are compensated with access to spells and ordinary fireball flicker can only dream of, such as Rooftrellen's complete grimoire, and even the dreaded incantations of the school of Demonology, Eredar's New Moon.
The ritual in itself

Harol did not bother reading through said section, nor was he interested in the history of it, he skipped straight to the aforementioned "Bloodlines commonly utilizing the rite" section, and the very first sentence made him raise his eyebrow: As is evident by the lack of an actually coherent The ritual in itself section - Harol quickly headed back to see what this was about. And indeed, the section merely excused itself for not knowing how the ritual was performed. No wonder it was so short! He then returned to the text about the houses that used it, and the message was simple: The House Arkdal was the only one to openly utilize the rite, and they were most likely the only family that really knew how the ritual was performed in the first place. The author of the book had asked about the specifics, but had politely been denied access to the secrets. Most likely it was for the better. Not all families might be as devoted to merely studying the art.

"So... my family only raises mages of mass-destruction because of this? Because we are all bound to that as soon as we are born? Why did they not - !" Harol was about to start a rant, but was stopped by lord Mortimer: "Now, they would have told you. Eventually. Not bluntly like this though. They start leaving hints around, more obscure at the first, but becoming more and more to the point as time goes by. The more curious sort gets them first, as it should be. But everyone finds out at some point, asks about it, and has it confirmed. I am very sorry I simply threw it at you, but it was all I could do." Harol swallowed once again. While he did not exactly react the best to the news he had received, the old man was right. He had needed to know why, and given his family was now who knew where, this was the way that made sure he got it. "Very well. Please excuse my temper." "No offence taken. Now, I do believe you might want to take a while to adjust. Tell you what, you may bring that book out of the library with you. It is usually prohibited, especially with tomes of such value, but you will need the time, I am certain. And you will be seeing me in the coming days, so your questions will not be left to dwell." "I will do just so. Many thanks", Harol said, still fighting back his conflicted feelings of dwelling frustration, odd feeling of relief, anger, and somehow Freya was in his thoughts just as well. Grabbing his staff, he started his return to the room, the familiar clinking accompanying his steps.

The rest of the time the healer needed was spent in silence, which Freya certainly didn't mind. She wasn't that much of a talker anyway. After all, as a rogue, she had taught herself to hide, pickpocket and to stay out of the hands of the guards. Keeping those things in mind, Freya always found that being silent suited these things the best, and had taught herself to do so. Throughout the years, the lack of words had simply became something normal to her, no longer considering to talk unless there was a need to, or pleasant company to talk with. Lately she had had Harol's company, which she found exceptionally pleasant, yet she enjoyed it more to listen to him talking than actually talking herself. And with the healer being a complete stranger to her, Freya didn't see how or why she should try to start up a conversation with her.

During the silence Freya found her mind wandering off again, this time causing her to think of the happening that caused her wound: the ambush at the bridge. Harol and she had done quite a good job back at the bridge, if she could say so herself. Though Freya had to admit that she wasn't particularly proud of what she had done. Of course, the two of them had acted out of self defence, as the guards would've caught and probably had the two of them sentenced to death or at the very least prison if they didn't, but still... those men, the ones they had killed, had a families, a mother and father, maybe a sibling, loving them and caring for them. There were without a doubt married men between them too, and maybe some even had children. Now, those families, wives and children would never see their beloved one again. The wives were widows that would have to explain to their children why daddy wouldn't be coming home again. Those families would be grieving for the death of their son, husband and father, who had been killed for following the king's orders and attacking Freya and Harol. And Freya felt awful for what she had done. Not that she hadn't ever killed someone before, but that was something entirely different. Before, it was personal, and the guards she killed back then hadn't been innocent. No, the man had murdered her husband, claiming when Freya held a knife against his throat, that he enjoyed the act of killing her husband, but wished that the moment had lasted longer. That man had deserved to die.

Once again Freya's thoughts were interrupted, this time by Harol entering the room again, just a moment after her wound had been bandaged, though more properly this time. The healer and the younger one got up and left the room again, no more need for them to be there anymore.

Harol returned to the room, clutching Paw's tome against his chest, and somewhat hunched over. His eyes stared blankly in front of him, but it could be seen from his movement that he knew exactly which way he was heading, and from the movement of his mouth, one could tell he was pondering something. He stepped to the side and did let the servants out before turning around to close the door behind him. He then straight up walked to the bed and gently placed the book down, and proceeded to sigh. "Now, you might wonder what on earth is on my mind", Harol said, now standing upright with his other hand stroking his family tattoo while the other was clutching his opposite side. "This book. It... told me something. Things make more sense now. Why I never learnt to throw a simple fireball. Why I never could throw a spark of lightning... It is all written here."

Harol scratched right below his left eye and sat down next to the book, now moving on to scratch his neck for a moment before setting his arms onto his lap. "So... I might need a moment to adjust to this knowledge. If you are interested in knowing what it is, I can read it for you... or you can do it yourself, whatever goes..." Harol truly needed some time to think about this, but just as well he would like to get his thoughts off it for a moment. He was unsure which one of the needs he would give in to. Now turning his head to look at Freya, he remembered something from last night: "By the way... you are wearing your veil here. Last night when I said you might still do it... you were offended. Just came to my mind, that one, probably not even worth the mention I gave it." Although Harol certainly would not object to her taking it off, it was always more pleasant to talk with a person when you could see their face.

"I have never learned how to read. But if you want me to know, you could read it to me." Freya said, looking at the book for a moment. Whatever it was about, it seemed to keep Harol thinking, but she would only want to hear of it if Harol was good with that. It seemed to be rather personal, after all, he hadn't asked her anything personal neither so far, and she felt like she should return the favour. With that, she wasn't even sure if he wanted to talk about it in the first place. By the looks of it, it seemed more like he should better give it some thought first. Then again, maybe talking about it worked better for him.

When he mentioned her veil, she realised she still had it on. Considering the fact they were alone anyway, she took off her veil and hood, revealing her face so that he could at least see her face properly. "I only take off my hood and veil when I feel safe around the people whose company I have." She answered, looking at Harol. She wasn't exactly sure why she had to say that just after taking those two things off while he was around, but at the same time, it was true. He may be a warlock, but had also asked her help and was wanted like her, so what reason did he have to harm her, even though their deal was done?

Looking at her arm, Freya realised once again that Harol was different from other people to her, in a good way, though she wasn't sure how or why. One thing was for certain, and that was that she was willing to do a lot more for him then she would do for most people. Not only had she been loyal to him rather than abandoning him at the bridge, she had also brought herself in possible trouble by doing so. She had gotten a nasty wound because of it, but that was nothing compared to what could've happened. She could've been caught if they lost the battle, or could've gotten herself killed by one of their attackers during the battle. She had just done so, and Freya started to feel like that her reason to do so hadn't been this sanctuary he promised her, like she had thought first. Although she was clueless as to why she had done so, if that were true.

Harol listened to Freya tell him she did not know how to read. Harol's eyes somewhat widened upon hearing it, but then they returned to the usual size. Yes indeed, rich and influential families could easily teach each and every single one that belonged to the group or served it to read, but that was not so easy for the peasants and especially not so for the wanted outlaws. Harol did not know how much there was behind Freya that kept people wanting to turn her in, but it was surely enough to deter her from learning to read. "Of course, how foolish of me not to remember the possibility. Well I think it will help me deal with it if I can discuss this with someone that has the understanding of the matter, so I'll tell you briefly..."

Harol flipped through the pages to the part where Eldritchian Battery was discussed, and quickly checked if Freya was ready to listen. She was in the process of taking off her hood and veil, so Harol decided to wait before starting, and was rewarded with quite a relieving bit of information: He was a person this wandering rogue found "safe". At the very least that would tell him he did not have to fear a dagger into his back. Most likely. She could mean that Harol was not a threat and thus she would be safe but that was not very likely. Harol formed a little smile as he could once again see his travelling companion better.

"But now...", he began, "the thing. Yes. You see, us in the Arkdal family... we do learn powerful spells that most mages are unable to cast. Their magical prowess is just not enough. But we are no different from them, as in, we are all still humans. How is this possible? Well here is the solution: The Surgeflow ritual!" Harol deliberately chose to use the more common folk-ish version of the name, as Eldritchian Battery really would not sounds as impressive to a non-educated person. "The mages of House Arkdal are thus granted a greater flow of magical power through them, so the maximum magnitude of their spells soars. This has to be done at young age so the body learns to adapt to such amounts instead of choking the flow. Which is also why lesser spells are impossible to us: The great flow will choke if attempting to extract just little amounts of might." Harol took a deep breath at this point and then slowly closed the book. "Now that was not exactly word-to-word, not that you wouldn't have understood, but it helps if I am able to put it 'in my own words'. Just imagine how crazy this sounds now that I've found out? It adds up, it does so perfectly! It is just... it makes me think differently on things." Harol could not really find a good way to express his state of confusion, so he simply chose to turn his head facing the rogue. He wondered what she thought of this.

Harol seemed to be surprised that she couldn't read at first, but she supposed that was only normal for him. After all, he grew up in what was possibly a wealthy house with proper education, the same counting for majority of the people he knew. It was likely nothing but normal to him that one knew how to read. To Freya, it wasn't that normal. She grew up with a mother who hadn't even wanted her in the first place, let alone that the woman would care for her any more than just making sure she was still living. When she became a rogue, learning how to read simply didn't seem necessary for the kind of life she chose for herself, and even if she wanted to learn how to read, it would be quite difficult, considering that finding someone who would help a criminal, and later in a murderer, would be difficult already in the first place. And that would only be finding someone to tutor her...

She listened to what Harol said, explaining it to her in such a way that she could actually understand it. Somehow she just couldn't think of it as anything other than wrong. Performing such a ritual on a child merely with the intention to make said child a more powerful mage later on was no good way to treat a child. Or at least, in her eyes but wasn't. Those children weren't even given a chance to do something else with their lives but to become mages capable of destroying things, the life was just forced onto them.

"So what you are saying is that the house of Arkdal just forces the life of a powerful mage upon their children, before said children are even old enough to understand what is being done to them? That is just wrong." Freya said, after a moment of silence. Maybe she was in no position to judge, not knowing why they did so and not knowing how things worked in the house of Arkdal, but still, she just couldn't help but think that it was wrong.

Harol listened to Freya's argument, and could find himself agreeing to some degree. However, he did not feel like she was completely right, as he had always deemed his life as it should be: He liked being what he was, be it that it led to some kinds of trouble... And he knew the background of his family, so he could correct some of the misunderstanding here: "Well... you could put it like that. Thing is, the family has been like that for... I don't actually remember... well, for a good while, and it is not impossible to turn your back to the life of a mage. If one decides not to pursue the path of magic, they will find something else to do. The house will not turn their backs on them, but the amount of support will be different... not that vastly but it becomes more difficult to look after a family member when they live away from the others. So it is not completely forced, even if it locks one out of the life of a lesser mage. Not that I'd ever seen anyone want to be one. We are unique as the only house studying magics like that."

Harol had told his view of the situation. Wait, that was not correct! All he had done was defend the choices of his family, and somewhat swiped past his own interests. "I had a cousin who worked for the king's army as a knight. I do not know if he is still alive or if he was executed like many others who bore the name. We did send him a letter telling we were going to speak up, and he said he would stand his ground with the king, although he still agreed what we were doing was the right thing to be done. Indeed, he lived, or lives, a life different from the rest of us, even with the same ritual upon him. So it is not just black and white like that. Most of us stay though", Harol went through another monologue. He was unsure if he was simply drowning Freya in a stream of his opinions, so he decided to keep his mouth shut for a moment, seeing if she had anything to add.

However his mouth being shut did not exactly stop his thoughts from wandering free. He placed the fingertips of his right hand onto the family tattoo and couldn't help but wonder if his family really was only repeating the old mistake of Ishul'Shog, if they were only hogging the power... but it was unlikely. After all, the Arkdal family strived to research the magic, not to actually utilize it as he had had to in the late days. And that was why they were in danger: Because they intended no harm. Ishul'Shog had taught them well on this.

Freya listened to what Harol said, then sighed. "All I'm hearing you say right now, are things to defend your family, but not your opinion on the matter, which is the most important thing. After all, you are the one who has to learn with this information you received." She said, before taking off her belt with daggers and putting it aside. The way Harol explained things it didn't seem all that bad, on a second thought, but she still couldn't help but disagree about it. Then again, it wasn't something she would have to deal with anyway, only listen to what Harol wanted to say and talk with him about it, as long he needed. She didn't mind at all, it could help him and she had nothing better to do anyway.

Which reminded her, she would have to make sure she would still train enough, even if she wasn't sure how. She could certainly not practice her pickpocketing on the members of the house, but maybe she could ask a guard to train with her, as long she would just make sure not to kill or hurt her trainings partner. But that shouldn't be a problem, she supposed. But she would have to make sure to wait until her arm would be okay again, which didn't sound as great to her.

Freya soon pushed the thoughts away again, considering it a worry for later. Now she would just listen and talk with Harol, if that was what he wanted or needed. If that would help him, than she would do so gladly. For some reason she couldn't explain, it seemed important to her that he felt okay.

"Well, it... I... I think I just agree with the way my family does things. Even given the fact I had no say in it when it happened. I don't see that being wrong... although I kind of do... but not all that much. Yeah, I mostly agree. It is hard putting it into words", Harol explained himself, or at least made a crude attempt in doing so. He noticed that Freya had placed her daggers aside, but did not pay all that much attention to it. Instead he extended both of his arms before him and stretched his shoulders while yawning under his breath (that meant he closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath more or less through his teeth). "But I'm sure I'll figure how to put it soon. It surprised me but I'll live with it. I've done so for quite a few years already have I not?"

Harol shifted a bit farther away from Freya and fell on his back, now stretching with his hands extended beyond his head, and then moved them behind his neck. "It will all come together eventually. There is no use wondering how things could be for me had this ritual not taken place. I'm content as is. I'll need to think about it on a larger scale, but now I'm feeling fine. Helps when you can talk about it with someone, so thanks for lending an ear." Harol rubbed the tattooless side of his face with his other hand and then placed it back behind his neck. He had said what he had to say on the subject.

But then again, what would he do now? He most likely should now focus on getting his opinion on this full matter clear, but then again focusing one's thoughts on something puzzling was not always the solution. Most often he had figured out problems when doing completely unrelated tasks and letting his thoughts wander free... he also should really continue studying, given his gift since birth permitted him to do it. Hell, if nobody else from the house Arkdal had survived, he might just as well be the last mage of such capability... after all, even if he found someone who would have a child with him, he would not know how the ritual was done. Now was not exactly the correct time to be thinking about procreation though, that could be a matter of importance after this whole crisis with the king was over. Now he had to have his hopes on surviving to the next day.