Mazone oozed comfort. Sure, he was in a foreign land--and he heard all the stories about how foreign folks are proverbially 'eaten alive' by townsfolk, but he wasn't too worried. He figured he could handle three or four rabble-rousers without a problem. At least he hoped he could. No medical insurance meant a whole lot of doctor's bills and probably some borrowing of money from some unsavory folks that he wouldn't be able to pay back in time. These kinds of things often lead to broken fingers, and how could he use his beloved swords if he had no thumbs?

"Well. There are rules: bow in the presence of a lord or lady; "Yes, m'lord", "No, m'lord." Military children like myself never [i]dreamt[/i] of making friends with the king or queen's son. Sure, we were invited to the balls and treated like nobility, but that was only because our fathers had likely done a few favors for the kings--or even some upstart noble who thought she had claim to a royal seat--either way, we were a different kind of nobility. We weren't considered noble because of our birthright or our heritage, but because of our service. Once our usefulness to a certain king or queen was up, we were gone too. Most of 'noble' life is standing around at fancy balls talking pleasantries with someone who is likely to betray you once an opportunity comes. It makes one weary over time. My father grew old and shriveled before he was 50--his vigor, his youth, all stripped from him. I didn't want to live like that, so I left."

[@Yomojo]