[ Here are the people that Marcus has had any measure of authority over: wayward apprentices, aged between eight through sixteen, who think learning the alphabet is boring. Enchanters for whom he fielded complaints, protected from consequence, offered advice. Packs of frightened Circle mages, on the battlefield, or hidden in the wilderness, or starving and scared.
Never: men and women who wear plate when they aren't in his office, have operated in any formal militaristic hierarchy, do not passionately hold similar grievances and desires and care naught for his own.
But he's satisfied when Redvers closes the door, the quiet click of it. Whatever occurs next—
Well, Marcus remains standing, at a partial lean against the back of his chair, hands braced and arms straight. He continues. ]
Who of the Order and the Chantry do you keep in contact with, while you're here?
no subject
Never: men and women who wear plate when they aren't in his office, have operated in any formal militaristic hierarchy, do not passionately hold similar grievances and desires and care naught for his own.
But he's satisfied when Redvers closes the door, the quiet click of it. Whatever occurs next—
Well, Marcus remains standing, at a partial lean against the back of his chair, hands braced and arms straight. He continues. ]
Who of the Order and the Chantry do you keep in contact with, while you're here?