Hand over jaw, Cedric runs through all the heresies he can name: Empty Ones, Blades, Disciples. Masked Andraste, and that always seemed a tall tale,
Tastes more political. Political, and unsanctioned - folks in the March got opinions, plenty he wouldn’t air around here, but the March needs troops. Needs them bad. Sure, someone might take a pot-shot, neglect a helping hand; write off a wound that could’ve been saved. Opportunism.
Not organized like this, premeditated as you've got to be to take on a pack of fucking mages. Maker knows they lost enough men to it. Herian-that-is apologizes, and,
"It's well," It's not. "He’s just looking out for you."
(Must've smelled the lyrium. It's not a secret; it's not the time. Marge might start screeching again any moment, and Gwen looks about to split her jaw. Twelve spikes.)
"Infirmary," He decides. Gallows'll be safer. Herian means something to the people here - but she’s not the only person here. Doesn't need to get uglier. "Serah Amsel, we'll escort you to Riftwatch."
Strict reasoning can't be all of it. There’s something in there, a system. Courtesy, maybe. A code. What're rules, anyway, but a list of expectations? What're orders, but what you find past feeling?
"Let's go. You can come back and thank these folks later," Without shifting his eyes from Guilfoyle, "I’ll see to it."
no subject
Tastes more political. Political, and unsanctioned - folks in the March got opinions, plenty he wouldn’t air around here, but the March needs troops. Needs them bad. Sure, someone might take a pot-shot, neglect a helping hand; write off a wound that could’ve been saved. Opportunism.
Not organized like this, premeditated as you've got to be to take on a pack of fucking mages. Maker knows they lost enough men to it. Herian-that-is apologizes, and,
"It's well," It's not. "He’s just looking out for you."
(Must've smelled the lyrium. It's not a secret; it's not the time. Marge might start screeching again any moment, and Gwen looks about to split her jaw. Twelve spikes.)
"Infirmary," He decides. Gallows'll be safer. Herian means something to the people here - but she’s not the only person here. Doesn't need to get uglier. "Serah Amsel, we'll escort you to Riftwatch."
Strict reasoning can't be all of it. There’s something in there, a system. Courtesy, maybe. A code. What're rules, anyway, but a list of expectations? What're orders, but what you find past feeling?
"Let's go. You can come back and thank these folks later," Without shifting his eyes from Guilfoyle, "I’ll see to it."
Don’t get another bag, he’s already moving.