The door behind Ellis is closed, assurance of his welcome enough to draw him inward.
Not enough though, to see him occupying the seat across from Marcus. When he steps up to the desk, it's to place a smaller, hand-drawn map of Thedas. Ellis puts a finger over the mountain range in the top left corner, tapping there before straightening.
"I intend to fly north again, and seek Grey Wardens in the Hunterhorns," he explains. "The Commander has given me leave to take Riftwatch members of my choosing along to aide in the search."
Marcus pauses, then leans forwards in his chair. How many of them have stared at these maps for too long, knowing exactly the shifting lines of enemy territory, how long it takes a griffon to fly from here to there, the locations of their eluvians? He can do that math quicker than getting through a page of reports, certainly.
"Sit," he says, brusque but not impatient, without looking up, reaching to tap ash into ashtray. The implication is obvious. He still has questions. "What's known of them?"
There are some questions Marcus doesn't need to ask, not right now. How well does Ellis know the area, how receptive are these Wardens to being found. They're not unimportant questions, but the answers will emerge in due course.
Silent, as he closes the loop for himself on a few of them, taking another breath of smoke before asking, "Are you trying for their cooperation?"
In whatever form it may take. Whatever they may be willing to give.
There is a reason Ellis is bringing members of Riftwatch along with him.
"I would like to know what their intentions are," is a slight expansion. It is a long way to go for a better understanding of their position, but the potential boon of contact has received the Commander's blessing.
Marcus looks to the map again. He's an able griffon rider who has been made aware that his own diplomatic skills are lacking. There is generally a chance of his name carrying an implicit threat, perhaps even with far flung Grey Wardens. There is no reason for any famous tempers to be brought to bear against them, but his skillset runs rough, at the best of times.
Well. No need to speculate. "Why do you want me there?" is blunt. There are other people he can fish for compliments from.
Does the question offend? No. Ellis' expression doesn't shift, no new tension winds through his body. If anything, it eases the set of his jaw, draws a breath out of him as he settles into his answer.
"I believe we work well together."
All his training, all his travels, has instilled a healthy appreciation in Ellis for a mage capable of slinging spells over his shoulder without obliterating him.
"And I think you understand the importance of discretion."
The latter arguably more important, to Ellis' thinking.
So it isn't that anyone may need to be pushed in lava.
Or at least, it's not greatly high up on the list, deadliness for its own sake and that being all. He wouldn't have begrudged it.
It is an answer Marcus can appreciate, though, no sense of surprise or doubt in it, quietly absorbing as he thinks it over. Privately, perhaps there is satisfaction in being specifically drawn into a task that is not because there is something in need of killing. Not his first, but rare enough.
Should he press the point? The impulse comes and goes, eased by the very thing that had decided Marcus in the first place.
He is a man who knows how to keep a thing secret. How to keep a thing protected in doing so. Ellis doesn't think he need to press further than he has to make the need for it clear to Marcus.
The boundaries of secret-keeping may need to be made clearer, but for now, logistics and timing seem more pertinent to him, a map spread between. And also—
Well, no Templars might have been too good to be true. He gives nothing away that indicates displeasure when Orlov is mentioned, and seems to think a little harder on what he knows of Strange (nothing) and Abby (nothing objectionable).
It's an interesting assemblage. Three particularly taciturn men of this world, and three rifters. If there is some ulterior meaning to it, it's nothing that Marcus lands on quickly save that it strikes him. Discretion.
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no subject
Not enough though, to see him occupying the seat across from Marcus. When he steps up to the desk, it's to place a smaller, hand-drawn map of Thedas. Ellis puts a finger over the mountain range in the top left corner, tapping there before straightening.
"I intend to fly north again, and seek Grey Wardens in the Hunterhorns," he explains. "The Commander has given me leave to take Riftwatch members of my choosing along to aide in the search."
And here he is. The implication is obvious.
no subject
"Sit," he says, brusque but not impatient, without looking up, reaching to tap ash into ashtray. The implication is obvious. He still has questions. "What's known of them?"
no subject
"They defected. They disagree with the Order's trajectory. I heard rumors of it last winter, but few would speak openly."
A tip of his head toward the map, though Marcus hardly needs instruction.
"I believe they are in the Hunterhorns. And I've an idea of where I might make camp, were I traveling through."
no subject
Silent, as he closes the loop for himself on a few of them, taking another breath of smoke before asking, "Are you trying for their cooperation?"
no subject
In whatever form it may take. Whatever they may be willing to give.
There is a reason Ellis is bringing members of Riftwatch along with him.
"I would like to know what their intentions are," is a slight expansion. It is a long way to go for a better understanding of their position, but the potential boon of contact has received the Commander's blessing.
no subject
Marcus looks to the map again. He's an able griffon rider who has been made aware that his own diplomatic skills are lacking. There is generally a chance of his name carrying an implicit threat, perhaps even with far flung Grey Wardens. There is no reason for any famous tempers to be brought to bear against them, but his skillset runs rough, at the best of times.
Well. No need to speculate. "Why do you want me there?" is blunt. There are other people he can fish for compliments from.
no subject
Does the question offend? No. Ellis' expression doesn't shift, no new tension winds through his body. If anything, it eases the set of his jaw, draws a breath out of him as he settles into his answer.
"I believe we work well together."
All his training, all his travels, has instilled a healthy appreciation in Ellis for a mage capable of slinging spells over his shoulder without obliterating him.
"And I think you understand the importance of discretion."
The latter arguably more important, to Ellis' thinking.
no subject
Or at least, it's not greatly high up on the list, deadliness for its own sake and that being all. He wouldn't have begrudged it.
It is an answer Marcus can appreciate, though, no sense of surprise or doubt in it, quietly absorbing as he thinks it over. Privately, perhaps there is satisfaction in being specifically drawn into a task that is not because there is something in need of killing. Not his first, but rare enough.
"Alright," he says. "Soon?"
no subject
Should he press the point? The impulse comes and goes, eased by the very thing that had decided Marcus in the first place.
He is a man who knows how to keep a thing secret. How to keep a thing protected in doing so. Ellis doesn't think he need to press further than he has to make the need for it clear to Marcus.
"I mean to speak to the others today."
no subject
"Who else?"
no subject
A smooth recitation, without any sign of trepidation over this assembly.
no subject
It's an interesting assemblage. Three particularly taciturn men of this world, and three rifters. If there is some ulterior meaning to it, it's nothing that Marcus lands on quickly save that it strikes him. Discretion.
He nods.
no subject
"Thank you."
Which is followed by Ellis rising to his feet, clearly considering this business concluded.
"I will send word when the time comes to leave."