[ Poised in place, as if uncertain, Sabine tugs her hood off and shakes her hair loose of it. They've never traded words, but they've both established their places in the Inquisition, and Sabine in particular can be fairly omnipresent when she wants to be, in the way that servants are, for all that she is not one anymore. (She is also the elf that Martel manhandled into dancing with, that one time, by the fire, but she would hope no one remembers her for that.)
Sabine isn't lacking in context either. Adelaide is a Councilor, a mage, born of nobility, Orlesian nobility, and these are the things Sabine knows. She doesn't know estrangement, the disconnect that noble mages experiences.
Her stare is frank and assessing and distrustful. But she sits. And says; ]
action.
Sabine isn't lacking in context either. Adelaide is a Councilor, a mage, born of nobility, Orlesian nobility, and these are the things Sabine knows. She doesn't know estrangement, the disconnect that noble mages experiences.
Her stare is frank and assessing and distrustful. But she sits. And says; ]
S'il vous plaît.