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> SELECTED: “...” The Marshall has not yet bid you speak further. If this is a test of discipline, it is not one you intend to fail. [Hearty]
<span class="mu-i">“...”</span> You bite down on the compulsion to respectfully tell your new superior to back off.
Mikail’s excellent performance above his low birth aside, your squire is your not just your apprentice but your subordinate. Not Marshall Jurand’s. But you suspect it will do more harm than good to voice as much here in breach of the expected discipline.
<span class="mu-i">“...Hmph.”</span> After a brief moment of silence, the Marshall turns and continues marching down the hallway. Putting aside the man’s gruff, even rude, line of questioning for a moment you suspect this was in fact a mere test of sorts. One you have passed by holding your tongue, as the man sees fit to actually address you somewhat conversationally upon arrival at your quarters. <span class="mu-i">“This is the Cantonian Hall, I imagine you’ve been paying attention to the ancient battle honours and pennants that we’ve passed. Before you find yourself too overawed, a millennia of war will do that. It’s been a decade since the Guard have a proper scrap outside of repelling the odd nomad raiders.”</span>
The dining hall of the Cantonion cohort is similar in scale to that of the Norsikaan, albeit smaller. Designed to seat hundreds of men, not thousands. And a great deal tidier, not to mention almost entirely empty at this time of day.
<span class="mu-i">“Check your Rota for when meals are served.”</span> Marshall Jurand grunts. <span class="mu-i">“The meals are passing fare, but tested for poison before every serving. As is the feed in the stables, and one might say that is the more important of the two so far as the Cantonian role in the Guard is concerned.”</span>
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