"Someone wants to kill you?" Laresa asked Marwyn the Magic Master curiously.
"They tried, but they failed. How could those timid, cowardly Grey Sheep roar as they killed, like warriors? They only slip poison into food or hire killers. I'm like a dockside thug. I'm not someone to cross." Marwyn laughed. He was short and stout, but his chest and shoulders were solid, and he had a round beer belly. Men like that were generally strong, too.
Laresa glanced at Marwyn. He was indeed unusual, without a trace of scholarly refinement. Instead, he looked like a street thug.
Marwyn had a bull's thick neck and a jaw like a slab of stone. Stiff white hairs sprouted from his ears and nostrils. His brow jutted out, his nose had been broken more than once, and sourleaf had stained his teeth a mottled red. He wore a Valyrian steel necklace, signifying profound mastery of magic and the occult.
"The people at the Citadel are that wicked?" Laresa asked in bewilderment.
"In a world ruled by truth, magic and dragons should not exist. That is all I can tell you. Books that do not conform to that truth are probably locked in the cellars. But I think their truth cannot explain the premise. This world itself is chaotic, its seasons unpredictable," Marwyn explained quietly. "That brat Leo Tyrell has a vicious tongue, but he's actually a promising lad. He's seen the truth about the Citadel. A watchdog like me is better off than the pets in their cages."
"Who domesticated these pets?" Laresa asked curiously. "House Hightower?"
"That's hard to say. Perhaps that bunch of hidebound doctors. But the Hightowers aren't necessarily good people either," Marwyn replied.
"What is your surname, exactly?" Laresa asked in confusion.
"In any case, I'm someone unwelcome.