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Summary
It’s not as if Anders enjoys getting flushed out of Darktown like a fox from ill-fated Orlesian soil, but when the Templars come sniffing around the clinic doorstep, toughing it out seems a foolhardy venture. There’s a time for standing one’s ground, after all, and a time for careering hot-heeled towards Hightown and hoping the ever-elusive scent of rebel mage has faded somewhere behind in the festering chokedamp.
