More:
Morris had a surname once, but he's not sure even he remembers it. When he was a small child, his parents dropped him off at a shrine to a martyr known for her charity toward children and never came back, perhaps thinking they had his best interests at heart. Inertia and a general lack of interest kept him from going anywhere else, but he somehow managed to be come a well-respected cleric of the order. His did work with Harvus Norheim for a brief stint in his youth -- assigned to a purification that didn't go exactly as planned -- but he's been at the shrine ever since.

Sample:
He was on his second cup of coffee when he felt a chill rattle down his spine, an unfortunately familiar aftershock of released energy. It was with very little surprise he set his cup down a few seconds later at a chime from the one piece of frippery he'd allowed himself, a small hand mirror.

"Well, Norvus, want to tell me what that was?" he said, tapping the glass in a brief tattoo.

"You know exactly what it was, Morris," was the immediate, testy response. "I haven't the time for clever games today -- Liev is on her way, along with a useless freelancer. Perhaps you'll find a use for him, but all he did for me was unleash a potential disaster."

Morris grinned. "Oh, so it's Tommy, then? He's not so bad."

Norvus made a disgusted noise.

The cleric couldn't help but chuckle, shaking his head. "What's our timetable?"

"I'm holding it off as best as I can, but it's ravenous after two and a half decades. I'd give it a week before it chews through my defenses." He paused. "And I'd really rather it didn't chew through my defenses."

The last of Morris' levity faded as he heard the sudden strain in the old wizard's voice. "That's serious. Should I ride out to meet them?"

"It shouldn't be necessary. They'll be there in half a day taking the road, and the freelancer said he knew a shortcut."

"All right." He drummed his fingers on the desk, frowning . "I'll get my things together and call for backup."

"Backup? Who precisely do we have for backup?"

"Unlike certain hermits, my station as a cleric of St. Murine lends me a vast array networking opportunities." He tugged open a drawer and started to fish through a pile of notes and papers.

"Didn't I say I haven't got time for games?"

"Ah, here it is." He unfolded a paper in a pale shade of pink and scented -- he sniffed -- with primrose. "The Lady Etteline offered the services of her court wizard in any dispute I felt warranted his assistance -- I suppose this isn't a dispute, exactly, but I imagine it warrants his assistance."

"Etteline? Isn't -- gods above, Morris, are you talking about Davies?"

"Oh, you know him?" Morris was fairly certain his innocent smile wasn't fooling anybody -- even if anybody was there to see it.

Harvus swore at him, but there didn't seem to be much energy in it. "Well, if he's what we've got, so be it. We'll need all the help we can get."

"Then I'll send word immediately."

The old wizard didn't answer before another chime signaled the end of the conversation.

His smile faded. Things must be worse than he thought if Harvus hadn't spent at least five minutes arguing with him. He reached for an old coat and set about gathering his supplies.