10-29-2024, 10:18 PM
Sámiel took in the grandeur of the temple. He found the entire structure intriguing, not for its religious significance, but for the sheer spectacle of it all. The Brotherhood's temple was a place built on the bones of another era, repurposed for a different kind of worship, and he could feel the layers of human ambition embedded in its walls, each detail carefully designed to humble and inspire awe. He took in the celestial projections above, the towering statues along the entrance, and the reverent gazes of those around him as if they were actors on a stage. To him, it was all theater, and he was but an amused spectator.
As Quillon guided him through the Hall of Stars, Sámiel listened with a rapt, almost unnerving focus, his gaze transitioning between Quillon as the man spoke of the Brotherhood’s tenets and the others in view. Though he appeared to be listening intently, the intensity of his gaze had a quality that seemed to cut deeper than the words being spoken, as though he were looking past Quillon's explanations, peeling back layers to observe the very essence of what lay beneath. There was a flicker of something in Quillon’s eyes—uncertainty, perhaps even fear—and Sámiel’s lips curved into a faint, unreadable smile, as if greeting an old friend.
The arrival of Seraphis, however, brought a new energy to the room, a disruption that Sámiel found instantly captivating. Her dress flowed like cream, her presence an ethereal contrast to the dark grandeur around them. Sámiel’s eyes flicked over her with an assessing, almost predatory curiosity, noting the meticulous way she had adorned herself to embody both elegance and authority. She was a creature of her environment, crafted to command respect, yet restrained in her gestures, her demeanor calculated and controlled. He liked it.
When she addressed him as a "Seeker," he couldn't suppress the flicker of amusement that hovered in his gaze. The term held a certain poetry, yet it rang hollow to him. He was no "Seeker" in the way she imagined; his presence here was one of curiosity and amusement, a cat wandering into a house of birds.
But Sámiel sensed the subtle shift in Quillon as Seraphis approached. He watched as Quillon’s posture stiffened, the flicker of protectiveness crossing his expression, as if he felt the need to stake his claim on Sámiel in front of the other Veilwarden. This, more than anything, amused him. Authority figures jostling over territory, marking lines in the sand.
"Veilwarden Seraphis,” he murmured, letting her title roll off his tongue with a velvety warmth that belied a subtle challenge. He inclined his head, the gesture both deferential and flirtatious, his eyes lingering on hers with a playful glint. “I must say, I wonder if all those aligned with this Brotherhood are as… singularly impressive as Veilwarden Quillon here.”
His tone was light, teasing, the words straddling the line between sincerity and mischief. He held her gaze, the intensity in his emerald eyes unmistakable as he slowly extended his hand, gesturing toward her ear with the gold leaf.
“Your adornments,” he continued, his hand drawn to her cheek where it hovered without touching, “are exquisite. It’s rare to see someone blend beauty with authority so… effortlessly, and to find two talented souls in the same place, perhaps the Brotherhood draws you to it.”
Seraphis studied him with a slight narrowing of her eyes, as if trying to discern his intent, but Sámiel simply smiled, holding his ground with that same unflinching confidence. He leaned in slightly, close enough for her to catch his scent—something subtle, earthy, with a hint of smoke—before he straightened, letting his gaze wander up to the domed ceiling of the Hall of Stars.
“This temple of yours is quite a spectacle. I must confess, I have a soft spot for the grandeur of devotion. Such passion, such artistry.” His gaze flicked between them, his lips curving into a roguish grin.
The flirtation hung in the air, a daring spark left for Seraphis to catch if she wished. Sámiel watched her, the gleam in his eye daring her to engage, to respond, to let down her guard even slightly. His stance was casual, as if he belonged in this place despite being an outsider. There was no supplication in him, no desire for their approval; he was simply there, intriguing and out of place, but enjoying the game of testing boundaries.
As Quillon guided him through the Hall of Stars, Sámiel listened with a rapt, almost unnerving focus, his gaze transitioning between Quillon as the man spoke of the Brotherhood’s tenets and the others in view. Though he appeared to be listening intently, the intensity of his gaze had a quality that seemed to cut deeper than the words being spoken, as though he were looking past Quillon's explanations, peeling back layers to observe the very essence of what lay beneath. There was a flicker of something in Quillon’s eyes—uncertainty, perhaps even fear—and Sámiel’s lips curved into a faint, unreadable smile, as if greeting an old friend.
The arrival of Seraphis, however, brought a new energy to the room, a disruption that Sámiel found instantly captivating. Her dress flowed like cream, her presence an ethereal contrast to the dark grandeur around them. Sámiel’s eyes flicked over her with an assessing, almost predatory curiosity, noting the meticulous way she had adorned herself to embody both elegance and authority. She was a creature of her environment, crafted to command respect, yet restrained in her gestures, her demeanor calculated and controlled. He liked it.
When she addressed him as a "Seeker," he couldn't suppress the flicker of amusement that hovered in his gaze. The term held a certain poetry, yet it rang hollow to him. He was no "Seeker" in the way she imagined; his presence here was one of curiosity and amusement, a cat wandering into a house of birds.
But Sámiel sensed the subtle shift in Quillon as Seraphis approached. He watched as Quillon’s posture stiffened, the flicker of protectiveness crossing his expression, as if he felt the need to stake his claim on Sámiel in front of the other Veilwarden. This, more than anything, amused him. Authority figures jostling over territory, marking lines in the sand.
"Veilwarden Seraphis,” he murmured, letting her title roll off his tongue with a velvety warmth that belied a subtle challenge. He inclined his head, the gesture both deferential and flirtatious, his eyes lingering on hers with a playful glint. “I must say, I wonder if all those aligned with this Brotherhood are as… singularly impressive as Veilwarden Quillon here.”
His tone was light, teasing, the words straddling the line between sincerity and mischief. He held her gaze, the intensity in his emerald eyes unmistakable as he slowly extended his hand, gesturing toward her ear with the gold leaf.
“Your adornments,” he continued, his hand drawn to her cheek where it hovered without touching, “are exquisite. It’s rare to see someone blend beauty with authority so… effortlessly, and to find two talented souls in the same place, perhaps the Brotherhood draws you to it.”
Seraphis studied him with a slight narrowing of her eyes, as if trying to discern his intent, but Sámiel simply smiled, holding his ground with that same unflinching confidence. He leaned in slightly, close enough for her to catch his scent—something subtle, earthy, with a hint of smoke—before he straightened, letting his gaze wander up to the domed ceiling of the Hall of Stars.
“This temple of yours is quite a spectacle. I must confess, I have a soft spot for the grandeur of devotion. Such passion, such artistry.” His gaze flicked between them, his lips curving into a roguish grin.
The flirtation hung in the air, a daring spark left for Seraphis to catch if she wished. Sámiel watched her, the gleam in his eye daring her to engage, to respond, to let down her guard even slightly. His stance was casual, as if he belonged in this place despite being an outsider. There was no supplication in him, no desire for their approval; he was simply there, intriguing and out of place, but enjoying the game of testing boundaries.