04-13-2025, 07:41 PM
Lucien was engrossed. He was not unfriendly by nature, but when he was focused it was usually absolute. In fact he was a man quite often found locked in the confines of his own mind, pensive in expression, but usually quick to smile when disturbed. Today books littered the surface of his desk, bathed in the ambient light and shadow of the Sanctum’s ethereal setting. He was leafing through the pages with care, each motion thoughtful. Thinking, perhaps, rather than reading.
The librarian was a neat man. His auburn hair was combed back from his face, gold spectacles perched on his nose. His gloves were creamy white, indistinguishable from the sort one might wear when handling delicate documents – and many of the books piled upon his table were exactly that. Nothing Lucien considered truly valuable was kept in this space, of course, but appearances were important. In truth the Sanctuary’s birth had been not much more than a year prior, but already it gave the impression of far more ancient roots.
The Sanctum was where he spent most of his public time. Seekers had all sorts of questions, and Lucien was generous with the time he gave over to the inner mysteries of faith which drew people here. In addition he and Theron had plenty of questions of their own to occupy Lucien’s studies. As if summoned on the whim of such a thought, it was the timbre of the very same man’s voice that presently roused his attention. Lucien paused sedately to glance up. He was used to interruption, but it was less common for the Luminar to deliver a Seeker directly.
Interesting.
Lucien stood, smoothing down the front of his waistcoat. “Welcome,” he said. His smile was natural, his eyes bright and curious. A small nod of seeming deference acknowledged the Luminar’s presence a step behind, though it was mostly for propriety’s sake in front of a stranger. He did not reach to shake Anton’s hand, noting the unusual affliction of his gloves while splaying his own in a brief, graceful motion that ended in them clasped – not in apology but in appreciation of some unspoken understanding. “The pleasure is mine. How might I assist?”
The librarian was a neat man. His auburn hair was combed back from his face, gold spectacles perched on his nose. His gloves were creamy white, indistinguishable from the sort one might wear when handling delicate documents – and many of the books piled upon his table were exactly that. Nothing Lucien considered truly valuable was kept in this space, of course, but appearances were important. In truth the Sanctuary’s birth had been not much more than a year prior, but already it gave the impression of far more ancient roots.
The Sanctum was where he spent most of his public time. Seekers had all sorts of questions, and Lucien was generous with the time he gave over to the inner mysteries of faith which drew people here. In addition he and Theron had plenty of questions of their own to occupy Lucien’s studies. As if summoned on the whim of such a thought, it was the timbre of the very same man’s voice that presently roused his attention. Lucien paused sedately to glance up. He was used to interruption, but it was less common for the Luminar to deliver a Seeker directly.
Interesting.
Lucien stood, smoothing down the front of his waistcoat. “Welcome,” he said. His smile was natural, his eyes bright and curious. A small nod of seeming deference acknowledged the Luminar’s presence a step behind, though it was mostly for propriety’s sake in front of a stranger. He did not reach to shake Anton’s hand, noting the unusual affliction of his gloves while splaying his own in a brief, graceful motion that ended in them clasped – not in apology but in appreciation of some unspoken understanding. “The pleasure is mine. How might I assist?”