One by one those who answered the emperor’s call were announced as they entered the throne room, until the final pair. Shrinking towards the back of the room, Kean watched them with a carefully blank face, and took special notice of their names. Names were important. Some he even recognised, though Zina Withervine was… different to how he had imagined her. Still, she was an impressive figure, looming over most others. But that was the trouble, looks could often tell lies and half-truths, fickle things as they were, and so far, that was all he had to go on, really. That, and the assumption that the people here were summoned for good reason, likely based on rumour and reputation. Yet even with a trail that obvious, the messengers must have been truly tenacious to even try and seek out some of these. How many had failed? How many had never got their summons? How many had refused? Regardless, it meant they probably didn’t know who he was, way back when he was using his given name, if it was based off the news and repute of his current exploits. Probably.

Kean found himself staring into the eyeless void of the lapdog’s visor. He was a statue. An indoctrinated idol of the Emperor's will. [i][color=#1CE678]How much do you know?[/color][/i] He mused.

When the Emperor spoke, there was a reverent hush, and his voice seemed to fill the hard room. He had been cordial and pleasant during their greetings, even to Kean, but now his tone seemed somewhat sombre. The news of Westgate falling was a genuine shock to Kean; he had spent too long on the fringes, helping those abandoned by the empire, too far and few to be worth the investment. Gathering prolific figures from the lands inside and out the empire’s reach was starting to make more sense in these dire times. Somewhat mollified, Kean glanced from the emperor to the others, his stony features ground softer. The weight of it all was setting in. It was crushing. Were they really a last-ditch attempt? The only hope to stop the Scorned? Maybe. A gaping chasm fell downwards in the pit of his stomach. Kean blinked hard.

However, then the Templar was announced as their leader and Kean barked a laugh. Immediately he shoved a clenched fist over his mouth and forced his eyes to the floor. Already having pushed his luck, Kean did not want to test it too far, not now he had seen the calibre of his peers. He felt somewhat outclassed. Redundant. Best not to see if that were true. 

With no questions of his own springing to mind, Kean would stay towards the back of the room still, watching, waiting for the others to ask, hoping to gleam some insight into what the people he could very well die next to were thinking. 

He rubbed the bags under his eyes.