[h3][color=#166FC2]Cloven Brevis[/color][/h3][hr]
[indent][indent]He was on high alert. The contemplation between oxygen and life; lost. What was that dooming sensation; like heat on his neck, like jaws around his throat, like a chorus of warnings in his ears. He had been afraid to look around at first and when his courage had found him, he hadn’t seen anything out of the ordinary but that sense of danger was unmistakable. Where it spawned; it was from that same unease and well of gravity that drove him to the table in the first place. He shot the striking woman a brief glance. 

[color=#166FC2][i]The plant-wizard,[/i][/color] he muttered. He swept aside his raven locks before returning to the dull wall, distracted. Barring the ominous feeling behind his numbness was easy, the hard part was overthinking that he would be tortured by it for a long time to come. If it was torture that was. 


His thoughts had traveled from his worries, to The Son’s intentions, to his own willingness to comply several times over. That was until a deafening command ripped him away, a booming order from the head-honcho of the guild. The relief that filled him was a refreshing gale. 

[color=#166FC2]“Good,”[/color] was his too quiet response. [color=#166FC2]“Back into the fire.”[/color]

He straightened his weathered cloak out with his gloved hands and cut his way through the mess of guildmates assembling near the gates. Teams were made without him included but he felt confident that even without one, he’d somehow be okay. The Son had trained him well; martial-wise, he was tip-top, and mentally, he felt shaky but still forged from something unbreakable. 

Absently, he said, [color=#166FC2]“We have Slayers. Should be easy enough if they do their job.”[/color][/indent][/indent]