LOREN
Loren walked into the Temple alone, an unreadable expression on his features and a troubled look in his eyes. On one hip, he bore a sword, on the other a dagger, and on his belt he had a pouch. There were two more daggers tucked into his boots, an amulet rested on his chest under his shirt, and he had his spectacles in his pocket.
His clothes were simple and unadorned, black, nothing special, and his boots were worn and comfortable. Not bothering to move far into the room, he stood by the doorway, hands clasped behind his back. A quiet confidence radiated out of him despite (or maybe because of) the severe expression he bore. Nodding at Deimos and giving a genuinely fond smile to Abasi, the Launceleyn turned to regard the Queen. Patiently, he waited, eyes boring into Wessex on her dais.
His clothes were simple and unadorned, black, nothing special, and his boots were worn and comfortable. Not bothering to move far into the room, he stood by the doorway, hands clasped behind his back. A quiet confidence radiated out of him despite (or maybe because of) the severe expression he bore. Nodding at Deimos and giving a genuinely fond smile to Abasi, the Launceleyn turned to regard the Queen. Patiently, he waited, eyes boring into Wessex on her dais.
But don’t be weary if it’s broken
Families are like that—
they’re split up and always torn.
