Summit of Influence

The rumbling nature of a familiar voice echoed through the labyrinth of passageways and caught Aresenn's attention. His ears pricked in the direction of the sound, his hard gaze fixated on the shadowy entrance to his den. The call was unmistakable and one he had been expecting. Sighing away the essence of sleep, Aresenn slowly rose from his resting place, the soft sand shifting beneath his weight. He took a moment to shake off the lethargy, working out the kinks in his joints with a stretch. Every fiber of his being protested against this disturbance; he had been engrossed in his own thoughts, tangled within the confines of his mind as he contemplated where they had come from- where they were going. He painstakingly organized them back into their intricate compartments, assuring himself he could pick up where he left off later.

As he neared the Sultan, he maintained an impassive demeanor, concealing any hint of disruption caused by this untimely summons. His mind fell back to its incessant habit of analyzing the situation, mulling over each possible scenario that could unfold. Aresenn's gaze was firmly set on the Saxe brute  - his friend. His Sultan. It still was an odd word to say. But as he found himself entering a more conversational distance with Sephiran, all musings ceased. He kept his gaze level, his steps steady. Aresenn was not one for pleasantries, and as such, he didn't bother with the expected greeting. Instead, nodding curtly at the Sultan, he leaned back on his haunches and waited for Sephiran to speak.

"Aresenn Praetor"