eyes are a window / to a storm that's getting close

Aresenn found his attention captured by the stark contrast of Melchior's violet frame against the snow-blanketed landscape. The stranger carried an imposing presence, his lavender gaze piercing and unruffled. Aresenn was no stranger to intense encounters, but meeting Melchior's eyes had a cool kind of calmness that was as intriguing as it was ominous. Needless to say, Melchior certainly fit the bill, however closely related he was to the rest of the lot.

His prompt confirmation of being a Saxe wasn't unexpected, but somehow hearing him say it aloud gave it more weight. Aresenn’s lips curled into a half-sided smirk at the introduction he was offered, glancing once more over the larger form, his gaze lingering a moment longer on the gold markings etched across his form. "You could say that.” He answered casually, as he leaned back on his haunches. The frosty crunch of snow under his weight was the only sound that filled the space between them for the moment. “The Sultan’s name is Sephiran Saxe, and the Syndicate is made up of a myriad of his siblings, cousins, other extended relatives, and the occasional outlier.” The fiery brute offered, having already made up his mind of the likely outcome of this conversation. “As for the nature of the beast, it is hostile at its worst. Volatile at its best. Feared by many, respected by few. If it’s power you want … well, they’re an ambitious lot. But I probably don’t need to tell you that.” He finished, allowing his attention to momentarily shift back toward the heart of the valley before returning. After a couple of moments of pause, he offered his own introduction. “Aresenn Praetor.”

"Aresenn Praetor"