Summit of Influence

Aresenn’s amber gaze never wavered even as the mention of his previous home hung in the air. The weight of it didn't escape him, but neither did it shatter his cold demeanour, his face remaining impassive. The Raiders. He wondered if they had actually become something under Gil and Modesty’s rule. Under the right leadership, he thought that perhaps their strength and audacity similar to that of the Syndicate's own forces. His connection with them was a tenuous one at best, a harsh memory from a life he had left behind. Perhaps it would be in order for him to pay a visit. To see for himself what they had become.

“They're fighters," he admitted grudgingly, his tone flat as he regarded Sephiran with calculating eyes. “The group that I left wouldn’t stand a chance. However, I left at the time of a change in leadership. I do not know what they have evolved into.” The Praetor brute answered, honestly. He had always respected the Sultan for his ability to manipulate others, but he had also grown wary of his cunning nature since their first encounter.

"I suppose it would be prudent to find out," Aresenn suggested, rolling his shoulders in a nonchalant shrug as if the whole thing was of little importance. Inside though, his mind was already whirling with plans and strategies, foreseeing possible outcomes and preparing countermeasures should they turn hostile. At the very least, he wouldn’t underestimate Raider’s Hollow.

"Aresenn Praetor"