A decent corner

[Quillon Hawke]

Quillon stood tall, exuding confidence and authority in his long purple robe, the high collar curled around the back of his neck, and the symbol of the Veilwardens prominently displayed on his breast. His attire was not just clothing; it was a uniform of one of the highest ranks in the Brotherhood, a visible testament to his status and power, and those in the know, knew.

He had managed to attract an attentive crowd, their eyes fixed on him as he passionately spoke of the Ascendancy and the modern-day god in flesh form. Quillon's voice carried a fervor that demanded attention, and he basked in the validation that the gathered listeners provided. This was his element, where he felt most alive and significant, each word he uttered reinforcing his sense of purpose and self-importance.

As he continued his oration and the crowd dispersed, Quillon noticed a figure approaching from the corner of his eye. The man was striking in appearance, dressed in an eccentric yet perfectly fitting outfit that blended seamlessly with the city's daytime fashion, but there was something otherworldly about him, an aura that swept ahead of his approach like wind heralding the arrival of autumn.

The stranger extended a cup of hot tea. "With all that speaking you are doing," the man said, "your throat must be quite parched."

Quillon's eyes met the stranger's, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. The tea felt like an offering to a sacred altar, a gesture imbued with significance. Quillon accepted the cup with a gracious nod, his fingers brushing against the man's briefly in the handoff. As sure as the spark within his own body spread from the touch, the warmth of the tea spread through him, contrasting sharply with the cold air on his lips.

"Thank you,” Quillon murmured, strained voice carrying a mix of expectant authority and curiosity. He sipped the tea, feeling the warmth and the almost ritualistic nature of the moment. He straightened, his posture that of a priest accepting an offering on behalf of his god.

Quillon nodded, feeling both validated and intrigued. "The Ascendancy is a cause worth every breath," he replied, his conviction unwavering. He couldn't deny the allure of this strange man, nor the significance of his offering. "Belief,” he said simply, his voice filled with self-assuredness. "Belief in something greater than ourselves, in a power that can transform our world.”

He glimpsed the man’s gaze wandering his chest, presumably studying the symbol emblazoned there, but for the directness in his stare, Quillon wondered what else he spied. He seemed to see straight through him. He held his voice strong, reawakened by the warm liquid. “My name is Quillon Hawke, Veilwarden of the Brotherhood of Ascension. Are you aware of our work? The temple is near if you would like to see?”