Led inside by the three sisters of Sepith, Altair was somehow able to maintain a calm look despite the acrid sensation bubbling in the back of his throat. He wanted to puke, to break everything that entered his sight.
Shadowheart, the method of hiding one's intent in one's heart, had become something of his saving grace, masking his killing intent. He truly had not been more grateful to Thanatos for teaching him such a method.
The temple castle was grand yet simple, somehow managing to square that minimalistic look that might lead one to believe that the Temple of Sepith was barely lived in. It was clean, too clean for any place one might call home, with several novices on hands and knees scrubbing the floor with blank looks.
