Tenebrae's pointed, mild comment made Nathanial's back tense. The cleric held a breath and then released it, carefully, reining in the emotions he wasn't quite able to parse. This wasn't like him. He was controlled. He had striven for it before he entered, but it hadn't worked, and now if he wasn't careful he could well end up on Tenebrae's list.

This shouldn't be happening at all, he wanted to remind himself, but the thought was a useless one. It was what it was, and something about Solomon's pain, his words and warnings, had struck at Nathanial's most basic self in a way he hadn't known was possible. He'd been born in the Temple. What did he care about the morals and religions of the world outside it?

And yet.

By the time the High Priest spoke again Nathanial had successfully schooled himself go proper blankness, his arms still clasped before him.

"Not so much as others," he said evenly, trying to ignore exactly why Tenebrae might be asking such a question. Solomon had been coherent enough, but perhaps the High Priest was still concerned about mental damage.

He isn't. You know he isn't. Nor should you care.

Solomon was seeing things no other Necromancer, or sorcerer, had ever seen. 'Seeing' being the key action. And if Tenebrae was concerned Solomon would lose that skill, he would try to prevent that from happening. By ... What? An operation of some kind? On his eyes?

Nathanial's skin prickled wildly with a hot flush of unease, but this time, he kept his voice emotionless. "What is your plan, High Priest?"