Tenebrae stiffened. He'd realised some time ago that Solomon's soul-reading wouldn't pick and choose; at least, not at first, even if Solomon did eventually learn some form of control. Tenebrae had even vaguely wondered what his own soul would look like. He'd never come to any conclusion - but if he had, he doubted it would have been anything about a heart of stone.
He was cold, he knew that. Calculating. Like most true Necromancers, he'd given up the luxuries of life long ago. He hadn't been expecting anything good. In all honesty, he might not even have surprised with Solomon's conclusion, except that judging by the man's reaction, it was unique. Implying no one else had the same hardships imprinted on their soul. Implying that even Quiver's heart moved.
It was unsettling, but that was all. Tenebrae could move past it. And he did, as soon as he could, with only the hard line of his mouth betraying any of his thoughts on the subject.
Solomon Wreath, he noted, was still obviously groggy. And it wasn't obvious because of his voice, although that contained a hint of it; nor because of his face, even with the lines of pain and the way his eyes only truly focused when he squinted at Tenebrae.
No, it was because Solomon hadn't made the connection yet. Hadn't realised it yet. It was easy, for men of their calibre, to look around and at least take a guess at what was going to happen to them. In this room alone, there was easily enough to figure it out. From the very specific medical equipment, to the reason for Cirurgie's involvement, to the fact that Solomon was strapped down so tightly.
Maybe his newfound ability to see the lifestream was impeding his better judgment, or his ability to perceive. But Tenebrae thought it should still have been possible for Solomon to read it in one of their souls, even conceding that no one knew exactly how seeing souls worked yet.
"Good." It wasn't sarcastic, wasn't relieved, wasn't much of anything. Just a word. "Why does your back look like you've been whipped? In fact, where do any of your injuries come from? I don't recall them when we caught you."
no subject
He was cold, he knew that. Calculating. Like most true Necromancers, he'd given up the luxuries of life long ago. He hadn't been expecting anything good. In all honesty, he might not even have surprised with Solomon's conclusion, except that judging by the man's reaction, it was unique. Implying no one else had the same hardships imprinted on their soul. Implying that even Quiver's heart moved.
It was unsettling, but that was all. Tenebrae could move past it. And he did, as soon as he could, with only the hard line of his mouth betraying any of his thoughts on the subject.
Solomon Wreath, he noted, was still obviously groggy. And it wasn't obvious because of his voice, although that contained a hint of it; nor because of his face, even with the lines of pain and the way his eyes only truly focused when he squinted at Tenebrae.
No, it was because Solomon hadn't made the connection yet. Hadn't realised it yet. It was easy, for men of their calibre, to look around and at least take a guess at what was going to happen to them. In this room alone, there was easily enough to figure it out. From the very specific medical equipment, to the reason for Cirurgie's involvement, to the fact that Solomon was strapped down so tightly.
Maybe his newfound ability to see the lifestream was impeding his better judgment, or his ability to perceive. But Tenebrae thought it should still have been possible for Solomon to read it in one of their souls, even conceding that no one knew exactly how seeing souls worked yet.
"Good." It wasn't sarcastic, wasn't relieved, wasn't much of anything. Just a word. "Why does your back look like you've been whipped? In fact, where do any of your injuries come from? I don't recall them when we caught you."