Here's Nemean doing as he is asked to do.
Hands to the Task
Bulbous to the point where fat would become a better name for the droplets that fell from the clouds above. Nemean wordlessly served Selenia. His hands moving with practiced ease. He averted his eyes and allowed his mind to be blank. As blank as he could manage it. Repetition, describing the motions and actions he took in his mind. Loosening straps, pulling cords, tugging at the right angle. The pieces of armor came loose.
Selenia tried to make eye-contact but there he also refrained. A battle was a lonesome endeavor. One that should not be clouded with memories or connections. He would not offer her such a connection. A reason to hesitate, to doubt. In his solemn stance he could not resist but follow her gaze as it went from him to the blood on the floor of the temple right beside them. His eyes moved in their sockets but his head remained unmoved.
With the task complete, the Xerarch stood unadorned of her battle armor. Nemean backed off to stand with the crowd. The crowd didn't let him blend in with them. So he just stood there. Trying to remain as calm as he could. His left hand found his right,as they both sheltered under the fighting half-cloak, resting on the buckle of his belt. Rain had created small currents streaming off of the steep slope that was the half-cloak.
