[I][Center]- The first steps of a Pilgrim -[/Center]


It wasn’t unusual for Anomander to take chances, his perpetual paranoia forced him to keep moving lest he be found by the Astra Telepathica. He was hoping for something uncomplicated to serve as his escape but alas, no such opportunity presented itself. Sitting in the agile shuttle he mused as to what exact madness had convinced him to partake in a task force for the planetary governor, but without a quick answer for his question Anomander decided to watch as they approached instead. A colossal spire patched by light-filled windows arose like a mutilated finger from among the Gothic masonry of the buildings at its base, it pointed blasphemously at heaven assuring its residents status. For a brief moment, Anomander regretted what he might have started. 

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The bitterly familiar clank of power armour bounced off the narrow corridor walls as Anomander kept pace at the back of this unlikely group. He quickly allowed his eyes to scan the gloriously painted ceiling. Indulgent as any other planetary palace. Anomander himself contrasted the grandiose nature of his surroundings, wearing a modest brown overall with the faded intricacy of pattern that descended shapelessly over his feet. As modest as it was it had served Anomander for many years, acquiring stains and tears it acted almost as a tapestry of his recent endeavors. Underneath the equally tattered hood his face was barely visible, though his eyes flickered defiantly like twin mirrors echoing any light that struck their surface. 

As the walls stopped and the two ornate guards rolled to the periphery of Anomanders vision, a voice was heard that caused everyone to hesitate. Sherpa Silverlain, member and servant to the governor. Between the glance of paranoia as Anomander examined the room, and the few members still in front of him yet to move, it took a moment before a face was equated to the introductory voice. A man, still in the embrace of youth, fought the doubt of experience with gleaming white hair. He invited the troop of what Anomander previously assumed to be mercenaries to sit at the large, imposing table. 

Encouraged to introduce themselves, a opportunity that one Caius Langston jumped at, Anomander took the brief moment of disregard he was gifted to pull his hood from his head. Hair of an unnatural grey shade spoiled a surprisingly fresh face. His skin, flush with a reddish hue, darkened in the crevices of his eyes and nose whilst not a single facial hair was allowed to blemish his strong jawline. 
He grabbed the chairs manchette as if lowering himself into place, something that conflicted with his callow appearance. He paused, mid-act, as the melodic voice of Maria Delforce communicated her charisma. An indirect stare allowed Anomander a fringe glance at the supposed Sister hospitaller. A veiled grunt to himself decided that she not be what she seemed, a truth that made Anomander anxious. Taking a handful of the brown fabric of his robe, he folded it into his lap so he could sit comfortably. As the Sister hospitaller finished her inauguration with gratuitous glee, Anomander resolved to get his introduction out of the way. 
[Colour=Darkgoldenrod]“Anomander Sirin."[/Colour] he voiced. No more, no less. He had previously anticipated the risk that revealing his true name could endanger his liberty from the Astra Telepathica, but he ultimately decided that if such precautions were taken in his recapture then it wouldn’t matter if he used his name or not. He tucked his seemingly banal staff in the crook of the chairs arm, keeping it in place with the thin grasp of his lower fingers. He pondered for the few moments of silence that followed his discerning voice.[/I]