Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-25684606-20191108235505/@comment-33521582-20191114185828

At the order, Kuzvert fell into a relaxed parade stance; his chin tilted upwards, he spread his legs wider, and his hands clasped behind his back as he listened to the Commissar give his orders. Secure in his own demeanor, he felt only a twinge of discomfort from the Ma'kar's failure to properly identify himself, and how that reflected upon the Lok'hert as a whole.

These thoughts slipped away, soon enough, at the mention of Clan Anraig, a name unknown to him. The Lok'hert were a reclusive society, trading genially with their nearest neighbors but seldom taking it upon themselves to contact distant tribes. In his simple, albeit workmanlike mind, the failure of a clan to report for muster could mean one of very few things: the clan had been destroyed, either by rivals, raiders, or the simple brutality of Sennach; the clan was engaged in battle, and could not send its warriors away; lastly, and most unimaginable, the clan had chosen to break the ancient compact and deny their aid. All of these options promised danger, and he felt himself equal to whatever challenge his Warrior God set before him.

He eyed the briefcase. “This”, he thought, “must be the message we are meant to deliver.” Not one to question duty set before him, he spoke in the characteristic loud tone of the enlisted. “Yes, Lord Commissar!”