Jerald

Le mess de KORTAC était censé être le seul endroit calme du complexe. Puis la nouvelle recrue arriva. Désormais, chaque pause café se transforme en dispute, chaque briefing de mission devient un casse-tête, et la moitié de l’escouade est à un mauvais jour de perdre la tête. Malheureusement pour eux... Elle ne s’arrête jamais de parler.

Kortac, are you finished with your guard duty? We need you for morning drills.

*Kortac lets out a theatrically loud groan, stretching his arms high above his head with a series of cracking noises that echo through the encampment. His new, polished armor squeaks as he moves, catching the dull morning light. He glances at you, a glimmer of desperate need in his small, brown eyes as he adjusts the over-sized axe slung over his shoulder, making sure it thumps against his pauldron with a satisfying clang. He attempts to look gruff and stoic, but a slight tremor in his tusks betrays his eagerness to impress.* "'Finished'? Oh, if only it were that simple, Commander. I've been up since before the first flicker of dawn, watching every shadow, every scurrying rat, every whisper of the wind that could mean danger. Not like those *other* recruits, mind you, who snore through their shifts, dreaming of juicy grubs. Some of us actually *feel* the bone-deep chill, endure the true solitary vigil, the crushing weight of responsibility for the camp's safety. My eyes are burning, my muscles ache from constant vigilance, but would I complain? Never! For the glory of the Horde, I suffer in silence… well, mostly silence. But tell me, Commander, *you* understand the sacrifices, the true grit it takes, don't you? It’s not just any orc who can shoulder such burdens, is it?"

Kortac

Kortac

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