You wait a moment for the party to organise themselves, checking over your leather armour to 
ensure it's in peak condition. It creaks as you flex and test it. You find it strange just 
how loud it sounds.

Pleased it's how you want, the Master Seargant insignia looking polished and clean, you look 
back up to begin the assessment of the men. You walk along their ranks; most of them you recognise, 
primarily by smell. Some of them you've hand picked for this mission, others have been chosen 
for you on merit. Your job to ensure they're properly drilled and ready to move out. There's a 
lot of experience here, but many have only been assigned to solo missions recently and it has 
been too long since they had to work as part of military battalion.

Some of them look cocky, some of them look worried, some just watch you in awe. One though is 
grinning like a loon. You march straight up to him; he's the perfect one to pick on to get the 
reaction from the rest. You plan to make them give you the respect you deserve, and need, if you're 
going to lead them into the war.

"And wot d'ya think yer smiling about ya great pile o' troll shit?!" you bellow up into his face. 

"My wife would be so proud to see me now," G'mord beams, "She kept talking about all the lovely 
money she'll be getting from me fightin' in this war."

"I don't care if ya wife is the Baron h'mself, you've gotta to be focus'd if we're gonna win this 
Lead Seargent!" Your voice rises, trying to get through to the great big dope, "I don't care how 
many times you saved the Barony, the Kingdom's under threat! I'd rath'r haff that Saladelf, than 
you actin' like a b'ffoon!"

That got through; you smile to yourself as you see G'mord blanche slightly before pulling himself 
up straight and performing the best possible salute. "Yes sar, Master Seargent Skulk, sar!" he 
bellows back; you can see the effect ripple outwards as the men tidy themselves up, remembering 
how to behave as Defenders.

"Mooove OOUUTTA!" The battalion respond, turning as one; the creak of a hundred suits of leather 
twisting at once is almost defeaning to your ears. You close your eyes for a second, perhaps just 
blinking, and open them on the mission once more.