[color=7ea7d8]S A M M A E L  K ö N I G[/color][hr]
The rasp of metal sliding across metal fell dully against the thick technical-canvas of Samm’s tent. Outside the breathing winds of the tundra hissed, howled, and sighed, adding an ethereal quality to the sound of the sword gliding over the sharpening stone. Sitting cross legged, his elbows perched upon the hinge of his knees, Samm aimed a keen ice-blue eye down the length of the sword’s edge. Even in the relatively low light of the tent, the blade seemed sharp enough to make the air around it somehow more crisp and hard.

Or perhaps that was just the cold?

Samm smirked silently at the thought. The camp was indeed a cold and harsh place. Yet, since arriving two days previous, Samm had found it to remind him of home more than he had anticipated. The state of Aster was not such a barren place as Zalera—or at least it was not so in the coastal lowland areas of Samm’s youth. But the cold was the same, and the brisk fragility that came with it brought aromas that kept his mind whimsically aware of his past. 

The unmistakable sounds of Shyps on final approach brought Samm back from far away, and once more into the space of the now. Enveloping the blade of his sword in a soft cloth, he gave the honed metal a final cleansing swipe. In one fluid motion, Samm came to his knees, and brought the sword across his body before gently diving the weapon into its sheath. The glide of the blade into the scabbard felt as smooth as silk, and as the hilt came to stop against the machined cusp, a faint and satisfying [i]snick[/i] punctuated the movement. Taking the stowed sword, Samm brought the weapon to his left hip. Small, automatic servos took hold of the scabbard, and affixed it securely to his armor’s load-bearing belt. 

Standing halfway up inside of the low tent, Samm turned to grab a large carafe that had been heating over a small jet stove. As he lifted the vacuum insulated container, a waft of fresh coffee lifted upon a wisp of steam, and into Samm’s nose. His satisfied smile was automatic. This brew was no regulation SOLDIER insta-shit drivel, but a blend from Samm’s own private stash. Tasteless food, days without sleep, and grueling conditions Samm could tolerate, but bad coffee? A man could only abide so much. 

Encased in the dark matte-black layers of his armor, Samm pulled aside the tent’s entry flap, and made his way into the pulling winds. He forwent the dehumanizing cover of his integrated helmet and face piece, instead wanting to greet the arrival of his new comrades with the courtesy of a smile and a genuine look in the eyes. With the carafe and a stack of cups in his right hand, Samm allowed his left to rest easily upon the hilt of his sword. 

As his booted feet crunched over the hardened ground, making his way to where the other members of the “unit” were gathering, Samm tried his best to take stock of the new arrivals. He had already met a couple of the other SOLDIERS that had arrived at the encampment early, and in a general sense he gathered that they were formidable individuals. This was perhaps an obvious assumption, given that every one of the company was honed to be a living weapon. Nonetheless, from the little interaction he had had with them, Samm had little doubt in their martial prowess. From the looks of things, his first impressions of the newest arrivals did nothing to change his assumptions—save for perhaps the man who looked as if motion sickness had gotten the better of him. 

Arriving within the loose cluster of SOLDIERS, Samm offered a nod and a smile to each when the moment allowed. One of the men spoke to Corr regarding a wish for quality food, and Samm made a look of knowing agreement. 

“I hear that,” Samm said. “The Govern must not put a lot of stock in increased moral, because the chow situation could bring even the happiest sonofabitch into a bout of depression.”

Lifting up the carafe and the cups, Samm spoke not only to the man who had addressed Corr, but the entire group. “I can’t help with chow, but I can offer some genuine and fresh coffee if anyone’s interested?”

As if to punctuate his offering, Samm poured a cup of the steaming, aromatic liquid, and lifted his eyebrows expectantly.