[@Elevation]

In the city of Yord, a cold pair of hazel eyes watched Hark as he stood atop the platform. From under the spiked helmet, she watched him and listened to his speech. He spoke of titles and she did not listen. Titles did not matter to her. He was just another man, who happened to be in charge of a few others. He wasn't special simply because of some title bestowed on him by the death of a comrade or the say-so of a superior. In her experience often high-titled sods were either the strongest, bravest and cleverest, or else utter fools given power and too greedy to relinquish it. 

Hopefully the man was the former, hopefully word had not spread of her here. She'd come a long way from the North, and while she wasn't eager to return there, but she had made a promise, and if the Orcs were posing a threat, then they needed to be stopped before more innocents fell to their crude weapons. 

As Hark stepped down, the tall frame of the woman known as Mergoux the Butcher stepped forwards to meet a soldier and make her 'X' on the line where she was told.