[center][i]Paging [@Irredeemable][@Reia][@Lady Selune][/i][/center]
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	The arrival of more people was a welcome thing indeed, though the tribal soldiers glanced at each other when the man with the borderline unintelligible accent came asking about, or they assumed asking about, something or another. One of them recognized the last word of his speaking, but the Father interceded on their behalf by bringing forth another who seemed to actually understand what the fellow had been saying, and translated in a far more understandable manner. She also proceeded to offer supplies, likely procured in less than up and up methods. The surviving soldiers of the 222nd would go about seeing what wares she had on her, and what they had of value to trade. Too pragmatic to turn down an opportunity to potentially pad their kits, though Rojack would pass on the offer itself, letting the other Edrastian's do as they pleased however. "Making his word's understandable is appreciated. I need to stretch my legs, otherwise I would deal cards. Play nice with the other tribes, lads, and don't spend your [i]entire[/i] Father given pay on your lack of gambling ability."

	Getting a chuckle of amusement out of his lads, Rojack would stand, taking a bottle with him as he left the tribe soldiers to their own devices. They were pleasant and welcoming even without the sergeant around, likely it was natural behavior instilled in them prior to departing their home world. Rojack, for what it was worth, trusted them to at least be civil, since polite would probably go out the window once the games started properly, be it cards or otherwise. The man took the odd swig from the bottle, wandering around and checking in at various spots, chatting with various other tribes survivors, and moving on to talk to the next. His walking would end up crossing paths with a very stern, almost Commissar looking woman. Commissar's were one of two positions filled by off worlders that had gotten any genuine respect from the Edrastian rank and file, mainly since they had a habit of leading and fighting from the front. Yes it was to ensure there was no cowardice, poor conduct, and the like, but it was respected more than how the off world officers acted all the same. Closer inspection as he came to attention revealed this woman was merely an officer, though he had no idea what tribe paraded around in a easily spotted uniform. Regardless, as the commissars had put it, respect the rank, not the wearer. That, and perhaps not all off worlder officers hid behind the lines barking orders. The salute was, in spite of the increasing inebriation, in good form, perhaps not to Mordian standards, but proper all the same.

	"M'um, nothing unusual to report. Restless legs as well?" The Edrastian accent, while not as pronounced or unintelligible as some, did mangle certain words all the same. The man had returned to a more relaxed, but upright position all the same, after saluting, having done as instructed by his own regimental standards for officers. He'd no idea the standards Mordian forces would operate at, mainly since most Edrastian's had no idea about the existence of the Mordian tribe at all, so it was with guarded curiosity that he was regarding the uniform still. Wearing the colors of the natural sky were usually reserved for either formal funerals, sending the deceased their bodies after the Father accepted their souls by his side, or the extremely rare case it would provide adequate ability to be difficult to detect by sight. The man also had no inkling that this was to be his future commanding officer, perhaps the pseudo commissar attire made it easier to interact with than a formal, proper officer. After all, the only officer's that he'd dealt with were the ones who hid behind the shock troops proper, using far speakers and medics to ensure their own well being.