The Iosan woman stands at attention, her officer’s uniform crisp, her posture precise. Blades and pistols fall into place around her, orbiting her waist as if they belong there. She’s gathered her black hair in a simple ponytail. “I am Sergeant Josephine Durand,” she announces, even those few words touched by her Llaelese accent. “I am sure that you have asked around about me, and heard all about my infamous reputation. You probably have… opinions about serving with me. I won’t waste my breath, or your time, trying to change your minds with words. I don’t expect you to trust me, and I don’t want you to follow me blindly.” A smile almost curves her pale, angular face, but it doesn’t quite come together.
She steps toward you, her boots positively gleaming. “But I will tell you this: I may be Llaelese-born, and Ios-blooded, but my heart is Khadoran, the same as yours. And, whether you think of service with me as a punishment or not, I assure you that our missions are no less important to the Motherland than those you faced before.”
Her eyes, a startling green, sweep over you. “So all I ask of you is this: serve the Motherland, to the best of your ability. For I swear I shall do no less.”