<table width="100%" border="0"> <tbody> <tr align="center"> <td valign="middle" bgcolor="#990000">What if there's a war and you're not invited? </td> </tr> <tr> <td valign="top">
Lord Marshal McKenna cought up with his Deputy, Korras, on the floors of the Dark Citadel, with the dark stoney corridors, build from dark stone and layed out with dark rugs, lightened in dark light by dark candles.
"Ow!" The Marshal hit his head at a doorframe and cussed loudly, wishing he could actually see something. Grabbing the hat that had sailed off his skull, he asked his deputy for a status-update.
"We're in schedule, Sir. Your new office will be presentable within the next week. We're missing a couple of things still, however. I don't have a complete list of our multiplayer training centers - especially the flying simulators. In addition, I need all society-leaders to send me a short excerpt, including a summary of their society and their rank- and position-structure."
"I'll relay it. I'm still waiting on Grand Master Jac to ratify the Rules of Engagement I've sent ot him recently. It should only be a matter of days... I hope. Also, it appears quite a lot of people show interest in additional close-combat and convential troops training. Maybe we can ratify the foundation of a new Special Unit within the Corps. See, I -HNGCK!" McKenna crashed to the ground, stumbling over a wave in the rug he hadn't been able to see through all the pitch-blackness. Cursing again, he produced a storm-lighter and flicked it on. Not only that he still didn't have neither an own office nor own quarters (although he was far from complaining about the latter), everybody and their momma was ganging up the Anterans over the system and he hadn't recieved any order to move out the Special Forces. Apparently the Order Leaders were under the impression that their armies were more than enough to deal with them.
McKenna would have liked to talk to Firefox, but the Grand Master was currently away on a mission himself. So the only thing remaining was... well, nothing to be frank. The Marshal spontaneously decided he would have to check the local saloon for any illegal beverages...
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