Corporal Gojar gives a chortle at that, still sticking to the coffee and passing over any foot.  A fretting corpsman has made her way closer to the table-- her uniform absent of armor or adornment except for the sweat-stains under her arms and heavy breasts and the red symbol of Sarenrae roughly painted on her over-neck shawl.  "Corporal, please do try to eat something.  It will expedite the regeneration process, and reduce the chance of permanent--"<br/><br/>"Corpsman--" answers Gojar, a dry smile on her mouth, "I'll heal if I'm meant to heal.  That's all there is.  I agree with the gods' own favored killer, here.  This is a fucked-up, ragtag bunch if I've ever seen one."  She lifts her cup in salute.  "And while half of you outrank me, this is the best salute you'll get out of me until I can use my fucking legs again."<br/><br/>She opens a small flask-- some healing concoction perhaps?-- No from the stench, it's rye.  She tips her coffee cup half-full and takes a long, solid pull, then sets the cup down and snaps at one of her subordinates, who places a satchel upon the table.  "Your orders, writs of passage-- though those savages out there won't be able to read them.  Some scrollcases sealed beyond my clearance.  Have at them, lads and lasses.  They're yours.  You'll have a dozen rangers, like I said.  And you'll have... wait, where's the fucking... tree-humper?"  She looks around, scowling.  "That psycho killer from the crown, sure, I can understand HER not being here, but where's the vine-crotched one who talks to the winds and farts butterflies?  Oh, hells.  Maybe she'll show.  Anyway... there's a nature-communer that is supposed to be a real ace at this sort of thing."<br/><br/>It's clear there's more to be said, but the words seem to stick in her craw.  "And then you get Vexen."  She shakes her head slowly, glances sidelong, blinks slowly.  "You know of her, I'm sure.  That one.  The... Vikalan Elf agent of the crown.  She should... offer some insight into the local... tribes, and geography."  Lifting her cup, her hand seems to shake a bit as she sips from her cup before she sets it down, resettles herself, and curses under her breath.<br/><br/>"I hate this.  Look... she's one of the ones that we had to<i>fight</i>for so long.  There were so few of them, but they fought like... like nothing else.  I've ever seen. They never surrendered.  Never a one that was old enough to hold a bow, or a blade.  Not one.  Except<i>her</i>... they say she came to<i>us</i>.  What kind of... deviant... watches their children... but what other kind of deviant<i>BETRAYS</i>that--?!"<br/><br/>Settling herself again, Gojar swallows as her cup is refilled, this time with<i>just</i>coffee, and the corpsman puts a corncake before her to tantalize her palate.  "Fine," she sighs, taking a pinch.  "Enjoy your breakfast at your leisure.  You're dismissed whenever you like... we've had enough formality and war."