<div align="center">(https://fontmeme.com/permalink/210128/2dbbbdb83f81e86eb7c97538c683a9ea.png)</div><br/><br/><div align="center">(https://i.imgur.com/CvrjNdJ.png)</div><br/><div align="center"> ___________________________________________________________</div><div align="center"> ___________________________________________________________</div><br/><strong><span class="bbc_u"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: courier;">Drack:-</span></span></strong><br/><br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: courier;">Upon Drack’s approach, the four vorcha became more focused and stranger in appearance. It wasn’t the first time that the krogan was face to face with a new species, so maybe some of the appeal was lost on him. But he wouldn’t miss the important context clues in the way that they moved, or the way that they were built; wiry, lean, undoubtedly soldiers and scrappy ones at that. It was safe to say they would be lethal in close-quarters combat if their opponent was not properly trained.<br/><br/>But in the gloom, beyond the erratic scope’s reach sat a lumbering figure upon some carefully stacked crates he was clearly guarding. The krogan was scrolling through his omnitool, occasionally smacking the side of his forearm with clear agitation. The screen projected before him was a wave of static which gave no clear picture to help piece together this curious puzzle. His shotgun sat to his left, sitting on the crate beside him. Whatever the vorcha were arguing about seemed to pale in comparison to what the krogan warlord was trying to deal with.</span>