Oris sits upright with a jolt and rubbs his eyes, "Sweet lord, this is early. Oh well, not like I expected any less from from the Boros."
Oris than gathers is basic equipment and waited for Roy to come get him.
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A Storyteller is not a GM. A GM is God. God is one of the Storyteller's little minions. Ti'rin
He didn't have to wait long. A rather cantankerous Roy stormed trough the barracks. "Move IT, move IT, move IT! Get your lazy asses out of those beds!" The other cadets, clearly not quite awake, begin to file out of their bunks, and line up in front of them.
The room was silent for a moment. "Time wasted is indeed unwise, young one..." Roy said calmly. "However, haste is no better. You are clamoring like a child to go outside and play. That attitude WILL get you killed. So stand at attention, and when I am ready, we will go. Do I make myself clear?"
Roy Looked over the cadets, a look of derision clear for all. "Pathetic, the whole lot of you. Naught more than boys waving around wooden swords with delusiongs of adequacy. You think the Boros cares if you can throw an axe through a pumpkin? Or that you killed a drake with your bare hands? You wanna prove you're the biggest brute on the block, I will arrange an escort to the Gruul lands. They'll be sure to welcome you appropriately. While you are under my watch you will learn discipline. Honor. And respect. Because without these, you are no better than the monsters you seek out."