The rough-hewn man hunched over the small note, scrutinizing it. The insignia was genuine, the electronic signature perfect. Yeah, it was the Gazel. He crumpled the note in a well-calloused hand, sneering a little. The bastards had gone over his head. They had countermanded his order. Something he risked his career for. And now, that little idiot had let himself be caught again. Lo and behold, they were going to execute him. Not like it didn't suprise him, with what the others had relayed to him. Isora had made a stupid move. Now, apparently, he was going to pay for it...Of course, he couldn't accept that. The Gazel may be in their rights going over his head....but then, to them he was dead.
The rough-hewn man grabbed the worn duster off the coat rack, throwing it on. On his shirt, he pinned a small, blue insignia. At his side, a white sword.

Time to show them dead men can keep their word.