Crete was by all means a frying pan, and one stirred about by a chef with little regard for the knobs of the stove upon which he cooked. The furnace was always set to high heat and this no doubt made operating in full-bodied gear designed for covert operations, torturous. The five hundred which arrived to assist the Emir reclaim his rightful throne were evidently the straight nosed sort of people, their leader even more so. He looked a harsh man, no older than his mid-thirties, and with a horribly scarred face. In particular, his right eye was scarred a pale and unfocused silver, rendered blind by whatever burned the skin around it.
Seth had to admit, he was surprised the King did actually contact him to head this effort, it was by all means the right decision to have made, but the King was certainly more inclined for more blunt approaches. The Centurion however favored more precise and even surgical efforts to terminate opposition, blunt instruments had no place among the arsenal of soldiers. Before the men who landed with the supplies even had much time to get their bearings, they were greeted by one of the Emir's men who was promptly directed to the Centurion.
Without any visible reaction, Seth eyed the approaching man and gave him the opportunity to speak first and state his intentions. Clearly, he felt he needed no introductions for himself, the men had already indicated him as their leader, little else mattered. There was no time for pleasantries in the field, not when operating according to stringent windows of opportunity. All the same, the pale skinned and cruel looking man was working up a sweat, the climate was not something he'd come to grasp with as an outsider, but he appeared to endure it all the same and with no complaints. Waiting for words to reach his ears, he held onto his currently removed helmet firmly.
![[Image: J7OBoNz.png]](https://i.imgur.com/J7OBoNz.png)