Drog stood calmly at his post, toweringly tall and clad in heavy armor. He peered out at his surroundings through the slit in his helmet. The one he'd vowed to keep on, a tradition of his bloodline in their servitude to the royal family. To show another person his face was considered dishonorable, so much so that the offense could lead to being disowned by his clan.

However, Drog's attention was not on his helmet or his clan, those things within his nature and not the least important. Rather, his focus steadied on the protection of his royal charge. The one in all the world who had him at their beck and call, his willingness to protect them ending only with his death.

Just as he was often silent, he did not change now. He would speak if spoken to. His helmet turning back outwards, surveying.