Rolling his shoulders a few times, the Hand of War strode through the corridors of Pisces station. Since he had reliquished his place at the right hand of his mistress, he had been given his weapons back, and had been casually doing laps around the main corridor of the station. On the floor the conference was being held on, naturally.
As he rounded the corner to face the gallery outside the conference room, he noticed all the figures bunched up. Most he did not know, but one he did, and he walked heavily up behind Creighton, crossing his arms over his wide chest and looking down from his eight foot height, as if assessing the situation. He may not be able to understand the language well enough to speak, but he knew that he understood battle enough to know that something fun might be just about to happen. In this vein, he slowly reached behind him, the plate shouldergaurds rattling softly against his breastplate as he pulled the massive warhammer from where it hung on his back.
With a small grin, he held the bottom of the handle in his right hand, while the left bounced the shaft just below the head up and down, waiting for someone to make the first move.