The chal bears himself as straight as his fiery will enables after he bows as well. "Indeed, Chieftain, we saw each other briefly in the ruins. I am Jhank'kor, ajak'chal of (interestingly enough) the Band of Onyx. It was I who covered your escape, though one such as you surely had no living opposition left after your might struck the Bone Clan..."
"As to the Great Enemy..." Eyes swirling with the eldritch flame of his full hate, Jhank'kor grips the staff with both hands, one on the pommel the other around the upper neck. "Hatred is too cheap a word to denote what burns within my soul toward the Enslavers." His voice is still a deathly calm, like an avatar of a glacier's heart.
Bluff: 13 to keep weakness out his stance
[Du'minh reads the following auras: Obsidian Orb herself, the gith with the staff and scarab, the matron in blue, and the fire-scarred gith are all spellcasters.]
"The chief of the Black Spear Clan does not need to forgive you, warrior. Passion breeds strength, and she has heard such passion spoken by the Yanki Clan before. The hatred of your 'Great Enemy' is deep, as hatred of ones foes should be." Obsidian Orb smiles. "I have learned many 'darks' about the lost history of our race, since coming to this great city between worlds."