Recruit Trainining with Colonel Mord Cabro
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Mord frowns at teh recruits and shakes his head at Devlin. I pity ye lad but see what ye can do. Recruit Farly, ye will report to me at dismissal.
Mord inspects the rest of the guard and turns them over to the lieutenants, then watches the three recruits scurry for the south gates of the old town ruins.
((Farly, I am sending you a PM))
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Listening outside in the hall, Devlin stomps into the room as if he had no patience, with not even so much as a smear of pride across his face.
"Alright ye lot! As -soon- as you are done cleaning, you are to report to Colonel Mord at muster. After a head count, you will be spending the day with me, doing training exercises in the Rawlinswood. You are to report to me at the Old Norwick Southern Ruins. These are going to be live training exercises, so you best hope you are awake and ready by then. I'm talking to you, Ivor, Dwalin, and Alfonso. If the Colonel instructs you to go along, Farly, then you will be coming too."
Devlin looks each of them over, then gives Belin a sharp nod, trudging out of the room just after a quick turn of his head, his neck popping and cracking several times.
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grunts looking over the scrap of a recruit with the dagger. She makes a sweeping kick with her short stubby leg to land him on his arse
who da fark are yuh? Nay draw un dagger ungainst yer commerades.
grunts and barks at the other three to set to cleaning and glowers at the man on his ass
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Scampering is heard by the other three as Belin speaks with them. A young man, black hair messy from sleep, is holding a dagger in his hand, half-awake. He grunts in annoyance, seeing the four, and mutters a question in grogginess.
"There is goblins?"
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Belin waits till an hour before muster and takes the bedding off the three recruits, Ivor, Dwalin and Farly. She raps her knuckles loudly on Farly's armor that he has learned to sleep in. A small grin at the armor passes over her face.
get yer lazy arses outta da bunks. Weh need ever un o da chamber pots und gardar robe scrubed. Meh beh told der meh beh un inspection coming. Nay can use magics tuh clean dem. Yuh have un hour till muster. If'n they nay beh clean by den you'll beh doing it every morn before muster till dey are.
Oh und Farly, yuh got tuh do it as yer dressed.
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Mord smiles a hard smile as the statement on Devlin reaches his ears. He catches Belin's eye as she leaves the morning Scouts meeting and waves her over. I need ye to work the lads hard Belin, tought times be rollin t us and we need strong lads. Have yer fun lass and I have a certain lad that will be takin care of the everyday trainin.
Mord has Devlin report to his office and leans back in the only chair.
Hard times are comin Guardsman and fer that we will need hard men. We have three new recruits in trainin and perhaps at least one more I hear may be wantin in.
Stares at Devlin a moment then smiles thinly I need good men, but I also need good officers ta lead them. I want reports on all three on my desk every three days. They be yer make er yer ruin.
Mord stands and throws him a quick salute, fist against chest.
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It is clarified that Devlin is not a Lieutenant, but he probably should be.
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Sine Dwalin was added to Militia as a recruit he's trying to help in anything he could. He asked Devlin which obilgations a recruit have before start trainment. Devlin told him that he should make some patrols and report everything strange.
Dwalin is doing what Devlin asked him, and waiting for the militia trainment.
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Belin grin at Mord when she overhears the comments. After muster asking if he has a minute to talk to a scout.
Yuh nay mind meh messin wit da fellas aye? Meh was thinking o' havin dem clean da chamber pots und da gardar robe. Whut yuh think?
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Two new trainees show up at muster the following day. Alfonso Pura, a human, and Dwalin Dain, a dwarf are added to the group. Mord looks the trainees over then smiles thinly. He calls Lieutenant Cyrian forward.
Their kits look awfully light this day. sighs and shakes his head sadly Seems someones been scattering gravel all over the road and the Chancellor almost twisted his ankle the other day. I want the road cleared and all obstructions loaded into their packs and hauled to the north wall.
Nods sharply to Cyrian and he turns and heads south.
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Farly continues to go through the rigors of training stoicly. He does as he is told and works hard no matter the situation. He seems to never be out of his armor now days, even while at rest. The nights of being awakened by Be'lin have taught him to be ready for it.
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Grunts in reply, then shrugs, jogging along, his eyes scanning the forest around them.
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Nay need tuh talk tuh yuh tuh get tuh know yuh.
grunts looking surly
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grunts, jogging along at a steady pace, seeming to be used to this whole "running" thing… as that's probably the only way he survives, like any proper adventurer
"So…. wot ye wanna know, lass? Didn't think thar wos much tae know 'boot moi, cept that I loike tae taste 'boot anythin' walkin'."
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looks to Mord
Meh spend tuh much time in da barrack tuh beh just un scout meh reckon meh will get called fer KP at sum point aye. So meh thought tuh get tuh knowin da chef like.
grins watching the fellas trot off and strolling after them with a wave to Mord
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((I take it Ivor also cooks for the scouts
))Mord can be seen outlined in the door as Farly and Ivor stumble off into the dark. He raises a steaming mug to Belin the tips his head and heads back into the barracks.
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There beh summa stone down there in da old elfie camp that beh need tuh beh up here. Now get yer shaggy arse movin tuh bring it up 'ere. Aye if'n Mord dinnay tell meh tuh get yuh lot in better shape den your sorry arses look.
grunts
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Ivor grunts and grumbles as his cot ((assuming they are cots)) is lifted and dropped to the ground. After recieving the loudly barked orders at whatever time of the night it is, having already worn his dirty tunic and pants to bed, he ties what meager armor the various cured hides offer together, gathering and putting on his belt and sheathed dagger, ready for the late night labor, peering around tiredly. Taking a swig from his flask, He soon makes his way outside, grunting as if almost to announce his presence, somewhere between "25" and "10", awaiting whatever oddball circumstances Belin might come up with for her orders, speaking slowly.
"Ye said sumtin' 'boot bein' ready fer sum rum 'n' meetin' sum stoned long-ears at sum sorta camp?"
Ivor grunts after, rubbing the back of his neck
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Belin wakes up Ivor and Farly shortly after they've turned in for the night by lifting the bottoms and dropping it back to the floor with a loud clatter. She grins apologetically to the rest of the sleeping barrack mates.
Yuh farks got till meh count tuh 50 tuh beh outside und ready fer un run. Weh need yuh tuh run down tuh da old elfie camp. Der beh summa stones meh need tuh beh brought up 'ere.
Belin starts counting as she walks out of the barracks
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_Ivor gives a grunt, nodding at Colonel Mord's words as he talks of Ivor's duties. At the end, as Mord barks right next to Ivor's ear loudly, Ivor winces, before taking his finger and press it to his ear afterward, drawing a large sticky chunk of wax from it, flicking it to the ground.
Ivor paces himself through the drills…
In endurance training and forced labor, Ivor, despite being an older man, often seems to keep up well with his younger counterparts, his body apparently adept at being pushed to the limits in long, strenuous workouts.In weapons drills, Ivor seems to handle close combat weapons with practiced hands, showing that he's been trained in a variety of weapons at the basic handling level, though he seems most at home with a dagger. However, he often handles them unfittingly for Militia, his attacks lacking the proper speed or punch needed to be effective. Some would say that this is likely due to him not aging well, but others might notice how his arms seem to be deformed and almost knotted under the armor and tunic he wears. Concerning ranged weapons, he seems to do decently well, albiet seeming to lack the proper hands required for it. With a longbow, he is noted among those watching to handle it as if second nature, and even when he pulls back on the bowstring and his arms shake wildly as if too weak for it, his arrows seem to still hit the mark an average amount of the time, even if they do lack the punch of some of the other troops' shots.
In close combat sparring drills, Ivor is often seen taking a beating in his old, worn, crude set of animal hides that form some semblance of armor. His movements are often too slow to dodge blows, and also too slow to hit his opponents most of the time. Even though he does horribly, his body seems to absorb the punishment well enough. At the end of the drills he usually emerges bruised and bloody, licking any blood that drips from his wounds and savoring their flavor.
During free moments, he occasionally dips his finger into a pouch on his belt, dabbing some paste over his lips. Some would recognize this to be crushed animal fat. During his breaks, he tends to his wounds with decent skill, and apart from his waterskin, he can occasionally be seen drawing what looks to be blood from a twine-mesh laden bottle, leading some to speculate that Ivor may be a vampire sent to infiltrate their ranks.
Often when he sits he looks over the various tracks decorating the training grounds, noting them carefully in memory of their type and shape. Some would think that he may be gifted as one of those "ranger" types... but the thought of imagining Ivor being anything but blunt and to the point baffles many.
Often though, Ivor just seems to be an old grizzled hunter at the end of the day, who for whatever reason is going through recruit training..._
