Recruit Trainining with Colonel Mord Cabro
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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..._
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Ivor Panthers joins the morning muster of the militia after breakfast is served. He lines up next to the other trainees and stands at attention. Mord looks over the militia and then walsk and inspects each, remarking on a uniform here and kit there. He inspects random weapons and one militia member is sent back to the barracks to clean the rust off his weapon.
He suddenly barks out
Trainee Ivor Pantheras, front and center. Face yer trainin mates. *Mord stands behind him peering at the militia over his shoulder. * Ye all know our new cook. He will be trainin with ye and ye will work im hard. He will be preparin yer meals between trainin.Mord nods to the returning guardsman with his shiny blade Cook Ivor will require aid int he cookin and KP (Kitchen patrol) will be assigned on a rotatin basis. As ye are his trainers in the field, he is the law in the kitchen. Mord smiles thinly and stares at the troops Think about it some. I find any of ye slackin on his trainin ye will enjoy extra KP duty.
One last item. Ivor will be inspectin ye ta see what shape ye are in and what foods would be best fer ya. Tomorrow at dawn he will have 20 minutes to look ye lot over.
Mord suddenly barks right next to Ivor's ear Dismissed!!
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_From a nearby hilltop, Dwin and a well dressed Dwarf in Priests Robes watch Farly as he submits himself to the tireless training regimen of Mord the Terrible. They watch Farly closely, sipping at some dark ales.
At one point as Farly looks up and catches his kinsmen watching him. The one known as Koirin raises his hand in salute to the recruit and smiles. Korin and Dwin then walk back to Dwin's office, deep in conversation._
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Aye Mor err Lieutenant.
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Mord watches the sweating dwarf haul another partial sack of gravel up the road. He looks over at Belin and smiles thinly. Brings back memories, does it not Scout Belin? He chuckles softly and steps off briskly into the night.
((Thanks for chipping in Teah))
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Belin once again wakes Farly after he'd only slept a couple of hours. Having him put on all his kit and pick up a full pack she then hands him a sack.
there beh un pile o gravel down by da old south gate. Weh needs it moved tuh da north barrack before da dawn.
The pile is only half moved by the time of the militia drills and Belin looks to Farly
Nay un problem, yuh can finish it when yer done wit yer duty with da Chancellor.
From what is left it seems clear that Farly will be up long after dark moving the gravel in the sack, which seems to have a small hole in it.
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He be a Lieutenenat and ye will take is orders. As far as the rest that is his affair. Best git goin recruit.
Days progress with long hours in weapons trainning, both in close and distance. Physical exercises in endurance are added, including hauling stone and logs for barricades and construction. Once mid afternoon arrives Recruit Farly is sent off to see the Chancellor.
((All Militia is free to chip into any trainee regimens, within the bounds of reason, work them hard, dirty and long))
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Farly smiles his ugly smile and says hi to each of them as he is introduced, reacquainting himself with the ones he knows already. Afterword he talks to Mord over to the side. Pointing at Cyrian he says:
Commander, thats the one they say is a Cyrcist. He's Lieutenant?
