The Raven Marches

Quietly he leans against the back wall of the modest courtyard. One by one his supposed comrades file in after him, new equipment in hand. Maybe five of them looked like they might actually know which end of their newly issued weapons to use. Least, that's his reckoning on first appearances. Often enough first appearances can be wrong but Dargo figures he got them pegged right this time.

By the time someone makes their way to the courtyard to bring order to the young recruits Dargo's already made himself pretty comfortable. His back slumped lightly against the wall, one foot propped on it to evenly distribute his weight, his arms crossed with a short curved blade in his hand delicately picking out the imaginary remnants of whatever he might have eaten for breakfast from his intentionally flashed fang-like canines. An intimidating visage of comfort to anyone not schooled in the arts of reading people. To the average person Dargo looked every bit the thug, resting carefully before preparing to strike. A truly observant individual might see through his ruse, though. In truth, Dargo just thought it was funny to watch people get intimidated.

Sergeant Bremen did not seem to share his sense of humor. A couple of the recruits couldn't help but stare at Dargo as if they were watching a dragon getting ready to devour them. As Bremen went down the line and noticed this he paused and let his attention hold on Dargo until it was met.

"Dargo," he replied very flatly while sheathing his kukri and standing up straight with no visible expression on his face. "Just Dargo. I can track."

Dargo tapped his nose gently twice before letting his hands fall to his sides. Back straight, arms at his sides, hands lingering just inches below the grip of his blades, legs parted neatly to shoulder width. A perfect 'attenshun' by military standards. More perfect than his own tribes training even. Humans tend to put an overemphasis on form and appearance as Dargo recalled. Of course, he did manage to keep his perfectly apathetic emotionless face through it all. No need to make anyone else comfortable. Least not before getting to know them.

"Thunderhill, right there h'you are that h'wasn't too hard was it?

Miller we can always use a trap finder , not as much use against goblins as Kobolds, but you never know - keep h'your h'wits about you and you'll do fine.

As for you Leruithil keep the healin' coming and we'll h'offer up prayers to the lady of the woods until we're blue in the face. I'll even have a donation sent to the temple when we get back - you just see that we do h'right?

Thalamorose I don't give a pigs whiskers about your magic skills or h'lack thereof, if you can use a bow with any kind of h'accuracy you're gonna be a cut above the usual rabble.

And as for you Shifter we earn h'our names in this man's army, I can call you Shifter or you can make something up. Those who serve well get nicknames, its not a rule as such, but its a tradition so its as good as. In any case a tracker is h'always handy, h'welcome to the Crimson Hawks.


A few more nervous folks stammer introductions, including a big man who calls himself Tamworth and claims to be a musician, he wields a black leather whip.

"H'anyway h'if we are quite done congratulating h'one h'another h'on h'our h'abilities lets be off. We've two days march to the h'low h'lands around the fist. Keep h'up and moan as h'you like, helps to pass the time I find.

Well? March me lads! Don't bother keeping h'order I'm not even going to try to teach proper drill to h'you rabble."

With that the Sgt. turns and slides effortlessly into the mile eating stride of a true soldier. The gate guards exchange salutes with him, and eye the raw recruits with rehearsed skepticism.

"Good luck Freck, ye'll need it by the looks 'o this gaggle."

The dwarf jolts his body to settle his armor and shuffles off after the Sergeant. Although weighed with bulky armor and shield, his ground speed seems adequate, if not startling.

He scowls at the gate guards as they jibe reaches them, but keeps walking without replying.

Thalmarose slumps a bit more as he falls into step silently. The mutterings under his breath aren't really meant for anyone else but is own self pitying ears. His bow bent over his shoulder is all the more signal that is ready for the road.

Miller

Derek follows in a light stride, glad there were no more questioning about his whereabouts and past...

Ainel, Duskblade 1

Ainel mentally assesses the group. Plenty of ranged fighters.

Satisfied that a melee fighter is more needed than another archer, he leaves his bow slung across his back and grips his glaive as the unit moves out.

Remembering the officer's earlier order, he attempts to move closer to him. "Sergeant, I . . . don't have a house name," he says, pitching his voice low so it won't carry far.

Falling in line with the others, she ask "So, what exactly are we doing? Something about chasing away some goblins, I guess..." she shrugs.

Miller

"Yes, I think so. Can you tell me more about the diety you venerate? I'm very interested in learning new things." Derek responds with a smile.

Sgt. Bremen looks back at Ainel and nods thoughtfully.

"Well I can call you Elf, h'if it h'wouldn't cause you h'offense or you could make something up. We get a lot of who do, don't care about your past just so long as you serve h'your two weeks a h'year Daunton e'll have you. I could also call you for your weapon h'if you like, Glaive rather than bow I mean. Let me know.

I chasin' goblins the right of it, though theres a few h'odd rumors about the raid. Brud and Mekin can tell you more about it, but they say there were a few folks that h'engaged the goblins and were later seen leaving with them - stuff and h'nonsense if you ask me, but still... Don't none of you be taking it in your head to run off with goblins, even if they use pretty words, a goblins a goblin and sure as ashes is ashes they'll stab you in the back."

After around eight hours travel, most of which is cross country across barren plains speckled with snow, the Sgt calls a halt and gives the order to set up camp. Darkness falls shortly after and it begins to snow lightly with the wind whistling around the militia.

"Four three hour watches, I need four on each. Anyone with a preference speak up now."
The Sgt. shouts.

[Sblock=OOC]Feel free to finish conversations, etc., that occur before camp is set up. Once I get a watch schedule I will provide a map, for no reason...[/Sblock]

"I'll take tha first watch, Cap'n. I don't like gettin up early or interuptin me beauty sleep." Gillian winked as she skipped along with everyone else, not seeming very serious. "And don't be worryin none bout me runnin off with them goblins. Hate the damned blighters, I do. Always been a pain in me wonderfully cute behind."