You're in the army now!

The notices are all over town, tacked on bulletin boards and road signs, trampled into the mud at the market place, floating in the scummy salt water at the docks: The Black Company is seeking new recruits. Anyone who thinks they have what it takes is invited to apply for membership on Fireday at noon, in the Old Bastion.

Come the day, there's quite a crowd at the Old Bastion. Many have come just to watch. Free entertainment is hard to find in Beryl these days. The Black Company has set up a long table in the courtyard. A handful of grizzled old veterans are sitting on one side with plenty of ale and meat pies to keep them happy and one by one the applicants are allowed to approach the table and make their case as to why they would be a good addition to the company.

One by one the applicants are examined and questioned. Many are rejected out of hand as being too old, too young, too infirm, too obviously crazy. Several are lead up to the table by armed guards holding the applicant in chains. It is clear the sergeants in charge of the process do not like accepting these criminals, but it is also clear that some kind of arrangement exists between the civil courts and the Company. Only one of the prisoners is rejected, on the grounds that he is missing one hand and can barely hear a word, even when it is shouted in his ear.

One by one the applicants are sent either to the stable yard just behind the recruiting table, or to the small square by the fountain dedicated to some long forgotten god. When the day is done a bell is rung and the recruitment drive is over. Those in the square are given a loaf of bread and a skin of wine and thanked for showing up. Those in the stable yard are kicked and yelled at.

"You're in the Black Company now!" someone grizzled and serious yells at you. "Time to start acting like it.

"To me and everyone wearing a torque with a jet insert like this," he holds up the golden neck band, "You are worms, less than a wipe of dog shit on my shoe. To everyone else in this city, your are a god who can do no wrong. You are the newest in a long line of recruits into the Black Company, a brotherhood of warriors with more history and honor than most kingdoms. You are about to become the most terrifying creature on the planet -- a Black Company warrior.

"From this day forth . . ." the pep speech goes on for a while and it's a good one. Unless you're a died in the wool curmudgeon, your chest puffs up with pride at being in the Company. After about twenty minutes or so, the speech ends and it's time to swear you oath.

Since childhood you have known that a person's oath is their bond. The world spins round on oaths and taking them seriously. To break an oath would set you at risk of seriously bad luck. And these guys are asking for a solemn oath, On whatever you hold dear.

OOC: Let me know in private if you take this oath seriously or not. You don't get to hear it first. You just get to swear it, one phrase at a time.

Lancet didn't stand out, even after being accepted into the Company. She was on the short side of average, slight of build, and she had the kind of face that was forgettable moments after seeing it. Dark side of pale, with eyes that were a muddy brown and hair that was dirty brown. No tattoos or jewelry, and exactly as much in the way of scars as you'd expect. It was all but impossible to find a distinguishing characteristic to set her apart from the crowd, no matter what the crowd was.

It was hard to say whether she felt anything, at the speech or at the prospect of the oath. Maybe they didn't move her. Maybe her versions of the emotions they were meant to incite were just as bland and mundane and understated as everything else about her. Who could say, without knowing her better? It wasn't like she'd spoken unless spoken to, in the entire time she was waiting.

Regardless, she spoke the words of the oath, and her voice was just as unremarkable as the rest of her, like the auditory equivalent of slightly muddy water. Nothing worth noting.

Snicker exudes relaxation and the perpetual smirk plastered on her face is tainted with genuine satisfaction, confirmation that the earlier mirth was at least partially an act. But of course it was. She had been covered head-to-toe in evidence of extensive abuse.

Every inch of visible skin is a painfully inflamed pink, accentuated by her pallor, and she reeks of stagnant water, but most of the grunge is gone. Her hair even looks halfway decent despite an odor reminiscent of wet dog. Whatever water source she had found may have been far from pristine, but she’s drastically cleaner nonetheless. The witch is starting to turn into a bit of a looker.

She is even clad in real clothes! They may not fit her slender frame in any dimension, but her prison uniform had barely qualified as a garment. Though they do look an awful lot like what one of her guards had been wearing . . . and are those bloodstains? Perhaps she had gotten to give the recruiters that show after all.

While assembled with the others she never really assumes an appearance of pride unlike the overwhelming majority of her incipient comrades. But there is a strong sense of happiness and she recites the oath without hesitation.

There are a fair number of crows atop a nearby roof, but one of the murder appears intent on the proceedings. Odds are it’s the same one that had earlier perched on her shoulder due to some manner of sorcery or another.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:38, Fri 11 Dec 2020.

Rat stood straight and tall in the yard.  Unlike poor 'Snicker' he still had the clothes he had been arrested in.  They were plain peasant clothes, well maintained and a whole lot cleaner than this morning.  His shoes were even polished although the wear still showed through.

He ran his fingers through his well groomed hair, and his teeth were clean and breath fair.  The speech the seargent had made was inpiring and made him feel good but he knew eventually he'd be accepted.  He hoped thar this group would survive the battles to come.

He stood straight and at attention as he gave his oath to the Black Company.

After giving his Oath he scanned those in the stable yard.  He frowned slightly at Snicker's condition.

Blackfinger smiled softly through the oath, not having any real intent prior to the speech to take it to heart. With the convicts doing little to assuage his belief of the Black Company as not truly any better than the bandits they put down, he yet still took stock of the others here. Whether he liked it or not he shared a drive to be a part of the only mercenary company that mattered any more, even if they did it only to skirt the stock and he to put a better use to his talents than working the docks. Perhaps the difference between him and his new battle brothers was not so great that he could take a little pride in standing with them. Besides, if he can't keep his word why should the others?
This message was last edited by the player at 09:09, Sat 12 Dec 2020.

Her exterior betrayed nothing.  As the harangue and pomp began and continued, she couldn't help but think about what had led her here.

Memories of a cold, but familiar palace.  A small knife with a silver handle, a pitiful thing barely appropriate for opening a parcel much less for a fight.  The sight of a young man she was supposed to cherish but who she could be nothing but indifferent to standing with so many others, standing around a black lump on the floor of the woods, no larger than a goat, but which she knew would grow.  Finding the Telle-Kur scrolls, and more importantly the translations.  A meeting, late, under the waxing gibbous moon in the garden.  The surprise at how weak he actually was, and his unseeing eyes.

It didn't matter now.  It really didn't.  This was it, this was all there was now and all there was likely to be for any foreseeable future of hers.  It gave her a kind of dry, bitter amusement how unremarkable everyone looked huddled together here, how drab and uniform despite their being nothing but.  But maybe that was the point.  This was psychological conditioning.  She'd been programmed all her life, what was a little more, and it might help in the difficult time soon to come.

She spoke and repeated methodically.  Her mind wasn't really in it, but in her own way she was deliberate about it.  The first job right now, lest she get ahead of herself, was to meld utterly with this new reality.  Oaths, the harassment, training that would make her want to vomit, the inevitable shit jobs they'd give her to try to break her and test her mettle, it was all part of it.  She would check out and watch it all happen to some other girl who happened to look like her when she needed to.

Weasel stood amongst the rest of the "Volunteers" a few he thought he recognised but he knew his best chance of escape was to stay silent and keep his eyes open. He was dressed in the clothes he had been arrested in, blood stained the front of his tunic, his breeches were torn from the dash across the rooftops but he still wore the fine boots he had stolen from Sharky before that particular gang leader had met his demise at Weasel's hand.

Then when the oath ceremoney began he swore softly.  His eyes darted around but there was no escape he truly was being drafted into the Black Company.

He started to turn and get ready to dash into the crowd but his movement caught the eye of one of the mercenaries with a torc.  The glare was enough to stop Weasel in his tracks, it wasn't fear that held him in place but recognition, here was a killer more dangerous than he was.  Maybe it was worthy staying around he could learn something.

The shouting, the glaring, the constant assessment of his own position relative to the others was all new to Boots.

He was green, yes, green as grass. But he seemed to take the Oath very seriously as he began to intone it alongside the new recruits. Not belting it out, but clear and true and with a deep sincerity.

Why it was hard to say. Apart from his wholesome good looks and easy smile he looked like any hale young man you might find strolling about the countryside. A man who could have gone out and found honest work in some other city should he have desired to.

His blue eyes staring straight and unfocused, his slight rural inflection could be heard by his neighbors, comingled with the others as their voices rose and fell in unison.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:46, Fri 11 Dec 2020.

Orville found the recruitment process extremely interesting; he'd heard and saw other perspectives demonstrate a variety of skills at-arms or spellweaving which could be quite useful. Storing this information for later consideration Orville joined the group as directed by the Recruitment Sergeant.
Finding a suitable spot to wait for what would happen next he spent time observing different perspectives and recalling segments of verse. Responding to the bellows & cajoling he rises and moves forward to a better position to hear the Drill Sergeant's speech.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:52, Sat 12 Dec 2020.

Hush initially stood with an impassive look on her face, at home on her plain features. Long brown hair falling onto a brown cloak, brown eyes, and a stature no greater than common. The speech did seem to rouse her, although her demeanor still remained reserved. Especially when discussing how the Black Company is respected and feared by others, there was a light in her eyes and a small smile.

Her oath was sworn with solemn intonation.

Stitch stood among the other recruits, dressed in hunter browns and greens. His time as a criminal Enforcer and then a hunter at least gave him the basics of fighting, so he was a leg up on some of these 'cruits. As the pep talk went on he murmured "feared, huh? Fear I can do." He struggles to not be bored with the droning voice, and little if anything escapes his florid, yet nondescript face. He'd had practice at patience....any good hunter had to learn that one real quick. When it came time for his oath, he put aside his internal griping and spoke in a strong voice as he gave his solemn oath. These were no longer recruits beside him. These were now his brothers.....even the female ones.

Tyrell winces as he's kicked into line. The pep speech helps a little, but he can't help but feel that things are rapidly spiral ling out of control. This did not seem like the riches and fame promised by the poster. He had hoped to be able to talk to a sergeant, negotiate pay, discuss expectation, and the like, but the farther along they got into the induction, the more it seemed that was never an option.

As the oath comes about, he prefaces with "So Long as the Company is true to me," but seems to say the rest according to expectations.

Some fifty or sixty rag tag civilians are sworn in to the Black Company that evening. As soon as the oath is taken, sergeants begin to bellow and chivvy the new recruits into smaller groups, each under the command of a corporal. These groups are marched out of the old city, with a lot of shouting and poking with sticks to encourage coordination and form. Outside the city proper, to the south is an area where caravans set up camp and here the Black Company has set up a camp and training ground for their soldiers, old and new.

As the daylight fades, the small groups of eight recruits each are shown where they will camp and where the mess tent is as well as the latrines. This evening there is little for them to do, but they may eat a meal together and drink a cup or two of ale around the camp fires. None of the regular soldiers will be particularly friendly with them, though they do get a couple of warnings about how hard the next few days will be.

And hard they are. Well before dawn the next day they are roused with a bucket of cold water and told to strip naked and wash their bodies completely with soap and cold water. Black tunics, one size fits all, are handed out with a leather belt to cinch it tight around the waist and lace up boots, which luckily do come in a range of sizes. Experience has taught all armed forces that good shoes are more important than weapons in keeping the troops alive.

Freshly washed and uniformed, the recruits are taken on a ten mile run. Laggards are switched to keep up by laughing corporals who are ridiculously fit and manage to run around the huffing, panting recruits over and over again saying rude things about them. Once or twice a surly recruits speaks back and it thumped hard for his temerity. The others learn to keep quite and save their breath for running.

After the run comes breakfast. And then training begins. Wooden swords are issued along with battered wooden shields. An arms master demonstrates various forms of attack and defense and then watches carefully as the recruits try to emulate them. Again, switches are used liberally to punish transgressions or clumsiness. The moves are designed to train the new fighters, and all Black Company members are fighters, even the cooks, how to fight as a unit. This often goes against the grain of those who learned how to fight in the streets and they have to unlearn what they thought they knew about combat.

Days pass in a nightmare of pain and weariness, bruises and curses. Every night recruits vanish from the camp, never to be seen again. After ten days of training with the sword and shield, the exercise switches to archery. The compound long bow is not a simple weapon to use, and the training here is less rigorous, with the weapon masters focusing their attention on those who have a natural talent rather than teaching everyone how to be proficient.

By this time the recruits are noticing that they are running ten miles before breakfast as easily as they might take a walk by the river. Their skills with sword and shield are getting better, and even the bows are somewhat familiar.

OOC: Add martial weapon proficiency feat if you don't have it for both short sword and longbow. If you do, add +2 to your attack with both short sword and bow. Add shield proficiency feat if you don't have it. If you do, add +1 to your AC when using the medium shield. Add +2 to your Fortitude Save.

Now is the time when you must decide if you are going to specialize as an infantry fighter or as an archer. Please let me know what you want.