3.5 Basic Training IC

One by one, your horses, carraiges, or feet bring you to the Curassier's Barracks, an isolated Army post far on the eastern border of Verdania, on the steppes where the semi-autonomous tribes breed the sinewy, spirited horses that are then trained as steeds for the Verdanian cavalry. It is early spring, and cold.

Once you arrived, you were boarded in a grey stone building that may or may not have been a prison at one time, instructed to spend your time with your thoughts in your cell, with only the momentary companionship of the elderly orderly that brings you your bland meals of oat bread, tubers, and morsels of meat from some small flightless bird. He's not much for conversation. You occasionally watch the curassiers training in the distance.

Finally, one evening the orderly (who says you can call him "Old Jack") tells you to take your possessions and follow him. You walk about a half mile to long, low adobe building and go inside.

In the longhouse you see a stack of thin mattresses that must have been white at one time, a row of large pine chests with padlocks with keys in them, and a long table with grey woolen pants and tunics, folded and stacked according to size. The far half of the longhouse is obscured from view by a ragged curtain, made of the same wool as the clothing.

Old Jack
"Each of you get a chest. Put all your possessions in it except for holy symbols and small irreplaceable items such as spellbooks. That includes your clothes - find yourselves two sets of uniforms each over there and put on one of them. You also get these:" He hands each of you a piece of leather cord. "Lock your chest and hang the key around your neck with this. Oh, and you can keep your footwear, we don't have any uniform boots for you right now. Some troopers will arrive shortly."

He turns to go.

Gruk, being the first in line to follow Old Jack, stooped low to get through the door, and chose the first cot available, dumping his pack on the mattress to get his stuff out. He didn't so much as greet anybody, as he feels that anybody worth meeting would approach him first.

He stuffed everything he owned in the chest. Ignoring the warning for lack of footwear, Gruk kept on his boxers and locked the chest, not wasting any time. After standing up from locking the chest, Gruk stood in front of his cot, back slightly arched as he didn't fit inside the building fully. When Old Jack left, however, he sighed audibly and sat down on his cot, almost flattening it outright.

Vance smiles at the nearby people as he walks by, but tries to keep conversation from sparking. Following the big half-orc in front of him, Vance does as he's told, except...

Spoiler

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He keeps one of his daggers hidden in his footwear.

Sleight of Hand check: [roll0]

Elkirk walked into the room, carrying his backpack, weapons, and even wearing his heavy grey scale mail over his simple white and red cleric robes. He smiled genuinely, keeping both his holy symbol and key around his neck after throwing his heavier things into his chest, a relaxed but happy sigh leaving him. He hummed something, switching clothes into the simple uniform he had, setting everything else away somewhat messily into his chest.

He sat on the cot, rubbing his thumb and forefinger over his circular holy symbol, a simple sunray design in the middle as he closed his eyes and prayed something, running his fingers through his short black hair for a few moments before relaxing and giving faith to Pelor.

Domyn, the short, sharp-featured, dark halfing lags behind shyly. He scans the room as he enters and chooses a cot on Elkirk's far side. Before addressing his chest, he nods to and greets each of the others courteously. He puts all of his equipment away and is soon fully dressed and prepared. Rather than taking a seat and resting like the others, he walks to the curtain to peer behind it.

As Domyn pulls back the curtain, he is met by a small round face.

Female Gnome
"Hi! I'm Meena! Pleased t'meetya!"

The little gnome squeezes past Domyn and prances into your side of the longhouse. She is small even for a gnome, and her grey woolen uniform completely swallows her... but the sleeves of her tunic and the legs of her pants are the perfect length for her. Around her neck is a scarf of the same material. She stops in front of you and stands as if before an audience, her heels together.

"You must be the men of the group! Too bad I'm the only female; it has been so lonely and dull around here. I've been here the whole time while you were staying in the old jail. You know, if your clothes don't fit, I can tailor them for you. That's what I did with mine, and I made this scarf here, see? The smallest clothes were sized for some brute of a halfling, not a little gal like m'self! Are any of you bards? I'm a bard! And I heard our instructor's a bard too, so he must be nice! Isn't this exciting, they're going to teach us how to fight and ride and sneak around behind enemy lines! I've never done that before, just a lot of traveling with caravans, dancing and playing my pipes and doing a bit of magic. I'm so glad you're here, I've had almost no-one to talk to for DAYS!"

Gruk

Speaking up for the first time, Gruk stands up from his cot and approaches Meena slowly, taking his uniform with him. "I could use some tailoring, these clothes too small for me." After offering his uniform the the tiny gnome, his chest was clear to see and it was obvious his muscles were very well-developed, even for an orc. Looking down on the small gnome, Gruk was possibly 3 or maybe even 4 times her size, needing to bend over to even fit inside the house. He preferred to sit for precisely this reason, as bending over wasn't good for his muscles, he's been told.

Vance

Vance hops up. Hi! This uniform fits me almost perfectly, so I'm going to stick with it, despite your obvious skill in your profession. Thanks for the offer though. My name is Vance.

He gives a warm smile to the little gnome. He stays standing up, about as tall as Gruk while the half-orc is sitting.

Elkirk
The cleric blinked as the tiny and hyperactive gnome just flew about what seemed like 10 sentences stringed together in a matter of seconds. He hadn't met someone nearly this eager to talk or so energetic at the same time. Still, he decided to be polite, even if his prayer was interrupted. His clothes fit him just fine, even if they weren't as comfortable as his robes from home...

"Good day to you miss. I'm Elkirk, a priest of Pelor. My uniform is just fine, thank you..." he said in a calm and soft, though deep tone, as if used to reading to people often.

Just then the door bursts open and a squad of curassiers barge in. One gestures and says,

"Leave that one, take the rest."

The curassiers take all the chests except one, which is empty with a key still in its padlock, which they leave in place. They turn their backs on the recruits and head for the door as quickly as they came in.

Meena
"Oh dear. I hope I shall see m'nice silks and my instrument again someday. But at least I've still got these pipes!"

She produces from under her scarf a small set of pan pipes hanging from a strap around her neck. You can also see she has her key on its cord. Even before the last of curassiers have left the longhouse, she asks her fellow recruits,

"Would you like me to play you a song?"

Elkirk
The cleric nearly had his eyes pop from his head as the soldiers came in and picked up his chest full of things, raising his hand in protest. "H-hey! Wait a moment, please! Where are you taking our things?!"

Meena's bottom lip protrudes a bit when she realizes Elkirk's attention is focused on his departing possessions, rather than on her.

A curassier responds to Elkirk without turning his head back to look at him:
Curassier
"We're just storing these chests in a warehouse. You'll get them back at the end of your training."

Domyn follows the rapid chain of events with an air of increasing confusion. He chases the last curassier to the door but halts when he is met with a hostile glare.
Domyn
"Excuse me, but why must you take our belongings?" He mutters.

Vance

Noting Meena's expression with curiosity, Vance just looks around at his allies and the cuirassiers, then glances down at his dark brown leather boot. Perhaps they're taking our things because we won't be needing them...or they don't trust us with them.

He turns back to Meena, bowing slightly. I, for one, would be delighted to hear you make some music. Go on, please.

Gruk

Gruk wasn't much for music, he'd rather have people alongside him, fighting with him. After the curassiers leave, Gruk looks somewhat amused by the fact that his sword wasn't taken, it is too big to fit inside the chest, so he'd stowed it under his bed, and sitting back down on his bed with loud complaining creaking accompanied with a somewhat softer clang made him aware of his sword still being there. "You don't mind if I rework the bed? I don't fit on it." Not waiting for an answer, Gruk proceeds to break the ends off so that his legs could dangle over the edge freely. He then moves the bed more into the isle and put the parts he broke off on the end to put his pillow on, which will function as a makeshift extension of the bed. Testing it out when he's done, Gruk's feet still dangled a little ways over the edge, but he's used to that, so he lets out a low groan of satisfaction. "This is alright, I sleep well tonight."

Spoiler

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I think I'll need Str checks to break those things? Well here you go:

[roll0]
[roll1]

I'm hoping the break DC is 13 or less, otherwise I'll take 20.

Curassier
"Standard procedure. We'll provide you with everything you need while you're in training here. You want to argue? Take it up with your instructor."

Meena smiles dazzlingly at Vance, places her pipes to her lips, and begins to play a rapid, capricious melody while she skips in a figure 8, skipping so lightly that her trills and tremolos are not the least bit affected by her footfall. She is so absorbed in her performance that she does not notice the new person at the door. As soon as the last curassier exits the longhouse, a man in studded leather armor with black hair and a salt-and-pepper beard slips in the door, effectively blocking Domyn from pursuing his possessions any further. He stands there quietly, looking at each of the other occupants of the building.

Domyn
Domyn gasps and retreats unconsciously to Gruk's side. Recovering, he smiles and bows to the human.

"Good day, sir, are you one of our instructors?"

Master-at-Arms John Quarrel

"I'm Master Quarrel. I'm pretty much the sole instructor for this team."

Meena stops playing and dancing. Quarrel looks at her petite form, then Gruk, barely contained by the longhouse, and grunts.

"Hmph. And quite a team you are. That's good though. A variety of talents. But we've got to train you to work together and be able to fill in wherever you're needed."

Vance

So...Master Quarrel...are you a crossbowman?

Vance tries on his most innocent expression.

Master Quarrel ignores Vance and steps further into the room, addressing everyone.

Master Quarrel
"I see you've all had a small taste of the Army. Waiting for days without information, your personal things replaced with the king's uniforms. That's all well and good, but there's no need for us to go marching around 'eyes front' like a troop of pikemen. If the recruiters did their job right, your talents would be wasted on conventional warfare. So unless it becomes necessary, I'm not going to waste my time on conventional military rules and regulations. If you do exactly as I tell you and use good common sense, I don't care what else you do. Do we have an understanding?"

Quarrel is not a large man - about 5'9", 155 lbs - but he is an imposing figure nonetheless. In contrast to the parade-ground postures of the curassiers, he stands with his arms relaxed at his sides and one foot forward, slowly shifting his weight forward and back. He appears completely confident - not seeking confrontation, but neither is he expecting any dissent. His armor is not flashy, but it is impeccably maintained, and on his hip in a scabbard is a simple short sword without a fleck of rust or tarnish on it.

Slowly looking down at the well cared-for man, Gruk gives him a once over and answers with a confirming grunt, "Sound like a good idea." Grabbing his sword from under the bed, Gruk sits down on his bed once more, the latter then makes a complaining creak. "We ready to go?" Gruk finally asks the group in general.

Vance

Vance looks down at his feet for a moment, then raises his gaze to see the instructor.

He casts a glance at Meena, then Gruk, then the rest of the group.

Then he whispers in Meena's ear: Perhaps later, you can finish that performance. I would be most blessed to hear it.

Elkirk
Looking over everyone in the longhouse around him and the Master At Arms, Elkirk contained his composure. Just what had he gotten himself into with these people.

He smiled at the master however, and although he seemed both no nonsense and relaxed at the same time, he did have some level of respect for him. "So sir... if you don't mind me asking, but what sort of assignment do you have for us, if we're not meant for normal combat, as you put it?"

Quarrel
"Oh, raids, sabotage, intelligence gathering, that sort of thing. Hit-and-run tactics, so you don't get pinned down by overwhelming numbers. But you'll find out over the course of the training. For now let's draw equipment, and then you should sleep. We start training in the morning."

Master Quarrel pulls the curtain back that bisects the longhouse. You can see Meena's bed, complete with a wool blanket. There is also a stack of blankets to complement the stack of mattresses on the men's half of the building, and another table, but this time instead of uniforms there are laid out equipment sets of appropriate sizes, consisting of the following:

• Waterskin
  Belt
  2 Belt pouches
  Flint & steel
  Some sort of bandage

Vance glances toward the group in general while moving towards the equipment. Grabbing his share of it, he steps back toward the bed not taken as of yet, silently claiming it as his own.

Sorting through it all, he notices the bandage.

I take it the training will be fairly difficult?

Quarrel smiles slightly.

Quarrel
"I wouldn't want to disappoint you. Good night."

Quarrel heads for the door.

Domyn

With a sigh of relief, the little sorcerer jumps on his bed sits with his legs wide apart.

"So that's what the imprisonment was all about?! I was terrified, I thought I had fallen into some loony gladiator program."

He laughs and looks around the room at his team members. He sees Gruk's massive form - a manifestation of determination - and Elkirk's face expressing a quantum of doubt, and wonders how in the planes the five of them were supposed to learn to work together. 'Quarrel', indeed. He, too, begins to question the wisdom of his decision. He rises to go and gather his equipment.

"I will be prepared presently, Gruk, but I don't think we'll be training today, it's nearly nighttime. What about you, Meena? Have you been here the whole time, or did they lock you up at first?"

Domyn carefully arranges the tools in his belt pouches and ties on his spell component pouch before grabbing a blanket and returning to his place, muttering that everything is made of wool.

Elkirk
Elkirk was glad to have at least a handful of things he could make use of, smiling slightly and putting his belt and pouches on, slipping the flint and bandaging into a seperate pocket for each. He grabbed everything else, including a blanket, immaculately making his bed and checking it a few times before finally laying down on it, dissapointed that the bedclothes didn't hold as well as his bed at home. He sighed, putting his hands behind his head and staring at the ceiling.

"Raids and sabotage... Lord hopes that I'm doing the right thing..."

Gruk

Gruk is rumbling the whole time he puts on the belt and pouches, wondering why everybody thinks people never get as big as he does. At finishing his procedure, Gruk sits cross-legged in the isle, with his back to the door, seemingly open for any conversation. When Elkirk speaks of this 'lord' however, Gruk seems curious and asks him, "Who do you mean with Lord? It just us in here." Gesturing around him as he speaks, Gruk looked at him intently and says again, "I haven't said my name yet, it Gruk, what yours?"

Vance

Come now. This should be fun! We get to go behind enemy lines, using subtle tactics and daring maneuvers...My name is Vance.

Vance lies down in his bed, then rolls over to look at Gruk.

His "lord" is his god. His deity. As long as he prays to this god, he gets his power. With the power, he can either help us or prevent enemies from hurting us. Helpful guy.

He rolls back a little, but not completely, considering staying awake for a little longer.