Conscripted

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Dawn - Recruit Encampment

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The muck of cart ridden roads oozed out from the shoes of the horse beneath the man clad in armor. His face was cast down letting the water spill from his helm onto the mane of his steed and then into the already sodden earth to pool for days. The night before had been calm with barely a breeze, no cloud in sight and no warning of rain. t seemed the lords would not have mercy upon these men today; it was not their right to take men of the families and cast away their lives after all. And that is exactly what the men clad in metal had done.

Bangs on the door at supper brought startled mothers to the door where they were handed a note. 'By right of the Throne the first born son of each family shall be conscripted into military service to aid in the war against Gaell. In lack of a first born son, the eldest able bodied man of the family is to take his place. Any actions against this conscription will be noted as treason under the Throne and punishable by death.' Complete with royal seal. Wayland remembered many of the women that wept as a child perhaps no older than sixteen, preparing for a wedding in the summer, or to till the fields in the morning of the morrow. As he rode through the thick mud he could see just how many men had been taken from home. Fathers tilled the field in the dread downpour already, making up for what would be an incredibly hard year for many of them, and an impossible one for others.

Rows of wheat, potatoes, corn stalks, and other crops already seemed to wither along the roadside that led to a centralized camp from the four hamlets that converged. About an hours ride from the nearest hamlet a rise of white tents, mess of men squandering about in the rain and a large open area, already nearly half a foot of water pooling. It was there that the conscripts would gather, be given their weapons and welcomed to their new life. With them would also be the few that had volunteered to service, a few of them women.

Wayland gripped the reigns of his horse and pulled them to the right, edging the horse towards the gathering place. In an hour or so's time everyone was expected to be gathered here. He looked for the leader of this whole orchestra, the only man that stood above him in ranks. His armour and weapon may have held him in high regard years ago, but Wayland knew the strife it must have caused him over the years seeing as his simply life as a soldier, no gallant hero, cast shame on him whenever their forces were repelled. Nonetheless he spotted the man, complete with armour clad and urged the horse towards him.

“Captain Ornstein, sir.”

He hailed the officer, dismounting from horseback. His commander stood a good half a foot taller than him and even though he was a year younger with his silver hair Wayland seemed the younger of the two.

“Some of the men have been passing word many of the homes intend not to send their sons for the war. I've sent men to corale the runaways, but I doubt our numbers today will measure many more than a hundred.”

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Conscripted OOC

'By right of the Throne the first born son of each family shall be conscripted into military service to aid in the war against Gaell. In lack of a first born son, the eldest able bodied man of the family is to take his place. Any actions against this conscription will be noted as treason under the Throne and punishable by death.'

A man sat near a lone table with a small note laying undisturbed next to a bottle of pungent berry flavored mead. The mead was disturbed, of course. Rohans dark hair hung down his brow and covered the mans face. His large, callused hand gripped the bottle eagerly. Surely a man should receive his drink before being sent to his death. He was being sent to battle once more. He thought he'd finished it back then, but alas, he was called to serve his country. Pfah. He'd thought Aemeria was the more peaceful nation, but that was wrong. All nations go to war one day, whether they enjoy it or not.

Rohan took one last drink from his bottle, pausing to wipe his mouth and stand. He placed the bottle on a shelf and grabbed the note, stuffing it into his pocket. He walked over to his bedroom, his fortress. In the corner lay a small chest, within, his arms. He opened it up and pulled out his old battle gear. It was a little worn, but it would do the trick. It hadn't failed him before. He pulled out the trusty pike, spinning it in his fingers and grinning. It yearned for blood once more, and he would fill its thirst. His sword and shield, simple weapons, but deadly none-the-less.

He readied his armor, pulling it on one piece at a time. He finished with his helm and peered through the eye slits that gave him vision. He put his pike within the straps and tucked his shield on his back. His sword went into his sheath. He was ready for combat once more, even if he was not so much as a boy anymore.

Soon, Rohan arrived within the edges of the Aemerian camp. He walked calmly to the guardsmen, pulling out the note that was given to him.

"Oh, so we get s'm new fresh meat, eh? It'll be g'd to git some new recruits. Go ahead, y' can pass."

Rohan nodded and walked forwards, coming face to face with the man who seemed in charge. A noble, obviously, wearing shining golden armor that outmatched his own in value by tenfold. Rohan kneeled and presented his sword.

"Presenting for duty, sir. I look forward to serving in the Lords' Army."

Damn rain.

Bastus stood near the edge of the central area, looking down into the mud. Soaked to the skin, and with a mood as sour as the weather, he scratched the bridge if his nose and slowly brought his gaze up to the men and women around him. Many looked around his age, if not younger. More people taken from their homes, pushed into service by a military most of them tended to ignore.
At least, in his case.
Back in the hamlet, medicine had been his only concern. People needed a doctor, and Bastus was always happy to oblige. The last thing he wanted to think about was war. Even if he had to, he only imagined himself working at the home front. Healing injured soldiers, saving lives...
Instead he had the joy of fighting in the front lines; one of the same people he should have been saving. Most likely going to take an arrow in the chest within the first few minutes of open combat, and die from an infection on the operating table.

Bastus shook the water from his hair and pushed the thought to the back of his head. No need to be so pessimistic. People tended to protect the doctors, anyway. He adjusted the leather armour and rotated his right shoulder a few times. More used to medical aprons and light clothing, this weight was going to take some getting used to. At least the sword was somewhat similar to the one he practiced with.
With a sigh, he folded his arms and looked around the camp.
A few of the higher ranking soldiers were speaking, and a few other conscripts were already making their way into the muddy meeting area.
Bastus turned his gaze skyward, squinting as the raindrops hit his face. Hopefully this weather would blow over soon.

Hopefully.

Ornstein was never one to put much faith in stories of creatures and entities that controlled the weather. He had heard tales from visitors from the East that spoke of flying serpents who held sway over the skies and storms, providing the countryside with ample rain so long as they were appeased. He was well acquainted with the stories about powerful spellcasters who traveled in the clouds, weaving mighty rain storms and causing droughts as they saw fit. He didn't believe any of them. At the moment however he wouldn't have complained if some wizened old sorcerer were to fall out of the sky before him. At least then he would have been able to strangle the old man until he stopped the rain. In all honesty Ornstein didn't mind the rain, not on it's own at least. Even the mud he didn't mind, so long as it stayed out of his eyes. No, what bothered Ornstein about the present weather was the chill that he couldn't seem to shake. But that was to be expected with the armor he was currently adorned in. Plate was notoriously poor in terms of keeping out the cold.

Complaining wouldn't do anything about it of course so Ornstein was forced to deal with what he had been given, keeping his grumbling to himself so none of the men around him would overhear. Not that some extra complaining would effect moral anyway. Despite having only recently set up camp Ornstein's men were already quite tired, the combination of rain and hard labor sapping their strength as quickly as any battle they might eventually face. If all of those who had been called to serve arrived by the appointed time they could begin training by the next day. That would require luck though and Ornstein was finding that luck was in short supply in Aemeria of late. As he stepped aside to allow a group of mounted soldiers to pass him Ornstein wondered how his old comrades were fairing in their own assignments. The King's Spear had been broken up not too long ago after all and it was difficult not to wonder if the men he had grown up with were fairing better than he.

A voice calling his name interrupted his private thoughts though and Ornstein found himself being confronted by one of his Lieutenants. What was his name... Oh yes. Dael. He had been only recently introduced to the men who would serve under him and he found it difficult to remember their names. Running a gauntlet through his sopping wet hair, the other still holding his helmet firmly under his armpit, Ornstein let out a sigh at the news the lieutenant brought him. So much for leaving by the next day. Before he could respond to his lieutenant Ornstein was once again interrupted, this time by a soldier he had never seen before. The man, who appeared to be slightly older than he himself, was kneeling before him, sword presented. From his apparel, which was in no way standard issue, Ornstein guessed him to be one of the conscripts. Why the man had decided to kneel before him he couldn't tell. Nobody bothered with such formalities out in the field except in the stories told to children. Not quite knowing what to say to the man, Ornstein simply nodded hesitantly to him.

"Yes... quite." Was all he said to the man before turning his attention back to his lieutenant, his tone turning more official as he addressed the man. "Send word to the searchers that they are to head back here before the sky darkens. No point in keeping them out in this weather for longer than we have to." He cast a glance to the eastern side of the encampment for a moment before continuing. "While you're at it get someone to set up a large canvas over by the training grounds. I want at least some of the ground out there to be solid tomorrow."

Shaking the rain out of his hair suddenly, Ornstein slid his helmet on, the sounds around him becoming quieter the moment the ornate headpiece was in place. "If you need me I'll be standing watch with the guards for the rest of the conscripts." He said, his voice slightly muffled by his helmet. Grabbing the large and curious looking spear that had been resting against the trunk of a tree beside him, Ornstein nodded to his lieutenant and (after a moments hesitation) the kneeling soldier before making his way towards some soldiers who had been put on sentry duty off to the side, dismissing them to go work on setting up the rest of the camp. He needed an excuse to think for a bit and being on watch was as good an excuse as any in his book.

Of course it must rain, because why not?

Back home in Redport, there was a saying about the origin of rain. "Rain is the piss of the gods", people would often say whenever it rained. Seeing how much it rained right now, the gods must be pissing themselves out of enjoyment over the conscripts' ill fate. Gods were cruel beings, after all, so why would they not be entertained by the misery of young men that was forced to fight in a war they did not want to be a part of. At least Mather had a proper kettle helmet to keep his head dry, unlike most of the men here. Mather was lucky that he was allowed to keep his City Watch gear, but that did not change the fact that he was nothing but a simple conscript like the majority of the men here.
Around twenty or so men, including Mather, had been forced to join the Lord's Army on the orders of the Commander of the City Watch. Mather had never liked the old bastard, a spineless hound that ate whatever came from the nobles' table back home in the city. When the nobles of the city were told to send men to the army (meaning their sons and themselves), they answered by forcing their loyal Commander dog to send some of his own men. Most curious that he sent those that were more then capable of taking over his position as Commander of the City Watch.
He held his trusty Bardiche firmly in his hand. Given to him during his time in the City Watch, Mather had used it to cut of the hands of thieves. Most people would use a sturdy axe for something like that, but Mather wasn't like most people. He considered the Bardiche a better weapon when it came to cutting body parts off, head or hand did not matter.

If this rain does not stop soon, then half of us will die before our first battle.

Leaving in the middle of the night probably was not the best solution to the problem at hand, but it was the only solution that Elias could muster. His father had made it very clear that he was not planning on letting his son walk right into his own untimely demise. Sneaking around and leaving like this was the only way to ensure that he was not followed or, even worse, physically prevented from leaving. Even when sneaking through the bare halls, his every step sounded like that of a giant. He felt nervous for the first time in years; he had never disobeyed his father before. His trip through the mansion remained undisturbed, despite his feeling of being watched.
Sword at his hip and dressed in his custom armor, he made his way to the staples, still trying to be quiet. If he were to spook the horses, all of hell would surely break loose. His own steed, a tall, light gray Shire stallion with full grown mane and tail, stood by the far corner in his little booth; sleeping soundly. Elias hushed the horses gently as he moved forth, trying his best to keep from spooking them.

“Mika,” Elias whispered softly, reaching out and gently touching his fingers to the giant's muzzle and giving his a soft stroke. The horse reacted with a huff, nudging his hand as if it was searching for food. He grabbed its rope from the hook on the wall, connecting it to its bridle to walk it out of the stable.
At first, the horse had little interest in leaving the safety of its stall, bit with a bit of gentle urging they were soon outside. Elias made quick work of saddling the horse, swearing under his breath at his lack of mobility in his armor. He petted the horse on its muzzle once more before mounting.
The horse was hesitant to move. Its steps were slow and groggy and no matter how much Elias clicked his tongue or jammed his heels into its side, it refused to move any faster. It would be a very long trip to the camp at this pace.

By the time morning rolled around, both Elias and his horse were getting to the point of kicking each others faces in. The rain had begun pouring. The horse was unused to the rain, being that it was usually put in the stables when rain fell. Elias was just tired, lacking sleep, and annoyed with his stubborn mule of a horse. He had long since given up on trying to get him to move faster, but at least the horse had started a light trot when the rain began.
Upon finally reaching his destination, Elias immediately felt a sense of dread and regret flood him, but he tried to ignore it. Instead, he managed to get his horse back to a slow walk, wandering into the campsite. He was tired and hungry, but he had promised himself that he would not complain. He was mentally prepared for this, he thought.
Even with his hair flat from the rain, he would still be easily recognizable for anyone associating with blue bloods. Part of him hoped that someone would and another part wished they would not.

Celine pulled up her hood trying to prevent the rain from seeping through her clothes. It was of little use and as she continued riding she could feel the damp fabric of her cloak starting to stick to her exposed shoulders. The cover of rain coming from the dark clouds made it hard to recognize the path she was on. She pulled back the reins and stopped. Thick strands of dark hair stuck to her face and she wiped them away to improve her vision. Soon enough she would reach the encampment. The soldiers should have settled there. "We can seek shelter at the encampment" she whispered to her horse. "I recognize this road it shouldn't be far" Celine started to lead her black stallion up a steep path after noticing a landmark on the side of the road.

Men clad in the suits of war had all come together at the encampment. Fathers, sons, brothers all men of age were sent off to war. In their steel disguise she didn't recognize any of them. Their hamlets were all huddled close together in this part of Aemeria. She had healed many men, women and children. There was no doubt in her mind that some of them were in this very camp having joined the conscription same as her. She dismounted her horse, the heavy folds of her soaked gown dropping onto the muck. Men who recently joined the conscription and seasoned soldiers met here. It wasn't hard to recognize who was in charge. While she never fought in a war she experienced the aftermath of the battles. Treating the wounded and sending off the dead. She let her eyes linger on every one of the soldiers. Some of them were still just boys and had never fought a battle in their lives. She hadn't either but women weren't expected to, men were......

She pulled her rain soaked cloak tighter around her and went further into the encampment. Her black stallion snorted as she left him behind. The animal tired her, he was bred for work on the land not for riding. He was too large and she couldn't always keep him under her control. Her hands would often be sore from the reins. Eventually she found her way to the stables, but there was no stable boy. A look of mischief played across her features, smiling under the cover of her hood. She produced a soft whistle using only her lips. It seemed useless at first. It was a charm taught to her by her grandmother to lure a stallion. It did not work an a mare, for it to work an a mare the one whistling had to be a man. Strangely enough even this work horse responded to her call. It was a eerie sight to behold. She pulled the reigns forcefully to remind the stallion who was in control and tied him onto the post.

Atop a rise overlooking the bedraggled encampment, the figure of a lone man stood.

Gabriel had been standing in the same position for the past twenty minutes, taking in what he could about the camp before he made the final, slippery descent to his conscription. The rain had darkened his hair to a dull brown, but the eyes peering out from beneath the bedraggled locks shone as piercing a blue as ever. The man had been silently marveling at the size of the camp for a while; having never been outside his small hamlet before this day, and such a gathering of men was a novelty to him. If this was only a small encampment of soldiers, he thought, then the battlefield would be vast beyond reckoning.

Suddenly, the stillness was broken. With a sense of certainty unusual to one of such a tender age, Gabriel descended the small knoll, his feet squelching every step of the way. 'It's as if the earth itself is trying to impede my movement,' he mused. The going had been tough since he had set out at before dawn that morning; the rain had turned normally trustworthy roads into something resembling a swamp. Perhaps Razeisa was already testing him: a man with lesser determination may have looked at the rain and decided not to make the journey, but Gabriel was stalwart in his faith. The thought bolstered his already strong belief that it was the will of his god that he had been summoned today, and he strode into the encampment with confidence.

Now that he was able to see the faces of the men surrounding him, Gabriel's view of the camp had become somewhat more dismal. Rain ran in rivulets off soldier's armour, and muttered cursing could be heard from more than one direction. A flash of gold caught his eye. He turned just in time to see a towering man garbed in fearsome golden armour - no doubt the commanding officer of the camp - striding towards the outskirts of the camp. Quickly filing the image away in the back of his mind (it would no doubt be useful to remember people of importance in the war effort), Gabriel turned his attention back towards the faces around him.

His eyes soon fell upon a man with brown hair plastered to his scalp. From his sour expression and the way he had his arms folded, it wasn't difficult to tell that he was somewhat miserable; whether it was the weather or the situation, Gabriel couldn't tell. Regardless, he decided that he would speak to the man - Gabriel was a personable young man, and enjoyed filling his time with conversation. Besides, what else was there to do until the group was called together? Approaching the man, he put on a warm smile, showing resplendent white teeth.

"Hail, stranger! I hope I haven't interrupted your train of thought. You do not look like a man who is happy to be here, and to be honest, I'm not surprised." Gabriel looked up at the heavy cloud and incessant rain that was falling in sheets, grimacing. "I thought some conversation could cheer you up. And who knows how long this war will be going for - it could be good to make a friend." In much the same way as his walk exuded a sureness uncommon to one his age, Gabriel's voice was clear and steady, exuding a confidence that few of eighteen - nearly nineteen - years could boast. "I am Farscythe. Gabriel, my father calls me. And what is your name, stranger?"

(OOC: Apologies for the short post... Had to type this in a rush)

Bastus looked up. Despite the miserable condition, someone was trying to lighten the mood. Another conscript, from the looks of things. Didn't look that much younger than himself, perhaps by a few years. The boy had a rather impressive appearance, almost to the point of looking regal. What's more, he seemed brimming with energy. In times of war, people with positive attitudes were few and far between. Though, they didn't go unappreciated. Gabriel's enthusiasm was enough to bring a smile to Bastus' face, and he unfolded his arms.

"I suppose I'm not the best at hiding my emotions... But, you're right. This war isn't exactly a cheerful occasion, and the weather surely doesn't help. Still, a bit of conversation never goes unwelcome."

He held out a hand.

"I'm Bastus. It's a pleasure to meet you, Gabriel."

Flicking some of his soaked hair out of his eyes, Elias steered his horse slowly into the camp. The giant did not seem to mind the rain as much anymore, despite its own mane and tail being just as soaked as Elias hair. He clicked his tongue lightly when the horse attempted to steer towards some smell or another and it continued on the path he choose for it. They wandered about for a few moments as he was uncertain on whether he was supposed to tell someone that he was there, or if he should just join the conscripts at random.

His decision was made for him when his horse suddenly stopped in its tracks, ears perking up and twitching. Before Elias had time to try and calm his beast, the horse had set a path in full gallop towards whatever it was that it had heard. It was headed straight for the stables. Elias hissed its name repeatedly, tugging rather harshly on its reigns, but with little result. Just as they entered the stables, the horse let out a mighty whine and reared onto its hind legs, effectively causing Elias to tumble backwards and off of the beast. He landed very ungracefully on the ground and thanked all deities that his head had not hit the ground, as his armor protected him from the brunt of the small fall.

Luckily, with an armor as light as his, it was not much trouble for him to stand, aside from his lack of free movement. He stood quickly, reaching up to try and gain order of his soaked hair again; a noble was taught to always carry themselves with dignity and honor, no matter the situation. He was, however, not expecting anyone to have seen his little stunt. He tried to ignore the utter embarrassment that flooded him when his eyes fell upon the woman who was in the stables with him.

He quickly, a bit too quickly, one might say, bended at his waist to a less than graceful bow made even more awkward by his lack of movement in his armor, “My apologies, Mi'lady. It seems my steed was more sick of the rain than I realized,” he excused just as awkwardly as he had bowed. What was wrong with him? In the castles and manors, he could sweep any woman off of her feet with his charming. Heck, he could bring them to his chambers, if he so desired. Was he really that much out of his element that even his personality would begin flawing.

As he raised from his bow, he threw her the most brilliant smile he could muster and hoped to all deities that this would not come off as awkward.