Winter. The Nation Of Farque.
They've come from across the northwest of the lands Farque.
All of them thirteen or fourteen years old, boys and girls. Recruits for the armies of their nation.
They're not inexperienced at all. As like all children of the nation. They partake in combat and military training at an early age in the learning centers of their hometowns and villages.
As their nation, is the only ruled land in all of the Southlands. Or for that matter, the entire world of Volunell.
Where there's education for all. A big difference to most countries. Where the vast majority of people, no matter what their standing in life. Are unable to read and write.
The young teens who have learnt to use weapons, alongside philosophy and history. Also know the basics when it comes to tactics and military manoeuvres as well as many other subjects.
The reason they've been picked, is because they've been deemed best to suit the life in one of the armies in the lands Farque.
And though their classmates in their various learning centers across the northwest of their nation.
Are better suited to various other callings in life.
They're best suited to a life in the armies of Farque. And their training is similar if not the same to what a number of others throughout their lands are undertaking at the moment.
As the winter intake of new recruits have begun their training in the lands Farque.
They're based in the small northwestern town of Gildin Dale. Just twenty miles from the northern border, and just under fifty miles from the coast.
For the past week they've been training. Just like all the other new recruits throughout the nation this winter.
But unlike the other new recruits for the armies of Farque this winter.
Some of their instructors are brand new to their jobs.
And two of them, are not what one would call ordinary. Nor are they extraordinary.
What they are is different. And that's putting it lightly.
For though the new recruits were warned that these two new instructors were going to be different.
None of them had any idea at how completely different they have turned out to be.
Hamblin, tightens the straps of his back pack as he runs along the trail.
The thirteen year old from the farming village of Polsten, which is about forty miles to the southeast of Gildin Dale.
Looks to his right and left through the trees. On the lookout for any surprises. As today's instructors like to surprise his group of recruits.
They're in groups of ten, this is how they train. Hamblin and his group are on the forest trail to the north of the town they're based at.
He's leading the way, as he's a strong prospect of joining the scouts and rangers division in one of the armies. Though he doesn't know that yet.
The thirteen year old, lean, dark haired son of farmers.
Runs to the rock wall just up ahead, and when he gets there, he quickly looks back down the trail, and spots the next in the group, about fifty yards back, running through the forest trail.
Hamblin who has been given the lead today by field commander Drubine.
Grabs one of the ropes, and pulls down tight on it, to make sure it's secured.
He's already wearing his fingerless leather gloves, so he starts climbing the face of the rock wall.
Just glad they've got the ropes this cold, winter's morning. As further to the right along the bluff. They would have to scale the rock wall without the aid of ropes.
A rather dangerous undertaking, considering the rock wall is nearly a hundred feet tall.
Especially when their packs can weigh anything. Like this morning, as it's about thirty pounds. Which is considered a light weight pack.
As he climbs, using his boots to secure himself against the wall.
The farmer's son looks up, as a surprise could very well come from above.
It's a good thing he did look up when he did. As he sees a full helmed head looking down at him.
"Shit" mutters Hamblin the recruit, who quickly kicks out and away from the wall, going to his right.
The next moment, a fairly large rock drops by him, barely missing him.
He swings like a pendulum, as above at the top of the bluff.
The foreign knight, sir Percavellé Lé Dic, who from what the new recruits can tell, has no rank whatsoever in their lord's armies. Drops another rock down at Hamblin.
The new recruit, who in all likelihood will be a scout or ranger within six months.
Looks up, and continues climbing again, when he sees the heavily armoured knight from the kingdom of Druvic.
Nod his full helm head in approval. Then move to one side, then out of view. Presumably to drop rocks down at the next recruit who has just got to the rock wall, and has started climbing up one of the other ropes.
As he climbs, the young teen from the farming village of Polsten is glad that they've got sir Percavellé on this morning's trail run.
For though the boisterous foreign knight is unpredictable, not to mention a bit mad.
He's not completely mad like another of their instructors. The ork general, Dorc da Orc.
Who never trains them when the former earl of Lé Dic trains them. And vice versa.
Hamblin figures the big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world is probably still asleep. Or he's drinking somewhere. Or eating.
As they're the three things the new recruits have learnt that the large ork likes doing the most.
Along with killing people and fucking animals. Which he hasn't been able to do since returning to the lands Farque.
Hamblin, like just about everyone else throughout the nation. Knows of the ork warleader, who for the last quarter century or so. Has been a traveling companion of their lord.
The ork who is a general in the armies of Farque.
Who from the week of training they've had so far. The farmer's son thinks isn't entirely adequate to train them.
Not that he does a lot, or even turn up at times. Hamblin like a lot of the other recruits gets the feeling the general would rather be doing something else, than helping to train them.
The farmer's son eventually gets to the top of the rock wall, and heaves himself up and over the top of the bluff.
He's breathing heavily, and after a moment he crawls forward.
As he does, he looks to his right, where sir Percavellé Lé Dic says to him "Hurry along now youngster" followed by "You don't want to be late now do you, wot".
Then the heavily armoured knight drops a rock over the edge of the bluff.
And Hamblin hears a yelp from down below from one of the other recruits, followed by a muttered "By Narille i missed again, wot" from sir Percavellé Lé Dic.
The thirteen year old recruit gets to his feet, and in the cold wind up here on the bluff, where there's little in the way of tree cover.
Hamblin continues on his way along the trail, which winds it's way down the otherside of the bluff.
Going north and west, before going back down and circling to the south, back in the direction of Gildin Dale.
Which is five miles to the south of the bluff with it's hundred foot tall rock face.
Hamblin runs down the trail, glad that though it's a cold winter's morning. It's a clear and sunny morning.
For this area in the northwest of the lands Farque can get a lot of fog during the winter.
As they had for a couple mornings last week, just after the new recruits based in Gildin Dale got underway with their training.
With his pack strapped to his back, Hamblin runs back down into the tree covering.
Glad that they don't have Dorc da Orc training their group of ten this morning.
Though that means the large ork will train them with weapons this afternoon, or with something else.
As the ork general from the southern polar region of the world, and the foreign knight originally from the kingdom of Druvic.
Always alternate when taking one of the groups of ten new recruits based in the small northwest town of Gildin Dale.
From early on, the new recruits who if successful with their training. Will be in one of the various divisions of one of the armies of Farque.
Learnt that the two most different of their instructors absolutely don't like one another.
And from Hamblin's observations, he's pretty sure they want to kill one another. Or at least see each other killed.
The other new recruits in his group have thought the same thing. As they've seen how Dorc da Orc and sir Percavellé Lé Dic act around one another.
Infact they hear from the two of them, as they speak outloud about their total dislike for one another.
And how they'll like to see one another die in a horrible fashion.
The young teen from a farming family here in the northwest of his lord's lands once he's down the otherside of the bluff, and heading back around, so that he's amongst the thicker tree covering, and he starts heading back south.
Slows down a bit, so that some of the others can catch up, or at least get within sight of him.
Hamblin who has been picked this morning to the lead the way for his group of ten. Is more alert now he's back amongst the trees.
As the instructors could very well spring another surprise upon him and the rest of his training group.
The thirteen year old who is a dead hand with a bow and sling, slightly frowns as the patch of woods he's going through.
Is a lot more quiet compared to elsewhere the trail goes through, here to the north of the town of Gildin Dale.
The youngest son of a family of farmers in the village of Polsten, thinks about drawing his shortsword as he approaches a pile of boulders to the right of the trail.
Boulders where you can see green moss on them beneath the light smattering of snow that covers a lot of the surrounding area.
The new recruit, who has been training for just a week with the others based in Gildin Dale.
Suddenly stops, for though he doesn't see anything, or hear anything. He definitely smells something.
It's rather distinctive, and something you'd never forget when you first smell it.
Just as Hamblin and the other new recruits did just over a week ago. When they first arrived in the town of Gildin Dale.
"You can come out general" says Hamblin the recruit, who continues with "I know you're there".
With a chuckle, Dorc da Orc walks out from behind the boulders, and stands in the middle of the trail.
The large ork puts his arms up, like he's imitating a bear, as he chuckles and growls at the teenage boy.
"Scare you" says a chuckling Dorc da Orc, the new recruit refrains from rolling his eyes, and just nods in response to the ork warleader.
The big, burly ork grunts, then looks in the direction of the bluff in the distance, and asks the recruit "That cunt knight up there?" followed by "Sir Percy the dickface?".
"He is general" says Hamblin, who like the other recruits, finds it a little difficult to understand the ork general.
For the simple reason his deep voice is more of a growl than anything else. And that since he likes to swear a lot, that coupled with his thick accent.
You have to listen carefully to him to try and understand him.
"Hope the fucker falls off" mutters the ork weaponsmith, who then says "Move the fuck along, me wanna scare the next one of you 'lil fucken cunts that comes by".
Hamblin, who is a little surprised to find the ork general here. As he and sir Percavellé Lé Dic haven't trained them together at the same time so far.
Nods his head and continues on his way. Giving the big, burly ork from the southern polar region of the world a wide berth.
For the simple reason Dorc da Orc or Dorkindle which is his given name. Absolutely stinks to high heaven. Enough to make you vomit if you get too close, in the opinion of the farmer's son from the village of Polsten.
As Hamblin hurries down the path, heading south back to Gildin Dale.
The warleader of the ork race quickly gets back behind the pile of boulders, so that he can scare the next of the new recruits in the group heading back to the small town, here in the northwest of the lands Farque, where they're based.
The new recruit from the farming village of Polsten eventually makes it back to the small town of Gildin Dale.
He's the first one of his group back to town. And as he waits in the courtyard that's between the four large houses that are essentially the barracks for the recruits based here in town.
He sees the sentinel for the area, sir Morcin the avenger come into view, and make his way between two of the houses, and into the courtyard.
"How was it recruit?" asks sir Morcin the undead avenger, who speaks in elven.
"Not too difficult sir" is the reply in the same language from Hamblin.
The former knight who died in the same battle as their lord did four hundred and fifty years ago, nods his head.
And as the next recruit in the group makes their way into the courtyard, the avenger whose kingdom of birth no longer exists, switches to the dwarven language and says "Hmmmmm the field commander might have to make it more difficult then".
"Well" says Hamblin, who also switches to the dwarven language, which he finds a little more difficult to speak "The climb up the rock wall, even with the ropes is difficult" adds the teenage recruit from the farming village of Polsten.
The next recruit who stands next to Hamblin, nods her head in agreement with the farmer's son.
The undead avenger chuckles, then slightly frowns when Hamblin tells him "The only real surprise was that general Dorc tried to frighten me on the trail back to town".
"Me too sir" says the other recruit, Maselle, who in dwarven adds "His rather strong odour gave him away".
"Was not sir Percavellé on the run this morning?" asks sir Morcin.
"He was sir" says Hamblin who speaks in common, as the sentinel for the area has switched to the common language.
"He was up on the top of the bluff" adds the new recruit from the farming village of Polsten.
Sir Morcin glances away to the north, then mutters something in a language neither one of the recruits understands as he senses away to the north of town.
"Remain here with the rest of your group" says sir Morcin, who continues with "The fighting monk Shur Kee will be here shortly".
The two recruits nod, and as a third makes his way back to the courtyard between what's essentially their barracks.
The undead avenger takes off running, he's soon a blur that he can't actually be seen, as he heads north of Gildin Dale.
To stop whatever it is he guesses the ork general Dorc da Orc is up to, as the ork warleader shouldn't be on the northern trail run this morning.
And is most likely trying to get his bitter rival, sir Percavellé Lé Dic killed . . . . . .
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