Caspaen
04-03-2007, 12:46 PM
In the Castle few things stirred at a late hour. Owls could be heard taking to the hunt in the courtyard. Rodents were scurrying from the light of torches in the hallways. Caspaen lay in his bed, alone for once, tossing and turning as he dreamed. His wife was gone on some foolish errand as usual. Her kind nature and willingness to trust was in his opinion a grave fault. With cold air around him he seemed to spasm, his bodies only being able to move a bit as his memory regurgitated his past.
"Get on your feet you worthless shit stains! Perhaps the Horde will make an appointment to put your heads on a pike!" The Drill Instructors were waking the Recruits for their morning formation. The moved up and down the lines in the barracks kicking the Recruits who were slower to rise.
Caspaen stood at attention on line, eyes forward. The sun was beating down on the barracks through holes in the roof as it made it's ascent into the heavens. With all his will he tried to supress a yawn. Such an act was a sign of weakness in Spartan Training. His will failed him.
Quickly a Drill Instructor by the name of Polyinekes move with swift purpose and hit Caspaen square in the jaw.
"Try that again you filth, and I'll bury you," Polyinekes screamed point blank at Caspaen.
To his credit he didn't not fall from the blow. He let the blood fall as it will and replied, "I am forever in your service, Lord!" This response was both expected and required.
Polyinekes turned and moved down the rows of racks beating and berating those he saw fit. When he was finally satisfied he stopped in the center of the Barracks and addressed the Platoon.
"Today! Today is a day that may serve as a last for some of you. Silvermoon, in all of it's wisdom has chosen you, who have completed all but your last year of training, to serve it in a mission. Do not think this will be some walk in the park. Nor should you think that my hand will be restrained if you fuck up. Endanger the Platoon and I will knock your dicks in the dirt! Do you get me?!"
"We get you, Lord!" came the response in unison, it's voluime and intensity so loud the flimsy shingles wavered.
"You will move out with a full combat load and form up on the docks of Theramore. From there we will sail across the Great Sea to Menethil Harbor. That is all you need know. Now get your shit on before I set fire to your slow moving hands and feet."
"We understand and will obey, Lord!" the Recruits called out and as Polyinekes and the other Drill Instructors stepped outside the Barracks they moved to gather their packs.
Caspaen turned and checked the straps of his gear, making sure everything was tight. He then adorned his armor, shouldered his pack, and picked up his spear and moved up and down the Barracks assuring that all the other Recruits were ready. He stumbled across one by the name of Orgadom Sunfeather who was having trouble.
"Come on Orgadom, you shit should have already been preped," Caspaen said to him as he began helping reposition and secure Orgadom's pack.
"I know, I know. I had watch and was just tired," Orgadom replied.
Caspaen chuckled a bit. "We're all tired and we all had watch. Just don't screew us Orgadom, it would be a shame if we had to kick the shit out of you during the night."
Orgadom gave a wry smile to mask a look of dissapointment in himself, he knew the statement to be a real possibility. He himself had been part of such a group when a Recruit had failed to polish his armor to standards. The result was the entire Platoon spending hours polishing their armor only to have to toss it in the mud and polish again. The process was repeated several times, well into the night, no breaks for chow given. When the atleast were turned to their racks the Squad Leaders, Guide, and a few Recruits; including Orgadom, descended upon him and beat him into unconsciousness. In the morning the Drill Instructors didn't blink twice over the Recruit's bruises and broken nose.
Caspaen finsihed with Orgadom's gear and surveyed the Platoon. "Squad Leaders," he bellowed, "Get them outside and formed up to march!" The Squad Leaders turned and relayed Caspaen's order. As Guide he was the one Recruit ultimately held responsible for all the others. Becoming guide was no easy task and in fact one usually lost it the same day as they earned the honor. Throughout the years Caspaen had earned it and been posted from it seven times. Postings were caused by failure to act accordingly and get results from the Platoon. If one Recruit failed, they all failed. They also relieved Guides of responsibility with a flogging. One last bitter taste to dishonor.
The Platoon formed up at attention, spears driven butt-spike first into the dirt in front of the Drill Instructors. Caspaen took his place at the front right corner of the formation, the Spartan Standard for his Platton in his hand, spear strapped to his back.
Polyinekes and the Drill Instructors turned from their smokin' and jokin' to face the Platoon.
"Move out," was all Polyinekes said. It was all he needed to. Each Recruit new what would happen if there was error or hesitation. It was more a fear of what would happen then it actually happening that kept them orderly.
The Platoon stepped off for the coast, using a shallow reef to walk upon. As a standing order they split into two colums rather than four when they hit the beach. This was to provide both availibility to all Recruits to use their weapons if needed, those in the middle of four ranks would be attempting to stab over their commrades and possibly slaying them instead of the enemy, and to give an avenue for runners from the front or rear of the collums to reach the other end sending word.
The gold lambda on scarlet of the Spartan Standard moved in the wind. It's shadow giving Caspaen a slight reprieve from the heat that was growing steadily. As they reached a peak of a mountain seperating the Barrnes from Dustwallow Marsh they could see the number of vessels anchored in the harbor below. The sheer scale of it was daunting. The moved down the mountain and onto the road leading into Theramore. As they approached the gates the order to form back into four collums was given and the ranks collapsed inward. While the Platoon marched through the streets of Theramore it's citizens looked on with awe. They had heard of these Spartans, but few had ever seen them. Several women tried to solicit the Recruits, but they stayed stone faced as was required. It had been some time since they had seen women, a long time indeed. One Recruit cracked and broke ranks to go partake of all the Gods deemed good. In a flash, and before the Recruit took his third step, he found himself on his back with a Drill Instructor's foot on his throat.
"What are you doing you pig farmers bastard child?! Get the fuck back in formation or by the time you reach those women you'll have nothing to pleasure them with," the look on the Drill Instructor's face showed no sign of jest.
Once release the Recruit quickly picked his spear back up and got back in his rank. He knew the real punishment would come later, when they were out of the public eye. All the Recruits thought of the scarred flesh on their backs from such mistakes, more and less severe.
Among all the ships along the docks there was but one Sin'Dorei Transport. Standing off in the Bay two Sin'Dorei Destroyers could be seen. They were undoubtedly the escort for the Transport. Caspaen looked ahead at what would be his home for the next month or so. The conditions would be cramp, damp, and volatile. There would be bloodshed among the Platoon to be sure.
A pounding came from the door of Caspaen's chambers. He awoke a bit lost as to where he was.
"Fifteen minutes to sunrise, Sir!" came a voice of the Spartan Guard.
Caspaen rubbed his eyes and got out of bed to get dressed. It was another day and training was long ago. As it was Caspaen found himself duty bound, never quite having a childhood. There was no remorse in this thought. His wasted youth made him the man he was.
"Get on your feet you worthless shit stains! Perhaps the Horde will make an appointment to put your heads on a pike!" The Drill Instructors were waking the Recruits for their morning formation. The moved up and down the lines in the barracks kicking the Recruits who were slower to rise.
Caspaen stood at attention on line, eyes forward. The sun was beating down on the barracks through holes in the roof as it made it's ascent into the heavens. With all his will he tried to supress a yawn. Such an act was a sign of weakness in Spartan Training. His will failed him.
Quickly a Drill Instructor by the name of Polyinekes move with swift purpose and hit Caspaen square in the jaw.
"Try that again you filth, and I'll bury you," Polyinekes screamed point blank at Caspaen.
To his credit he didn't not fall from the blow. He let the blood fall as it will and replied, "I am forever in your service, Lord!" This response was both expected and required.
Polyinekes turned and moved down the rows of racks beating and berating those he saw fit. When he was finally satisfied he stopped in the center of the Barracks and addressed the Platoon.
"Today! Today is a day that may serve as a last for some of you. Silvermoon, in all of it's wisdom has chosen you, who have completed all but your last year of training, to serve it in a mission. Do not think this will be some walk in the park. Nor should you think that my hand will be restrained if you fuck up. Endanger the Platoon and I will knock your dicks in the dirt! Do you get me?!"
"We get you, Lord!" came the response in unison, it's voluime and intensity so loud the flimsy shingles wavered.
"You will move out with a full combat load and form up on the docks of Theramore. From there we will sail across the Great Sea to Menethil Harbor. That is all you need know. Now get your shit on before I set fire to your slow moving hands and feet."
"We understand and will obey, Lord!" the Recruits called out and as Polyinekes and the other Drill Instructors stepped outside the Barracks they moved to gather their packs.
Caspaen turned and checked the straps of his gear, making sure everything was tight. He then adorned his armor, shouldered his pack, and picked up his spear and moved up and down the Barracks assuring that all the other Recruits were ready. He stumbled across one by the name of Orgadom Sunfeather who was having trouble.
"Come on Orgadom, you shit should have already been preped," Caspaen said to him as he began helping reposition and secure Orgadom's pack.
"I know, I know. I had watch and was just tired," Orgadom replied.
Caspaen chuckled a bit. "We're all tired and we all had watch. Just don't screew us Orgadom, it would be a shame if we had to kick the shit out of you during the night."
Orgadom gave a wry smile to mask a look of dissapointment in himself, he knew the statement to be a real possibility. He himself had been part of such a group when a Recruit had failed to polish his armor to standards. The result was the entire Platoon spending hours polishing their armor only to have to toss it in the mud and polish again. The process was repeated several times, well into the night, no breaks for chow given. When the atleast were turned to their racks the Squad Leaders, Guide, and a few Recruits; including Orgadom, descended upon him and beat him into unconsciousness. In the morning the Drill Instructors didn't blink twice over the Recruit's bruises and broken nose.
Caspaen finsihed with Orgadom's gear and surveyed the Platoon. "Squad Leaders," he bellowed, "Get them outside and formed up to march!" The Squad Leaders turned and relayed Caspaen's order. As Guide he was the one Recruit ultimately held responsible for all the others. Becoming guide was no easy task and in fact one usually lost it the same day as they earned the honor. Throughout the years Caspaen had earned it and been posted from it seven times. Postings were caused by failure to act accordingly and get results from the Platoon. If one Recruit failed, they all failed. They also relieved Guides of responsibility with a flogging. One last bitter taste to dishonor.
The Platoon formed up at attention, spears driven butt-spike first into the dirt in front of the Drill Instructors. Caspaen took his place at the front right corner of the formation, the Spartan Standard for his Platton in his hand, spear strapped to his back.
Polyinekes and the Drill Instructors turned from their smokin' and jokin' to face the Platoon.
"Move out," was all Polyinekes said. It was all he needed to. Each Recruit new what would happen if there was error or hesitation. It was more a fear of what would happen then it actually happening that kept them orderly.
The Platoon stepped off for the coast, using a shallow reef to walk upon. As a standing order they split into two colums rather than four when they hit the beach. This was to provide both availibility to all Recruits to use their weapons if needed, those in the middle of four ranks would be attempting to stab over their commrades and possibly slaying them instead of the enemy, and to give an avenue for runners from the front or rear of the collums to reach the other end sending word.
The gold lambda on scarlet of the Spartan Standard moved in the wind. It's shadow giving Caspaen a slight reprieve from the heat that was growing steadily. As they reached a peak of a mountain seperating the Barrnes from Dustwallow Marsh they could see the number of vessels anchored in the harbor below. The sheer scale of it was daunting. The moved down the mountain and onto the road leading into Theramore. As they approached the gates the order to form back into four collums was given and the ranks collapsed inward. While the Platoon marched through the streets of Theramore it's citizens looked on with awe. They had heard of these Spartans, but few had ever seen them. Several women tried to solicit the Recruits, but they stayed stone faced as was required. It had been some time since they had seen women, a long time indeed. One Recruit cracked and broke ranks to go partake of all the Gods deemed good. In a flash, and before the Recruit took his third step, he found himself on his back with a Drill Instructor's foot on his throat.
"What are you doing you pig farmers bastard child?! Get the fuck back in formation or by the time you reach those women you'll have nothing to pleasure them with," the look on the Drill Instructor's face showed no sign of jest.
Once release the Recruit quickly picked his spear back up and got back in his rank. He knew the real punishment would come later, when they were out of the public eye. All the Recruits thought of the scarred flesh on their backs from such mistakes, more and less severe.
Among all the ships along the docks there was but one Sin'Dorei Transport. Standing off in the Bay two Sin'Dorei Destroyers could be seen. They were undoubtedly the escort for the Transport. Caspaen looked ahead at what would be his home for the next month or so. The conditions would be cramp, damp, and volatile. There would be bloodshed among the Platoon to be sure.
A pounding came from the door of Caspaen's chambers. He awoke a bit lost as to where he was.
"Fifteen minutes to sunrise, Sir!" came a voice of the Spartan Guard.
Caspaen rubbed his eyes and got out of bed to get dressed. It was another day and training was long ago. As it was Caspaen found himself duty bound, never quite having a childhood. There was no remorse in this thought. His wasted youth made him the man he was.