"What is your profession, sir?"
"Killer sir!" Barnaby snapped a salute with an ear-to-ear grin found only on the young and eager. The officer looked up at the unexpected answer and the man behind it. He was average height, wiry build, short black hair, a young face slightly on the gaunt side and a pair of sea-green eyes that revealed a hard edge to the recruit. If there was any humor in the answer, the recruitment officer missed it.
"I give you a week, kid. Next!" he said at last, giving the kid his longsword and lion-emblazoned shield. "And what is your profession?"
"A better killer than him, sir!" Jon replied, prompting Barnaby to shove him with his newly acquired shield. The rough play nearly became a full bout of wrestling if not for the recruiting officer.
"Enough! Barracks is that way, now get out of my sight!" he bellowed. "NEXT!"
They followed the steady trail of recruits that navigated Valience Keep from the recruitment desk to the barracks front gate, keeping quiet until the officers were out of earshot.
"What was his problem?" Jon asked.
"How would you feel if you were stuck behind a desk witnessing such natural talent?" Barnaby replied, flexing a bicep he didn't really have. Jon's answer was another shove and they laughed again. Folks rushed back and forth as they worked to construct walls, move magazines and marched in formation. Overall, Valience Keep seemed a very lively place for now. The pair quickly arrived at a newly-constructed barracks that dominated the hill it sat on. The portcullis was open and flanked by two privates, whom nodded in reply to their greetings.
The gate revealed a courtyard and dozens of other recruits milling about, some more lost than others. It was easy to pick out who had battle experience in a militia or thereabouts and those who didn't - like Barnaby and Jon. What separated the two of them from most of the other green men and women was that they weren't lost. Eventually they would be formed up by someone - a sergeant no doubt - given an overview of their bastardized training and where they will be posted thereafter.
From there it was a matter of following orders until you retired or dropped dead.
"Come on." Barnaby said. "Let's go make some friends."
They navigated the crowd and settled on a trio in the middle of the room. Two men - one well over six feet and a full beard - and a decent-looking blonde in her mid-twenties. The tall man was about their age but built like an ox with short, red hair. The other man was the shortest they could find around here, with a wiry figure like Barnaby and looked about fourteen, complete with freckles. The blonde was his height, very toned and had the brown eyes of a warrior. She wore her hair in a no-nonsense ponytail.
"Hey there." Barnaby said. "You three arrive together?"
A few 'no's were replied, followed by handshakes and names. Big Riley, Decklyn and Katherine.
"Where are you all from?" Jon inquired.
"Stormwind." Riley replied, cracking his large knuckles.
"Lakeshire." squeaked Decklyn. His sword arm was twitching with nerves and Barnaby wondered if this kid would be the suicidal hero that goes crazy in the middle of a fight.
"Dalaran." Katherine replied, adjusting her sword belt as she spoke, practicing reaching and half-drawing from time to time. "Though I've spent the past few years in Stromgarde. What about you two?"
"Theramore." came the unison answer. The trio chuckled and Barnaby and Jon exchanged a punch to the shoulder.
Summaries on history were exchanged. Barnaby started, offering his farm heritage in Lordaeron and a string of jobs when he arrived with the exodus in Theramore. Carpenter's apprentice. Hunter and fisherman. Deckhand for a year - this piqued Riley's interest, who inquired further and it was revealed they both served on merchant vessels. Most recently he had been a gunsmith, attaining his Journeyman status only a few weeks before signing up.
Riley segued into his own history, starting as a deckhand at 12 and was a full sailor at 16. After a piracy encounter (he promised to tell the story later), he got off the ships and worked as a shipwright until the Call to Arms went out. They didn't need shipwrights at the desks, but Riley had hoped he could swing an axe instead anyway. They all held him to his promise, as it was hinted he had killed more than a few men.
Decklyn was born in Lakeshire to middle-class merchant family, learning to read and write as a child - it was revealed he was the only one of the five that could - and worked toward becoming a scribe. They didn't need scribes at the recruitment table, so Decklyn was stuck with a sword and shield. They learned he was a few weeks off 16 and promised to get him drunk for the occasion.
Jon mentioned his farm heritage and knowing Barnaby since he was five. He fled to Theramore with his family and dabbled in a few trades before settling with shipwright. He mentioned his sweetheart back home whom Barnaby knew well and his desire to see the world and earn some glory.
Katherine went last, revealing her service as a Corporal in Stromgarde's militia for the past five years. She had fought bandits (she called them the Syndicate, and they apparently wore orange masks), ogres, trolls and the Horde. Her parents had both been mages of Dalaran though she desired nothing of that path. A soldier and warrior at heart, she cared nothing more than duty and glory.
"Any of you have combat experience?" she asked. Riley put a tentative hand up, though Barnaby was tempted to mention a run-in during his year as a deckhand. Two men had tried to rape him a few days into the voyage but the then-15 year old had managed to kill one with a fishing knife and stab the other in the hand. He received twenty lashes for his trouble (the other man was keel hauled and later lost his arm to infection) but earned the respect of the crew.
Instead he focused on making his sword belt comfortable, mimicking some adjustments Katherine had made. It wasn't long before it was where he wanted it. Katherine was giving tips on fighting trolls, so Barnaby decided to step out after another round of handshakes. The group was swelling - at least three score were here now - and cliques had cropped up. Barnaby decided to seek out a loner.
He found her leaning miserably against the courtyard wall, eyes downcast. Similar age, a few inches shorter than he, brown hair, a slim but unmuscled body and modest breasts. He leaned by the wall beside her.
"You won't make friends down there." he said cheerfully. "You may be in a shield wall next to one of this rabble sometime..."
"I- Sorry..." she mumbled, still not looking up. Barnaby offered his hand.
"Barnaby."
"Elizabeth." she finally looked up, revealing glassed-over hazel eyes and shook his hand. She had the same name as his mother, and Barnaby had to push away a pang of guilt.
"What trade did you come to ply?"
"Tailoring." she squeaked, looking back down. "They said they were full..."
"Looks like you're stuck killing corpses like the rest of us." Barnaby smirked, but she neither saw it nor responded. He tried to keep conversation going.
"Where are you from?"
"Stormwind." she replied, offering little more. As the 17-year old he was, her slim side profile was arousing Barnaby. Mostly as a means to touch her body, he put a comforting hand on her shoulder.
"Relax." he said. "Just keep your equipment clean, dance to the tune of the officers and sergeants and be as angry and vicious as a rabid dog when you need to fight."
It didn't seem to help. In fact, the hand caused a few tears to fall down her cheeks.
"Look." he said, gently tilting her chin up to look at him. "You'll be fine. Just keep your head down and do whatever you need to do to--"
"COMPANY!" bellowed the most authorative voice Barnaby had ever heard. "FORM UP! SIX RANKS ON THE DOUBLE!"