Kerag followed suit, confident that she didn't speak out of jest, and was genuinely curious about today's training regiment. He wasn't accustomed to being 'broken', but the prospect made his blood boil, excitement washing over him, the old battle-lust awakening his mind and brawn.
"Enough of that, don't take it easy on me." He cracked his knuckles, "I certainly won't be holding back."
Grayell stood with his hands on his hips, a roll of parchment in one hand. He looked at Kerag and Venom, up and down, studying them carefully. He also looked at their weapons. He paced, slowly and then rubbed his chin.
Righto. Two new recruits, eager to prove they can cut the mustard. You are going to fight. Present weapons please.
Grayell was in front of Marg and offered her the roll of parchment.
Venom unsheathed his beat up katana. It had evidence of being over used in many fights. His hopes were to make some quick money to replace it soon. He held it infront of him
It is not in it's best condition but will do for now.
Grayell waited on Kerag and spoke to Marg in the meantime.
That's our new guard hierarchy. That makes these two recruits and subject to the requirements of that rank. I'm glad you've been active in bringing us some talent though.
Grayell then falls in beside her and folds his arms, looking at Kerag. He shoots her a sideways look.
So Captain, should I contemplate adding something about fraternization with co-workers?
Kerag dropped the bravado, attempting to show how he took the Guard seriously. He nodded at Grayell, unsheathing the old battle-blade slowly, its once gleaming perfected edge chipped and battered from many confrontations. The orc knight thrust it into the ground in front of him, turning his attention to Venom, to whom he now bowed to.
"No worry. My blade needs replacement too. Let us put our past squabble behind and duel as warriors of the Wistvale guard." Kerag stretched, finally plucking the sword up. His legs spread into a swordsman's stance, gripping the sword with both hands, the tip pointed at his opponent.
Well Margrett, if he doesn't fair well I imagine we can find you a suitable replacement.
He cleared his throat and spoke with authority now.
Very good. As you know, I am Guard Commander and Councilman Grayell. This here is of course, Captain Mikael. As recruits, you answer to her at all times. She in turn answers to me. I expect you both to familiarize yourself with the hierarchy of the guard and strive to better your rank. We will have more recruits and you would do well to excel amongst them.
Your probation as a recruit is two weeks in which you will be tested in every way imaginable. That does not imply sleeping with the Captain or for that matter, with me. You will find no favoritism, you will be judged harshly at all times and when the Captain is not barking orders at you, you can rest assured that I will. I see everything, hear and everything and most of all, am in no way content unless I know everything.
You will also answer to Captain Zaedus whenever he issues you a command, if you have any questions regarding your superiors, you can take them up with me.
Grayell's hands fold behind his back and his tone changes dramatically, losing the drill sergeant edge.
Seriously though, time you kicked the crap out of each other. I need to know what you're made of. Pull your blows, no drawing blood. Any lack of control will likely cost you and hopes of being a town guard. Captain Mikael and I shall watch.
You may begin.
(There is no predetermined outcome here. Both of you will free rp back and forth, give and take minor injuries and wounds. I will tell you when to stop.)
Kerag maintained a cold demeanor, but inside he cringed at the order, specifically the part about sleeping with the Captain. If he wanted a shot at this he had to behave himself for once in his life. Not that it mattered too much, he found his predicament the perfect situation, convinced he was suited for the tasks set before him.
The orc knight broke into a charge, closing the distance with a leap, intending to strike Venom with the flat of the battle-blade, shouting a deep guttural cry.