Iver walked away from the recruitment stand wondering what awaited him now that he had signed his life away to the Fifth Echelon; he would definitely be getting adventure, but would he live through even the first battle with what little experience he had? He walked the streets of the city in a daze, running things over in his mind. After several bells, Iver finally made his way back to the somewhat rundown inn he was staying in and flopped down onto the excuse for a bed in the room he was paying for; the frame creaked as his full weight hit the mattress and sounded like it was about to give way under him. He grumbled as he began stripping him armor and sword off to lay back on the lumpy mattress.

“OKAY! Listen up you ugly bastards; I’m going to start listing the squads. The first person listed will be the Sergeant; he will receive the Fifth Echelon sigil pins that he must hand out to his squad. As I say your name, you come up to this side of the wooden crate, and meet with your Sergeant. Once I start naming another squad, I don’t want to see you by the wooden crate! We are leaving the city tonight, meaning we are meeting here in a bell in order to get everyone on the ships.”

Iver listened as intently as he could to the harsh man atop the wooden crate over the grumblings of the crowd around the area. When the first name was called, Iver watched the man walk up to the crate and start talking to the announcer and then look resigned as the names of the squad were called. He barely caught his name over the crowd and quickly pushed his way through to stand alongside his new squad. It was obvious they were mercenaries by the way they held themselves and from their armor and gear. The young man followed the group to a tavern near the docks where they were to report to in a bell to start loading the ships. Iver sat down to the left of the sergeant as he began recounting part of his life to the group and laid out the pins for them to take. Iver made a mental note that the sergeant, Fyn Hunter was his name, had served in the Jadelyn War.

As the older man with a lion banner on his shoulder began to speak, Iver reached out and grabbed a pin; it had a splash of blood in the top right as well as dent in the very center that looked like it was from an arrowhead. He placed the pin on the torn bit of scarf near his left shoulder plate and took a drink as the small woman to the front and left of him spoke up for a brief moment. Iver swirled the mug around, watching the amber liquid within make a tiny whirlpool before he finally spoke up.

“Well, I’m Iver Magsin. My father was a tailor, and my mom helped with the shop until he was shipped off to fight in the Jadelyn War and died. After that I helped her out as best I could as a courier ‘til I eventually joined the City Guard Force. When my mom died, I took what money I had and set out to explore, but money soon ran out, and now I’m a member of Second Legion, Fifth Company, Ninth Squad with you lot.”

With that, Iver took a gulp of his drink and let the sour beer wash down his throat.