[center][h1][color=black][b]T[/b]he [b]H[/b]offburgt[/color][/h1]
[color=black][b]29th of August, 127 P.B.[/b][/color][/center]
[hr]

A voice echoed through the large hallways of the Hoffburgt. [i]“Terryn Hoffmann!”[/i] it rang, echoing through the hallways until an old man with an iron, spiked Monarchists' cross got up. The man had evidently seen better days but still marched with a steady and self secured tread. He seemed confident, but that was only a façade. The man knew that his head was on the line - literally. It was possible the king was so insulted with the loss of not one but two regiments that he'd have the head of one of the few survivors. 

The large and dark oaken doors opened before him, allowing Terryn access into the Hoffburgts main hall - the hall where the king resided. There was a long walk ahead of him. He'd pass fifteen rows of benches before reaching the 'Kings Steps.' These steps were the granite hewn steps which you were only allowed to step on and climb if the king offered you permission. Naturally, few people got permission. A few meters after the kings steps sat the king Gregar Balin Grochain, and his wife, queen Anne Frederica Iochlan-Grochain. 

Terryns steps did not fade, but rather took an even more self secured and confident pace. It was his way to show the king he was not afraid - even if he was. As he reached the Kings' Steps he took a deep bow and sat before the king. Eerie silence filled the hall as people waited for the king to speak up. There was a large crowd - every nobleman and marcher-lord, and even some rich traders, had arrived days prior to this event to hear what Terryn had to say. After a minute of silence, the king finally spoke. [i]“Terryn Hoffmann, survivor of the slaughter at Murkran, former Hoffburgt castle guard and Servant of the Monarch. I shouldn't have to ask if you know why you are here. You know.”[/i]

As Terryn sat there, he bowed his head. [i]Yes. He knew.[/i] But he did not answer. The king made a gesture with his hands and rose to his feet, his imposing, wide body and tall frame being more than enough reason to fear the man. And he put it on showcase as he walked side to side. Terryn slowly rose having seen the gesture. [i]“My king.”[/i] he started, raising his voice loud enough for the others to hear too. [i]“I am sorry.”[/i] The king looked surprised and turned on his heels towards Terryn, looking at him with a face of confusion and, perhaps, some anger. [i]“I know you wish me to tell you of glorious defeat. That we went down fighting. That, even if we lost two regiments of veterans, that the Cherwinians lost equal amounts of even stronger veterans.”[/i]

Terryn shook his head and bowed down again, as a sign of inferiority to the king. It was the only way to save his head, he knew. While he bowed down he continued his report on what had happened. His voice rang even louder as he told the true tale of what happened at the border near Murkran. [b][i]“But that is not the case! We were sent to investigate bandits, and were met with Cherwinian knights doing the same thing. We decided to hunt together, and pinpointed the bandit hideout near a grove of trees. We camped in two different camps, but at night...”[/i][/b] The tents that were on fire came to mind and the screams of those who were caught by surprise. He wished he could tell the king that, atleast, so that the king might realize the graveness of this Cherwinian betrayal. But he knew he could not. It was too soon. 

[i][b]“At night, they set upon us by surprise and with them were the bandits. My guess is they hired the bandits to help them. Many were slaughtered. We finally managed to organise a front and fight back, but it was too late. Just as we were beginning to beat back the Cherwinian infantry, on the horizon we could see a regiment of Cherwinian heavy knights. It was too much. Our troops started routing, and were cut down as they fled. Those that were smart enough to hide, forced themselves under the Murkran swamp waters and waited for some time before making their escape.”[/b][/i]

The king was shocked. He walked back, and sat in his throne again. The throne was adorned with stag antlers on the top of it, which matched the crown with stag antlers on it quite well. It was the reason he'd earned his nickname. [i]“Good man. Thank you for telling me the truth. You are right, I expected a tale of heroic defeat. But it seemed that is not the case. But at least now.. now I can understand what happened. This was not a dispute. [b]This was betrayal.[/b]”[/i] The king looked at his wife for a moment, whom nodded at him and gave him her blessing. 

[i]“Terryn Hoffmann, you will organise a new regiment. Let it be known from today on that you are the master at arms of the Black Shields, the next regiment we will create. All veterans of the lost regiments at Murkran are to be sent into your service and you will be given recruitment permissions throughout all of Broacien.”[/i] 

Terryn nodded slightly from his awkward position on his knees. This was.. quite the honour. Not what he expected. [i]“Rise, Terryn Hoffmann!”[/i] And so the king commanded, so Terryn did. He rose to his feet and looked at the king, a sense of pride on his face but at the same time, remorse that he had to go back out there to fight again. The next day, letters remarking on the recruitment would be spread to all villages and corners of Broacien, and recruiters were sent out far into the north to recruit Northernlings.

[hr]

After recruitment at Rot Donar had been completed, approximately hundred soldiers had been recruited, and a small fifty men and women were recruited as cooks, camp followers and ladies of pleasure. The Black Shields were certainly not a large regiment, but they had a good size of veterans in their midst who could quickly tutor the others in the arts of surviving in a battle. And the noblemen would soon find out that life on the road, and more over, actual battle.. was much less pleasant than they'd been taught as a squire or from their lessons in swordfighting.

They had been given merely a days' rest, but after that the real work began. Since Terryn was not a nobleman, he was only the master at arms, and thus had only so much control. The rest of the control laid in a noblemans hand, a young marcher-lord who was keen to prove himself. However, since his inexperience, and Terryns' large knowledge on armies, most of the control was left with Terryn. They were put on forced march, and marched for two days and two nights. At the break of dawn, they finally arrived at a clearing in the dense forests that lead up to Murkran. Terryn ordered everyone to set up camp, and so it happened. 

The experienced veterans headed into the forest to collect firewood, and chop some branches for future needs. Deep in the forests, some talk could be heard from two rugged veterans. [i]“Any idea what we're doin' so far into Murkran territory? Figured that we'd not be looking fer' trouble so soon again..”[/i] one voice said. The other spat onto the ground and then answered. [i]“Ah' cannae tell ya' what we be' doin' here. But one things' fer'shor. Those Monarch-damn-'em Cherwinians are sure to pay fer' what they did to us..”[/i] Both voices had a thick accent, so thick that one from another country or even province might have a hard time understanding them. 

While the veterans did that, the rest of the recruits would set up camp. Besides that, they were free to spend their evening as they wanted to. Already small communities of people huddling around a fire appeared, as was normal in these type of armies. Their tents were often placed close to each other, too. That's how strong bonds were formed with your brothers in arms.