[color=black][center][h1][b]T[/b]erryn [b]H[/b]offmann[/h1][/center][/color]

[center][IMG]http://i59.tinypic.com/2eo8tna.png[/IMG][/center]

[center][color=black]“Virtus Juvat Fideles”[/color][/center]

[hr]

Most of Terryn's time was spent sitting behind the dull table, looking at dull people, playing his little mindgame of guessing how long people would survive. The first that tickled his fancy was a man that went by the name of Warren Wyk, a man that wasn't unknown to Terryn as Warren first of all was quite an able swordsman, no doubt more than able if he weren't so damn sickly. More over he led the group called Wyk's Raiders. [i]“A bit pompous to name a group after yourself..”[/i] Terryn thought but he paid it little mind as he simply nodded at Warren's words. The man was a veteran, and he seemed relatively at ease in the encampment. [i]“With that back of his, and the bad condition he's in.. 25 days.”[/i] he thought before he called out. 

[b]“NEXT!”[/b] In walked a man that was wielding a greatsword as if it were some light weight spear. He listed his 'notable' positions in former battle groups, to which Terryn bluntly replied, [b]“The only arse that cares about that is you, sign your name and get out of my tent.”[/b] Not a nice reply, but Terryn wasn't here to make friends with people. [i]“I give him a month or two.”[/i] As soon as the man had complied and tasted a taste of Terryn's 'leadership' the old man's voice grumbled through the encampment again. [b]“NEXT!”[/b]

The next man was a man he realized that he knew. Saewine Bloodworth, a nobleman, although the title 'nobleboy' would better suit him. The 'man' was merely 17 if Terryn remembered correctly, although he wasn't up to date with the birthdays of all the noblemen. Never the less he didn't make any remarks. Ultimately it was highly unlikely that Saewine knew him, so he just kept his mouth shut as the boy signed his name on the book and walked off. For a moment a silence was in the air, as Terryn didn't call out for the next, but instead reversed the book and took a look at the name. [i]Saewine Bloodworth.[/i] The actual contents weren't in his interests, however, as he looked at the handwriting. The small bit of knowledge that Terryn had about writing and reading proved to him that Saewine was.. not exactly a warrior. Most of the warriors, even the nobles, had a sturdy, ugly handwriting. Saewine wrote more like a woman. [i]“One day. Boy won't even survive a tumble in the messhall.”[/i] Terryn thougth as he put the book back in place and called out. [b]“NEXT!”[/b]

A man was intent to enter the tent but was interrupted by a typical traveller girl - Terryn had become accustomed to them [i]and their company[/i] through the years he spent at Coedwin. Luckily for the girl, Terryn wasn't a Robed Sword. There was only two reasons that the girl could be here - whorery, which would be welcomed with open arms, [i]or fortune telling.[/i] Those that followed the faith with zeal were known to hate these kind of women, calling them heretics, witches or even hags, and slaying them legally or illegally. Not Terryn however. She skillfully maneuvered with the man, a young man that seemed to be of noble blood, although only minorly if he had to sign up in the rain like the peasants. A smile twisted onto Terryn's old lips as he watched her talk her talk to the man, before signing up. She adverted her eyes from his, but that didn't give Terryn enough reason to not speak up. [b]“When you're done wait outside the ten-”[/b] but before he could finish she had vanished already. His smile turned into a grin. This girl he would grow to like, he knew already. 

After her came another woman, dressed in white as she was a nun. [b]“Great..”[/b] he mumbled to himself as he watched her sign her name. Her remark went under acceptance of Terryn. He nodded at her to show he understood her message. [b]“Marthinhilda, I know her. Had many dealings with her at Coedwin when I was still a young Servant. Too many dealings, I'm afraid.”[/b] His words went paired with a lift of his sleeve, revealing a small scar on his upper arm. He'd keep it lifted for a second or two before letting it drop. He grinned at the nun in front of him, before explaining what it all meant. [b]“Abbess Martinhilda found out I had made avances on a nun, and made sure I didn't do that again. Hit me with her wooden ruler so hard it cut open my skin. I made sure to stay away from her after that. I wonder if she'd remember me.”[/b] His small story turned out longer than he had intended and he quickly rectified that. [b]“Sorry, please excuse my tales. NEXT!”[/b]

After about five more men were signed in he waved a man-at-arms to get closer, before instructing him to sit at the table and man the signups to ensure that there was no strange things happening. After that he'd leave his tent and parade around for a bit, taking a look at the various tents that had been set up. Doing so he stumbled across the tent with the cross outside, taking a swift look. It was a good thing there was one of these - any company needs a religious area. 

He continued on his way towards the mess tent, another large tent that was more long than the commanders tent to fit all the tables, but obviously less wide as it only had to accomodate for 2 rows of tables in the length. Terryn walked all the way towards the end of the tent, before looking back and holding his hands folded behind his back. He stood for some time, looking and observing, before finally speaking up with that loud, bouldering voice. [b]“LISTEN UP, ARSE WIPERS!”[/b] he started to ensure everyone was paying attention. Some heads would pop around the corner of the tents entrance to see what's going on. The reason Terryn did this in the mess tent should be obvious; it simply had the most people in it and hear-say would likely lead to the rest of the camp hearing it in the end.

[b]“We'll be marching tomorrow in the afternoon, so best not get [i]too[/i] drunk tonight, or else we'll leave yer' arse behind in the mud and brand ye a deserter. Make sure to get in a tent tonight, or pitch one up, otherwise ye'll be sleeping under a tree, bush, or some lucky fella's bed as you try to evade the rain. Monarch knows what men do to men sleepin' under their beds unsollicited.. Get a nights rest and I'll see ya lot in the mornin' where I'll be ready with the companies' divisions.”[/b] 

With that said he walked out the mess tent to take a look around to find that traveller woman he had tried to talk to earlier - he had something on his mind he needed to speak, and it was likely important for her too. But where was she? He'd spend some time walking around looking for her, hoping to catch her wandering or in a random tent.