As John entered the commander's room he saluted, and then dutifully answered all asked questions. The anger in him quickly drained away and luckily for him his face was red already; there was no noticeable change as he calmed down to alert the man. 

When all was done he gave a salute the text-book printers would be proud of with a "Sah!" before he left. It was now time for training. 


[hr]

As the recruits were assembled and the Lieutenant spoke a little, the Ouraghos stood but didn't pay attention. It would be the same usual manure spewed to people going off to die and he'd already heard it before, but that time from a real officer with real experience and knowledge to supplement "good breeding" and a title. All was well and good if men used money to get positions but the money should have bought them texts on strategy and swordsmanship, not a pip on your shoulder. 

As things were split up the Corporal grinned nastily his new victims. He stepped forth, cleared his throat and spat on the soil before him. "I am Lance-Corporal Ioannis Sveinaldsson, the man to teach you to be real soldiers." He decided not to say the rather amiable, lovey dovey - and absolutely Greek - paternal middle name of "Fabianou," it wouldn't help to ruin the quick image of a modern day Viking. 

"First, let me get some things clear. If I say ''ere's your sword, you will eat with it, drink with it, sleep with it...' and so on, do not try to be funny and say 'how? Do we use it as a fork, spoon or pillow?' because I [i]will[/i] answer you and you won't like the answer." Rather proud of that line, the Varangian ended on the right side of the line up, spun and started pacing down the other way with arms behind his back. "I'm not here to make your life miserable (that's but a bonus) , I am here to make sure what happened for my ex-comrades in the Mamluk rebellion won't happen to you. Any of you used a weapon before?" He asked. The moment someone replied with 'yes' which they undoubtedly would he'd spin around and shout "No you haven't you stupid git. You've used a toy, you haven't had to properly shoot in combat, or have to slice a bugger's throat lest he try likewise. That is where a sword becomes a weapon, not something to impress the women-folk who weren't already swooned by your filthy gold or lies. If they even have that to be impressed by."

With a little indignant puff the veteran paused and swiveled to face the new men without much apparent movement in his legs. "Oh no you bunch aren't going to be able to learn that here. Most of your filthy hides will be shot or chopped up. But we'll do our best so you at least won't wet yourself... much. We're going to split you up for various parts of the training. You think you just might just be smart enough to manage that? Good."

A little bit of time would pass, before he stamped off to give personal... assistance in training. The first people to get his "help" would be Konyk and the Spaniard. The Lance-Corporal tried to remember what he heard and realized the Eastern looking lad had powers super-natural, and decided that he'd need a more clever way to mess with him lest he realized and decide to get retribution via magics. He turned to the Spaniard and screamed near his ear "A hundred push-ups in a minute, then perform the eighteen-count manual of arms in perfect form and order. You fail, you do it again. You do it right then you can have a drink." 

Then, the Varangian squatted down beside him and hissed "You a Catholic, Iberian?" with venom to make a snake envious.