[i](A work by Ekrigma)[/i]

[h3]Rilik, Capital of Olira[/h3]

The riverport of Rilik was bustling with men, Grogar, and livestock. Cargo was being loaded and unloaded, while the prices of fake gold and dried dates were screeched out by ugly women and orphaned children. There was mist and smoke in the air, mixing in a gaseous stew as an Ardirian trade ship pulled into port.

Resting deep in the cargo hold of the aforementioned trade ship, an odd-looking Grogar laid against the wooden hull, sitting alone among crates, caged animals and rotting carcasses of "freshly" caught sea creatures, the combined stench from animal droppings and rotting flesh would drive one mad for any prolonged exposure, although there are those that can take such stench better then others. The ship begun to tremble as it slowly docked, followed by several footsteps as three human men descended into the cargo hold. "Get up, we're here." the leader of the trio spoke up. The Grogar stood up, shouldering a small sack filled with his belongings over his left shoulder and carried a smaller sack on his other hand, he made his slow approach to the traders. "As agreed." The Grogar said as he tossed the smaller bag towards the men, the leader catching it. 

The Captain stretched the bag open to reveal over eighty gold coins, the sight of the coins giving the three men wide grins, the Captain's eyes now directed towards the stranger. "A pleasure doing business." 

"Mmh." The Grogar grunted as he quickly took his leave, the further away from the stench he was, the better.

The Grogar made his way past the crowds as he left the bustling port, and ventured deep into the city, walking down its streets, passing by "fellow" grogar as they traded quick glances towards the new arrival, and his....odd appearance, normally he would've been giving giving sour expressions and and outspoken condemnation, he was all too aware of those looks. "Half-breed." They would quietly say with great disdain, already it was quite different compared to back home. The Half-Grogar continued down the path until he had came across a small distraction. A convoy of carts,and their beasts, some Oxen, standing in the way.

An aging human man stood on the back of his cart, his face sunken and wrinkled from years moving his cart in the sun. Even keeping balanced as the slight movements of the oxen swayed his cart to and fro seemed like a challenge for him as his cane scratched the floor of the wagon. Squinting his suncaked eyes, he shouted repeatedly, "Transport to Svawad! One spot left! Leaving as soon as we're filled up!" Behind him were a mixture of people; traders looking to sell their goods to the Black Band, tourists wishing to see the famed castle, farmers returning from selling their crop, and hopeful applicants to the Black Band itself.

The ears of the Half-Grogar perked up as the word "Svawad" was spoken, and quickly scanned the the carts, taking notice of the Black Band hopefuls. Without a second to spare, he spoke up. "I'll fill in the last spot!" He shouted out and quickly ran to the empty spot in the last cart.

"Oi!" The human shouted out, pointing his cane towards the oncoming hybrid. "Get back Half-Blood! I don't want any trouble!" His eyes were filled with an ancient concoction of superstition and fear often called 'hatred', and if he were a couple decades younger he'd likely have gotten violent. The young mercenaries on the cart visibly moved their hands to their weapons, one or two of them even starting to slowly move to their feet.

This, this was all too familiar to the Half-breed. This old man's hatred echoing the same feelings channeled by his fellow clansmen of Ardir, but he was so close to his new start in life, to be among the Black Band, and he wouldn't let this bigotry stand in his way. "I have little time for this..." He started to raise his voice, he soon noticed several men close to arming themselves, with a deep sigh, the half-breed as well slowly moved his hand down for his blade.

As the old man saw him move his hands to his blade, fear started to well up within him. "Please...we...we don't want trouble...just...find another ride!" Some of the city guards had taken notice and were clasping onto their spears tightly.

The half-breed turned to face several spear tips. "I'm not here to start any trouble, I simply wish transport to Svawad Castle..."

"Another half-breed trying to join up with the pig-faced general? Bah!" A guard said as he spat on the ground. "Good luck...looks like you're walking!" The guards stood still, clearly not going to move as long as the half-grogar was intent on staying. 

"Get out of here!" The old man shouted, his courage returned now that the guards have come to his aid.

He turned to give the old man a death glare, almost intent on strike him down where he sat, but that would be counterproductive, and block his path to Svawad. "Fine, I'll leave you lot of bastards." With that, he left in a huff, might as well start his long, and tiring treck to Svawad Castle. Eventually some time passes, and the Black Band hopeful finds himself on the outskirts of the city as the scenery grew more and more green. As he looked ahead, he saw a strange scene playing out in front of him.

"Please, have you no kindness in your heart!" A young  human man in his late teens or early twenties said, as he threw himself at the feet of larger grogar. He was lanky, with a full beard despite his youthful appearance, and different from the other humans; his tan skin contrasted against his white tunic, and he spoke with an accent. Tears were welled up in his eyes, as the grogar kicked him with his ankles, shaking him off and bloodying the boy's face.

"Get off me, boy! It's done, now get gone!" The grogar was clearly not in any mood to continue their conversation, and had the looks of a man embedded in an...unfavorable crowd. As he shook off the boy, he began to withdraw a long blade, which the gangly man quickly began to scuttle away from.

Without much hesitation, the half-breed drew his blade as he came charging towards the larger Grogar, their blades clashing. "Leave the boy alone!" He shouted. 

"You don't know what you're getting yourself into, ape-spawn," The grogar growled, as he maintained the parry. Behind them, the young man had gotten to his feet and placed a stone in his sling. Moving to the side, he stood, glaring threateningly at the grogar. "Put down the blade," he said, as the Formorian begrudgingly obliged, placing his place on the ground as he kneeled to the ground, his arms raised in the air. "You sure you need me as an enemy, bastard child? You have no knowledge of this situation!"

"He lies, sir! I brought him a flock of sheep, but he refuses to pay me...I need to send the money to my village, they may go hungry without it!" The grogar huffed at this and rolled his eyes.

"The sheep were thin and sickly, I'm not going to pay for shit sheep!"

"Please, friend, I am from Ghabar, if we know one thing, it is our sheep!" Looking down at the Grogar, one could see a fat coin purse stuck in his belt; he clearly brought the money, intent on paying, but realized he could take advantage of the situation.

"I may know little." The Half-breed started. "But I can clearly see a cheat when I see it, and a poor one at that. Give the boy his coins and you can walk with both your sheep and your life." 

The grogar hesitated, looking between the two, then embarrasedly stood to his feet, grumbling as he placed his blade in its sheath and tossed the purse to the boy. "Enjoy your money...I hope you fucking choke on it," he muttered as he slunk away. The boy then turned to the half-blood.

"Thank you...thank you so much...I don't know what I would have done without you. I am Seadne, what is your name?"

"It's Kormor." He said, sheathing his own blade. 

"Kormor...you are not from around here, are you?" Seadne asked, as he put away his sling and wiped the blood from his face.

"You would be right lad." Kormor said. "I've come from the mainland, a land called Tarkima."

Seadne nodded. "Tarkima...the land of the Formorrin. So what brings you to the island?"

"A new start." Kormor replied. " I'm an outcast, unwanted by my own people. So I came here to seek a new people, a new family, the Black Band."

A wide grin grew on Seadne's face. "The Black Band? I am going to join them as well!" He chuckled. "I tended the sheep in my village, but we have fallen on hard times. They sent me to Rilik to sell our flock with a Karkadanh cart, and then I will head to Svawad, so I may return to my village a wealthy man." He stood for a moment, realizing at the very least the pure physical difference between him and Kormor. He sighed, shook his head, and then asked, "But why are you walking there? There are many carts in Rilik for men like us."

Kormor sighed. "Well my lad, it seems this city is not too different from my homeland." He paused for a brief moment, remember his rather rough childhood in the "Royal" Capital. "I'm looked upon with disgust and fear, even the guards refused to help, so I have no choice but to continue my quest on foot."

Saddened by Kormor's dilemma, Seadne looked down for a moment. "Aye, I have never known a Formori before today but...I have heard of how closed a man's heart can be." He considered a moment before saying, "Please, travel with me, there is room for another in my cart."

"I thank you Seadne, that would help me greatly." Kormor said with a smile. "I'll be sure to pay you back for you're kindness...evenutally." 

[h3] Svawad [/h3]
A few days later, two Karkadanh were pulling their cart up the hill towards Svawad. Karkadanh are strange beasts; with the appearance of a small horse (despite the horn protruding from their head), but with many of the movements of a wolf. As they came over the hill, a wide grin fell onto the shepherd's face. "Ah...we have made it."

Svawad Castle rose high above the village of Svawad, which was bustling with activity, the inns of the town kept full by a constant flow of people trying to join the Black Band and people trying to contract them. As Seadne rode through town, the air was far different than that of Rilik; while people still hawked their wares on the side of the road, there was less of a sense of desparation, and people barely even noticed Kormor or his appearance. After they had dropped the Karkadanh off at a stable, Seadne and Kormor hiked up to the Castle, when they came upon dozens of others in their same situation, both Formorian and Human, waiting outside the gates.

After waiting around an hour, the gates opened, and an aging woman with an eyepatch, a limp, and covered in scars walked out. "Line up in rows of ten!" She screeched, not even looking at the applicants.

Seadne looked over to Kormor. "Better do as she says, huh friend?"

Kormor turned and nodded to Seadne. "Agreed, we best get in formation."  With that, the two lined up with the other applicants, Seadne overshadowed by both Kormor and another Grogar as he stood in between them. "Don't let your nerves get the better of you, we'll both impress the Black Band no doubt about it."

The woman snaked around the candidates, stop briefly and looking at each one, and before moving on either saying nothing or asking them to step forward. Eventually, after telling around forty percent of the warriors to step forward, she came to Seadne and Kormor, the last of the group. She began scanning Seadne briefly, before asking him to step forward, to which he nervously obliged. Then she came to Kormor.

She studied him for a long while, her one eye squinting as sweat built above her brow. Looking away without having said anything to him, she yelled, "All candidates not asked to step forward may leave now!" before she began to trudge back towards the castle gate. 

This was a surreal moment for Kormor, thoughts racing in his mind as to what has just transpired, although it seemed one thing was very clear, much to his fear, but he needed a confirmation from one of them, he stepped forward, calling out to the one-eyed woman. "Uh, ma'am. "Kormor nervously spoke up, he couldn't help but be intimidated by her appearance. "Have we...been rejected?" 

She turned around, obviously annoyed by the interruption as most of them headed down the mountain shamefully. "Yes," she said, "[i]You[/i] have." Nodding to Seadne, who was standing in shock, she added, "[i]He[/i] hasn't." As she turned away, she concluded with, "Come back in the winter, we'll be recruiting again."

"No...no.." Kormor mumbled to himself. "I have come too far to be turned away..." Kormor stood there, like a statue. "No..no..no, I WILL not go back!" 

She stopped turning again with her arms crossed. "And where exactly have you come from?"

"Tarkima!" Seadne blurted out. She glared at him for a second before turning back to Kormor.

"Tarkima? Is that true?"

"...Yes. it is." Kormor replied.

She sighed, and stood there, pondering for a moment. "Fine. You may stay," she paused and pursed her lips, "but you will have to explain yourself to Gultar."

Kormor looked up, his eyes widened and confused, yet estastic. "Thank you! I will explain to the best of my ability!" 

She grunted, and and turned away. A few more hours of waiting passed before the gates opened up again. A large Grogar in his 50's walked through the gate, the same one-eyed woman at his side. He walked unlike any Grogar in Tarkima; he stood with intelligence, poise, and wisdom, with a stick in his hand, not for walking, but for inspection: undoubtably, this was the pig-faced general; Gultar the Stick. As he and the woman walked out, she called for them to form a single line in front of them, with Seadne running up to the end of it.

Kormor was no too far behind as he followed in formation, the sight that was Gultar was as danuting as his recruiter, and just as imposing as the most fierce of tarkiman warchiefs. Despite the unusual conditions of his "recruitment", Kormor was all the more nervous, he needed to impress Gultar enough to be worthy among the Black Band.

Gultar wordlessly began his inspections, going from recruit to recruit, prodding them with his stick, occasionally giving them a light whap to gauge their reaction. Every so often he would ask them a question or two, before telling them whether or not they've been accepted. Eventually he came to Seadne.

He began prodding and poking, which only showcased the boy's obvious physical weakness. Gultar stood considering for a second, before asking, "What can you do?"

"I...I can hunt...I'm good with a sling. I can cook, tend animals...I know some about healing...I'm sorry, I'm not much of a warrior..." Gultar stood there, nodding.

"Alright, you're in."

"Wh-really?" Seadne asked in amazement.

"Yeah. Don't make me regret it." 

"I...I won't, I promise sir!"

Gultar said nothing as he moved on to Kormor. Before he began any inspection, the woman walked up to him and whispered something in his ear, to which he nodded in reply. "So," he said to Kormor, "You're from the homeland?"

"That's right, sir." Kormor replied. "I've come far, formerly of the Ardir Clan."

"Huh." Gultar suddenly became very concerned with his nailed, inspecting his claws as he said, "You know, if I let in every half breed with a dream, there wouldn't be a pure blood in sight." He looked up to Kormor. "What makes you special, boy?"

"....To be honest." Kormor started. "Nothing in particular. I was born and raised in the slums of Ardirum, I was forced into common thievery just to survive. "He paused, thinking back on both the the bad, but also the good memories, "But it was a life not even worth living. So I made one last attempt in being a thief, and bribied the the cheapest trader to bring me here."

Gultar nodded, taking in his story. "Nobody is forced into thievery, son. There is always a choice." He back up, addressing the accepted recruits. "A choice between living for yourself and living for your brother, your comrade." He looked back to Kormor. "Can you honestly say you would ever put anybody's life here before your own?"

Kormor's eyes lowered, in deep thought as Gultar's words had an effect on him "...Yes, I've always had the yearning to belong, to truely have family...today, If you'll have me, I will be a changed man, I will have a greater purpose." 

"Well..." Gultar looked down at his stick, feeling it in his hands. He looked at the cracks, the smooth edges, the warping. Without looking up, he said. "This is your chance, then. Don't waste it."

This was it, the moment Kormor had dreamt of, this was the day he finally became one of the Black Band, his emotions ran wild within, but to the best of his ability, he fought to keep it in, at least for the moment. "Thank you, sir!" He exclaimed with excitment. "I will not waste this chance you've given me!" 

The pig-faced general replied with but a grunt, and he turned to the rest of the group, pointing at the woman with his stick while the gates opened behind them. "This is Sula, my second in command. She will show you your quarters for tonight. Training will begin tomorrow at dawn."