Its not like Anton Illia resented his lot in life.

No, far from that, the gamekeeper was content. He had food, shelter and far more freedom than a serf like him could ever dream of having. The Voivode was a good master, despite what those lowlander snobs said in their cups. Anton's cabin in the woods was a cozy and pleasant home, far enough from everything else to grant him privacy to live as he pleased. The woods, he knew like the back of his hand and no wannabe poacher had a shot at despoiling his master's property while he worked there.

All in all, it was a good life. A very good life. Anto Illia was content but being content wasn't enough anymore. It had started small, a year ago. Just the occasional thought worming its way into his mind. During the quiet lonely winter nights, when Anton spent his time snuggled by the fireplace reading one of his old, battered books for the umpteenth time. 

Surely there was more to life than this? More than this repetitive routine, this self imposed isolation from society. Didn't he yearn for more?

Back then he could easily ignore that little voice. Bury the insidious thought with work and prayer. But as the months passed and winter soldiered on, stronger and longer than usual, the Gamekeeper found his will slowly eroding. His thoughts and the dog were his company. And animals couldn't talk back. Or at least they shouldn't, the woods were a strange place but Anton would rather keep the strangeness to a minimum, and contained to the deep, dark places where not even he would dare to tread.

It was during one of his rare, but regular, supply drives to the nearby villages. Where he would collect his payment, sell a few furs and lumber to make a few extra cash, that he first saw the posters announcing the mobilization. On a whim he walked up to one of the few officers shouting about fighting and glorious service, outsiders and lowlanders all of them he had noticed, and took one of the fliers. The man's smile reminded him of a snarling wolf, ready to pounce on its prey. He stared back from behind his curtain of hair and thanked the officer before returning to his day.

Back home the flyer was forgotten inside one of the few second hand books Anton had brought from Old Man Mihai, for a few weeks at least. Before it slipped out into his lap just as he was about to discover whether or not Nikolaj would manage to warn the villagers in time to escape the flood.

That night he dreamed of leaving. Of joining the Guard and killing for the Emperor, visiting far off alien lands and just being MORE than an isolated gamekeeper in some forgotten forest hidden in the hills of Syvarch. The next day his dog was killed in a fight with poachers and Anton had one fewer reason to stay.

Usually, bonded serfs like him are to live their lives working in the land of their masters in whatever roles their ancestors had. There are few ways one can free himself from those obligations in Syvarch. Volunteering for the Guard muster is one of them. Its not a path many Syvarchis choose, mind you. Anton's people are an insular lot for the most part. It's not the role of the serf to think about what lays beyond, the serf is supposed to be content with working the land of his ancestors and serving his master. Usually, when the mustering came, the Voivodes and Bans that ruled Syvarch just needed to provide food and material to the regiments. Rare were the times when serfs were conscripted.

Still, if that was what Anton had to do to quiet his increasingly unsettled mind, then that's what he would do. It was easier than expected, he found out. He had no living family, no real friends to leave behind, no properties to liquidate. It was all done in a single afternoon. And by nightfall Anton had taken the train to the mustering grounds with the few others who had decided like him.

Anton Illia did not resent his lot in life, or at least tried not to. He just wanted more.

When the day came, he stood in line, feeling incredibly out of place, his long, wild black hair failing like a curtain in his face and untamed beard giving earning him looks from the people, lowlanders all of them, as he stepped out of the train. His clothes too, marked him as an outsider, old, battered and worn things they were, patched by his own hands dozens of times in the past. He did not dwell on it too long, however, did not allow himself to, with officers hurrying him and the other volunteers into the waiting trucks to be taken to basic training. Despite the long train trip, delayed and slow as it was, Anton didn't make too much of an effort to get to know the other Syvarchis. He had never been the most social of men, and over a decade of minimum human contact did nothing to improve that.

They were separated soon after, assigned to different units. Anton's face was shaved and his hair cut shorter than it ever was in over a decade. His homemade clothes replaced by training fatigues and face still itching, Anton Illia started his training.

He wasn't the strongest of men, far from it as a matter of fact. He was a scrawny kid, living by himself taking care of the Voivode's woods did not compensate for an inadequate diet, proper exercise or genetics. But he was fast, he was agile, he could move quietly and he had an eye for shooting that few in the training cadre could match. So the powers that be took him out of frontline service and told him he was to be a scout from now on. Made him train with a gun that was too different from the old reliable heirloom he had used his whole life and taught him the basics of codes and stealth. Stuff he found himself taking too rather easily, to his fond surprise.

Basic training didn't last too long, and soon he found himself standing in line with thousands of others. He did not make idle talk, he didn't knew these people. His brothers and sisters in arms, not truly. Not yet at least, but he watched. He always was the attentive sort. Ever since his childhood, the quiet kid watching everything from the sidelines. He watched in silence and waited as the line moved at a snail's pace. He didn't mind too much, Servitors unsettled him, always had. No hurry to have and deal with them.