Each sound felt as if it was multiplied by five. Every word the Captain said came in loud and clear, though mostly loud. A raise in tone and pitch had Caine wincing. The mere call to "Form up" startled Caine into a slight start. The night before, Caine had indulged into the demon drink a little too much. He stayed around the table, speaking to Talae and Faera, mostly nodding and saying few a few words. Though the amount of words increased with each sip of the bottle. He still wasn't quite the lip-flapping chatterbox, but he was more amiable. He had managed to make it into bed by the curfew, dragging himself to his room and collasping on the bed. And now here he was, nursing a slight hangover in the sun before a march. Things didn't look good for him.
"You've got ten minutes to get suited up!" Caine winced again and moved towards the cart. Apparently, the uniform was something called live leather. Caine wasn't too interested since armor tended to get decimated while he wore, but he dared not protest. He didn't think he could take a tongue lashing just yet. Besides, the leather was a neat shade of black and being a frontline warrior, he would also receive the armor that came with it. At least it was free. He began to don the armor. The Black leather came first, then the steel plate. He quickly threw the pieces on, looking to beat the ten minute deadline. Personalization came later.
Caine went back to the formation and listened to the captain again, the wincing was beginning to slow down a little bit. It wasn't as bad as when he first woke up, but still... Hangover. He was bound to get punished for that. IF, If he managed to survive the day. He cracked a smile at the thought, but it immediately vanished. He listened to the Captain speak about the weapons in the cart, and then listened to the speech on the Children. Tough blokes they sounded like, but what could one expect... His race wouldn't be dwindling otherwise... A grim thought, but such thoughts managed to keep him alive. A tingle of anger shot through him for a moment, thinking back on his race. He was quickly becoming alone in the world... All because of those bastards and their damned masters... He took a deep breath and suppressed the anger. Suppressed and bottled it up in order to be used later.
As he came back to his senses, he caught the ending bit of Grimsmirk's and Wrath's speech. In pairs? He'd have to remember that... Didn't want to needlessly endanger his partner just because he got a little miffed. Another crack of a small that got quickly hidden. He managed to quickly get back to the wagon and caroused the selection of weapons. Quite honestly, the swords, hammers, flail, spears, and other weapons looked to be in just as good shape as the swords on his back. Though, one bit of steel managed to catch his eye. It was a
cutlass or saber of sorts. The hilt was simple wrapped leather held together with a line of metal and a simple metal hand guard. The blade itself was unremarkable, except for the fact that it was blunt on the back half-way up. He unfastened one sword from his back and tossed it into the wagon and tied the saber to his waist. Now he had a saber at his side and a steel longsword at his back.
Caine then quietly slipped back to his position at the front of the formation, behind the wagon, quite a ways from the squishy wizards and assassins. He did manage a spot beside Gilleas as he predicted. The deep human then tried at could be construed as conversation. He nodded at the question of his name and to the second question as well. Caine then added words, "Sound's good. Just don't stray too far in front of me... I tend to lose track of things in my... tendencies." He said. He didn't mean it to sound menacing or like a hostile warning, but that was what his voice made it out to be.
"Sorry," He grunted as he began to fiddle with his armor.
