The training bell thrummed heavily throughout the barracks, its low and deep vibrations quickly waking any still-sleeping Neophytes. Tehran, awake before the first toll as usual, was quick to roll off his top bunk and drop to the floor below, the second thrum of the bell beginning to sound as he did so. He and all the others in his barracks were quick to begin donning their training garb: Simple uniforms made from cloth, the fabric rough but well-made. The shirt was grey and speckled black. The pants were the opposite; black from top to bottom and speckled with grey, mostly due to repairs done to them over the years. By the time the fifth and final strike had stopped humming, every last trainee was on their feet making an effort to be ready before the Thane arrived.
The room began to regain its silence as Tehran finished dressing; The quieted shuffling of feet and clothing eventually coming to a stop. Scanning the room he saw that most other Neophytes were either staring straight ahead next to their bunks, backs straight and arms to their sides, or cautiously watching the open doorway that lacked an actual door. Everyone seemed to be waiting with little, if any, enthusiasm for the Thane to arrive. Everything in the fort adhered to strict schedules and Tehran, whether firsthand or second, had found many times that being late for anything was the best way to find himself on the wrong end of a Thane's whip. Everyone woke up at five in the morning: the tower's bell always made sure of that. The bells, and fear of punishment, made sure of it.
As usual, the Thane for Tehran's barracks, Lamar, arrived promptly: Five minutes after the first thrum from the morning bell. Tehran noticed several people straighten their backs when he entered their barracks. The Thane said nothing at first, simply glancing around the room for anyone out of place. His eyes were sharp and his eyebrows seemed to be permanently furrowed. His hair was short, brown, and as well-kept as his armor. Each Thane wore simple black breeches, a leather belt affixed with a short but effective whip, and banded leather boots that fit snugly and came up just below the knees. The four bands were fitted with buckles made of polished brass with any excess banding tucked securely into each boot. A dark-brown tunic was worn under a fitted black leather jerkin with no adornments save for five sets of banding used to keep it as form-fitting as possible. Tehran wondered every day how the man continued to breathe in the damn thing.
After a few moments of inspection, Thane Lamar seemed satisfied and briefly addressed the two-scores of people that filled the room, "Good. Assemble by the Northern training field. We will be using weights today: Twenty pounds per person. Dismissed." He then turned and left the barracks.
There were several moments of silence that followed before numerous exaggerated, though hushed, sighs were heard around the room, Tehran being no exception.
We ran every morning, though it was typically without anymore than ten pounds of extra weight. "Today's going to be miserable in more ways than one," Thought Tehran. "Though not as miserable as tomorrow will be." Without wasting any time, he fell in line and began following the well-organized body of Neophytes out of the room. There was no morning chatter or rushed and heavy footsteps, our training made sure we were silent in everything we did.
As he walked, Tehran observed the hallways around him for what must have been the thousandth time. There was nothing new, these halls hadn't changed at all over the last five years and he believed that they never would. They were made of smoothed stone blocks and, while plain and boring to look at, were exceptionally well-crafted. For every twelve feet they walked there was a pair of sockets carved into each side of the hallway. Fire Stones, small, cut, and polished chunks of aragonite infused with the element of fire, were inlaid into each. The stones gave off a soft and warm light that was tinted red and filled every last inch of the corridor. Anyone with the affinity could charge them repeatedly, making them one of the most common light sources across the continent, or so taught his instructor. Stolen away and branded a slave at the meager age of five, what little knowledge he possessed was gleaned from his studies and instructors. Memories of the village he was born in, his childhood, and most importantly his mother, were scarce. His most vivid memories then are just screams, fire, and death.
Tehran's thoughts snapped back to the present as he stepped out of the barracks and into the cold, wet, and rainy morning. The rainfall was light though dense, almost a mist, but it was obvious that it had been ongoing for hours at the least. Any ground not layered with stone brick had long turned to mud, now sucking at Tehran's paws as he passed, squishing up and between his claws. He groaned inwardly as they walked, "Oh, great, now we have to run with weights and trudge through mud." he could practically taste the joy radiating from all the nearby neophytes and the sarcasm in his own thoughts.
The Thane was waiting for them in the center of the training field. He stood tall, his back straight and his face as serious as always. If the rain bothered him he certainly didn't show it, simply standing still while overlooking the incoming Neophytes.
The Northern training field was the smallest of the two within the fort, as well as the most heavily-used. There was a designated lane that surrounded it for running, the longest two sides measuring seventy-five feet, the shortest reaching only fifty feet and all together forming something of a rectangle with rounded corners.
The lane was wide enough for three people to run side-by-side comfortably, not that comfort had anything to do with running, with stone brick lain down on either side to keep the dirt track well-defined. The center of the field, Tehran's favorite area, was filled with several circular mock 'arenas', each of which had dedicated wooden racks filled with an assortment of dulled weapons. That was where their combat training took place. Sadly, today was designated for academics, so sparring would have to wait for tomorrow. Disappointed for the umpteenth time since waking up this morning, Tehran brought his focus back onto forming ranks in front of the Thane.
Once all of the neophytes were assembled into five straight and organized lines, he addressed them again, "You will run in two columns with three paces separating each of you; No more, no less. Obviously, this means that those in front, namely me, will be keeping the pace for everyone following. Anyone who falls out will receive two lashes. We will not be using the track today, instead we will run along the inside perimeter of the fort's walls and we will be running five miles. Can anyone tell me how many laps around the fort that is? I'll take one lap off for a correct answer."
Several Neophytes, Tehran included, raised their hands to answer. "Third row, fourth back, what's your answer?" The Thane casually announced while pointing, to Tehran's disappointment, at someone that wasn't him. This was an easy question, as long as you paid attention to what was taught in our arithmetic classes. The trainee stepped to the right so that he was between two columns and visible to the Thane before answering. "The interior walls were designed at four-hundred-and-forty feet in length and together form a hexagon," the trainee began, "so since each lap would be half a mile, we'll need to run ten laps," he finished, stepping back into his column after.
The Thane simply nodded at the answer, likely making a mental note of who to exclude from the tenth lap later. "Very good. Now, all of you grab your weighted bag and form two columns at the wall. Be quick about it." The Thane turned and began walking to the wall himself, grabbing a weighted bag of his own without breaking his stride. Tehran found that, out of all the Thanes that taught or trained the Neophytes here, Lamar was the one most deserving of his respect. He was more strict, sure, but unlike the others he tended to lead by example. "Still a dick, though," Tehran thought to himself as he nabbed his own bag and jogged to stand right behind the Thane.
Standing at the front wouldn't get him much, but it was an advantage he would take every time they ran which also, apparently, caught the Thanes attention. "In front again, Tehran?" He asked, sparing a glance over his shoulder at the Neophyte in question.
"Yes, sir Thane." Tehran responded calmly and, to Tehran's amazement, the Thane chortled, "The man can laugh?" He thought to himself. Tehran's reaction much have shown on his face, given that the Thane smirked once more, "You're rather curt, aren't you? Whatever, I have some news for you, something that you may or may not appreciate."
Tehran swallowed rather hard at that statement, his hands tightened into nervous fists as he waited for the Thane to continue. "You've been mentioned in my reports more than once," the Thane said as he looked Tehran in the eyes with a sly smile. Tehran, however, responded with a frown. This only kept sounding worse. The Thane continued, not worried about his reaction in the slightest, "Punctual, obedient - though not submissive, quick to anger,-" Tehran was sweating pearls by this point "By whatever gods you believe in, spit it out already!" he thought to himself with a mix of anger and fear. "-talented with a blade and eager to learn. You're complete shit with a bow, though." Tehran nearly rolled his eyes at the last comment, but somehow managed to push past the annoyance and continue listening, "Long story short, your efforts caught the attention of the higher-ups and they're considering placing you in the advanced groups."
This caught Tehran off-guard, "Isn't this a good thing?" he asked himself.
The Thane turned his gaze forward before continuing, "You'll need to qualify for it. And no, you don't have a choice in the matter. You, unlike the others, will report to the main hall in the morning at half-past-five, but for now…" The Thane turned his head to Tehran once more, "You're going to run." He said as he threw the bag he was carrying to Tehran. "Carry this, would you? I don't feel like running with weights today." The Thane laughed and started running as Tehran, though surprised at first, clumsily strapped the bag onto his back along with the one he was already carrying.
"Yep," Tehran groaned inwardly, "he's still a fucking dick."