Jolly Jack went down recording the name, adding any effects should the Watch's information be false, inadequate, or outdated. He pondered each man in turn, the tall lyseni who claimed Reynish descent, a confident man, would prove to be a cocky warrior no doubt. "Lys, yes?" He wasn't one for debating. Just the facts.
A haughty knight, the Ser Bryon Bushy, Jack could see that he had contempt for his lot in life, but such was the lot that was drawn. The Night's Watch would fill lead in any nobles stomach. Sadly, they had no time for accommodation. Tom the One-Eye'd, for his claims of 'disagreement', it is lucky he was not sent to the gallows for that. Ah, what a lovely existence the Night's Watch had become. Murderers, Knights, young boys and old men, all strung up together in one miserable order. Jack moved on quickly, not wishing to catch the gaze of the 'good' eye for very long.
Jack did smirk at the 'Hodrick' if that were his real name, he seemed to have many aliases around. Be that as that may, in the Watch, your brothers assigned you a new name should it be more fitting. That's just the way things were done around here. "Builder, eh? With your apparent penchant for performance, I'd take you more for a fool." He laughed, and continued on, having a bit of a jest.
Continuing on, past the thieves and petty criminals, a new man. He wasn't the youngest face around, but he certainly wasn't as experienced as some others. Neither was he a knight, Jack guessed, from the rather ordinary and unfitted armour he wore. Certainly wasn't cleaned nor fashioned in any great style. He was fair of face, you could tell clearly. "As have many." Jack offered a curt smile and nod, reassuring the squire, going to the next in line.
Hans Drackon, as he boasted, genuine, honorable men? That earned a laugh, from most men in the watch. At least, those with an ounce of comedic irony. The others.. More jaded fellows, particularly the old fools from Deep Lake didn't share much of even a smirk. Jack himself had a bit of a gaze of mirth, "Well lad, let's hope you can prove him wrong. Welcome." He pat him on the shoulder and wrote the name down.
The next, well, Jack was quite surprised, he read his report twice, and then the man's own words. "You're not an ir-" Toyne's stable but boisterous voice was heard as he called out. "Let him off, Jack. Jorren there, well, he's not much of a Pyke. But he's no Hill either, from the papers. Jorren Shipped off.. Shipof." The master coined the phrase, a few of the recruits jeering at the Farman bastards because of this. In time, he might grow used to it. Or hate it. It didn't much matter to Toyne. Jack took note, and let the man off with any pondering questions of his lineage.
With a smile and a reassuring sorrow in his eyes he nodded at Jaze, "As have many here, and many more, after. Thieving is nothing good, I won't condone it, but, you did what you had to do. Now you're here, you'll be expected to do what we must all do. Defend the wall." He pat the man on the shoulder, and tried to keep him stable. "Eyes forward, for this next part." He warned.
The First Steward certainly felt for the dirty, older squire that was pushed in, next in line. He was in a somewhat similar position when he first joined the watch, of course, he'd not admit to it so long after the deed. Here at the watch, your brother grew with you. The first few months, every detail of you is picked apart by your masters and your fellow recruits. Later on it gets better, you form bonds. For now, though, he could only shake his head. "We aren't fools here, we use blunted weapons in training. You're all the same here, though, under the Master's eyes." He followed the gaze with Donoman back to Toyne, who folded his arms, seemingly unimpressed.
He was unimpressed with the whole lot of them. Thieves, poachers, vagabond, embarrassed nobles and already the volunteers were getting uppity. He'd have to break all this attitude. From all that came forward, he couldn't tell you which was which. It wan't his job to exactly care. He gazed hard out into the snow, and sighed. "So this. This is what the Wandering Crows pull back to Castle Black, years of searching, years of waiting. We've all been wondering about this new class. Eight score, you are. But how many will remain? Half that?" His face contorted as he spat from the balcony, right into the mud-seeped ice below. "This isn't some home away from home. We aren't fighting grumpkins and snarks." A few recruits sniggered at the raving older man. He frowned with contempt, and signaled his officers.
A cell was opened, and a cart rolled out for the lot of them to see. The roughskin covering the package was thrown off, and the first sense that barreled through every recruit's nose was that of death. Detestable smells flew threw the clearglass sky, unlike what many had experienced before. Even those who had gazed upon a dead body, likely didn't stay around to figure out what happened to a corpse that wasn't so fresh.. Maggots and flies engorged on the decayed form infront of them. He was garbed in black, but no, there was another. A man in brown and great fur, a wilding, some recognized. Blood still seeped from their wounds, an axe in the brother's head. The sniggering stopped, the younger boys stepped back, some vomited. Toyne was pleased with his display, but it wasn't enough.
"Each and every one of you will have to go through this ritual. I suggest you keep a close watch. Eyes open." That was his second command, as he gave another nod, torches were brought forth, and a pyre quickly ushered forth and set up. It had already been prepared, all of this. The two were dragged onto a pole, and they burned the bodies. It smelt no better this way, infact, even those with a hard nose would shrivel as the fire baked its way into their minds. They all watched, as the two bodies were turned to ash. Toyne let the moment set in, an hour, they watched, the recruits stood. They could do nothing else. They weren't allowed to sit. They couldn't run. After the fire started to die down some, and the bodies were clearly gone, only bone was left. They didn't burn those, it wasn't worth the time in truth. The pounds of ash sprinkled across the snow, black as the brother were. Cloaked in darkness.
Toyne coughed, and prepared his words once again. "You sorry sots thought you had gotten out of death. Well welcome to the seventh hell. It's frozen." He laughed, and looked down at some of the more noble-likes, "Volunteers, I thank you for coming all this way. At any time before you take your oaths, you are truly welcome to leave. The rest of you? You run, you die. A rat." Most of the runners had already been picked off on the way back, there was a certain catch in the eye that could give you dead away as a deserter, even on the way north. They were caught and hung so many times, even on the trip it wasn't very advisable for you to try it. Here in the north, though, it was almost impossible. The Watch controlled fifty leagues lands south, and the clansmen would string up any deserted they'd see. Umbers as well, it wasn't a very good prospect. Still, some, ever year, tried at least.
The Master-at-Arms raised his hands for silence at any murmuring. "You're free to travel amongst the grounds of the Castle. You are not to leave its perimeter, that is, until the well to the west, until the Lichyard to the east, and until the signpost to the south. To the wall? You're welcome to try your chances there." He laughed again, that booming thunder he contained with him, it seemed the man liked to jest. He eyed the frigid and wondrous Wall above him, it dominated all, such was their pitiful existence underneath it. Toyne sniffed, nose twitching. "All horses brought with you will be slaughtered. We only use Mules and Garrons. Any weapons deemed inappropriate shall be withheld until your graduation. Your armour will be stripped, we will provide that for you. Any personal belongings, well, keep those hidden. You are in the company of thieves. Try and sever any ties you used to have. We really hate to destroy all those letters mum keeps sending, besides that, try and not kill anyone for fuck's sake." He sighed as he went through the list. "We will be performing regular training in a day. After that we will get into studies, and from there, you will be given tutoring, and so on and so on, until you know the Watch like the back of your brother's hands." Big Hand stepped forward, grinning like an oaf at the new recruits. "My hands." Toyne didn't detest him, but Gilroy got him to take a step back. "And then," Toyne went on, "Finally, you will be given your oath and Orders. May you not fail us, and yourselves."
After his speech, the Master-at-Arms left into the balcony, the stewards and builders took a leave, most of them. The Rangers on watch kept a close eye on any who'd tried to make a run for it, or for any fights to disrupt them. Castle Black was quite large, but not so that you could hide your whereabouts and intentions from the prying gaze of a ranger. Gilroy and Bighands announced that they were the handlers for the recruits, with some others, helping Toyne with such a large class. They'd help the recruits find their beds, talk to them on their station and where they stand, and give them some general advice to any who approach. They'd stand shoulder to shoulder (well not quite, Big Hand being almost a giant) in the front of the yard. There was Blacksmith Garith, who'd outfit the recruits and show them their spurs, and if needed, would imbue or create any small trinkets or designs the young men would want. If they were to get on his good side. First Builder Stefon, First Steward Jack, and First Ranger Fraust were all in their respect corners, the builder's workshop, the registry inside the Vaults, and the Tower of Guards, respectively. Wandering Crow Jarod Poddle would be in the shieldhall, the man who brought almost every recruit here, he'd be welcoming of any words with the young brothers before he departed once again south. Ser Jackroy Darry kept a calloused outlook on the new season. He'd leave the ceremony even before Toyne, with the rest of his rangers. It was a noticeable departure, and a remark on the general representation the group had given to their new brothers. Maester Costayne was always in the rookery, studying his tomes. He wished not to be bothered, but would spare any time he had for an inquisitive mind. The brother's were given free reign to encounter and discuss with their new associates, most likely their fellow recruits.
