Thread: As You Command [The Waiting Disaster and Ladybee]

Lieutenant Hardis Falcone Any soul can will a man to rally. Only the strongest can will a man to kill. Hardis to war was as a fish to water, or a bird to the sky. It was once joked that nobody ever felt safe with the man around, becuase it meant that surely there would be bloodshed soon to follow if the fighting had not yet begun. It was a reputation he had enjoyed, to be honest. The Falcone family was not the most noteworthy as a whole for the warriors it produced, more commonly associated frustratingly enough with the caring and tending of animals. War horses, pack animals, and even the venerable bird from which the family drew it's name. Yet, as he always had throughout his life, Hardis was one to break that image. Spending only the smallest amount of time his father allowed following the more traditional family trade, Hardis invested the rest of his time in to the martial arts of combat. They lived in a land of people accustomed to war, so he did not need to look far in order to find what he needed. He trained, day and night, at times going for days without water or food if he had to, and built himself to be a warrior worthy of respect. Constantly through his early years in the military, his family's less militant origins plagued him from unit to unit, but he always managed to push on in order to better himself and prove those who doubted him wrong. In time, this seeming burden came to prove it's use. Tracking animals when he and his men were forced to scavenge for food, knowing the ways of nature, what plants were safe to consume, what ones would leave you ill for days or plainly kill you. He started to be considered an asset to those around him. Sharp eyes and a quick hand with his blade made him even more so. At first, he was placed amongst the Sergeants, to lead the troops, but it was not long before he was deemed fit for the next step. This was to be his third such post as a 1st Lieutenant. This was the pressure chamber for officers such as himself. Every 1st Lieutenant would be subjected to some of the most grueling tours possible, usually around three. It was to determine who amongst them was the smartest, quickest, and luckiest. Those who survived these hellish stations would soon find themselves placed in commands of their own. However, this command was most certainly going to be a different one for the Lieutenant. A scout by nature, he was used to the smaller troops three or four troops of eighty or less, moving about behind the enemy lines, and sabotaging the inner workings of the ogre war machine. This was a line unit. Not as exciting sounding a prospect as prior commands, but he would now find himself on the front. Truly an opportunity to finally prove himself worthy of his position in this unit, stepping in for the slain predecessor. Amongst those in the camp, it was clear he was not a local, both of the unit, and of this particular region. While most of them were the stocky, pale-skinned sort with black hair his differences were striking. At around 5'11, he was an inch or two shorter than many of the warriors he would be in charge of, as well as the fact that he had olive-toned skin, and more fairly brown hair. On top of this, it seemed many of those who would be under his command preferred to either be clean-shaven, or heavily bearded. The Lieutenant's pointed jaw was marked with the stubble that showed his recent lack of shaving, while long brown hair was kept roughly secured in a ponytail at the moment. Emerald colored eyes flanked a sharp and pointed noise, watching all of those around him as he walked amongst the tents of the soldiers he would soon be advising throughout the battles to come against the ogre menace not far off in the distance now. However, none of them were his focus. Instead he had his eyes set upon a relatively flat area of ground, fenced off, with targets marked with arrows across their surfaces, training dummies scored by the strikes of training implements, and more training tools for the soldiers to keep their skills sharp. As much as he pined to split the arrows left on those targets like a true yeoman, he had a more pressing concern, and that rested with the young woman who was now viciously thrashing one of the training mannequins. His approach was slow and silent, hood over his head, cloak pulled tight around a muscular and agile frame, and leather fur-lined boots practically gliding across the ground with each silent step. He reached the open portion of the fence, stopping to observe the woman in motion, and waiting for a pause in his stride before speaking. Captain Battleblood, I assume? Emerald eyes watched her every moment, as if she were more of a threat than an ally, a new commander who he would be forced to learn the ways of now, Your reputation precedes you.