The Infantry Narrative

You're in a pub, downtown in the walled city of North Point, in the cosmopolitan Stonehearth marquisate. You left home just a few years ago and you've been part of the merchant marine out of Waterdeep. The pay is fair and the sights are interesting, but from the marquisate, the stories you hear... well, those are something else. The adventure calls. So on your shoreleave, you saw a man in that distinctive armor and risked asking him if any of the stories were true.

For the price of a grog or two, "Renn" agreed to share his story.

A few hours later, he's come back to meet you. He's in civilian clothes now, but it's the kind of no-nonsense outfit that says he could still clear a room. You see he still has his coveted Stonehearth sword and scabbard hanging from his belt. His neck is thick, you're guessing from all that time wearing a helmet. You're not sure what you expected as he shakes your hand and sits opposite.

After pleasantries with the barmaid, he takes a sip and finally locks eyes with you. "So, you're thinking about the Arms, are you? What an interesting choice, friend. I can't recommend it, I've seen too much out there to say anybody should see what I've seen. But I lived. And them trolls? They didn't. And for that, I can't discourage it, either..."

You look across the table, wondering what he's made of. And you're wondering the same thing about yourself right now. Where did he come from? Was he already tough enough to survive? You shake your head, take a sip and lean back. You need to know more.

"So, uh, how old were you when you enlisted?"

"I was 16," he replies. "Yeah, that's two years younger than then they say they allow, but there's special dispensation for orphans."

"Had you been adopted?"

"Sure, by a dozen different people. But I didn't have a home. Kept telling myself I didn't want people's sympathy... but I did. Just a little. Maybe a chance to do something. Fit in somewhere."

"So you knew the Arms were for you?"

"I didn't know nothin' from nothin. Plenty of folk assumed a street rat like me would end up in the Theives' Guild. That's what you do in *the Gate* when you don't know nothin. Or anything," he corrected. "But I knew stuff. I'd paint houses or play a little music if it was raining. I was never 'good,' but I made enough to eat..."

* ***What we've gathered so far:*** Renn grew up on the mean streets of Baldur's Gate. His background is "Urchin" (pg. 141, Player's Handbook), so his default skill proficiencies were *Sleight of Hand* and *Stealth*. Contrasting with Renn, the narrator's background is "Sailor," page 139, with proficiencies in *Athletics* and *Perception*.
* The narrator uses that Perception proficiency to lean in on Renn's story, figuring out that he'd swapped the Urchin's usual *thieves tools* and *disguise kit* with *Artisan's tools* (Painter's supplies) and some sort of musical instrument.

Renn took a sip and he shut his eyes. "I'd just turned 16 when they tagged me for trespassing. I'd holed up in some patriar's warehouse. Don't remember the specific House – only that it was empty and I didn't think anybody would care."

"Somebody cared?"

Renn nodded, laughing to himself. "No idea how they knew. Look back now, it was probably warded. It wasn't the kind of thing I looked for back then."

"But you do now?"

Renn nodded, serious as a heart attack. "Baldur's Gate Magistrate was gonna throw me in the clink. I guess somebody from the Stonehearth zone recognized me and intervened."

"How?"

"They offered an out: said if I tried out, they'd talk to that other patriar and have my record expunged." Renn blinked a few times and looked away. "Never thought I was good enough for the Arms, but they'd let me out just for trying out? I wasn't gonna argue..."

"I guess you passed."

"Maybe. Maybe they bent a few rules, because I know I wasn't the strongest kid. Somehow, though... Somehow I survived selection. Then I was in."

* ***"The Only Easy Day is Yesterday."*** The Arms are notoriously difficult, but the training, conditioning, money, prestige... there is a waiting list just to try out. Selection is a hellish 24-hour test that's a balance of intelligence, endurance and strength.
* Characters who make it through will have a story to tell from the very beginning. Characters who wash out may have an axe to grind...

Renn took a sip, nodding as he remembered. "It was a different life after that. First thing first, they make sure you know *you're in*. You're part of the Stonehearth family now. They also let you know, in case you didn't already, that there are people – or things, rather – that want you dead. They want us all dead, and they're willing to do that from the inside. So they protect us..."

* **The indoctrination**. Renn is talking about more than just learning the intangibles of allegiance – it's about Stonehearth placing layered deep geas spells on the willing so they're resistant to the kinds of mind control that come from liches, phaerimm and so on. The loyalty isn't just to the chain of command, because that has been compromised, too – *it's to the Stonehearth Ethic*.
	+ Level 1 Stonehearth Arms Save vs Mind Control at 1/2 DC.
	+ Level 3 Stonehearth Arms Save vs Mind Control at 1/2 DC *with Advantage*.
	+ Level 6 Stonehearth Arms are immune to Mind Control.

"So, you get in and 'boom!' You're a soldier?"

Renn chuckled. "Nah, it's more complicated than that. Even if you're aiming at the *Fire Companies*, the mobile infantry, you still need to figure out whether that means a Dragoon or a Musketeer."

"What if you pick wrong?"

"You probably won't, because you won't pick right away. You sign up for a six-year term, but the first six months are training. You ever heard of that?"

"Umm..."

"No. No, you haven't. Maybe in Cormyr, you get two dedicated weeks, but then you've got halberd in hand and you're on patrol. Most every place else, they check to make sure you're not holding a sword by the pointy end, then shove you out the door to absorb claws and teeth before the mayor does."

"Yeah," you nod. "That pretty much fits with most guards I've heard of."

"You'll make your choice, your commitment, then you roll with it. Maybe it's the Fire Companies, maybe it's cavalry or artillery or logistics. Heck, maybe you're in the ArCorps. After two months basic, they separate and head over to wherever they do the magic stuff. Those guys are a little crazy, so I can't imagine that's any easier."

*Easier...*

His earlier words echo back to you, his time as a kid in Baldur's Gate. You glance between the thick neck and the broad shoulders and you can't picture Renn was ever anything but a paragon of strength. "So, when you say you weren't the strongest kid..."

The soldier leaned back. "I was a skinny kid. Scrawny, even. The day after selection, when I got into the barracks, it alternated between feeling like a king and feeling like a rented pack mule. They worked us hard, but fed us like nobles. We had visits from clerics when we injured something. We recovered faster and that let us push harder. And you know, maybe there was a performance-enhancing potion or two in there..."

* **Stonehearth Stats:** the marquisate lifestyle manifests in different ways. People who grow up in the system are more intelligent simply because they've been afforded a magically-enhanced education. The available protein inspires growth, both in height and musculature. For Renn, someone late to the game, Stonehearth will take a person with the heart and help the rest catch up. This is reflected in the campaign adjustments to starting ability scores.

You take it all in, wondering if it would have the same effect on you. You are, after all, a little older than Renn was when he went in. You sip your brew, thinking, before the question comes to you...

"What was it like, the first time you picked up one of those thunder sticks?"

"Thunder stick?" Renn snorted. "The Projectors, either Smoothbore or Rifled. We call 'em 'pipes.' I thought I was going to be a Musketeer, so I started with the Rifled. Changed gears, though: I was filling out like I never thought possible. The sword started feeling really good in my hand. They didn't even let us touch a sword until the third week, by the way. We didn't grab pipes until five weeks. By six weeks, I was solid in the Dragoon path."

"Did the change mess anything up?"

"Nah, it was early enough. Everybody was still in the basics: the *CQB* and *Ballistics*. At two months, we started diverging a little. The Musketeers started rotating through *Sharpshooter* training, while us Dragoons were learning what to do if anything *bitey* was still alive when the ammo runs out."

"What do you do?"

"You reload, obviously, but..." Renn tapped the pommel of his longsword. "Sometimes it just takes a personal touch."

* **Level 1 Feats:** if a character is starting a soldier of the Arms for an introductory-level campaign, where they'll take on missions in a Stonehearth unit, they'll hit the ground with three feats. Both Dragoons and Musketeers have **Combat Ballistics** and **Close Quarters Battle**, while Dragoons pick up **Savage Attacker** and Musketeers learn **Sharpshooter**.

Renn's story went on.

There was that first 6-month rotation and all his battles on the North Shore. It wasn't until the end of his first year that combat started to slow down for him. That was when he earned his Corporal's stripe.

You get a hint of so much more. Year and year after that, scar after scar, until he was a Senior Sergeant and leading a platoon, but those are other stories...