It was cold. As cold a day Gildrick had ever felt. He stood in the frozen wasteland, waiting for the guard to return, rubbing his hands together in an attempt to regain some feeling in his fingers. He had worn as many cloaks and furs as could fit on his person, while buying the thickest gloves and boots he could, yet he remained shivering in the frigid cold.

The other guard stood watching him with a blank expression, smoke slowly drifting from his pipe. He stood at the entrance of a sprawling encampment surrounded by a small barricade line, with plowed paths leading inside from four different directions. Large tents had been setup as far as the eye could see, each colored white or gray, and painted with The Order's sigil, a plain red sword, blade facing downward. Smoke rose up from many different locations within the camp, reminding Gildrick of the warmth he so longed to feel. 

He smiled nervously at the silent guard, "You don't think that I might be allowed to sit by a fire as we await the verdict, do you?"

The guard responded by exhaling some smoke before removing his pipe from his mouth and turning it towards Gildrick. He blinked, confused for a moment, before realizing what was being offered. 

"Oh...uh...thank you, friend," he said, taking the pipe and inhaling. Instantly his entire body began to thaw. Like he had breathed in a fire that now warmed him from inside, spreading from his lungs out to his limbs. He coughed as he exhaled, "Is that...Kindleroot, I had read that it was the best way to stay warm in the North, but I did not expect it to be so....potent." 

The guard gave him a grunt and a nod as he took the pipe back for another puff. They stood there in silence long enough to make Gildrick uncomfortable. Gildrick had never met a soldier so inclined towards silence, but then again this was no normal soldier. This was a man of The Order.

Eventually the first guard returned and waved him into the camp, "Captain Todd says he'll meet with you." 

"Fantastic," Gildrick clapped his hands together, "I appreciate your swift efforts, my friend, and thank you," he turned to the expressionless guard, "for sharing your Kindleroot, it was an eye opening experience." The man blinked once at Gildrick before turning away and facing the endless snowfields towards the South. 

Gildrick followed the tall man through the camp. He saw a number of Order men as they walked. Each wore a bundle of furs, leather, and chain mail armor beneath a white tabard bearing the same red-sword sigil as the tents. And almost everyone of them had a wooden smoke pipe, causing the charred-herbal smell that Gildrick now ascertained to be Kindleroot, to fill the air. It was a preferable aroma compared to the other military encampments Gildrick had seen down south, which were filled with the stink of sweat, blood, and filth. The men all eyed him as he made his way through, to which Gildrick simply smiled and nodded. None smiled back. 

"So," Gildrick began, "is this Captain Todd an amicable fellow?"

The tall guard didn't look back. "No."

Gildrick gripped his leather satchel tightly and took a deep breath. He did not venture this far to be turned away at the final moment.

The guard stopped in front of a large tent sporting a banner of white cloth depicting three black feathers in a row. The man lifted the flap and held it, gesturing for Gildrick to enter. 
Gildrick stepped inside of a warm, tidy officer's tent. There was a small fire pit in the center of the area, the smoke wafting up and out of a small ventilation opening at the top of the tent. Towards the back, a middle aged gentleman with bushy, graying muttonchops sat hunched over a desk, smoking a pipe and scribbling on a piece of parchment. The man set his quill in its holder and stood. He slowly walked around the tent, hands clasped behind his back, furrowing his brow at Gildrick. 

When he deemed it was time to speak, his voice held the authority and tenor of an educated, experienced military commander, so much so Gildrick unconsciously straightened and stood listening with rapt attention.

"My man says you wish to journey with The Order and chronicle our ventures, is this correct?"

Gildrick cleared his throat, "Yes, sir."

"And you understand the dangers inherent to the duty we uphold?"

"I do, sir."

“If you know of the things we face, and believe they’re real, then tell me, Gildrick Domar, why are you here?”

"Well," Gildrick began, "I would like to say that I am here to aid The Order, to help spread the truth about the work you do. Let the commonfolk know the dangers you face are real. That once my book is complete, The Order's name will echo through all the halls of all the kingdoms in the world."
He paused, then shook his head. "And while all that may come to pass, I would be lying if I said that was the reason for my strange request," he looked down and exhaled, just as he had rehearsed, "I can see that you are not a man to entertain flattery and fiction, so I will speak plainly. I am here for myself. I wish to be remembered. Not as some half baked scribbler of flowery verse and certainly not as an irrelevant noble wasting his days in Rohkov. I want write a tale that the world has never seen, a tale about a group of people who fight against beings that most don't even believe exist. An account like none before it told by man who was there. A man who lived it. I want to be a man who changes the world through the written word and I'm willing to risk my life to do it."

The Captain stared at Gildrick for a long moment, then rubbed the bridge of his nose and let out a sigh. 

He moved to the tent's entrance as he spoke, "Fine, I will allow you to join one of my squads, but there will be terms you must agree to."

He stuck his head out of the entrance flap, "Darvis, get me Cross." He reentered the tent and returned his attention to Gildrick, "You will join S-22, a squad in the scouting regiment. Your commanding officer will be Sergeant Melvin Cross and you will follow his orders to the letter." He turned to look Gildrick directly in the eyes, "You will never disobey, question, or even consider deviating from an order given by a commanding officer, do you understand?"

"Yes, sir. I-"

The Captain cut Gildrick off as he waltzed back to his desk. "You are joining as a soldier of The Order, even if you do not have the skill or experience. You are expected to fight and die as such. You will not hinder your fellow squadmates, you will carry out all the duties required as the freshest recruit in the squad. If Sergeant Cross believes your presence endangers any of his men or any other man in The Order, you will be sent away with no escort to return you to safety." 

"Of course sir, and while I am no seasoned warrior, I assure you I am no slouch. When I was younger-"

Again Gildrick was cut off, "I have no time for your childhood tales of grandeur, recruit." The Captain returned to his seat and clasped his hands in front of his face before meeting Gildrick's gaze once more, "This is a place where even the strong die, Gildrick. I pray to Delmiir that you manage to survive but as you said, I am not a man to entertain falsities. You will never see home again, and if you do, it won't be the same. You won't be the same." 

Gildrick gave a nervous smile, "I assure you Captain, I am here of my own will and with complete understanding of the perils that I choose to face." He lost his smile and muttered his final words under his breath, "I will not perish."

"If that's all," the Captain said, dipping his quill into an inkwell, "remove yourself from my tent, recruit, Sergeant Cross should be here shortly to get you situated."

Gildrick's habitual smile returned, "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

Stepping out of the warm tent, Gildrick was quickly reminded that he had no Kindleroot of his own, nor even a pipe to smoke it. The freezing air filled his lungs once more as he waited outside of the Captain's tent, alone. While he waited, he thought of the bustling streets of Rokhov. Of the day his father shouted him out the door. Of the small roadside village where he drank the night away with jovial strangers. When he slept at a farm, working rather than paying for his stay. When the one eyed shaman he met on the road claimed he had a dark cloud following him. He stood remembering how far he had come and how far he still had to go. He shivered as a cold wind cut into him like a sharp razor. He looked around and considered moving to somewhere warmer, but thought it best not to disobey the first order he was given as a man of The Order.

Fortunately he did not sit idle for long. A man with as much presence as the finest commanding officers in all of Storovan, strode forward, eyes fixed on Gildrick. He wore the same white tabard as the rest of the soldiers in The Order, long white cloak billowing as a gust of wind blew in. His hair and beard were cropped short and kept tidy. His hair was a dark black without a spot of graying despite this man's face revealing that he was at least fifteen years Gildrick's senior. He was tall, but then again every man here seemed to be. They were all tall and broad of shoulder, muscular and grizzled. It was if The Order had gone around the world taking the biggest, strongest soldiers from every kingdom's military. Two things distinguished this man from the rest of the soldiery: the manner in which he held himself and the obsidian black feather pendant he wore around his neck.

"You the scribbler?" the man called out.

"I am Gildrick Domar, yes. Melvin Cross, I presume?"
Gildrick extended a hand. The man took it, gave a firm shake, and nodded

“Sergeant Cross," the man's voice was deep and gravelly. "Let me speak with the Captain before we head out.”

The Sergeant ducked into the tent and after a muffled conversation with Captain Todd, returned. He retrieved a pipe and a small pinch of auburn-colored herbs from a pouch on his belt. He packed the pipe, lit it, and took a deep breath of the warm Kindleroot smoke.

“First things first,” he said out the corner of his mouth, “We need to get you some Kindleroot, elsewise you’ll freeze to death ‘fore the Crusade even starts.”

He started walking and nonchalantly waved a hand for Gildrick to follow, leaving a trail of smoke in his wake.

Gildrick stepped quickly to keep up with the Sergeant’s long strides, “I was thinking the same thing. I have never been so far North in Storovan, I didn’t even realize that it could get this cold.”

“Wait till nightfall, without a fire or some Kindleroot, you won’t make it to the morning sun.”

He now took out a small journal and quill from his satchel and began to scribble as they walked. The introductory pages had already been filled with his journey from the capital, Rokhov, to the Northernmost town that was still recorded on maps, King’s Reach. The journey had taken the better part of two months, as he had taken many detours stay at interesting places and meet with noteworthy people. All in service of a compelling introduction to his story. In this journal he wrote notes, fragments of what people said or did that may be worthy of being added to his book. The manuscript itself, a large leatherbound tome wrapped up tightly in oiled cloth, was safely tucked away in his satchel. He would only remove it when he had a quiet space to continue his tale without interruptions.

“You got any questions for me?” Sergeant Cross asked as they continued through the camp.

“Ah, yes. Many in fact,” Gildrick replied, pen at the ready, “Firstly, the Captain said that I was to join S-22, a squad in the scout regiment, of which you are the Sergeant. What exactly does that entail? What do we do? Who are our commanding officers?”

The Sergeant exhaled smoke in a slow plume, “The Order is broken into three division, scouts, vanguard, and field operations. Each one has a high captain that oversees captains who oversee sergeants who command squads. Each squad gets a number and letter to identify them.”

The Sergeant gave him a sidelong glance, “You getting all that down?”

 “Yes, please continue," Gildrick smiled, "I just like to jot things down so I don’t forget them later.”

Cross didn’t seem too impressed by this idea. He turned and continued down the path, “We are squad S-22, you answer to me, I answer to Captain Todd, who answers to High Captain Corvus, who answers only to Commander Halvon. You don’t skip the chain of command unless my guts are on the ground."

“Understood, and what duties does our squad in particular strive to carry out?”

“We scout the perimeter when the army is on the move or act as lookouts during nights. We spot a Hallowbound, we kill it. If its too much for us to handle, we alert command."

He hesitated for a moment, “Is… that what you call them? Hallowbound? Are they truly so horrific? Like the rumors say?”

“Till you’ve seen one, no one can give you the idea of a Hallowbound,” Cross turned into an open square with tables and crates sprawled about the icy ground, “And don’t worry, you’ll see plenty in the coming days.”

Gildrick followed the Sergeant into a line at a large table that sat in front of a cluster of open crates.

“Anytime you need Kindleroot, a pipe, or replacements for either, come here. Setup of camp changes as we march, but this place will always be somewhere near the center.”

The line moved fast, each man in front of them being handed small cloth pouches. When they reached the front, young soldiers worked tirelessly, filling and distributing pouches of the same auburn-colored leaf Cross has packed into his pipe.

One of them, a dark-skinned youth with a Valmontan accent looked up, “How much?”

The Sergeant produced a small cloth sack from his belt and dropped it on the table. “One refill for me. Pipe and pouch for him."

The young man nodded and turned to his comrades behind him, “Pipe, pouch, fill.”

The three men worked together with swift, practiced efficiency and moments later, a brown pipe  and two drawstring pouches were laid out.

Cross grabbed a pouch and pocketed it before turning away.

"Thank you, my good man," Gildrick said before quickly gathering the remaining items and hurrying after Cross.

The Sergeant led him to a another open square a bit further down the path. There were forges burning on one side, with racks of weapons, armor and various gear on the other. With the help of Sergeant Cross, Gildrick was outfitted with armor and garb suited for a scout. This included some leather armaments for his extremities, a chain shirt, and the white cloth tabard bearing the sigil of The Order. He was also issued a metal Spangenhelm, the most common helm for soldiers in Storovan. He also found a longsword whose weight felt similar to the fencing iron he was accustomed to in Rokhov. The last item he was given as a part of his initiation to The Order was a pack far too large for a man of his size and stature. Back home he would be considered a strong young man, but here 'strong' felt like that last word anyone would use to describe him. The pack was filled with useful equipment for traversing snow and ice, starting fires, building shelter, and climbing. Everything a man could need in these lands was in this pack.  

Gildrick lit his new pipe and breathed deep, sighing with relief as the warm smoke spread through his body. He gathered up his gear, and with arms full and back already aching from the weight, fell in beside Sergeant Cross.
"Where are we off to next, Sergeant?"

"Now you meet the squad. They're hard men, but they're some of the best scouts in The Order."
With his new equipment, and the warmth of Kindleroot in his chest, he realized that he felt strangely excited. Like whatever came next, at least he would be prepared, or at least he thought he would. 
If only he knew how wrong he was.