"Name?"
Rickert, Ser.
"Age?"
He thinks for a moment. Six and ten, Ser.
"Empire of origin?"
He smiles. Of Ilya, Ser.
"Motive for fighting? Were you conscripted? Or did ya sign up?"
His chest swells. Fer tha pride of Ilya, Ser!
"Got anyone back home you're fighting for?"
Me ma n' pa, me baby sisters, an' me girl.. His grin fades a little at the last part.
"And now onto the important stuff. What sort of armor do you prefer? Do you like the typical chainmail of our soldiers? Or would you rather something heavier, like half-plate, or full plate armor? I suppose you could have something lighter, too, but it wouldn't stand up well to a sword."
Just tha mail an' a gambeson if ya please, Ser, an' a metal hat if ya have one.
"Alright, and what kind of weapon do you want? Have any preferences? Or shall I decide? For wee recruits like you, we can spare a sword and shield, an axe and shield, a small warhammer and shield, or some kind of ranged weapon. Oh, and we also have a few spears somewhere. I think we have some light spears, and some heavy, anti-cavalry spears."
Pike and buckler for an Ilyan man, Ser!
"Alright then, all done. You'll be in the fifth unit, all of you together. Huh. Lucky buggers, seems like there's a senior mage already in that unit. You should be safe for now, unless ye get transferred. Heh. There are ten units under me, all consisting of ten soldiers. I command one-hundred men, while you can barely command yourself. Now get moving. You're moving out in the morning. I think you'll be staying in a guardhouse on the wall today. Ask around for Tafrin the mage."
Aye, Ser! See ya around, Ser!