On the Road to Elspar [Book 1] (Dryad Mercenary Schoolgirl Quest)
- Thread starter Kei
- Start date
- Original Fantasy
- Location
- USA
[x] Attempt a show of force to head off an armed conflict, even though it's possible that this will start the fighting that you are trying to avoid.
Defending one group over the other just does not sound like a good time. Siding with the elves who think they're hunting and punishing traitors is of questionable net benefit. Siding with the not-elves who are hysterical, probably feeling victimized whether they opened the gates or not, and are ready to lash out if they're attacked probably isn't much better in terms of body count. Regarding protecting the wounded, I don't think it is that passive of a choice. It's still choosing to get involved in a situation that's out of the squad's control to try and do what the squad can. It's an option I'm tempted to vote for. But. I'm willing to bet on big sword diplomacy. And I'm most interested in seeing how this aftermath affects Neianne, regardless of what degree of outcome we end up with.
Wow this hard. Imagine how sad Neianne will be if her actions end up sparking the conflict. Sad Neianne was already hard to read when she had trouble corralling her squad before the tournament.
Defending one group over the other just does not sound like a good time. Siding with the elves who think they're hunting and punishing traitors is of questionable net benefit. Siding with the not-elves who are hysterical, probably feeling victimized whether they opened the gates or not, and are ready to lash out if they're attacked probably isn't much better in terms of body count. Regarding protecting the wounded, I don't think it is that passive of a choice. It's still choosing to get involved in a situation that's out of the squad's control to try and do what the squad can. It's an option I'm tempted to vote for. But. I'm willing to bet on big sword diplomacy. And I'm most interested in seeing how this aftermath affects Neianne, regardless of what degree of outcome we end up with.
Wow this hard. Imagine how sad Neianne will be if her actions end up sparking the conflict. Sad Neianne was already hard to read when she had trouble corralling her squad before the tournament.
[x] Attempt a show of force to head off an armed conflict, even though it's possible that this will start the fighting that you are trying to avoid.
I agree with Spectral Waltz that we need to get both sides to shut up for a moment before we can try any attempt at gaining control of the situation and that show of force is probably our best chance at getting them to shut up. Not sure if adding in that kind of diplomacy should be a subvote assuming the show of force buys that moment or if such a thing would be the subject of the next update because it's not at all guaranteed things will go as we hope and that we even get such a chance.
I agree with Spectral Waltz that we need to get both sides to shut up for a moment before we can try any attempt at gaining control of the situation and that show of force is probably our best chance at getting them to shut up. Not sure if adding in that kind of diplomacy should be a subvote assuming the show of force buys that moment or if such a thing would be the subject of the next update because it's not at all guaranteed things will go as we hope and that we even get such a chance.
- Location
- United States
[X] Attempt a show of force to head off an armed conflict, even though it's possible that this will start the fighting that you are trying to avoid.
Breakdown of options is rather simple for me.
Taking a side is exactly that, taking a side. Likely to end up a mistake too and it pretty much especially since there is no good side to pick.
Protecting the wounded is giving up on resolving the tensions here.
A show of force... Could fail and as noted, start the fight. But it's also the only one with a chance to stop things here. And even if it end as a failure, Neianne would try.
Taking a side is exactly that, taking a side. Likely to end up a mistake too and it pretty much especially since there is no good side to pick.
Protecting the wounded is giving up on resolving the tensions here.
A show of force... Could fail and as noted, start the fight. But it's also the only one with a chance to stop things here. And even if it end as a failure, Neianne would try.
I see no reason for Kei to post that small an update and I think we can trust the immediate results to the GM instead of forcing words on Neianne to top of voting for the immediate action.
The write-in is if a course of action was not made obvious, not really tacking in extra notes on existing options, I believe.
10ebbor10
DON'T PANIC
- Location
- Present
It's fairly ease to conclude that not killing the humans/aseri is the good side.
Even if they're guilty, they should be interrogated and tried, not lynched.
In the short term only. The soldiers are under high stress as well and creating grounds for a feud between the mercs and the soldiers is not the greatest idea ever. And if it come to blow, there truly will be no winner here, no matter who remain alive.
10ebbor10
DON'T PANIC
- Location
- Present
It's not like "bothsiding" a massacre won't get us into feuds either. Either side will blame us for not intervening wgen we should have.
Spectral Waltz
Scatterbrained Writer
- Location
- Walking the Endless Corridors
I frankly don't give a damn. While some of the civilians or some of the soldiers might be spies, I find it nigh impossible to believe that all of them are, and perpetuating a massacre 'just in case' is an outright moral wrong that cannot be permitted under any circumstances.
If either side tries to annihilate the other then they surrender all pretense of morality and deserve to be killed until every last one is dead or unconditionally surrendering.
And those that surrender should be tried for their crimes.
If either side tries to annihilate the other then they surrender all pretense of morality and deserve to be killed until every last one is dead or unconditionally surrendering.
And those that surrender should be tried for their crimes.
- Location
- USA
- Pronouns
- He/Him
New reader here. I am so glad I picked up this story, it's fantastic.
With these recent chapters especially, I can't help but think about the prologue. At some point Neianne is going to graduate and, after having seen this, been part of this ... Neianne's fight will suddenly be over. It adds so much to this story, and makes me constantly wonder what she'll do when it reaches that point.
With these recent chapters especially, I can't help but think about the prologue. At some point Neianne is going to graduate and, after having seen this, been part of this ... Neianne's fight will suddenly be over. It adds so much to this story, and makes me constantly wonder what she'll do when it reaches that point.
...geez, I finally get caught up on the quest, and this is the latest post. Getting thrown into the deep end right away. Welp, assuming Kei isn't already commited to and halfway done with the next post, here's my vote.
Agreeing with the general sentiment of:
[x] Attempt a show of force to head off an armed conflict, even though it's possible that this will start the fighting that you are trying to avoid.
-[x] Have Elizabeth make a lightshow/boom to get everyone's attention.
to start with. If that fails and kickstarts the fighting, then try to minimize the damage by moving onto:
[x] Protect the wounded from any altercation that is to erupt
-[x] Have Elizabeth make a wall of ice to separate the groups as much as possible, if only to slow them down while our squad gets into position
--[x] Children get priority, even above the wounded
For that last part, even aside from the obvious reason of just "they're children"... we just got a painful lesson in how when there are lots of wounded there just isn't enough healing out here to go around, a lot of the seriously injured here will die very soon regardless of whether they're finished off now, so preventing injuries is perhaps more important than making sure injuries don't get worse. And children are particularly unlikely to be saboteurs (even if they're possibly being used by saboteurs as a cover, I'm not putting anything past the Tennies at this point).
Agreeing with the general sentiment of:
[x] Attempt a show of force to head off an armed conflict, even though it's possible that this will start the fighting that you are trying to avoid.
-[x] Have Elizabeth make a lightshow/boom to get everyone's attention.
to start with. If that fails and kickstarts the fighting, then try to minimize the damage by moving onto:
[x] Protect the wounded from any altercation that is to erupt
-[x] Have Elizabeth make a wall of ice to separate the groups as much as possible, if only to slow them down while our squad gets into position
--[x] Children get priority, even above the wounded
For that last part, even aside from the obvious reason of just "they're children"... we just got a painful lesson in how when there are lots of wounded there just isn't enough healing out here to go around, a lot of the seriously injured here will die very soon regardless of whether they're finished off now, so preventing injuries is perhaps more important than making sure injuries don't get worse. And children are particularly unlikely to be saboteurs (even if they're possibly being used by saboteurs as a cover, I'm not putting anything past the Tennies at this point).
2.18.1 Persecution of the Masses (Part 1)
I'd like to take a quick moment to apologize for my months-long absence. As I mentioned in my writing thread, my life in general and my mental health in particular took a plunge back in September, and I needed to kind of get away from everything for a while, including the internet. Things aren't..."okay". But I'm making my peace with that.
For those who are reading this and have returned to this quest, thank you for still sticking with me. I'm still on this train.
Also, thanks to @x_lksk and @PotatoesOfDoom for catching up with the quest, don't be shy, and don't forget to drop in and say hi~
[x] Attempt a show of force to head off an armed conflict, even though it's possible that this will start the fighting that you are trying to avoid.
You draw the behemoth that is your sword from your back, determined - despite your small stature - to look like the largest person in this altercation. You're careful not to hit anyone behind you despite the congested environment, but the arc of that steel slab swinging harmlessly over your shoulder is enough to send people on both sides scrambling backwards; few aren't intimidated by the prospect of a door to the face. This gesture is mildly stymied by the high-pitched tenor and nervous quality of your voice as you shout, "E-Everyone back! G-Get back!"
But your words are drowned out by all the screaming and shouting and crying. You have never been a loud person; you fail to school your stutter, and your verbal warning is lost amidst the escalating cacophony. The space you just created is once again filled with people; you cannot say whether they are driven by hostility towards each other or assurance that you wouldn't actually hurt them. Certainly, the thought strikes you with horror as the encircling elves close in on the human and aseri crowd, as the tension looks like it's coming to a head.
You are struck by the terrifying realization that there's very little you can do aside from violence.
"Sq-Squad Four!" you shout as loud as you can, trying to catch the attention of your squad. "Weapons up!"
Thankfully, your squadmates do hear you, they have already drawn their own weapons, and they don't need extra instructions to understand your intentions. The four of you form a loose circle between the aggressors and their targets, doing your best to stand between the two groups of people. You try to look as imposing as possible, raising your buster sword as high in the air as possible to seem more intimidating. A strike of your buster sword will do it. You don't actually need to hit anyone or anything. Just a slam against the ground should do it, a show of force that will drive the elves back, make them reconsider their course of action. Enough to separate these two groups.
That thought dies on your mind when someone suddenly sinks a dagger into another person's chest.
You react before you even realize it. Rather than strike down with the blade of your weapon, you slam the pommel of your buster sword into the chest of the closest elf. It isn't lethal, but the buster sword is large and heavy enough that the inertia sends the elf stumbling back.
The world around you erupts into chaos. Was it because of the stabbing that you witnessed? Or was it you striking an elf with the pommel of your sword? You suppose - somewhere in the back of your mind, a part that isn't overwhelmed - it doesn't matter now, because everything in your senses assails you with action.
Fighting breaks out. Swords and spears meet sticks and pitchforks. Blood is spilt. Screams deafen your hearing. It's all you can do to hold your buster sword sideways, to slam the flat of the blade against both sides of the crowd, to push the two groups away from each other. But you are only one person, trying to hold back dozens of people determined to inflict harm on each other, whether out of malice or panic. Swarmed by those taller than you, it is difficult to tell where assault begins and self-defense ends.
Loud crackles of lightning overwhelm even the screaming. You don't need to look to see that Elizabeth is doing her best to force both groups from each other with magecraft. You imagine that she is trying to erect walls of ice while scaring others off with lightning strikes. Nor do you need to watch Sieglinde wield her glaive like an extension of her body - using the shaft of her polearm to push crowds back and striking with the blade for those further away - or Stephanie casting her own magecraft - the bursts of flame barely audible beneath the snaps of Elizabeth's lightning.
But there's only so much the four of you can do. Both groups push against each other with increasingly deadly intent, and the blades are closing in; in the mayhem, their omnidirectional lethality - their intent to maim and kill - do not discriminate between refugees and soldiers and Caldran mercenary apprentices. Even with your dryad strength, even with your buster sword, you cannot stop the violence. You cannot push without others pushing back. You cannot discourage the carnage with halfhearted measures. You can barely protect yourself, even as you wince and brace yourself against the pain of cuts from a dozen directions, from the flailing of proper weapons and farming tools.
You are terribly outnumbered against two crowds that can easily run Squad Four over in a stampede. It is fortunate that you are not their target, but you are also caught between two groups with soldiers among them, people with proper weapons and actual combat experience. And it occurs to you that although you are a dryad, your squadmates are an aseri and two elves caught in between sharply escalating racial violence, and they have neither a large unwieldy weapon or centuries of ancestral absence from racial animus to shield themselves with. Unrest generates panic, and panic among large, violent groups is no motivator for rational thought.
It is at this moment that you realize there are moments where you cannot shy away from lethal force, and that this is one of those moments. You will need to take your pound of flesh, and you will have to live with it.
You twist your weapon ninety degrees, trading the flat of your blade for its edge. You swing.
Blood and viscera spill wetly out onto the trampled snow, staining your buster sword crimson.
Physically speaking, it's almost disturbing how easy it feels to cleave through the opposition, how cleanly the blade moves through multiple people unfortunate enough to be within the range of your swing. The flat doesn't threaten to bounce off anyone unfortunate to get caught in its way, arrested by cruises and broken bones; instead, the edge simply goes through them, material resistance meaningless compared to the force you put into swinging the buster sword in the first place.
You swing, and opposition against you in the surrounding area disappears. If not quietly.
Everything around you seems to disappear in a haze, a blur of bodies and steel and blood. You won't clearly remember the thirty seconds that happen, not in your coming days when you think back upon it. Your instincts are what responds at this point, a desperate sense of not only self-preservation, but a sense that something must be done. You barely feel sharp metal cutting against your skin, the barest of resistance that meets the blade of your buster sword, the warm fluids that splash against your face.
Then those thirty seconds pass, and then you suddenly realize you are able to breathe. As if everything around you previously sucked away the air from your lungs, but they are gone now and you can inhale. Lucidity returns to your mind as alarm hits you, as you look around in a panic...only to realize that you are no longer surrounded.
Fleeing cries reach your ears. Your eyes focus, and you realize that everyone around Squad Four - refugees, soldiers, elves, aseris, humans - are scattering across the landscape, screaming blue murder.
Well, almost everyone. Those who remain are too wounded to move, or trying to shield someone injured or incapable of fleeing...or are dead.
Behind you, barricades of icicles seemingly recede back into the ground, dissipating into sparkles of charged mana before they, too, disappear entirely; charred earth and smoldering blades of grass hint at where lightning magecraft struck. And there are, of course, the bodies with bloody holes and scorch marks on the ground.
It's not as if you're in any position to blame Elizabeth. It's not like you refrained from taking any lives either. But you cannot help but feel that she probably didn't care very much - at least, not as much as you - about whether or not this episode ended with corpses on the ground. She's one of Faulkren Academy's "prodigies"; surely she could've done better.
The thought doesn't last long on your mind. No, that's not fair. Cursory glances at Stephanie and Sieglinde also reveal that they, too, drew blood. If anything, the tall raven-haired elf is surrounded by a larger constellation of corpses on the ground, and the cold, impassive way she seems to regard her surroundings with a bloodied glaive in hand makes her look like the personification of death. Stephanie, on the other hand, is somewhat more eye-catching because some of the bodies are still kindling for flickering embers where tongues of fire magecraft burned through. Her katana and wakizashi still drawn, your roommate still seems to have her guard up. Neither of them seem seriously injured, both of them getting away with relatively superficial cuts. It's nothing healing magecraft and some rest can't take care of.
You still think of going over to check on Stephanie, given that she looks like the most agitated among your squadmates, her pupils tightened into slits and thick puffs of vapor escaping her lips with every exhale. But that thought - along with any accusatory feelings you had towards Elizabeth - quickly evaporates when the elven mage in question stumbles, her legs buckling beneath her as she falls to one knee. You rush to her in alarm, realizing upon seeing open gashes on her skin that the blood that stains her dress is not just that of her victims'.
"Elizabeth!" you cry, rushing over and navigating through the bodies, ignoring your own minor injuries, dropping your buster sword onto the bloodstained ground and dropping onto your knees, taking her by the shoulders, trying to make sure she's alright.
But the elven mage waves you off, scowling as she stops short of physically pushing you away; she seems almost annoyed at the attention you're giving her. "I'm fine," she mutters, taking a moment to catch her breath, wiping a trail of blood that flows from the corner of her lip. Then she takes her staff in both hands, winces, and murmurs an incantation to close her wounds, none of which are particularly deep, thankfully.
Of your squadmates, though, the elven mage has the most numerous and obvious wounds. Stephanie has her katana and wakizashi, and Sieglinde has her glaive; Elizabeth, on the other hand, was the least suited for the situation Squad Four found itself in. You should've kept her at a distance as long-range support, not in the thick of things where she had little in the way of physical defenses against two different mobs. You were trying too hard to prevent both groups from hurting each other, trying too hard to separate them, and you thought every extra Caldran mercenary apprentice standing in the way would help.
You won't make that mistake again. Sometimes, people are just going to die, and you need to prioritize the safety of your squad.
You can't help but note that the bodies at Elizabeth's feet are mostly those of aseri and human. A less generous soul may have assumed that she was more comfortable inflicting harm on them than her elven compatriots. You increasingly suspect, however, that it was the aseri and human crowd that attacked her most, an armed elven mage too close to the action and - in all the chaos - perhaps indistinguishable from all the other elves that wanted to harm them.
Seeing Elizabeth's wounds slowly close, seeing that she will be alright and won't bleed out anytime soon, you rise back to your feet. Then you note the bloodstains on your dress, blemishes at knee-level where you dropped down to check on Elizabeth. That will take forever to scrub out. Maybe you'll just have to buy a new dress. Maybe after everything is over at Arnheim. You should consider heading back.
You take four steps away before you drop onto your hands and knees, and violently empty your stomach of breakfast.
You only vaguely register sounds of alarm from the rest of your squad as your vision blurs and your stomach rolls. As blood stains your hands and knees again, you desperately wish the concern from your friends was enough to bring you comfort. It isn't.
These were not Tenereian saboteurs you just killed. Nor were they bandits on the wrong side of the law, not that you've actually slain any of them personally. These were civilians fleeing from war, soldiers fighting for your country. Your fellow countrywomen. People on your side, caught up in one bad situation after another.
And you cut them down. Their blood is literally on your hands.
Against your pattern recognition, it is Sieglinde who finds herself at your side, asking, "Are you alright?"
You look up at the impassive raven-haired elf, who looks back down at you with all the emotional breadth of a rock. You try not to hold it against her; it is simply who Sieglinde is. "I'll be fine," you mutter, wiping away the trail of slime at your lips.You're not sure how true that is. It's the best you can do right now.
For her part, Sieglinde quietly regards you for a moment before she impassively nods. "Perhaps we ought to return to Arnheim and report in."
You suppose that is the best you can do right now. It's not as if you're in a mind to do anything else, what with the blood on your hands and knees. You're trying to compartmentalize that. You're trying to accept that you did what you needed to do, that you did the best you could do under the most trying of circumstances, that you did the right thing.
It does not help as Stephanie stares at you, confused, bewildered, her eyes wide and her expression lost. "Neianne," she asks, her eyes wide and her expression blank. "What just happened?"
You have no answer for that. Maybe you never will.
You don't need to be told that the pillars of smoke rising from Arnheim against the afternoon sky is a sign that your experience mere hours ago was not an isolated incident.
The crowds of refugees and soldiers outside the city have grown, and traffic into the city has slowed to a bare trickle. They have formed groups separate from each other now, and now that you know what to look for, it doesn't take long to realize that they are segregating themselves by race: Elves here and aseri there and humans over there. There are obvious signs of mass strife: Overturned wagons, scattered supplies, abandoned husks of burnt-down tents. And, most importantly, a palpable atmosphere of tension, wariness, and unease. Many adult civilians are carrying improvised weapons such as farming implements or trade tools or broken bottles or planks of wood.
The guards at the western gate have doubled, and you can't help but note that, unlike when you left the city, they are now all elven. You pass unmolested when you identify yourselves - you suppose there is no mistaking Caldran mercenary apprentices - but you cannot help but feel that they watch Stephanie with more scrutiny as you enter the city.
Things within the walls aren't any better.
The streets are cluttered with litter and debris. Civilians and soldiers alike run towards black columns of smoke with buckets of water to put out burning flames, whether they be raging infernos or smouldering embers. You cannot help but note that there are many more guards on the streets, and racially-segregated at that. Elven soldiers stick with elven soldiers in one block, aseri soldiers stick with aseri soldiers in one block, and human soldiers stick with human soldiers in one block. And their charges are similarly segregated by race, their groups obvious now that you know what to look for.
There are also definitely more bodies lying on the streets as well, and not those laid out on burlap sheets, awaiting medical treatment. People have apparently been killed in the streets and simply left there in their own puddles of blood.
It isn't all gloom. There are certain spaces where you observe solidarity, where elves and aseri and humans remain coalesced together. Where soldiers and guards of different races do their best to protect that Caldran ideal. Where the Caldran spirit of togetherness remains alive. But you cannot help but think they are fewer in number now. That there is a distinct sense of a specific type of togetherness, where races band with each other for a form of protection that you yourself are not familiar with, but which you feel inexplicably like you should be familiar with.
Eyes follow Squad Four distrustfully. You try not to pay it any mind, try to stay out of the way of those fighting fires and collecting casualties. You try to pretend that nothing is wrong as a soldier - elven - spots you, carefully approaches as she keeps an eye on Stephanie, and calls, "You there. Mercenary apprentices?" And when you nod in confirmation, she says, "You're being ordered to return to your instructors."
"W-We're on our way," you assure her.
Security around the Treiser Manse has also increased, and not in a heartening way. You can't help but note that the additional guards that have been posted around the building - unlike when you first arrived in Arnheim - seem to count among the wounded, dressed in bloodied bandages and hobbling against the support of their spears. You can't help but think that they simply had to draw additional personnel among the least wounded, which isn't really saying very much.
You also can't help but note that most of them are elven.
Inside the manse is panic and mayhem. If the pandemonium when you first arrived at the Treiser Manse was frantic, then people are now losing their minds. It is all Squad Four can do to push against the tide of nobles, aides, soldiers, healers, and wounded that are trying to make sense of everything, of trying to restore order far too close to home. It is almost a relief when you descend into the cellars where things are a bit quieter, where dark stone walls absorb much of the chaos upstairs.
"Get some rest," you tell your squad - Elizabeth in particular - as you settle into a corner Faulkren Academy has commandeered with mattresses and blankets. Many of the other squads have returned, looking confused and shaken, although not everyone is back yet. You suppose the best you can do for the time being is taking care of your own. "I-I'll go get some warm food and drink."
Elizabeth softly mumbles something unintelligible as she settles into the mattresses, almost immediately falling asleep as her head hits the pillow. You don't blame her; she has been spending the last day traveling, expending mana to heal others, and then involving herself in a fight that was fairly touch-and-go. It isn't just your mage either; Stephanie plops herself facedown onto the mattress; she doesn't actually look like she's falling asleep as Elizabeth, but she's clearly exhausted. Even Sieglinde seems fatigued as she quietly sits down against a wall, spear in her arms, closes her eyes, and sighs tiredly.
You, too, are feeling weariness in your bones. But you still manage to make your way to the kitchens in search of food for your squad. It takes a while to get anything, for the mood among the cooks isn't any better, and you aren't the only one looking for refreshments. But you do eventually manage to return with plates of food and drink for not just your squad, but also the other apprentices from Faulkren Academy. Perhaps you bring back more than is needed; many of your peers are too tired to eat, or simply don't have much of an appetite. You find yourself eating only a few strips of grilled pork before drifting off. You don't exactly fall asleep, not with the din around you, not with the realization of everything that has happened lingering not that far back in your head - you do not have Elizabeth's prodigious skill at losing consciousness - but the fatigue is overwhelming, and you do try to get some rest with your eyes closed and your mind unoccupied by dark thoughts.
You lose track of time, but you imagine it is hours later when you are shaken awake. You blearily open your eyes in alarm, only relaxing when you find yourself looking up at the fine-featured face of Aphelia, her eyes bloodshot and haggard. "Headmistress Rastangard is calling for us," she murmurs, and you take her hand as she helps pull you to your feet. You look around to check on your squad. Stephanie and Elizabeth are asleep, and Sieglinde is absent. You hope she's alright as you start moving towards the wine cellar that Faulkren Academy is using as a conference room.
It is on the way that you overhear a conversation between unfamiliar voices. You look over in time to catch an elven soldier - a lieutenant, it seems, although you don't recognize the colors that denote where she's from - snarl at her subordinate: "Not interested."
The subordinate, an elven sergeant with colors similarly alien to you, tries to sound placating as she murmurs, "Ma'am, the aseri and human guards at the gates have already been replaced with..."
"The captain of the guards is free to do whatever she likes with her personnel."
The sergeant hesitates. "You...have heard why it was done, right?"
"They're Tenny lies! What better strategy would they have but turn us against each other now?"
The sergeant takes a deep breath. "Be that as it may, ma'am, the city is in an uproar over it. The girls are uneasy."
"Then they'd better deal with it."
"Not everyone has your high-mindedness, ma'am."
Whatever the lieutenant has to say in response to that, it is cut off as the door to the wine cellar shuts behind you. You find yourself sharing the space with Headmistress Cornelia Rastangard, several of your instructors, and almost all of Faulkren Academy's squad leaders. The atmosphere is unbearably heavy. Everyone looks exhausted, and there is an unshakeable feeling that everything has gone wrong. Even your instructors - full-fledged Caldran mercenaries upon whose shoulders the war seems to have fallen upon - look like they're flagging a bit. You can't help but notice that some of them have dried bloodstains on their clothes, like almost everyone else.
At least goblets of water have been prepared as they're passed around the room. It's only after you swallow a mouthful of water that you realize how parched your lips are.
"Is everyone fine?" asks Cornelia as everyone is settled in. "Have any injuries been tended to? Have you seen to your squads?" When the apprentices offer quiet nods, the headmistress turns to the odd-woman-out in the room, looking over to the sole soldier in the room, asking, "Sergeant Tanith?"
The soldier from House Marienberg - standing in for Wilhelmina as squad leader of Squad Seven - coolly replies, "The apprentices are fine. No serious injuries."
Cornelia nods quietly, falling silent for a moment. Finally, she takes a deep breath and announces, "As some of you already know, widespread violence has broken out among the soldiery and the refugees along racial lines. Rumors - unsubstantiated but widely-believed at this point - are that aseri and human collaborators opened one of the gates for the Tenereian invaders at Halissen, allowing the city to fall."
The apprentices exchange startled looks and sharply whisper with each other in alarmed disbelief. You're not terribly surprised that many of them have not pieced together what happened; Squad Four was fortunate enough - insofar as you can use the word "fortunate" to describe anything that has happened recently - that there were people willing to throw accusations at each other in the chaos before everything erupted into violence.
Not everyone seems so surprised, though. You can't help but note that the few aseri and human squad leaders represented among Faulkren Academy's apprentices hold carefully stoic but decidedly dark expressions. Perhaps they have just been more sensitive to these things to begin with.
The whole thing sounds like a Tenny scheme. It is like them to agitate and sabotage behind enemy lines; almost everyone in this room has firsthand experience of such. Still, you admit that you can see why this rumor is, at present, so widely believed. Three years ago, the Elsparian capital of Wynholm fell to the Tenereian armies only after an entire year of siege warfare and urban combat. And the defenders of Wynholm had been poorly prepared; there were a couple of years after the border forts of Ainellan and Cherlith where the war seemed to settle into a stalemate, where the Tenereians seemed like they just might settle for a white peace. By contrast, everything with regards to the pre-siege battle preparations for Halissen had gone according to plan. The walls were fortified, the stores were stocked, smuggling routes had been established, the defenders enjoyed high morale. There was no reason why Halissen fell as quickly as it did. An inside job, then, was a seemingly rational and deeply appealing narrative as to why Caldran skill-at-arms failed.
But your thoughts are cut short as Cornelia Rastangard sharply declares, "The validity of these rumors is not your concern. Whether or not these traitors exist or not does not change our mission." Her expression twists to one of discomfort. "But it does complicate things. The mood in Arnheim is still fraught, and everyone is at each other's throats. Countess Cenoryn, Viscountess Treiser, and their counsel are deliberating a response that will not offend hundreds of thousands of armed, angry, and desperate women across the city and its outlying boroughs. Until they do, Faulkren Academy is providing security for the Treiser Manse. We'll coordinate with the other academies across Arnheim if need be, but you apprentices should not be walking outside until we've determined a next course of action. Until then, get yourselves washed and fed, get some rest, help where you can within the manse, and keep an ear out. Healers are still on duty for the wounded."
For a moment, there is an awkward silence. Then, unprompted, Lucille speaks up, her voice broken a bit by hesitance and trauma. "Headmistress," she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper, "there was...an altercation. We got involved. There...were casualties."
"Join the club," mutters a nearby instructor with bloodied clothes - blood that, given how it splattered across the fabric, is probably not hers - perhaps more harshly than she intended. Lucille still flinches noticeably.
Headmistress Rastangard shoots a glare at the instructor in question. Then she tries to school her expression and moderate her tone as she asks of the room: "Anyone else had to spill some blood?"
The twenty-or-so squad leaders - excluding a military officer from House Marienberg standing in for Wilhelmina - quietly exchange nervous looks around the room. Very slowly, but picking up speed near the middle as the first few find enough courage to take the lead, hands rise tepidly into the air until half the squad leaders in the room are represented.
Looking over her squad leaders, Cornelia mostly just seems tired as she slowly nods. "Should I assume that you applied force only when it was necessary?" she asks. And when no one speaks up to contradict her, she murmurs, "There have been many cases of violence over the past day. I suspect the powers that be are more concerned about the conduct of career soldiers than they are of Caldran mercenary apprentices. Watch yourselves, and there will likely be no trouble."
Next update will be relatively short, and will have a vote.
For those who are reading this and have returned to this quest, thank you for still sticking with me. I'm still on this train.
Also, thanks to @x_lksk and @PotatoesOfDoom for catching up with the quest, don't be shy, and don't forget to drop in and say hi~
[x] Attempt a show of force to head off an armed conflict, even though it's possible that this will start the fighting that you are trying to avoid.
You draw the behemoth that is your sword from your back, determined - despite your small stature - to look like the largest person in this altercation. You're careful not to hit anyone behind you despite the congested environment, but the arc of that steel slab swinging harmlessly over your shoulder is enough to send people on both sides scrambling backwards; few aren't intimidated by the prospect of a door to the face. This gesture is mildly stymied by the high-pitched tenor and nervous quality of your voice as you shout, "E-Everyone back! G-Get back!"
But your words are drowned out by all the screaming and shouting and crying. You have never been a loud person; you fail to school your stutter, and your verbal warning is lost amidst the escalating cacophony. The space you just created is once again filled with people; you cannot say whether they are driven by hostility towards each other or assurance that you wouldn't actually hurt them. Certainly, the thought strikes you with horror as the encircling elves close in on the human and aseri crowd, as the tension looks like it's coming to a head.
You are struck by the terrifying realization that there's very little you can do aside from violence.
"Sq-Squad Four!" you shout as loud as you can, trying to catch the attention of your squad. "Weapons up!"
Thankfully, your squadmates do hear you, they have already drawn their own weapons, and they don't need extra instructions to understand your intentions. The four of you form a loose circle between the aggressors and their targets, doing your best to stand between the two groups of people. You try to look as imposing as possible, raising your buster sword as high in the air as possible to seem more intimidating. A strike of your buster sword will do it. You don't actually need to hit anyone or anything. Just a slam against the ground should do it, a show of force that will drive the elves back, make them reconsider their course of action. Enough to separate these two groups.
That thought dies on your mind when someone suddenly sinks a dagger into another person's chest.
You react before you even realize it. Rather than strike down with the blade of your weapon, you slam the pommel of your buster sword into the chest of the closest elf. It isn't lethal, but the buster sword is large and heavy enough that the inertia sends the elf stumbling back.
The world around you erupts into chaos. Was it because of the stabbing that you witnessed? Or was it you striking an elf with the pommel of your sword? You suppose - somewhere in the back of your mind, a part that isn't overwhelmed - it doesn't matter now, because everything in your senses assails you with action.
Fighting breaks out. Swords and spears meet sticks and pitchforks. Blood is spilt. Screams deafen your hearing. It's all you can do to hold your buster sword sideways, to slam the flat of the blade against both sides of the crowd, to push the two groups away from each other. But you are only one person, trying to hold back dozens of people determined to inflict harm on each other, whether out of malice or panic. Swarmed by those taller than you, it is difficult to tell where assault begins and self-defense ends.
Loud crackles of lightning overwhelm even the screaming. You don't need to look to see that Elizabeth is doing her best to force both groups from each other with magecraft. You imagine that she is trying to erect walls of ice while scaring others off with lightning strikes. Nor do you need to watch Sieglinde wield her glaive like an extension of her body - using the shaft of her polearm to push crowds back and striking with the blade for those further away - or Stephanie casting her own magecraft - the bursts of flame barely audible beneath the snaps of Elizabeth's lightning.
But there's only so much the four of you can do. Both groups push against each other with increasingly deadly intent, and the blades are closing in; in the mayhem, their omnidirectional lethality - their intent to maim and kill - do not discriminate between refugees and soldiers and Caldran mercenary apprentices. Even with your dryad strength, even with your buster sword, you cannot stop the violence. You cannot push without others pushing back. You cannot discourage the carnage with halfhearted measures. You can barely protect yourself, even as you wince and brace yourself against the pain of cuts from a dozen directions, from the flailing of proper weapons and farming tools.
You are terribly outnumbered against two crowds that can easily run Squad Four over in a stampede. It is fortunate that you are not their target, but you are also caught between two groups with soldiers among them, people with proper weapons and actual combat experience. And it occurs to you that although you are a dryad, your squadmates are an aseri and two elves caught in between sharply escalating racial violence, and they have neither a large unwieldy weapon or centuries of ancestral absence from racial animus to shield themselves with. Unrest generates panic, and panic among large, violent groups is no motivator for rational thought.
It is at this moment that you realize there are moments where you cannot shy away from lethal force, and that this is one of those moments. You will need to take your pound of flesh, and you will have to live with it.
You twist your weapon ninety degrees, trading the flat of your blade for its edge. You swing.
Blood and viscera spill wetly out onto the trampled snow, staining your buster sword crimson.
Physically speaking, it's almost disturbing how easy it feels to cleave through the opposition, how cleanly the blade moves through multiple people unfortunate enough to be within the range of your swing. The flat doesn't threaten to bounce off anyone unfortunate to get caught in its way, arrested by cruises and broken bones; instead, the edge simply goes through them, material resistance meaningless compared to the force you put into swinging the buster sword in the first place.
You swing, and opposition against you in the surrounding area disappears. If not quietly.
Everything around you seems to disappear in a haze, a blur of bodies and steel and blood. You won't clearly remember the thirty seconds that happen, not in your coming days when you think back upon it. Your instincts are what responds at this point, a desperate sense of not only self-preservation, but a sense that something must be done. You barely feel sharp metal cutting against your skin, the barest of resistance that meets the blade of your buster sword, the warm fluids that splash against your face.
Then those thirty seconds pass, and then you suddenly realize you are able to breathe. As if everything around you previously sucked away the air from your lungs, but they are gone now and you can inhale. Lucidity returns to your mind as alarm hits you, as you look around in a panic...only to realize that you are no longer surrounded.
Fleeing cries reach your ears. Your eyes focus, and you realize that everyone around Squad Four - refugees, soldiers, elves, aseris, humans - are scattering across the landscape, screaming blue murder.
Well, almost everyone. Those who remain are too wounded to move, or trying to shield someone injured or incapable of fleeing...or are dead.
Behind you, barricades of icicles seemingly recede back into the ground, dissipating into sparkles of charged mana before they, too, disappear entirely; charred earth and smoldering blades of grass hint at where lightning magecraft struck. And there are, of course, the bodies with bloody holes and scorch marks on the ground.
It's not as if you're in any position to blame Elizabeth. It's not like you refrained from taking any lives either. But you cannot help but feel that she probably didn't care very much - at least, not as much as you - about whether or not this episode ended with corpses on the ground. She's one of Faulkren Academy's "prodigies"; surely she could've done better.
The thought doesn't last long on your mind. No, that's not fair. Cursory glances at Stephanie and Sieglinde also reveal that they, too, drew blood. If anything, the tall raven-haired elf is surrounded by a larger constellation of corpses on the ground, and the cold, impassive way she seems to regard her surroundings with a bloodied glaive in hand makes her look like the personification of death. Stephanie, on the other hand, is somewhat more eye-catching because some of the bodies are still kindling for flickering embers where tongues of fire magecraft burned through. Her katana and wakizashi still drawn, your roommate still seems to have her guard up. Neither of them seem seriously injured, both of them getting away with relatively superficial cuts. It's nothing healing magecraft and some rest can't take care of.
You still think of going over to check on Stephanie, given that she looks like the most agitated among your squadmates, her pupils tightened into slits and thick puffs of vapor escaping her lips with every exhale. But that thought - along with any accusatory feelings you had towards Elizabeth - quickly evaporates when the elven mage in question stumbles, her legs buckling beneath her as she falls to one knee. You rush to her in alarm, realizing upon seeing open gashes on her skin that the blood that stains her dress is not just that of her victims'.
"Elizabeth!" you cry, rushing over and navigating through the bodies, ignoring your own minor injuries, dropping your buster sword onto the bloodstained ground and dropping onto your knees, taking her by the shoulders, trying to make sure she's alright.
But the elven mage waves you off, scowling as she stops short of physically pushing you away; she seems almost annoyed at the attention you're giving her. "I'm fine," she mutters, taking a moment to catch her breath, wiping a trail of blood that flows from the corner of her lip. Then she takes her staff in both hands, winces, and murmurs an incantation to close her wounds, none of which are particularly deep, thankfully.
Of your squadmates, though, the elven mage has the most numerous and obvious wounds. Stephanie has her katana and wakizashi, and Sieglinde has her glaive; Elizabeth, on the other hand, was the least suited for the situation Squad Four found itself in. You should've kept her at a distance as long-range support, not in the thick of things where she had little in the way of physical defenses against two different mobs. You were trying too hard to prevent both groups from hurting each other, trying too hard to separate them, and you thought every extra Caldran mercenary apprentice standing in the way would help.
You won't make that mistake again. Sometimes, people are just going to die, and you need to prioritize the safety of your squad.
You can't help but note that the bodies at Elizabeth's feet are mostly those of aseri and human. A less generous soul may have assumed that she was more comfortable inflicting harm on them than her elven compatriots. You increasingly suspect, however, that it was the aseri and human crowd that attacked her most, an armed elven mage too close to the action and - in all the chaos - perhaps indistinguishable from all the other elves that wanted to harm them.
Seeing Elizabeth's wounds slowly close, seeing that she will be alright and won't bleed out anytime soon, you rise back to your feet. Then you note the bloodstains on your dress, blemishes at knee-level where you dropped down to check on Elizabeth. That will take forever to scrub out. Maybe you'll just have to buy a new dress. Maybe after everything is over at Arnheim. You should consider heading back.
You take four steps away before you drop onto your hands and knees, and violently empty your stomach of breakfast.
You only vaguely register sounds of alarm from the rest of your squad as your vision blurs and your stomach rolls. As blood stains your hands and knees again, you desperately wish the concern from your friends was enough to bring you comfort. It isn't.
These were not Tenereian saboteurs you just killed. Nor were they bandits on the wrong side of the law, not that you've actually slain any of them personally. These were civilians fleeing from war, soldiers fighting for your country. Your fellow countrywomen. People on your side, caught up in one bad situation after another.
And you cut them down. Their blood is literally on your hands.
Against your pattern recognition, it is Sieglinde who finds herself at your side, asking, "Are you alright?"
You look up at the impassive raven-haired elf, who looks back down at you with all the emotional breadth of a rock. You try not to hold it against her; it is simply who Sieglinde is. "I'll be fine," you mutter, wiping away the trail of slime at your lips.You're not sure how true that is. It's the best you can do right now.
For her part, Sieglinde quietly regards you for a moment before she impassively nods. "Perhaps we ought to return to Arnheim and report in."
You suppose that is the best you can do right now. It's not as if you're in a mind to do anything else, what with the blood on your hands and knees. You're trying to compartmentalize that. You're trying to accept that you did what you needed to do, that you did the best you could do under the most trying of circumstances, that you did the right thing.
It does not help as Stephanie stares at you, confused, bewildered, her eyes wide and her expression lost. "Neianne," she asks, her eyes wide and her expression blank. "What just happened?"
You have no answer for that. Maybe you never will.
You don't need to be told that the pillars of smoke rising from Arnheim against the afternoon sky is a sign that your experience mere hours ago was not an isolated incident.
The crowds of refugees and soldiers outside the city have grown, and traffic into the city has slowed to a bare trickle. They have formed groups separate from each other now, and now that you know what to look for, it doesn't take long to realize that they are segregating themselves by race: Elves here and aseri there and humans over there. There are obvious signs of mass strife: Overturned wagons, scattered supplies, abandoned husks of burnt-down tents. And, most importantly, a palpable atmosphere of tension, wariness, and unease. Many adult civilians are carrying improvised weapons such as farming implements or trade tools or broken bottles or planks of wood.
The guards at the western gate have doubled, and you can't help but note that, unlike when you left the city, they are now all elven. You pass unmolested when you identify yourselves - you suppose there is no mistaking Caldran mercenary apprentices - but you cannot help but feel that they watch Stephanie with more scrutiny as you enter the city.
Things within the walls aren't any better.
The streets are cluttered with litter and debris. Civilians and soldiers alike run towards black columns of smoke with buckets of water to put out burning flames, whether they be raging infernos or smouldering embers. You cannot help but note that there are many more guards on the streets, and racially-segregated at that. Elven soldiers stick with elven soldiers in one block, aseri soldiers stick with aseri soldiers in one block, and human soldiers stick with human soldiers in one block. And their charges are similarly segregated by race, their groups obvious now that you know what to look for.
There are also definitely more bodies lying on the streets as well, and not those laid out on burlap sheets, awaiting medical treatment. People have apparently been killed in the streets and simply left there in their own puddles of blood.
It isn't all gloom. There are certain spaces where you observe solidarity, where elves and aseri and humans remain coalesced together. Where soldiers and guards of different races do their best to protect that Caldran ideal. Where the Caldran spirit of togetherness remains alive. But you cannot help but think they are fewer in number now. That there is a distinct sense of a specific type of togetherness, where races band with each other for a form of protection that you yourself are not familiar with, but which you feel inexplicably like you should be familiar with.
Eyes follow Squad Four distrustfully. You try not to pay it any mind, try to stay out of the way of those fighting fires and collecting casualties. You try to pretend that nothing is wrong as a soldier - elven - spots you, carefully approaches as she keeps an eye on Stephanie, and calls, "You there. Mercenary apprentices?" And when you nod in confirmation, she says, "You're being ordered to return to your instructors."
"W-We're on our way," you assure her.
Security around the Treiser Manse has also increased, and not in a heartening way. You can't help but note that the additional guards that have been posted around the building - unlike when you first arrived in Arnheim - seem to count among the wounded, dressed in bloodied bandages and hobbling against the support of their spears. You can't help but think that they simply had to draw additional personnel among the least wounded, which isn't really saying very much.
You also can't help but note that most of them are elven.
Inside the manse is panic and mayhem. If the pandemonium when you first arrived at the Treiser Manse was frantic, then people are now losing their minds. It is all Squad Four can do to push against the tide of nobles, aides, soldiers, healers, and wounded that are trying to make sense of everything, of trying to restore order far too close to home. It is almost a relief when you descend into the cellars where things are a bit quieter, where dark stone walls absorb much of the chaos upstairs.
"Get some rest," you tell your squad - Elizabeth in particular - as you settle into a corner Faulkren Academy has commandeered with mattresses and blankets. Many of the other squads have returned, looking confused and shaken, although not everyone is back yet. You suppose the best you can do for the time being is taking care of your own. "I-I'll go get some warm food and drink."
Elizabeth softly mumbles something unintelligible as she settles into the mattresses, almost immediately falling asleep as her head hits the pillow. You don't blame her; she has been spending the last day traveling, expending mana to heal others, and then involving herself in a fight that was fairly touch-and-go. It isn't just your mage either; Stephanie plops herself facedown onto the mattress; she doesn't actually look like she's falling asleep as Elizabeth, but she's clearly exhausted. Even Sieglinde seems fatigued as she quietly sits down against a wall, spear in her arms, closes her eyes, and sighs tiredly.
You, too, are feeling weariness in your bones. But you still manage to make your way to the kitchens in search of food for your squad. It takes a while to get anything, for the mood among the cooks isn't any better, and you aren't the only one looking for refreshments. But you do eventually manage to return with plates of food and drink for not just your squad, but also the other apprentices from Faulkren Academy. Perhaps you bring back more than is needed; many of your peers are too tired to eat, or simply don't have much of an appetite. You find yourself eating only a few strips of grilled pork before drifting off. You don't exactly fall asleep, not with the din around you, not with the realization of everything that has happened lingering not that far back in your head - you do not have Elizabeth's prodigious skill at losing consciousness - but the fatigue is overwhelming, and you do try to get some rest with your eyes closed and your mind unoccupied by dark thoughts.
You lose track of time, but you imagine it is hours later when you are shaken awake. You blearily open your eyes in alarm, only relaxing when you find yourself looking up at the fine-featured face of Aphelia, her eyes bloodshot and haggard. "Headmistress Rastangard is calling for us," she murmurs, and you take her hand as she helps pull you to your feet. You look around to check on your squad. Stephanie and Elizabeth are asleep, and Sieglinde is absent. You hope she's alright as you start moving towards the wine cellar that Faulkren Academy is using as a conference room.
It is on the way that you overhear a conversation between unfamiliar voices. You look over in time to catch an elven soldier - a lieutenant, it seems, although you don't recognize the colors that denote where she's from - snarl at her subordinate: "Not interested."
The subordinate, an elven sergeant with colors similarly alien to you, tries to sound placating as she murmurs, "Ma'am, the aseri and human guards at the gates have already been replaced with..."
"The captain of the guards is free to do whatever she likes with her personnel."
The sergeant hesitates. "You...have heard why it was done, right?"
"They're Tenny lies! What better strategy would they have but turn us against each other now?"
The sergeant takes a deep breath. "Be that as it may, ma'am, the city is in an uproar over it. The girls are uneasy."
"Then they'd better deal with it."
"Not everyone has your high-mindedness, ma'am."
Whatever the lieutenant has to say in response to that, it is cut off as the door to the wine cellar shuts behind you. You find yourself sharing the space with Headmistress Cornelia Rastangard, several of your instructors, and almost all of Faulkren Academy's squad leaders. The atmosphere is unbearably heavy. Everyone looks exhausted, and there is an unshakeable feeling that everything has gone wrong. Even your instructors - full-fledged Caldran mercenaries upon whose shoulders the war seems to have fallen upon - look like they're flagging a bit. You can't help but notice that some of them have dried bloodstains on their clothes, like almost everyone else.
At least goblets of water have been prepared as they're passed around the room. It's only after you swallow a mouthful of water that you realize how parched your lips are.
"Is everyone fine?" asks Cornelia as everyone is settled in. "Have any injuries been tended to? Have you seen to your squads?" When the apprentices offer quiet nods, the headmistress turns to the odd-woman-out in the room, looking over to the sole soldier in the room, asking, "Sergeant Tanith?"
The soldier from House Marienberg - standing in for Wilhelmina as squad leader of Squad Seven - coolly replies, "The apprentices are fine. No serious injuries."
Cornelia nods quietly, falling silent for a moment. Finally, she takes a deep breath and announces, "As some of you already know, widespread violence has broken out among the soldiery and the refugees along racial lines. Rumors - unsubstantiated but widely-believed at this point - are that aseri and human collaborators opened one of the gates for the Tenereian invaders at Halissen, allowing the city to fall."
The apprentices exchange startled looks and sharply whisper with each other in alarmed disbelief. You're not terribly surprised that many of them have not pieced together what happened; Squad Four was fortunate enough - insofar as you can use the word "fortunate" to describe anything that has happened recently - that there were people willing to throw accusations at each other in the chaos before everything erupted into violence.
Not everyone seems so surprised, though. You can't help but note that the few aseri and human squad leaders represented among Faulkren Academy's apprentices hold carefully stoic but decidedly dark expressions. Perhaps they have just been more sensitive to these things to begin with.
The whole thing sounds like a Tenny scheme. It is like them to agitate and sabotage behind enemy lines; almost everyone in this room has firsthand experience of such. Still, you admit that you can see why this rumor is, at present, so widely believed. Three years ago, the Elsparian capital of Wynholm fell to the Tenereian armies only after an entire year of siege warfare and urban combat. And the defenders of Wynholm had been poorly prepared; there were a couple of years after the border forts of Ainellan and Cherlith where the war seemed to settle into a stalemate, where the Tenereians seemed like they just might settle for a white peace. By contrast, everything with regards to the pre-siege battle preparations for Halissen had gone according to plan. The walls were fortified, the stores were stocked, smuggling routes had been established, the defenders enjoyed high morale. There was no reason why Halissen fell as quickly as it did. An inside job, then, was a seemingly rational and deeply appealing narrative as to why Caldran skill-at-arms failed.
But your thoughts are cut short as Cornelia Rastangard sharply declares, "The validity of these rumors is not your concern. Whether or not these traitors exist or not does not change our mission." Her expression twists to one of discomfort. "But it does complicate things. The mood in Arnheim is still fraught, and everyone is at each other's throats. Countess Cenoryn, Viscountess Treiser, and their counsel are deliberating a response that will not offend hundreds of thousands of armed, angry, and desperate women across the city and its outlying boroughs. Until they do, Faulkren Academy is providing security for the Treiser Manse. We'll coordinate with the other academies across Arnheim if need be, but you apprentices should not be walking outside until we've determined a next course of action. Until then, get yourselves washed and fed, get some rest, help where you can within the manse, and keep an ear out. Healers are still on duty for the wounded."
For a moment, there is an awkward silence. Then, unprompted, Lucille speaks up, her voice broken a bit by hesitance and trauma. "Headmistress," she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper, "there was...an altercation. We got involved. There...were casualties."
"Join the club," mutters a nearby instructor with bloodied clothes - blood that, given how it splattered across the fabric, is probably not hers - perhaps more harshly than she intended. Lucille still flinches noticeably.
Headmistress Rastangard shoots a glare at the instructor in question. Then she tries to school her expression and moderate her tone as she asks of the room: "Anyone else had to spill some blood?"
The twenty-or-so squad leaders - excluding a military officer from House Marienberg standing in for Wilhelmina - quietly exchange nervous looks around the room. Very slowly, but picking up speed near the middle as the first few find enough courage to take the lead, hands rise tepidly into the air until half the squad leaders in the room are represented.
Looking over her squad leaders, Cornelia mostly just seems tired as she slowly nods. "Should I assume that you applied force only when it was necessary?" she asks. And when no one speaks up to contradict her, she murmurs, "There have been many cases of violence over the past day. I suspect the powers that be are more concerned about the conduct of career soldiers than they are of Caldran mercenary apprentices. Watch yourselves, and there will likely be no trouble."
Next update will be relatively short, and will have a vote.
Spectral Waltz
Scatterbrained Writer
- Location
- Walking the Endless Corridors
Are people really that stupid and racist? Or is anti-elven sentiment just that high? Fear is no excuse for that level of bloody-minded bullshit, that whole thing smacks more of settling a grudge.
There's something more going on under the surface here.
There's something more going on under the surface here.
10ebbor10
DON'T PANIC
- Location
- Present
The problem here seems less anti-elven sentiment, and more anti-human/aseri sentiment.
CrabMonarchy
Allegedly Dutch
- Location
- the Netherlands, apparently
Almost had a heart attack when I saw that I'd been pinged by you since that apparently overrides the normal word count and threadmark notice for alerts, but hello! Having a good time so far, and interested to see where this goes, especially post-graduation.
Regarding the update, it seems the show of force didn't quite work out, but given the tensions involved I'm not sure that there really was a way for Neianne to resolve the issue peacefully. Also, I will note that the last two paragraphs of this update seem to suddenly transition into third-person, unless Neianne didn't raise her hand when asked? Or maybe it's just late and I'm just misreading it.
- Pronouns
- He
DAMN..... That was a heavy read to go through.
Poor Neianne, getting her Guts-style tear through multiple opponents moment but it's at civilians, an angry mob of civilians but civilians nonetheless.
Also Poor Lucile not only having to deal with an "altercation" like us but having also to deal with Penelope, whom is probably feeling extra volative with all the evidence for her anti-elf sentiments.
Hopefully she won't do something stupid again but that's me being Generous.
@Kei
Thank you for the quality writing and the fascinating world you made as always and I hope things get better ar your end.
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