[x] Dagger
"No," concedes the human knife instructor as she addresses the small gathering of apprentices gathered on the training field, "the knife doesn't have the power of a mace or the reach of a spear, nor is it as fancy as magecraft. Maybe they're not really the first weapon you want to bring onto the battlefield." Drawing a training dagger, she makes several fast, complex chopping motions with her arms this way and that, and the apprentices gathered here - at least those who have not already chosen to learn knifeplay last year, such as Penelope, who looks on smugly at a group of apprentices newly introduced to her weapon of choice - watch in awe as the training dagger disappears and then reappears before your eyes moment after moment with each swipe of the human instructor's arms and each twist of her hands. "But daggers are fast. Daggers are
concealable." She walks up to one of the apprentices, the dagger disappearing seemingly into thin air between the instructor's arms once more. "A flick into your sleeve, and you're just some village girl, minding your own business until
whoops!" she suddenly exclaims, and the apprentice she approaches gasps as that training knife abruptly reappears in the instructor's hand once more, pressed harmlessly against the apprentice's stomach. "Some of you carry weapons that clearly mark you as threats." Knowing looks from giggling apprentices are sent your way, and you feel a little embarrassed about having trained in such a conspicuous weapon. Nonetheless, the instructor continues: "But sometimes, you need to look like the most helpless bitch in the room, right up until you introduce your foes to their mistakes. And even on the battlefield, you can do some serious damage if you know what you're doing." She flicks her wrist, and the knife spins, disappears, the reappears with a twirl in between the instructor's fingers. "So let's get started."
And so classes begin, familiarizing yourself with the weapon, with its strengths and weakness, with what you can and cannot do with it. Familiarizing yourself with all the proper slicing and stabbing motions, which parts of the body to inflict the more precise and devastating amount of damage to with less than half a meter of blade. Moves are demonstrated by the more experienced dagger-wielders from last year, their bouts looking like a strange mixture of abridged swordplay and hand-to-hand combat. So, too, is there the beginnings of in-depth explanations about anatomy, about where organs and arteries are generally located and the slight variations between the different races, and how to strike them adequately to compensate for the dagger's small impact area.
Eventually, class ends after a series of basic drills - much like when you learned how to wield a greatsword - and the apprentices are instructed to return their training daggers to the weapons racks. But before you can join the small procession of apprentices, the instructor suddenly calls out, "Neianne, a moment, please."
It's with a level of trepidation that you approach the instructor; you don't think there's any good reason why you're suddenly being called out for personal attention by an instructor, which makes you think of the possibility that there's a
bad one. "Y-Yes?" you ask.
Her question isn't exactly something you expected: "Have you decided on whether or not to sign up for the Inter-Academy Tournament with Squad Four?"
You blink before answering honestly, "I...h-haven't had the chance to speak with my squadmates about it yet."
Your instructor nods, although there's a curious pause there as she seems to study you for a moment, as if trying to figure out what you're thinking. Finally, she allows, "Well, as squad leader, the choice is yours."
"Yes, I remember."
"Well, good," the human nods before waving you off. "Off to your next class, then."
[x] Strategy and Logistics
"As a Caldran mercenary," explains the elven instructor, a tall, willowy woman who pushes her spectacles further up her nose every now and then as she paces back and forth behind her podium, "you will not be expected to lead entire armies. You will not be expected to manage the strategies that are typically relegated to the countesses and viscountesses of the land." She focuses a stern glare at the apprentices seated in the classroom before her. "What you
will be expected to do is to dive deep behind enemy lines, assess the situation, and make sense of what you see. You
will be expected to look at a fragment of enemy movements and understand what the enemy commander is trying to do with the forces at her disposal. That is what the Caldran mercenary warbands at Ainellen and Cherlith did, keeping one step ahead of the Tenereians and denying them strengths, exploiting their weaknesses, delaying the initial Tenereian invasion into Elsparian lands for
two years before they finally overwhelmed our defenses by deploying four of their soldiers for every one of ours. It is what the Caldran mercenary warbands did at Wynholm, wherein they sabotaged Tenereian military efforts so extensively, it took them another
five years to take Elspar's capital." She lets this sink in for a moment. "You have already been taught the basics of strategy and logistics. It's time to take that understanding a little bit further."
For some time, you are subjected to lectures about even more obscure battles in Iuryian history, the instructor taking turns to question each apprentice about the strategies therein and what each of you would've done differently. Supply chains and resources are delved into in great detail, with you have to read from copies of historical quartermaster records that have survived the ages. Handouts are passed around with equations as to the level of each type of resource that would be necessary to sustain armies of different sizes across varying types of operations.
It's all a little dizzying, and it isn't helped that - as class is finally dismissed - your instructor suddenly calls out, "Ah, Neianne, can you stay behind for a second?"
You are, again, surprised, although this time it's less about the possibility of you having done something wrong and more about you being detained after class by an instructor for a second time in a row. "Yes?" you ask.
The instructor waits until most of the other apprentices have filed out of the classroom before asking, "You are the leader for Squad Four, are you not?" And when you nod in confirmation, she gives her own approving nod in turn. "I am pleased to see you attending my course this year. It tells me you're taking this seriously."
"Th-Thank you."
"Have you given similar consideration to the Inter-Academy Tournament?"
"I...haven't, not yet," you allow, noting that this is a suspiciously familiar question.
"Well," shrugs your instructor, "far be it from me to make a decision for you. But whatever your decision, I
do encourage it. It will be an excellent learning experience and a chance to visit Llyneyth."
"Thank you," you give a small bow, careful to keep your reaction neutral, "I will k-keep that under consideration."
"Very good," your instructor nods, and that's the end of that. "I won't keep you."
[x] Tactics and Command
"Most of you are squad leaders," says your human instructor with a nod as she stands behind the podium of your classroom. "Good. For most Caldran mercenaries, tactics are the level that we operate on. In the Huntress' War, we have largely played ball with the countesses and the commanders they have appointed; outside of it, we have done the bidding of foreign clients. As such, although we must always consider the implications of our actions within the broader strategy of our allies and against the strategies of our enemies, tactics are our bread and butter. We are constantly aware of the dynamics of small unit operations, of maximizing our strengths despite out limited numbers, of doing the most damage on the actual field of battle."
And for hours, you begin reviewing in great detail small unit tactics, in assessing the strengths and weakness of small squads, of how entire wars were lost and won via the careful application of small squads in the right place at the right time throughout history. You begin to study small unit maneuvers, the balance in squad makeup, and so much more.
Unfortunately, by the time class ends, you're no longer particularly surprised when your instructor calls out, "Neianne?"
"Yes?" you ask as everyone else leaves the classroom, and for no reason you can adequately explain, you feel your heart sinking a little; you have a pretty good guess why your instructor is calling out to you.
"You are the leader for Squad Four now, yes?"
Somehow, you suspect the question is rhetorical. "Yes, ma'am."
Your instructor nods in practiced acknowledgement. "With the Inter-Academy Tournament coming up, I am inclined to note that it would be a good experience for you where tactics and command are concerned."
"I will give it careful thought, m-ma'am," you promise, although the statement feels perfunctory even to you.
"I can ask for no more," declares your instructor. "Go on to your next class."
[x] Trade and Commerce
"It's all very simple, really," says your aseri instructor at the podium in one of Faulkren's classrooms. "Before people learned to kill, people learned to
eat. Before even elves built their skytowns in the woods, they had to learn how to find food, because you cannot fight - never mind raise an army - on an empty stomach. A country can choose not to fight; it cannot choose not to farm, to hunt, to trade. Moreso than even war, civilization has been built atop transactionary functionality; we are
made this way. This lesson - as old as the rocks you'll find in Iuryis - applies to warfare as well: If you don't have trade, if you don't have commerce, you don't have weapons, you don't have
food, you don't have organized war. And from all things stem from that: Compensation for soldiers, industry for war machines, roads for material, so on and so forth. Our business may be war, but war is a business; money makes the world go round, and war is no exception. Learning how to manipulate it not only makes your life easier as a future leader, but also life more difficult for your
enemies. Over the next year, you will learn how to, for the lack of a better term,
follow the money."
A primer on economics ensues, with your instructor giving preliminary explanations about the intricacies of supply and demand, of business models and the current state of economies across Iuryis, the effects of trade on international economies.
It's all very enlightening, which is why it's almost with a sense of dismal that you hear your instructor ask, "Neianne, do you mind if...?"
"No, ma'am," you say almost reflexively, barely managing to fight down a sigh as you do your best to give a resigned smile, "I haven't decided on whether or not to participate in the Inter-Academy Tournament."
Your instructor blinks before her eyes light up with realization. "Ah. I take it other instructors have already asked you the question."
"Yes."
There is an awkward pause before the aseri nods, "Very well, then. Enjoy your dinner."
[x] Buster Sword
"So..." your aseri instructor starts as you wind down the first buster sword training session of the new academic year.
"I haven't decided whether or not to p-participate in the tournament, ma'am," you say with the slightest of sighs. You were a bit tired of these questions yesterday.
Your instructor blinks for a moment before a sly smile crosses her lips. "The other instructors harassing you aside, I was actually going to ask your assessment about the power I'm using behind my attacks."
"...Oh." Suddenly, caught in the middle of the courtyard where you're doing your buster sword training, you feel immensely embarrassed. "U-Um. You're...it feels like...your attacks haven't lost a lot of force."
"Despite the fact that you're probably physically stronger than you were when you first picked this weapon up. Or that you're at least accustomed to its weight and momentum, right? Even though I'm an aseri and you're a dryad?"
"You're throwing your w-weight into it, though."
Your instructor smirks with what you realize is mock offense, but it doesn't stop you from feeling a little mortified as she asks, "Do you mean to say I'm
heavy, Neianne of Caelon?"
"N-No!" you hurriedly stammer. "I mean you're moving with your e-entire body when you strike!"
Fortunately, your instructor merely laughs as she says, "Good, you're developing an eye for that. And
you, meanwhile, get to keep your little dryad body centered even with that buster sword. It's an advantage you have, meaning I have to fight smarter than you if I don't want to end up as a tomato sauce splatter on the ground. And I
am fighting smarter, so don't get cocky."
The two of you aren't exactly alone in the courtyard on an overcast day. Plenty of other apprentices are going through training - some with new weapons they've picked up, others with familiar ones since last year - where there is space. But as you're the only apprentice here at Faulkren with a buster sword, no one else is training
with you, even though your instructor is also within shouting distance of several other apprentices who have picked other derivatives of the greatsword. The academy is abuzz with the sounds of exertion, commands, and clash of training weapons.
You think that your instructor is going to continue your training after a moment of rest, but instead she suddenly asks, "You know why we all keep pestering you about the tournament, right?"
You sigh, planting your practice buster sword in the ground to use as a convenient support to lean on. "Y-Yes," you say. It really isn't actually that hard to figure out. "Squad Four has t-two of our year's 'prodigies' on it. And you want to show them off."
"That sounds a lot like a lack of enthusiasm, on your part," your instructor notes, thankfully not sounding particularly reproachful or disapproving.
"Not all prodigies w-
want to be shown off."
"But it's not
their decision to make, when it comes down to it. So, you're the one who gets badgered. The joys of command!" The aseri laughs. "Life's easier when you just have to hit things with a stupidly huge sword, huh?"
Grimacing, you have the grace to give the conversation a moment before quietly asking, "What do
you w-want me to do, instructor?"
Your instructor raises an eyebrow. "Do you
actually want my opinion?"
"...Not really."
Your instructor chuckles, but it takes her a somber moment before she asks, "Would you believe me if I told you I'm not particularly eager for you to go?"
"A l-little," you say noncommittally. You're not actually sure what to believe.
"Look," she sighs, "I mostly help you girls with calisthenics, and then I teach a bunch of other girls how to use the greatsword and its derivatives. So I don't
really know how well you're doing elsewhere. I mean, the other instructors say you're doing alright. That's good. It's not enough."
"You don't th-think I'm ready."
"I think you're ready to
fail. That's a good thing. You were learning faster when that Wendy-girl was poking the snot out of you with her spear. You'll learn faster too when you have to spar against a bunch of highborn girls whose parents got them all the best tutors and trainers and instructors around the same time you were learning how to milk cows, well before any of you enrolled in any mercenary academy. What I
don't think you're ready to do is fail while hundreds of Caldran mercenaries, posh guests, and apprentices watch on. Humility is good for growth.
Humiliation...not so much."
Sighing, you shake your head, muttering, "They should've made Sieglinde squad leader. I have n-no idea what I'm doing here."
Your instructor stretches, but you notice that as she does so, she's suddenly looking around, as if to see if there's anyone to overhear. When she next speaks, her voice - although still at conversational volume - is just a touch quieter. "You know, there was a
long discussion over summer vacation about who in your squad to promote to squad leader."
That both surprises and does not surprise you. On the one hand, you had no idea your squad makeup was so controversial that it prompted a long discussion amongst the academy's faculty. On the other hand, you can't imagine any discussion that resulted in
your appointment as squad leader to be anything but simple.
"Ravenhill probably would've made the best squad leader in terms of temperament and capabilities. That she
doesn't want to be leader is...not as large a concern as much as the fact that she's the one who's probably the
least interested in signing up for the tourney and hard to prod. Zabanya's better about this, but putting aside reservations about whether she'd be a decent squad leader or not, she's about as likely to use the tourney to satisfy her adrenaline rush as much as she'd view it as children's tomfoolery.
And she's probably even harder than Ravenhill to convince if she thinks it isn't worth her time. And Stephanie..." your instructor trails off for a moment - a suspiciously long moment - before twisting her mouth once and concluding, "...well, there's a lot we don't know about her...
personality. Suffice to say, we didn't think she was a good bet."
Your instructor's revelation is as illuminating as it is depressing. "So I had an a-
acceptable temperament as squad leader and could be easily 'prodded'?" you sigh; you don't even really feel angry as much as you're feeling a bit resigned.
"'
Barely acceptable' temperament," your instructor clarifies. And when she sees your dismayed expression, she's quick to add, "Don't get me wrong, we all
like you. You're pleasant, dutiful, and don't give us trouble. But liking you is different from 'we think you have what it takes to be squad leader'."
"That's very comforting to hear," you mutter.
Your instructor gives you a curious look for a moment before remarking, "Careful now. Zabanya's rubbing off on you."
"Wh-What?" you stammer, suddenly feeling embarrassed for no reason you can explain.
"You're not usually sarcastic. It doesn't become you." And before you have time to react to that, your instructor continues, "But trust me, it's not all bad. Look at it this way: You're not going to be squad leader forever. It's only going to be two years as an apprentice, and whatever happens here doesn't have to leave these walls or have any bearings on when you're actually out there as a
real Caldran mercenary. And if that's the case, why not take this as a lesson? Another consideration we had was that - all else being equal -
you would gain the most from a leadership experience. Getting Ravenhill or Zabanya to be squad leader won't
really give them any life-changing experiences.
You, on the other hand..."
You take a moment to process what has been told before sighing. "I don't know if I'm being used, tested, or pitied upon."
Your buster sword instructor merely smirks as she raises her training buster sword, already shifting her body into a ready position for another spar. "Why not all of the above?
"As previously announced," announces Headmistress Rastangard not terribly long after during dinnertime in the Great Hall, when the chandeliers hanging from the rooftop offer the only light in the chamber, "starting next week, you will be periodically assigned training missions, little assignments that will function as practical experience. In the past, most of these tasks were fairly harmless and trivial, little things like searching for a missing cat, foraging for herbs, herding livestock, and so on." And when a wave of giggles from the apprentices throughout the Great Hall echoes in reaction to what seems like trivial, meaningless tasks, the headmistress adds, "And before you ask, yes, that's practical training for scouting and tracking, alchemy and botany, and bestiary." She waits for a small commotion to die down before continuing with a heavy, resigned tone, "As of late, however, the war has...made a mess of things. As you've doubtless heard, public safety has been an issue of growing concern due to a number of exacerbating factors. The local guard is short-handed and has approached us for assistance, and so we sought a mutually-beneficial arrangement. Therefore, for some of you, your assignments will be assisting the guard where they need it. As was in the case of Roldharen, an instructor will be on hand to supervise and evaluate you, and intercede if the danger proves to be too great." She shrugs. "Hopefully, these assignments won't be
half as exciting as Roldharen."
"Has it really gotten so bad th-that the guard is asking us for assistance?" you ask some time later, as you and your squadmates begin making the trip back from the Great Hall to your dorm rooms in the West Wing along with all the other squads returning to theirs.
Elizabeth yawns as the four of you pass through the large doors of the Great Hall and walk out into the darkness of night, "It's better than you'd think on the one hand and worse than you'd think on the other."
When it's clear that Elizabeth doesn't intend to elaborate, it's Sieglinde who next speaks up: "It's an issue of cascading problems. Multiple smaller problems feeding into each other and making matters significantly worse. There are fewer guards these days because many of them have gone to volunteer at Elspar, and the local houses cannot afford to hire so many guards when much of the confederacy's finances are going to the war. These financial problems are increasingly impoverishing peasants and laborers and even freeholders, who find themselves under desperate circumstances, here
and in the surrounding boroughs."
"Some of them may even be those guards who have been dismissed from their posts on the account of 'not enough coin'," laughs Elizabeth.
"Some of those who have been displaced by the war and found themselves slipping through the cracks of society have also contented themselves with banditry and theft, far enough from their home communities so as not to harm their neighbors or be recognized, but close enough that they can feed their families with their spoils." You can't help but think of the bandits that waylaid the procession of carriages taking you and several other highborn apprentices from Stengard back to Faulkren, how the guards noted that they were likely from across regional lines. Perhaps Sieglinde is thinking about that too when she's describing this. "This increase in crime would be relatively manageable...if we had more coin to help them to their feet,
and if we had more guards to patrol the roads,
and if we had more coin to hire more guards to patrol the roads."
"So we're not significantly less safe," Stephanie concludes, a grim look on her face, "but the problem isn't going away anytime soon."
"And it stands to get w-worse," you add glumly.
"I suspect things are worse already in Elspar," Sieglinde says. "Many more displaced people, overcrowding, its residents competing for resources with the armies, guards overwhelmed by the war effort and soldiers not knowing how to maintain the peace..." She trails off, but the stark message is understood.
"I can't believe it's all gotten so bad," you murmur as the four of you pass through the front doors of the West Wing. "I-It wasn't like this last year."
Sieglinde is quiet for a moment before she softly says, "No, I suspect it's been this way for some time now. Most of us were just not in a position to see it or mature enough to understand it. Zabanya and I have largely been kept away from the worst of poverty's pall." As Sieglinde looks towards you, you see Elizabeth give a mockingly dramatic roll of her eyes behind her taller squadmate's back. "Caelon, I suspect, is small enough and located far enough from any major trading routes that it's an attractive destination for neither refugees nor brigands." She looks at the last remaining member of your squad. "As for Stephanie..."
"I also live sort of out-of-the-way," Stephanie says before Sieglinde has a chance to guess.
"Ah, the joys of growing up," chimes Elizabeth in an almost cheery tone. "Learning more things and realizing the world
sucks." Then, with sarcasm dripping from her voice: "What a miserable topic."
You think so too, which is why you take to a change of topic once you begin to ascend the stairs to the second floor. "A-Are any of you looking forward to the Inter-Academy Tournament?" you ask, sounding a bit
too eager to talk about anything else.
"Not...in particular," Sieglinde admits after a moment of thought.
"You don't look forward to
anything," Elizabeth huffs.
"The end of the war through a negotiated settlement," the raven-haired elf offers blandly.
Her blonde counterpart, of course, rolls her eyes once more...in your direction. "I suppose I can be convinced to stretch if I
have to, our fearless leader." She smirks. "How much convincing are you prepared to do?"
You're suddenly entirely unsure of what to make of Elizabeth's question or how to respond as you fumble for words, "U-Um..."
Thankfully, Stephanie rescues you from this dilemma by offering her own opinion, albeit perhaps one that further complicates the decision you will have to make: "I am disinclined to participate myself."
"Oh," you say a little blandly and neutrally, managing to hide your complicated feelings in that moment.
Elizabeth lazily looks askance at your roommate. "And just why is that?" she drawls.
"I don't think we're ready. Yes," Stephanie quickly adds, nodding in the direction of your two elven squadmates, "I know you and Sieglinde are. I'm not so sure about Neianne and myself, especially if we're up against apprentices from Llyneyth. Furthermore, the Squirrel attack showed that we're not very cohesive as a squad yet. We've approached the issue, yes, but we haven't had the time to work on it. I do not think this is something we can amend in a month and a half."
You suppose that's a sensible assessment to make. While both Sieglinde and Elizabeth have answered by talking about whether or not they
personally want to go, Stephanie has, at the very least, provided a pretty rational reason for whether or not you
should.
How reasonable Stephanie's opinion sounds to you, therefore, makes it a surprise when Elizabeth suddenly remarks with a hint of irritation in her otherwise sweet voice, "You sure are giving a strong opinion to our fearless leader for someone keeping so many secrets."
Stephanie blinks as she stops at the door to your shared dorm room and looks at Elizabeth, her expression blank. "I don't see how that follows."
"Don't you?" asks Elizabeth as she turns around in front of her own dorm room door; her smile is catlike, but there's a strangely thin
quality to it that makes you intensely uncomfortable.
"I don't see how my personal life relates to my assessment of our tactical situation."
Surprisingly, Elizabeth
doesn't roll her eyes this time. Instead, she crosses her arms and says almost nonchalantly, "You don't talk about where you're from or what your family does. Your skills at warfare are
certainly far better than what you're pretending them to be, just in case you think I didn't see you fight during that very same attack."
"Zabanya," Sieglinde interrupts warningly from behind her, which Elizabeth ignores. Around you, apprentices from the Great Hall returning to their dorm rooms further down the hallway have no idea what the four of you are talking about, but are scurrying quickly by at the very hint of the tiny elf being mildly displeased.
"And now you're trying to get us all to shun a very public event because..." she pauses before tilting her head quizzically to the side, "...well,
why, I wonder?"
"
Zabanya," Sieglinde snaps again, putting a hand on Elizabeth's shoulder as if to pull her back.
"Oh, don't you 'Zabanya' me," snaps Elizabeth without breaking eye contact with Stephanie, blithely slapping Sieglinde's hand off her shoulder. "If she wants to be Dark, Fluffy, and Mysterious, she gets to be asked questions." Her smirk grows a little wider and crueler. "If anything, it makes me
want to participate in the tournament now." Her gaze wanders over to yours, and you try not to flinch even as she asks in a singsong voice, "Isn't that right, fearless leader?"
You have no good answer to that - being reminded that you didn't want to be squad leader in the first place - as you helplessly stammer, "I-I...um..."
"That's
enough," Sieglinde cuts in, her voice sharp now as she steps up so as to put herself in between Stephanie and Elizabeth. There's a mildly stern, almost schoolteacher-like expression of disapproval on her face. "This is
Neianne's decision. Stop trying to goad her and let her sleep on it."
You're simultaneously grateful that Sieglinde is trying to defuse this situation and yet also dismayed at her statement. It's bad that your squadmates are arguing, but things would've been easier if your
squadmates decided whether or not to participate in the tournament. At the end of the day, with your squad torn on the matter,
you don't want to make the decision. You didn't even
want to be squad leader.
Beside you, Stephanie merely nods curtly and announces as she steps through the door of your dorm room, "Good night, then."
Rolling her eyes, Elizabeth shakes her head before lazily looking at you, drawling, "Don't let her sweet-talk you into doing anything while I'm not looking." Then it's into the dorm room with her, followed by Sieglinde after the latter gives you quiet nod. You are left with little else to do but to meekly return to your room, not entirely sure what even just happened and how to move forward.
Beyond a good night to you, Stephanie doesn't really talk to you before the candle is blown out and the two of you settle into your respective beds. You certainly aren't getting much sleep as you lie pensive under your sheets, staring listlessly up at the dark ceiling. Most of your instructors want you to go, even though your buster sword instructor has told you why even while she herself isn't as enthusiastic. Sieglinde sounds like she couldn't care less, Stephanie clearly doesn't want to go, and now Elizabeth sounds like her vote of support is being motivated by antagonizing your roommate.
You turn around in bed and grown piteously into your pillow. You're not going to get much restful sleep tonight.
[x] Decide to participate in the Inter-Academy Tournament.
[x] Decide not to participate in the Inter-Academy Tournament.
[x] Postpone the decision.
See Also:
Interlude 5: Relitigation
.
