A week into your apprenticeship. You're in the middle of breakfast, but Valt isn't barraging you with his normal question-and-answer, back-and-forth instruction. You look up at him from your food, wondering what changed today. You squint your eyes at him. Aha! The man has dark bags under his eyes. He must be sick.
"What's wrong with your…?" You make a circular motion with your hand in front of your face, then point under your eyes where eye bags would be.
Valt glares at you before he opens his mouth.
"That's a serious question?"
"…yes?" You reply, quizzically.
"Surely, you must be jesting," the ambassador answers in a tone that you don't quite recognize. You try to decipher it but to no avail.
"I'm not very good at jokes," you tell Valt while grabbing a dumpling from the serving platter with your fingers. Your hand is halfway to your mouth when he raps your knuckles with his spoon. You hiss in pain and drop the dumpling. It falls to the dirt and you dive to pick it up.
"YOU FUCKING BOOR!" Valt yells. The sentry outside sticks his head in through the flaps of the tent to check what's going on but pulls back out when Valt waves him away.
"You want to eat food that's fallen to the ground?!"Valt exclaims in another tone you can't identify. You shrink away from the fallen dumpling as he shouts at you.
"What, did you grow up starving on a farm?!"He continues.
"Yes," you answer.
Valt pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "Ancestors, preserve me…"
"What?"You ask, crouched, still hovering over the dumpling.
"Surely, you jest?!"He asks once again.
"N-"you begin.
"Don't answer that, damn it!" Valt stamps his foot down. "Out of my sight, NOW!"
You bow and quickly retreat from the ambassador's tent to avoid his ire any further, your meal for the morning forgotten on his table. He doesn't talk to you for the rest of the day, riding in silence in the middle of your section's square formation. When he does talk, it's to make comments to Sergeant Tack that you don't hear.
When evening comes and the company makes camp, you still set up your tent next to the ambassador's, but take your meal alone near the camp kitchen. One of the guardsmen from your section approaches while you're in the middle of eating.
"He wishes to see you, lieutenant," Trooper Loque tells you.
"The ambassador?"You ask.
"Who else…" Loque starts, then quickly adds. "…sir."
"Could be second lieutenant Vasili," you mumble to yourself. You finish your meal then head to the ambassador's tent.
Upon entering, you snap to attention. The ambassador is slouched in a chair facing the entrance, drinking from his usual wineskin. You crinkle your nose; you can smell the liquor.
"Do you have any friends…Kythe?" The ambassador asks. "Name five."
You try to avoid looking up at the tent above to think of five friends.
"Vasili… Sergeant Tack…"You start.
"Besides them," Valt says. "They, they don't count."
"Why not, si- Valt?" You ask. He squints his eyes at you.
"You've lost given-name-privilege." He wags a finger at you. "They don't count, I'll explain later. Just name five friends of yours."
"Noted, sir," you say. You take a few moments to think. "None besides them."
"I thought so," the ambassador says, pinching the bridge of his nose again. "Siblings?"
"Three sisters," you say, then add: "Adopted. Part of the creche."
"You don't say?" he asks while closing one eye to look into the mouth of his wineskin. "You get along?"
"Not well," you admit, sullenly, looking to the ground. "Not since they reached maidenhood."
"Figures," Valt remarks, tipping the wineskin over his tongue to let the last drops drip out.
"What do you mean, sir?"You say, tipping your head to the side.
He doesn't answer your question, but replies with one of his own: "Kythe, you know what your problem is?"
He jabs a finger at you. "Don't. Answer. That. It was rhetorical."
He continues. "You have no tact. You have raw talent for things, but you lack charm, subtlety, manners, everything. Your only friends in the cohort require no effort on your part. You shared a tent with lieutenant Vasili. Tack is your sergeant."
He pauses to look back into the mouth of the skin. "But I can't blame you. You were brought up on a farm by creche parents in a village in I-don't-know-where-Province."
Ambassador Valt looks you straight in the eye. "But that's no longer an excuse. No son of mine will be called a boor by anyone besides me."
"Sir."You say, not sure how to respond.
Valt exits his chair, leaving his wineskin on the seat, and walks over to you. He pokes you in the small of the back.
"First things first. Posture. The way you carry yourself matters," he says, fussing over the way you stand. "Back straight, chin up, eyes forward. What, did they not teach you this in basic? Candidacy school? What are they doing to my beloved Guard? Feet at a forty-five-degree angle. Now…walk."
He stomps his feet when your posture loosens as you walk.
"No, not like that, again!"
This takes up the rest of the evening. It becomes part of your daily inspection. He watches your posture like a hawk from then on. He produces a wooden switch the next day to whip you with whenever he's displeased.
The next lesson is how to drink tea properly.
"You don't say?"Ambassador Valt says. Then he asks, "What tone was that?"
He's training you to read tones of voice and body language.
"Sarcastic?"You wonder out loud.
"Are you sure?"Valt rolls his eyes. "Give me an answer with conviction."
"That was sarcasm, sir," you answer.
"Good. Next…" Ambassador Valt crosses his arms and legs in his seat. "Well?"
"Closed body language," you note. "Uncomfort."
He uncrosses his legs and places his hands facing up on his legs.
"Open. Some level of comfort."
"Correct."
Once Ambassador Valt is satisfied with your ability to read his simulated expressions, tones of voice, and body language, he starts setting up a new environment to train you. He arranges for the officer corps of the convoy to start formally dining in his tent. A long table has been set up, with five seats on each side and one at each end.
Major Isidora files in with her officers behind her. She takes her seat at the ambassador's left. Valt sits at the head of the table. From the major's position next to Valt, seating is by decreasing seniority towards the other end of the table, then wraps around until it arrives at you - the most junior officer - seated at the ambassador's right.
The ambassador takes his seat first; everyone else follows in cadence. Normally in such a formal setting, the ambassador tells you beforehand, the males would help the females into their seats, but for the major's sake, such a practice isn't observed. A Promachi like your ma, Isidora is touchy about gender roles.
Guardsmen come into the tent with the evening's meal, laying it out on the table before the assembled company. Valt takes the first bite from the food. An old practice, wherein the host tastes the food for poison before his guests partake.
"It's good," the ambassador says after swallowing. He raises his hand to signal for the rest of you to help yourselves to the meal.
Major Isidora sits stiffly, slowly cutting a chunk of meat with a fork and knife. You notice Valt points his eyes at you then at the woman across from you. He wants you to make small talk.
"Major, what do you think about atoms?"You ask, carefully remembering to swallow your food before speaking.
"Pardon?"The major replies, looking up from slicing her food.
"Atoms, major. The smallest unit of matter," you quote from your lessons with Valt, "That cannot be split into anything smaller."
"I don't think I follow," the Major says, raising an eyebrow.
Ambassador Valt kicks you in the shin from under the table. You try not to let a sound out when his booted foot makes contact with your bone.
"Something wrong?"Isidora asks when she notices you grit your teeth in pain.
"No, nothing, just making small talk," you reply, emphasizing your last words in the direction of the ambassador.
Valt stands up from his seat. He raises his wine, the drink precariously sloshing up against the lip of the goblet.
"I'd like to congratulate the company for being the first unit of the Guard this far north. We are halfway to Necessa, according to the guides."
Major Isidora stands up and raises her goblet likewise. "Congratulations to us, and you, sir."
The men and women assembled echo the sentiment and sip from their drinks. The ambassador takes several gulps from his own.
You keep quiet the rest of the meal, trying to think of things to say to the major, but come up with nothing. The dinner passes without much ado as the ambassador takes over small talk with the rest of the officers.
"You'll get there," Valt sighs after the meal ends and the rest of the officers have left.
You enter the ambassador's tent one evening after helping make camp. Oil lamps are illuminating the interior of the tent, but Valt himself is nowhere to be found. From the main room of the tent with its large table set for later's formal dining, you peek into the adjoining quarters where Valt sleeps to check if he's already taken to bed. There's a lamp on and his cot is made. Not here either.
"What are you doing?" You hear from behind you. It's Valt. You turn back from peering from his sleeping quarters.
"I said, what are you doing?" Valt raises his eyebrow at you.
"Couldn't find you," you say. "Was checking if you were already asleep."
"You wish," he replies. "No, we have much to do this evening."
He's carrying a large wooden box in his hands, a large roll of parchment tucked underneath his arm.
"What's that?" You ask, tilting your head to the side with curiosity.
"Didn't I tell you to stop doing that?" Valt asks with an annoyed tone. Yes, annoyed would be correct, you think.
"Doing what?"
"Tilting your head. Telegraphing your moods, emotions, feelings, et cetera. It will be used against you in the political and diplomatic arena."
"Oh," you say. "Sorry."
"Don't tell me you're sorry," Valt clicks his tongue. "Improve. Anything you do reflects on me."
"Yes, sir."
The ambassador sets the box down at the head of the table then unfurls the parchment roll so that it covers the table. It's a map of the Continent. The landmass is drawn in black ink, borders delineated by red, and the names of nations written in white. The parchment of the map is quite old and stained with use, ink smudging in places where the material rubbed against it or objects were placed and moved. There's a big blank space in the northwestern part of the map, west of the Necessity and north of the Alven lands.
"What's there?" You ask Valt, pointing at the blank space.
"We don't know. Small people, dwarves, if you believe the Alvs," the ambassador answers, pointing at the enclaves west of Ilium. "I don't know why you would believe them, but no human has been there and come back."
"Why wouldn't you believe an alv?" You ask, tilting your head again unconsciously. Valt clicks his tongue again when he notices.
"This is called…" Valt ignores your question and opens the box, pulling out pieces of wood carved into different shapes and stained with different colors.
You whistle. Pa Maxxon would be impressed by the quality of the carving. Valt retrieves them from velvet bags each containing a set of pieces carved into the same shapes, or rather emblems, you notice.
"The Great Game," Valt finishes his sentence. "Identify each symbol."
He places one piece from each of the five sets.
"Ilium," you say, pointing at the carved chrysanthemum flower.
"Goli," pointing at the head of a moose bull.
"Belial," the corvid.
"Alv," the palm leaf.
"Nadarn," the four-pointed star.
Valt grunts, each of your answers correct. "This is normally a game of war, you were probably taught something similar but smaller at officer school."
You were. They'd focused on small unit tactics, strategy at the section and cohort level.
"The Great Game is not only a wargame, but it is about logistics, economy, and diplomacy. We do not have all the counters in the box, only the army pieces. This set belongs to the major; she is lending it to us. It will have to do."
Valt walks you over the myriad rules of the Great Game. Instead of the extra pieces that come with a full set, you'll make notes on a palimpsest. He introduces the different resources in the Game, the relationship point system, among other mechanics.
"You will control the Iliad pieces. I will control everyone else," Valt tells you.
You nod to the affirmative, placing yourself on the side of the map nearest to the Federation.
"You are the High Monarch. What are your goals?" Valt asks, setting up the scenario.
"To uphold the laws, protect the realm, and feed the people." You move pieces to the borders of the Iliad realm.
"What are you not achieving at the moment?"Valt asks further.
"The second. The realm is beset at all sides," you reply as Valt moves a few pieces from each nation to positions near yours.
"Why?" He asks again.
"Resources, land, feuds. Population pressure. Many factors, too many to count," you recall from Valt's lectures thus far.
"Count them, we have all night," the ambassador tells you.
"What about dinner?" You ask. Your stomach grumbles.
"Dinner can wait," he says. "We're getting closer to Necessa. You. Need. To. Know. These. Things."
He punctuates each word by tapping his fist on the map.
"Why?" You question him. You're confused by his urgency. "I'm still a Guard officer."
"Because I will it," is all he says. You know better than to argue when he uses those words.
You spend the rest of the evening trying to solve the problems of an empire. The back and forth question-and-answer continues until late. Dinner never comes. You're hungry, you're tired, and your head hurts. You struggle with many of Valt's questions, so he orders you to bed without food.
"Think, Kythe! Everything follows a certain logic," Valt says, pointing his index fingers at his temples. "To bed with you now. We'll continue tomorrow."
Weeks pass. You still struggle with the Great Game but are making good progress with the academic aspects of your apprenticeship. You're riding with Valt when a question strikes you. Valt is going into the details of how Dalfar First-King united the tribes of the plains of Ilium under a single banner against the western threat.
"With the Charter ratified by the tribal elders, each of the twenty tribes settled down to form the what are now the federal sta—"
"Sir, may I ask a question?" You ask, interrupting him. You tilt your head ever so slightly. Old habits die hard.
"You just did," Valt says, clicking his tongue in annoyance. "What's the real question?"
You pause and look at the clear blue skies before asking. "Why are we so far away from home?"
"Because the High Monarch sent me as ambassador. Do you have another stupid question?"
You shake your head. "We've traveled three months from Arcadia, just to make contact with this Necessary King of the Goli. What does humanity gain from establishing an embassy in Necessa?"
"The current peace is tenuous, Kythe," Valt says. "Something permanent like an embassy is needed."
"Because?" Not satisfied with his answer, you push for more.
"Why do you think?"
"I don't know, sir, that's why I'm asking you," you tell him exasperatedly.
"You'll find out soon enough," Valt replies, then drinks from his wineskin. He pauses, in thought, then asks you: "Why are you so far away from home, Kythe?"
"Earning my political franchise, of course," you say.
"Kythe. You're in your fourth year. You're an officer."
He's right. You've served your minimum of three years already. Why are you still in the Guard, far from home?
The diplomatic mission to the Necessity is purely a volunteer unit. You joined up because you want:
[] To see more of the world. The Federation is large, but it's just more of the same, making it too small for you. You don't care much for long postings in a single place. You wanted to satisfy your wanderlust.
[] To pursue fame and glory in a foreign land. Service in Arcadia was boring and this is a chance to further your career as one of the first officers to walk into Necessa and return home to tell the tale. You're in it for the prestige.
[] To grow on a personal level and face trauma — the ghosts of your past. You want to look a Goli in the eye and not be afraid. To no longer have nightmares of those who orphaned you in the first place.
[] To stay with the family you've found in the Guard. Valt is wrong about you not having friends. Your unit is your family. They may not all be your close friends but you'd die for your men and women.
[] To further serve Ilium. You were sent to officer school and your career as a guardsman hasn't reached its logical end. This diplomatic mission is important to the Realm and you saw a chance for greater service.
[] To acquire more knowledge and experience. You wish to study other peoples, lands, cultures, etc. You'll make a name for yourself as a preeminent explorer and scholar.
[] Write-in
amn, didn't notice vote was locked. oh well.
