On the Road to Elspar [Book 1] (Dryad Mercenary Schoolgirl Quest)

Kei · Jul 20, 2016

QM's Note: This is a fun zone. I'm writing this for fun, so that people can read this for fun. Please remember this as you participate in this quest and make it fun for everyone. Thank you~

QM's Edit (2019/1/24): The pacing for Arc One is a bit slow, and starting from Arc Two, I am trying to improve on pacing. I understand if my quest feels like it's slow to warm up to you, but if you're giving my quest a chance, I would like to humbly request that you get to "1.10 The Wyvern" - the point where the quest starts picking up its legs and getting more serious about its tone - before making a decision as to whether or not you really like this quest. Giving me a chance is all I can ask as a writer. Thank you.

QM's Edit (2019/3/13): Due to a number of reasons, what was meant to be the three-storyarc prologue for this quest is now its independent prequel, covering the protagonist's three years at Faulkren Academy. The events that happen afterwards will go into a sequel quest after the conclusion of this one. As such, the title of this quest has been changed from On the Elsparian Road to On the Road to Elspar. OOC content will not be edited to reflect this change.

The graduation ceremony for the class of 1332 at Faulkren Academy is blessed with a characteristically beautiful day for this time of year. Save for the few idyllic clouds that drift lazily across, the sun shines unimpeded from where it rests upon azure skies, lighting up the emerald plains surrounding the town of Faulkren. It is upon these plains - far on the outskirts of the town proper - that the Academy sits, a picturesque fortress of whitestone erected by the early Caldran mercenaries centuries ago, a haven that you have called home for three years.

The quasi-formal surroundings that engulfs the Great Hall obscures the hidden gaiety passing through the throng of young graduates seated in neat rows, facing the podium at the fore of the large chamber under the watchful eyes of their instructors. Decorum, discipline, and three years of training are what keeps a lid on the almost unbearable amount of excitement and anticipation amongst the graduating class, and virtually no one believes that this is no cause for celebration. Regal banners and tapestries hang from high ceilings against whitestone walls on this occasion, some featuring the stylized icon of a bird of prey. The occupants are dressed in their best, and the tables to the side hold rich foods that promise an equally delightful banquet...

...Well, as soon as the headmistress finishes her speech.

Certainly, there is reason to be proud. Caldran mercenaries have a long and rich tradition going back to the dawn of the Confederacy, warbands of deadly warriors striking on behest of the highest bidder. By the time the Confederacy was formed, Caldran mercenaries were so ubiquitous to the country that the masters of the land quietly and unofficially gave these soldiers of fortune institutional support. And now you - and the dozens of others seated with you today, friends and rivals and enemies you've made over the last three years, all on the cusp of adulthood - count yourselves among their number, a proud symbol of Caldrein's skill and tenacity in battle.

Of course, amidst all the ceremony, it is easy to forget that the pressures of war has strained the economy of the Confederacy of Caldrein to the breaking point, that the northwestern borders of the Confederacy shrink ever so little with each passing week, and that successive graduating classes of Caldran mercenaries - despite enjoying a recruiting spree greater than any other seen in its history - seem ultimately powerless to stop Caldrein's slow, valiant, but inevitable defeat.

The headmistress seems to have reached the climax of her speech when the double doors of the Great Hall are abruptly pushed open. With the instincts of trained fighters, the occupants of the room turn as one to glare at the hapless young woman who has materialized in the opening of this chamber, one of the junior staff members of the Academy. Despite being obviously aware of the many frowning faces turned on her, the young woman - stunned and breathless - takes advantage of the silence that has settled upon the hall by making a single pronouncement that shakes the Great Hall and, indeed, all of Caldrein.

"A peace treaty has been signed at Arnheim! The war is over!"

The year is 1332. The signing of the Treaty of Arnheim, accomplished in secret and without warning, formally ends hostilities between the Confederacy of Caldrein and the Tenereian Union, drawing the twelve-year-long Huntress' War to a close. An equal peace on paper, Caldrein's sovereignty and independence is ensured, but all of Tenereia's wartime gains - the region of Elspar, constituting almost a quarter of the Confederacy - now belongs in the hands of the Union.

And in your little corner of the country, amidst the cacophony of disbelieving exclamations and stunned discussions amongst the young and the old in the Great Hall of Faulkren Academy, you cannot help but blankly wonder - after training for three years for a war that no longer is - what, if anything, lies in store for your future.

This is a story about an adventure like any other.

This is a story about war and peace, pride and prejudice, life and death, when the will of the people turned a page in their turbulent history, when the great virtues and sinister vices of believers and beliefs were laid bare for all to see.

This is a story about friends and rivals, allies and enemies, sisters and lovers, when the world dared the living to challenge and stand up for their convictions, when bonds forged by flame and wine burned brilliantly into the night.

This is a story about wonder and awe, fire and steel, laughter and tears, where every corner along city streets and every pebble that paves the roads tell the timeless stories of those who came before and those who shall come after.

This is a story about a girl who dared to go and see the world.

Directed by
Bad Decisions

Screenplay by
Depression

Produced by
A Stupidly Fickle Muse

Co-Produced by
Questionable Life Choices

Based on
Anime and Wikipedia

Edited by
Alcoholism

Starring
The Readers

Co-Starring
Kinkiness

And Guest Starring
No Idea What I'm Doing

Kei Presents
On the Road to Elspar

Arc One
Faulkren Academy

Three Years Ago

The year is 1329. The Huntress' War - starting as a dispute over hunting grounds on the border that soon inflamed nationalist sentiments and spiraled into an armed conflict between the Confederacy of Caldrein and the Tenereian Union - has entered its tenth year, with no end in sight. Priding itself on neutrality and independence, Caldrein finds herself standing alone amongst the countries of the continent of Iuryis, fighting against a neighbor many times its size. To the northeast, the Imperial Ornthalian Republics offers token support, but with each passing year, actual military assistance from Tenereia's timeless rival seems less and less likely.

The people of Iuryis expected the Confederacy to suffer total defeat within a few short months due to the disparity of power. For what can tiny Caldrein do against Tenereia, one of the two great powers of Iuryis? Yet Caldran bravery and skill at arms have defied these expectations time and time again. Caldran mercenaries, who for centuries have been exported abroad to fight foreign wars for profit, returned home with hard-won experience and mastery, waging war for their homeland. Having long been a major - if unofficial - component of foreign policy for the Confederacy, they have enjoyed unofficial support, institutionalizing into organized businesses. Academies were founded to train new generations of soldiers of fortune with the quiet blessings of the Caldran countesses. And with the Caldran mercenaries continuing to produce miraculous victories from the jaws of defeat, patriotism in the Confederacy grows, and more and more youths submit themselves to these academies, fueling the largest recruiting spree that the Caldran mercenaries have ever seen.

But wars are rarely won by skill at arms, and are instead mostly determined by numbers and logistics. With replenishable ranks and abundant supplies, Tenereia has fought the war - one of several in a wide campaign for geostrategic power in Central Iuryis - at its leisure, slowly grinding down Caldrein with all the grace but surety of a sledgehammer. Already Tenereia controls more than half of Caldrein's northwestern region of Elspar, and successive attempts to dislodge the Union from their entrenched positions have failed, even as the enemy front grows step by step with every passing day.

The seemingly hopeless situation hasn't stopped you from enrolling yourself into an academy, though. "Accounting mistakes" have seen a great increase in unofficial funding for mercenary academies in Caldrein, as well as a threefold increase in apprentice capacity from prewar levels. And Faulkren Academy is no exception.

Located on the outskirts of the town of Faulkren, the fortress cuts a strong impression against the picturesque scenery typical of the region of Apaloft, buildings of whitestone gleaming against azure skies and emerald plains, a contrast to the red rooftops of the town just shy of three kilometers away. Constructed three centuries ago by the first Caldran mercenaries that formed the warband of Faulkren, the fortress hosted a reasonably successful operation for a hundred years, but the tides of war and fortune turned against them, and the complex was abandoned for a hundred years more. It was only a century ago that a new warband of mercenaries flew the banner of Faulkren atop this fortress once again, reviving its traditions and refurbishing their new home with funds that "fell by the wayside". It is not as old as the more famous mercenary academies such as Llyneyth or Alvimere, but Faulkren still has strong history and tradition.

You thus find yourself fortunate that Faulkren Academy accepted you for mercenary training. In spite of the greatly expanded capacity for apprentices, the national war fervor has driven up no shortage of volunteers. As you finish the last leg of your journey, having traveled all the way to Faulkren with the Academy now well within sight, you watch as a sporadic few walkers, riders, and wagons move inexorably towards the fortress across different roads, bringing young apprentices-to-be from all over the region, if not the Confederacy. Over the next few days, those accepted to the Academy will trickle in for the three years of training to ensue, hoping to defend their homeland, make history...and earn a hefty paycheck.

You cross through the main gate of the Academy's walls, entering the courtyard surrounded by a complex taking up ten acres of Faulkren land, observing the activity around you. With a fortress of this size, you imagine that you shall be training here with dozens of other recruits - perhaps even a hundred - and some of them have already arrived, reporting in with the fortress staff and moving their bags to their dormitories. The apprentices arriving are of all four races, representing a variety of socioeconomic classes. A girl in a plain, slightly dirty dress walks into the courtyard by herself, finding a bench upon which to finally sit down and rub her sore, dirty feet; another arrives on the back of a passing merchant's wagon, slinging a bag over her shoulder as she stares at the Academy walls in awe; the arrival of a carriage announces the presence of a highborn, who soon sets booted feet upon the ground with cautious anticipation.

Most of the adults here are academy staff, but there are a few others who move and stand about, watching this procession unfold with detached interest, and even if the weapons they carry didn't give them away, there's just something about their confident, graceful composure - the very way they carry themselves - that convinces you that these are the Caldran mercenaries of Faulkren, quite possibly your instructors and trainers, quite possibly your future superiors...and someone whom you'll eventually be.

A desk in the middle of the courtyard is manned by a small team of well-dressed clerks ready to sort out the trickle of apprentices arriving at the Academy. Your approach does not go unnoticed, and the pretty lady seated with a stack of papers smiles professionally at you as you make eye contact. "Welcome to the Academy, young miss," she greets, even as her fingers reach for the papers, a collection of names for those accepted at Faulkren Academy this year. Your application is doubtlessly also in this stack, as well as details of the arrangements for your three-year stay. "Your name, if you would?"

Name
[x] Write-In

Race
[x] Human

Humans are a diverse and adaptable race that have spread across the continent of Iuryis on the merit of grit and toughness, often represented as artisans, laborers, and soldiers. It was humanity that first built great cities and turned to industry after living for centuries under the shadow of the elves, only to be beat at their own game as the generations passed, thus carrying the reputation of being a restive race with misplaced tenuousness. On average, humans have much greater endurance than any of the other races, and will outlast almost all other living beings in terms of how long they can continue physical activity. They can thus march further without rest, and can run almost anything down given enough time and a means of tracking. In combat, humans have rather balanced traits compared to the other races, and are thus found in almost every sort of combat role.

[x] Elf

Lithe and beautiful, elves are a long-lived race often characterized by their sharp, elongated ears, and have historically been extensively represented amongst the social, political, and economic elite of Iuryis. As such, they are regarded by other races as powerful, intelligent, and sophisticated, but also as arrogant and callous. Resentment towards elves as an advantaged demographic has ofttimes fueled racial unrest across Iuryis. Elves are the only race on the continent that can in any way perceive the existence of the fae, otherworldly beings existing on a plane of existence that governs the mechanics of the universe. The ability to barely communicate with the fae boosts magecraft or allows for inexplicably sharp instincts, although not reliably. In combat, elves rely on grace and magecraft, and are thus often found as archers, fencers, and mages.

[x] Aseri

Aseri are a humanoid race characterized by sharp fox ears and a bushy tail. Historically nomadic, aseri have traditionally been represented as huntresses and traders, even though large swathes of the aseri population have long since settled down into permanent settlements. Although considered resourceful and relatively industrious, aseri are often characterized by other races as shrewd and cunning, and thus prone to dishonesty. Compared to the other races of Iuryis, aseri have sharp senses that allow them to detect and track sights, sounds, and scents in the environment, easily allowing them to find their quarry or listen in on conversations. They are also naturally fast in sprints, even if they cannot maintain it for overlong. In combat, aseri rely on speed and skill, and are thus often found as fencers, archers, and assassins.

[x] Dryad

Dryads are a humanoid race with a partial biological makeup that's rather plant-like in nature. Historically having secluded themselves to the woodlands of Iuryis with the elves, dryads have only recently begun to integrate with the rest of Iuryian society as a whole. Without a complicated history with most of Iuryis' races, they do not have significant racial baggage and are cautiously respected, although sometimes regarded as undeveloped simpletons. With their semi-plant-like physique, dryads are capable of exerting great bursts of energy, whether it be strength or magecraft. They also heal from wounds much faster than other races, camouflage themselves well in woodlands, and can rely on just water and sunlight for emergency nourishment. In combat, dryads rely on strength and magecraft, and are thus often found as swordswomen, lancers, and mages.

All races can access all combat archetypes, but are represented in certain archetypes much more than others.

Persona
[x] Shy - Uncertain and adorably adorable.
[x] Taciturn - Withdrawn and seemingly unshakeable.
[x] Aloof - Detached and enticingly mysterious.
[x] Cocky - Confident and unafraid to show it.
[x] Joker - Impetuous and the life of the party.
[x] Write-In

Socioeconomic Class
[x] Peasant

Peasants are at the lowest rung of Iuryis' socioeconomic ladder, ranging from farmers with small patches of farmland to untrained farmhands whom some consider slaves in all but name. Accustomed to hard labor in lands on the outskirts of population hubs, peasants are tough and relatively accustomed to adverse environmental conditions. They are also more accustomed to handling and treating fauna, from domesticated beasts of burden to dangerous monsters of the wild. However, coming from the poor countryside means a lack of familiarity with towns and cities, and an increased likeliness to flub mainstream social etiquette as a "yokel".

[x] Laborer

Laborers make up the untrained or base-level workforce in most of Iuryis' towns and cities, where their lowly status is barely supplemented by relative access to municipal infrastructure. From the tougher parts of civilization, laborers are streetwise and know how to navigate through towns, cities, and the people who reside within. Similarly, they're fundamentally more accustomed to crowds of people, and thus know well how to read them, how to deal with them, and how to stay out of trouble. However, aside from being at the bottom of the social totem pole, laborers are also instinctively associated with urban crime and thusly disdained.

[x] Freeholder

Freeholders provide most of the skilled labor throughout Iuryis, representing demographics such as blacksmiths, tailors, jewelers, and small business owners. They are broadly well-regarded across the entire socioeconomic spectrum as respectable lowborns who have nevertheless achieved success through the sweat of their brow. Aside from such, they are not considered particularly privileged or downtrodden compared to the rest of Iuryis' socioeconomic spectrum, and have no further systemic benefits or drawbacks associated with their class.

[x] Merchant

Merchants manage mercantile endeavors that allow wealth to flow through Iuryis' markets, managing anything from guilds to trade fleets to banks at significant financial gain. They have a good mind for numbers and business, and typically perform well when it comes to striking deals, managing finances, and exploiting mercantile opportunities. Due to the wide-spanning scope of their trade, merchants are also typically well-traveled, and typically fit in relatively well in strange lands and stranger cultures. Unfortunately, although relatively privileged, merchants are sometimes regarded as greedy swindlers and not necessarily immediately trusted.

[x] Minor Noble

Minor nobles may not have the power to dictate regional or confederate policy, but they are still a privileged class with enviable social power and relative financial security. The education afforded to you means that you're broadly learned in various fields to sound at least somewhat knowledgeable in many different matters. Habits and etiquette that denote you as highborn are also liable to gain begrudged courtesy from your peers and reflexive deference from those of a lower station. However, this also means that during unfavorable circumstances, you stand out as a bartering chip for the powerful, and an outlet for envy and frustration for the downtrodden.

As you will most of the narrative being a mercenary some ways from home, socioeconomic class acts as profile indicator and a personal quality, and does not offer significant institutional support associated with that station. Choosing to be the daughter of a minor noble far from promises the institutional advantages that come with that socioeconomic class.

Yes, I just started a quest with in medias res. ^_^;

To set expectations here, On the Road to Elspar is a traditional fantasy quest. It will primarily be narrative-based; any systems I use - assuming I use any systems at all - will be very light, and will mostly be used to accommodate the narrative instead of the other way around. Despite initial appearances, the actual meat of the quest will take place after the Huntress' War ends in 1332, which is the opening scene that took place prior to the flashback to three years ago; most of the quest will feature the protagonist as a trained and competent mercenary. The prologue you're being dropped into right now in 1329 will be fairly lengthy, but it's mostly a mix between a character creation process, an introduction to the world and the broader metaplot, and the establishing of various characters that may or may play larger roles in the quest proper. The plan, ultimately, is to have the character grow into a sufficiently competent mercenary that will be ready to have her own adventures by the time we get to the year 1332. ^_^;

While I'm not going full Japanese, I will certainly be taking many cues from anime (I mean, the aseri are obviously kitsunemimi), and it will be relatively less somber than some of my other works while still retaining the capacity to depict dark narratives. I'm hoping to be a bit more casual about this quest compared to my previous works, but that doesn't mean I also can't do some serious things with it. Not sure if that's helpful, but there we go. ^_^;

Also, because I made the mistake the last two times and really don't want to go for three: Through the character generation process - which will include this update and several others in the future - votes will be tallied by set and not by individual categories. This is pretty much the only way I can ensure that the voting process doesn't get too confusing, so. x_x

Kei · Jul 24, 2016

[x] Neianne
[x] Dryad
[x] Shy - Uncertain and adorably adorable.
[x] Freeholder

"N-Neianne," you manage through a stammer.

Smiling kindly, the clerk is still flipping through her dossiers, but she repeats herself, offering reassurance in the face of your nervousness: "Welcome to Faulkren, Neianne. We don't get many dryads here, but I'm sure you'll fit right in." Her glance returns to the documents in her hands, and she plucks a piece of paper from out of the stack with a clear tone of satisfaction even as she reviews the document. "Ah, here we are. We've already received payment, and no extra paperwork..." she makes her final checks before looking back up at you with a smile, "...so you're good to go! You'll be staying in the West Wing, Room Three." She snaps her fingers, and from the side, a young human girl - perhaps only thirteen summers of age, if not younger, looking like she works as a serving girl from a peasant family - skips up to the table. "Dorothy will take you there."

"Follow me, please," Dorothy chimes after giving a bow in your direction. You greet her with a small bow of your own, picking up a bag of your own belongings and bidding the clerk a shy, polite farewell before following the child at least two or three years younger than you.

The Academy itself isn't overly large, and the centuries have transformed a fortress into an institution. Even if you haven't seen them, you know of larger castles, military fortifications such as those in the capitals of the Confederacy's five regions: Apaloft, Elspar, Fulwaite, Lindholm, and Sandria. But the Academy - at least at first glance - is structured in a somewhat confusing mix of whitestone buildings that seem to lean onto each other. The West Wing, at least from your vantage point, looks as if it's close enough to the wall to be connecting, but still not quite the same structure. You suspect it will be some time before you get used to the architecture here.

You are halfway down your trip through the courtyard when Dorothy suddenly turns around, starts walking backwards, and asks you, "Are you a real dryad?" There is an excitable tone to her voice as she looks at you with wide eyes, the sort that hardly looks out of place on the face of an innocent young child.

You manage a smile; you tend to be less shy around young children. They're less likely to judge you. "Have you n-never seen a dryad before?" you reply with a question of your own.

"I have," pouts Dorothy a little, "but I've never really talked to one." Then, almost immediately, without ever waiting for you to answer whether or not you're a "real dryad", she reaches up in the direction of your head, pointing and asking, "Are those real leaves in your hair?"

Taken aback at how readily Dorothy invades your personal space, you answer in a somewhat flustered manner, "Y-Yes, they're real."

"What happens if I pluck them?"

"Th-They'll grow back," you answer hurriedly even as your hands clutch at your hair as if protecting them from being plucked, "but p-please don't do that!"

"Is that real hair?" continues the young serving girl without pause. You get the feeling that she isn't actually supposed to ask these sort of questions to the newly arriving apprentices, but that she can't help her curiosity in your case.

You also get the feeling that maybe you - shy little you - are being bullied a little by a girl of, at most, thirteen summers.

"W-Well, yes," you answer truthfully, your fingers sliding down your hair just enough to stroke the few leaves intertwined with them, "m-most of what grows out of my head is still h-hair instead of lea..."

If Dorothy's questions were rapid-fire before, now she doesn't even wait for you to complete your answer before she's already excitedly racing for the next subject of her curiosity. In this case, she points at the gentle patterns and textures that run like vines and branches across parts of your body, looking like a light mix between a tattoo and embroidery, demanding, "Is that tree bark on your skin?"

"N-No, it's a n-natural skin formation that a-all dryads have. It's s-something like a giant birthmar..."

"Do you grow flowers in your hair?"

"Not yet..." You're thinking about explaining how most dryads don't grow more than a dozen flowers in their hair in a lifetime, and that a flower actually blooming there has traditionally be interpreted as a sign of good fortune.

But, of course, before you can even think about explaining this, Dorothy - quickly, loudly, excitedly, innocently - immediately fires off another question with all the innocence of a child: "Is it true that dryads meet every month in the forest under the full moon to dance and frolic naked?"

You try very hard not to turn red and choke on your own cough. You're not entirely sure you succeed. This is going to be a long walk to your dormitory.

There's a saying on the continent of Iuryis, and although variations of it exist, it broadly goes: "The elves formed civilization, the aseri invented trade, and the humans built industry."

The historical veracity of this statement is, of course, heavily suspect; broad overgeneralizations of races - assuming they aren't outright falsehoods - never truly capture the nuances that are all too often lacking in these conversations. But they do serve two purposes: To inform the broad sentiments directed amongst the different races of Iuryis, and to highlight the conspicuous absence of the dryads in this saying.

No one is entirely sure where all the races of Iuryis came from, but for as long as recorded history has existed, the dryads coexisted with the elves in sacred woodlands, the cradles of Iuryian civilization. Unlike the elves, who congregated in the skytowns built amongst the canopies of the great forests, dryads lived more solitary lifestyles deeper into the heart of the woods. This isn't to say that dryads were reclusive; on the contrary, regular contact with the elves, fellow dryads, and other humans and aseri were entirely commonplace. But the physiological needs of the dryads are different compared to the other races, and while dryads require food like any other race, they can also last on water and sunlight for quite some time before the next meal.

Diminished requirements in terms of food and shelter means that dryads never had a strong need for things like permanent housing and concentrated agriculture, nor for a large population; they existed to some degree, but were never really mandatory. Like the aseri, dryads were a nomadic race, but whereas the aseri traveled in communities and hunted in packs like a mobile village, dryads often live alone or in small family units, content with self-sustenance until it was time to pay friends and family a visit.

Of course, if the saying about elves, aseri, and humans is to be taken at face value, then the humans changed everything.

As the story goes, dissatisfied with living under the shadow of the elves, humans - having lived in small communes on the outskirts of the skytowns - led a social revolution that steadily began to change how societies and populations formed. Mass agriculture was developed to sustain larger populations, and roads connected increasingly large communes. Smithies and forges were built, and while elven armor was still of lighter and superior make, increases in human production quickly began to outpace those of the elves, and human wares began to outnumber elven stock when aseri convoys made their sales.

Precisely how it happened is still a matter of intense academic debate. Did the elven leadership see the writing on the wall and move to co-opt human ingenuity to stave off the possible decline of their kind? Or was there simply a cultural migration from the woodlands to the plains that happened organically? Was industry ever a solely human-driven endeavor, or was the involvement of other races erased from oral history for the sake of a popular story about the differences amongst races? Regardless, the end result was the same: The elves gradually left the forests, migrating into towns and cities, urbanizing and forming great countries and empires alongside - or atop, depending on whom you ask - humans and aseri. The skytowns became historical relics and vacation spots, a place for elven children to learn of where their ancestors came from.

This left the dryads alone as caretakers of the woods.

For centuries, the dryads resisted the allure of urbanization. Interaction still happened - even if they became less intimate and more complex - but there was the understanding that the forests were their home. The cities held little charm, with their grime and squalor, crime and corruption, prejudice and oppression. It was not to say that dryads didn't have their own problems - blood feuds with no arbitrating mechanisms, undeveloped measures to handle blights and disasters, several religious conflicts - but they found their own way of living to be superior.

But as the years passed, as humans and elves and aseri multiplied aplenty, as walls and castles and palaces were erected, a line of thought, a shred of concern, began to develop amongst the community of dryads: What if the world was changing without them? What if they were being left behind? What if there came a day when those of the plains found themselves in conflict with those of the woods? How can a small population of dryads hold their own against an ever-increasing number of plains-dwellers and their steel?

Slowly, mentalities began to change. Driven by fear or plain curiosity, there came a demographic shift amongst the dryads, as more of them began to migrate out of the woods and into towns and cities. It has been a slow trickle, but now dryads - hardly a numerous population to begin with - are merely "uncommon" as opposed to "rare" on the plains. A sizeable dryad population still remains in the woodlands across the continent, and although relations between the two demographics of dryads are amicable enough, they've also grown increasingly complex.

The good news, at least, is that unlike the other races, dryads have had relatively little historical baggage, having been relatively absent from the jockeying for power, wealth, and influence that took place amongst the elves, the aseri, and the humans. At worst, some elves think dryads are backwards-thinking and have been far too slow to embrace the future, and some humans resent that dryads have "never lifted a finger" to challenge the social structures that disadvantage them. As a whole, though, most treat dryads with a wary but intrigued sense of optimism, even if there lingers an air that - as newcomers - dryads don't quite "fit in" just yet.

This has been a state of affairs that has lasted for almost two centuries.

After guiding you to your dormitory room on the second floor of the West Wing, Dorothy informs you that meals will be served in the Great Hall, and small helpings of light food will be served around the clock until schooling officially starts; it's there that you'll have the highest chance of meeting the people you'll be training alongside for the next three years.

Mercifully, Dorothy leaves with a small curtsy as soon as she's done. You're not sure how much more of her innocent but candid questioning you can take.

The West Wing is a somewhat sizeable two-story building, with a common area on the first floor and dorm rooms on the second. Rooms accommodate two, and arrangements are decent; this is clearly not the vacation home of an aristocrat in the Confederated City of Stengard, but lodgings are clean and comfortable, certainly better than your own housing conditions back home. Those of noble lineage can tolerate it for the honor that being a Caldran mercenary brings, and those of far lesser means enjoy the "luxuries" of schooling and the chance of socioeconomic advancement it brings.

You notice that a bag has already been dropped off on top of one of the beds, an indication that your roommate - whoever she is - has already arrived. It is clear, however, that she has not settled in, nor has she unpacked; it's almost as if she came in, placed her bag on the sheets, and then left just as quickly. Will she be in the Great Hall? Or perhaps she has gone to the town of Faulkren?

It probably doesn't matter at this point. Your best bet of meeting anyone here - making your first friends - is probably to head down to the Great Hall so as to see who else has arrived. You're obviously not the first apprentice to arrive at the Academy, but it's still a number of days before the schooling begins, so you're probably not so late for fear of intruding on cliques that have already formed. Still, first impressions mean a lot, so you step over to the full-length mirror to check that your appearance is as favorable as you can make it.

Physique
[x] Very short.
[x] Short.
[x] Slightly short.
[x] Average.
[x] Slightly tall.

Hairstyle
[x] Short and simple, shoulder-length.
[x] Twintails, down to shoulder blades.
[x] Straight and regal, waist-length.
[x] Write-in.

Hair Color
[x] Green.
[x] Blond.
[x] Red.
[x] Write-in.

Attire Style
[x] Wholesome: Modest blouses, long skirts, and dresses iconic of the freeholder class in Caldrein.
[x] Dainty: Light sundresses, wispy shifts, and shift dresses, fashionable for the more maidenly.
[x] Youthful: Colorful frocks and frilly boleros giving off a more girlish impression.
[x] Stylish: Figure-hugging sheath dresses, scarves, pleated skirts, and stockings popular with city girls.
[x] Write-in.
Attire style refers to the general fashion Neianne dresses herself in on normal occasions, and does not necessarily reflect a permanent or specific clothing setup. While write-in's are permitted, disparity with the shy persona increases the possibility of a QM veto.

Satisfied with your appearance - or at least as satisfied as you can be with it - you finally step out of your dormitory, down the stairs, out the West Wing, and for the Great Hall. Signs show you the way, but you don't really need it; the Great Hall, after all, can only be in the largest building in this fortress complex.

Stepping through the giant doors of the Great Hall, you admire the architecture that keeps this chamber aloft. Whitestone blocks form graceful gothic arches characteristic of traditional Caldran architecture, elegant and bright. Wide windows admit a healthy amount of sunshine into the hall, framed by stained glass with muted colors depicting various warriors and famous battles in the history of Caldran mercenaries. Tables are arranged across the hall, looking like they can easily seat at least a hundred apprentices. Some of these tables are occupied by a handful of new arrivals; a cursory glance scans about a dozen youths seated there, all of them roughly the same age as you. Although they're all seated close enough for everyone to talk to each other, plenty of them are also gathered in smaller groups for tighter conversations.

Some of them greet you cheerfully as you enter, while others acknowledge you with polite nods; you shyly offer a greeting in return. No one seems to be in a rush to invite you to their table, but given that they all have plates at their tables, they're probably just giving you enough space to grab some of the food and snacks that have been prepared on the tables to the side. You see that the offerings are nothing particularly heavy, mostly an assortment of breads, cheeses, bite-size slices of ham, and cooked vegetables. You suspect that the choices of food will become more impressive come mealtime. As you quietly pick out a few foods onto your plate - not a lot, just enough to fill your stomach after traveling across the Caldran countryside to get here - you risk a few glances in the direction of those already seated to get a sense of what they're like and whom they're seated with.

The largest and most obvious group is that of a group of five, in part because one of the girls is an excitable aseri, her words fast and loud, her smiles and laughter easy. She is one of those who greeted you verbally when you first came in. Her attire isn't particularly extravagant, but still casual and stylish; does she come from a merchant family, perhaps, or maybe a particularly well-to-do freeholder household? The elf who sits with her is almost certainly a noble, though, wearing a pretty dress, elegantly poised even as she watches and listens with a small smile that radiates a sense of natural confidence and self-assurance. There is another elf with them, her attire looking like a halfway compromise between the semi-formal fashion of her fellow elf and the stylish casualness of the animated aseri; similarly, although not quite as talkative as the aseri, this second elf certainly seems much more amicable than the first one, happily talking her fill. She too acknowledged you with an open greeting when you entered. The fourth of the group is human, but although she is dressed to look presentable, you can see that her clothes are a hair worn. She alternates between holding her silence while remaining attentive to the other discussants, and suddenly speaking up in an excited burst of chatter comparable to the aseri of the group. The last member of this quintet is again a human, dressed in a semi-formal but sharp manner that looks like she's the apprentice of a clerk in a trading guild. Like the elven noble, she is content to sit back and let the more talkative conversationalists drive the discussion, but whereas the elf exudes an air of high dignity, the human seems much more laid-back, relaxed, and approachable in general.

The second group has three members, and looks more modest by comparison in more ways than one; they are relatively quieter - still cheery, but it's hard to beat the fast-talking aseri - and dressed in a way that indicates that they're most likely freeholders. The human seems to be doing most of the talking, waving her hands in storytelling gestures as she does so. She seems to be funny enough - or at least friendly enough, in case her humor isn't actually spot-on - because a second human, dainty in physique, giggles in a somewhat reserved ladylike manner. Both of them waved at you when you entered. The aseri, looking a fair bit more athletic than the other two, resorts to short snorts and terse chuckles in response, and speaks in an amused drawl that makes it sound like she's counter-quipping against the first human, but in good humor.

Two apprentices make up the third group, and you're mildly surprised to see that one of them is a dryad. Dryads are not so rare that you did not actually expect to never meet one here, but given Dorothy's reaction upon seeing you, you guess you didn't think to meet another dryad so early on in your journey through Faulkren Academy. The cut of her dress - although not as formal as one may expect of a lady of her station - indicates that she is perhaps nobility, but despite speaking in relatively quiet tones with her conversational partner, there's a hint of playfulness to her demeanor. This is in contrast to the other girl, a smartly-dressed elf with a fairly serious countenance that makes her look a bit authoritative and dependable. Despite this, she looks anything but unwelcoming of the company, and speaks softly with the dryad.

The fourth group is again a duo, and it's fairly clear that the two humans are not as well-off as the others; their plain, worn clothes suggest that both are either from the peasant or laborer classes. Whether they chose their own space or were excluded from the other groups is not known to you, but they seem content in having a much more subdued conversation between the two of them. Despite this, they seem to be interacting in a fairly friendly manner; if they are bothered about not being in a larger group - whether by choice or otherwise - they don't make the signs obvious.

The last two individuals in the Great Hall don't seem like they're part of any subgroup. They aren't sitting entirely apart from the group at large, but nor do they seem to be actively engaged in conversation with anyone in particular. The first is a tall, well-dressed elf who quietly alternates between listening quietly to the conversations around her, gently picking at the small pieces of food on her plate, and reading a book. Her pale skin and long dark hair give her a strong air of aloofness, along with an air of someone who is not to be trifled with. By contrast, the second elf is short and petite, wearing a white sundress that matches her long wavy blond hair. Sadly, you can't tell much else about her because she seems to have nodded off; she doesn't seem to be fully asleep, but it's pretty clear that she has fazed out of the conversation at this point.

And so you choose to sit down with...

[x] ...the first group of five, with the two elves, the two humans, and the talkative aseri.
[x] ...the second group of three, with the two humans and aseri.
[x] ...the third group of two, with the dryad and the elf.
[x] ...the fourth group of two, with two humans.
[x] ...the tall, aloof-looking elf with her book.
[x] ...the petite elf nodding off in her own corner.

Kei · Jul 29, 2016

For the most part, I have been a pretty plot-orientated writer who has used characters as components to advance the plot. In a way, On the Elsparian Road is an attempt for me to practice the reverse: Writing a character-centered story around which the plot revolves. I'm sort of out of my comfort zone, and I realize that my efforts at character writing and interactions may seem incompetent - especially when said characters are mostly teenagers who are supposed to have the social life that I don't - so I ask for forgiveness in this regard. x_x

[x] Short.
[x] Straight and regal, waist-length.
[x] Red.
[x] Wholesome: Modest blouses, long skirts, and dresses iconic of the freeholder class in Caldrein.
[x] ...the second group of three, with the two humans and aseri.

Taking a deep breath and wishing you had another mirror to make sure your appearance is in order - that your waist-length red hair is still straight and not knotted, that your blouse isn't terribly wrinkled and your skirt hasn't been inexcusably dirtied from the road to Faulkren - you take your plate of food and walk in the direction of one of the tables. Specifically, the one with the second-largest group, comprising of the two humans and the aseri.

The more talkative human sees your approach and waves. "Oh, hi!" she greets, gesturing for you to sit down at their table, saving you the effort of asking if a seat is free. Her brown hair, framing pretty green eyes, is just a touch shorter than yours and tied into a low ponytail with a nice ribbon at shoulder-height. "Did you just come in?"

"Y-Yes," you answer, giving a quick curtsy to all three of them before taking up on the human's offer to sit down, to no one's objection. You even manage a small smile as you introduce yourself: "U-Um, I'm Neianne. I-It's nice to meet you."

Smiling warmly, the first human happily introduces herself: "I'm Vesna Rainer. This is Emilie," she adds, gesturing to the second human - with neat blond hair trimmed neatly at shoulder-length and wide blue eyes - who gives a friendly bow of her head, "and..."

"Nikki," greets the tall, slightly-tanned aseri promptly, raising a hand slightly as if to wave with minimal effort; her introduction is terse but not actually unfriendly, even as she brushes strands of her slightly-curly shoulder-length black hair out of the way of her brown eyes.

You try not to look too flustered as you again give polite bows of your head to all three of them. "H-How long have you been here?" you ask, cautiously giving voice to your ulterior concern that you've somehow dropped in on a clique of friends that has already formed in the previous days.

"I actually got in at the middle of the night," grins Vesna. "I hitched a ride on a wagon that stopped for the evening at a village two, three hours away. And I thought, 'Hey, I can just walk the rest of the way instead of staying the night.' So I did."

Emilie seems impressed at that. "Was there anyone there to check you in?" she gasps.

Snorting, Nikki answers in Vesna's stead: "I found her asleep at the foot of the gate when I arrived this morning."

Sticking out her tongue playfully at the aseri, Vesna points at Nikki and mutters with mock indignation, "She tried to draw something on my face, too."

"Did not."

"I came in last night just after supper," Emilie informs you quietly as Nikki and Vesna exchange a few playful verbal barbs, laying to rest your previous worries. "I'm from the region, so I didn't have to travel for too long. It still took me four days, though."

"I a-actually just arrived fifteen minutes ago," you admit.

"You haven't missed out on anything important, I think," Emilie reassures you before looking in the direction of the dignified-looking elf seated with the largest group. "I heard the first person to arrive is Lady Treiser, and that was two days ago."

So the elf is a highborn after all. Not that you doubted, but at least you have a name to match the face now. Although, now that you think about it, of the room's fifteen occupants, you are almost certain that at least a fifth of them - or maybe as many as two-fifths, including those you're not quite as sure about - are some form of nobility. "Th-There are a lot of ladies here," you murmur, thinking that of all the rooms you've ever seen, this one is least representative of the actual socioeconomic makeup of the Confederacy.

"All looking for a feather in their cap," snorts Nikki; she has disengaged from Vesna and thus returned to the broader conversation. "I do wonder how many of them will be staying on for all three years, having to actually move for a change."

"You're just jealous," teased Vesna good-naturedly. "But, yeah, that's Aphelia Meredith Treiser. And the other elf is Lucille Lorraine Celestia."

You blink, recognizing the family name. "House Celestia r-rules Apaloft," you whisper.

"That it does," confirms Vesna. So this is a daughter of the family that commands one of the five regions of the Confederacy, ruled by the countess in her seat of Arkenvale.

"Too many daughters?" guesses Nikki, although not so loud that anyone else outside the group can easily hear. One would think that a lady as important as a Caldran countess would not risk one of her daughters in the field of battle.

"I actually think Lucille isn't from the main family," Vesna thinks aloud, "but still from a major branch. A niece or something." Looking further down the room, her gaze finds the raven-haired girl sitting by herself, and her voice drops to a much quieter murmur. "She is Sieglinde Corrina Ravenhill, and rumors are that she's already a prodigy."

This is not an observation that surprises you. Even though she is literally just sitting there and reading her book, the first impression that she is not to be trifled with has not abated in any way. She's also rather tall for her age, even moreso than Nikki, and in that regard, you quietly observe, "She l-looks a bit older than m-most of us."

"And a bit...intimidating," Emilie admits nervously. And, of course, no sooner did the words leave her mouth that Sieglinde - without tilting her head back from the book - suddenly glances in your direction, causing the four of you to instantly turn around and determinedly look as innocent as possible by staring in every other direction that isn't hers.

"That's Wilhelmina Adelaide Marienberg," Vesna awkwardly laughs, trying to sell the impression of innocence by quickly moving onto the next group of highborn-looking girls, making a small gesture at the duo consisting of the human and the dryad, "and the dryad next to her is Azalea Cherilyn Charmaine."

"Do you know her?" Emilie suddenly asks you, her previous nervousness regarding Sieglinde suddenly replaced by an enthusiastic interest that takes you back a little. "Lady Azalea?"

"I-I know of House Charmaine," you allow, but no more than that.

Emilie looks mildly surprised and perhaps even a hair disappointed. "You've never met?"

Awkwardly, you give an apologetic smile as you politely answer, "N-Never." It's not as if the fact that you are both dryads grants you access to a lady of the nobility. That being said, it's not as if you don't know by reputation the only noble house of dryads in the Confederacy. New to Caldrein, dryads have not had sufficient history to squeeze into the upper social strata of the Confederacy, at least not until the progenitors of House Charmaine - having managed to run a successful merchant enterprise for about a century - reorganized and revitalized the agriculture of the region of Fulwaite during a famine a bit more than two decades ago. They won the gratitude of the region and of the regional countess, and the Charmaines - Azalea's parents, most likely - were given a barony in recognition for their services.

This also had the side effect of looking like a goodwill gesture, which convinced more dryads to leave the woodlands, to give the elves and the humans and the aseri a chance, to make the attempt of integrating into Confederate society.

"You know a lot about all these ladies," Nikki quips at Vesna, although she doesn't exactly sound impressed.

But Vesna merely smiles sweetly and replies, "I pay attention." Then, after looking you over, she murmurs, "So...dryad."

You blink; have you already offended Vesna so much that she's not referring to you by name? "P-Pardon?" you stammer.

"You're a real dryad, right?"

Nikki beats you to the response to a familiar question. "No," answers the aseri dryly, "she's a fake dryad. Those leaves are tied to her hair, and the marks on her skin are from where she slept in bed."

You aren't the only one who blushes at that answer. "I don't get to see dryads all that much, okay?" pouts Vesna...before turning back to you and asking, "You mostly live in the villages, right?"

You suppose that "you" is an acceptable substitute for "dryads who have immigrated to the Confederacy", even if it feels weird to be somehow considered representative of all dryads. "I th-think so," you allow uncertainly before giving the question some more thought. "I-I mean, all of our neighbors wh-where I come from are elven, human, and aseri, so I-I don't see many other dryads either. M-My parents know dryads from the old days b-before we moved to Confederacy, b-but I don't know them very well, and th-they only visit now and then. N-None of my friends are dryads either."

"So your parents are originally from the forests?" asks Emilie.

"Y-Yes. I was b-born there, but we moved to the C-Confederacy when I was very young, a few y-years after the Charmaines were granted a b-barony. I-I-I only remember a little about the woodlands."

"I hear that dryads don't like the cities very much," remarks Nikki.

"M-Maybe?" you offer hesitantly. "I think it's...d-difficult to get used to for people like my parents, who l-lived in the woodlands for m-many years for their lives. I'm...m-mostly okay with it, I think. I still r-remember growing up in the woodlands, but I d-don't think life out here is really b-bad."

"Aren't you just more...connected to the wilds?" presses Emilie. "House Charmaine was granted a barony for revitalizing farming in Fulwaite during the famine..."

"I-If that's true, I've never really f-felt it!" you exclaim. "I th-think some dryads are just more...s-sensitive to how plants and trees and crops grow, b-but maybe that's more...people who live their lives s-surrounded by all sorts of p-plants in the forest would p-probably be a bit more familiar with how things work? I-I-I would have had no idea how to save Fulwaite during the f-famine had it been me instead of House Charmaine that they looked for."

"No super special plant magic?" Nikki chuckled.

"I-I don't think so. Well, m-many dryads are good with m-magecraft, but aren't elves, too? I-I think...it's not something that d-dryads are just born being able to do." Not to mention all the stories you've heard about dryads branching out - with much success - with other elements of magecraft. Dryads are sensitive to the ecological environment, at least to a degree, but the effect is never quite as exaggerated as the wildest stories.

"So you don't eat plants and flowers or tree bark either?" Emilie gasps.

"I thought dryads don't need to eat at all," Vesna opines, looking skeptically at your own plate of food.

"W-W-We do need to eat!" you insist. Then, a bit more calmly, "I-It's just...water and sunlight are...possible sources of s-sustenance for dryads. W-We can fall back on sunlight and water for m-much longer than humans, aseri, or elves. But n-n-not indefinitely. A-And it's definitely healthier to s-stick to a diet that's like everyone else's, e-especially while ch-children are still growing, e-even though I don't eat quite as much as e-everyone else."

There are quiet nods from the three listeners as they process the information you've given them in silence. Then - trying to fight back a grin - Vesna asks less-than-innocently, "So do dryads have to go to the bathroom?"

Your face thwacks the table in embarrassment even as Nikki's hand thwacks the back of Vesna's head in exasperation. You do feel a little relieved when the conversation finally turns away from you moments later in spite of the lingering curiosity. At least it wasn't Dorothy who was questioning you.

Emilie, as it turns out, comes from a family of tailors, something that doesn't really surprise you. Although her dress is cut of plainer cloths and isn't anything particularly fancy, you do not fail to observe the elegance in its simplicity of design, nor the colorful embroidery Emilie herself wove into the dress in intricate patterns. The second of two children, Emilie nonetheless faced resistance from her parents when she announced her desire to enroll in Faulkren Academy. "They insisted that the mercenary life isn't for me," Emilie explains sheepishly, "that I would do greater good with the needle and I should stay to help run the shop."

"You don't really look the type to join up," Nikki admits. You silently confess to yourself that you think the same, although given the similarities between you and Emilie in personality, that feels like a somewhat hypocritical statement.

Blushing, Emilie looks flustered as she admits, "Maybe not." Then, almost gushing, she adds, "But don't you think it's romantic? Traveling across the countryside with a sword in hand, fighting battles and righting wrongs?"

"What." This is Nikki flatly droning with an incredulous stare.

"The Adventures of the Silver Princess!" Vesna suddenly gushes.

"I know!" squeals Emilie excitedly.

"...What?" you echo Nikki, albeit with more confusion and less incredulity.

"They're a series of adventure novels from Ornthalia," explains Vesna happily. "About how an Ornthalian princess travels incognito across the land and goes on these grand adventures while masquerading as a mercenary or a knight-errant. The books are really famous, actually!" And then Emilie and Vesna begin to dreamily chatter over their shared interests in fiction, much to your continued confusion and a lingering suspicion that this is not exactly what the mercenary life will be like.

Nikki makes a long-suffering sigh reminiscent of someone who realizes that she's surrounded by idiots.

By contrast, Nikki's parents are blacksmiths from Sandria, which means that she saw her share of soldiers leaving for the Elsparian Front, a "sorry lot" rallied to hold the line against the Tenereians. She thus resolved to join the Caldran mercenary warbands instead of the Sandrian army if she was to fight for her homeland. The decision wasn't hard to make; unlike Emilie, Nikki - the third child of four - fully admits that she has none of her parents' talents in smithing. "I was a horrible blacksmith," she snickers in self-ridicule. "I never managed to get the fires on the forges right, my hammer never struck the anvil the right way. My mother tried her best and used to spend more hours trying to teach me over my sisters, but she just gave up in the end. So if I was going to be useless at home, I figured I may as well try my luck at one of Caldrein's largest mercenary academies and see if I can get in. Father wasn't too happy about it, but my mother was probably glad to get rid of someone so useless from the house."

"Your mother doesn't think you're useless!" insisted Emilie sadly, convincing herself that she's trying to cheer Nikki up. "I'm sure she loves you!"

"No," laughs Nikki, "I know she does loves me. And she thinks I'm useless." And the aseri's laughter only intensifies in satisfaction as she savors her sweet vengeance over Emilie's turn to be bewildered.

Although Vesna's parents technically qualify as merchants, they aren't precisely the rich sort with guilds and fleets of trade ships. In fact, they don't even have their own shop; rather, they sell goods from their own wagon, traveling from locale-to-locale in search of profit. This causes Nikki to wryly remark that Vesna's family is "more aseri than my family". You are surprised when Vesna reveals that she's an only child; the idea that parents would risk their single daughter in such a way strikes you as startlingly daring. "It turns out that it's hard to support a family when you're making tiny profits from trade while on the road," Vesna admits sheepishly. "Believe it or not, my life here is probably going to be more stable and safer than with my parents."

Although her reasons aren't quite as "romantic" as Emilie's, Vesna's motivation for joining ultimately comes down to wanting to be useful and self-reliant, a decidedly optimistic outlook. To hear her say it, the Huntress' War is the Confederacy's greatest call for aid, and even if the method in which she may do so in the future is still a nebulous, uncertain, and distant concept, Vesna clings onto the idea that she can eventually help someone: The people of Caldrein, if she is lucky, or at least just a village that may be spared the horrors of war.

"...Ah!" exclaims Vesna, as if realizing that she's getting ahead of herself. "But the honor and the pay is important too, yes!"

You consider sharing your own background, but any efforts you may have made in that regard are suddenly interrupted as a commotion stirs at the doors leading into the Great Hall. It doesn't take too long to see what's happening, even if you must crane your neck a little; some of the apprentices have noticed that documents are being pinned up on the notice board. While the cities are beginning to see an increased production of books and leaflets through the proliferation of the printing press, news being shared on notice boards across Caldrein is still a time-honored tradition, and absolutely vital to the remote countrysides where the influence of the printing press has not yet reached. The crowd - at least most of them - are eager to see what news has arrived here in Faulkren, and they rise from their seats to read the notices put up. Sieglinde doesn't bother getting up, though, and the elf who has dozed off doesn't seem to rouse from her nap either.

It takes you a few attempts to squeeze through the small gathering of apprentices to get a glimpse of the notices on the boards. Most of them simply detail information for newcomers here at Faulkren, but one particularly large piece of paper contains the latest news about - unsurprisingly - developments in the Huntress' War.

Tenereians Advance on Halissen, Battles Imminent
Tenereian scouting parties have been spotted in the area surrounding Halissen, Elspar, thus providing a strong indication that the Tenereian Union's next military target on the Elsparian Front will be the region's third largest city. Viscountess Dolores Hadea Nornfel of Halissen is expected to lead the defense with the blessings of Countess Katriona Mariabella Cenoryn of Wynholm, who commands the Elsparian war effort from the wartime capital of Arnheim.

Halissen has been the focal point of the Caldran defense since the Confederate armies abandoned the Berkena Borough last year after being outnumbered four-to-one, but at great cost to the Tenereian invaders. With the plains between Halissen and Berkena deemed indefensible, Halissen has been designated the next major defensive line in the Caldran strategy, a red line that must not be crossed.

In spite of the Confederate retreat, Caldran mercenaries have launched daring raids against Tenereian supply lines for more than half a year, significantly hindering Tenereia's ability to promptly resupply and regroup after their costly victory at Berkena. In particular, the efforts of the Llyneyth warband alone have delayed the Tenereian advance by at least three months, buying Caldrein precious time to reorganize the Confederate defense.

The importance of the defense of Halissen cannot be overstated. Over the past nine years, Elspar has suffered valiant defeats at the strongholds of Ainellen and Cherlith, and the regional capital of Wynholm. Should Halissen fall into enemy hands, then only Arnheim stands in the way of total Tenereian dominion over the region of Elspar.

Anxious murmurs sweep through the gathering of apprentices as they read and digest this piece of news. It is to be expected, of course; after Wynholm, Halissen and Arnheim are the only major cities in Elspar left. But stories of the miracles conjured by the Caldran mercenaries around the Berkena Borough - each retelling of their raids more fanciful than the last - sold the impression that this stalemate would last forever. Clearly, this is no longer the case.

"Do you think they stand a chance at Halissen?" whispers Emilie quietly, to no one and everyone in particular.

Nikki's grimacing answer is clearly a rhetorical question: "After being defeated at Wynholm, Ainellen, and Cherlith?"

"The Tenereians can't keep fighting forever," murmurs Vesna. "It's already been nine years. And we're not the only ones Tenereia is fighting, right? They have to run out of steam soon, especially with how we've been harassing them."

As you listen to their discussion absentmindedly, it occurs to you that - with almost everyone getting up, reading the notice board, and mingling together - you have a second chance to gracefully slip into other groups to meet more people without looking particularly obtrusive. You've just spent quite an amount of time getting to know Emilie, Nikki, and Vesna; given that you still don't know who your roommate will be or what groups you'll have to work with through your training, it's probably a good idea to build a decent amount of rapport with as many people as possible. The mood has become a bit more somber with grave news coming out of Elspar, but at least you won't have to worry about having little in the way of subjects to talk about. And so you join...

[x] ...the first group of five, with Aphelia, Lucille, the two humans, and the talkative aseri.
[x] ...the third group of two, with Azalea and Wilhelmina.
[x] ...the fourth group of two, with two humans.
[x] ...Sieglinde.
[x] ...the petite elf nodding off in her own corner.

Kei · Aug 17, 2016

Sorry for taking so long; writer's block and everything. Hope the update is long enough to make up for it. x_x

[x] ...Sieglinde.

Despite being surprised by the glance she sent in your direction previously, you admit to being at least a little intrigued by the cool, aloof girl sitting by herself at her table. Taking advantage of the fact that the throng of apprentices around you are still distracted by the latest news to come out of the war, you quietly slip out of the crowd and back towards the tables. You are largely unnoticed as you step through everyone's blind spots; the only two people who are in a position to see you move are Sieglinde herself and the elf who's still dozing off - cutely, in fact - to the side.

You step up to and stop at her table, at which point Sieglinde finally looks up from her book with the barest hint of surprise on her otherwise expressionless face. Although absent of the fashionable flourishes that are popular amongst richer Caldran girls - evident on Aphelia's attire, for example - Sieglinde's fairly plain dark robes are clearly of good quality. Up close, you can see why she seems a little intimidating to approach; framed by long, raven black hair, her pale features are sharp but far from unattractive, even though she projects a blase air of aloofness. "H-Hello," you greet hesitantly. "I'm Neianne."

"Sieglinde," she greets with a small nod of her head, her words quiet but confident. She seems a touch guarded and her tone bland, but her demeanor is not unfriendly, even as she gestures to a chair, inviting you to sit down beside her. "A pleasure."

This is followed soon afterwards by an awkward moment of silence. Well, awkward for you, mostly. Sieglinde reaches over to her cup to take a drink as if nothing in particular is amiss. You don't think that this is her way of asking you to leave - especially not so soon after she invited you to sit - but she doesn't seem to be in a hurry to rush to a conversation, though. Neither are you, really, but the wordlessness makes you feel increasingly self-conscious.

Struggling to find something - anything - to talk about, you catch Sieglinde flipping a page in her book, and you immediately blurt, "W-W-What are you reading?"

Honestly, you could've asked about the weather for all that it matters. Both probably feel as desperate and embarrassing to ask. But it's the most obvious object in Sieglinde's possession, and you had to point out something.

But Sieglinde seems unbothered by your inquiry. "A treatise on the history and politics of Ornthalia," she explains. "A little dated, but I've been told that it's still relevant."

You blink, looking at the cover of the book. It actually looks fairly new, not anything like the rough and worn books you would expect to have sat on the library bookshelf for a long, long time. "It d-doesn't look very dated," you observe honestly.

You may be mistaken, but you think you see a hint of a ghost of a smile on Sieglinde's lips at that observation. "This was reproduced on a printing press. The original treatise was written by hand ninety years ago by Baroness Leandra."

That...sounds impressive, if nothing else, even if the intricacies of Sieglinde's explanation feel like they're flying over your head. "I-It's an important book, then...?" you venture, trying to make an intelligent remark despite not feeling very intelligent at all right now.

"It remains the most credible text on the intricacies of the Imperial Republic written by Caldran hands. No one since has written on the subject nearly as extensively."

"Oh," you murmur blankly, settling into a moment of silence. It's not that you don't comprehend the quiet words coming out of Sieglinde's mouth, but it does feel like you're missing some important context that makes actual understanding possible. "Is that...n-normal?"

"It depends," Sieglinde shrugs. Perhaps she meant to leave it at that, but she gives you a glance a moment later, observing that her answer is probably intensely unsatisfying for you. Taking a small breath, she snaps the book shut in her hand before elaborating, "We are trading partners, and there are diplomatic missions every now and then. But courting favor with one of the two superpowers on Iuryis is difficult, certainly with our paltry trade volume. It is not helped by our uncritical adoption of political and cultural mores that surely must work out for us because they made Ornthalia powerful. Nor is it helped by a superficial understanding of the social and political complexities of the Imperial Republics that starts and ends at 'they can protect us from Tenereia'. And even if most of our learned diplomats and merchants manage to acquaint themselves deeply enough with the powers-that-be within Ornthalia, they would prefer to write short reports and little notes back home rather than an entire treatise from which a new generation may learn." A pause. Then, with a hint of dry wryness, she adds, "Assuming these people are any good at penmanship." There's something about her tone that suggests she very much assumes otherwise.

Despite all the information provided, you still feel like Sieglinde has not actually answered your question. "I-I'm sorry, I'm still not sure i-if that's...normal."

Sieglinde sighs a little this time, although not irritably as much as it merely seems resigned. It still doesn't stop you from feeling like you've offended someone who really should not be offended, but her voice is still calm and patient when she concludes, "By the standards of any other country with a degree of sanity, no, it's absolutely abnormal and inexcusable to have such lapses in diplomatic effort. But by the standards of a country as self-absorbed as Caldrein?" Under a more liberal definition, the sharp exhale that escapes her nose can almost be classified as a snort. "Yes, it is all too tragically normal."

You take a moment to digest this, allowing it to fit into the jigsaw puzzle of impressions, slowly understanding what Sieglinde is talking about. It's a lot to digest, and if you didn't feel it before, you certainly feel like you're having a discussion with someone who - despite being two or three years older than you at most - seems like she's in a completely different league where intellect is concerned. With little better to say, you inject a tone into your voice that sounds just a touch defensive as you murmur, "You d-don't seem to like Caldrein very much."

This observation, however, evokes the first real smile from Sieglinde, wry and humored. It's still very small, but it's actually indisputably a smile instead of something you end up having to wonder if you just imagined it. "Do I give off that impression?" she chuckles. "It would be very inconvenient for me to dislike Caldrein as a daughter of House Ravenhill, I think."

With a start, you realize with a small sense of muted horror that you have been speaking so openly - and perhaps, more importantly, so brazenly - with a lady of a noble house. "M-Milady," you quickly bow your head. "F-F-Forgive me, that was..."

The first signs of muted displeasure and impatience - barely perceptible as they are - appear on Sieglinde's features as she waves a hand to cut you off. "I prefer the way you treated me before," she says, her voice taking on a bit of sternness. "Whether I was born a princess or a pauper matters little in these halls." Her slightly annoyed expression turns slightly wry. "I shall have to toil and sweat and bleed and become a disheveled mess beside you all the same." She shrugs. "I'd rather you forget my lineage, if that's all the same to you. 'Sieglinde' sounds better than 'milady', I would think."

You're not sure how much you trust that statement, nor do you feel entirely comfortable with the deliberate shunting of decorum. Still, you give it your best effort as you murmur, "I-If you say so...S-Sieglinde."

Looking both slightly amused and a hair exasperated at the same time, Sieglinde nonetheless leans back against her own seat as she closes her eyes. "That I must serve Caldrein means I must be wary of its weaknesses and shortcomings. No matter how well we are trained, mercenaries alone cannot turn aside an enemy so many times our number. It is to Ornthalia that we must seek some measure of aid..." her eyes open again, and the gaze she fixes upon you carries a hint of wryness, "...an endeavor that would be easier, I suspect, had the Confederacy not neglected its diplomacy. The Caldran people have been far too enamored with its mercenaries and its neutrality, and are too bull-headed to realize otherwise."

You're no more comfortable with Sieglinde speaking so critically of her own people, but you don't quite find it within yourself to be as defensive as you were in regards to that, barely managing to allow, "I-I...wouldn't know, mi..." you catch yourself mid-sentence, amend, "...S-Sieglinde."

Sieglinde regards you for a moment with a stoic look before she gives a small little sigh and shakes her head a little. "When did your family urbanize?" she finally asks a moment later.

You blink for a moment, blanking out before hurriedly answering, "A-About ten years...or th-thereabouts." The word Sieglinde decided to use, "urbanize", is certainly most curious. Most people describe your family's move from the woodlands to the plainstowns as "immigration", as if the forests in Caldrein aren't actually part of Caldrein itself, as if they are some other political entity, as if you have moved across borders. While it is true that many dryads with Caldrein's borders consider themselves to be a separate social entity distinct from the Confederacy, they have also not objected to being labeled as part of the Caldran people for as long as the term has existed.

"How do you think your birthplace compares with the Caldrein of now?"

"I...d-don't remember much," you admit. "I was v-very young when I...urbanized."

"That's a shame," quips Sieglinde as many others have quipped before on this topic about how it's a "shame" to have "lost her roots". At least, that is what you think, until Sieglinde adds, "It would be useful to understand the strengths and shortcomings of both societies."

Well, it does sound a bit like a shame when she puts it that way, doesn't it? Perhaps more importantly, she doesn't seem to "take pity on you" as much as she's pragmatically weighing benefits and drawbacks. It's this, you suppose, that makes you blurt, perhaps against your better judgment, "M-My parents say that the dryads of the woodlands r-respect space and privacy, and p-plainsfolk are gossipy and invasive."

Ignoring how furiously you blush upon registering your outburst, Sieglinde instead breaks into a tiny smile that shows some amusement and no offense. "No doubt the plainsfolk think the dryads of the woodlands insular and backwards," she remarks, humored. Then, a small nod in your direction: "Thank you all the same." A pause, then, wryly, "Do you agree with them?"

You suddenly are acutely aware that there is only one other dryad in the immediate vicinity, and you are - and will be - otherwise be surrounded by plainsfolk for the next three years. "M-Maybe a little?" you fidget timidly, again against your better judgment.

The small hint of amusement does not leave Sieglinde's lips as she concludes, "Well, I shall endeavor to be neither gossipy nor invasive." Another pause. "And I shall prove this by asking how educated you are."

"I-I know to read and write, and th-there was a school in the v-village I came from, tended to b-by a shrine sister, but..." You trail off, not sure how to continue, nor that any elaboration is necessary at this point.

Sieglinde nods. "The instruction of the Academy will likely be new to you then. How ready do you think you are?"

"U-Um. I h-hope I am?" It's not as if you are aware ahead of time of the curriculum you're expected to tackle over the next three years. But you also realize that it's hardly a reassuring answer for someone who has actually been accepted by one of Caldrein's academies. So, mustering what courage you have, you take a deep breath and manage, "I-I mean, y-yes, I think I'm ready."

Again, Sieglinde nods in acknowledgement. "Caldran mercenaries have a rich history of being well-informed and creative, and thinking out of the box. Being learned is of great importance in our trade and indispensable should you wish to become one of Caldrein's finest...but do take care that you are not confined by it as well."

You tilt your head slightly to the side. "C-Confined by it?"

"A trivial piece of philosophy. Or epistemology, really. That which we learn, or perhaps even the art of learning itself, is a means by which we interact with reality, not a substitute for reality itself." Either she realizes that her explanation is too long or your expression nakedly betrays your confusion, for she chuckles and amends, "The short version, then: Don't doubt yourself when the time calls for it."

Which is as far as she gets before her gaze flicks upwards over your head, and you turn around to see an approaching group. Recognizing them as the first, largest group you set sight on when you first entered the Great Hall, you shrink a little bit in your seat, knowing that they're most likely for Sieglinde instead of you. Immediately, you spot Lucille and Aphelia at the head of their group, with the former looking friendly and the latter looking as effortlessly regal as ever.

"Ravenhill," greets Aphelia with natural dignity and a polite incline of her head. Noticing your presence a moment later, she regards you too with a nod, albeit one noticeably smaller.

"Treiser," acknowledges Sieglinde in return, although her own nod seems more blase and detached. "Celestia."

Lucille smiles at both of you, although it's clear that she's really here to talk to Sieglinde. "We're thinking about going into town for some shopping," she explains.

"Shall you come along with us?" asks Aphelia.

"Thank you," the tall, pale girl shakes her head, "but I have nothing to buy." Then, almost as an afterthought, as if it is only by happenstance that she remembers it's a proper thing to say: "Have fun."

"Aw," Lucille pouts, but she doesn't seem too dispirited. "That's too bad." But she smiles and waves in parting, suggesting, "Maybe next time."

"Farewell," Aphelia offers with another cut nod before walking away with Lucille, and the others in their group quickly follow. Watching the group walk away, it occurs to you that Sieglinde was perhaps not invited to actually shop, but to form a more permanent relationship with fellow ladies Aphelia and Lucille. Did Sieglinde have this in mind when she politely rejected the invitation, or was it just simply something else?

You don't give voice to your curiosity, though, not when Sieglinde is already asking you a question a moment later, ignoring how awkward you felt about being otherwise nonexistent in the previous conversation. "Might I suppose you're a freeholder?" inquires the older girl. And when you nod, she remarks, "There must be an interesting reason why you've chosen to come here, then."

It may seem silly for someone of your character to have a clear motivation for joining the ranks of the Caldran mercenaries, but you actually do have a reason, even if it's one that you do not easily share. You've come here...

[x] ...for the paycheck. A freeholder you may be, but no one, certainly not your family, has ever objected to increasing your household's financial security or spending ability.
[x] ...for the challenge. Your sense of personal achievement wants to validate your own existence, to show that you are one of the deadliest and most competent warriors alive.
[x] ...for the adventure. You only live once, and becoming a Caldran mercenary is a chance to see the world, to live the most exciting stories, and to explore all its wonders.
[x] ...for the Confederacy. The enemy takes more and more Caldran land each passing day, and it is your obligation as a citizen of the Confederacy to defend her and her people.
[x] Write-in.

Time passes as your conversation with Sieglinde continues. Unlike your previous conversation with Emilie, Nikki, and Vesna, however, you are mildly surprised - at least in hindsight - to realize that you have actually been doing a fair amount of talking. Perhaps Sieglinde's a good listener, or she just has the way of making you feel like sharing things with her. Regardless, it's only after the two of you part ways that you realize that you haven't exactly managed to ask any significant questions about her, nor did she voluntarily share, so you still know remarkably little about Sieglinde.

At the end of the day, you don't suppose that you've actually become close...but, at the very least, you've established a decent basis for further interactions in the future. For a prodigy whom no one seems to be in a hurry to talk to, that's about a good a sign as any.

In fact, you are so preoccupied with the aftermath of your conversation with Sieglinde that by the time you return to your dorm room, you have forgotten about the fact that you're supposed to have a roommate who checked in already, and thus find yourself a little surprised when you end up staring blankly at an athletic-looking aseri in your room.

"Oh," blinks the aseri in mild surprise before she walks up to you, sticking out a hand in introduction. "Hi. Stephanie."

Caught off guard by the handshake, your hand shoots out a little abruptly - after closing the door a bit too hard - to take Stephanie's hand into your own. "H-Hello," you manage, trying not to blush at having accidentally slammed the door behind you. "I'm Neianne. You...are my r-roommate, yes?"

"Looks like it," nods Stephanie. Your apparent roommate sports black hair that goes down to her shoulder blades, with her ears and tail possessing matching colors, and an attire that suggests that both of you are broadly in the same socioeconomic range. Although she hardly seems genuinely unfriendly, Stephanie doesn't smile, and you get the impression that it's not something she does naturally. It doesn't stop her from looking you up and down with a mild sense of curiosity as she murmurs, "Wow, a dryad." You nod, resigning yourself to the hypothesis that this observation is going to be something you'll simply have to get accustomed to here at Faulkren. "Did you just come in?"

"I a-arrived early in the day. Your bag was on the b-bed when I arrived."

"Oh, right. I went into town to shop with some people I met." She blinks again, then clarifies, "Well, by 'shopping', I mean 'window-shopping'. I didn't exactly come in with a fortune, and it's not like Faulkren is big enough a town to carry really interesting goods."

"O-Oh," you intone blankly, not sure what to actually say to that. It certainly doesn't look like she actually brought anything back, judging by the absence of extra bags in the room. "I...h-hope you had a good time, at least?"

Stephanie shrugs, "Yeah, something like that."

There is an awkward moment of silence as both you and Stephanie desperately try - and fail - to hide the fact that neither of you are actually sure what to say next, or how to elegantly segue this conversation onto its next topic.

"So..." tries Stephanie, clearing her throat in an attempt to pass it off, "...I don't suppose you've ever done anything like this before, have you?"

"N-No," you answer truthfully. Then, realizing that this may make you sound inadequate or unprepared, you quickly add, "I-I mean, they said that they'd a-accept even apprentices who've never t-trained before, and I was...surprised that they a-accepted me at all, but..."

Stephanie gives a small hum in acknowledgment of your words, falls into a moment of thoughtful quiet, then hums again: "Well, I guess we all have to start somewhere."

"D-Do you already have experience?"

"Sort of. My, um, parents have done their share of soldiering, so I know how to use a sword, at least."

That sounds reasonably impressive. It also makes you feel like you're already falling behind, so you flail around mentally for some kind of background you can try to sell as "experience". "U-Um, I...had a h-huntress in the town I lived in who used a bow," you point out. Then, truthfully, and with a voice that slowly and steadily trails off, "Um, I-I didn't actually learn anything from her, though, and, well..."

"...Oh," blinks Stephanie. "That's...too bad."

And then there is another moment of self-conscious silence.

"U-U-Um," you stammer, trying to be the one who breaks the quiet this time. "So...your parents are fighting in the war?"

"Not...really." Stephanie shuffles a little awkwardly despite her attempts to mask it. "It's a bit complicated back home."

"Oh," you mouth, recognizing when it is a good time to not press. Which, of course, leads you to more of that frustrating quiet, so you desperately blurt out, "Well, u-um." You blush. "I-I have a sister."

You continue to be horrible at trying to start actual conversations.

But Stephanie responds, either actually genuinely interested or at least humoring your attempt to revitalize your dialogue, which you suppose will have to be good enough. "Older or younger?"

"Younger. B-By six years. She was a-actually born in the plains."

"You mean in Caldrein?" Stephanie blinks.

Given that Sieglinde was the exception when it comes to using the term "urbanized" instead of "immigrated" or some other term, you suppose you aren't terribly surprised that the next person you talk to doesn't really seem to instinctively consider the dryads of the woods to actually be Caldran. "Yes," you say, not sounding terribly resigned. It's just one of the facts of life about being a second-generation dryad "immigrant". It doesn't bother you as much as other things are likely to bother members of other races.

"Six years is a long time to have a second child."

For non-dryads it is. In fact, with the partial exception of elves, aseri and humans seem to have a lot of children, although you suppose this is compensating for the fact that not many of them survive childhood. "I-I don't think dryad families have many children. In...ways, i-it's easier for us to be self-sufficient, b-but having less children just seems...e-easier to manage, maybe?" You're not exactly sure, and you feel embarrassed for theorizing out loud; it's not like you're actually a parent.

Although she nods, Stephanie looks like she's still sort of trying to process all of this in the back of her head, trying to contextualize the information she has just been given. "Are you close, even with six years?" she asks, probably something that she has been meaning to focus on anyways.

"I...g-guess?" you allow hesitantly. "Dryads live...n-not as long as elves, but l-longer than aseri and humans. So s-six years...isn't supposed to be much, I-I think." Then, realizing that you're not really tackling the meat of the question, you quickly add, "I-I mean, we get along." You blush again and shake your head. "S-Sorry, it must all seem very...silly to you."

"Hardly. I have a half-sister."

"...O-Oh," you manage blankly, even as Stephanie shifts awkwardly again, as if realizing what has just left her lips and thinking in hindsight that maybe this is not something she should've said. And then there is more awkward quiet.

Unlike Emilie, Nikki, and Vesna - who always seem to have something on hand to chatter about - or Sieglinde - who seems to be perpetually engaged in deep and complex thoughts - it is getting ridiculously difficult for both of you to come up with something workable to talk about. Honestly, you have no idea why this is taking as long as it has and being as troublesome as it is.

"So..." Stephanie cleared her throat again; it's her turn to try to kick the halting conversation back to life. "I'm guessing we're going to be rooming together for the next three years, so...um," she gives an attempt at a smile that looks more like a grimace, "I'm hoping we'll get along fine."

You give a small, dainty bow to complete the "semi-formal" greeting. "I-I'll try my best," you promise.

The ritualistic parts of socialization complete, Stephanie actually waits for a moment before cautiously asking, "Just to get it out of the way so we're clear, you...don't have any weird habits, do you?"

"W-Weird habits...?"

"Um, I don't know," admits Stephanie with a shrug. Then, helplessly, "Growing roots in your sleep? Shedding leaves from your head? Sunbathing naked?"

Eyes wide, it takes a few false starts for you to even squeak out a stammer, "I-I-I don't sunbathe naked!"

Stephanie gives you a look of mild concern as she takes notice of you denying only this specific thing.

"O-O-Or any of the other things!"

In hindsight, maybe it isn't such a great idea to shriek these things out loud in a dormitory building.

In the end, although you don't quite hit off with Stephanie in the same way you did with the others in the Great Hall, the two of you get along well enough upon first meeting each other. Stephanie doesn't have the natural talkativeness of Emilie or Vesna, nor does she have the sort of calm thoughtfulness that marks Sieglinde's conversational temperament with you, but she tries, and you suppose that'll have to be enough. You are roommates now, but only time will tell what kind of roommates the two of you will end up becoming.

And if anyone actually did hear you shriek about not sunbathing naked...well, at least no one has come up to profess disappointment to your face yet.

And so the few days that lead up to the formal start of the school year pass in the blink of an eye. From the corner of the Academy's social circle, you begin to better understand the apprentices and characters at this establishment, although you still spend time with Emilie, Nikki, and Vesna. Sieglinde, too, although only a bit; you're never entirely sure what is or isn't the right time to approach her. Stephanie is still a bit difficult to really get a handle on as well, but you at least have the benefit of being roommates and getting used to each other.

This lull in your life ends with a final feast in the Great Hall of Faulkren Academy over the weekend, with virtually all of the hundred-or-so apprentices having finally arrived. As you expected, the meals to commemorate the start of your apprenticeship here is rich, complete with several helpings of meats, vegetables, cheeses, desserts, and other foods. You are certain that they are not quite as rich as what typically ends up on a noble's table, but they are certainly not inferior to what is served on a good tavern's palette.

It is in the middle of the meal that a quiet hush begins to descend gradually amongst the tables of the Great Hall, and heads swivel and turn, gazes directed towards an aseri woman who appears behind the podium at the end of the hall where the instructors and lecturers and weaponmasters are seated. Though her hair grays and her skin wrinkles at the corners, this is no matronly woman, but a stern-looking taskmaster whose lips are devoid of smiles as she regards with a sharp gaze the silent attention that slowly settles upon the Great Hall's occupants.

"Good evening," the woman finally announces once the quiet consolidates itself in the chamber, "and welcome to Faulkren Academy. I am Cornelia Rastangard, your headmistress." She gives the apprentices gathered in the Great Hall a moment to let them register who she is before continuing, "That you are here means you know of the history, prestige, and exceptionalism of mercenaries here in our Confederacy, at least as it is passed down from story to story. What you may not know is how we are different." She pauses for effect, even as the apprentices quietly murmur at the prospect of a headmistress getting straight to the point without fancy speeches. "Your average Tenereian conscript is plucked out of her village and pressed into a march. She learns war by being beaten by her officers, learning how to say 'yes, ma'am' without question, learning in which direction she needs to hold a spear, and learning how not to run away. This lasts for as long as it takes for her to reach her battlefield. How long are they trained on average before being thrown into war? One month, with most of that time taken up by marching."

A few giggles break out across the hall, perhaps in contemptuous mockery of the sorry lot of the Confederacy's enemies.

"Your average Caldran regular fares better. She is the workhorse of the army, and broadly understands the duties she is responsible for beyond 'stand and point your spear that way'. She fights in formation, and is drilled in it by their sergeants in groups of dozens at every opportunity until she is 'ready'. Average time of training: Two to three months.

"Sergeants need to command the regulars beneath her, and report to and advise her officers. She needs to be the toughest bitch on the scene, able to outfight those she commands, able to train those under her charge. Some are promoted from those proven in the rank and file, others are groomed for the role. Including the training she receives as a regular? Average time of training: Five to six months, not accounting for what could easily be years of actual war experience.

"Specialists take all this and apply it to specific combat roles in the army that separate them from the rank and file. This includes cavalry, sharpshooters, mages, so on and so forth. Many of them are officers, or have powers not unlike those of a sergeant. They are some of the most elite forces the civilizations of Iuryis have in their armies. Average time of training: A year or more.

"Compared to them, you will be here for three years." An excited murmur flutters through the Great Hall, but the headmistress continues unabated. "You will be trained as nobles are trained: From a young age, in small groups under the watchful eyes of instructors and weaponmasters, taught how to fight and lead, how to utilize weapons and soldiers and tactics at your disposal in great detail and with much care. When it is your time to step onto the battlefield, you will not be a disposable conscript or a cog in the machine, but an instrument of war, trained and ready with the expectations of what is to come, warriors who will give even Tenereian paladins and Ornthalian cavaliers pause. And you will become the best of the Caldran people, heirs to our traditions and culture and way of life, especially at a time when they are threatened by a neighboring tyrant."

Once more, the headmistresses pauses, and she waits for the whispers to die down this time. When quiet descends upon the hall again, she concludes, "I will expect great things out of you over the next three years, and then the years to come."

That is as far as formality goes. Headmistress Rastangard leaves the podium, leaving you free to enjoy the rest of your meal and discuss what the previous speech means with those at your table. It is thus with a heavy stomach and energy expended that you eventually return with Stephanie to your shared room hours later, as the day ends and candles are blown out to accommodate the darkness. You are tired and full enough that you don't take long at all to fall asleep once your head hits the pillow.

Your school year starts when you wake.

You were perhaps not entirely sure what to expect out of an academy for Caldran mercenaries. You have heard stories of the closest analogies, tales of soldiers reporting to the Caldran armies and consequently drilled to within an inch of their lives. There was the worry that you will be roused from your sleep by a horn blasting through the West Wing, followed immediately afterwards by screaming instructors bursting into your rooms and screeching insults about your ancestors into your ears and pouring buckets of water into your faces until you assembled in the courtyard outside.

But when morning comes, nothing of the sort happens. A horn does sound, but it is distant - as if blown from one of the fortress' turrets as opposed to outside your door - and it actually plays a fairly upbeat tune. No one bursts into your room, and you are left to wake and rise on your own devices. There is no cacophony or the chaos that involves dozens of confused apprentices running up and down the corridors. Academy staff advise you to wear clothes suited for morning calisthenics, and that spare clothes will be provided if you have no such articles.

"Morning calisthenics" is also surprisingly mild, a calm affair that largely consists of stretches and a somewhat lengthy but otherwise semi-leisurely jog around the fortress walls. Everyone is expected to show up on time, complete with a roll call, but there is once again no screaming or swearing for anyone to fall in line. The pace of the jog isn't particularly difficult, and although some of the apprentices do end up panting at the end, it doesn't seem like anyone's really being pushed to the limit. The only anomaly to this is that several students who consider the pace to be too slow are allowed to jog ahead of their peers and finish early, where they are given leave to attend to their morning affairs before all others. Perhaps unsurprisingly, you see Sieglinde among them.

Morning affairs largely consists of washing up, changing into more presentable clothes, and eating a carefully prepared breakfast of specific foods before several hours of "classes". Those who are inclined to also make use of the Academy's chapel, adorned with an obelisk at the altar, a symbol of non-denominational worship. Although certain quarters of Caldran society favor one religion over another, the Confederacy as a whole has no official religion and remains institutionally tolerant of different faiths. Shrines with obelisks, a symbol associated with no mainstream faith in Caldrein, have thus been erected by different interests to accommodate the spiritual needs of worshipers without offending anyone. It is to no one's surprise, then, that a very significant percentage of the apprentice population starts their day with a prayer to their deities. The major faiths in Caldrein include Primordiality, the Confederacy's largest religion which worships the metaphorical well of symbiotic, all-encompassing arcane energy that is the Sacred Spring, a faith shared with Ornthalia; Conceptualism, which believes that nameless deities rule over the domains of concepts and ideas rather than tangible lands or objects, a belief descended from the shared folklore of Caldrein and Tenereia; Indigenism, which believes that geographic locales are the domain of small, local deities, whether they be fae or spirits or otherwise; and Gaianism, the traditional umbrella faith of the dryads that believe that the world itself is a divine, trans-sapient, self-designing deity maintaining the order and course of the natural world.

Afterwards, it's hours of classes. You are, in fact, surprised at how mild everything seems thus far, even though the lecturers make clear that the knowledge they are imparting is of vital importance, and you will be tested on it. Throughout the next three years, you will be studying the history of warfare in general and of the Caldran mercenaries in particular, the strategies and tactics of famous wars and battles, treatises on war theory and fieldcraft, standard strategies and tactics of both Tenereia and Ornthalia today, and other subjects that you would have thought remained in the domain of officers and generals. If nothing else, it does reinforce the impression that - in the words of Headmistress Rastangard - "you won't be a disposable conscript or a cog in the machine".

Following classes all through the morning is a two-hour lunch break, which again consists of a carefully-tailored meal in accordance to nutritional needs. It's after this that your curriculum finally begins to fall a bit closer in line to what most people probably expected.

In the two hours after you've had time to eat and digest, the apprentices of Faulkren Academy are subjected to calisthenics and a workout regimen that is completely different from the "light" set that was performed earlier in the morning as a "warm-up". After going through a series of stretches, you are divided into large groups under a cadre of instructors who then begin the process of training apprentices in assembling in formation, marching in formation, making combat maneuvers in formation. It is a process of listening of orders, being aware of the apprentices next to you, being aware of the terrain you are navigating. Your instructors make it clear that Caldran mercenaries are not meant to be mindless, witless soldiers capable of only following orders blindly with "bullshit brain-dead discipline" characteristic of the regular army, but that you are expected to react competently, professionally, calmly, and in the interest of the group.

After a few hours of such drills - and with the promise that there will be months more of this as you learn increasingly complex formations and maneuvers - you are then divided into smaller groups and made to do sets of calisthenics in small groups. These are also interlaced with a few jogs and sprints, as well as a "light" obstacle course. Apprentices are quietly shuffled around between groups, and it doesn't take long for you to realize that they're dividing everyone by individual physical capabilities. Some are simply more physically fit than others, a consideration that is compounded by the race of every apprentice. You're not at the top of the pecking order where physical capabilities are concerned, but you are at least relieved that you're far from the worst, if only by the virtue of your dryad strength.

Of course, this doesn't actually stop the instructors and trainers from pushing you hard, although there seems to be a detailed methodology to their madness. They make you go through most sets of exercises slowly, and short breaks are both frequent and well-timed; every time you feel like you're starting to get a little fazed, the instructors tell you to stop and take a short breather before making you go at it again. If you have to guess, rather than push all of you to your limits as quickly as possible, the instructors are going through a regimen focused on building endurance, making sure all of you exert yourselves for as long as possible by reducing the intensity of sets, for hours on end, with only short pauses in between. Your muscles are burning and you're sweating buckets, not helped by pitchers of water that are never far away. These exercises eventually finish an hour before dinner so everyone has a chance to wash up and regain their appetite, but attendance is somewhat incomplete; many of the apprentices have chosen to collapse in their bed on their first day.

At the very least, it becomes clear why studying and academics are scheduled for mornings: Most people would never have the energy to stay awake and attentive in these classes otherwise.

Certainly, you feel sore after all that exercise and training on your first day, but curiously, despite the amount of physical strain that you have gone through, the fact that muscle exhaustion has been carefully managed certainly helps reduce how awful your muscles feel the next day, which is further aided when the second day's worth of calisthenics focuses on a different set of muscles, and then a different set the day after that. Otherwise, though, the daily schedule for the first week - and then the week after that, and then the weeks after that - is similar: Academics and studying in the morning, formations and physical training in the afternoon. And in all this time, you haven't even touched a weapon.

Academic projects and group exercises become the default in your curriculum, and you soon learn that you have been split into squads in accordance to your dorm arrangements, and that these squads will dictate the circumstances of your training over the next three years. This means that Stephanie, being your roommate, will be working closely with you through your entire stay at Faulkren. Fortunately, she actually seems to be fit and competent, even if her temperament is sometimes a touch dour; she's not unkind or even unnecessarily unfriendly, but it does seem that the awkwardness that dictated the tone of your introductions was not a coincidence.

But you are part of a four-person outfit, meaning your squad consists of the two others who live right next door. They include...

[x] ...Emilie...
[x] ...Nikki...
[x] ...Sieglinde Corrina Ravenhill...
[x] ...Vesna Rainer...

...and...

[x] ...someone from the group with Aphelia Meredith Treiser and Lucille Lorraine Celestia.
[x] ...Azalea Cherilyn Charmaine or Wilhelmina Adelaide Marienberg.
[x] ...someone from the group of two humans on your first day at Faulkren Academy.
[x] ...the elven girl napping in the Great Hall on your first day at Faulkren Academy.

First off, sorry if what I'm writing here isn't exactly an accurate portrayal of military training or even physical training. I'm trying to not let it be completely anti-reality, but I've also stated that I'm going to be taking cues from anime, so consider this a setting of tone, for the lack of a better term. ^_^;

To clarify, for the two vacancies in your squad not occupied by you and Stephanie, you get to choose one person the pool of people you've talked to previously, and a random member of one of the other groups that you haven't talked to when you entered the Great Hall (they are ordered in the same sequence as the previous two updates, in case you've lost track). This, of course, means that if you vote for the group consisting of the single elf nodding off on the first day, then that's who you're getting. Otherwise, there will be dice rolls (or my whim).

I realize that there is the possibly the temptation to pick Sieglinde as one of the members of your squad. But while I am hardly discouraging you from it, I also want to point out that this is a narrative-based quest, your graduation is guaranteed (due to this quest starting in medias res), and the makeup of your squad is going to be more important for the experiences that help form Neianne's personal traits than anything else. For example, hypothetically (which means this may not actually end up being the case, I'm just donning the veil of ignorance here), while choosing Sieglinde may lead to an onee-sama figure who is an example to strive for and who may even help you with your apprenticeship here, her alleged prodigy status may lead you to feel like you're constantly under her shadow, and may also result in resentment from fellow squad members who may feel less charitable about the same sentiment. And then maybe there is racial baggage to consider. There is no guarantee, of course, that this is how it'll play out, nor is this the "wrong" choice to make; again, they simply help inform the experiences that Neianne will go through over the next three years. ^_^;

Kei · Aug 22, 2016

[x] Write-in: ...to change yourself. If you did not leave your home and strike out like this, you would remain forever the shy dryad, ignorant of the wider world.
[x] ...Sieglinde Corrina Ravenhill...
[x] ...the elven girl napping in the Great Hall on your first day at Faulkren Academy.

Cliques begin to form within the apprentice body. Many of them are unsurprisingly centered around the most privileged in no small part due to their social standing and relative wealth. Aside from the obvious "benefits" that are perceived to come from having a friendship with some of the Confederacy's most powerful, there's also the fact that they tend to be the most capable of the apprentices at Faulkren; many of them have had private tutors and personal trainers throughout their respective childhoods, and most already know basic tactical doctrines and are at least somewhat proficient in at least one weapon of their choice, something that becomes apparent as the young aristocrats practice their martial skills on their own time despite such classes not having started yet at the Academy. One obvious example is someone from your own squad, with Sieglinde not only already learned in the theories of warfare, but also deadly proficient in the use of a spear. Similarly, word is already spreading that Aphelia has a similar level of competence in both her scope of knowledge and her ability to wield a rapier while also spinning a dose of magecraft.

Most who are heavily involved in the social scene at Faulkren Academy gravitate towards the social circle surrounding Aphelia and Lucille, even though the latter herself seems to be more a follower than a leader. The few other ladies here are also subject to varying degrees of attention, all of which they handle in different ways. Some bask in the attention, others try to play it off. Sieglinde herself seems indifferent to what popularity she has, and most of her fans are eventually limited to those who are fine with admiring her from a distance.

Even if it is representative of the social advantages she has enjoyed since birth, you respect how far ahead Sieglinde already is as someone who has been groomed since youth to be a competent leader. Alas, it certainly doesn't help your sense of confidence. You decided to embark on the path of a Caldran mercenary for what may be considered a selfish reason: You want to change. More specifically, you are unhappy with how you're the shy little dryad. All those grand goals that people have for becoming a freeholder - wanting to be of use like Vesna, wanting to embark on an adventure like Emilie, wanting to earn your own livelihood like Nikki, wanting to help your country like Sieglinde - are probably nothing more than lofty dreams if you yourself are a sheltered little girl, uncertain and unconfident, ignorant of the wider world around you. Ascending the ranks of the Caldran mercenaries is, for you, both a means and an end; it is a potential confidence-booster and character-builder through which you can find the insight and the personal fortitude to pursue true goals of your own.

This is proving to be a difficult prospect already, given the makeup of your squad, which has been designated Squad Four. Sieglinde goes without mention. Your very own roommate, Stephanie, is also more physically fit and already knows her way around with a katana; she reluctantly but quickly admits that she doesn't hold a candle next to shining stars such as Sieglinde and Aphelia, but that's still much better than where you are at present. Both are outperforming you where calisthenics are concerned, and while you find solace in the fact that you and Stephanie are on the same page academics-wise, it doesn't exactly help your sense of confidence.

The only real source of comfort you have is Elizabeth Irivich Zabanya, Sieglinde's roommate and the fourth member of your squad. Your impression of the tiny, elven girl with fair blond hair and doll-like features is that she seems to sleepwalk through life. Well, no, that's an exaggeration; she mostly only sleepwalks through the morning, and typically gets better - at least a bit - at lunch. Really, though, she does seem to resemble a slightly grumpy and pouty kitten that perpetually never gets enough sleep. You try to talk to her at times, but although she never entirely brushes you off, she mostly seems a little disinterested and maybe a little bit sullen. You try not to hold this against Elizabeth, and take solace in the fact that it seems like you're not the weakest link in the squad.

There are, however, warning signs. There's the fact that her name indicates that she is highborn. There's the fact that trainers and instructors only seem mildly exasperated when she doesn't show up for classes or training, something that you initially assume to simply be one of the privileges of being born an aristocrat. And there's the fact that when you try to make small talk with Sieglinde and ask about how she's getting along with her roommate, Sieglinde sees fit to calmly but cryptically warn, "Do be careful around Zabanya."

As it turns out, Elizabeth's temperament has led you into a false sense of security.

It's during lunchtime on the third week that Penelope - a human apprentice from another squad, scruffy in the way girls from laborer families tend to look - passes by Elizabeth in the Great Hall and "accidentally" spills a bowl of soup down the latter's dress. It's "accidental" - complete with quotes - in part because Penelope is smirking as she feigns a sarcastic apology, even as her friends giggle. It's only later in the day that you begin to hear explanations and rationalizations of why Penelope apparently took offense with Elizabeth; some say that she was unimpressed with the girl who slept through the lectures and training that they've struggled to get through; some say that the offending apprentice was slighted by Elizabeth's rejection of an invitation of friendship; some say that Penelope has a chip on her shoulder against the highborn or perhaps just elves in general, and Elizabeth seemed like the easiest target.

You are already seated at your table when you see this happen to Elizabeth, and you are still nervously debating whether or not to go over there and comfort - if not stand up for - a fellow squadmate. However, the only warning sign you notice is from Sieglinde, who - rather than reacting with anger or disgust or even indifference at the sight - seems a touch alarmed.

"Sorry, are you?" asks Elizabeth, and there's a smile on her face, but the smile is cold and cruel and terrifying, out of place on a small girl with features as angelic as hers. Her voice drops to a whisper, but you're still close enough to hear the elven mage whisper to Penelope, "If you're begging for forgiveness, shouldn't you be doing so on your knees, like a mongrel?"

Penelope and her friends exchange astonished laughs, as if offended by Elizabeth's words but also humored by the thought of the small elven girl managing vengeance in any way. "Don't get ahead of yourself, runt," snorts Penelope, giving the small elven girl a rough shove in her shoulder. She easily has more than a head over Elizabeth, and the push is forceful enough that the latter actually falls backwards onto her backside, prompting a few laughs from onlookers. Stephanie, however, finally emerges from the crowd, looking displeased at the scene and seemingly ready to come to Elizabeth's aid, but the elf casually rises back to her feet and reaches out to grab Stephanie's arm, stopping her.

Stephanie shoots Elizabeth a bewildered look, even as Penelope and her friends laugh and march off in celebration of their mischief. "Why did you stop me?" demands Stephanie, angrily shaking Elizabeth's hand off her arm.

But rather than look apologetic or offended, Elizabeth merely smiles sweetly at Stephanie, and for no reason you're sure you can explain, there's just something about it that sends chills down your spine. "If you're going to do something dumb," chimes the elf happily, "then make sure you aren't caught doing it by the people who matter."

This answer, unsurprisingly, doesn't satisfy Stephanie, but she lets it drop. And the incident may even have been forgotten as the day otherwise progresses uneventfully. But it's well into the evening, just before dinner, that the true meaning of Elizabeth's words becomes known.

You and Stephanie return to your rooms in preparation for your evening meal, running a little late as you are doing so; already, most of the students have vacated the dormitories for the Great Hall, and after two weeks of acclimating to the new training regime, few of the Academy's apprentices now collapse exhausted into their beds just before mealtime. Nothing seems entirely out of place, except on your way out of the West Wing, you find one of doors to the dorm rooms left slightly ajar. Specifically, the dormitory belonging to Penelope. Even more strangely, you hear a strange mixture of muffled sounds: The crackling of electricity, the moaning of pained suffering, the sobbing of desperate begging. And stranger still: A chill wind was flowing out from the dorm room.

The sight that greets you as the two of you open the door is chilling: Blades of ice protruding from the floor and walls and ceiling of the room where they have frozen over, threatening to impale those who come near; Penelope, a sobbing wreck curled up on the ground, whimpering near-incoherent apologies; her friends, sprawled across the floor as they writhe and twitch. And Elizabeth, standing in the middle of the dorm room, magecraft tome in hand against her chest, icy mists and sparks of electricity swirling around her a naked threat, a naked show of arcane power, a foot placed on the back of Penelope's head.

It's only after seconds of you and Stephanie gaping in stunned silence that Elizabeth finally notices - or at least deigns to notice - both of you. The smile she offers both of you - even as she playfully places a finger on her lips as if to suggest that this is a secret between the three of you - is as sweet as ever.

Elizabeth is never directly implicated in what happened in Penelope's dorm room: In spite of their pathetic, defeated states, there are no wounds or marks on any of the girls, and no any other evidence of harm aside from psychological trauma. Elizabeth closed the door on them, their absence from dinner goes almost completely unnoticed, and they remain unnoticed until hours later, when someone decides to look for them in their rooms. Any trace of magecraft had long dissipated by then.

After a short stay in the infirmary, the four girls are released, traumatized but refusing to name their attacker or even to acknowledge that they were, in fact, attacked. Elizabeth is among the apprentices who are eventually brought in by instructors for questioning, but there is no proof that points conclusively to anyone, and the matter is eventually dropped. You hear someone mentioning that as the daughter of Viscountess Zabanya of Marloch - the heiress, even - it's unlikely than any reprimand directed towards Elizabeth for a "teenage prank" would be overly severe in any case.

But the conclusion that comes out of all the rumor-mongering that follows is clear: Elizabeth Irivich Zabanya is not to be slighted. Like Sieglinde and Aphelia, Elizabeth is yet another prodigy this year at Faulkren Academy, said to be a natural with magecraft ever since her tutors began to teach her the art of miracles.

It's also how you realize for a certainty that, yes, you are the weakest link in Squad Four.

There's something awkward about finding yourself on the same squad as Elizabeth and Sieglinde. It's not just limited to the fact that you have two faraway examples right next door who feel like unreachable goals, "role models" - for the lack of a better term, even if Sieglinde will probably refuse to embrace that term and Elizabeth is perhaps not exactly someone to emulate - whom you feel like you'll never be able to catch up to. This concern, at least, is addressed in passing by your instructors when they assure apprentices from less privileged backgrounds that everyone is being taught at their own pace and in accordance to their own abilities. "Very few people fail to become Caldran mercenaries once we've had three years with them," one instructor promises. "And we don't lower our standards or hand out pity points."

No, what's also awkward is that if squads are also considered a form of social circle amongst apprentices, then you - and, to a degree, Stephanie as well - are vastly overshadowed by the two proverbial giants - especially proverbial in the case of tiny Elizabeth - on your squad. It doesn't matter that your interactions with Stephanie are only beginning to warm into something less awkward, or that Sieglinde still seems ever-distant in spite of her willingness to respectfully engage with you, or that Elizabeth still regards you as little more than a squadmate she'll have to work with for three years. The very fact that the four of you are in a squad means that you're perceived by others to be in "that group", and that - compounded with your very own shyness - sometimes makes you feel like your existence has been forgotten, a molehill unnoticed at the foot of two mountains.

This is made even more awkward as Elizabeth and Sieglinde continue to attract attention, with Elizabeth's reputation being upgraded from "sleepy elf girl" to "terrifyingly powerful mage for her age". This means that you, as her squadmate, are on the receiving end of a lot of hushed questions about Elizabeth from other apprentices who suddenly seem interested in how she is and what she's said and what she likes. Stephanie also gets some of these questions, but you are the primary recipient of these questions. It's all a little overwhelming, and you aren't at all displeased when Stephanie impatiently cuts through a crowd of curious girls surrounding you and drags you away by the wrist, giving a cold glare at your interrogators as the two of you leave.

"You're allowed to tell them to sod off, you know," she sighs in exasperation, not at all bothering to wait until the others are out of earshot before lecturing you.

You try to feebly start, "Th-They're just curious..."

"They're just using you to get to someone they want to suck up to," cuts Stephanie right in. "Especially with Elizabeth. It's obvious they just want to leech off her power as opposed to anything else." She makes a sound that resembles some halfway point between a sigh and a groan, declaring, "I do not want to be next door when those two get into a fight."

After spending several days recovering, Penelope and her squad finally return to classes. You've heard that most of the "damage" done was psychological rather than physical, and it shows when they finally reappear after days from the infirmary. Despite trying to coolly play it off when they walk into the classroom, they are notably more quiet and demure than before. Penelope in particular only ever gives one quietly hateful but terrified glance in Elizabeth's direction before looking away just as quickly and never turning back again.

Elizabeth, for her part, doesn't even look like she notices anything at all; if anything, the mage seated behind you and next to Sieglinde looks like she's dozing off again. The elf is clearly not a morning person.

Watching Penelope's squad send dark looks in your direction before the instructor comes in to teach her next lesson, Stephanie - seated beside you - sighs and mutters under her breath, "What are the odds that they'll retaliate against the two of us instead?"

"A-Against the two of us?" you whisper back in shock, daring to send a furtive glance backwards to make sure Elizabeth isn't listening in. You don't think either of you are being loud enough for her to hear, at least.

"Well, we are part of Squad Four," Stephanie grimaces. "And we are easier targets."

"I-I don't think..." you start, but you're very quickly interrupted.

"Then stop being easier targets," Elizabeth suddenly chimes right into your conversation, startling both you and Stephanie as your heads swivel back; the elf looks entirely amused and pleased with your reactions.

Stephanie manages to gather her wits first, scrounging up her bravery as she neutrally but firmly fires back, "I was thinking you could maybe not hurt people for the tiniest provocation."

"I've heard them talking about me for a long time," Elizabeth shrugs nonchalantly. "Just words, nothing of interest or of consequence beyond mewling kittens. But it did confirm that this was deliberate and premeditated. So when they acted on it, I retaliated accordingly."

"By electrocuting Penelope so hard that she couldn't stand straight for days?" scowls Stephanie, but quietly. It's not just her being careful not to offend Elizabeth; the instructor is beginning her class on the history of warfare.

"If harm must be inflicted," sniffs the elven mage, "then let it be so severe that future retaliation is impossible or unthinkable."

"That," adds Sieglinde quietly and impassively, not even bothering to even send a sidelong glance at her roommate seated besides, "and you enjoyed it."

"Yes, that too," smiles Elizabeth, utterly devoid of guilt or shame; if anything, the casually pleasant way she says this seems no different from her casually noting that she also likes chocolate. "If she has a problem with it, she can get stronger." And then, to you and Stephanie: "And if you are afraid of them seeking the two of you out instead, then you can get stronger."

Sieglinde exhales; had it come from someone else with less control over her temperament and demeanor, it may well have been a sigh. "Truly spoken like the daughter of a viscountess who could afford to get her daughter the best instructors in magecraft," she observes. "How righteous it is to have those born common tremble before you."

"I did nothing that was without provocation," smirks Elizabeth, "which is certainly more righteous than anything the world has to offer. And I'm sure the Tenereians shall care so much about whether you're highborn or low - and whether or not you're strong - when they're trying to kill you with their spears."

"Yes, indeed. Why wait for the Tenereians to show you the injustices of life when you can see it here?"

But Elizabeth, unbothered at the verbal jab, merely takes Sieglinde's words for her own as she happily declares, "Truer words have never been spoken. If you're going to come to an educational institute, you may as well learn something important."

The good news is that in spite of a heightened sense of self-preservation and nervousness around Elizabeth, the mage doesn't actually seem to mean you any ill or harm. There's an almost casual dismissal of your presence on her part. Nothing so flippantly rude as outright ignoring you, but it's clear that you are not yet someone whom she considers worthy of her sustained interest. Nor are there any signs that Elizabeth or Sieglinde are anywhere close to fighting; relations between them are devoid of any semblance of friendliness, but there is an almost unspoken degree of respect for each other's capabilities, even if such is not extended to their respective temperaments. You even catch them exchanging witty banter from time-to-time, although they seem to be laced with casual barbs rather than coated with camaraderie.

Better news is when you catch a lucky break. As the weeks progress, and as a strict regimen of calisthenics brings everyone up to an acceptable level of physical fitness, the physical component of your education begins to delve into the basics of survival training, encompassing little things like how to forage and find shelter in the local woods and hills. After only two weeks, however, after it's ascertained that you at least know the basics of tracking and map-reading, you and a few others - about ten of you altogether, all sharing one particular commonality - are pulled from this course even as most of the apprentices at the Academy are required to continue. You'll still have to come back for future group exercises, but you've otherwise been opted out of personal wilderness survival courses.

"Why do they get to skip out?" complains one of the elven girls when the news is announced, as the great host of apprentices begin shuffling towards the surrounding wilderness. Not that you blame her; survival training has thus far resulted in long, supervised stretches without easily available food, water, or shelter, and plenty of people have become tired and dirty as they are coached for days through the wilderness outside Faulkren.

The small smirk on the responding instructor's face tells you that she gets this kind of question a lot. "Tell me, apprentice," she demands. "Are you a dryad?"

"No..."

"Can you survive a week or more without food or water?"

"Well, no..."

"Can you continue to carry out your duties effectively with only sunlight for nourishment for days?"

"No, but..."

"Then get back in line and ready to march."

The ten-or-so dryads you're with quietly exchange smiles.

The courtyard of the Academy has already been set up for weapons training, with racks of practice weapons having been pulled out of storage. Dull blades, wooden arrows, and other fake tools of war have been brought forth to acquaint yourselves with your weapons of choice without accidentally taking someone's hand off. A few weaponmasters are already there waiting for you when you show up, and they waste no time getting down to business as soon as all of you are there.

"Through the three years you are here at Faulkren Academy," one of the weaponmasters declares, "you will learn to use at least two types of weapons, if not three or more. Some of you here have had your own personal combat instructors, and already know your way around your weapon of choice. To which I get to say: Lucky you. You will only need to learn how to use one more weapon to reach the bare minimum standard for graduation. I do hope you don't intend to graduate with just 'the bare minimum'."

This particular point is no doubt used to address Azalea Cherilyn Charmaine, the lone highborn dryad here among you who is rumored to be a talented mage, although the rumors don't seem to agree on whether she uses tomes for offense or staves for support. Although she doesn't have the kind of reputation that people like Elizabeth, Sieglinde, Aphelia, and Lucille have, she nonetheless is well-known and well-liked enough at the Academy, regarded as a kind and helpful member amongst the ranks of the nobility here at Faulkren. Still, you can't deny that Azalea - and every other apprentice of noble birth here at the Academy - has already begun this training with a significant advantage over everyone else; a traitorous part of your mind can't help but think back to Elizabeth's cavalier comments about the unfairness of the world and the need to become stronger. Still, Azalea is popular and friendly enough that there isn't much in the way of resentment or jealousy amongst those present; this may not have been the case with most other apprentices of noble birth.

"No two Caldran mercenaries are alike," continues the weaponmaster, "and what weapons you will end up mastering are your choice. However, you will need to consider what kind of role you expect to have on the battlefield, what weapons are useful for which situations, whether or not you expect to have a weapon ready for purposes of personal defense or close quarters combat. A poleaxe will let you crush foes on the battlefield, but good luck getting anywhere in tight urban environments. You won't find much use for daggers as armies crash into each other, but they're easy to hide and wield for quiet kills if you're sneaking around in infiltration missions. Bows are useful for picking off faraway enemies, but unless you have a secondary ready, you're in trouble once the enemy closes. So on, so forth.

"Once you choose your weapon, you will be under the supervision of a weaponmaster who specializes in that weapon. You will report to her, and you and any other apprentices who have chosen such a weapon - whenever they return from survival training - will be instructed and assessed through the year. Only after she is satisfied with your performance will you allowed to choose a second or even third weapon to master." The weaponmaster's eyes narrow. "You will not graduate from Faulkren Academy unless you are able to wield at least two weapons at a level of proficiency acceptable for an apprentice at the end of three years. If you do not, congratulations: Your three years here will have been for nothing."

There is a moment of quiet as the weaponmaster makes sure that her words are taken dead seriously. No one laughs, or thinks she's joking or just making idle threats. You're pretty sure that a few of the dryads here quietly gulp. You yourself feel a tight lump in your throat.

"Now, then," the weaponmaster gestures towards the weapon racks, "go ahead and choose the first weapon you're going to master."

[x] Straight Sword
[x] Katana
[x] Rapier
[x] Greatsword
[x] Spear
[x] Poleaxe
[x] Warhammer
[x] Dual Daggers
[x] Longbow
[x] Shortbow
[x] Crossbow
[x] Tome
[x] Staff

As each week goes by at Faulkren Academy, you become increasingly accustomed to the schedule and expectations that have been thrust upon you. You are becoming increasingly fit and knowledgeable, even as you are subjected to tests and examinations on both your mind and body. You also begin to grow closer to fellow youths gathered here at this institution who are also driven to become some of the best warriors ever produced by the Caldran people.

You've settled into the Academy well enough that you - and most of the apprentices here - grow comfortable enough to make use of your own weekend time. You're determined to make new friends here, perhaps even beyond the confines of your squad. You and Stephanie are getting increasingly accustomed to each other; it seems that the serious, unsmiling demeanor that she possesses is a permanent fixture, but she doesn't seem to mind that much about speaking her mind in front of you anymore. Sieglinde remains ever an enigma, someone whom you look up to as a role model, even as she keeps you at a respectful distance. And Elizabeth...well, she's certainly intimidating, especially after you witnessed the whole Penelope episode, but at least she hasn't turned that serene wrath on you, you suppose? The four of you will find some way to foster a semblance of camaraderie simply by virtue of having to work together for three years, but there's no reason why you can't help speed this along.

Unsurprisingly, Emilie, Nikki, and Vesna have not been put into the same squad; that's just the inevitability of probability. You've shared some courses and training sessions, and greeted each other in the halls and during mealtimes, but you haven't really had the opportunity to spend a good deal of time with any of them. The weekends give you a chance to change all this.

There are also the other apprentices whom you've come to know by name but haven't really had any meaningful engagement with. There is, of course, Azalea, the dryad highborn with whom you've skipped out of survival training with. As far as you know, everyone seems to regard her as an elegantly poised lady of gentle kindness, albeit sometimes with a hint of teasing. You haven't seen anything that runs contrary to this impression, and you suppose the fact that both of you are among the ten-or-so dryads here at Faulkren Academy at least gives you an excuse to approach her in a not-so-blatantly awkward manner.

Azalea seems to be "closest" to Wilhelmina Adelaide Marienberg, an elven highborn who is rumored to be an excellent shot with a longbow. Contrary to Azalea's warm demeanor, Wilhelmina gives off a more serious impression, as if her duties and obligations as a viscount's daughter are a constant weight on her mind. Nothing suggests that Wilhelmina herself is unkind, but despite her calm demeanor and excellent capabilities, there seems to be a sort of awkwardness in terms of how she has situated herself socially amongst so many apprentices of varying socioeconomic backgrounds.

And then there is Aphelia Meredith Treiser, the closest thing that Faulkren Academy has to a celebrity. Despite a seemingly cool aloofness that many other girls find attractive, her reputation is that of a perfectionist role model; if Sieglinde seems reluctant - if not outright resistant - towards being an example for anyone, then Aphelia has taken the adage of "lead by example" to heart. Her status seems to compel her to keep most other apprentices at a respectful distance, but that seems to be more of a matter of social protocol rather than something that resembles Sieglinde's preference to keep to herself.

By contrast, Lucille Lorraine Celestia - most often found by Aphelia's side - seems to be much more openly friendly compared to the other ladies at Faulkren Academy. Whereas Azalea is kind but reserved, Lucille seems to have eschewed the existence of socioeconomic status altogether, happily mingling with just about anyone and everyone who joins the social circle surrounding Aphelia and herself. Curiously, despite rumors that she has been trained in the use of the shortbow, there are no passionate stories about Lucille's prowess with the weapon, or with anything else. In fact, what draws much more curiosity are the rumors that Lucille - unlike the many other ladies who seem unfairly talented - has thus far struggled with most of the training thrown her way.

And then there are the many dozens of other apprentices whom you haven't met yet. Faulkren isn't a major city, but the locale isn't tiny either; the town has a respectable population and some sights of note. The woods you sometimes train in are a popular scenic spot, a river runs through the landscape half a kilometer away along which many take a stroll, and the bathwater used in the Academy's shared bathrooms are apparently drawn from a local hot spring. Surely you'll run into someone, no matter what you do here in Faulkren.

Specific Individual
[x] Aphelia Meredith Treiser
[x] Azalea Cherilyn Charmaine
[x] Elizabeth Irivich Zabanya
[x] Emilie
[x] Lucille Lorraine Celestia
[x] Nikki
[x] Sieglinde Corrina Ravenhill
[x] Stephanie
[x] Vesna Rainer
[x] Wilhelmina Adelaide Marienberg

Random Activity
[x] Take a walk around the town of Faulkren.
[x] Take a walk in the woods.
[x] Take a stroll along the river.
[x] Take a bath in the hot springs.
Choose any two from any category.

Choices of weapons are honestly not a big deal, and is more about flavor text. Naturally, there are some obvious concerns to take into consideration when choosing your weapons; you're not going to snipe people with a sword, after all. Otherwise, though, seeing how I'm not running detailed combat mechanics in this quest, just sort of consider the weapon vote to be something more along the lines of "how does Neianne fight". ^_^;

Also, this should probably go without saying, but choosing two people to hang out with over the weekends means that you're meeting them separately, not together. So. ^_^;

Lastly, this should also go without saying, but for those of you eager to vote for "hot springs" out of principle, remember that these are mostly teenagers I'm writing thus far, so there will be no inappropriate sexytimes. ^_^;

Kei · Sep 27, 2016

I hate writer's blocks. I really do. Like, shoot-myself-in-the-head hate. Good thing that, for all the sniping I do in shooters, I don't actually like guns IRL.

Sorry for the inexcusable delay in update, brought to you by self-loathing.

[x] Greatsword

Of the dozen-or-so dryads, there is a near-even split amongst the apprentices present who choose either some form of heavy melee weapon or magecraft; you yourself fall into the ranks of the former, with another dryad apprentice also deciding to choose the greatsword. Only one dryad chooses a weapon requiring more finesse, opting instead to take up archery.

Being herded into groups based on weapons, you soon find yourself and the other dryad apprentice who chose greatswords being called over by an aseri instructor: "Greatswords over here." As soon as the two of you stand at attention before the instructor, she drops her voice to a more conversational volume, holding up her own very real greatsword and explaining, "Alright, so you've chosen one of the more versatile weapons that are available to you here." She makes motions every now and then to emphasize components of her explanation, pointing to her weapon's parts at times and making controlled swings at others. "Like all swords, it's basically a long blade, so you have a lot of offensive options right off. It doesn't quite have the reach of a poleaxe or a spear, but it's close enough, and where only the end of a poleaxe or a spear inflicts lethal wounds, you have the entire length of your greatsword. It's heavy, but congratulations: You're dryads. This will be like a broadsword to you, except where broadswords are found in more urban situations, greatswords will be of great use on a chaotic field of battle as well. A greatsword is a good weapon against cavalry, something you'll be expected to work on before I allow you to move onto your next weapon."

The instructor goes through a few more minutes of the basics of the greatsword, how to maintain one, and what she expects out of the two of you before the year is out. All in all, you're pleased with your choice; a greatsword seems to play to your strengths, and while it doesn't necessarily excel at any one area relatively to other weapons of its length, weight, or dimensions, it can accomplish a large variety of tasks and fulfill a great deal of roles that would otherwise be impossible for other weapons.

Soon, the instructor is beginning to guide you all through practical exercises. "You can find your own preferred styles further down the year, but for now, we will begin by introducing you to the most basic stance and swing," she declares, and the two of you listen intently to her instructions even as she demonstrates the proper stance and movements. "Feet held perpendicular to each other and spaced somewhat apart, you hold the sword at rest with your dominant hand highest, and your other hand by the bottom of the grip, wherever you find most comfortable. Now to strike, simply push your dominant hand forwards in a straight line, almost as though punching someone. The sword will sweep down and stop roughly where you might imagine the head of your opponent might be." She relaxes her stance, gesturing with her sword once more. "One of the great strengths of the greatsword is its weight, which will become your strength. Until you're ready for it, you will rely on an up-down form of attack. Predictable? Yes. But I'd like to see prediction stop four kilograms of steel coming down." She strikes the basic stance again as an example and commands, "Alright, swords up in my position."

The other dryad raises her sword with little difficulty. You do the same, feeling the weight of the blade without too much of a struggle. But your fellow apprentice is of an average height, whereas you're vertically-challenged, and so you almost have to catch your balance as you lift a sword that is almost as tall as you are into the air. The sight is apparently amusing enough that a round of giggling goes about the dryads, including from those who have chosen other weapons and just happen to see you raise your greatsword.

But despite a furious blush that rises up onto your face, your instructor looks on with a mixture of amusement and approval. "A tiny dryad with a huge sword," she observes, nodding. "I'd hate to be whoever has to fight you by the time I'm done training you."

[x] Sieglinde Corrina Ravenhill

Your impression of Sieglinde doesn't lend easily towards the idea that she's easily tracked down, but the elven spearswoman in question isn't hard to find on this particular weekend. Not necessarily because she's tall or that she has long dark hair against pale skin - although those help - but because the sound of wood clashing against wood attracts attention.

This weekend sees many of the apprentices taking it easy in their rooms or going into town, so the small gaggle of people gathered in the training field doesn't actually consist of many more than half a dozen people, faces you recognize vaguely as being part of Aphelia's social orbit. Looking in the direction of the focal point of their collective attention leads you to the elf in question; Aphelia is already on the field, making quick, dance-like steps across the dirt as one hand skillfully wields a slender training rapier at blinding speeds, while her other hand glows with magecraft. And you are hardly surprised by the identity of her opponent.

You've seen Sieglinde train on one or two other occasions, and you've heard all about how she's supposed to be ridiculously talented with a spear, but this is the first time you've seen her fight, and it only serves to underscore the gulf between the two of you where your abilities are concerned. Watching her and Aphelia duel is an experience you've never witnessed before, even as you stand riveted in silent awe, staring at the fast flurry of exchanges in between the two elves, fast-paced back-and-forths that defy both your capacity to understand what's going on and your ability to keep track of their movements. Even to your amateurish observations, Aphelia moves with grace and purpose, her sword strokes fast and her steps fluid, each motion with all the precision and deliberation of a dancer. Her blade constantly tests Sieglinde's guard and parries the latter's own incursions into her lines of defense, and she compensates for her rapier's lack of reach relative to Sieglinde's spear with bursts of magecraft that keep her rival elf at bay when things start getting too tight.

But where Aphelia resembles a precision dancer performing on a tightwire, Sieglinde comes across as a force of nature. Her movements do not lack speed or skill, but they come with a sort of ferocious momentum that's almost frightening to behold, guiding her spear in a veritable whirlwind of powerful jabs, strikes, and swings from every direction that chain together into an incomprehensible flurry. Her polearm is a blur, and you have no idea how Aphelia even manages to hold her own against Sieglinde as she swings, slides, and lunges from one salvo of attacks to another, sidestepping Aphelia's magecraft and countering with the superior length of her spear.

It is sobering and terrifying to remember that Sieglinde and Aphelia are no more than one or two years older than you; even as their practice duel dies down, you can scarcely imagine yourself achieving anything close to this level of skill.

Quietly - certainly unintelligible given how far you are from the two - Sieglinde and Aphelia stop in their spar and begin talking with each other, quite possibly about tactics and techniques, even as one of onlooking girls rushes forth with a towel for Aphelia to wipe off any sweat she may have. The manner in which the two elven ladies talk seems cordial enough, although you cannot help but note that the manner in which they interact possesses only a sense of respect and courtesy. There is no impression that the two dislike each other, but even the barbs that Sieglinde trades with Elizabeth are charged with wry wit. Here, there's only a sense of formulaic politeness, however genuine it may be.

Aphelia turns to take the towel from one of her admirers, and in the process spots you over the shoulder of the latter. Noting that you are an unfamiliar face and looking like you're waiting for someone, she calls out to you, "Do you need us?"

You prepare to stammer out some sort of coherent response - you were admittedly mesmerized by the spectacle you witnessed just now - but Sieglinde speaks up first and explains to her fellow elf, "Neianne's in my squad."

"Ah," murmurs Aphelia thoughtfully, looking you over once more even as you curtsy awkwardly and she gives a dignified nod in return. She then swivels her head back towards Sieglinde, offers, "We'll wrap up here, then?"

Sieglinde nods her assent, and the two exchange silent farewells as Aphelia steps off the field, followed by her small group of friends and admirers. This leaves only you and Sieglinde, who seems little worse for the wear, showing no real signs of fatigue. Her hair, previously tied into a low ponytail, is set loose once more as she steps to the sidelines of the sparing field to pick up a goblet of water. "Did you come to train?" she asks you before taking a swig of water.

"A-Ah, no," you hurriedly shake your head, slightly horrified. This is not why you're seeking Sieglinde out, and considering that you're only beginning to learn how to use the greatsword, the prospect of even testing your mettle against Sieglinde is a preposterous - and mostly likely painful, physically and psychologically - proposition at best. "I-I was...just w-wondering if you wanted to grab a bite."

Sieglinde seems a little surprised at this proposal, and actually seems to think it over for a moment. "Well," she concedes after that moment is over, "I suppose I could use something in my stomach."

It doesn't take too long for Sieglinde to stow away her training weapon and change into something a bit more relaxing, and the two of you soon find yourselves in the sparsely-populated Great Hall. You're right in time for lunch, and although only a few other apprentices congregate here, food is still offered in generous servings, and Sieglinde helps herself to a hearty meal to make up for the energy she expended in the spar.

With both of you working your way through the food on your plates, your table is relatively silent. Sieglinde in particular doesn't seem to be in any hurry to talk, so you find yourself mentally stumbling all over yourself to try to find a way to start a conversation. "Y-You fight very well," you observe, feeling a little proud of yourself; it sounds like a natural ingress into a conversation, and an honest observation about someone else at that, even if it sounds a tad bit obvious.

"You'd fight just as well if you had as many years of training as I had," Sieglinde points out; she isn't done chewing yet, so she covers her mouth as she speaks so as to not be impolite in treating you with either rudeness or a front row seat to mushed food in her mouth.

"I-I wouldn't think so," you murmur self-consciously. And when Sieglinde raises an eyebrow at you, you quickly add, "T-They say you're a prodigy, so..."

Swallowing her bite of food, Sieglinde stoically asks, "Then why become a mercenary at all, if you've already given up?"

"I...I-I haven't given up," you quickly answer a little defensively. Although you less-than-quickly struggle to come up with a decent follow-up to that statement. "I just...d-don't think I'll ever be as good as you."

Shrugging, Sieglinde concedes, "I suppose it's arguable that some people are more naturally talented or inclined towards some things over others." She munches down another bite of her food before continuing, perhaps in quiet reassurance, "I won't insult you with false modesty, but training has a way of compensating for any weaknesses you have before 'talent' begins to matter. Motivation is what you require." She settles a cool gaze on you. "I believe I posed a similar question when we first met."

You do remember that question, yes. Well, no, it wasn't really a question insomuch as it was an open statement about the possible reasons that a freeholder may have for training to become a Caldran mercenary. You didn't tell Sieglinde your reasons at the time - it seemed to be a strange and intrusive thing to dump on a stranger - but you feel a bit more comfortable about it now that Sieglinde is actually your squadmate...and someone whose friendship you admittedly seek. "I...want to ch-change myself," you tell her, trying to put some force into your voice, but faltering as you continue, "I-I don't want to be like this forever. Q-Quiet, unsure, unimportant..."

As expressionless as ever, Sieglinde merely murmurs, "I see."

You do feel self-conscious about your answer. What does Sieglinde think of it, as someone who has likely enrolled in Faulkren Academy for more high-minded and noble reasons? "D-Do you...d-dislike my answer?" you venture timidly.

"For every five mercenaries, there will be six answers as to why they fight," Sieglinde says easily. "There is no 'right' answer. Aphelia is training to become a mercenary to save her home region of Elspar. I suppose Elizabeth is training because the magecraft she wields against her foes gives her some form of self-fulfillment. And you are training because there's something about the mercenary ideal that you wish to embody. All these answers are acceptable."

You suppose you feel a little relieved; your shoulders certainly seem to relax a little. Comfortable with refocusing attention back on Sieglinde instead of yourself, you ask, "Do you f-fight for your country?"

Again Sieglinde shrugs. "I was born into my responsibilities, but that's one way of putting it." She returns her attention to her meal, and it takes a few moments before she looks up at you and realizes that you don't quite understand what she means by that. Placing her fork and knife down on her plate, she elaborates, "I don't fight for Caldrein in the same way that Aphelia fights for Caldrein. For her, the enemy are at the gates, and she needs to defend it from invasion. She rushes to put out a fire. As for me, I seek to address deeper issues than that of the Huntress' War, ones that will still remain when the war finally ends." Her expression shifts ever so subtly, as if she has thought of something vaguely amusing. "I seek to put the country on a diet, so to speak."

"Oh," you intone thoughtfully. You do suppose that's easier to understand, if a little...unusual, somehow. "D-Do you mean...what you s-said last time? W-Working on diplomacy with Ornthalia?"

"That's one thing," she gives a small little exhale, "but foreign aid can only do so much." She finishes another bite of food before setting her fork and knife back down on her plate. "There is much to like about Caldrein. Its people value freedom and self-reliance, but are community-orientated nonetheless. Compared to our neighbors, the highborns of the land are not so high that they are beyond reproach or isolated from the commons. We embrace a culture that values the character of a person moreso than the riches she possesses, insomuch as such is possible. But we are also stubborn and proud, often unable to see our many faults. We cling onto traditional roles and old hierarchies, recognizing merit in some ways but ignoring them in others. We remain strongly distrustful of our neighbors beyond the borders, something that would be more tolerable if they were for the right reasons. We overvalue our ways and our culture, blind to the fact that we are stagnating in various ways." Picking up her utensils once more, she works on cutting a particularly stubborn piece of meat as she concludes, "The state of Caldrein is not defined only by the Huntress' War or by a hypothetical alliance with Ornthalia or even by our centuries-long animosity with Tenereia."

As much as that sounds like a laudable goal - at least from a layperson's perspective, as you doubt you have much more of a perspective than that - you certainly get the feeling that Sieglinde is probably alone in her sentiments. "I don't s-suppose that it's a..popular opinion? I-I mean...with other h-highborns."

"Maybe one day it shall," Sieglinde shrugs. "When governors, magistrates, and diplomats are celebrated in Caldrein as mercenaries are amongst our people. It's not as if the Confederacy has gone out of its way to construct academies for them."

"You're...here, though," you point out hesitantly. And then when Sieglinde raises an eyebrow at you in curiosity, you quickly stammer an elaboration, "T-That...d-doesn't sound like something you'd go to a mercenary academy to accomplish."

"No, I suppose not." Sieglinde gives a small but wry smirk; the lilt in her voice may even have been a tiny, nearly-unnoticed chuckle. "But, then again, you may have noticed that I'm not much good at anything beyond reading and killing people."

Sieglinde spoke against the possibility of false modesty on her part previously, so you wonder now whether or not - when she says that she's "not much good at anything" - she's using some kind of arcane and terrifying standard exclusive to elven nobles.

At least until Sieglinde gives a soft chuckle and admits, "That was a joke." You are about to feel a little relieved until she clarifies, "I haven't killed anyone." A pause. "Yet."

That really doesn't help matters.

Sighing slightly, the elf continues with a sudden sense of somber quiet, "Being a 'prodigy' is a strange burden. Aphelia and I have carried it as well as we could, whereas I suspect Elizabeth ignores it entirely. There are always expectations we have to meet, regardless of whether or not our skillsets are actually relevant in meeting those expectations. So, for the lack of other options, I simply play to my strengths. It is not within my means to command affection from others in the way Aphelia does. I must then strengthen the ways in which I may command respect. Becoming a Caldran mercenary is one way of doing so." And then, as you absorb her words, she adds, "On a related note, being able to smack the daylights out of everyone else in the room is another way of doing so."

You make a face that you think conveys sincere apprehension, hoping that it won't be interpreted as a pout instead. "You...won't a-actually do that," you murmur hesitantly. Then, cautiously, you add "...W-Will you?"

"I'm not in the business of making enemies," snorts Sieglinde. "Like it or not, I will have to live with my enemies and rivals. And a scenario where I have to kill them openly means matters have taken a very dire turn."

That sounds reasonable, save for a single word. "'O-Openly'...?" you repeat.

"Some specific problems require specific solutions," notes the elf wryly. "It's just better sometimes if some things are kept a mystery."

The awkward silence that ensues leaves you to wonder with a muted sense of horror whether or not Sieglinde just implied that she's fine with assassinations as a political tool. It also gives her a chance to finish her lunch.

It takes a few moments before she speaks again, and when she does so, there's a strangely quiet and maybe almost awkward quality to it. "I may not seem it, but I...appreciate your talks with me. I certainly wasn't expecting it."

"Oh," you intone, being caught by surprise by this rather frank admission. "W-Well, um...I l-like talking with you?" You feel like this sounds inadequate, so you quickly add, "You s-say a lot of interesting things."

"Is that so?" chortles Sieglinde. "I had feared I was little more than an earsore." But she shrugs, looks you up and down for a moment, then asks, "You use a greatsword now, yes? If you wish, I can help you train in your spare time."

"D-Do you know how to wield a greatsword too?" you ask, surprised and quickly wondering if there's anything Sieglinde can't do.

"Passingly. I only know the basics, enough to show a beginner around; my specialties are still the spear and the bow, the former moreso than the latter. But I suppose that shall be enough for the first few weeks, before we focus instead on the greatsword's strengths and weaknesses against other weapons." A pause. "That, or tactics, foreign cultures, those kinds of things. It's not as if I can offer you much more beyond that."

"No, no, th-that's more than I can ask for." You bow your head gratefully; at the very least, you seem to be developing a good rapport - maybe even a real friendship - with Sieglinde. "Thank you. I-It'd be nice to learn under you. U-Um, I mean with you." You fidget a little before adding, "And know what books you like. I-I mean, that'd be nice to know too." Too often have you seen Sieglinde reading something, after all.

Giving this a moment of thought, Sieglinde eventually suggests, "I suppose if you're going to start reading, start with The Belltower of Brycott by Annelise Elanos."

Blinking in blank surprise, you take a moment to process Sieglinde's words before murmuring, "Th-That's...a Tenereian novel." At the very least, you recognize Brycott as the capital of the Tenereian Union; you've also heard Caldrans disparage the novel and its author as a symbol of everything wrong with Tenereian society and culture.

"I hope the meaning of the adage 'know your enemy' is not lost upon you."

"W-Well, no..." you concede slowly, hesitantly. You're admittedly thinking more along the lines of what others may think of you if they catch you reading this.

"It shouldn't be too difficult," shrugs Sieglinde; this is clearly not a concern of hers. "No language barriers, and the novel was written within a generation of the revolution, before the Tenereians completely butchered our shared culture. If you've read Caldran historical fiction before, The Belltower of Brycott shouldn't seem too foreign. It's no treatise on Tenereian history or culture, but it's certainly an accessible one that provides some decent insights. The library has a copy."

"It does?" You are genuinely surprised that a library in a Caldran mercenary academy - one of the great cornerstones of the war efforts against Tenereia - has a copy of that novel.

To that, Sieglinde only offers the ghost of a smirk. "It is not only with arms that a Caldran mercenary fights."

The Belltower of Brycott, as you soon learn after checking out the book from the Academy library, is a piece of historical fiction featuring an artist in the capital of the Tenereian Union during the final years of the Rose Revolution and the years afterwards, written by an author who lived through that period of time and eventually - at least so it is said - disappeared without a trace months after the novel was published. Shifting between almost absurdist sociopolitical satire and harrowing accounts of the atrocities committed during that historical period, The Belltower of Brycott chronicles the artist's journey through one of the most violent periods of Tenereian history as a hapless bystander to events far beyond her comprehension to a clueless participant of events still far beyond her comprehension.

All and all, it's a rather riveting read, although still something you're only comfortable reading in the privacy of your room, and preferably when Stephanie isn't paying too much attention. But while Stephanie perhaps doesn't look closely at the title of your book, she certainly notices the change of pace in your daily activities: "So you do read."

"O-Of course I can read!" you protest defensively, flushing red as you snap shut your book and hide it further under the pillow of your bed where you've been reading it. "There was a school in my village!"

"Well, yes," Stephanie agrees from where she is seated at her table, working on a paper on applied tactics. "But I mean that you...actually read in your spare time." She shrugs. "I'm just a little surprised, I guess. It seems a little...I don't know. Not Neianne-ish. More Sieglinde-ish."

Stephanie's words aren't something that really requires a reply, so you turn back to your book, presenting your back to Stephanie with a huff as you do so. And you do try your best not to betray a nice feeling of satisfaction from showing on your face at Stephanie's last comment.

[x] Azalea Cherilyn Charmaine

Relative to your expectations for Sieglinde, Azalea Cherilyn Charmaine is not a particularly difficult person to track down. She doesn't quite radiate or bask in attention in the way Aphelia or Lucille do, but neither is she one to eschew attention altogether, and can generally be reliably found around the Academy. Still, there is generally always someone courting for her attention, and so the challenge is trying to catch Azalea when she doesn't have other people around her.

You think you find your time on the weekends, when the students are freer to pursue their own interests and are thus spread out across the local area. You attempt to pursue Azalea after lunch - fewer and fewer apprentices are eating their weekend lunch in the Great Hall, with those who have the financial means to do so beginning to find their own favorite eating spots in town - but when you think you catch her in the corridor, you find her instead in a conversation with another face you recognize: Wilhelmina Adelaide Marienberg.

You are quickly considering whether or not to duck back down the hallway you turned in from, but Wilhelmina quickly spots you, and although she doesn't smile, there is an amused wryness in her voice as she nods in your direction and says to Azalea, "You have another admirer."

Azalea turns around to see who is there, and your flinch is moderated by the fact that she at least offers you a warm-looking smile in greeting. "As if there's no reason she isn't here for you," the dryad teases back at the elf.

Wilhelmina gives a quiet little snort that sounds almost like a chuckle. "Trust me," she says, point at her own eyes, and you are reminded that Wilhelmina is supposed to be an excellent shot with a bow. "she was looking at you." She nods curtly to Azalea before leaving her with you, giving her parting words, "I'll see you around." She nods to you again as she passes you in the hallway, this time moreso as a sign of acknowledgment rather than pointing Azalea's attention in your direction; you curtsy awkwardly in response.

Azalea doesn't wait for Wilhelmina to leave the area before she addresses you politely with a short bow and a smile of her own. "Hello, there," she greets. Compared to the other ladies here at Faulkren, there is a certain subduedness in the style in which Azalea dresses, not at all dissimilar to Sieglinde. Lucille constantly manages to pull off a look that's both casual but fashionable, Aphelia tends to look reasonably regal and poised in her own attires, and Wilhelmina dresses in a style that seems minimalistically elegant, but Azalea seems to pivot towards quiet but serene colors, pretty but simple designs, and graceful but uncontroversial cuts. Her blond hair with green leaves is let down in a manner similar to yours, but in pretty cascading waves instead of uniformly straight. And there's a hint of playfulness in her eyes that speaks of a strangely quiet daring.

"I-I'm sorry," you feel compelled to apologize as you bow your head sheepishly, giving a furtive glance at Wilhelmina's disappearing back, "I didn't mean to interrupt..."

But Azalea waves off your apology explaining, "Mina and I were just exchanging pleasantries. You haven't interrupted anything important."

"Oh," you intone politely, although you're not sure of the veracity of the claim; Wilhelmina was the first person you ever saw with Azalea on your first day here, and they've mostly been together since. "I...th-thought you were close friends..."

Giggling, Azalea clarifies, "We were just childhood playmates while being tutored at Stengard, along with around a dozen other children. Not to say we aren't friends, nor that we have no history...but it's not as if you can instantly transplant a childhood friendship years into the future and expect it'll all work out. We're still re-figuring each other out, so to speak." She shrugs, takes a breath. "I'm sorry, I'm droning on again. I saw you at weaponry orientation, but I don't think we've been acquainted yet." She gives a graceful-looking curtsy; you half-expect her to add a twirl in there, wondering if this fellow dryad has studied dance before. "Azalea Cherilyn Charmaine."

Obviously, she saw you from earlier than that, on the day you arrived at the Academy. Still, you politely introduce yourself: "N-Neianne." Then, perhaps a bit inadequately, "Just...Neianne. F-From Caelon."

Thankfully, Azalea seems to think little of your self-conscious introduction as she politely answers, "Charmed to make your acquaintance."

You manage a small little smile as you try to push the conversation on. "I'm...s-surprised you remember me," you admit; even though she doesn't seem to remember the time you were both in the Great Hall, at least she seems to recall you from weapons orientation.

Azalea smiles. "Watching you pick up that greatsword made an impression." You try to hide a blush, wondering if she's referring to the difference in size between yourself and the greatsword you now wield. Azalea, at least, has the grace to pretend she doesn't notice - or perhaps she really doesn't notice - as she gestures towards the main gate of the Academy. "Shall we take a walk? I had been thinking about about doing so with Mina, but truth to be told, she'd much rather shoot arrows, and I'd feel very sorry for the birds if I told her we could do both at the same time."

There's an old path in the borough that runs alongside the riverbank, back from the days when unwieldy, fragile boats carrying a measly amount of cargo were the standard for maritime trade. Now, the locals - and each generation of Caldran mercenary apprentices - largely use it as a scenic hiking path. There aren't many out here on the path today, though, and no one you recognize as apprentices; chances are that most non-dryads have had their fill of the wilderness outdoors after their survival training exercises. For you, though, the walk mostly feels pleasant; you haven't been so exhausted by the week so as to shun stretching your legs, and the weather feels great.

"To what must I thank for the pleasure of your company?" asks Azalea happily; she playfully hops from stone to stone, locating the larger rocks on the path in graceful, twirling motions that look pretty when she does it, but - at least in your imagination - would probably make you look childish if you did it.

"I...was th-thinking of talking to another dryad," you admit, fidgeting a little. "A-And you were the first one I saw here."

"Ah, yes," smiles Azalea understandingly, although with a hint of a sigh. "Well, we do have to look out for each other out here, yes?"

You blink, trying to think about what she is trying to telegraph with that statement, wondering if she's alluding to possible tensions dryads may or may not have either other people. "I...w-wouldn't know if things are that...t-troubling."

"I'm not saying that we're mistreated," Azalea assures you with a small giggle, "just that they're so few of us. It would hardly be improper or illogical to get to know each other better." You're not sure if that sets you at ease, but the lady dryad continues, "Were you born in Caldrein or in the woods?"

"In the woods," you say, blinking but catching yourself. "M-My family moved into the plains when I was five or six."

"That must have been nice," observes Azalea, sounding a little intrigued. "I was born in Fulwaite, although I've visited my ancestral woodlands of Arlon."

"D-Did you like it?"

"I thought it was very charming, very pretty. The people are certainly different from us, I think. Proud, self-reliant, almost a little..." she trails off, looking for a word that isn't coming to her, before allowing, "...well, that there are differences in mentality and culture between peoples is hardly surprising. But then again, the dryads of the woods are a nomadic people with the family as the primary social unit, whereas we of the plains are more...settled and integrated into our communities." A particular hop from one stone to the next sets her a few paces in front of you, so she starts walking backwards, and you suddenly find yourself worried that Azalea may trip on a stone she doesn't see. "Which do you prefer?"

"U-Um," you stammer, struggling to think of an answer all while trying to keep an eye out for any intrusive stones creeping up on Azalea's heels. "I-I think I left the woods too early for me to really say. I-I thought it was nice...but I was...five or six?" You shrug helplessly. "I-I don't think I really knew what it was like even then...a-and I left mine ten years ago."

Azalea hums thoughtfully, pondering upon your words before conceding, "You do have a good point. Alas, I do think I like the plains better." She smiles in a way that looks almost apologetic. "There's a stronger sense of...community here. People are more ready to help each other."

Only your earliest, faintest memories are of the woods, so you don't feel particularly attached to your birthplace, but you still feel at least a little compelled to speak up in defense of the dryads of the woods. "I...d-don't think the dryads of the woods don't help others."

"Forgive me, I spoke poorly." Azalea slows her pace to fall back in line beside you. "What I mean to say is that the definition of a community for woodland dryads are quite different from ours. Woodland dryads keep to smaller family units by default, and are relatively isolated from one another. They congregate, of course, and provide aid to each other, but it is seen more as an...undertaking. An effort that must call for those nearby for aid, just as an effort must be made to come together." And here she gestures towards the locale in general and the town of Faulkren in particular, concluding, "But the people of the plains, the towns and cities they inhabit, are inherently interconnected. Mutual reliance is built into the way we live everyday. Helping your neighbor is less a rallying cry as much as it is part of life. The environment, I suppose, affects the mentality."

You do wonder how much this actually changes things, how valid Azalea's statement is. "I...h-haven't thought of it that way, milady," you allow. Not that you would really be able to tell either way.

But Azalea only smiles and pokes at your cheek playfully, causing you to make a small, startled sound. "Call me 'milady' if someone prone to jealousy might overhear," she pretends to whisper in a conspiring manner, winking as she does so. "Between us dryads, I'm Azalea."

Still recovering from your surprise, it's all you can do hesitantly stammer, "Y-Yes...A-Azalea." You are increasingly on a first-name basis with a number of aristocratic daughters.

"See?" beams the dryad cheerfully. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

Mentally stumbling for something to say, you murmur, "Lady R-Ravenhill has asked me to call her by name."

"Sieglinde Corrina Ravenhill?" blinks Azalea before looking a little...sheepish? It's a complicated expression. "Well, I suppose she has always been a bit of a strange one. Or, no, perhaps strange is not it. Rather...out-of-place? She has always felt strangely mature for her age and yet strangely misplaced in her position. But, then again, I do not know her very well." You're not sure if Azalea is supposed to mean that as a compliment or a slight against Sieglinde, and you begin to wonder if you should feel compelled to speak up in Sieglinde's defense. But before you get any significant headway in thinking this over, Azalea points in the direction of a nice-looking tree on the riverbank, an elegantly-shaped tree that nevertheless stands lonely beside the river, and declares, "We've been walking for a bit. That tree looks like a nice place to sit down beneath."

Less than a minute later, you two dryads are comfortably in the gentle shade of the aforementioned tree, sitting against its trunk on the soft grass. It's an unambiguously beautiful spot; the grass around you is green, a few pretty clouds drift idly across the sunny sky, and you command a beautiful view of the river and the woodlands not far away. Further out is the town of Faulkren, and even further distant mountains threatening to blend into the sky.

"This is a beautiful place," sighs Azalea contentedly, and you don't disagree; this is the kind of landscape that seems to put dryads naturally at ease. "I hope the people of Apaloft know how good they have it."

"Is F-Fulwaite not...beautiful?" you venture curiously.

"Oh, it isn't awful," Azalea allows. "But the region has never quite recovered from the famine and blight. Crops are growing again, thank the Spring..." which sheds light on her faith as a Primordian, a curious choice given that you've heard that most urbanized dryads gravitate towards Indigenism or keep their Gaianist faith, "...but its still a struggle. Parts of the region are growing green again, while others still feel a little dreary and bleak, little more than hills of discolored grass, in spite of our best efforts."

"You mean...wh-what your family did for Fulwaite?" you ask, remembering the story of how House Charmaine gained their barony. That was two decades ago, so Azalea was born into the nobility that her parents have earned.

"It wasn't just House Charmaine," giggles Azalea, before conceding, "although we did get a barony from it. We only advised and did a bit of coordination." For some reason, you think this sense of humility seems a little misplaced somehow, but it doesn't stop Azalea from continuing, "It was still something that required the assistance of the noble houses of Fulwaite and its people." She smiles. "Like I said, community is important to Caldrans."

You again reflect upon the fact that you have no real basis of comparison; moving into the plains was an undertaking of no small effort to begin with, and although your family is fortunate enough to be freeholders, that doesn't mean the effort of visiting your birthhome is something to be made on a whim, and you haven't been back ever since. It's hardly a topic that lacks intrigue; although you are young, you are at least peripherally aware of the social dialogue with regards to the transition of dryads from the woods into the plains - like the elves did before you centuries ago - and how this factors into racial, national, and cultural identities. How much of Azalea's views are influenced by her biases, and what will be your biases should you ever meet woodland dryads once more?

But you don't get very far in your thoughts, although the one to snap you out of it is not Azalea. "Oh," comes an unfamiliar voice from a few meters away, and both you and Azalea turn in the direction of the road, watching two young elven women - at least half a decade older than you, although it's sometimes hard to tell with elves - approach from over the small hill. "Good day," comes the friendly greeting. "I see someone has found our favorite spot." By their appearance and dress, it's clear that they're not of the Academy, but from town; they wear plain common clothes that give you the impression of freeholders, and one of them carries a basket in her hands. "Are you from the Academy?"

"Yes, we are," Azalea answers, even as you are hurriedly wondering whether or not you should vacate their "favorite spot". In fact, you're already beginning to rise to your feet. Your fellow dryad is possibly thinking the same thing, for she asks, "Are we intruding?"

"Hardly," laughs the first elf as she gestures for you to stay seated, the two of you finally stopping next to you beside the tree. "It's just a good spot for a picnic. Would you like to join us? We have a bit more food than is really good for us."

"Thank you," Azalea bows her head politely, "but we wouldn't think about imposing..."

"Oh, come off it," snorts the second woman good-naturedly. Already, the first woman is beginning to lay down a picnic cloth. "In three years' time, you're going to be risking your lives to save our country. A few sandwiches is the least we can spare for you. Come, please."

Before you know it, the four of you somehow find yourselves sitting on a blanket unfurled upon the grassy riverbank under the tree, and a sandwich has materialized in your hands. Introductions are made, with elves Nicole and Tiffany making every effort to make you feel welcome, although you notice that your fellow dryad introduces herself only as "Azalea", with no hint made towards her own lineage. Your own puzzled look at her is met only with a furtive, playful wink in your direction.

"We don't seem to get many dryads at the Academy," Nicole observes after the self-introductions are done.

"We don't get a lot of dryads anywhere," Tiffany amends for her partner, but quickly adds to both of you, "It's very good to see you here, though."

"It's good to be here," smiles Azalea sincerely. "Apaloft is a beautiful region. I'm from Fulwaite, so Faulkren is a breath of fresh air."

"Fulwaite!" exclaims Tiffany happily. "Do you happen to know the Charmaines?"

It's almost amusing to see that even out here in the Apaloftian countryside, freeholders here have heard of the only dryad noble house in the Confederacy. Even more amusing still is the fact that they are asking this question to a real Charmaine sitting on their picnic blanket. But either Azalea is used to this kind of question or at least is just used to mischief, because she smiles without a hint of duplicity and answers, "Why, yes. I speak with them from time-to-time as well."

For better or for worse, Nicole and Tiffany don't interrogate this much further. Unfortunately, this is because you have managed to choke a bit on your sandwich, and you're pretty sure Azalea is to blame for that. As the two elven adults pat your back and pass you a bottle of water, Azalea - sitting right behind them where neither can see - turns to you and, mischievously and a little apologetically, sticks her tongue out a little at you.

"You're welcome here anytime," Tiffany beams at Azalea after making sure that you've learned to swallow without asphyxiating yourself. And then to you, "And you too, Neianne."

"O-Oh," you fidget, hurriedly correcting Tiffany's perceptions, "I'm from Apaloft."

"Well, then," scoffs Nicole good-naturedly, "you need to show her around more often! The Academy has already been open for quite a bit now, and this is the first time we've seen you! Where have you been taking her on your dates?"

This assumption is so sudden and so unexpected and frankly so alarming that you actually have a few false starts - enough for all three other picnickers to watch you with mild alarm, especially just moments after you choked on a sandwich - before you finally manage to blurt out a stutter, "W-W-We aren't dating!"

"We aren't?" Azalea suddenly gasps in mock hurt, overdramatically clutching at her chest. "Then what have you been treating me as all this time?"

The more reasonable part of you knows that Azalea is joking, given her theatrics and the giggling coming from the two older elves, but that doesn't stop you from panically sputtering, "A-A-Azalea w-what?"

Giggling at how red your face must be turning, Azalea looks humored as she apologizes, "Sorry. You're so easy to tease."

You pout at being on a constant barrage of teasing from your fellow dryad, although Tiffany isn't helping when she observes, "There's nothing wrong with dating. Both of you are very cute girls."

"Tiffany also used to be so easy to tease," Nicole points out, prodding Tiffany's side, eliciting a small gasp from her. "And then she grew up."

Tiffany swatted Nicole over the head. "And I still married you, you big dummy."

You and Azalea share a small giggle, although the latter gives a moment of polite quiet before interjecting, "Sadly, we've come here to fight a war, lest I get ahead of myself."

"What's wrong with love and war?" Nicole demands.

Azalea shrugs. "Angry hate sex?" she offers. There's a surprised pause that's eventually punctuated by you making an ungraceful surprised sound that resembles a mix between stammering and choking on your embarrassment at Azalea, of all people - she a lady of noble lineage, talking about "angry hate sex" - which in turn triggers unrestrained laughter from the other three at both Azalea's joke and your reaction.

"True, that," Tiffany concedes, but her voice softens quickly. "But we are sending you and many of our young to fight in a war that you may not return from. It's good to enjoy what youth you have to yourselves."

"And while you're still here," adds Nicole, "when the people at home have a chance to help you spice things up."

"You cannot fight for a country when you cannot remember what it is you love about it. Or so my mother used to say."

"Besides," snorts Tiffany, noting that both of the dryads before her still look a little hesitant and conflicted, "many girls who've come and gone from the Academy have dated and made no secret about it. Yet here we all are, nine years later, in a free Caldrein. Our mercenaries - lovers as they are - haven't failed us yet."

Azalea is polite enough to allow a weighty moment to pass before politely promising, "I shall take your counsel to heart."

The topic of conversation soon drifts over to the Huntress' War, to which the prevailing attitude here at this picnic - and likely all across Caldrein - is that of cautious optimism. No one has ignored the fact that the Confederacy fights against a continental power many times its size, nor that the Confederacy has suffered a string of strategic defeats over the years. But good news still comes from the minor victories that the Caldran mercenaries have been able to produce against all odds, and there is also the fact that in spite of every logical prediction foretelling Caldrein's doom within years or even months, its people have thus far stood against the Tenereian juggernaut for nine whole years, and all Tenereia has to show for it is having conquered only half of Elspar.

"I have a cousin who used to live in Elspar," mutters Nicole in between bites of her sandwich after the bulk of the latest news and rumors to come out of Elspar is expended. "Managed to get out of Wynholm with Countess Cenoryn just before the city fell."

You wince. "How b-bad was it?" you dare to ask.

"Could've been better, could've been worse," grimaces the elf. "The Tenereians fought without mercy, but the countess had been prepared for the possibility that she would have to give up the capital, and had plans drawn up accordingly." She sighs and shrugs. "Many chose to stay, but for those who evacuated the city, things went as well as these things could."

Nodding solemnly, Azalea raises the cup of tea previously offered to her and quietly murmurs, "To the countess' health." It isn't alcohol, but the others - yourself included - raise your cups in toast before sipping. "Where is your cousin now?"

"She's started a new business over in Lindholm. She lost pretty much everything in Wynholm, so it's not like business is booming. But even when we can't send any coin over, she and her kids aren't starving, you know? She's making ends."

Azalea nods thoughtfully, although she then speaks in a hesitant, quiet, but kind tone, "I know some people back home who may have jobs for her. I don't mean to pry, but if she ever needs help..."

"Thank you," Nicole gives a curt bow of her head gratefully, "but I think they're doing alright now. And after all that running away from the Tenereians, it's probably better for the kids if they get a stable place to live in for now instead of having to move again."

"I understand," nods Azalea sympathetically. "In times like these, it's all we can hope for."

In the meantime, Tiffany turns her attention to you and asks, "Do you have any friends or family in Elspar?"

You shake your head in the negative; everyone you've ever known - at least until you've arrived at the Academy - has been from Apaloft. Azalea, however, murmurs, "Some friends are still in Elspar. They may even be in Halissen as we speak."

You wonder if this is a complete fabrication, or if Azalea is referring to her highborn peers from Elspar. Perhaps she even has family fighting there as part of the army sent by Fulwaite for the Confederate defense.

Nodding sympathetically, Nicole asks, "Is that why you've come to Faulkren?"

"In part, yes." The dryad pauses thoughtfully for a beat before adding, "But beyond that, I think it important that I, as a dryad, join in Caldrein's proudest traditions. After all, the Tenereians aren't likely to leave the woodland dryads be should they overrun our lands. That we fight for Caldrein - and as mercenaries of our people - will hopefully serve as an example for others to follow, as proof that dryads, too, can help shape Caldrein's destiny."

Tiffany smiles warmly at that. "Elves and dryads were close allies of old once upon a time," she murmurs. "It's good to have you with us again."

Time passes, topics are expended, the idle chat dies down, and sandwiches disappear into content stomachs. After helping Nicole and Tiffany pack everything away, it is clearly time for the two groups to part ways. It's a day well spent: You've finally become more than just passing faces in the hallway with Azalea, and you now know more about the people of the town that you live beside.

But before you part, Tiffany sees fit to inform you, "We run a cafe in town, the Aroma. Caldran mercenaries and apprentices get a big discount, so feel free to drop by."

Although you're not sure when you'll ever get the chance to spend coin in town, you nevertheless try to sound grateful by taking the offer for what it is: "T-Thank you."

"You're too kind," Azalea murmurs.

Nicole laughs, "We'll talk about kindness when you save us all from the Tennies, yeah?"

The four of you share farewells, and soon, you and Azalea are on the way back to the Academy, feeling better than you when you left. That sadly doesn't do much for your loquaciousness or lack thereof, but your observation has a touch of cheeriness where it lacks confidence: "Th-They were very nice."

"Caldrans tend to be so, yes," agrees Azalea readily. The quiet that comes afterwards makes it seem as if she has nothing else to say, at least until she adds, "Thank you for accompanying me today. It's easier to talk with strangers when there's someone you know around."

Blushing, you mutter, "I-I should be thanking you." After all, Azalea would've gone with Wilhelmina if not with you. You do have the tact - or perhaps you simply lack the courage - to not actually say that.

But Azalea doesn't actually seem to mind, even as she seems to delve into a moment of thoughtfulness. "I was actually pondering the idea of having these little tea parties on the weekends. I thought of just doing such a thing in the courtyard of the Academy or maybe out here by the riverside, but having a cafe offering us discounts doesn't sound like a bad thing after all." She beams warmly at you. "I would hardly mind saving an extra spot for you."

Astounded, you are vaguely impressed but also terrified at the idea of you sitting with Azalea and her friends - most of them probably being highborns or other apprentices vying for her favor - and quickly stammer, "I-I wouldn't think about imposing!" Then, fearing that this sounded incredibly impolite, you quickly add, "I-I mean, don't you already have many...friends?"

"I have friends," shrugs Azalea, "but I would hardly mind counting you as one more." She smiles kindly. "It's nothing so intimidating. It's just some of us getting together in our free time to sit down, talk, and have some tea. You shouldn't feel unwelcome. If anything, you'll get to meet new people and practice talking to them."

In spite of your reservations, it does sound tempting. Azalea seems to be naturally at ease around people, and this is a skill that yourself covet, stuck as you are in your shyness. Granted, it seems that this is just another daunting, intimidating challenge on top of everything else, but it's not like you came here expecting everything was going to be easy. "I...I-I'll think about it," you promise cautiously.

Azalea beams. "There's a good girl."

Your curriculum continues to be an ever-dizzying list of training, learning, and practicing. The study of the history of strategy and tactics sees an increasing number of reports, group exercises, and graded discussions on practical applications. Calisthenics increase in both length and intensity, as all of you grow increasingly fit, slowly increasing both your strength and stamina. Lessons in fieldcraft no longer consist of just survival lessons, but are slowly expanding to include setting up camps, standing guard and manning watchposts, and stealth maneuvers. Weaponmasters continue to drill everyone in the use of their weapons of choice, and most apprentices manage to achieve a level of proficiency that spars between those wielding the same weapons - amateurish though these efforts still are - steadily begin. Though life moves hectically, much of what you are experiencing at the Academy slowly becomes routine as the first few weeks turn into the first few months. Before you know it, autumn slowly begins to grow cold as it marches on towards winter.

If you were worried about stagnating into the steady rhythm of the year, however, those assumptions are blasted on one particular afternoon when the Academy is worked into an excited fervor at the arrival of the Faulkren warband.

News is that the Faulkren warband was previously deployed in clandestine missions beyond the defense of Halissen, and are being brought back from the front for some well-deserved rest and relaxation. For the duration that they are in Faulkren and its Academy, they are the object of wonder and admiration of the apprentices and the townspeople alike. Like the instructors of the Academy, they instantly attract awe and respect in the confidence in which they carry themselves. It is not necessary to see them spar to understand why they are some of the deadliest warriors in Iuryis ever, although the duels that they have in the courtyard certainly help; the spars they have never fail to draw crowds of apprentices into watching with admiring cheers, their skills and prowess beyond anything you can even imagine right now, never mind achieve. This is a reminder that these people you now see here - with all their skill and prowess and confidence and swagger - are who you want to be, why you have come here to train and toil.

But those who thought that they could simply ogle at the sight of fully-fledged, battle-hardened mercenaries come in for a surprise when it is announced days after their arrival of that there is going to be a major three-day field exercise for the apprentices, and that everyone is to make "all due preparations".

Of course, no one really knows what "all due preparations" even means, and anyone who may know - the instructors themselves or the mercenaries seemingly in on the exercise - clearly aren't telling, so "all due preparations" end up being being mentally prepared for sudden surprises, being careful about your diets...and lots and lots of speculation and gossiping. Everything from having to fight through a gauntlet of Caldran mercenaries to climbing a mountain naked is proposed, often with alarming frequency.

The seriousness of the field exercise is punctuated when it finally comes, preceded first by half a day of fast-marching westwards with your weapons towards the distant forests kilometers beyond the woodlands where you apprentices have gone through survival training before, stopping only once for a midday meal. It's not hard to imagine that you've already left Faulkren and into another borough. If nothing else, you are impressed at how much your endurance has grown in the months since you've arrived here at Faulkren; while you are hardly weak or frail, it's hard to imagine yourself being able to manage hours of fast-marching while carrying a greatsword just months ago.

Eventually, the rolling plains and sparse woodlands of Faulkren give way to dense forests and daunting mountains, and it is here that your march finishes. It is clear upon arrival that preparations have been made beforehand; a few tents have been erected, crates of supplies have been gathered, and members of the faculty and even the Faulkren warband are already here. Rather curiously, you also spot a number of coach wagons with horses to pull them to the side of this fielding area. They remind you of the classic form of transportation that some of Iuryis' highborn take, although these coach wagons look much older and more worn, as if the Academy had procured them from noble families getting rid of aging assets.

Even more curiously, there are also a number of dryads that you don't recognize, but some of the telltale signs - the style of their clothing, the way they wear their hair, even the way they stand - tell you instantly that these are woodland dryads, those who have not yet left their ancestral homes for the towns and cities of the plains.

After a few minutes of rest, one of the lead instructors stands on a crate and speaks in a booming voice to command the attention of more than a hundred apprentices. "Listen up!" she calls out, and the chatter amongst the apprentices dies within seconds. "Welcome to Roldharen Forest, the site of this three-day field exercise." Gesturing to the imposing landscape around you, she explains, "Hidden in forty square kilometers of woodlands are fourteen flags. After you are deposited to random locations in the forest, your objective is to find a flag, hold onto it, and bring it back here at the end of three days, and only at the end of three days." She pauses to let this sink in before adding, "Naturally, there are a catch. There are twenty-eight squads present here. Squads are not allowed to share flags. You have brought and are allowed to use your weapons. Do the math."

With mounting anxiety, you understand the unspoken statement here: That twenty-eight squads will be fighting - literally - for the possession of fourteen flags hidden throughout the forest. At least half of the squads present are thus doomed to fail in this competition that will pit your combat and survival skills against each other.

"This field exercise will be supervised by Academy faculty," continues the instructor, "our own Caldran mercenaries," then she gestures to the woodland dryads watching from the sidelines, but especially one particular dryad standing only a few steps away from her, presumably the representative here, "and our dryad friends of the Roldharen Forest. We are responsible for three tasks: Overseeing the exercise to see that no one gets lost and starves to death out here, assessing and judging squad activities including combat while making sure you don't kill each other, and acting as aggressors. In the event that there is mock combat, a supervising member of the exercise will judge who emerges victorious and who is a casualty. Casualties will return here and sit out the rest of the exercise. Furthermore, a squad must have at least two members left for them to claim victory with a flag. If you have a flag but can't find any of your squadmates because they've all been taken out, tough."

In other words, this is a team exercise. Apprentices like Sieglinde and Aphelia - or, perhaps more pertinently, Elizabeth - will be motivated to protect their own teammates to increase their odds of success. You sneak a covert glance in Elizabeth's direction with this thought in mind, and notice that she doesn't seem annoyed or disappointed. Is she fundamentally fine with teamwork? Or has she realized - with a slight upset at the bottom of your stomach - that so long as she and Sieglinde "survive", they'll still win, and that you and Stephanie are thus expendable?

But you can't maintain this line of thought for long, not when the briefing continues without pause. "Supervisors wearing a red armband are to be considered hostile fighters, and will attack apprentices that they see. Of course," the instructor clarifies loudly at a cacophony of alarm and dismay amongst the apprentices upon realizing that they're going up against legendary professionals, much to the amusement of Caldran mercenaries in question, "they will be fighting at a level considered appropriate for apprentices at your level, but they'll probably make it challenging. You can fight them or you can run, and the supervisors have the last judgment call as to the outcome of such a battle. You're carrying real, deadly weapons, so exercise restraint and be careful. If you are badly wounded, if you are starving or dehydrating and can't find food or water, if you're in serious trouble in any way, you call out for help, and a supervisor will come and help you out, but you thus withdraw from the exercise and are counted as a casualty." Again, she pauses to ensure that the apprentices understand this safety guideline. "Aside from what I've explained, however, none of the supervisors are here to help you or to assist you in this field exercise. With the exception of supervisors wearing a red armband, or unless you intend to withdraw from this field exercise, you will pretend the supervisors don't exist."

Murmurings erupt amongst the apprentices, mostly by squad, as they process and discuss this information. Doubtlessly, they are already trying to discuss potential strategies, figuring out how they will orientate themselves in light of these conditions. Some of the faculty and staffers begin to pass out what looks like small pieces of paper, one for every apprentice. Looking at the small piece of paper handed to you, you note that it looks almost like something from a map...but it also seems like it's obviously not a map, because while it has cartographic symbols, the piece of paper is too small and too scarce to really be of any use.

Or, at least, so you think. However, the complications erected in your way only piles up as the instructor declares, "Ah, yes, another catch. You will not be with your squads." She waits for a few seconds for the sudden outburst of confused murmurs and whisperings to die down before clarifying, "At the end of this explanation, you will be put into pre-selected randomized groups of four from different squads. You will then board your assigned wagon, which will then take you to a pre-selected random location in the forest. You are also all being given one piece of the map of the forest each, which you can all piece together into a larger whole." That explains the piece of paper in your hand, at least, it being only a tiny part of the map. Or maybe even less than just a hundredth of a map, seeing how everyone is apparently getting a segment. "How you want to work together, how you want to plan to get back to your squad, how you intend to find and retrieve a flag; that's all up to you."

The resurging murmurs through the crowd of apprentices reflect this change in paradigm as the squads desperately attempt to come up with ways to improvise and compensate for these unexpected twists. You certainly don't have a good idea, and while the rest of your squad looks thoughtful as they consider the implications and possibilities, no one has exactly proposed a stellar solution.

Not that you're given much time to think this over. The instructor speaks again, and now there is both a hint of respect and edge in her tone. "We are here with the blessings of the dryads of the Roldharen Forest," she declares, gesturing towards the woodland dryads present, "who have graciously allowed us to use their lands for years, and are assisting in supervising this exercise. Through the course of this exercise, you will remember that people live in this forest, and that you are to afford their homes every respect you can afford to it." She glares dangerously at the crowd of apprentices. "Anyone who does anything unforgivably stupid here will be kicked out of the Academy. You have been warned." A nervous hush settles through the crowd, and to drive the point home - or to give it dramatic effect - the instructor waits for a long moment before finally turning to the dryad beside her and politely prompting, "Lauren?"

The dryad being addressed clears her throat before speaking. Lauren's voice is calm and dignified as she speaks, touched with an accent that's distantly familiar. "There have been bear sightings to the northwest corner of the forest," she explains. "We have extra huntresses in the area who will warn you away should you get too close, but do try to stay away from that area if it's all the same. Use the sun to your advantage, and keep track of the time so you're sure where it's supposed to be."

Nodding respectfully to Lauren, the instructor turns back to the apprentices again, declares, "If you have any questions - any smart questions - I'll ask now."

"Yes," comes a familiar voice far too close to you for comfort, and you instinctively cringe as you realize Elizabeth is speaking with her usual laid-back amusement, a tone that sounds so strange from an otherwise angelic voice. "So what motivation do we actually have for trying to smack the living daylights out of each other in the wilderness other than super special imaginary gold stars?"

The instructor narrows her eyes at Elizabeth - the faculty understands that Elizabeth is very powerful but also very troublesome - but she seems to have been prepared for this question as she sniffs and points in the direction of the onlooking mercenaries, some of whom are chuckling at Elizabeth's candidness. "You see those mercenaries that will be supervising the exercise? Impressing them is, in fact, an excellent way of becoming first picks for leadership, pay bonuses, and special contracts when you finally graduate from here."

An excited chatter stirs up amongst the apprentices at this answer, even as some of the mercenaries cheerfully strike impressive poses in response to the attention. Elizabeth looks amused but satisfied, as if mildly impressed by the answer. Stephanie grimaces but also looks a little eager, although Sieglinde simply sighs a little.

Suffice to say, either way, motivation has indeed been provided in ample amounts.

That seems to be all the explanations you are getting, because almost immediately afterwards, instructors are grouping you into aforementioned pre-selected groups. Stephanie, Sieglinde, and Elizabeth are all steadily being called away, and your turn is announced by an instructor calling out the following grouping: "Aphelia Meredith Treiser, Vesna Rainer, Neianne, and Penelope."

You gulp. The good news is that while you haven't kept up with her as well as you could've, you and Vesna have remained friendly ever since your first meeting in the Great Hall days before the year started, complete with greetings and small talk in between classes. While you wouldn't be so arrogant to suggest that the two of you are close friends, your experiences with Vesna - limited as they are - suggest that you can get along perfectly well with her. The same, unfortunately, could not be said with Aphelia, with whom you have no experience with, for whom all your impressions suggest that she is extremely talented and proud, and of whom all the rumors suggest is a perfectionist. And that's still more than you can say for Penelope, who - judging by her hateful glares in your direction - has not forgiven you for your guilt by association with Elizabeth.

Any strategy you may have discussed with the rest of Squad Four is sadly shunted to the wayside as instructors usher your newly-formed groups into your respective carriages. You notice that the carriages have boards nailed to the windows, obviously in an attempt to obstruct any view that its passengers may have of the outside world, meant to disorientate apprentices when they disembark from their wagons and forcing them to rely on their map-reading and orienteering skills.

The ride across the forest proceeds in awkward silence. You have no doubt that all four of you are sizing each other up, trying to figure out who can be of use in this temporary alliance, who is the greatest threat, who is mostly likely to betray one another. It's hardly the type of thinking that you're good at, but that the need for it exists at all put you ill at ease.

It's quite some time later when your wagon finally comes to a stop, and the faculty member responsible for bringing you here orders your group to get out of the wagon. Deposited into the unfamiliar forests of Roldharen, the four of you compose yourselves even as you try to get a feel for your surroundings under the watchful eyes of the faculty members who are clearly assessing your performance right now, but also functionally nonexistent to you for the duration of your participation in this field exercise.

"So, um!" pipes up Vesna, putting up a smile as she looks beseechingly but kindly at all the members of your group. "I was thinking that we can maybe, um, not pretend to kill each other until we've found our respective squads?"

This is a sentiment you heartily agree to. Sadly, however, Penelope clearly disagrees as she cocks a thumb in your direction and snaps, "I'm not promising anything while she is in this group."

Blinking, Vesna asks, "What did Neianne do to you?"

"She knows," scowls Penelope.

"I-It wasn't me!" you protest, struck by how unfair it feels to be pegged with guilt by mere association with a squad member whom was not even really of your choosing in the first place.

"It was your squad," counters Elizabeth's victim. "Your responsibility." She narrows her eyes at your tauntingly. "Or are you just going to cozy up to that bitch for her wealth and power?"

"Excuse me," a cold, commanding voice suddenly cuts in, and startled attentions swivel in the direction of Aphelia, who was looking on with an intense air of cold authority and pride. "Miss Rainer was being polite. I, too, shall be courteous in my warning: I shall not tolerate in-fighting in this group for however long we must work together. Those who wish to leave shall have their fair chance to do so. Any who does not give that chance - or chooses to inflict harm even before then - shall face my displeasure." The regal elf narrows her eyes dangerously, and with it projects the implicit threat of her rapier and magecraft. "And I do not forgive easily."

Penelope fires a glare in Aphelia's direction so intense that you're almost surprised that the former doesn't snarl, but the elven lady holds her imperious glare at her nonetheless. You can see anger in Penelope's expression...but also hesitation and fear. She remembers the last time she, a human, underestimated an elven highborn. And she remembers that Aphelia - while hardly as volatile as Elizabeth - is one of the Academy's brightest stars, versed in fencing and magecraft well before she ever arrived at the Academy.

While Penelope is unwilling to initiate hostilities but also unwilling to back down, Aphelia clearly does not care for shows of bravado as she ignores Penelope entirely and declares, "Until we find our own squads, we're going to have to rely on each other. We may as well figure out if our map segments mean anything right now."

No one objects to this, despite the unspoken self-interest in keeping their advantages and secrets. Like it or not, the pieces of paper that you carry are functionally useless without some form of cooperation, even if it's with a potential enemy. You can't help but wonder if the uncertain and fickle circumstances that you find yourself in now is precisely what the Academy is attempting to test you with.

But despite your cooperation, it doesn't seem like four pieces of a map out of perhaps a hundred pieces is doing you any good. And even though some of the symbols on your map suggest geographical features that may be good landmarks for navigation, these are also useless if you have no idea where you actually are.

"We're not going to get anywhere without getting our bearings straight," Aphelia concludes to general agreement. "We should find some high ground and get a better view of our surroundings."

"High ground" turns out to be a steep forested hill rising up from the local landscape. It isn't quite tall enough to be a mountain, but it still reaches a considerable height with a sharp incline, making the climb a great feat of youthful endurance. Aphelia remains alert and vigilant, her rapier in one hand and a tome of magecraft in the other. Vesna takes up a scouting position of her own accord - a somewhat curious choice, given that she uses a staff and should traditionally be in a support position - and disappears and reappears every now and then. You and Penelope - wielding your greatsword and her daggers respectively - stay alongside Aphelia on your march up the hill.

It is while you ascend the hill that Aphelia finds a moment to step a little closer to you, keeping Penelope out of earshot as the group increases their spacing, managing the ascent at everyone's separate but similar paces. "Are you alright?" she asks you curtly. Her voice doesn't carry the kind warmth of Azalea or the cool thoughtfulness of Sieglinde, but there's something about how she talks with you that seems to at least suggest she is genuinely giving you all of her attention.

"Y-Yes," you answer feebly, "I'm fine." Sure, Penelope may look for an opening where she will stab you with daggers, you suppose, but she doesn't seem like she's a threat right now...or, at least, for the time being.

Aphelia doesn't look entirely convinced, but her nod is polite enough. Then she narrows her eyes at you ever so slightly, connecting you to a memory from so many weeks ago. "You're that girl in Ravenhill's squad, yes?" she asks, remembering you from the time you caught Sieglinde after she sparred with Aphelia. Then, with a bit of distaste, "And Zabanya's."

Aphelia's unpleasant tone at the last name catches you off guard as you stammer, "Y-Yes."

With a sigh that somehow still manages to come off as poised, Aphelia sounds almost like a schoolteacher as she advises, "Don't blame yourself over it. Elizabeth's behavior was disgraceful, and you have no obligation to be responsible for her." She flips her long hair in a manner you can only describe as proudly. "And if Penelope gives you trouble over it, then her behavior is disgraceful, and you have no obligation to assume there is anything respectable about her objections."

You aren't sure you have anything to say to that right at the moment. At the very least, you appreciate Aphelia willing to say something on your behalf, or at least willing to check up on you. But it is perhaps not with such scathing words that you'd necessarily regard Elizabeth or Penelope, and so you wonder if Aphelia is simply being too harsh in her judgment of the two.

But the moment passes, and during your ascent, you pass by a Caldran mercenary who keeps a lookout in the area. The four of you breathe sighs of relief upon realizing that she isn't wearing a red armband, and that you will not have to do combat with one of the deadliest warriors of the land. The four of you simply give small, polite bows of your head as you pass her, which she returns with the faintest of nods. Otherwise, as per your instructions, you do not interact.

Considering how much these mercenaries - upon whose shoulders so much of this war burdens - have fought and toiled on the front, that majority of the warband is spending their rest and relaxation on a field exercise for the benefit of a bunch of first-year mercenary apprentices is something that impresses and humbles you more than just a little.

As you are halfway up the hill, Vesna - who once again peeled off from the group to scout ahead - reappears from the curtain of trees that seem omnipresent in the surrounding landscape. She looks a little excited as she declares, "Um, I think there's another group coming in from that way." To punctuate her point, she points in the direction...of a lot of trees further down the hill on the other side. You can barely see it from this angle, but you have a hard time imagining anyone - even an archer - can see past that canopy of trees, branches, and leaves, especially at that distance.

"That way?" Aphelia repeats with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes," blinks Vesna awkwardly, as if only now realizing how strange her claim seems under the circumstances. "Well, um...we can't be the only group thinking about looking for higher ground, right? So there's probably definitely someone else climbing this hill to get a better look at their surroundings. Probably."

Aphelia looks halfway between being skeptical and finding some sense in Vesna's explanation. Penelope does not even give the courtesy of the latter, instead simply rolling her eyes and scoffing. It's not as if you don't understand their reactions; while Vesna's thinking isn't exactly illogical, it's also somewhat unprompted and also weirdly specific.

"Very well," Aphelia nods with what you suspect to be a statement born of mustered patience. "Do you recognize anyone from that group?"

"Um...I don't know," Vesna admits. Then, more hurriedly, "I mean, I didn't really see them..." an unnecessary pause, then even more hurriedly, "...clearly."

Aphelia sighs this time, but instead of dismissing Vesna outright, Aphelia instead closes her eyes and concentrates. When she opens her eyes again, her gaze seems strangely distant, as if focusing on something far away...or not quite of this world.

"Do you see any groups nearby?" asks Aphelia, but it's clear that she's not asking any of you. "Group. Of four. Four people." She frowns, as if hearing something that's strange or puzzling or incomprehensible. "Yes," she murmurs, although hesitantly. Then, "No, no, people. Like me." A long pause, as Aphelia's expressions slowly twist to one of bewilderment. "What? No, that's not..."

Although you obviously have never seen the fae before, you have seen elves communicate - or at least attempt to communicate - with the fae before, and have always understood that they exist in spite of rumors bandied about by fringe groups, who claim the fae are a religious fabrication of the elves to keep other races down. Watching Aphelia attempt to communicate one certainly makes one wonder why anyone even actually believes that such is a fabrication, given how inefficient it seems to you. You understand through hearsay that while the fae never seem to actively lie, communication with them - even with elven mages spending their whole lives researching the fae - has always been difficult, to the point where some of your elven neighbors back home regard trying to communicate with them as a complete waste of time. The fae never seem to truly understand mortal thinking or language, and their thinking seems equally incomprehensible to elves. It's as if the fae reside in an entirely different world where everything that exists in your world is absent in theirs and everything that is absent in yours world exists in theirs, where up is down and left is up and right is also up and down is green and directions are actually used to describe food.

And frankly, who is to say that this is wrong, when every elf - all of whom agree on the presence of the fae, incomprehensible as they are - says that the fae exist on an entirely different plane of existence? And how can the people of Iuryis and beyond ever hope to truly understand beings who supposedly experience a completely different reality from you?

After several moments - moments that seem somewhat frustrating for Aphelia - the elf eventually ends her inquiry, and her eyes regain focus before turning to the remainder of the group, but to Vesna in particular. "You may well be right," she tiredly concedes after a moment.

"Does the fae say so?" asks Vesna with a surprising amount of excitement.

"Possibly," Aphelia allows slowly and cautiously. You understand her apprehension, given how difficult communication was with the fae, and especially since Aphelia looked like she was completely lost more than half the time.

"W-What do we do now?" you ask, eager for a plan after having spent some time trying to figure out whether or not this new piece of information is even true.

"We'll move to avoid them," Aphelia declares. "It's too early in the exercise for confrontation, I think. We'll double-march up the hill, get a better understanding of the forest, then withdraw as soon as we're done."

Vesna doesn't seem very happy with that answer, pointing out, "They could be thinking the same thing. I mean, thinking that we don't want confrontation. We could just ask to share map pieces. Pool resources for as long as we can."

"Four more pieces of a map out of a bit more than a hundred is unlikely to help us by much," Aphelia replies; already, she is marching up the hill quickly, and the rest of you are pulled along by her authoritative pace. You suppose highborns naturally command that sort of presence and compliance. "Given that squads are split amongst groups to ensure there's no overlap, I also don't see much benefit of teaming up when half of us will fail this field exercise."

"There are twenty-eight squads," presses Vesna. "Even if both of our groups are eight apprentices representing eight squads, that's still...just a bit more than half of half." Then, perhaps realizing that "half of half" makes her sound stupid even though it works to emphasize the point she's trying to make, she awkwardly amends, "Um, a quarter of all squads." She shakes her head of the thought, concludes, "I don't think there's necessarily a conflict of interest."

"At least until you've found out that your other squad members have chosen to team up with other groups," Aphelia points out, already looking ahead. "Will you have them join us or go to them instead?"

"How about we just beat them and take their map pieces?" Penelope interrupts tersely and impatiently, drawing a measured look from Aphelia and a startled one from Vesna. "Seeing other people's map pieces is gonna do us a fat lot of good unless we actually hold onto them and get to put them together when it matters. Cozying up with each other for pieces isn't gonna do much good when we have to split and can't look at those pieces when we actually need them later on. And you're betting on them not beating us instead. So I say we get more map pieces and take out the competition." She shrugs. "Simple as that."

"We're really going to attack someone?" demands Vesna in disbelief. "Really? This early in the exercise?"

"It's gonna happen," Penelope snaps. "Sooner or later. I'd rather it be sooner, before groups get bigger and harder to deal with."

"And, praytell," Aphelia asks coolly, "what are you going to do when one of the groups has someone from your squad in it?"

Penelope freezes and stares at Aphelia, betraying the clear fact that she has not considered this. It is only after several moment of thought that she irritably concedes, "Fine, we'll do it if there's no one from our squad in that group."

Displeased with the direction this conversation is taking, Vesna insists, "You do realize that we can talk our way out of situations, right? Talk our way into having other squads ally with us instead of fighting them into submission?" She grimaces. "That's going to be a lot harder if we took out other members of their squads."

"That's stupidly naive thinking," scowls Penelope. "You just want it to be true, and don't care about if it'll actually work."

Although she isn't angered by Penelope's accusation, Vesna is clearly flustered as she exclaims, "There are enough flags for half of us! What makes you think those are bad odds?"

"It's because of how fluid the groups are now," Aphelia explains with a taut edge in her voice, once again already looking ahead. "This is a big forest with a lot of challenges. The chance that we'll find other members of our group, overcome all challenges thrown at us, and then find a flag are hardly guaranteed. There's a lot of uncertainty now. Trying to form ad hoc alliances on the fly that will probably break apart once we find other groups with other squad members only adds to that uncertainty."

You have not spoken yet, nor has your opinion been solicited, so it's possible that you can sit this conversation out to avoid drawing the ire or annoyance of anyone in this discussion, an option that is hardly unappealing, given some of the more charged characters in this group. But with the choices presented evenly split - Aphelia for avoiding contact, Vesna for trying to form an alliance, and Penelope for defeating them - it's not hard to imagine your vote of support will help force this group into a decision.

[x] Support Aphelia's plan to climb the hill as much as possible to read the terrain and then disappear as soon as possible.
[x] Support Vesna's plan to seek out the possible incoming group in an attempt to form an alliance with them.
[x] Support Penelope's plan to defeat the possible incoming group in an ambush so long as there's no one from your squads in it.
[x] Stay silent avoid confrontation with your group members.

Remember that there is no "fail state" here. Neianne will graduate, and the Huntress' War will end regardless. This is ultimately about Neianne's character development and the characters she develops relationships with.

Kei · Dec 5, 2016

Sorry for being useless and taking more than two bloody months to update this thing.

[x] Support Aphelia's plan to climb the hill as much as possible to read the terrain and then disappear as soon as possible.

[x] Write-in: Given a chance, such as a suitable hiding spot, a peek at the incoming group would be useful. If any of our group have squadmates in the incomings, make contact and try for an alliance; otherwise retreat for now.

"U-Um!" you cut in nervously into the three-way conversation, and the unexpectedness of your interruption gives Aphelia, Penelope, and Vesna a moment of pause. Your face reddening with the embarrassment of drawing this much attention to yourself, you nonetheless scrounge up what courage you can find and stammer, "M-M-Maybe it's too early to do anything too risky. We can always make other decisions once we understand the lay of the land. B-But we can hide and see who's coming up...if there's anyone from any of our squads."

It's a compromise choice and everyone knows it. It doesn't carry the degree of hostility that Vesna fears, nor does it expose you to the sort of danger that Penelope warned about. It's not meant to please anyone - with the exception of Aphelia, you suppose, who regards you politely with a curt nod - insomuch as it's meant to avoid everyone's worst-case scenario. "We'd best move quickly, then," Aphelia declares quickly, eager to move on and be on their way.

Vesna doesn't seem entirely happy, but she looks sufficiently satisfied with this arrangement. Penelope, for her part, merely regards you with disdain and mutters something under her lips that you don't catch.

Your ascent up the rest of the hill is fairly swift, this in spite of the fact that you are carrying a greatsword up with you. The four of you react with alarm when you accidentally stumble upon someone, but breathe a collective sigh of relief when you realize it's only a supervising instructor. It is fortunate, then, that when you reach the top, you realize that the foliage is relatively thin; compared to the rest of the hill, there is a lower density of trees up here, which allows your team to have a nearly unobstructed view of your entire surroundings.

"We leave in a minute," Aphelia announces, her eyes sharp as she solemnly takes in everything across the horizons. Giving a glimpse at the sun's direction, she then points towards the distant skyline and declares, "North is that way. Remember as much as you can."

You are only passingly familiar with Apaloft's geography; you've seen maps of the region and of Caldrein and even all of Iuryis before, but it's not as if cartography or even map-reading is a skill typically expected of the average Caldran freeholder. As such, you are almost entirely unfamiliar with the geography of the Roldharen forest. It is fortunate, then, that this hilltop vantage point offers a top-down view of the local area. From here, you can see a carpet of trees unfurling itself across the local landscape, covering a roughly six-by-six area in kilometers, punctuated by several hills - just shy of modest mountains - rising in the landscape. You try to remember the position of these peaks relative to the northerly direction, the topography of the region, the limits of the woodlands and thus supposedly the limits of this field exercise. You take into account the blind spots from your vantage point, the areas hidden away on the other side of the surrounding hills. And then the four of you quickly try to match up your map pieces with what you see from the hilltop, making several hunches as to where your map pieces fit in with the landscape.

You let out a small breath of air, wrapping your head around the idea that twenty-eight squads are spread out across forty-or-so square kilometers.

"Time to go," announces Aphelia after a minute is up, and the four of you quickly descend down the hill. Unfortunately, the advantage of not having too many trees obstruct your scouting efforts from the hilltop also means there is very little in the way of hiding spots where you can secretly watch for any other groups coming up. The fact that no one - not even Vesna - objects to the speedy retreat indicates silent agreement on this point. Or at least a willingness to accommodate on Vesna's part.

With your successful retreat halfway down the hill, the four of you eventually slow down to conserve energy, descending the remaining length of the decline at a much more leisurely pace. Sounds of iron meeting iron begin to ring across the forest, the cacophony of conflict, but the lack of alarm from any of the group is a testament to how distant the scuffle sounds.

"Wow," Vesna gives a small, almost resigned laugh as she looks forlornly in the rough direction of the sounds. "Someone's already at it."

"We've only been here for a bit more than an hour too," you murmur, quietly hoping that your internal estimate of time isn't actually off.

"Some team is gonna end up with four more map pieces than us," mutters Penelope with a hint of bitterness in her tone.

"That's enough," Aphelia cuts in, although there isn't as much of an edge in her voice as you may have otherwise expected.

"Assuming that it isn't just some team running into a mercenary," Vesna offers an alternate theory.

"Which one do you think it is?" you ask.

Vesna hums aloud in thought, but Aphelia seems to close her eyes and listen intently for a long moment before she declares, "It's a mercenary." Then, in response to the inquisitive stares from everyone else, she explains, "The tempo and pattern of the clashes don't sound like two apprentices fighting each other. It's more like a mercenary toying with an apprentice to test her."

"Or Lady Ravenhill toying with a fellow apprentice," Vesna suggests with a giggle.

Aphelia gives a soft chuckle. "Can you imagine Ravenhill going easy on anyone?"

The expression on Vesna's face reveals that, indeed, she can't. Nor can you, really. Yes, Sieglinde offered to help you train with your greatsword, and you imagine that's only possible if she has mercy on you, but you don't imagine that's the kind of mercy that will be extended to others in a field exercise such as this. You also wonder, of course, how merciful Aphelia - who is able to fight Sieglinde on even footing - is in an exercise like this, and quietly feel thankful that you share a team with her.

Looking a touch dissatisfied, Penelope demands, "Shouldn't we be making our way towards them to pick off survivors?"

"I'm sure that's what every other squad within half a kilometer is thinking," Aphelia shrugs. "Besides, we have more pressing concerns."

"And what are those supposed to be?" the human scoffs.

Penelope's answer is swiftly answered by her stomach, which allows for a long, slow grumble that is very much audible in this tranquil part of the forest.

"What are you looking at?" Penelope demands indignantly as she glares at everyone else staring at her, although the usual weight of such a threat is greatly diminished by the furious blush across her face.

Ignoring Penelope for now, Aphelia continues, "We're going to have to look for food and water. It's hardly surprising that this is part of the exercise as well." The elf looks at you, asks, "Neianne, how do you fare?"

"O-Oh, um," you stammer, surprised that Aphelia singled you out until you remember that the rest of your team aren't dryads. "I-I-It's just a three-day exercise, so as long as I'm c-careful about my conserving my strength, I can last all three days. B-But having extra energy from food d-doesn't hurt, just in case something happens."

Aphelia nods, taking this into consideration. She doesn't ask the obvious question: Whether or not you'll help them find food despite not truly needing any yourself. Does she already expect you to, or is she simply being considerate in light of current team dynamics? Either way, she instead inquires of the team, "Does anyone know anything about the Roldharen Forest?"

Everyone shakes their head, although Vesna at least offers her insight: "Well, it's not like they're going to throw us somewhere for a field exercise where we can't even scavenge for food."

"It's gonna be a miserable exercise if they want us to climb and fight on just berries," Penelope grumbles.

"There's an entire village of dryads here," Aphelia declares determinedly. "If they can scavenge for food for an entire community, we can too."

That's a very admirable sentiment from your resident elf, but it's also not an accurate one. Contrary to the stereotype of woodland dryads having almost nothing in the way of modern infrastructure, most woodland dryads actually have small patches of communal farmlands scattered across their homewoods in a coordinated effort to diversify their food sources. They're not as organized, coordinated, or well-used as the farmlands of the plains that mass civilizations require, but crops are usually available in the event of a bad hunt or some other form of emergency.

You don't bring this up, though; it's not like you feel terribly offended by the stereotype, even if there's a slightly unpleasant tingling feeling buzzing around in the back of your head. And it's not pertinent to the issue at hand, either, given that the Academy is unlikely to accept "take food from dryad farmlands" as a proper application of your survival skills.

Besides, there isn't a big hole nearby you can duck into to save yourself from the embarrassment of having to speak up in front of a lady of the elven House Treiser, a girl whom you've only been friendly with during short moments of your school life, and a girl who probably hates your guts.

"It's only a three-day exercise, though," Aphelia continues thoughtfully, her previous error remaining uncorrected, "and we weren't given much in the way of supplies for traps."

"I don't suppose anyone already knows how to make supplies out of leaves and twigs?" Vesna laughs awkwardly, knowing that with apprentices still learning how to make use of basic supplies in creative ways, actually creating those supplies in the wilderness is part of the second-year curriculum for those who want to focus on wilderness survival techniques.

Everyone still sees fit to stare expectantly at you, however, in which your only reaction is a startled and flustered shaking of your head.

"So trapping is out of the question," sighs Vesna wistfully, but not so heavily so as to mean offense, "at least for now."

"We can always just scrounge around for stuff like berries if we really have to," Penelope shrugs.

"We don't know if there are edible berries in Roldharen, though," Aphelia notes. "Nor whether or not we can find them in sufficient amounts and quickly to support our activities." After all, a handful of berries seems ridiculously insufficient for three days of hiking, climbing, and fighting.

"Do you have any better ideas?" Penelope shoots back.

"We could try hunting!" Vesna quickly suggests.

"As if we know what to look for here," Penelope snorts. "And as if we know where in the forest they live." After all, despite the fact that the exercise takes place across only the woodlands, there is also the issue of microhabitats forged by topography and terrain, which makes it more likely to find certain types of animals than others. None of you are really hunters yet - save for the apprentices who actually do come from hunting families - but the survival instructors have already begun pounding the ins and outs of hunting to most of you.

"And we don't really have the sort of tools to hunt small game anyways," adds Aphelia, "like birds or hares or whatever." This would indeed be easier if you had an archer in your team capable of shooting down birds or smaller animals. Sadly, the closest thing you have to that is Aphelia's magecraft, and - having seen her spellweaving in action before in a practice spar with Sieglinde - you can't help but wonder if that would just disintegrate small game.

"Why don't we just wait for smoke?" sighs Penelope impatiently, unsheathing one of her daggers and beginning to twirl it between her fingers. "That means someone is starting a fire to cook, and we can jump them for their food and maps."

Although Vesna does not look like the person to get easily angry, she does seem a little impatient and upset when she demands, "May we not try to defeat other apprentices on the very first day of the exercise?"

"It's gonna happen," snorts Penelope, and you notice that Aphelia's expression does not lend itself to the idea that she necessarily disagrees with the facts. "The instructors said as much. What difference does it make sooner or later?"

"Maybe because people would rather stay in this exercise for at least a day to learn something."

Penelope again makes a sound that resembles some hybrid between a snort and a snarl, certainly reflecting a sense of disgust. "Some of us," she declares, "are here for something more that just to suck up, Rainer."

You don't know if Vesna will rise to the challenge, regardless of how hostile Penelope is being, but Aphelia interrupts this with a heavy sigh and instead turns to you without warning, asking, "Neianne."

You have been so entirely content staying out of the increasingly heated conversation that Aphelia's redirected attention catches you entirely off-guard. "Y-Y-Yes!" you squeak, startled.

In spite of herself, Aphelia manages a tiny smile, the sort of smile that one may make when a particularly adorable younger sister - or a pet cat - does something very cute. "You've been quiet for a while. What do you think?"

You blink, not sure what to make of that question and not sure you really want to answer it either. "...I-It'd...be nice if we didn't fight?" you offer hesitantly.

Aphelia actually gives a small laugh at that. "I agree wholeheartedly," she chuckles and shoots meaningful looks at Vesna and Penelope. "But I mean how you think we should approach our food problem."

That is a topic that you actually have an idea about - you've lived in a forest as a child, after all - but also not something you've really ever expected to voice. Attracting attention to yourself - in spite of your desire to change this - has never really been your idea of a good time. "U-Um," you stammer, subconsciously stalling for time, "I don't..."

"We're just bouncing ideas for now," Aphelia notes. "Maybe you thought of something we haven't." Her dignified expression and tone makes it difficult to discern whether she's trying to offer you some comfort or just wanting to get this over with, but it does seem to have the desired effect on your willingness to speak.

"U-Um," you finally relent after a moment, trying to figure out how to express your thoughts into workable suggestions. Tragically, your first attempt ends in failure as you simply state, "there are bears."

Once again, everyone stares at you, and you begin to think that boulder over there is a great place for you to curl up behind and die.

"...Um," Vesna starts with a small, awkward laugh.

Penelope is more blunt about this: "I am not stupid enough to go and hunt a bear."

"N-No!" you stammer in a flustered attempt to explain yourself. "I-I-I mean, I m-mean! There are bears here. T-They must eat too."

"Of course," Aphelia takes your meaning quickly. "And their prey must be large enough to sate their appetites. Deer, elk, maybe even boar." Technically, bears are omnivorous, and you've heard of bears that subsist mostly on a vegetation-based diet, but Caldrein is dominated mostly by the more carnivorous brown bears in the ursine area.

Vesna nods, as if everything about this makes sense to her. "It beats trying to hunt a bear," she opines with a ready smile.

"So," Penelope toes the dirt beneath her boot impatiently, "any idea where we're gonna find game?"

"There must be a water source nearby. A river or stream of some sort. I didn't see anything from the hilltop, though."

Aphelia purses her lips. "I only have a rough image of the map of Apaloft in my head," says the Elsparian elf, "but I don't think any major rivers run through this area. There might be streams, but..."

"They're not the sort of thing that would be easily seen under all these trees..." Vesna agrees.

Hesitating through this entire exchange, you somehow manage to find some more courage before speaking up, "I...th-think there may be a stream to the north."

Aphelia looks at you in mild surprise, asking, "Did you see one?"

"I-I'm not sure," you admit timidly. Then, suddenly worried that the looks everyone else gives you represents disdain for having spoken up without anything of import to say, you quickly stammer, "B-B-But it...looks like the kind of place where you'd find a stream. I'm n-not sure how to explain it." You trail off pathetically as your final sentence ends. It is, after all, difficult to explain that when you stared across the landscape from the top of the hill you are descending, you spotted similarities in the topography between Roldharen Forest and the woods in which you were born. You remember playing with your childhood friends in a nearby stream, the shape of the surrounding lands, and how much it resembles - at least in spirit if not in exact shape - the small patch of woodlands among larger patches of woodlands to the north.

But despite this, Vesna just smiles, looks at Aphelia and Penelope, and chimes, "Let's say we trust her dryad senses. Better her than me guiding us through these woodlands, anyways."

You're not sure how happy you are with the assumption that you just somehow magically know the woods because you're a dryad, but under present circumstances, you're tactful enough not to explain; you're certainly appreciative of the vote of confidence nonetheless.

Aphelia nods after a short moment and says, "I concur. Lead the way, Neianne."

Although the four of you retain an alert posture at all times, the journey northward is largely uneventful. The distant clashes of combat eventually fade away - either because the faraway battles end or because you've descended far down enough into the valleys that the sounds no longer reach you - and there is nothing to accompany you aside from the footsteps of the group and the occasional chirping of out-of-sight birds amidst the silence. Twice you pass instructors, almost skirting beneath your notice despite never actually trying to hide, and subsequently breathe sighs of relief when you see that they do not wear red armbands. There are no further signs of other groups, although this does not surprise you; with each team having one and a half square kilometers to themselves, it'd take effort - or at least a tremendous amount of chance - to run into someone else.

Although it has been some time, you do feel as if you're in your element here. As a dryad, you naturally blend into your surroundings without thinking about it, both in terms of your biological makeup and possibly in-born habits. Climbing hills and valleys still take effort, but the flora here seem almost familiar, evoking memories from your early childhood. It's easy for you to bask in the forest air and move ahead, even as you take your allies of convenience into account, waiting from time-to-time for them to catch up as you scout just a small distance ahead of them.

At one point, Vesna catches up with you, and - in a small pocket of privacy sans Aphelia and Penelope - remarks with almost a hint of amusement as she remarks, "Penelope really doesn't like you."

You sigh resignedly. "I w-wish I could do something to change her mind."

"So it's true that Lady Zabanya was behind that?"

You purse your lips. Officially, Elizabeth was never directly implicated for putting Penelope and her squad in the sorry state they were found in, given the complete lack of evidence. It was one of those things where all the instructors knew it was her, and where they might've disciplined her had there been any shred of evidence. But making such an accusation against a viscountess' heir without such was simply too risky an action to take, so it seemed. Subsequently, you and Stephanie - and perhaps Sieglinde as well - have informally and quietly come to the conclusion that it is simply easier for all involved to keep hush about it, especially since the instructors have already moved on from the issue. The moment had passed, and coming out with the truth now instead of then seems incredibly awkward. It doesn't help that the damage has already been done, and reopening festering wounds sounds like an incredibly horrible idea.

Not to mention you really, really don't want to get on Elizabeth's bad side.

Looking at your troubled face, Vesna smiles and reassures you, "Don't worry, I won't tell. You don't have to either; I know about Lady Zabanya, for better or for worse." She shrugs. "Besides, half the apprentices here think it was her anyways, so I doubt it'd make a difference."

You wonder if you should point out that, technically, Penelope and her friends struck the first blow...even though Elizabeth's retaliation was entirely disproportionate. Not to mention the fact that Elizabeth not only seems entirely unrepentant after the fact, but saw fit to drive home the point of "might makes right".

You guess you can't really find it in yourself to defend a squadmate, even if you aren't willing to directly implicate her.

"Well," shrugs Vesna, stretching her arms, "first things first. We need to get to that stream."

"I'm not sure there is a stream," you try to temper the human's expectations.

But Vesna smiles and winks at you. "Don't worry, I've got a good feeling."

You wonder what "a good feeling" is even supposed to mean. It'd be nice to have even a quarter of Vesna's optimism.

Fortunately, it doesn't seem that her optimism is misplaced. It takes you almost two hours to get there at a cautious hike up and down difficult terrain, but when you reach the bottom of one of the valleys, you hear the sound of flowing water, and - a mere minute after that - a modest stream running through a rockbed.

"Wow!" Vesna gushes happily, hopping over to the stream as soon as she sees it. "There really is a stream here." It's no river, and there isn't enough water for you to hope to find fish swimming upstream, but it's certainly enough for you to sink your flask underwater to fill it up.

"Did you doubt Neianne?" chuckles Aphelia.

"I agreed with her before you did," Vesna grins.

Your elven de facto leader moves in the direction of the stream to rehydrate herself, but she passes you on the way and gives a reassuring clap on your shoulder, commending, "Good job."

"Th-Thank you, milady," you give a small, shy curtsy before joining the rest of your teammates for a nice drink of water. The general area, you suspect, would be an excellent place to set up camp when night comes.

The immediate concern of hydration is taken care of, and even if you run out of water from your own flasks, you now know where to return to should the need to quench your thirst arise. Food is now of utmost concern, especially since you all expect to engage in physically strenuous activities. It's fortunate that you - the one who needs food the least and with the greatest natural physical strength - carry the only true heavy weapon; Aphelia's rapier, Vesna's staff, and Penelope's dagger weigh light on them compared to your greatsword.

Fortunately, while all four of you are complete novices when it comes to tracking, you've at least learned to look for the most likely habitats for various types of common game. With the four of you in search of larger game, you move in the direction of lower elevation while remaining close to the river, looking through foliage and flora to search for the most likely hiding and feeding spots, to say nothing of possible fruits or berries that may stave off hunger's edge.

The hunt takes time; most animals have senses as keen as the sharpest aseri, and so it is no longer with other teams in mind that you move stealthily through the surrounding woodlands. With movements slower and more cautious than before, you scout the area at a light spread, and although it takes you almost another hour, your silent, persistent efforts are eventually rewarded when Penelope makes a gesture indicating that she's found something. It's only when the three of you gather at her position that she points through the gaps in the maze of trees, whispering, "Boar."

From the rocks the four of you are hiding behind, you peek out into the distance - about thirty or forty meters away - to see the prey you're hunting, if "prey" can be used to adequately describe a boar. Sure, it isn't the largest or the most dangerous game you can hunt, with the average boar only slightly larger than a big shepherd dog. This boar clearly isn't the largest you've ever seen. However, it is still three hundred kilograms of weight thrown around at forty kilometers per hour, and boars have often used that speed to gouge their victims with their tusks. It's hardly the sort of game you look forward to hunting compared to the more docile deer.

Vesna seems to be of similar mind as she quietly asks, "Are we sure we want to hunt that?"

"We don't have a choice," Aphelia whispers back. "We spent nearly an hour looking for a boar. Who knows if we'll get lucky and find something else in a reasonable amount of time." That seems to be the end of that, until she looks at the rest of you and whispers, "Any objections?"

Penelope shakes her head. Vesna takes a hair of a moment to think it over, then agrees. And, caught up in the moment, you also indicate your lack of meaningful objections.

Nodding, Aphelia sudden turns to you and declares, "Neianne, your greatsword is probably the best weapon for striking down that boar."

You blink, caught off guard. In fact, you're so surprised that you haven't realized that maybe it's time to panic about the fact that you've somehow just been designated the one who must actually hunt the boar.

Your mind is still trying to piece together a rationale to panic, and your mouth is still trying to instinctively trying to stammer some kind of exclamation, but Aphelia has already turned from you to the human mage of the group, asking, "Vesna, can you put that boar to sleep?"

"My magecraft is not that good yet," Vesna grips her staff determinedly, "but I can try to disorientate it."

"We need to give Neianne the best possible odds," Aphelia nods, still not noticing - or choosing not to notice - you beginning to work up a panic. "Try it, then keep back. In case something happens, we need you to heal any wounds we have, so it is imperative you remain unharmed." And before you can finally stammer anything in objection, Aphelia turns back around to grab you reassuringly by the shoulders. "You'll be in good hands if anything goes wrong. Penelope and I are here to cover you, and Vesna can fix you up in no time, so you need to stay calm, focus on the boar and nothing else. I'll try to use my own magecraft to wear the boar down and corral it in your direction so you can deliver the killing blow, so conserve your strength until then." The elf gives your shoulders a reassuring squeeze. "You're an apprentice at Faulkren Academy. You'll do well." Without removing her hands from your shoulders, the elf turns to the other human, declares, "Penelope, should we fail to take down the boar in the first try, track the boar down in case it tries to flee."

Strangely enough, you do feel a bit reassured. It isn't just the fact that Aphelia is trying to assuage your fears. It's the fact that Aphelia already has a plan that plays to everyone's strengths. It's the fact that she's determined to keep you - and everyone else - as safe as possible, making sure that you have the best fighting chance and that you'll be in good hands even if something goes wrong. It's the fact that she radiates confidence and competence, someone sure that she knows what she's doing. There's an almost natural magnetism to her personality when she's put in charge of something, a force of character that Sieglinde lacks. Now that you're with her, it's easy to see why Aphelia is popular amongst the apprentices, and it's not difficult to imagine that her popularity would've remained even had she not been a noblelady.

Taking a deep breath, Aphelia looks to the rest of you and asks, "Ready?"

You and Vesna nod your heads in agreement. You half-expect Penelope to ask who made Aphelia leader, but although she doesn't nod or say a word, she makes a small show of twirling her daggers in her hands as if to show she's ready.

"Go," declares Aphelia, and the four of you spring to action. The lightest and fastest among you, Penelope, makes for the trees, disappearing amongst the trunks to stay out of sight and out of mind, ready to track the boar in case it tries to flee. Vesna lingers back in safety as she prepares to cast her spell, while Aphelia moves forward with you in the direction of the boar, the former already beginning to weave the intricacies of magecraft as a tome in her hands are slowly surrounded by motes of light.

The boar sees your approach, but although it seems to tense, it does not yet flee, instead turning towards you. That's aggressive behavior common with solitary male boars, even as the game in question begins to paw at the dirt beneath it, as if preparing to flee...or charge. You move forward, closing the distance, your greatsword held high as your instructor taught you, even as Aphelia remains behind you with rapier in one hand and tome in another.

"Disorientating!" Vesna calls out from behind you, mostly for your benefit, as she attempts to befuddle the mind of the boar, slowing its reactions, hampering its decision-making process, throwing off its balance. The effect is near-immediate; the boar begins to throw its significant weight forward into a charge, moving at an astonishing speed given its short legs. Still, it sways a little in its trajectory towards you, almost as if it's slightly intoxicated; Aphelia helps guide the boar in your direction with successive waves of her arms, throwing blasts of magecraft that land left and right of the boar, forming small barriers of crystalline ice as it strikes the ground, making sure the beast is on track towards you.

For your part, blood is pounding in your ears as you tighten your grip on your greatsword and desperately try to ignore every instinct telling you to get out of the boar's way. Striking a charging boar is nothing like fighting an opponent with a strong sense of self-preservation and a weapon you must watch for; nor is it a pig's carcass strung up for you to hack at to experience the feeling of cutting into flesh. This is a charging hunk of meat and tusks that outweighs you six times over despite only coming up to your hips, something that can inflict serious harm on you just by slamming into you.

It crosses a distance of thirty or forty meters quickly, taking a mere five seconds to come within spitting distance in an attempt to gouge you. Fighting against the urge to flee, fighting against a slight tremble running through your body, fighting against a strange feeling of lightheadedness that comes perhaps because you're breathing too quickly and heavily, you allow the boar to enter the range of your greatsword before - just as you have been taught - you allow the weight of the blade in your hands to come down, using its mass as a weapon, swinging it at the boar less than two meters away...

...And the blade hits the dirt. You open your eyes, realizing only a second later that at the very last moment, you attempted to dodge, jumping aside while trying to compensate by flailing your greatsword slightly to the side, only to miss in the end. You find yourself on a knee, turning in a panic to see where the boar is, feeling a mixed sense of both relief and dread as you realize it has charged right past you, missing you by a hair, but is now circling back towards you, with Aphelia already beside you, erecting more barriers of ice to cut off any attempts by the boar to retreat.

You fear that she may look angry or disappointed, having leapt out of the way as soon as you dodged, but instead her expression is one of intense concentration, her eyes tracking the boar all the while. "It's okay," she reassures you quickly between fast incantations from her tome, "it's coming around for a second pass." She gives your shoulder a clap, adds, "Anticipate its movements. You can do it."

You give Aphelia a nod. At least you think you do; in the rush of excitement, amidst the fear and adrenaline, you can't help but feel that you're having a strange out-of-body experience, as if your soul is perceiving the world from a point of view outside your body rather than from within it. You take a deep breath, trying to steel your nerves, trying to feel the balance of the greatsword in your hands, trying to prepare as the boar turns around, making a second charge. You wonder if it's anticipating your movements as you are anticipating its, both of you trying to get a sense of each other's reactions from the previous near-miss.

Again, small barriers of ice spring up left and right, each nearly striking the boar but instead funneling the boar in your direction, Aphelia angling it slightly to your left so your right-hand preference can take advantage of it. You again recall your training, allowing habits to take over even as you reinforce it with mental replays of your instructor's words, with hours of repeating the same motions again and again until your muscles can pull them off with only minimal input from your brain, taking an even stance with your greatsword gripped tightly above your head. You focus on the boar's approach, mentally tallying the diminishing meters between the two of you, swinging downwards with the full force of your greatsword at the very last second.

Your attack connects this time, and with far more power than you expected. You already knew, of course, that you've become much more fit after months of physical training and calisthenics at the Academy. You knew, of course, that the force of your physical strength is only enhanced by the weight and mass of the greatsword in your hands. But even you are surprised when your greatsword easily slices through the boar, going from end to end with frightening force. It's not the most well-placed cut; rather than cleave the boar right down the middle, your strike instead cuts off its side, taking off its flank and a set of its ribs. It's not a blow that instantly kills the boar, but it's fatal, even as the boar collapses to the side, blood flowing freely from its gaping wounds that reveals muscles and sinew and bone and organs.

Breathlessly, you look at the collapsed boar breathing its last in a mixture of fascination and horror. You try to keep your adrenaline under control, almost sinking to your knees as you do so. This is what fighting with your life and safety on the line feels like, you think to yourself, still struggling to mentally break your way out of a stupor, trying not to focus on the exposed bloody innards of your victim. You've hacked away at pig corpses as part of your training before, but those were already dead. This feels different.

The boar's eyes look glazed over, the severity of your fatal attack sending it instantly into shock as its breathes its last staggered breaths. Quietly, you move over and plunge your greatsword into where you think the boar's heart is, giving it as quick and painless a death as you can grant it. You've merely killed it for food. There's no reason to let it suffer.

It's only after this that you sink onto your knees, finally managing to catch your breath and shake as the adrenaline slowly drains away. Aphelia is the first by your side as she gives you a strong pat on the shoulder. "That was excellent," she commends you approvingly. "Catch your breath, get some rest."

Vesna is quickly by your side as well, giving you a quick hug - she's probably noticed that you're still trying to catch your breath - and checking you for injuries. Penelope emerges from the trees, sheathing her daggers expressionlessly, looking impassively at the carcass of the boar. Is she, too, looking at what the insides of a dead living being looks like...or perhaps taking into account the fact that you have the physical strength to cut a boar in twain with a swing of your greatsword?

But Penelope eventually turns to Aphelia and dryly remarks, "You know, if you can use magecraft like that, couldn't you have dealt with the boar yourself?"

"I couldn't use fire or lightning magecraft for fear of starting a forest fire," Aphelia explains, examining the boar just in case, "not that I am proficient with either. And I being able to attack a target surgically with ice requires a level of precision that my magecraft has yet to achieve; I don't specialize in it as much as, say, Zabanya."

Penelope bristles at the mention of Elizabeth, and you quietly wish that Aphelia didn't mention her at all. With a scowl, the human girl marches off a moment later, an angry look on her face.

Ignoring Penelope, Aphelia gestures for Vesna to come over and declares, "Come on, let's start a fire and roast this boar."

Vesna moves over agreeably to help, although as the other magecraft-proficient apprentice in the group, she finds fit to ask, "That's...surprising. I...did not realize the precision of ice magecraft to be this elusive, under the circumstances."

"It doesn't, actually," Aphelia freely admits her duplicity once she looks over your shoulder to make sure Penelope is well out of earshot. And, with a slightly amused smile, she adds, "But we wouldn't have been able to do this together if I just read some incantations from a tome, would we?"

It takes a while to make a spit from limited resources; you end up having to chop the boar into smaller pieces, and Aphelia ends up having to use her Academy-issued rapier as a makeshift spit. In the end, however, your team manages to start a decent campfire as the sun begins its descent into the hilltops, indicating the approaching evening. Your goal, then, is to try to finish cooking before the sun sets, before your fire can be seen from kilometers around. Or, at least, that's the goal of your team; Aphelia insists that your job is done after cutting the boar into smaller pieces, and instead tells you to take a rest now that you've done the lion's share of the work. You take the time to return to the stream - only about a hundred meters away, fortunately - to clean the blood off your greatsword.

As you maintain your weapon for this exercise, you understand that there is an element of time involved. Penelope previously suggested that your squad simply wait for signs of smoke to indicate that someone was cooking, then ambush them for food and map pieces. That plan was shot down, but now that you have food and the need to cook it before digging in, it is entirely possible that other squads will use this hypothetical plan on you instead. It's thus prudent that you cook your food, eat it, and then pack up as quickly as possible to find another spot to camp for the night.

After finishing the cleaning of your greatsword, you finally return to the campfire, just in time to see Penelope beginning to cut a slice of the meat with one of her daggers while Vesna attempts to catch it with what looks like a large leaf that was washed in the stream. Upon seeing your approach, Vesna smiles and offers the choice cut of meat to you, declaring, "It's your kill, so you get the first cut."

"O-Oh," you blink, feeling a little surprised and embarrassed, but grateful nonetheless. "Th-Thank you."

"It'll be a bit tough to chew, since we don't have forks or knives," Aphelia notes, "so don't be afraid to get your fingers a little greasy."

"Note for next exercise," sniffs Penelope, "bring some forks and knives."

Since the campfire is modest and the equipment improvised, only part of the boar has been roasted, and you take turns managing the spit to make sure you can prepare as much meat as possible. As patches of meat are roasted, you and your teammates make slice after slice, careful not to heat the meat so much that it becomes tough to chew. It takes some time, but eventually the four of you largely manage to fill your stomachs, replenishing the strength that you expended on climbing up and down a hill, then on hunting down a boar, and then some.

Having started early and needing less food than the others, you are largely simply watching the other three finish their last slices of meat when Penelope speaks up. "I've got an idea," she declares in the midst of idle conversation, waiting for the three of you to turn your collective attention to her before continuing. "If the rest of you are too scared to take map pieces off from other teams, then we may as well head northwest."

You remember the significance of that direction. As does Vesna, apparently, as she blinks and asks, "Towards the bears?"

"Towards the bears," Penelope agrees. Then, when she realizes the rest of you haven't caught on, she scowls impatiently - but also with the self-satisfied air of someone who has figured something out before everyone else - and explains, "The dryads warned us about it, so most teams are gonna do the safe thing and stay away from that corner, probably so far away that they're never gonna run into the huntresses that are supposed to turn us back when we get too close. So what I'm saying is that if no one else is there, we can just search for flags in that area, in that safe little spot between where the dryad huntresses will turn us back and where the others are too scared to go."

Aphelia furrows her brow thoughtfully. "You assume, of course," she murmurs, "that they have not moved the flag elsewhere in light of the bear sightings."

"And that...sounds like cheating," Vesna points out with a slightly dismayed look; she's getting a bit accustomed to the sort of ideas that Penelope comes up with now. "Are we even allowed to do that?"

"It's technically not cheating," Aphelia allows slowly, cautiously. "Somewhat unsporting, but not disallowed."

"I'm not sure we've been brought out on this field exercise to be particularly unsporting."

"Look," scowls Penelope with impatience and frustration, "will it kill the three of you to imagine that maybe the instructors will be happy with clever thinking?"

Sighing, Aphelia is silent for a moment before admitting, "I cannot say I dislike Penelope's idea. It's not as if we have been told that combat is the only way we may get through this exercise."

Vesna clearly has more reservations about this than her elven counterpart, but she allows, "Well, if you think it's alright..."

Clapping her hands together without waiting for any further input, Penelope declares, "Then it's settled."

But Aphelia instead turns to you for a moment, prompts, "Neianne?"

"U-Um," you stammer, surprised that you're suddenly being asked for an opinion despite Penelope being determined to ignore any other input, probably especially from you. Certainly, she is glaring at you with deep irritation now. But you quickly answer, "I don't have any o-objections."

Aphelia stares at you for a moment, as if to divine something - it mostly just makes you feel incredibly self-conscious and somewhat uncomfortable - before she finally nods and says, "Let's start getting ready to move, then. Neianne, you go and wash up first. We'll try to slice as much of the remaining meat as possible before getting a move on."

"We don't have salt to help us preserve the meat, though," Vesna observes.

"I'll freeze the meat, and we can thaw it when we're ready to eat tomorrow. Some of the meat will be damaged in the process, but we do what we can."

Seeing that your foodstuff reserves are in good hands with the rest of your teammates, you turn for the stream as you call out, "I'll be back s-soon."

With your hands all greasy from eating roasted boar with your hands, you're quite happy to wash off the fat and oil in the cool flowing waters. You don't take your time, though - after all, the others are probably waiting for you to come help them so they, too, can wash their hands - so you turn back in the direction of your campfire, preparing to march back...

...At least, until you hear sounds behind you from further down the stream.

You turn in alarm, your hands quickly grabbing your greatsword in the process, but you don't see anyone or anything. You may have misheard, but cautiously - or perhaps just nervously - you quietly back away from the water and into the treeline, disappearing into the foliage of trees and leaves where your biological makeup affords you a degree of camouflage with your woodland surroundings. From the shadows of the canopy of those trees and leaves, you carefully keep watch in the direction of the source of the sound, only to hear more of what sounds like the rustling of leaves and footsteps on branches.

Your patience is rewarded when figures finally emerge from the opposite treeline approximately fifty meter upstream. Four figures, in fact, all of them mercenary apprentices, making it obvious that this is another team, one that is moving in your direction. Their speed is limited, as if they are watchful and cautious for ambushes, searching for defenders hidden in the flora...such as yourself, if you think about it. With some nervousness, you realize - no thanks to Penelope - that it's entirely possible that they have been drawn in by the smoke of your campfire, and that this is also a group that has considered the possibility of ambushing others. Alternatively, this can be a group that may try to negotiate...or perhaps even voluntarily cooperate. It's hard to tell.

One thing you are sure of, however, is the identity of one of the team members. While no one on that team is from your squad, you do recognize the human in the squad, the one holding the spear, as Wendy. She's someone that you would not have known at all except by name - and perhaps not even that - if not for one particular detail: She's in Penelope's squad. And all of your limited experience with her suggests that her attitudes regarding you, Elizabeth, and Squad Four in general are fairly in line with Penelope's, especially after Elizabeth paid them a "visit".

This certainly presents you with a conundrum. On one hand, your team has already accepted an "evade other teams for now" strategy that Aphelia first came up with. On the other hand, there is also the proviso of "unless you recognize someone from the same squad as a teammate". In this case, however, said "someone" is an apprentice who can potentially cause your team - and you in particular - all kinds of trouble with Penelope. It doesn't help that you don't know what the approaching team's intentions are, what their strategy is regarding coming across new groups, whether or not they intend to ambush you after having tracked down your campfire.

You have the element of stealth. You have the advantage of distance and time. It is entirely possible for you to rush back to your team now to inform them of the approaching squad. It is entirely possible for all of you to evacuate the campfire before this new team - Wendy's team - reaches your campfire. The question, of course, is what to inform them of, what not to inform them of, and how.

[x] Be truthful, and inform your team of an approaching team that includes Penelope's squadmate Wendy.
[x] Be deceitful, and inform your team of an approaching team while denying that you recognize any of its members as anyone's squadmates.
[x] Return and don't mention anything, letting it play out naturally.
[x] Write-in.

Kei · Dec 19, 2016

Holy crap, it only took two weeks to update this, holy crap WTFBBQ?

This update has been brought to you by self-loathing.

[x] Be truthful, and inform your team of an approaching team that includes Penelope's squadmate Wendy.

For better or for worse, this isn't the sort of lie that's easy to cover up; all it would take is someone being a bit faster or more inquisitive than you'd like. Nor, frankly, are you a particularly good liar. It helps that you're shy all the time, and it helps that - whether you've ever intended to exploit this or not - people have always found you young and small and adorable enough to forgive, but there's no point in expending this good faith and goodwill on something that's probably incredibly minor.

Quietly, you withdraw from the treeline and back to your campfire. Under normal circumstances, you may not have eluded the attention of the two aseri in their group - what with the superior senses of hearing and smell they have - but these are the woodlands, and you blend in well with your native ground. At a brisk pace, you quickly return to where the rest of your teammates are.

"T-T-There's another group coming in," you explain as soon as you return to the puzzled look of your teammates. "I think they followed our smoke." As the other three adopt a more tense mood, you hesitantly turn towards Penelope, not quite meeting her glare, and add, "I s-saw Wendy."

Penelope regards you for a moment with surprise and no small amount of suspicion. You really wish she doesn't assume the worst of you all the time. Aphelia, for her part, reacts instantly: "Defensive positions. We'll talk with them, but don't let them ambush us."

The four of you move away from the campfire and into the trees, which act as both cover and concealment as you await the approach of the other team. They do not take terribly long; although they move stealthily, it's easier to spot their silhouettes skulking through the trees once you know they're coming and from which direction. The human you recognize among them eventually comes close enough for Penelope to risk calling out, "Wendy?"

Wendy's head twitches in Penelope's direction even as her team - perhaps would-be ambushers - adopt defensive combat positions upon realizing that they've been discovered, and she's quick to call out, "Wait, wait!" And as soon as the initial shock of the encounter wears out in seconds, Wendy steps out from the trees and explains, "It's someone from my squad."

Both teams emerge from concealment, and the defensiveness evaporates once it's clear who's on the other side, for Penelope and Wendy aren't the only ones to be recognized. Given her social profile here at the Academy, Lucille is easily recognizable, but she isn't alone in waving cheerily at your team's elf. One of the two aseri from the other team - the one carrying a spear - is quite loud in her greeting: "Oh, hey, Aphelia!"

Although the two of you have never really interacted in any truly meaningful way, it's difficult to forget that Mia Honette was one of the girls whom you saw during your first day at the Faulkren Academy. Yes, part of it is because she and Lucille were the ones who greeted you directly when you first started making friends in the Great Hall of Faulkren Academy. But it's also in large part because she's somewhat loud. Well, "loud" is perhaps an uncharitable word; although it's true that Mia has some problems when it comes to indoor voices - one may well wonder how her team has remained undetected all this time - it's perhaps better to characterize her as "boisterous". Although not really a troublemaker, Mia has clearly established a reputation as a happy and excitable girl with an almost infectiously life-of-the-party personality, a bit of a class clown. And although she's not highborn, Mia does hail from a very well-to-do merchant family that puts her in the loose social orbit of Aphelia and Lucille, all while being on good terms with most other apprentices in the Academy. At the very least, you know Mia by reputation if nothing else.

The same cannot be said for the other aseri who keeps a step behind everyone else in general and Lucille in particular. Although there are a bit more than a hundred apprentices here in Faulkren, you still at least recognize the uniquely white-haired aseri to be Melanie Aster, an apprentice also from a good merchant family like Mia. Her conspicuous lack of an obvious weapon means she's probably a mage...and that's really all you know about her. She's clearly shy; even if you missed her general tendency to not speak or make eye contact, or even her perpetual air of mild embarrassment, you recognize this inexplicable feeling of kinship, the feeling that you're not the only sane one, and silently wonder if she's feeling the same.

The two of you accidentally meet glances, and with flustered embarrassment and mild panic, both of you blush and quickly bow your heads to each other in polite - and almost apologetic - greeting.

"What are the odds?" sings Mia, waving enthusiastically, momentarily ignoring the fact that Penelope and Wendy - the latter of which fires off a glare in your specific direction but otherwise opts to pretend you aren't there - have detached themselves from the larger group to have their own private conversation.

"As soon as we started cooking?" Aphelia dryly answers. "Even. I'm just surprised we didn't hear you coming from kilometers away." Gesturing towards the smoke coming from the dying embers of your campfire, she adds, "Looking for a quick meal?"

Lucille grins in a slightly guilty manner. Although not as loud as Mia, the elf can be pretty talkative too, given how involved she is with the social scene at Faulkren. "What can I say? It smelled really good. Besides, you sure were ready for us creeping up on you."

"Neianne saw you coming."

"Neianne?" blinks Mia. You're not surprised she hasn't linked the name to you; you're not exactly a very high-profile apprentice. Still, once Vesna points in your direction, she recognizes you as a dryad - there are only ten-or-so of you at Faulkren anyways - and she nods, "Ah, no wonder Melanie and I didn't smell her!"

The more logical part of your brain tells you that Mia is simply referring to the aseri's superior sense of smell and the natural ability for dryads to blend in with the woodlands, especially when being sought by novice trackers. The rest of your brain, however, takes a very different interpretation of Mia's words, and you blush furiously at the thought as you struggle in vain to come up with some kind of protest.

"It's not like that!" Mia laughs good-naturedly, which is almost as loud as Melanie panickedly exclaiming the exact same thing, albeit with a strong stutter and a blush just as horrible as yours. Wide-eyed at her outburst and the fact that she was in sync with Mia, Melanie averts her gaze in embarrassment even as Mia laughs again and cheerily slaps the fellow aseri on the back, reassuring you, "Besides, I'm sure you smell good!"

That is not helping. At all.

Bouncing up to Melanie, Lucille hugs her shoulders - slightly difficult, given Melanie is not at all short, whereas Lucille as a tad below average - as she jokingly accuses the rowdy aseri, "You're awful, Mia."

Similarly, Vesna has suddenly appears by your side, grabbing your arm in what you suspect is supposed to be a show of solidarity. At least, insomuch solidarity as you can expect from Vesna's tone of voice as she similarly playfully joins Lucille's choir and declares, "You shouldn't be teasing our Neianne so hard!"

Needless to say, you and Melanie continue to blush.

"Sorry, sorry!" laughs Mia, not really sounding that apologetic, but she sounds too good-natured for anyone to really mind. She instead turns expectantly towards Aphelia before - with an expression like a puppy waiting for treats - pointing to the boar meat and quipping, "So, um. Food?"

Aphelia crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow, but she doesn't look nearly as standoffish as she sounds as she inquires, "Shouldn't you have hunted for your own food?"

It's Lucille's turn to sound sheepishly apologetic. "I tried, but animals keep running away from me."

Still holding onto your arm, Vesna readily and cheerily quips to Aphelia, "Well, we're not going to be able to finish this all by ourselves even with three days anyways, right?"

Aphelia sighs, but relents very quickly after. "Very well. But we share map pieces in return. Deal?"

A growling sound that rumbles through the quiet of the forests provides all the answer anyone ever needs. "Well," Mia laughs sheepishly, "there's no arguing with the stomach!"

Fortunately, Aphelia hasn't started freezing the meat, so although the fire is out, the others can easily start digging in. Wendy, too, joins in on the meal soon when she returns to the group with Penelope, while you and your team help yourselves to the map pieces that the other team makes available to you.

"You're very nice to your friends," Vesna observes happily to Aphelia.

"Or," Aphelia lightheartedly offers an alternative, "I think our stealth would be better served if Mia spends more time eating than talking."

"Did someone say something about me?" Mia asks in between bites as she stuffs her mouth with food. Aphelia elects to ignore her.

Given the actual size of the piece of paper you've all been given, you can't help but wonder if - rather than cutting a map into more than a hundred pieces - the apprentices have been given copies of the same map. Otherwise, it's hard to imagine the idea of more than a hundred apprentices somehow coming together to fit a map with more than a hundred pieces together. It's not like four more pieces to the map would actually really help the four pieces your team has started out with.

"Oh," Vesna pipes up excitedly, pointing, "look at this piece." Her attention isn't unwarranted. One of the pieces has a thick double-border running close to the empty edge, which suggests that it's a piece from the very outside of the map which thus represents the furthest borders of the Roldharen Forest. Even better, not only is there a map symbol of a mountain on that piece, there's also an unmistakable symbol of a flag located it its base.

"It looks like it's on the northern side," Aphelia declares, a hypothesis based on the fact that the peak of the mountain symbol on the paper is pointing towards the thick double-border. Unless your instructors are deliberately playing tricks on the map-reading skills of the apprentices, it looks like this particular piece of paper represents the northern edge of Roldharen.

"Looks like the plan still works," Penelope declares, her voice thick with satisfaction.

"You girls have a plan?" asks Mia again, surprising Penelope into a displeased scowl. Aseri ears are really quite sharp.

Penelope is in no hurry to volunteer an explanation, but Vesna - perhaps to the other human's chagrin - readily answers, "We're getting close to where the dryads warned us about the bears to see if we can find any flags there. Everyone else will probably try to avoid that area. So as long as we don't stray further north than the dryad hunters who are supposed to turn us back, we should be safe and undisturbed."

"Hey, that's not a bad idea at all!" Lucille exclaims approvingly. The others don't seem to disagree, with the exception of Melanie, who keeps her expression guarded. That, or she's just too timid.

"It was Penelope's idea," Vesna smiles readily, causing a slightly complicated expression to cross Penelope's face even as Wendy gently punches her in the shoulder in a comradely manner.

"Shall we get going, then?" Mia suggests readily in between bites of boar.

Aphelia raises an eyebrow at her and inquires, "Aren't you supposed to have your own plans?"

"Aw," laughs Mia, slinging an arm around a sighing Aphelia's shoulders, "you don't need to be so cold!"

"It's highly unlikely that we'll find enough flags for seven squads," Penelope points out, a bit of a protest coming back to her tone. She clearly thought that this was something that was supposed to be shared only with your team and Wendy, not the rest of the other team as well.

"We probably can't stop them from coming along if they want to, though," Aphelia shrugs, a gesture of resignation which also serves to shove off Mia's overly familiar arm.

Penelope doesn't stay annoyed with Aphelia for long, although not voluntarily. Sounds of clashes begin ringing out in the forest again. And if Aphelia's explanations about the sounds of combat hold true, this conflict sounds like it's between different teams, not with an instructor. "That sounds like it's coming from pretty close by," Wendy observes, sounding a little concerned.

Aphelia is already marching northwards before anyone has a chance to start speculating on their situation. "We'd better move, then."

The trek northwards, in theory, puts you apart from the potential intense competition that the other teams are going through to acquire flags. Assuming that the flags are set relatively evenly apart from each other, that gives you a lot of room to wander around unnoticed in your search, so long as other teams don't get the same idea, and so long as you don't attract attention.

For better or for worse, Mia seems to have missed that memo as she pounces you and Vesna from behind, slinging an arm around both of your shoulders with surprising friendliness that makes you squeak in mild alarm, first at her sudden motion, then at her unexpected closeness. "Has Aphelia been running you girls ragged yet?" she laughs.

"Neianne, maybe," Vesna smiles, looking a little uncertain about Mia's boisterous approach but not actually upset about it. "I'm totally just sort of lazing behind in case anyone gets hurt."

"Oh, yeah, you had to take down that boar, right?"

Vesna points to you. "Neianne did that."

Regarding you with a bit of surprise, Mia nevertheless grins, presses her palms together, and bows in playful gratitude as she declares, "Thank you for the meal!"

"Y-You're...welcome?" you answer, uncertain of whether you should feel grateful or embarrassed. Perhaps both.

"Do you know Lady Aphelia well?" asks Vesna.

"Oh, yeah, well enough, I guess? House Treiser rules Arnheim, practically the gateway into Elspar. So my family does a lot of business and trade with them." She grins mischievously. "She's a bit of a stick in the mud, but I've known her long enough to get away with teasing her."

From the rear of the group, Aphelia - despite being a slight distance away as she walks alongside Lucille - wryly remarks, "Talking behind someone's back generally works better when that someone can't hear you."

"I wasn't talking behind your back!" chimes Mia cheerfully right back. Indeed, it seems hard to do so given the volume of her speech.

"Well, you are speaking loud enough for half the forest to hear you," counters Aphelia, but she doesn't sound seriously annoyed or irritated. "Please shut up." If anything, this sounds like familiar banter between old friends.

"They're no fun," Mia sticks her tongue playfully at out Aphelia. Turning back to you and Vesna, she laughs, "Bet you can't wait to get back to your squad, huh?"

Looking apologetically at you, Vesna notes in your stead, "Lady Sieglinde and Lady Elizabeth are in her squad."

Mia regards you with wide eyes before making an awkward, sympathetic laugh while clapping you on the back. "Oh, wow, you really can't catch a break."

"Do you know them as well?"

"No, not really. Sieglinde, Elizabeth, and I are all from Lindholm, but my family doesn't really do that much business with Houses Ravenhill or Zabanya." That's a tiny bit surprising, seeing how people from Lindholm are stereotypically considered to be conservative, traditional, and a bit stiff. You can see that in Sieglinde and a bit of Elizabeth; it's hard to imagine Mia fitting the stereotypical Lindholm archetype. "We occasionally meet at a party or ball, but...well, it's not like Sieglinde or Elizabeth are the most sociable people ever. They don't show up more often than not. So I know them by reputation and hearsay, that's really it, but wow they have reputations." She pauses, looking at Vesna for a moment. "That being said, have we met before at some party or another?"

"Maybe in passing," Vesna laughs awkwardly. "My family are merchants too, yes, but we're a lot more small-time than you. I can probably count my attendance at one of those 'parties' on one hand."

"It seems like you know everyone..." you murmur, quietly impressed nonetheless.

"Melanie is too!" Mia grins and hops over to the other aseri in question, eliciting a surprised squeak from the white-haired girl by clapping her on the shoulders. "She's from here, though. Apaloft, I mean. So she gets to work a lot with Lucille."

"J-J-Just a little," Melanie explains hesitantly as she realizes that attention has fallen on her. You're actually surprised by the fact that she stammers and stutters harder than you, but you feel that she certainly compensates for this with her willowy stature and graceful gait, so she at least doesn't look like she's going to hide behind the nearest rock. "My f-family helps House Celestia m-manage their trade revenue, s-so..."

"We've been friends since we were children," calls out Lucille from behind, something that makes Melanie fidget awkwardly. She's still a bit of a distance away from you, walking alongside Aphelia, seemingly holding a conversation of their own, but Mia's loud enough for that not to matter all that much.

"Well," Mia shrugs whimsically, "the way things are, our families are pretty intertwined in one way or another. Pretty much every student from an aseri merchant family has rubbed shoulders at some point with nobles." She tilts her head in the direction of Aphelia and Lucille for emphasis, and you wonder if there's an unspoken "elven" in that descriptor, or if that's just a statistical coincidence.

"Is that...n-normal?"

Mia raises her eyebrows. "I guess? I mean, the aseri have a history of being the best traders around. At least until classical times, aseri tribes lived nomadic lifestyles that involved hunting, foraging, and trading. The elves - and later the humans, I guess - have always counted on us to move goods around." She shrugs and laughs again. "Well, that was a long time ago, anyways. There are a few aseri families that still live on-the-road, but that's mostly something in the past now. Most aseri have settled down, although I guess cultural inertia means we're expected, on some level, to be good on the road."

You already know bits and snippets of that on an abstract level, but it's nice for Mia to put all of that together comprehensively. Looking at Mia, though, you point out, "Y-You're here, though."

Laughing in the manner of someone being caught doing something a mite bit embarrassing, Mia admits, "Well, I guess it's going to be harder to do trade if the Tennies bring down Caldrein, so..."

"You'd do well not to say anything that'd jinx us," sighs Aphelia, but there is a hard tone to her voice that suggests this is not something that she's compromising on.

It's difficult to tell how seriously Mia takes that as she laughs, "Sorry, sorry." But she does drop the subject, at least. "But it's, like...I don't even like the idea of Tenny rule, and I'm supposed to be from a merchant family."

"Because they're supposed to follow the gold?" Vesna asks, doubtlessly referring to the near-universal stereotype of being willing to stomach anything so long as they make a profit.

Thinking of some of the conversations you've sat through with Sieglinde - most specifically about how she perceives Caldrein's weaknesses - you ask, "I-I thought Caldran merchants don't do much foreign..." you slowly trail off as your eyes widen in horror, realizing you have spoken up on a surprisingly weighty subject without intending to, and your last belated word comes out as a timid squeak, "...trade."

Mia seems surprised at your reaction before laughing, "Neianne is right. Most of our family's business dealings are domestic, done among the regions of the Confederacy, and we'd like to keep it that way."

"Because we can't compete?" asks Vesna again.

"Those are fighting words," quips Mia jokingly. Then she relents, "Well, it's true that the Confederacy doesn't really have that much to trade. All things considered, although we're not swimming in an abundance of riches, Caldrein has a surprisingly decent spread of resources that the five regions are pretty self-sufficient as long as we band together. We don't export crops or steel, but neither do we need to import them from elsewhere."

"That's a shame," murmurs Vesna. Then, upon realizing the puzzled looks directed at her, she quickly explains, "I mean, maybe we'd have more friends and allies if we had better trade relations."

"Trade's no substitute for friendship, just some extra spice. Besides, we've been neutral for centuries. No reason to stop now."

"Maybe the war is a reason," snorts Penelope from the head of the group. Like Aphelia and Lucille, although she and Wendy have largely been absorbed in their own conversation, Mia is loud enough that no one feels particularly awkward interjecting in a conversation they previously were not entirely part of. "We should've been bribing Ornthalia to fight on our side."

"Ornthalia is too far away for anything but bulk trade to be profitable, but we don't have enough to do bulk trade. And my family wouldn't have traded with the Tennies even if we weren't at war."

"Are you sure that isn't just the war coloring your perspective?" Lucille asks, amused. "It's not like we didn't have diplomatic relations with Tenereia before the war, for all their rhetoric and bluster."

Mia blinks. "That's a surprisingly bold statement, especially coming from you." Then, with a teasing grin, "Are you sure you're on the right side?"

"I'm a Celestia," Lucille rolls her eyes, "which means I'll be among the first under the axe should the Confederacy fall." There is very little optimism about what will happen to the families of the five Caldran Countesses in the event of defeat, then. "Trust me, I'm pretty sure I'm on the right side."

"There's that," laughs Mia. "Well, despite how it looks, I'm not really the kind of person who'd break bread with someone who says we belong to them because Caldrein was an imperial province four hundred years ago. So I guess this is my way of sticking it to them."

"Mia's patriotic path to become a Caldran mercenary," Aphelia declares in a deadpan tone. "Powered by spite."

"Better than Melanie's path," grins Mia in a manner that makes it sound like it's just a joke.

"Mia!" Lucille snaps disapprovingly. The boisterous aseri's clueless but startled reaction - followed by everyone looking awkwardly at Melanie - certainly lends credence to the idea that the previous statement was unintentional and without malice.

Realizing that the situation has just gotten awkward, Melanie stammers after a long, awkward moment, "I-I-It's okay! I-It's nothing...p-private. Stephanie, my e-elder sister, is a Caldran mercenary."

"R-Really?" you ask with shared surprise and a bit of admiration too, glossing over the fact that Melanie's sister shares the same name with your roommate.

"Of the Llyneyth warband, too," Lucille beams with what almost seems to be a hint of pride, as if it's her sister that she's talking about instead of Melanie's. Although given that Lucille and Melanie have apparently been friends since they were children, it's not hard to understand why; Faulkren is no slouch when it comes to standards, history, and prestige, but Llyneyth is the foremost and best-known Caldran mercenary academy, the first ever to be founded and generally regarded as a leader among equals.

Given the news that you've read at the beginning of the semester, however, you connect the dots and come to a somewhat worrying realization: "D-Doesn't that mean she's at Halissen now?"

"M-My eldest sister, too," nods Melanie, "C-Cirillia."

There is a bit of staring from those who are not familiar with Melanie's family. "Both your sisters are Caldran mercenaries?" Vesna gasps.

"N-N-No," Melanie is quick to correct, " Cirillia is with H-House Celestia."

"Cirillia is the quartermaster for House Celestia's military contingent to Halissen," Lucille explains. This would put a member of the Aster family at the head of House Celestia's logistical and supply situation, an army position that is by no means a paltry post. Your instructors have pounded the importance of logistics into all of you hard enough that you do not underestimate its importance...and also, thus, the importance of the Asters under House Celestia.

It is with this in mind that you quietly ask, "Are you t-trying to live up to your sisters?"

There is a long pause from Melanie, who seems to struggle to come up with a clear answer even as attention focuses on her. It's only after this pause that she says with a surprising lack of certainty, "I would l-like to be of use to my f-family. A-And the Confederacy."

Mia smiles and pats Melanie on the back, sighing, "No pressure at all."

As the conversation drifts on, you quietly put a polite bit of distance between yourself and the others to catch your breath, letting them march ahead a little. Mia is friendly and there isn't anything particular unpleasant about her as far as you can see, but you're not quite accustomed to being around someone so animated, never mind someone who happily slings an arm around you or claps your shoulder or pounces you. Falling back a little gives you a bit more of the peace and quiet that you're accustomed to, at least until soft voices from behind you serve as a reminder that you're now in eavesdropping distance of Aphelia and Lucille, who have put even more distance between themselves and the larger group as they speak in soft voices.

"Have you heard anything from Halissen?" asks Lucille somberly.

"My family isn't part of the defense," comes Aphelia's cool answer. "We have some...lingering issues with the Nornfels, so Countess Cenoryn has tasked us with maintaining the supply lines for the battle to come."

"Yeah, well. You've heard something, right?"

There is an elven sigh. "No. Mother has apparently forbade the family from writing to me about Halissen for fear of distracting me from my training."

"Oh." A pause. "Are you worried?"

Aphelia's answer is just a hair late that you're not sure she is entirely convinced when she replies, "I try not to. I prefer to think we will hold the line. Ainellan and Cherlith bore the brunt of the Tenereian offensive, and we were unprepared at Wynholm. We have subsequently spent years fortifying Halissen for this day, and these preparations began long ago in Arnheim as well, long before I left for Faulkren. We've lured the Tenereians deeper into Elspar, stretching them far from their powerbase. Mercenaries under the Llyneyth warband are fighting harder than ever before. Reinforcements are coming in from every region of the Confederacy." Aphelia inhales deeply. "I prefer to think we will hold the line."

"Ah..."

"House Celestia is among those at Halissen, are they not? I'd have thought you know more than I."

"No," snorts Lucille bitterly, "I'm not close to that aunt. Besides, no one actually tells me anything important. At best, no one thinks it'll do any good keeping me in-the-know. At worst, I'm stupid enough to slip that information to the Tennies."

"You do like to talk," Aphelia remarks wryly, but there is no malice in her tone. "Although not as much, I suppose, as Mia."

Lucille chuckles. "That's not a high standard at all."

The two of them fall into silence, and you feel a little guilty about accidentally eavesdropping on their conversation. You are about to march back towards Vesna and the others for a bit, but you do catch the tail end of the conversation between the two elves as Aphelia says, "Lucille."

"Hm?"

"You're not that stupid."

Without looking back, you can tell Lucille is rolling her eyes just from the way she chuckles. "We need to work on how you comfort people."

Night eventually falls. The two teams have made made good progress in spite of your slow, cautious advance, and when the eight of you come to a stop at the foot of another large hill, it is with the hope that this is the northern end of the valley. With the oncoming darkness blanketing the woodlands in shadow, it is decided that continuing the hunt is a task best left for tomorrow morning.

A nice rock formation at the base of the hill provides shelter from the cold night winds as well as concealment from anyone passing by. Your team wastes little time settling in, hoping to get as much sleep as possible in the darkness. Four two-person shifts are established, with Aphelia designating you and Vesna for the first watch. Rather notably, she also ensures that Penelope and Wendy are not only placed on different shifts, but that they stand watch with Aphelia and Mia respectively. The long awaited question of "who put you in charge" from Penelope is asked, with moral support from Wendy, but with no one else objecting to Aphelia's suggestions, nor support from anyone else for Penelope and Wendy's protests, the matter is settled to the chagrin of the two humans.

The other six waste no time going to sleep, hoping for an early start at first light. You and Vesna end up sitting atop one of the boulders just high enough to provide a good view of the immediate surrounding landscape, obscured by the foliage though it may be. A half moon is out tonight, providing no small amount of light across trees and hills, while hundreds of stars glitter in the darkness above.

"It's beautiful out here," breathes Vesna contentedly beside you, her gaze alternating between the calm woodlands and the twinkling stars above. "Was this what it was like growing up for you?"

"Yes," you nod, rather at ease with your surroundings. "The woodlands in which I was born was not a valley with so many mountains, but this is still...familiar." You even manage a small smile. "Comforting."

Vesna stretches before happily lying back down onto the boulder, setting her staff to the side before folding her hands as a pillow behind her head. "It must've been nice to live out there," she murmurs, gazing at the heavens now. "To lie out here and stare at the stars." Her smile turns a little wistful. "Maybe I'm a little jealous."

"Are you a city girl?"

"Something like that. I know the woods have their own dangers - we hunted a boar earlier today, and we were warned about bears - but I don't think I would ever have experienced something like this had I not come to Faulkren."

You nod agreeably, even though you're a little confused now. "I...t-thought your family were traveling merchants," you say after a long moment of hesitation.

"Oh, we are!" Vesna exclaims. "It's just..." she lets the moment hang for a while before shrugging in an almost helpless manner, "...well, I'm an only child, so my family always thinks it's better to just keep me indoors or in a wagon and away from harm." She makes a tiny, almost silent laugh. "Maybe that's part of why I tried so hard to get into Faulkren Academy. I had to get on my knees and beg my father to let me come."

"You want to see the world," you nod, knowing that feeling all too well. It's not exactly identical your own reason for coming here, but one can easily argue that the root causes are quite similar.

Vesna smiles apologetically. "It's a silly reason for becoming a mercenary, isn't it?"

It is your turn to exclaim as your hurriedly cry, "N-No, it isn't!" You cringe and remain silent for a moment, fearing that you may have woken the others up, but when there is no hint of the others stirring, no one hissing at you to be quiet, you drop your voice back down to a whisper as you blush and explain, "I...I-I don't have a better reason myself."

"What is it?"

This is still not something you're entirely comfortable admitting, but having discussed this previously with Sieglinde, you feel a bit more confident than you otherwise would've. "I-I want to...ch-change," you murmur, your finger awkwardly poking the boulder you sit on to work out your feelings of embarrassment as you do so. "I w-want to be...bolder. Better. More sure of myself."

Your fears about Vesna being judgmental about it largely fade as she simply smiles and declares, "That's good."

Clinging onto what little insecurity that remains in your mind, you stammer, "I-It sounds selfish, doesn't it? A-After everyone else talked about how they want to help the country..."

"Does it?" questions the human, tilting her head slightly to the side, a curious motion given the fact that she's still lying face-up on the boulder. "I don't think it a less worthy goal. It's a hard one, too, something not everyone can do, no matter how much they want to."

"I-Is it?"

Vesna makes a thoughtful humming noise, but you can't shake the feeling that it's a forced show of whim. "I don't think people like Aphelia, Lucille, or Melanie are really in a position to change even if they want to," she finally allows, "or at least how they want to."

"Oh..." you intone, thinking about how the three aforementioned apprentices are all constrained by the expectations they are beholden to, the families they are part of, the social standings they occupy. You contrast this against yourself: A daughter of a freeholder family who has - compared to some of the members of your team - an extraordinary amount of personal freedom within your family's decent socioeconomic means. A bitter part of yourself wants to demand just what you have done with this freedom...but that's why you're here, aren't you?

"Maybe that's at the heart of why I'm here," Vesna sighs wistfully, snapping you out of your reverie.

"I thought you joined because you w-wanted to help people."

"Maybe that's the way I want to change," giggles Vesna. "Become someone other than the girl in a wagon. Maybe it's why I read novels like The Adventures of the Silver Princess." She gives a small little sigh. "It's not that I'm not of any help to the people around me. They always assure me that I am. It's just...always in a more abstract sense. The fact that I'm there instead of anything I do." Her expression becomes a touch more serious as she murmurs, "I want it to be otherwise." She trails off into silence for a long moment before laughing sheepishly, "I must be sounding silly."

"N-No," you reassure Vesna, trying to comfort her with a confidence you don't really feel. "I...think I understand." You're not sure you do - to borrow a phrase from Vesna, it's all somewhat abstract - but you do at least want to believe that you understand the broad strokes of it.

"Ah," added Vesna with a smile as she sits back up, "and please don't tell the others about this, alright?" She winks playfully at you. "It'll be our little secret."

The remainder of your watch passes uneventfully. Two hours are over before you know it, and you wake Aphelia and Penelope up for their watch before settling yourself on a soft patch of grass in between the boulders. You give your conversation with Vesna a bit more thought, but soon they escape you, and you drift off into a peaceful slumber.

"This looks far enough north," Lucille opines.

It's morning once again. The night turned out to be uneventful, and after washing up using some of the water that you've collected in canteens, the eight of you marched up the hill to get a better view of your surroundings. Although there is a slightly heavy morning mist, you can certainly see what you suspect are the confines of this field exercise from atop the hill. The woodlands of the Roldharen Forest looks like it stretches out for another two or three kilometers northwards from where you are now, but there are no further hills in that direction. Rather, the line of hills that form the northern boundaries of this valley seems to be running both east and west from the hill you're perched on.

"We head west, then," Aphelia declares to no opposition, not even Penelope's or Wendy's. After all, westwards shall put you closer to the aforementioned bear sightings, the dryad hunters who will turn you away, and the furthest distance you'll get from everyone else. With any luck, this will allow all of you to search for your flags in peace. "This map piece shows that the flag is set at the bottom of a mountain or near it. We don't know which one," she points to the silhouettes of the two hills you can see through the mist, "but we'll circle around those two hills first and try our luck. Agreed?" Again, there is no opposition, a decent sign of unanimous agreement.

"The weather isn't great," Lucille points out, looking out at the invisible horizon lost to the morning fog. "We'll probably cover more ground if we split into teams."

"Teams of two, then?" Vesna asks. It's certainly not a bad idea; four groups will be able to cover decently large stretches of ground, a thought that seems to occur to everyone else as well. Given that no one from Squad Four is here, you are afforded the chance decide who you want to pair up with for this search. It'll take some time for you to cover two hills anyways, and you're likely going to be left in peace, so there's no harm in trying to get to know someone here better.

You choose to pair up with...

[x] ...Aphelia Meredith Treiser.
[x] ...Lucille Lorraine Celestia.
[x] ...Melanie Aster.
[x] ...Mia Honette.
[x] ...Penelope.
[x] ...Wendy.
[x] ...Vesna Rainer.
[x] ...whoever is left over.

Kei · Dec 31, 2016

Please consider this my last gift of the year to all of you. May 2017 suck less than 2016.

[x] ...Melanie Aster.

"U-U-Um," you stammer, unaccustomed to taking the initiative to speak up for something that you want. You cringe a bit as everyone turns towards you in surprise, and you come this close to squeaking "sorry, never mind", but in the end, you muster your courage and squeak, "M-May I go with Melanie?"

This surprises the group, especially Melanie, who also blinks while growing wide-eyed, looking very obviously like she's at a loss of words. She doesn't look opposed insomuch as she looks worried, and turns to Lucille quietly...almost as if she's asking for permission?

Lucille eventually manages to get over her surprise, though, and gives a small smile. Shrugging, she declares, "Well, I don't see a problem with it." And seeing that there are no negative reactions coming from Melanie at that, she turns to her fellow elf, "Aphelia?"

"Nor I," Aphelia nods, mastering her expression. "Very well, Melanie and Neianne, then. Penelope and Wendy are of a squad, so they can be together." The two humans look mildly surprised; they don't seem opposed to this at all, but they also look like they were expecting a different outcome. If Aphelia sees this, however, she ignores it, turning instead to her fellow elf again, "Lucille, can you work together with Vesna?"

"Of course," Lucille declares, and she and Vesna share friendly smiles.

This leaves Mia, who stretches with a grin and says to Aphelia, "I'm with you, then?"

"Somebody needs to keep you quiet," Aphelia remarks dryly.

You're supposed to scout the base of two hills, but that's still a rather large area to cover, even with four groups, especially given the foliage. The four of you work out rough areas to scout - two two-person teams on each side of the hills to maximize the amount of ground you can cover - and ultimately agree to meet twice, once in between the two hills, the second at the far end. This accomplished, for the four of you quickly set out into the woodlands, and the forest grows somewhat quiet once more.

Alone with the quiet aseri, you strive to be polite as you greet Melanie with a small bow, introducing yourself semi-formally for the first time, "Um, h-hello. I'm Neianne."

"M-Melanie," the aseri quickly returns your bow with one of her own, looking just as off-guard and flustered as you are. "It's n-nice to meet you."

And then awkward silence reigns as the two of you march westwards.

You try not to fidget anxiously as the minutes pass without a word exchanged. This reminds you a little of your first meeting with Stephanie, although you guess this is a little different. With Stephanie, it was an initial failure to really hit it off, something that was thankfully remedied by time. Here, with Melanie, it's more like a mutual crippling failure to not think you're going to say something stupid if you try to lead the conversation. Instead of talking, you're idly taking note of how she's at least a head taller than you, has wonderfully thin legs, long straight hair like yours, and sharp fluffy ears flicking backwards. Because of course when the time comes for you to challenge your crippling shyness, you try to mentally procrastinate.

As the silence stretches far beyond what even you consider is reasonable, as your quiet self-frustration reaches a boiling point, you finally manage - through a stammer and with the realization that you sound incredibly stupid - to stammer, "Th-The weather..."

"Th-The weather..." Melanie stammers at the exact same time.

The both of you stop, stare at each other in slow dawning realization, blush in intense embarrassment...and, after a short moment, giggle. It's a small, foolish, and frankly embarrassing gesture...but, somehow, it feels like a great weight has been lifted from your shoulders and your heart, and you feel a touch more at ease as you smile and say, "It's n-not very good for Apaloft."

"Y-Yes," Melanie agrees readily, "it'll snow soon."

"It is coming a little late this year."

This makes Melanie blink in mild surprise. "A-Are you from Apaloft?"

"Yes," you say, mildly embarrassed, "but only from a small village you've probably never heard of."

"Oh. I-I-I'm from Arkenvale."

You guessed as much, honestly, from the conversation yesterday; if the Asters serve the Celestias, then it's only logical that their business would be based out of Apaloft's regional capital. "You grew up with Lady Lucille, yes?"

Wide-eyed, Melanie quickly stammers, almost as if desperate to clear up any misunderstandings, "U-U-Um. I-I, um, didn't really g-grow up with her." Surprised as you are, you don't take advantage of Melanie's pause, who then - perhaps realizing that this explanation is also misleading - stammers even more desperately, "I-I mean...my f-f-family serves hers, a-and so we've k-known each other for a long time, a-and we saw each other o-often as c-children, but I-I'm mostly in her service, s-so..." Melanie finally manages to trail off into an embarrassed silence, and strokes her tail anxiously instead.

"That's still really interesting," you try to sound reassuring. "I-I mean, I come from a small village, and no one there has ever become a Caldran mercenary, so..."

"I-I see," the aseri acknowledges with a polite nod. Then, with a hesitant smile, "B-B-But that means you can s-start anew, yes?"

You manage a smile of your own for the moreorless spot-on answer. "Something like that," you concede.

"That's g-good."

Melanie's surprisingly positive response to this brings to mind a question that you voice out loud: "Is starting anew a-also what you hope for?"

Melanie's ears twitch and drop a little as she gives this a moment of thought before quietly allowing, "W-Well, I'd like to get b-better."

"Better?" you echo, unsure of what to make of this vague adjective that explains close to nothing. Does she want to be "stronger"? "More reliable"?

Melanie fidgets a little more as she strokes her tail some more...before finally giving up on that and letting her tail return to its proper place behind her. "S-Something like that," she finally concedes.

Which, really, doesn't answer anything at all. You realize, of course, that this is really only the first day you've really talked to Melanie, and aside from your internal alarms screaming out warnings about being pushy, this is really only to be expected for someone like Melanie. Your similar personalities, at least, gives you an idea of when people like you and her get awkwardly uncomfortable with certain lines of questioning.

This being said, irrespective of how Melanie wishes to improve yourself, you want to be more than just a shy village girl. Being able to at least push a conversation forward a bit more - difficult though it is for you still - has to be but a stepping stone. So you decide to go for a less acute angle so as to not come off as pushy, asking, "Because of your family?"

Melanie gives a somewhat wistful smile and a shrug, leaving her actual answer to ambiguity in spite of the words she offers: "M-My sisters cannot s-shoulder all the burdens."

"For the war effort?" you venture, uncertain of precisely what "all the burdens" are.

"W-Well..." the aseri murmurs quietly, and even that trails off into a long, almost uncomfortable silence before she finally whispers, "....y-yes. And o-other things."

It seems to be a somewhat sensitive - if not outright uncomfortable - subject for Melanie. Understanding your similar temperaments, you do your best to change the subject gracefully. "I'm actually the older sister back home," you explain with a small laugh. "I f-feel like I have to set a good example for her all the time."

This coaxes a happier smile from the aseri as her ears perk up. "I h-have a younger sister too. Verena. She's...been i-ill since she was b-born, though."

"O-Oh," you murmur, trying to suppress a wince. This is only the second time here that you've brought up siblings with awkward circumstances, such as Stephanie's half-sister. "I-I'm sorry."

But Melanie shakes her head agreeably. "I-It's alright. I try to t-take care of her. Everyone else is busy, s-so I must."

"Oh," you blink, thinking about Melanie's socioeconomic status under House Celestia. "I th-thought you had...help."

"We d-do," nods Melanie quietly but determinedly. "B-But she should have someone w-who's family."

"You have a lot of sisters," you point out cautiously. Yes, Melanie said her sisters are all busy, but one would think that, in spite of everything, family would be there for family.

"A-Aseri families tend to be l-large," Melanie explains, seemingly missing the point, "and m-mine isn't even really th-that large. I think d-dryad families are the opposite?"

"It is so in the woodlands, yes," you nod agreeably, "a-although maybe those like me who have come to the plains will c-change." And since you're on the topic of families: "I've never heard of two Caldran mercenaries from the same family."

"I-It's very rare," Melanie concedes, looking a little awkward as she moves from stroking her tail to stroking her hair. "It's more c-common amongst elves and a-aseri, the f-former because it's often w-within their means, the l-latter because aseri families often have children to spare."

You have a strange and uncomfortable thought as you catch yourself wondering if her choice of the word "spare" is a reference to herself. "U-Um," you stammer, trying to ask a question without coming across as too forward, "d-did you...ch-choose to come here?"

Melanie blinks at you for a moment, then switches to awkward fidgeting. "Y-Yes," she answers quietly. Then, after a moment, she adds with a sense of forced conviction, "I-I mean...yes. I chose th-this."

"Oh," you murmur pathetically, trying your best to sound as accepting and understanding as you can. And, with that, your conversation trails off to an end, with the remainder of your time spent circling the base of the hill, hoping to find one of those elusive flags supposedly hidden in the area. This is made all the more difficult by the unfriendly terrain in this patch of the Roldharen Forest, what with its sudden sharp inclines and steep crags that zigzag across these woodlands. It takes several minor detours and feats of athletics to get anywhere.

Ultimately, however, upon arriving at what you think is the other side of the first hill - the rendezvous point you've agreed upon - you find yourselves empty-handed.

You are the first pair to arrive, and the two of you wait in dutiful silence for the next pair to join you. It takes some time, but eventually Melanie eventually calls out to you, "Oh, there's L-Lady Lucille and Vesna."

Indeed, the elf and the human join you within seconds, looking quite cheerful, and you soon see why: Vesna is holding a flag in her hand. "You found it!" you exclaim in slight delight. It's not your flag, but Vesna is someone you get along quite well within, so you have no problems with one in her hands.

Although she smiles, Vesna quickly points out, "It's not the one we're looking for, though. It's not from the base."

Upon seeing your confused expressions, Lucille laughs and explains, "Vesna thought she caught a glimpse of something up the hill when she scouted ahead. So we took a detour up the mountain, and she found this. That's why we're late."

That's the second time in two days Vesna apparently saw something that ended up working out in her favor. Even as the human laughs sheepishly, as if to apologize for her own good fortune, you can't help but wonder if her eyesight is just that good...or if she's just extraordinarily lucky.

Penelope and Wendy are the next to join you, both of them as empty-handed as you and Melanie. It takes less than a minute to bring them up to speed, both of them regarding Vesna with cool interest.

"So who gets the flag?" inquires Penelope, poking at her short fingernails as she does so.

Lucille merely shrugs, "Vesna was the one who saw and found it in the first place. It's hers, as far as I'm concerned."

Penelope and Wendy look at both Vesna and Lucille in a manner that seems to suggest they're a little intrigued - if not surprised - but they play it off with merely a little nod as they once again start having their own private two-person conversation to the side. You can't help but feel a little glad that it's Vesna and Lucille that got back first; the four of you are a better deterrent against any funny business the two humans may try, and you certainly would not want to be alone with only Melanie for backup against Penelope and Wendy in such a scenario.

A short discussion clearly reveals the necessity of rounding the base of the next hill, since Vesna's flag is very apparently not the same one located specifically at the base of a nearby hill. This means much more walking, not something the six of you are entirely looking forward to; the terrain here is difficult, necessitating straining climbs and frustrating detours.

Vesna, Melanie, and Lucille are still happily talking about the flag they found when Penelope, who has remained quiet for the most part, suddenly asks with a hint of worry, "We're pretty far to the northwest, aren't we?"

Lucille is the first to shrug, missing the point - although, to be fair, you don't understand what Penelope is trying to say either - as she agrees, "I guess we are."

Scowling in irritation and anxiety, Penelope demands, "Where are the huntresses who are supposed to be turning us back?" The stares she receives in turn reflect a growing understanding and alarm that spreads across the group, stares that - whether purposefully or otherwise - Penelope misinterprets as she stresses, "The bear sightings, remember? There are supposed to be dryad huntresses turning us back because of the bears." She gestures with her arms at their surroundings. "So if we're this far northwest, where are they?"

Aphelia - to whom the very sense of leadership seems to gravitate - is not yet here, so almost everyone ends up looking in the direction of Lucille, who grows sheepish and uncomfortable at the attention. Still, she sets her expression in a grimace; there is no way you've actually gotten the direction wrong - the sun in the morning mist proves that - and this part of the woodlands have been suspiciously devoid of anyone else. If there truly are bears here - if the instructors have been lying and got the dryads of Roldharen to participate in them, for which they have no reason to do - then now is really not a place where you want to be caught flat-footed.

"We should look around," the elf finally declares after a moment. "Spread out, but not too far. Always remain within calling distance."

The six of you spread out, navigating across the hills and crags. Keeping within calling distance proves surprisingly easy, seeing how your progress through the difficult terrain is slow; even if getting to each other in the case of an emergency proves to be difficult, at least you won't lose track of each other. Still, you deliberately keep close to Vesna and Melanie, the two girls you've gotten along with best in this team.

It takes a bit more than ten minutes of searching, but eventually you hear Wendy call out with a hint of alarm in her voice, "Girls!"

The rest of the group quickly - as quickly as the terrain allows you, anyways - converges on Wendy, and all of you quickly discover that Penelope was indeed right, and there are bears - or at least a bear - here. There is just one problem.

Vesna gasps, wide-eyed, covering her mouth as she does so - and she is far from alone in doing this - eventually whispering, "Is that a...?"

"Yes," Penelope confirms grimly.

The problem with the bear: It's dead.

Or perhaps "dead" is the wrong term to use. "Dead" suggests merely an absence of life, the circumstances of it ambiguous, perhaps even peaceful. This bear, however, did not die peacefully, and it's perhaps better to suggest that it was "eviscerated". A pool of blood forms a giant puddle around its corpse, which looks like it has been torn in two by a giant sword, barely connected together by a few remaining muscles and a stretch of its skin. Its innards - what's left of them - spill out onto the ground, and bones jut out unnaturally from the corpse. It's as if some other great beast hunted the bear like an animal no more harmful than a hare.

The blood around the bear has dried, but there is no sign of rot, nor have flies or maggots begun to gather around a festering corpse. The bear has not been dead for that long...and this concerns you.

Such is your shock that when a drop of what is probably morning dew strikes you on the shoulder, you can't even bring yourself to wipe it away.

"We should go," Penelope declares, her expression drawn tight even as she draws her twin daggers. "Now."

"But Aphelia and Mia aren't here yet!" Lucille protests.

Vesna takes a deep breath as she takes her hands to her mouth, looking as if she is about to call out to the aforementioned Aphelia and Mia, but the first syllable of "Aphelia" has barely left her lips when Wendy forcibly covers Vesna's mouth - hard enough to come across as a slap, something that startles both Vesna and yourself, as you ignore another dewdrop that strikes your shoulder - as Wendy furiously hisses, "Are you stupid? Do you want to attract the attention of whatever killed the bear?"

"They can take care of themselves," Penelope tells Lucille determinedly. "But we need to go. Before it's too late."

Again, a drop of morning dew drips down on you, on your face this time. Absentmindedly, you reach up to wipe it away - it's a bit more of an irritant than something that hits your shoulders - but as your eye comes to the periphery of your vision, you suddenly realize with alarm that your hand is red. That it has been smeared with some kind of fast-drying liquid.

Gingerly, tuning out of the conversation among the other members of the team, with growing dread, you touch your face where the dewdrop landed on your face...and you realize with a cold chill inside you that it isn't dew at all, but blood.

Slowly, almost too terrified to do so, you look up.

The first thing you see is a pair of dead eyes looking back at you, dull as they stare into the distance. The dryad huntress they belong to hangs limply upside down from the foliage, a look of remembered horror on her slack face, her mangled corpse bleeding its last as the red lifeblood drips from deep gashes in her stomach and down their fingers. She died recently...and painfully.

The second thing you notice is that the huntress' waist is no longer connected with her legs, but with a second pair of eyes - a giant pair of yellow eyes with slit pupils - glaring back at you from the branches and leaves.

You scream, a sound that is utterly inaudible against the screech coming from the giant maw releasing the half-eaten body of the dryad.

And then blood is pounding in your ears, and you can hardly remember what happens next. There is much screaming as the other apprentices follow your stare, turn to the source of the screech, and suddenly everyone is scrambling downhill amidst giant maws descending from the foliage in snapping attempts to impale all of you with giant teeth and claws. One scream cuts through the terror, the sort that telegraphs mind-searing pain, but you barely register this as you slide, dash, and otherwise sprint your way down the hill in spite of the difficult, broken, treacherous terrain. You barely recover from tripping over the mangled body of the dryad that drops down to the ground beside the bear corpse, and you don't recover at all when there is a series of snap-cracks as branches shatter, followed by something that feels vaguely like a mountain descending from the sky and crashing down at your heels. You barely register the next inhuman screech as you tumble down the hill, doing nothing to arrest your fall as you roll unceremoniously across dirt and grass and rock, partly because you dare not stop, partly because you cannot stop; your fall is too swift and the hill too steep.

You strike your head against something that fills your vision with stars before you experience a second or two of a rather curious vertigo, an interesting sensation that would have provoked greater alarm were you more lucid...and then your body slams into something - the ground, most likely - hard enough to take even those stars away from the moonless night sky that blackens your vision and empties your mind.

And for a while, your mind swims numbly and aimlessly across a sea of blackness, penetrated only weakly and sporadically by soft motes of light, cries of vaguely familiar voices you barely register as alarm, and the sensation of being carried or pulled along.

Then light begins to return to your vision, and warmth begins to fill your body, and...

"Neianne's coming to!" calls out Vesna just as you bolt upright from where you are lying, gasping for breath, your eyes wide and your adrenaline suddenly pumping, cut short only by an acute sense of soreness that runs across your body.

"Are you alright?" Lucille quickly asks you, her face poking in and taking up much of your field of vision, even as you struggle to remember just what happened. You fell and rolled down a hill, apparently, and now you're in a small...crag? It looks like it, given that you look like you've somehow ended up in a tiny canyon. A particularly thin stretch of the canyon, in fact, with everyone pressed in.

Still, your well-being is important, and you look down. If you rolled down a hill hard enough to black out - and then, if you're deducing this right, fell into a crag with everyone else - then you wouldn't be surprised if you've broken some bones. Yet despite the feeling of intense soreness across certain parts of your body, your quick physical check-up - taught by the survival instructors for precisely this kind of situation - reveals nothing that's terribly damaged. You don't even see cuts across your skin. "Y-Y-Yes," you tell Lucille with almost a touch of disbelief.

"You've neither broken nor fractured bones," Vesna explains to you in shaky breaths, "but I thought to mend your scratches and bruises all the same..."

That certainly explains things. You still got lucky - Vesna is probably too new at healing magecraft to repair a broken bone with anything but a temporary fix - but at least some of your more superficial cuts and bruises have been dealt with by someone gifted in the art of healing.

And that line of thinking is as far as you get, because terror consumes you as a loud, ear-piercing screech fills your world, and you suddenly remember why you rolled down a hill and into a crag for your dear life to begin with.

At least you now see why your group has pressed themselves into a thin stretch of canyon. It's cramped in here, but the beast that killed the bear and at least one dryad huntress is too large to do anything but try to slam its head through the crack in terrain, screeching impotently at you. Yet "impotent" is the last word with which you want to describe this giant creature, looking like it measures five or even six meters from snout to abdomen...to say nothing of its tail and wings, which are far larger. It's a reptilian creature standing menacingly on two hind legs sporting talons as long and fierce as swords, its yellow slitted eyes looking at you with a hungering glare, protected by earthen-colored scales that function as a suit of armor.

The talons, you note, are painted red from fresh kills...as are its sharp teeth.

"W-W-What is that?" you stammer, terrified of looking at this creature that still struggles to eat all of you, but unable to peel away your gaze. "I-Is that a d-d-dragon?"

It's Melanie who answers in an equally scared voice: "N-N-No. It's a w-w-wyvern."

You do not feel relieved at all. True, wyverns - lesser cousins of the legendary dragons - are smaller and less intelligent than the great titans you feared. According to your storybooks, wyverns do not hunt with the cunning or wisdom of the dragons, nor do they breathe fire, the latter of which surely would've killed all of you now. But wyverns are predators all the same, one of the most dangerous in Iuryis. Looking at it now, you can tell that it's at least ten times the mass of the average person - more if you count the wings - with a maw that can most likely crush any prey unfortunate enough to be caught, and talons that can - if the bear was any indication - do far worse.

"What's a wyvern doing here?" exclaims Lucille fearfully.

Vesna looks around in confusion, hesitantly offers an explanation: "Hunting?"

But Melanie shakes her head, her eyes wide as she stares at the reptilian monster. "W-W-Wyverns aren't i-indigenous to C-Caldrein," she explains with a dread whisper. "Th-There shouldn't be any w-wyverns h-here!"

"A-And not near a dryad commune," you see fit to offer, in spite of your fading soreness and your growing terror, "o-or the dryads would never have s-settled here."

All of you watch breathlessly as the wyvern seemingly gives up - at least for the moment - trying to squeeze itself into the thin stretch of canyon that all of you are hiding in. Instead, it backs up and paces a bit, never taking its eyes all of you, occasionally letting out short screeches into the air. As its head retreats from the thin canyon corridor that you all are hiding in, you can see that the wyvern, too, is also in the same crag that you are, albeit a small section much wider in width, allowing the monster to fall in in the first place. You hope that the wyvern will fly away, leaving all of you alone...but it never does, its wings instead scratching against the crag walls that are not so wide that the wyvern can expand them.

"It's not flying away," Lucille echoes your thoughts in dismay.

But Vesna sees a silver lining in this, exclaiming, "It's stuck! It's too narrow down here for it to spread its wings and take off."

"So we can try to climb out and escape!" concludes the elf, sounding both elated and relieved.

But it's at this point that Penelope suddenly realizes that there's a major problem. "Where's Wendy?" she asks, looking around in a slight but growing panic. "Where's Wendy?"

This is when you realize that - in the panic that has consumed all of you throughout this ordeal - you've never noticed that your group of six has actually been whittled down to five.

All of you hurriedly look around for the last missing human until Vesna makes a shrill cry and points in the direction of the wyvern: "Over there."

The good news is that Wendy isn't dead. Even at this range, you can see the heaving of her chest that comes with labored breaths. The bad news is that she is prone on the ground, otherwise unmoving, and bleeding heavily. If anything, the sickly paleness of her skin suggests that she's in shock.

The even worse news: She's right behind the wyvern.

"Wendy!" cries Penelope, stopping herself from throwing herself out of the narrow confines of the canyon at the last second.

Wendy does not respond; it's quite possible, in fact, that she doesn't hear Penelope at all. You wonder if this is what you were like when you landed unceremoniously down here, and if you would be in a similar predicament had someone not dragged you in here with them, healing you afterwards.

Whirling on Vesna, Penelope demands, "Can't you heal her?"

Chalk-white, the healer of your group whispers, "I...no. She's too far. She needs to be closer. Much closer. I can't do anything from here."

The wyvern, for better or for worse, does not pay attention to Wendy. Perhaps it doesn't notice the apprentice at all. Or perhaps it just sees not need to pay attention to prey that is wounded and crippled. But as it paces around, it tail and legs come dangerously close to Wendy's body. When the wyvern steps on Wendy's leg without even looking, Wendy spasms where she is, but that seems like an unconscious involuntary reaction more than anything. Penelope cries out again in Wendy's stead, seeing how the latter is apparently too deep in shock to even do so.

You begin to wonder if the wyvern actually doesn't notice Wendy, if it isn't - in fact - cunning enough to be using the human girl as bait.

"We have to save her!" Penelope declares, her expression equal measures of terror and anguish and determination, and Lucille has to latch onto her to stop her from leaving the safety of the bottleneck.

"No," she hisses, pulling Penelope back, "don't go!"

Whirling on the elf, the human scowls at Lucille, demanding, "What, you want to leave her to die?"

"No," whispers Lucille, trying to inject calmness into her voice, calmness that she probably doesn't actually feel, "of course not. We climb our way out of this crevice and find an instructor, tell them what has happened." She nods in affirmation, although perhaps that is more for herself than anyone else. "They can handle the wyvern, they'll know what to do!"

"She'll die before anyone gets here!"

"Stop and think!" pleads Lucille, grabbing onto Penelope's arm again to stop her from going to Wendy's rescue. "Look at the size of that wyvern. We can't beat it, not a bunch of apprentices. It already killed a dryad huntress. It'll kill us before we even get close to Wendy!"

"There's five of us, you coward! It can't kill us all."

Lucille fixes a sad look at Penelope. "Yes, it can. I'm sorry, Penelope, but we can't risk five lives just to save..."

"...Just to save a human, right?" snarls Penelope.

Recoiling from this, Lucille looks and sounds pained as she whispers in disbelief, "...What?"

In spite of the situation, Penelope still somehow manages a lilt to her voice, almost as if she's about to laugh uncontrollably at the absurdity of her situation. "You'll leave Wendy to die because you think of her as just a human," she accuses, her voice laced with venom and contempt. "I wonder what you'd be saying instead if it was Aphelia over there, or some other elf?"

The elf feebly and desperately attempts to say something contrary to that, even as words fail her, Lucille stunned by the accusation. But she doesn't need to. "Shut up," the voice of Melanie suddenly cuts in, and you realize that she has stepped in between Lucille and Penelope, that her voice and glare are chillingly sharp, that shy Melanie has suddenly stopped stuttering. "I will not listen to you impugn Lady Lucille's name over something you have no understanding of."

Penelope looks stunned, even as she continues to stand her ground; it is her turn to struggle for words at this turn of events, at the shy aseri suddenly cold and furious and standing in between them.

"Please," pleads Vesna, having been quiet throughout this altercation, "now is not the time to argue!"

You've never fought a wyvern before - you've never seen a wyvern until just now - and yet now that you're looking at it, you don't like the odds, even with five apprentices here. Not mercenaries, apprentices. Someone else may die in a battle that none of you are prepared for. All of you may die. It killed a dryad huntress. It eviscerated a bear. And you are risking a similar fate for...what? Wendy? A girl who - along with Penelope - seems poised to make the rest of your time here at Faulkren miserable because you happened to be on Elizabeth's squad? Even if, by some miracle, you saved her, how grateful will she and her people really be? Even if you could come up with a better plan, it's probably difficult for others to take you seriously. Your personality engenders you to forgiveness and protectiveness from others...but not confidence. Fleeing and looking for help from Caldran mercenaries - for the people who can actually fight these monsters - is the smartest, wisest, and most logical thing to do. It puts no extra lives at risk for the slim chance that you might possibly save one person, a risk that would entail you risk the lives of other apprentices. You don't have that right.

And yet...

And yet how ready are you really to leave someone here to die? Even if the cost isn't worth it - even if you end up sacrificing more than one apprentice here to save another, even if you fail in the end, even if you come out of this in a worse position than you started this in - how ready are you really to leave without even making an attempt?

If your character and personality inspires protectiveness and sympathy, could you not - even without a plan in place - maybe inspire the others into action by charging into the fray? By forcing a confrontation that may spur the hesitant into action?

[x] Agree with Lucille, and recommend that all of you climb your way to escape and a Caldran mercenary.
[x] Let the debate run its course and go with the flow.
[x] Charge the wyvern, hope the others follow your example, and that none of you are killed in the attempt.
[x] Write-in.

Neianne's survival here is guaranteed. The same cannot be said for everyone else, nor for your chances of success. Nor that this scenario will end with less lives lost than saved.

Remember, there are no "wrong" decisions. There is only character development. Sometimes unexpected character development, but character development nonetheless. ^_^;

Kei · Jan 5, 2017

As a quest master, the choice to include the option of write-in's is to allow for a degree of flexibility in a vote, to cover for obvious choices that I've never thought about, and/or to really impress me with something totally unexpected and make me laugh out loud.

This is one of those times.

[x] Write-in: Strip naked, roll around in the mud to mask your scent, sneak out, and carry Wendy to safety.

Your mind spins even as you try to calm your fast breathing, trying to master your panic as you think. You're not a tactician or strategist like Sieglinde, and you can't inspire the kind of confidence and devotion that Aphelia can. You're not Elizabeth in terms of raw power, and you are not remotely confident about your chances of defeating a wyvern, even as a group.

But you are not leaving Wendy behind like this, not without even making an attempt. Not unless you accept that you've come here for naught, that you'll never change from the person you are now. You need to do something, something only you can do, and now.

And so you strip.

No one really notices when you take off your bodice; everyone has their hands full with the confrontation between Lucille and Penelope, and it's not like you're shirtless yet. When you do take off your shirt, Melanie notices you, although she mostly looks on in distracted confusion. It's when you start taking off your skirt that her eyes widen, her face flushes a deep crimson, and her mouth wordlessly begins to stammer in a vain attempt to ask "what".

It's when the skirt finally comes off that the debate comes to an end, and everyone turns towards you. Melanie is still turning redder and only beginning to make what is finally beginning to resemble a tiny "wh" sound with her mouth. Lucille is in a similar state, although she does make a louder and longer sound of confusion. Penelope just stares, gaping, having difficulties in processing what she is seeing. Vesna blushes, but in spite of her fear, she's mostly staring at you with a look that resembles...fascination?

...You suddenly feel terribly self-conscious as you try to cover yourself with your arms. You felt a lot more confident about this plan thirty seconds ago. "P-P-Please don't stare like that!" you mewl, realizing that the only remaining articles of clothing you're still wearing, your undergarments, feel severely lacking.

"Wh-Wh-What are you doing!?" Melanie finally demands in a series of distressed squeaks after many seconds of failed attempts.

You're not sure how to explain it, really. In fact, you're not sure you should explain it; Lucille will probably try to talk you out of it, and then she'll probably make a great deal of sense, and then you'll feel less determined than you are now. You just don't inspire that sort of confidence, especially confidence you yourself don't feel. So, instead, clothed in nothing but your bra and panties as you are, you move past the group to the bottleneck in the chasm, and then go into a prone position and whisper to the others, "P-Please keep it distracted."

You begin to crawl forward. Slowly. Your course of action is so bewildering that it doesn't even occur to Lucille to grab you and pull you back until it's too late, the elf reduced to panicked whispers coaxing you to come back. You try not to listen to it, instead crawling across the grass barely tall enough to mask your shoulders as you move forward on your elbows, creeping on your belly as a snake would do. You make sure to roll a few more times as you move your way out of the bottleneck, getting as much mud and dirt on you, trying to kill all other scents on you, providing a level of camouflage that you hope will be just enough to get you through the tall grass without being detected. It's a technique that you were only vaguely aware of from your childhood, things that you've heard about from the other woodland dryads before your family moved to the plains. You wish you paid more attention to it as a child, seeing how it's something that could save your life now.

This is a dangerous plan, an insane plan. You have no idea if it'll work. But if it's dangerous and insane, it's at least dangerous and insane based on several actual realities. Here in the woodlands, you were - even with your clothes on - able to elude the sharp senses of two aseri, Melanie and Mia. Mia went as far as to observe that she couldn't smell you out here in the woodlands. Does a wyvern have a sense of smell just as sharp as aseri? You have no clue. But you have a hard time imagining that it has a sharper sense of smell.

No, what you're far more worried about is its vision. A wyvern is ultimately a flying creature, after all, and you would not be surprised if it has excellent vision, which is why you are so determined to move as slowly as possible. Your village teacher once taught you that most animals cannot actually completely grasp the concept of shape, but fight or flee based on the movement they detect. If you move slowly, in tiny increments, would your motions remain beneath the wyvern's notice? Would your body's coloration and texture help hide you amidst the flora of the woodlands? Or is this also hopeful thinking on your part?

You hear noises behind you, and feel just slightly relieved that the others - Vesna and Melanie and Lucille and Penelope - are finally trying to distract the wyvern. Penelope is screaming curses at it - her vocabulary makes you blush - while you hear something that you suspect is wind magecraft above you. Melanie's work, no doubt, although she is not yet casting any truly harmful spells, perhaps worried that she may hit you, or send the wyvern into an angry rage while you and Wendy are nearby. This is probably also why Lucille - despite having her shortbow up and an arrow notched - has not yet drawn and fired.

The wyvern snarls at the rest of your team, and it's all you can do to squeeze your eyes shut and stop your breathing and continue ever so slightly. This is taking too much time, your tiny movements making painfully slow progress across thirty meters. With each passing second, you wonder how this is possibly working, how the wyvern has not detected you and crushed you with its giant maw. At least until you venture a look back...and see that Vesna is grasping tightly onto her glowing staff, murmuring an incantation.

Now that you think about it, wasn't she doing the exact same thing when you were hunting that boar? Disorientating and dulling its senses? Is that what she's doing now to the wyvern? Is her magecraft strong enough to affect a great beast of that size?

You try to thrust such questions out of your mind. You can only assume it works and press on. Your teammates are doing their best to buy you time and space for an endeavor that may cost you your life. You crawl ever forward, trying hard not to think too much about the fact that you are now literally right under the wyvern's neck.

Now, more than ever, you really hope this works. It's not that you weren't afraid before, but now you are completely, utterly terrified at the thought that, years from now, people will remember you as "Neianne, the dryad girl who died naked trying to crawl in between a wyvern's legs".

You're now only meters away from Wendy, trying to fight the temptation of prematurely poking your head out above the grass to see how she is, trying to not look at the giant wyvern claws surely only an arm's length away. Instead, you listen for the human's labored breathing, finally ending up right beside her after several more seconds of crawling. Wendy is clearly still alive, but she's in bad shape...not that this was ever in any doubt. Her skin is pale, she's still losing blood from a deep gash across her shoulder and back that looks like it was inflicted by a glancing blow from the wyvern's claws, and her eyes are glazed over. She needs healing from Vesna...and fast.

You dare to raise a hand above the grass - hoping that your team sees it and that the wyvern doesn't - and make a tight fist. You really should've thought about this beforehand, but now that you're here, you can only hope that the other four understand the implicit meaning behind your signal: "Distract it hard."

Seconds pass. Then seconds more. Your stomach begins to twist into knots as you ponder the very real possibility that no one back in the bottleneck understands what you're trying to get them to do...or that they even see your signal.

At least until you hear the thwang sound of a shortbow letting loose, the swish of an arrow sailing through the air, and the enraged roar of the wyvern. Previously content with maintaining a distance from the bottleneck, the wyvern charges again, trying to slam its way into the tiny crevice that's just too narrow to permit it entry. You press as tightly against the ground as possible as the wyvern charges right past you, oblivious to your presence, its tail very nearly slamming into you in a whipping motion, something that likely could've fractured or even broken a bone had it made contact.

Terrified screams come from the rest of your team; despite the knowledge that they are theoretically safe in the bottleneck, there's still no bracing yourself against a wyvern trying to charge you as your surroundings shake and tremble from impact.

You can't try to take Wendy and climb up from here; the human needs Vesna more than anything right now, and you probably can't climb fast enough before the wyvern notices you and bites you down from the cliff face. What you can do - now that the wyvern's back is to you - is to try to charge back into the bottleneck with Wendy on your back, rushing to safety in a sprint, hoping that you can make those seconds count before the wyvern notices you. You don't have the agility of an aseri or the endurance of a human, but those advantages don't help when one has to carry a wounded human on their back and make a mad dash for safety.

This is where your strength comes in.

You carefully slide Wendy onto your back, slowly rising to your knees, making sure that the wyvern is still preoccupied by Lucille's arrows and Melanie's wind magecraft. Wendy is a somewhat small girl and weighs fifty kilograms at most, a weight that is hardly unnoticeable...but you're still a dryad who has been partaking in months of calisthenics while spending most of this field exercise carrying a greatsword around. A thirty meter sprint with Wendy on your back is a piece of cake.

You just need to run past the wyvern in between its legs in your undergarments. Again.

You brace yourself, doing your best to watch the wyvern's movements, looking for a moment when it seems the most distracted, when it presents the greatest opening for you to duck back into the bottleneck, when it has the most tunnel vision in its fixation on the rest of your team. You tense your leg muscles, steadying both you and Wendy's weight on your arms in a sprinting position. You take a deep breath...

...And you dash for it.

Your breathing is too heavy. It's an odd realization to make as your legs make one lunge after another, your arms barely keeping Wendy in place on your back. It's not your natural breathing tempo, even as you run with blood pounding in your head, a hole in your gut, a soreness in your feet. When was the last time you ran around the wild on your bare feet? You can't remember. But you want to think about that. Anything other than the fact that you are closing the thirty meter gap between you and safety, a rampaging wayvern the only obstacle between you and salvation.

Twenty meters. The wyvern still doesn't notice you. Vesna looks exhausted trying to maintain the disorientation spell on the wyvern, sweating as she does so, but still she desperately clutches onto her staff with clenched fingers, continuing her incantations. Lucille and Melanie are doing all they can to pester the wyvern with arrows and wind magecraft, while Penelope screams at you and makes a sweeping with motion with her arm to hurry you forward back to them.

Ten meters. The wyvern slams its body mass into the crag walls again, failing once more to reach its prey despite the furious snapping of its jaws at the occupants inside the crevice. Its hind legs shuffle back and forth to accommodate the twisting of its long neck, the wyvern trying to see if it can squeeze into the crevice from a different spot.

Five meters. The wyvern makes a sideways jump, a motion you don't expect, and with you right beneath it, you don't have room to maneuver or to dodge. You try anyways, throwing yourself forwards and slightly to the side, but it's not enough. You are knocked to the ground by a scaly leg, and you scream in agony as something heavy lands on your arm. Unprecedented, incomprehensible pain lances up your shoulder as you scream in pain. You try to maintain focus, trying to realize the fact that part of the wyvern's legs landed on your limb. Mercifully not the claw - it may well have taken your arm off entirely had that happened - but still something that feels like it has snapped your arm. It probably fractured bone...maybe even broke it.

The wyvern hears your scream, perhaps even feels you under its feet, but it is surprised, startled, unsure. Or perhaps it's still distracted. It shuffles once more, and like that, your arm is free. With your only good arm, with tears in your eyes, with fire scorching up your shoulder, you do your best to crawl your way back to safety, to traverse those final five meters back to your team, even as you hear the wyvern screech in fury right behind you...

Another arrow flies from Lucille's bow as she attempts to keep the wyvern away. Penelope desperately jumps out just enough to grab your arm to pull you and Wendy back in. Melanie sends a burst of wind to help propel you back into the crevice, just as the wyvern's maw makes one final attempt to catch you, snapping so close to your feet and slamming once again into the canyon walls that - for a moment - you are consumed with the terrorizing thought that it has indeed taken your leg as you, Wendy, and Penelope tumble unceremoniously onto the ground.

But the moment passes, the adrenaline passes, the incomprehension and the terror passes, and as you dare to slowly crane your neck to look in the direction of the wyvern, as you ineptly scramble away from that opening in the bottleneck, you realize...

...That you made it. Your legs are intact. Your arm is broken, but not horribly so.

And, most importantly, everyone is safe. Wendy is pulled off your back, even as Penelope shouts at her, tries to tell her that she's going to be alright despite the very real possibility that Wendy can't even hear her.

"F-F-Fine," you stammer to Vesna as the exhausted human breathlessly rushes over to you. You words sound surreal to your ringing ears, barely able to recognize your own voice, like it's not you but someone else speaking. Blood is still pounding in your head. None of this feels entirely real yet. "I-I'm fine." You gulp, pointing with your uninjured arm at the human who vastly needs more aid than you. "W-Wendy. Go!"

Vesna hesitates, but only for a split second. The rest of you move further down the bottleneck, putting more distance between yourselves and the wyvern. Vesna does her best to stabilize Wendy's condition, heal her enough so that you have enough time to find a mercenary, an instructor, someone who can get her real aid.

You are still trying to catch your breath when Lucille shakily kneels beside you, setting aside her bow. "I...I know a little bit of healing," she murmurs to you, a tremor in her voice. "Nothing like Vesna," she gulps, as if realize there's something dry stuck in her throat, before continuing, "and I don't have a staff, but...I can help a little. With the pain."

Wordlessly, you nod, although this still feels like a motion you're not entirely conscious of. Dazed, you slowly look around. Penelope is still holding onto Wendy's hands, coming close to tears, Vesna doing what she can. Melanie tries to keep watch on the wyvern, but she has shakily come down on her knees now that the moment of crisis is over, having transformed into somewhat more manageable mortal danger. You too, are finally coming down from the adrenaline high, all the fear coming back to you like water down a pipe now that the excitement is over. There is fire in your arm from where the pain is slowly being soothed by Lucille in her own limited way...but also a coldness deep in your body, the sort of chill that comes along with the aftermath of pure terror, the realization that you've come so close to death. You shiver and tremble uncontrollably, and you wish you were wearing clothes. The fact that you succeeded doesn't seem to register on an instinctive level. Your mind realizes, of course, that you accomplished something tremendous, but your body can't process this yet, can't process anything more than the fact that you are in pain and almost died and spent the last few minutes in dress-soiling terror.

You feel like crying. You feel like hugging Lucille. Somehow, you manage to do neither of these things.

Thankfully, Lucille is right, at least. Your arm is still broken, but after a few minutes, the pain is mostly an intense soreness rather than an acute pain stabbing into your head. Vesna, too, seems done on her end, looking as tired as ever...but also carrying a hint of relief on her exhausted face. "I've...helped Wendy as much as I can," she whispers. "But we need to get her to a real mage...now."

Penelope nods, and although it takes her a few seconds, she finally manages to find her feet through pure determination, extending a hand to help Vesna up afterwards before the two of them try to carry Wendy. You'd offer to help, but with a damaged arm, you probably wouldn't do much good. Fortunately, the crevice here is narrow enough that the walls function as sufficient footholds. All you need to do is slowly slide your way upwards, pressing against both walls tightly enough that not even the wyvern's attempts to slam into the canyon walls can dislodge you. Assistance from Lucille and Melanie help compensate for your lame arm, the two of them pushing you upwards, despite the fact that you can still feel them trembling.

It takes two or three minutes, but the six of you finally manage to make your way up to the top of the crag, back onto the "proper" woodlands. The wyvern has long given up on you, instead contenting itself to finding a way out of the canyon it's stuck in. It takes a moment for the six of you to catch your breath, before the five conscious apprentices among you share a look, one of mutual relief and understanding.

You're safe now. Somehow.

It doesn't take long for the situation to resolve itself. Using the sun as a navigational marker, your group moves as quickly as possible on tired, trembling legs in a southeasterly direction, screaming and shouting for help all the way. It takes a few minutes before two Faulkren mercenaries come charging in; given the near-omnipresence of the mercenaries previously, you suspect that this is an area they meant to leave to the dryads, and that they are confused as to why there are apprentices this far northwest. However, a quick look at the sorry state of all of you is enough to tell the adults that this is very serious, and as soon as they get the short version of the story out of all of you, they spring into action. One rushes to the last known location of the wyvern while the other takes the six of you in the direction of safety, signaling for assistance from the other mercenaries in the meantime. A wagon is conjured from out of nowhere for all of you after several minutes of walking, as well as a blanket specifically for you. Across Roldharen, mercenaries and instructors call for all apprentices to stop, stand down, and report to the nearest adult. This field exercise is being terminated.

The mages among the mercenaries intercept your wagon before it returns to the fielding area where all of you were briefed about the exercise yesterday. They use powerful magecraft to administer more powerful healing to you and Wendy, promising that there will be further treatment once they return to the fielding area. The wagon passes by a number of Caldran mercenaries and dryad huntresses rushing off to the location of the wyvern, probably to hunt it down and kill it. Word travels fast.

Everyone is tired. Penelope is clearly tearful now, quietly holding onto an unconscious Wendy's hand as one of the mercenaries does her best to heal her. Lucille and Melanie are hugging each other silently. Vesna looks like she's fainted. You yourself feel like you can't move a muscle. But as the warmth of healing magecraft slowly mends your bones, the fear and terror slowly melt away. Not entirely, but enough for your body to finally catch up with your mind, allowing you to feel an exhausted giddiness.

All of you survived a wyvern. Wendy is terribly injured, but she looks like she's going to make it with the right attention. You're injured, but not at all critically. No one died. You've all cheated death.

You, Lucille, and Melanie exchange tired glances...and small smiles somehow make it onto all of your faces.

You are among the first to return to the fielding area as the wagon finally pulls into the grasslands. Other apprentices are beginning to trickle in, looking curious and maybe even alarmed; it's questionable if they were told that the exercise has been terminated because of a wyvern. The instructors help you and the rest of your group out of the wagon; dedicated healers kept in the rear specifically for emergencies such as these begin to work their miracles on you and Wendy, even as water and food are brought out for all of you to overcome your exhaustion and shock.

You are still sitting on a stool, allowing the mercenary to put the finishing touches on your arm, when you suddenly spot Stephanie marching towards you with stiff footsteps. Her expression is stoic but taut with anxiety, and she's quick to rush up to you, breathlessly placing her hands on your shoulders, exclaiming, "Neianne! Are you alright? Are you hurt anywhere?"

"Careful, apprentice!" snaps the mercenary healing your arm. "She's broke her arm, and I don't want you snapping her bones again."

"Sorry," Stephanie winces, but can't quite stop herself from hugging your shoulders. She's not as openly expressive as the others, but you smile softly regardless as you use your other arm to hug her back, touched by your roommate's concern.

"I-I'm okay," you whisper back.

"That's good," Stephanie whispers, sounding relieved. Then, with more concern, she looks at the fact that you're covered in mud and blood, then exclaims, "Wait, no, how are you okay?"

"I-I-It's not my blood!" you stammer, panicking in an attempt to ensure that Stephanie herself won't panic. It doesn't help that other apprentices are beginning to gather around the tent in which your team is being treated; the fact that you and Wendy are the only ones seriously injured - and the fact that your group looks like you've been through a warzone and back - quickly tells everyone that the six of you have likely been at the center of whatever is suddenly sending the entire faculty of Faulkren Academy into damage control mode.

"Then it was..." Stephanie trails off, looks at the unconscious Wendy to the side, the bloody gash in her shoulder very slowly closing. With astonishment, she whispers, "Wait, it's true? You ran into a dragon?"

"N-No," you shake your head. If it was a dragon, all of you would probably be very dead. "A w-wyvern. I-It got Wendy, th-that's why I'm covered in b-blood, and..."

"Neianne saved Wendy," comes a sudden explanation from Vesna. You flinch in surprise; wasn't she still asleep just now? But although she's still trying to rehydrate herself with a cup of water she holds in shaky hands, she still manages a smile of what looks almost like pride. Beside her, both Lucille and Melanie nod, confirming this story, much to your quiet dismay. Penelope doesn't have the energy to contest this claim either. "The wyvern got her, but Neianne managed to sneak right past it and rescue Wendy."

An excited din rises amongst the apprentices gathered here, caught in disbelief and awe as they stare at you, covered in mud and blood, nursing an injured arm. You blush, looking away, unaccustomed and uncomfortable with all the attention - especially with people looking at you with admiration and awe - and red flushes your cheeks.

"How did you do it?" asks one of the apprentices, giving voice to a dozen other variants of the question asked by the captivated crowd of teenagers.

You are just beginning to wonder how to explain this to the others when Vesna happily and proudly declares, "Neianne fooled the wyvern by taking off her clothes and..."

The panicked and distressed mewl that escapes your throat - alongside your attempt to find a hole to hide in forever - sadly fails to distract the crowd from Vesna's retelling of the story, nor deter the collective gasping and squealing coming from your peers.

It is with a sense of muted relief when you hear some time later that the Caldran mercenaries and dryad huntresses found the wyvern still trapped in the crag, and killed it before it can harm anyone further.

With everyone being recalled from Roldharen, the Academy faculty needs to make sure that every single apprentice is accounted for as all the apprentices are directed back towards the fielding area. In the meantime, you, Vesna, Melanie, Lucille, Penelope, and Wendy - and Stephanie, since she is your roommate - are sent back to the Academy by wagon first so you can clean up and rest. The damage to your arm is not as terrible as was initially feared, but the injury was still very real. Magecraft mended the worst of it, but the mercenary responsible for your arm warns you that your bone will still be brittle and weak for some weeks; your arm is kept on a sling and splint. Magecraft is ultimately a temporary measure, something to stabilize your condition, and your body will still need to do the rest of the work. In other words, no physical training for you until you've made a complete recovery.

Unsurprisingly, you can't bring yourself to argue against this. You feel like you've gone through enough physical stress to last you a lifetime.

"I still can't believe you did that," Stephanie murmurs as she helps you wash in the baths. Evening has fallen, but the rest of the Academy has not yet returned, and so you have the baths to yourselves. It's more than little embarrassing, but given the condition of your arm, your aseri roommate insisted, even as she helps scrub the mud off your skin with a wet sponge. "What possessed you to think you could sneak past a wyvern?"

"I-I don't know," you admit. You were so determined, so caught up in the moment at the time...but now that you have a moment to calm down, to actually think, you can't believe how foolish that choice now seems. So many things could've gone wrong. The wyvern could've picked up your scent in the end. Vesna's disorientating magecraft might not have been strong enough. The wyvern may have stepped on you more than once entirely by accident. When it did step on you, it could've been on more than just an arm.

Yet somehow, all these factors fit together in just the right ways. Your ability to blend into the woodlands hid you not only two aseri looking for you, but also a wyvern. Vesna's magecraft ended up being strong enough to keep the wyvern off of you. Lucille and Melanie ultimately provided all the distractions you ever needed. Your injury was serious but not crippling.

All of you made it out alive. That's what counts in the end, isn't it? "B-But we did it, didn't we?" you ask, trying not to giggle and ruin the impact of your words as Stephanie scrubs your sides. "S-Sneaking past a wyvern, I mean."

"You got very lucky," Stephanie insists. "And for...Wendy? I mean...you know which squad she's in. She doesn't like you."

"No, she d-doesn't," you concede quietly. But, then, with more determination, "B-But I...don't think I could've l-left her behind. It wasn't about who it was." Realizing that you perhaps aren't making a lot of sense, your voice goes a little quiet as you whisper, "I...j-just didn't want to let myself be s-someone who just...runs. Who can't do anything."

"Okay," comes the aseri's skeptical reply, "but against a wyvern? Neianne, no one would've blamed you if you had left Wendy there. I mean, maybe Penelope, but let's not pretend she's reasonable. It's a wyvern, and we're still first-year apprentices. There's no shame in retreating from a battle you most likely can't win."

"I-It wasn't about whether or not I could win!" you insist. Then, embarrassed at the fact that you raised your voice at Stephanie, you take to a softer tone again and whisper, "It...was about whether or not I tried." Your fingers clench into fists. "I d-didn't come here to be the most powerful or skilled Caldran mercenary. I-I know I can't ever be like Lady Sieglinde or Lady Elizabeth or Lady Aphelia." You take a deep breath before murmuring, "But I want to become someone that they can rely on. I want to become someone who can hold and stand up for what's important. I want to..." And here you trail off, uncertain of how you can express yourself further. You haven't shared these thoughts with Stephanie before - despite the fact that she's your roommate - and now that you're doing so...it's perhaps a little hard to reconcile with the context of today.

Stephanie, for her part, sighs behind you as she continues to scrub your back. "I see," she finally allows.

Timidly, wary of her mood, you venture, "Are...a-are you angry at me?"

A scoff comes from the aseri this time, but one that doesn't betray displeasure. If anything, there's a hint of affection there. "On the contrary," she answers. "I'm happy that I have a lion for a roommate." She sounds thoughtful as she concludes, "It...makes me more certain. About certain things."

You are a little curious about what those "certain things" are; after all, despite being roommates, despite getting along, Stephanie is still a bit of an enigma, someone whose background and circumstances you know very little about. But soon she's scrubbing you somewhere sensitive and ticklish again, and it's all you can do to try to insist that you can wash yourself and not giggle out loud.

The rest of the Academy does not return until you and Stephanie have had dinner, and certainly not until Stephanie prods you into taking a very welcome early rest. Curious well-wishers come to your door in hopes of learning what transpired in Roldharen Forest this morning, now that rumors have spread amongst the apprentices like wildfire, but Stephanie fends them off, and you soon fall into a deep, fitful sleep.

It's noon when you finally wake up from your slumber. Muted sunlight amidst thin clouds comes in easily through your window, and your eyes try to adjust to the glow, your attempt to shield them from the window a reminder that one of your arms is technically still in a splint. Your body still feels sore, and there's still a bit of deep fatigue in your body, but when Stephanie - studying in the room up until you woke up - informs you that they've brought the corpse of the wyvern to the outskirts of the town of Faulkren, you resolve yourself to go and take a look. Whatever else, it feels like it'll provide some level of closure on this terrifying chapter of your life. Fortunately, you manage to ward off Stephanie's offer to help you dress, convincing her that you can do that yourself.

Come to think of it, you've left your previous change of clothes back in the small ravine, didn't you? Somehow, you doubt that anyone thought about picking that up. It's probably been dirtied in the mud beyond salvation anyways. You're just going to have to buy a new set of clothes.

The Academy is fairly empty as you leave on your way to the town, which is hardly surprising. There are no classes going on, seeing how the apprentices are still supposed to be out on the field exercise had it not been canceled. Quite a few are thus engaged in their own activities, but a great many - you soon discover - have gone to town to take a look at this wyvern that has been causing so much trouble.

"No one from the Academy was killed," Stephanie explains as the two of you walk along the road to town. It's getting chilly enough that her breath is visible as she speaks. She had the previous evening and earlier this morning to listen in on everyone and collect all the information she needed to brief you. "You and Wendy were the only ones injured. Aphelia and Mia were found and diverted back to the fielding area while looking for you." She inhales. "You were lucky. They say that judging by the damage left behind, the wyvern tripped, fell down the hill with you, and landed in the canyon where it couldn't fly." She looks at you grimly. "Things could've gone very differently. Four of the dryad huntresses were found dead."

You try to manage the sinking feeling in your stomach.

"I'm not trying to criticize you for your decisions," Stephanie quickly adds, taking a softer tone, "or making you second-guess them. I just..." she sighs, scratches her sharp ear awkwardly, eventually relents, "...would like you to understand the possible consequences of your actions. Your roommate would really rather you come back alive, you know."

"I-I know," you try to reassure her with a small smile. "Th-Thank you." You let this stretch of conversation pass for a moment before asking, "Do you know how are the others?"

"Lady Lucille and Melanie are still resting, I think, but Vesna was up. They tell me that Wendy has been sort of going in and out of consciousness, but she's in no mortal danger now. It's just going to be a lot of bedrest, like you."

"That's good," you expel a sigh of relief. There was the very real fear that, in spite of all your efforts, Wendy still wouldn't make it. This doesn't seem to be the case, though, and no one has told you that she has been so grievously injured that training as a Caldran mercenary is no longer possible for her.

Coming closer to Faulkren, it becomes difficult to miss where the wyvern has been brought in outside town. It's not that you can see the wyvern insomuch as you can see a crowd that has gathered around it, a collection of Caldran mercenaries, instructors, apprentices, and even townspeople. It's the most interesting thing to happen in the local area for a long while, and now everyone wants a piece of the latest news. Any undercurrent of fear that may have tainted this spectacle has been purged by the very fact that the wyvern is dead, and won't be bothering anyone ever again.

"People are still pretty excited about this," Stephanie warns you as you start getting closer to the crowd. "About you. So, uh, be prepared for lots of questions." Then, upon seeing you gulp with nervousness, she quickly promises, "I'll try to keep most of them off you."

True to Stephanie's word, as you come close to the crowd, one of the Caldran mercenaries keeping an eye on the commotion spots you in the corner of her vision, and a broad grin unfolds across her lips as she calls out, "Oh, and here comes the hero of the day!" You are given very little time to prepare before a throng of apprentices suddenly rush and surround you excitedly, full of questions and congratulations and curiosity. You feel overwhelmed by this sudden attention, averting your gaze and trying to figure out where you can hide instead. This is really not a level of attention you are remotely accustomed to, and to be at the center of it all is...strange. Intimidating. But...maybe not entirely unwelcome.

That doesn't stop Stephanie from sighing with a clear tone of exasperation, however, as she puts one arm around your shoulder to guide you towards the dead wyvern, all while using the other arm to push the others away. "Okay," she grunts, cutting through the crowd in large deliberate movements, "hey, back off, back off, she's still recovering from her injuries. Hey, watch out for her arm! It's still healing!"

It takes a bit of time and effort, but Stephanie finally manages to carve a path through the crowd, and you end up inside the innermost circle of people, standing right before the corpse of an ever-familiar wyvern. Your body chills for a moment as you set eyes on the monster, on its empty yellow slit eyes, your instincts remembering those ten minutes of terror and panic that consumed you. This is the third time in two days you have come so close to this predator, and the knowledge that it is dead - that it will not hurt anyone ever again - is of little relief to your instincts, convinced that you shouldn't be here.

Still, you are determined to set eyes on a creature that, just yesterday, you couldn't bear to look directly at. Even with its eyes glazed over, even with its body splayed across the grass, there's no denying the naturally ferocious appearance of the wyvern, its intimidating size. Its wings were clipped back when the mercenaries transported it here, and so it no longer looks as terrifyingly colossal as it did back in the canyon, but you are reminded that it's still a creature with a maw large enough to chew on an adult dryad.

But it seems that its scales only offered so much protection. Large gashes, fresh and only recently dried, show where the mercenaries inflicted fatal wounds on a trapped beast. There are smaller, slightly older-looking cuts across the beast's scales as well, perhaps scars from previous fights against other predators...or wounds sustained when the monster slipped and tumbled into that canyon with you. It's a reminder that although this is the manifestation of your fears of a cruel and violent death, it, too, is mortal, a being of flesh and blood that can be felled like any other.

Maybe one day - when you are stronger, when you've become a Caldran mercenary - you will be able to stand toe-to-toe against such a beast.

You are pulled out of your thoughts, however, as you recognize several familiar faces approaching. Well, "approaching" is perhaps an understatement for one of them; Mia practically jumps at you and cheerfully wraps an arm around your shoulder, enthusiastically exclaiming, "You were awesome!" You certainly didn't feel "awesome" then, not when Wendy was close to dying and you didn't know if your plan would work and you could've been killed yourself, but now you just blush in embarrassment. "Our Neianne has grown up so quickly."

"Hey," Stephanie sighs in irritation even as she pries Mia off your shoulders with more force than is probably necessary, "since when did she became 'your Neianne'?"

The cheerful aseri grins. "Since yesterday."

Mia is not the only one who has joined you; so does Sieglinde, Vesna, and Aphelia. Vesna, like you, still looks tired, but she offers you a big smile nonetheless, a sign of solidarity among survivors, and approaches for a hug. Sieglinde, as a member of Squad Four, doesn't hug you like Stephanie and Vesna - you don't expect her to, it's not in Sieglinde's character - but there is a clear look of muted relief on her face that tells you all you need to know, and you offer a small, shy smile back in return.

Aphelia, for her part, is her usual stoic self, but she does approvingly say to you, "That was a very...bold thing you did yesterday." A ghost of a wan smile forms on her lips as she adds, "Unwise, most likely...but there should be no doubts of your courage afterwards."

You mean to stammer your thanks to Aphelia, but Mia speaks first as she wonders aloud, "When you say 'bold', do you mean the 'crawling under a wyvern' part or the 'take off your clothes in front of everyone' part?"

Taking notice of your intense blush, both Stephanie and Aphelia exasperatedly thwack an unapologetic Mia across the back of her head.

It is not too long after that you notice something on the leg of the wyvern, something that you did not see - for obvious reasons - when you crawled under the wyvern. "What's this on its leg?" you ask, kneeling down closer to take a better look. Although "on" is perhaps not quite the right word, seeing how it's not really an "object" that's on the leg so much as it is something that looks branded into its scales.

One of the mercenaries grunts, stepping up beside you and studying the brand on the creature's leg. "We don't know," she admits. "Our libraries show no symbol, insignia, or heraldry that matches this."

"One of us will probably have to make a journey to Arkenvale to search the archives for anything like it," says another.

"Or maybe even Stengard or Valrein," sighs the first mercenary. You understand the lack of enthusiasm towards that possibility. It'd be nice if the information can be found in the capital of Apaloft, which is relatively close by. But if not, the Confederated City of Stengard - which technically functions as the capital of the entire Confederacy - and Valrein - the regional capital of Lindholm - have the largest archives in Caldrein. It'd necessitate a longer journey than just to Arkenvale, though.

And that would have been the end of that, except a clear voice - gentle and melodic, yet instantly commanding attention - suddenly rings out in mild surprise, "Oh, my. That's a Tenereian beastmaster's brand, isn't it?"

Heads swivel as all gazes turn upon an unfamiliar elven girl kneeling beside the corpse of the wyvern, studying the symbol. She is clearly not an apprentice of Faulkren Academy - you don't recognize her at all, especially since her long silver hair is particularly distinctive - nor a mercenary of the Faulkren warband - she looks only a bit older than you, perhaps roughly Sieglinde's age. Although she has the look of someone who's ready to hit the road, she wears her clothes rather stylishly, complete with a cloak, a hat, a bolero, and a skirt. There's a straight sword at her side that seems to suggest that she's an adventurer of some sort, but - rather curiously - there is something else that she carries: A lute.

"Pardon?" one of the mercenaries asks, eyebrow raised, intrigued.

"It's a Tenereian beastmaster's brand," the girl repeats, standing back up from where she knelt beside the corpse of the wyvern. You get a good look at her, and realize that she's actually very pretty. It's more than being blessed with good looks; like Aphelia, she commands the impression of confidence, but she certainly seems more approachable than your temporary unofficial team leader. "The Tenereian armies sometimes capture wild beasts and tame them for war, or simply unleash them deep in enemy territory. This looks like the latter; as far as I know, no one has ever been able to tame a wyvern."

"And you are...?" asks an authoritative voice, and you are surprised to see that this girl has caught the attention of Headmistress Cornelia Rastangard, who is now standing beside both yourself and this new girl, her expression thoughtful but unreadable.

With a broad smile and a flourish of her arm, the girl bows dramatically, as if she was an actress on the receiving end of jubilant applause after the finale of a play. "Alexia, traveling bard, at your service. I've been in town for a while now, and plan to stay for a little bit longer."

Alexia's introduction coaxes a few chuckles out of the nearby crowd. The headmistress, however, continues to stoically scrutinize her for a moment longer before asking, "You're Ornthalian, aren't you?"

A flutter of surprised murmurs erupts through the crowd of onlookers, even as Alexia laughs sheepishly at having been "found out". Ornthalia's relationship with Caldrein is amicable enough, if not rather complicated. They are certainly much further away geographically from the Confederacy compared to Tenereia, and the general impression is that Ornthalians consider Caldrein to be at least a little backwater. Still, Ornthalia has been a bit of an ideological cousin in recent years, valuing the political autonomy of its administrative divisions and of its subjects. There is the shared religion of Primordiality, which has become the largest faith in both countries. And Ornthalia has been a token ally of Caldrein's through the Huntress' War, providing some degree of material aid...yet never in decisive amounts. Nor have the Ornthalian armies been mobilized on Caldrein's behalf, not that Caldran necessarily welcomes such a possibility; the dangers of a foreign army on domestic soil is too great. Ultimately, part of this stalemate is of course the complex situation that Ornthalia faces in its cold war against Tenereia, but there is also the understanding that a significant part of Ornthalia's support comes with the ulterior motive of containing Tenereian expansion.

Alexia, for her part, does not deny the accusation, merely laughing, "You have me there." But although the cheerful smile does not disappear from her lips, she seems a touch more serious as she insists, "I'm not speaking from a position of bias, though. My travels have brought me far and wide across Iuryis, including Tenereia. I've seen such a brand before."

The confidence and certainty by which Alexia makes such a claim reignites speculation among the spectators. If the bard speaks true - if it is not a deliberate Ornthalian attempt to tighten Caldran resolve against Tenereia - then is this not a wartime action, an attempt to sow discord in the Confederacy, a strike deep past the battlefield in Elspar? A warning that none of you outside Elspar are safe? That - had there not been a field exercise in Roldharen that day - more could've died?

Few ask such questions harder than Lauren, the representative of the dryads of Roldharen, as she suddenly turns on Cornelia, a grim frown set upon her features. "What is the meaning of this, Rastangard?" she demands, her tone calm and level, but still betraying an anger heard by everyone around. Conversations come to a halt as everyone looks on with surprise and bated breath, as the Lauren suddenly puts your headmistress on the spot. "We have lent you these woodlands in goodwill with the understanding that this is only a field exercise. Yet my people are being jeopardized - several huntresses killed - by a...Tenereian wyvern?"

Although she composes herself well, Cornelia Rastangard still seems a little pained and desperate as one hand touches Lauren's shoulder while another gestures towards a nearby building - a general shop, as it happens to be - trying to guide Lauren away from a public embarrassment. "May we discuss this inside?" she asks, already trying to prod the dryad along, the latter of whom - thankfully for Cornelia - acquiesces. The two soon disappear indoors, Cornelia slamming the door shut behind them.

The awkward silence of the crowd stretches for just a bit longer until Alexia clears her throat. "So, yeah!" she chimes, sounding like she's trying to get everyone to forget about the tension just now. "See these scars?" She points to the slightly older scars on the scales of the wyvern that you thought were either from fights with other beasts or from when it took a tumble into the crevice with you. "They probably whipped the wyvern into a frenzy before setting it loose."

Again, the crowd explodes into alarmed murmurings, their attention returning from the tension between Faulkren Academy and the woodland dryads of Roldharen Forest. There is a growing sense of anger, a stomach-churning realization that Tenereians somehow not only infiltrated this far past the distant frontlines to the west in Elspar, but also managed to bring a wyvern with them to inflict upon a peaceful population hub.

It is in this din that Sieglinde suddenly speaks, inquiring of Alexia, "Wyverns are indigenous to Ornthalia as well, are they not?"

"Well, yes," Alexia agrees easily, "the Imperial Republic is rather large, and includes lands wyverns are native to."

Sieglinde nods. "Your timing here is quite fortuitous, then," she observes calmly. "An Ornthalian bard with knowledge of the Tenereian military graces our humble township the day we needed her most."

There is a bit of tension in the air, the implicit suspicion that Sieglinde is voicing not having gone unnoticed. You awkwardly look at Alexia, wondering if this is going to result in a confrontation...but the elven bard only laughs cheerfully. "I know, right?" she huffs proudly, as if being here at the right time is supposed to be a great accomplishment of hers. "I'm awesome like that." She seems content to leave it at that for now, until she catches you in the periphery of her vision, and a second later, she bounces over, beaming. "Oh, are you the dryad who saved the team from this, aren't you?"

You are growing increasingly worried about how far this story will spread, now that an Ornthalian bard knows about it. "U-Um," you fidget, unaccustomed to such attention by a stranger, "no, just...someone on the team."

"By stripping, right?" Alexia asks excitedly.

You shoot a betrayed look over at Vesna, who apologetically sticks her tongue out in a clear sign of "oops". You are quickly coming to fear the possibility that the world will never let you forget about this episode.

"That's incredible," the bard continues in a tone that's a mixture of amused and impressed. "I never could've done something like that." A pause. "I never could've thought of something like that."

Blushing, you fidget a little as you murmur, "I-It was just in the heat of the moment. I-I wasn't really thinking or anything."

But Alexia puts her hands on her hips and grins. "Don't sell yourself short. It's not something anyone could've done without thinking about it, and it's not something anyone could've done without the courage to stare death right in the face." She pats your shoulder, something that draws a disapproving look from Stephanie due to the state of your arm. "You should be proud of yourself, Neianne. I'll have to watch your stories with bated breath and sing your songs."

You're a little terrified of the idea that someone is going to sing songs about you, but you don't get the chance to vocalize these concerns before the other apprentices - having long had their curiosity held back by Stephanie and the unfolding situation at hand - finally see their first chance to ask you and Vesna what happened. You're swarmed by a throng of apprentices, excitedly asking you to recount your experiences from yesterday, even as your squadmates and teammates look on with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. You find yourself overwhelmed by all the questions and voices and attention, struggling to keep up with what feels like a dozen different conversations at once.

But maybe this isn't so bad. As you watch Vesna cheerfully explain your collective close brush with death - nothing ever seems to faze that girl - your thoughts return to those of your instructors, of Stephanie, of Aphelia. Yes, the entire incident will probably continually be a source of deep embarrassment, especially in terms of your methodology...but you realize that regardless of whether or not this was a result of a conscious change or just something innate within you, you can spur yourself to action. You can push yourself when the chips are down and the times call for it. You can change.

With a small shy smile that nevertheless touches a spot of confidence that you didn't know you had, you join Vesna in regaling your peers with the story of how you had to strip to save a fellow apprentice.

The days eventually come and go, as the vestiges of warm days finally pass, giving way to the promise of snow. Roldharen slowly becomes a memory, your memento an arm that finally frees itself of splint and sling, although you are still forbidden from engaging in physical training. This is of some distress to you, even though you are instead encouraged to make up for it by studying ahead in more academic subjects. Wendy, too, is eventually discharged from the custody of the healers, and although she still moves slowly with a visible limp, she is expected to make a full recovery.

The novelty of your stories, too, has passed. Through the short weeks, the apprentices have heard the story of how you snuck naked past a wyvern a dozen times, with a dozen variations on the story shared by every second- and third-hand account. Conversation at dinner in the Great Hall has since moved onto other subjects and other stories. Your reputation, however, has moreorless stuck; previously a near-invisible, shy apprentice who largely escaped notice, you are now recognized as someone with worth, someone deserving of attention and respect. People talk to you now, give more than just passing greetings, meaning you have to learn to talk back.

"You haven't been a hermit before you came here," Stephanie points out, seated next to you in the minutes before your tactics class begins. Per usual, Squad Four is seated together, with Sieglinde and Elizabeth behind you in their customary spots. "Talking to people here shouldn't be a particularly harrowing experience."

"I know," you relent, sighing, kicking your feet on a chair that keeps them scant millimeters from the floor. "A-Although my friends back home are people whom I've known most of my life, and some of the people here are from completely different backgrounds, and..." you catch yourself - and, perhaps more pertinently, a look from Stephanie - and sigh once more before murmuring, "...I-I'm trying."

"They can't be scarier than a wyvern," Stephanie insists. "And you crawled under its legs."

"My," Elizabeth laughs in that angelic little voice of hers, which is why it's all the more jarring when she says, "are you suggesting that Neianne crawl in between someone's legs here?"

"No!" hisses Stephanie, even as your face flushes bright red at the thought. Sieglinde, to the side, is cradling her forehead with her long fingers, as if masking a sigh. "I mean that a wyvern should've put things into perspective. Gods below, why are you even thinking such lecherous thoughts?"

"You're the one suggesting it," chimes Elizabeth.

"You don't have the sort of personality that would offend easily," Sieglinde cuts in, her voice calm and patient despite the ongoing conversation. "There isn't much reason for you to worry. Nor expectations for you to live up to."

"Until people discover I'm b-boring and uninteresting," you mumble glumly.

Which is about as far as you get, because there is a sudden sharp pain in your ear, and you whine impotently as Elizabeth sharply pulls on your ear with a clear air of irritation, even as Stephanie looks on, paralyzed with shock, and Sieglinde stands up lazily in a halfhearted effort to pull Elizabeth from you. "Moping like that is what makes you boring, you mewling quim," scowls the elf, moments before Sieglinde finally pries the tiny girl from you.

"Much as I'm loathe to agree with this one," sighs the tall, raven-haired elf, settling Elizabeth back onto her seat even as you rub your sore ear, "this sort of self-deprecation probably won't help in the long run."

"Just be who you are," Stephanie insists, even as you pout. "If you really need help...well, I don't know." She shrugs. "We can help you practice?"

Elizabeth makes a snorting sound that makes it clear she has volunteered for no such thing. Sieglinde, for her part, raises an eyebrow in curiosity, as if silently asking what makes anyone think she is particularly sociable.

"Well," sighs Stephanie heavily, shaking her head in exasperation, "I can help you practice."

"Not that you're particularly sociable yourself," quips Elizabeth.

"Do be quiet," mutters your aseri roommate, rolling her eyes.

Elizabeth's eyes flash with amusement and unspoken cruelty. "You mean 'do be quiet, milady'."

Stephanie seems uncertain about how to react to that, but she is spared from having to come to a decision when your little conversation is interrupted by the sudden arrival of two humans. You turn, finding yourself a little surprised to meet the gazes of Penelope and Wendy. Well, "surprised" is perhaps the wrong word; deep down inside, you knew that an encounter such as this was going to happen sooner or later. That doesn't mean you're prepared for it, though.

If there's any comfort you can derive from this, it's that both Penelope and Wendy also look mildly uncomfortable with this. They do their best to ignore the presence of Elizabeth only a few meters away; Elizabeth, for her part, looks like she hasn't even noticed that the two human girls exist.

Finally, with a deep shaky breath, Wendy speaks first, awkwardly murmuring, "Hi."

"Oh," you blink, bowing your head in polite greeting, "u-u-um...hi." It's more than a little awkward to talk to someone who seemed to detest you weeks ago, and whose life you saved days ago. Especially since Penelope is still looking a bit defensive as she stands next to her squadmate with a hint of a grimace on her lips. You also try not to let your gaze wander; Wendy suffered fairly serious wounds from the wyvern, and so there are places on her body where bandages are still wrapped around, holding raw wounds together that healing magecraft can only somewhat compensate for.

The small smile Wendy gives is a little uneasy and clearly awkward, but it's there. "We haven't got a chance to talk," she shrugs. "You know, with me knocked out and everything."

You nod, finally feeling a little less guilty about looking at her bandages, gesturing towards them as you ask, "A-Are you okay now?"

"Yeah. I'm still a mess inside, but they say I'll be alright in a month or two."

"Th-That's good."

An awkward moment of silence passes as you are uncertain of what to say despite wanting to say something, whereas Wendy is certain of what she needs to say but has second thoughts about actually saying it.

Then, finally: "They told me you're the one who saved me."

"Oh." You fidget awkwardly, trying to play it off and not make a big deal out of it. It's not as if you can gloat. "Um. W-Well." You look around skittishly, and when you catch sight of Penelope and remember that she's still here, you quickly add, "P-Penelope helped too."

Penelope looks mildly perplexed at this. Wendy, for her part, manages a small laugh as she concedes, "Yeah, she did."

"And Lady Lucille," you add insistently. "And Vesna. And Melanie."

"Yeah," Wendy nods, "I'm thanking them too." Another moment passes, and Wendy takes another deep breath. Steels herself. Manages, "What I mean is...thanks." She exhales, a sigh that sounds like something burdensome has been lifted from her shoulders, replaced only by a sense of lingering discomfort. "Really. I mean, I don't really remember what happened, but..." it's her turn to make an awkward fidgeting motion, but she eventually whispers, "...it's nice to still be here." The tiny smile she offers you is awkward, but it's a smile nonetheless. "I owe you one."

You try to think of something profound to say in return, but find yourself unable to offer much more beyond awkwardly stammering, "Y-You're welcome."

And that is that. Wendy gives another wan smile before turning around and leaving, returning to her seat with the other members of her squad. Penelope follows after her, but not before giving you a small, grim nod of acknowledgment...maybe even reluctant respect. It's hard to tell with her sometimes.

Sieglinde, for her part, softly claps her hands behind you. "Bravo," she congratulates calmly. You pout as you look at Sieglinde's expressionless face; it's really hard to tell whether she's sincere or wry about certain things sometimes.

Elizabeth, meanwhile, seems to giggle in amusement as she watches Penelope and Wendy return to their seats. "They do know how to grovel after all," she hums aloud.

Stephanie raises an eyebrow at her. "That's groveling?" she asks.

"I am a merciful lady, after all," sniffs Elizabeth haughtily, and Stephanie barely manages to catch herself before making a ridiculing snorting noise. "I can lower my standards." Her smile takes on a slightly sinister air as she adds, "If this was Tenereia, her head would've long been on a pike."

Your eyes widen in shock as you ask, "R-Really?"

"No," sighs Stephanie impatiently, "not really. It's wartime propaganda."

But here Sieglinde clarifies, "Elizabeth exaggerates, but it's true that the leaders of the Tenereian Union are...less accessible." She shrugs. "Perhaps it would be unfair to suggest that they are entirely beyond reproach, but the gulf between them and those they rule is wide indeed."

"So start cozying up to," Elizabeth cruelly advises with a hint of a cackle in her voice, "and crawling between the legs of as many highborn ladies as you can while you can. You might not get the chance when Tenereia subjugates us all."

Stephanie groans, burying her face in her hand even as you blush in embarrassment at Elizabeth's "suggestion". Sieglinde, meanwhile, refuses to be tripped up by the diminutive blond mages and calmly offers, "A more charitable interpretation of Zabanya's words, if you're going to be very liberal about what she actually meant, is that we are bound together by our endeavor to become Caldran mercenaries, a very special feat not completely restricted by socioeconomic divides." Elizabeth playfully sticks her tongue out at Sieglinde for the verbal dig, but the taller elf ignores her as she continues, "You're on the same squad as Elizabeth and myself, you've befriended Azalea Charmaine, and you seem to have won Aphelia Treiser's respect." She looks like she's trying to appear reassuring when Sieglinde concludes, "Don't let birth be a barrier to what friendships you think you can forge."

"Or anything less intimidating than a wyvern," Stephanie adds helpfully.

"Or anyone you're willing to take your clothes off in front of," Elizabeth chimes in much less helpfully. Then, taking advantage of your obvious embarrassment, "So how far did you strip, anyways? All the way?"

The calmer part of you, the part that you're not listening to right now, tells you that this is the moment where you'll loudly blurt something embarrassing - in this case, "only down to my undergarments" - and then try to find somewhere to hide forever as you realize you actually said that very loudly. Thankfully, Stephanie - being your roommate and a previous witness to such outbursts - rescues you from such a fate in the nick of time as she sighs and stresses, "Just down to her undergarments, alright?"

"How scandalous," smirks Elizabeth, but she fortunately doesn't get very far. Sharp footsteps at the door, the scraping of chairs against the floor, and students shuffling across the classroom is a familiar indication that the instructor has entered the classroom, and the tactics lesson for today is about to start.

Your squad's conversation comes to an end, although Stephanie uses what few moments she has left to whisper to you, "She seems to notice that you exist now. Zabanya, I mean."

"Is that a good or bad thing?" you wonder aloud with no small amount of uncertainty. It seems only yesterday that Elizabeth only regarded you as something that came with the backdrop, despite being someone in the same squad.

"Well, she's only pulled on your ear, called you a mewling quim, and inquired about how far you've undressed. So...you're off to a good start, I guess?"

You try not to drop your head against the desk in front of you.

"Now," comes the clear voice of the elven instructor, cutting through the last vestiges of conversation in the classroom, and your surroundings become solemnly silent save for the crisp lecturing of the adult at the podium, "as the entire Academy probably knows by now, one of ours recently outwitted a wyvern by taking off her clothes." Heads swivel in your direction, giggles echo through the classroom, and you consider hiding under your desk. "It was an excellent application of the strengths available to the group at the time, even if it was incredibly risky: A dryad's ability to blend into the local flora, a mage strong enough to disorientate even a wyvern, and three other apprentices as backup doing the exact right things at the right time." The instructor gives you an approving nod. "Well played."

You try not to let the light applause around the classroom get to your head.

"Now," the instructor claps her hands together once to bring everyone's attention back on her, "since we're talking about this, let's assume another hypothetical: That you have been caught in the same situation - stuck in a crevice with a wyvern - but it becomes necessary to fight it. What advantages do you immediately have?" She looks around, and when none of the apprentices answer or raise their hands, she gives a small sigh before turning in the direction of your squad and calls upon one of your own: "Ravenhill."

Sieglinde's answer is cool and succinct: "A wyvern hunts primarily with its claws and weight. Without the ability to take off, biting becomes the only offensive option available to it...aside from stepping on someone."

You don't turn around to look, but you somehow have a suspicion that Sieglinde was looking at you when she uttered that last part of her answer.

"Very good," the instructor nods, even as she begins to draw a very rough sketch of a wyvern's general anatomy on the blackboard, emphasizing the lack of "arms" that it has; rather, where the arms would traditionally be for other creatures are instead its wings. "Yes, remember: Wyverns are primarily aerial predators. Although sometimes regarded as a 'smaller cousin' of dragons, there are very obvious structural and anatomical differences, key among them being that a wyvern only has two legs. Its primary method of hunting is to swoop down on unsuspecting prey, dig its claws into the victim, and crush it with its weight. Wyverns are also known to perch on the branches of thick forests, using its long neck to ambush victims from above. Neither option was possible, meaning the wyvern would've fought with a significant handicap. It is still a formidable threat on the ground, but not optimized for combat there. What about combat? How would you actually fight a wyvern?"

"Wouldn't wind magecraft be enough?" inquires an apprentice from the other side of the classroom, most likely someone who isn't actually a mage.

"In terms of physical force, wind magecraft does not actually pack significant force, especially when compared to other classes of elemental magecraft. It is incredibly versatile in many ways, often far moreso than magecraft involving other elements, with many creative applications. But as apprentices, you are unlikely to possess the kind of power to summon winds strong enough to cut through a wyvern's scales, something that Melanie Aster was aware of at the time."

"An arrow through the eye," someone else suggested. Probably not very seriously, seeing how some of the other apprentices giggle at the answer.

"Amusing," the elven instructor snorts dryly, "but probably more difficult than you'd imagine, seeing how the wyvern would be trying to move around and kill you. An intelligent answer, please?"

"Doesn't that mean Neianne's greatsword would've been the only weapon powerful enough to cut through?" comes another answer.

"Excellent, very good. Yes, with the other weapons at hand being daggers, a shortbow, and wind magecraft, a greatsword would've been the best bet against a large opponent such as a wyvern. Combat would've then been about setting up the perfect chance for Neianne to deliver a fatal blow with her weapon, either at the wyvern's neck, the thinnest part of the wyvern's main body, or in the softer, less-protected underbelly.

"This is, of course, assuming that combat is unavoidable. We now suspect that the wyvern was part of a Tenereian plot to inflict damage on Apaloft to dampen morale back home. The wyvern was not acting only out of hunger, but had been deliberately driven into a frenzy. Had it not landed in a crevice, retreating may not have been possible, seeing how outrunning an wyvern's flight speed is a fool's errand. But since it was possible, and since many engagements allow retreat to be possible, it should always be considered a serious option." She settles her gaze upon you before continuing, "As much as Neianne's courage is to be commended, and as much as we should appreciate her success, the wisest solution would've been to flee and search for more qualified help." You try not to look in the direction of Penelope and Wendy, a bit too nervous to see how they would react to an eleven instructor suggesting that the "wisest solution" is to leave the human Wendy behind. "Caldran mercenaries do not tolerate cowardice, but nor do we tolerate foolishness. You fight the battles you can win, and you don't fight battles where not only will you most likely lose, but where you don't have to lose. Do not let others take care of problems you can solve yourself, but do not create more problems for other people in your attempt to solve them."

The instructor allows a moment of silence to pass, to emphasize what she has said, to let her words sink in...before announcing, "If 'how do you fight a wyvern' ever comes up on a quiz, Neianne will be the only apprentice from whom I shall be accepting the answer of 'take off your clothes'."

The classroom erupts into friendly laughter once more, at the expense of the increased flow of blood in your face.

The first snowfall finally graces Faulkren. The temperature is not cold enough to repaint the landscape from green to white, not yet, but it heralds the changing of times. The field exercise becomes a fond memory, and life at the Academy settles down into a calmer routine, days of lessons and training punctuated by episodes amongst apprentices.

The instructors have been giving you extra homework where academics are concerned due to your damaged arm, in hopes that you can focus instead on the physical and the martial once your arm heals. Sadly, it does mean that when weekends and free time come along, it's not yet possible to make good on Sieglinde's offer to train with her.

That being said, you have hardly forgotten Azalea's offer of teatime with her and her friends, especially now that there's a venue at the Aroma, the cafe in town run by the two elves you ran into last time, Nicole and Tiffany. You aren't as familiar with Azalea as you are with Sieglinde, and the idea of having to sit with another group of unfamiliar acquaintances - Azalea's own circle of friends - sounds intimidating, especially when you consider Azalea's social class and the people she's likely to be hanging out with. But maybe that's part of the challenge you must face: Learning how to interact more, especially with people you don't know as well. Besides, a part of you quietly wishes to emulate and learn from Azalea's own graceful behavior and social etiquette. At the very least, she isn't a wyvern.

And, of course, you can spend time with other people too. You never managed to find the rest of Squad Four during the field exercise, so you would hardly mind spending some more time bonding with Stephanie, Sieglinde...or maybe even Elizabeth. Vesna is another pre-existing relationship you can capitalize on, especially now that you have gone through a harrowing, life-threatening experience together. From that same crisis, you've made new acquaintances, maybe even friends: Aphelia, Lucille, Melanie, and Mia. And seeing how you've actually successfully saved a life, maybe - just maybe - Penelope and Wendy would be amenable towards a more amicable relationship.

[x] Aphelia Meredith Treiser
[x] Azalea Cherilyn Charmaine
[x] Elizabeth Irivich Zabanya
[x] Emilie
[x] Lucille Lorraine Celestia
[x] Melanie Aster
[x] Mia Honette
[x] Nikki
[x] Penelope
[x] Sieglinde Corrina Ravenhill
[x] Stephanie
[x] Vesna Rainer
[x] Wendy
[x] Wilhelmina Adelaide Marienberg
Choose three.

Despite the fact that the write-in was something that really came out of left field, I felt that it actually worked well. It took advantage of several details that I've already established in passing - Neianne being able to blend into the woodlands well and Vesna having sufficient debuffing magecraft - that I felt this was a vote that was narratively satisfying, even if I would never have suggested it myself. But just as importantly, though, it really tickled me. I laughed out loud. It really got my writing going. I managed somewhere north of eight thousand words in one night after a year of taking weeks to write a single update. It helped that it was the winning vote at the time. And it ended with a pretty good narrative result, all things considered.

It was a very nice reminder of why I like writing quests. Sometimes, your readers surprise you too.

On the Road to Elspar [Book 1] (Dryad Mercenary Schoolgirl Quest)

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