Two months is really an unacceptable amount of time to write
just 4.7k words. I hate me, I hate my life.
[x] ...don't really know what you feel about the knight orders.
[x] Write-in: But you wonder, what is the reason they spend so much time training and practicing, but not use their skills? They aren't interested in fighting in wars or protecting people, but devote their lives to skills that they almost never use?
Rising from where you are hidden, you move cautiously towards the knight in question, that tall, blonde elf with a stately bearing that reminds you in no small part of Aphelia. You stop in your tracks when the woman turns an eye upon you, and that mere motion alone is enough to freeze and subtly adjust your feet into something that would accommodate a more defensive stance, shifting your weight onto your rear foot with great caution; you sense Sieglinde cautiously doing the same behind you. You won't go down as easily as some untrained bandits; you're a Caldran mercenary apprentice, as is your taller, prodigious squadmate. But you won't take chances.
The woman for her part, standing regal with a sword elegantly in her hand - with practically no drops of blood on her otherwise dirt-caked straight-edge robes - calmly looks at you in a measured up-and-down manner. "You do not look like those outlaws," she observes blandly in a stoic, matter-of-fact tone.
Still caught in a wary stance, you try to keep whatever nervousness you feel out of your voice - and your stutter, for that matter - as you slowly explain, "We are mercenary apprentices from Faulkren Academy."
"Ah," the knight says with a curt nod, and you are struck by how different this is. Almost everyone else seems to afford you an extra dose of respect and curiosity when they know that you are training as a Caldran mercenary apprentice. This knight, however, reacts as if you just told her you're from Caelon. You wonder if that's just the extent to which the knight orders are disengaged with the shared values of the Confederacy...or if it reflects a condescending view that they have for their martial cousins.
But for now, the knight takes a cloth from her pouch and wipes the blade of blood in a singular motion before easily sheathing her sword. You are a little surprised by how readily she takes that explanation at face value, not entirely sure whether or not to relax or to shift from a defensive posture to a more normal one. Sieglinde, for her part, asks, "Which monastery do you hail from?" There is a subtle hint in the tone of her voice that suggests she's still being cautious, and that puts you on edge as well.
"Glatismant."
That name is unfamiliar to you. "Th-That's in...?" you ask, trailing off as you embarrassingly realize how uninformed you must be coming across.
"Fulwaite," the knight says. She looks unimpressed, but there is simply a stoic, expressionless quality to her face that makes it seem less a judgement on your question and more a lack of concern for the entirety of your existence. You're uncertain that this is actually better.
"Oh." There is a not-insignificant pause after this, which makes you feel all the more awkward as you try to force some more conversation. "U-Um, are you the one who accompanied the wagon that was a-attacked?"
"'
Accompanied'?" blinks the knight in mild confusion before she seems to catch on. "I suppose so. I am their
client."
Stepping up to a spot that's beside you but still technically a half-step behind you, Sieglinde observes, "Apaloft seems rather far for a knight to sell their goods."
"I am not engaging in trade," the knight replies. Like Sieglinde, her stoic tone makes it difficult to ascertain mood, but you
think you hear just the slightest hint of scorn, as if the very concept of trade is beneath her. "Our grandmaster has sent a gift to her counterpart in Glendina. I have been tasked with escorting it to her."
"The sword," you nod, catching on.
"A longsword forged of pure azurite in our forges," the elf says with almost a hint of pride, making you wonder if
she was the one who forged it in the first place, at least until a bit of scorn enters her voice, "which the merchants so clumsily allowed to be stolen."
"I would ask how
you allowed it to be stolen in the first place," asks Sieglinde; you wonder if she's trying to cast suspicion.
"To cover for the transportation fees in cost, I was requested as a caravan guard. When we were set upon by bandits, I was loathe to leave the gift, but I thought the others in the wagon would at least put up token resistance." The knight's eyes narrow just a hair. "I was wrong."
Not sure where all of this is going, you hurriedly add, "We have been t-tasked to assist Sheriff Sigrid Rossfeldt Almsyre in br-bringing the bandits to rout." You manage an awkward smile. "Perhaps w-we can assist you?"
The knight regards both you and Sieglinde with an oddly familiar neutral expression for a moment before nodding at a depth that almost seems to signify at least
some respect. "You can."
Feeling a little pleased and relieved, you turn around to look at Sieglinde to gauge her reaction. She keeps her expression schooled - masking her feelings as opposed to merely having understated reactions - but she simply nods and says, "We believe that if there's any direction the bandits have set up camp, it's to the south."
"Very well," Eleanore nods simply and swivels around in a specific direction before marching off.
Uncertainly, you and Sieglinde exchange a glance before you hesitantly murmur, "Um, Lady...?"
"
Sister Eleanore," the knight amends with an emphasis, turning around upon realizing from the distance of your voice that neither you nor Sieglinde are following. She doesn't sound offended, at least, and her correction is delivered matter-of-factly.
"Sister Eleanore," you repeat with an awkward nod and grimace, pointing in the direction she's moving towards. Perhaps she has lost track of time, having pursued these bandits for what may have seemed to her as an indeterminate amount of time, but it's not so late in the day that the sun reached its midpoint in the sky. "That's
east."
Eleanore blinks for a moment, confused. Then - without really even looking into the sky, as if she's taking you entirely on your word, or as if she knows of no way to confirm this - she merely says, "...Ah." Then she turns counterclockwise and begins to walk again.
You do her the grace of waiting for at least a moment before adding, "And that's north."
Eleanore swivels around to the other direction and begins to walk, muttering with - to her credit - only a minimum level of embarrassment, "Yes, you are correct."
You and Sieglinde exchange glances. This is going to be a long journey.
It is ten minutes later as the three of you move through the wilderness. Sieglinde leads the way, seeing how she has picked up some training in scouting. You are taking up the rearguard, perhaps entirely out of necessity; it has become fairly clear, at least, that Eleanore is not comfortable with the outdoors or the woodlands, so letting her follow Sieglinde while you cover the rear is probably the wisest thing to do, all things considered.
That being said, there is a grace to Eleanore's movements, even if it doesn't quite match her surroundings. There's a dance-like gait to her movements, the crunching of dried leaves and branches beneath her feet notwithstanding. It is with this in mind, you suspect, that Sieglinde eventually turns to your neighborhood knight and observes, "Your footwork is excellent, but be more quiet. We do not wish to give ourselves away."
"Ah, yes, of course," Eleanore nods agreeably before turning to you and looking you up and down for a moment. "Although it seems like you are more prepared."
You blink, not expecting this attention nor understanding what she's talking about at all. "P-Pardon?" you ask politely.
She points at your face and hair. "Your camouflage. It's quite excellent."
This answers absolutely nothing even as you blank out and stutter, "H-Huh?"
If possible, the knight seems to point harder. "The leaves in your hair. And your face paint."
Sieglinde stops in her tracks, staring in muted disbelief at the two of you for a moment before saying bluntly, "She's a
dryad."
Eleanore stops short, staring at you in open surprise. "Oh," she says. You feel yourself flush under her fascinated gaze. "I'd heard that dryads had bark for skin."
"N-No," you say blankly, too confused at this to even
really register that Eleanore didn't even know you're a
dryad, "we're just...d-durable." You're not sure whether this or if the knight's exposure to dryads being solely from Anya's romance books would be preferable; you're a bit too caught up in the fact that the knight before you didn't even know what a dryad
is. What rock has she been hiding under?
Eleanore stares some more, murmuring, "And so those are really...?" And before you can stop her, a long-fingered hand reaches out to pluck at one of the leaves from your hair, as if she might simply pull it out.
"Ow!" you cry, flinching backwards, covering your head defensively. Thankfully, the knight jerks her hand back in mild alarm before she can pluck the leaf free. "Y-Yes, they're growing out of my head!" you hiss, keeping your voice low.
"Ah," Eleanore says, and even on her inexpressive face she seems to realize that she'd just done something extremely rude. "Apologies."
"It's fine," you murmur, rubbing gingerly at your head. Inwardly, between not knowing even basic directions and not knowing what a dryad is when one is standing in front of her, the image of immaculate, invincible knights in your head is steadily eroding to...well, whatever Eleanore is.
Long, awkward minutes drag on silently from there, until Eleanore seems to come to a new realization: "...Ah. I suppose those merchants with the caravan also weren't humans trying to camouflage themselves."
"Unless st-sticking leaves in your hair is the new fashion," you mutter, low enough that it doesn't quite carry to the knight. Sieglinde raises her eyebrows at the sarcasm, but you think she's too amused to worry about Elizabeth's negative influence rearing its head again.
Sometimes sarcasm is all you have.
"I d-didn't know shrines interacted with each other," you say somewhat out of the blue. More tens of minutes have elapsed as you and Eleanore follow Sieglinde, still quietly following whatever tracks or hints of them that she can find. It has been long enough, in fact, that you wonder if you're not reaching the southernmost limits of the woodlands; if you can't find the bandit camp by then, you'll probably have to circle around.
Eleanore swivels her head to you with a blank expression; her features remain impassive, but her eyes betray at least a hint of curiosity, of not perplexity. "Why would we not?" she asks.
"I...just thought the knight orders were..." you trail off, deciding that perhaps the word "cloistered" - with its implication of being sheltered - is not the most appropriate term to use for knights. Yes, it is fast occurring to you that Eleanore perhaps
is sheltered, but you don't want her swinging her sword at you or, worse, trying to pluck the leaves in your hair again. "More
secluded," you finally allow. "That you just...stay in your shrines."
"We do," Eleanore confirmed. "That does not mean we do not sell our goods or exchange our wisdom."
Sieglinde glances back, inscrutable as ever. "And which one are you doing now?"
"I am retrieving a gift," Eleanore reiterated unhelpfully. After a moment of expectant silence, she relents, "We merely don't have interest in these sinful lowlands."
Something about "sinful lowlands" fills you with a sense of muted annoyance, even if you do not yet have words to give voice to that frustration. Without really thinking, words begin spilling out of your mouth, more from annoyance than from sudden religious conviction: "
No problem is solved by hiding from the World."
The two elves turn to look at you, both in mild confusion, Eleanore in mild annoyance. Sieglinde speaks first, though. "Is that a Gaianist proverb?" she asks, looking at you oddly. You're not surprised she is, when it comes down to it; you've never been very overtly religious in front of your classmates.
"It i-is," you admit, determined not to be too outwardly embarrassed by the outburst.
"You carry with you the ancient faith of the dryads, then," Eleanore observes with what almost sounds like a hint of approval, which is almost strange given her Conceptualist roots.
You feel almost embarrassed as you admit, "My...p-parents do. I'm...n-not sure what I feel about it."
Eleanore looks at you askance. "I would have thought," she says, "that when dryads come out of the forest, they would want to adopt the faith of the land they're in." Her gaze turns in the direction of Sieglinde, as if expecting a fellow elf to back her up on this point.
To what you suspect is Eleanore's frustration, Sieglinde merely replies, "Atheist."
The elven knight's eyes narrow. "It would've been ideal if you carried the faith of your foremothers."
Sieglinde's voice is almost completely neutral when she replies, but you feel like you can detect just the faintest hint of sarcasm when she says, "You would get along well with my mother, Sister. She, too, would find it fortunate that you are free from sin by the accident of your birth."
There's a near-imperceptible hardening around Eleanore's eyes. A subtle frustration that you sense is directed elsewhere, not at you and Sieglinde. Maybe you've just gotten good at reading emotionally-obscure elves. "Do you think us free of sin? I am here seeking to retrieve a gift from a rival, am I not?"
You blink. "A...rival?"
Eleanore nods solemnly. "Alpurnia would be my best guess." She speaks the name with a particular disdain. "Their reputation precedes them. I suppose Saliss is my second guess; their zealotry has always led them astray."
Neither of these names mean a thing to you. Nor, in fact, are you comforted by the fact that Eleanore is criticizing
some other shrine as being prey to "zealotry"; there is either some sort of pot-and-kettle going on, or there are knights out there even worse about this whole thing than Eleanore. Regardless, that's not the main reason you're confused as you find yourself exchanging a glance with Sieglinde. "Um..." you begin.
"To be free of sin is the journey of a knight, not something that merely comes with
being a knight. That we are meant to honor the merits and shun the vices of the old ways does not mean we are always successful in abandoning the corruption of power and wealth and war that our foremothers pursued. This hiring of cutthroats proves just that."
You blink. And then blink again blankly. And then swivel your head just a bit to look at Sieglinde, who has also simultaneously looked at you with a blank expression that somehow still betrays a sense of confusion, if not bewilderment.
Turning back to your guest, you hesitantly ask, "Sister Eleanore...why do you think these b-bandits stole your sword?"
"It's not
my sword," Eleanore insists unhelpfully. "It is a sword meant for the grandmaster of Glendina." When it becomes clear that she has not actually answered your question, the elf relents: "A rival order seeks to sabotage our relations and embarrass us."
Again, you and Sieglinde exchange confused - if not outright helpless - looks. Finally, after a moment, Sieglinde closes her eyes, gives what's almost qualifies as a sigh, and explains, "I suspect what Neianne is proposing is that the bandits stole their sword without anyone's bidding. That they stole it because they're
poor."
"Poverty is no excuse for theft."
From someone with less patience, you would've expected the rolling of eyes. "My apologies," Sieglinde says dryly. "I spoke poorly. Let me clarify: They're
starving."
Eleanore blinks with only mild, bland surprise. "They are?"
"Yes."
"Is feeding the needy not your way?"
Once again, you and Sieglinde exchange glances; it is becoming alarmingly frequent. "You...
know we're at war?" you whisper.
"Yes, some conflict with the heretics."
So compared to the your Gaianist parents and atheistic Sieglinde, it's the
Tenny Conceptualists who are "
heretics". "It's been going on for t-twelve years. We're losing."
"That is unfortunate," says Eleanore in the same kind of tone one would talk about a rainy day, nor does she seem to be even slightly bothered.
The degree to which a Caldran can be so callous about the loss of her homeland - even a knight - strikes you as almost startling, and you can't help but feel a small bubble of restrained indignation rise up to your throat. "Is it not s-something that matters to you?"
Eleanore seems almost puzzled by your reaction. "You play your political games, and you are surprised that there are victors and vanquished? That was how
we lost Tenereia." Somehow, you can tell that the "we" in that sentence is not referring to Caldrans in general, but the knighthoods in particular, those successors of the military and religious castes of the Tenereian Empire.
"You presume," Sieglinde cuts in, her voice level and flat, "that it is the
peasants we speak of - those who have turned to banditry - who have a voice in your 'political games', one that I will note you've hardly renounced yourself."
"I have never claimed we are without fault or sin. Yet it is the ideal that matters, prizing harmony over mere selfish gain." The knight looks askance at your squadmate. "Or is it your argument that these 'peasants' haven't also been full of themselves with the ideal of a superior, 'neutral' Caldrein that nonetheless exports mercenaries to foreign wars as a matter of diplomacy?"
Something about Eleanore's response fills you with an irrational sense of irritation. "If these peasants did as you say by s-seeking harmony," you manage to ask in a surprisingly calm and level voice, "if they...a-abandon 'power' or 'selfish gain'...would you welcome them?"
Eleanore's response is almost shocking in how off-handedly she replies with all honesty: "No, of course not. We have neither the resources nor the capacity. They are free to make their own communities in accordance with better ideals."
"And," Sieglinde asks flatly, "if those with power crush you and your ideals because you've 'hid from the World'?"
Eleanore nonchalantly gives the tiniest of shrugs. "Then we will die with our ideals and faith, though we may be the last to hold them." A hand reaches down to gentle touch the scabbard of her sword. "They will certainly pay in blood, though."
You are reminded of that conversation you had with Elizabeth last year, during your walk to town together during Midwinter's Feast: How ideals are merely cheap talk if you don't have the power to defend it. Talking with Eleanore, you suddenly feel like you
really understand the import behind Elizabeth's words.
You suspect Sieglinde has a similar line of thought when she dryly notes, "You remind me of why I am an atheist, Sister."
For a while, conversation dies down as Sieglinde continues to follow tracks that only she seems to be able to interpret. Certainly, you aren't about to depend on Eleanore for such things, which isn't meant to be a slight against her; she just seems to have a skillset that is completely unsuited to your current mission. Still, it is as you and Sieglinde pull ahead a bit - out of earshot of your knightly companion, at least - that you murmur to the tall elf, "You don't l-like her very much."
Sieglinde merely shrugs nonchalantly. "We have mutually incompatible outlooks on the universe."
Casting a furtive look back at the knight, who seems to be struggling with the wilderness terrain as she somehow manages to catch on every branch and leaf and root, you whisper, "Do you think she'll be r-reliable?
Here?"
"She will be the most dangerous combatant on the field. But our goals only intersect, I suspect; they don't align."
You nod in understanding. "She only wants her sword back."
"And there is no guarantee that she will help us with the banditry problem once she has it."
"Frustrating," you mutter, trying not to sound too resentful.
But Sieglinde looks thoughtful for a moment before admitting, "She is not entirely without merit. I personally took quite well to her point about..."
She doesn't have the chance to finish her sentence as she suddenly stops in her tracks, bends a knee behind a bush as you swiftly do the same, and holds a fist up in the air in an unmistakable signal for the group to halt. Unfortunately, almost expectedly, Eleanore is completely confused by the gesture and continues walking, blinking at Sieglinde and asking, "What's wrong?"
"
Down," Sieglinde hisses as a hand reaches out to grab at Eleanore's robes, pulling her to a knee. And for good reason: Fifty meters away from you - beyond the bushes and trees and foliage - were the bandits.
There are about a dozen of them in the small clearing, dressed in the worn garb common with peasants and laborers; surprisingly, there is a relative lack of excitement in the air, an atmosphere of anxiety instead being their reaction to a successful caravan raid. There is almost a businesslike air in how they are taking stock of a pile of crates and other goods, clearly their ill-gotten goods from the aforementioned raid. Bandits and their spoils aren't the only things in the clearing; mats and sleeping bags lie scattered on the grassy ground, but there is a conspicuous lack of tents that you otherwise would've expected. Either these bandits intend to leave in a hurry in case of an emergency...or it's not within their means to procure tents.
"They don't look like they've been in the business of banditry long," Sieglinde observes quietly, watching these bandits from the safety of concealment.
It's not something you noticed immediately the way Sieglinde did, but now that she's brought it up, you instantly realize the import of her words. The leader among them was easy enough to recognize, at least, strolling and talking and assessing with the kind of ease one might expect from a somewhat experienced regular, or perhaps even the sergeant; while her spear is nothing to write home about - one among hundreds of thousands crafted in mass to meet the war demand - there is a sheen about it that speaks of competent maintenance, precisely what soldiers in an army are trained to do before they are taught to fight. Compared to her, however, the dozen-or-so others look like a much sorrier lot, looking deeply nervous and uncertain, armed with weapons in much poorer condition. Some of them don't even have proper weapons, carrying with them instead rakes, hoes, shovels, and pitchforks.
You haven't quite conditioned yourself to instinctively take note of these things of your own volition yet, but at least you're not slow on the uptake once it's brought up. You'd like to think it's a sign of improvement.
Their numbers are a concern - even the most skilled of warriors can be surrounded and swarmed - but while the coming battle may potentially be a challenge, you
think you can take them on, especially if you manage to ambush them first and knock out as many as possible before the battle even starts. This alone may cause some of them to turn and flee; these are clearly not experienced bandits or combatants, and morale has always been an important part of your curriculum.
Turning to Eleanore, you point in the direction of the stockpile of loot, asking, "Do you see your sword?"
Eleanore squints before replying, "Not from here. But it'll be there." She rises to a standing position, already moving to draw her sword from the scabbard. "This will be the easy work of thirty seconds, then."
You quickly rise just enough to reach out to Eleanore, however, hand against her own to prevent her from drawing the sword so early. "W-We shouldn't leave anything to chance," you insist as the knight gives you a hard look for stopping her attack. "There are two other a-apprentices who shouldn't be too far away. A-And we still have the element of s-surpris..."
It is at this point that your insistence on taking advantage of the element of surprise is interrupted by the sound of a distant explosion, preceded a split-second by what sounds all too suspiciously like the powerful crackle of lightning at a distance you can only guess is maybe three hundred meters or so away. You can't actually see the lightning past the trees of branches and leaves and canopy and foliage, but the sound is unmistakable. As the bandits in the clearing freeze up and turn in alarm towards the direction of the blast - fortunately in a direction to your right and not actually
at the three of you not-quite-so-hidden amidst the trees - you fight down an urge not to bury your face in your hand. It's all too obvious
who is responsible for ruining that element of surprise.
"No," Eleanore said cooly, already beginning to march ahead as she brushes your hand aside and draws her sword, "we don't."
With the bandits trying to figure out how to deal with the lightning magecraft that broke the tranquility of the woodlands - most likely because Stephanie and Elizabeth ran into some of the bandits and initiated hostilities - it still takes you a moment to remember that
you are squad leader, and that
you need to make a battle plan in the heat of the moment, all while being unable to communicate with half of your squad.
The easiest option, of course, is to follow Eleanore, taking advantage of her momentum and skill to push through with brute force. With Eleanore, it's unlikely that any resistance you'll meet will be meaningful, although the more direction approach could similarly scatter the bandits and stop them from being taken in to face justice. You also note that with Stephanie and Elizabeth somewhere to the right, and Eleanore marching up the center, you and Sieglinde have a good opportunity to flank left instead; if Stephanie and Elizabeth have taken care of business on their end and rush to this area - Sieglinde would have to whistle to signal them - you'd essentially be able to catch all the bandits in a deadly three-way pincer attack. Of course, the terrain on the left is not only at an incline, but also has a denser concentration of trees, which doesn't bode well for either your buster sword of Sieglinde's glaive. You're learning how to use knives now, of course, but you're not sure how confident you are in an actual battle, and Sieglinde's bow is perhaps also at a disadvantage. The point is that if your two other squadmates fail to materialize in time, the flanking maneuver could fail, putting you and Sieglinde in a disadvantageous position compared to if you just charged ahead with Eleanore.
All of this, of course, is based on the assumption that Stephanie and Elizabeth will have little problem dispatching of whatever problem they're facing right now. Logically, you can't imagine these bandits - perhaps they ran into a few out on patrol - will give either of your squadmates any real trouble; Elizabeth's power is without question, and you know for a fact that Stephanie is actually far more deadly than she lets on. But at the same time, you have absolutely no idea what they're up against. For all you know, the two could've run into a bear or a chimera or something actually dangerous. Perhaps it would be safer - better for your squad, in fact - if you rushed to their assistance, prioritizing their safety over putting a handful of bandits to rout.
[x] Take advantage of Eleanore's momentum as a knight, and use her as the bulwark for a devastating frontal attack.
[x] Take a moment to flank left in a surprise pincer attack instead, hoping that Stephanie and Elizabeth will manage to flank right while Eleanore goes down the center in rough tandem.
[x] Take the safe option and rush towards where you heard the blast, making sure that Stephanie and Elizabeth are safe and unhurt.
I am mostly not accepting write-in's for this vote, since this is supposed to represent a snap decision on Neianne's part - something reflective of her leadership style moving forwards, with its chances of success and failure - and not a chance for you to tactics your way out of a challenge. I will accept a write-in, however, if there's a super obvious simple option that I missed.
