It is late one night at Faulkren - when the days of winter and spring seem to blur together and no one is sure which is which, well after the candles in every dormitory window went out so each apprentice may sleep - when you are awoken by the sound of horses.
The academy has its own stables with a sizeable amount of horses, and you have been told by your instructors from the beginning that equestrianism will be an elective topic starting from your second year of training. The sound of cantering and a general commotion, however, is too loud for you to ignore, and you and Stephanie - similarly awoken by the sounds - lean over to the window to see what is happening.
Those are either very loud horses or they're light sleepers.
Then, belatedly, in a moment of sudden clarity, you realize that the town of Faulkren is on fire.
Cue prologue end credits?
Your foot comes down in a puddle of something slick and warm on the floor tiles, and you feel your legs fly out from under you, sending you crashing to the floor.
Thaaaaaat's another 6 hours of training for you, Neianne.
A floormate of yours, one you don't know well, but has always been friendly enough to exchange cursory greetings with you when you meet in the hallway. But here she now is, suspended a meter above the floor, her body twisted at an unnatural angle at the waist, a distant look of terror on her face that remains even after life left her body.
RIP, sacrifice to rising drama.
You struggle not to panic, not to slip on the blood again even as you bring up your training weapon, And it is at the same moment that the direwolf lunges at you with a snarl, it's mouth almost large enough to swallow you whole and powerful enough to snap you in two, its charge so terrible and frightening that you cry out in alarm, instinctively stepping backwards.
unnecessary capitalization (seems like you combined the sentences in editing and missed it? it's a bit of a run-on if so. could just end the previous one with a period instead)
its
The direwolf snarls at you, baring its large, sharp teeth, even as your floormate's mangled, crumpled corpse drops from its jaw and onto the floor with a wet, sad smack.
*wince*
And you are trying to regain control of your footing, your weapon, the fight, your fear, when Stephanie suddenly charges the direwolf from the side, and her wooden practice katana is on fire.
...I think we're in the wrong classes.
And although no one explicitly told you this is the case, you have always been under the impression that under basic principles, magecraft didn't work that way.
Oh hey, there we go, no scrubs on the protagonist's squad!
"I'd better not kill this entire direwolf by myself with a training tome!" a short, gold-haired elf snaps, her voice sharp and critical, shaking you out of your staring.
C'mon, she was just waiting for her ATB to fill!
With a battle cry that comes out a little closer to a squeak than you'd prefer, you lift your sword up and then swing it down again, and again. Its neck gives out before its skull does, a harsh snap that echoes against the second floor hallway of the West Wing. With a last, faint whine, the beast's head lolls, and it slumps over, stone dead.
Good job, now get to carving it!
You look to Stephanie, who shrugs as if she had nothing to do with it. "Lani was a mage," she points out, indicating the pitiful, mangled form of your floor mate.
*shakes head* Poor girl got it backwards. You have to let the readers know your name -beforehand-, then you only die at an appropriate dramatic time, not merked off screen.
"Other people are up, though," someone else points out. "There's a lot of shouting in the other buildings. Maybe we should go to them and..." she trails off, even as her eyes widen with a belated realization, and with a quiet, unsettled whisper, she hesitantly asks, "...you don't suppose they have wolves in their dorms as well?"
Well, at least wolves are not particularly adapted for fighting inside buildings?
The apprentices scream and scatter in panic, many of them back into their dorm rooms, others down the other end of the hallway. You don't blame them; many have come out in their nightclothes, and most did not bring their practice weapons with them, having only stepped out of their rooms to figure out what the commotion about.
...yeah, they're cadets for a reason.
But Sieglinde's eyes narrow as she gets a closer look at the gash - difficult, considering the darkness of night - and she announces, "That's not a claw wound. It's too clean. Her throat was slit with a blade."
Oh great. Either infiltrators or maybe even a traitor.
---
At any rate, let's do this another way...
[x] Allow Lucille to remain in command.
-[X] ...by way of removing your squad from the picture by volunteering to check out the armory, because Stephanie at least needs a weapon.
No leadership challenge, no convincing one of the others, no grand speech, just something tactically expedient.