My apologies about the wait and the relatively short length of this update. As you know, I have been spending a lot of my quest-writing time preparing previous updates for SpaceBattles and Royal Road. And this update was originally meant to be much longer, but I decided to shove a vote in the middle because it may make things a bit more interesting.
If I take more than a month to update again, I'm going to bloody lose it and just quit. This long for just 6.2k words is shameful.
[x] Postpone the decision.
"What do you see in
Zabanya, anyways?" demands Wendy on a sunny afternoon in between probing jabs of her spear, her strikes impeded by the large slab of metal that is your buster sword between the two of you on the training grounds of Faulkren Academy.
"Wh-What?" you blink, inexplicably suddenly feel a little nervous at the question.
"Aren't the two of you going out?"
Mortified, you stammer, "W-W-
We're not going ou...!"
Which is as far as you get, because in your hurry to clarify yourself, you provide just enough of an opening - in your assumption that this explanation is more important than your spar - for Wendy to slam the shaft of her spear into your face. You're reduced to clutching your face in pain, wondering if you're suffering from a bloody nose.
Wendy looks simultaneously apologetic and smug as she declares, "You dropped your guard, Neianne of Caelon."
"You asked me a s-s-silly question!" you protest, your voice sounding rather nasal by virtue of you holding onto your nose. No blood, thankfully, but it still hurts. It's the first good hit that Wendy has been able to land on you in a while; sparring has sort of developed into a thing between the two of you, and although your training sessions aren't long, it's a way the two of you spend spare time together amidst your other social commitments. Come to think of it, the fact that both of you are largely able to spar each other to a standstill is probably a good sign that you've grown a bit complacent. Maybe that blow to your face will change that.
"So you'll drop your guard if a Tenny comes up and asks you if you're swapping spit with Zabanya?" asks Wendy with a tone of amused sarcasm, although it is not without its hint of guardedness.
"A Tenny isn't going to ask me th-that!" A pause. Then your face reddens as the full import of Wendy's words hit you. "A-A-
And I'm not s-s-swatting spi...
what?"
Wendy snickers at your expense, but for some reason, she also seems to relax a little. "So she
didn't take you to Lindholm and Stengard?"
You give an awkward look as you admit, "Well...she d-did..."
And the human tenses again, and she hardly looks pleased as she asks, "
Why?"
Feeling a little annoyed at how this conversation is going, you demand, "Why
what?"
Wendy blinks and physically recoils; she clearly didn't expect you to react this way. "I dunno," she admits awkwardly, deflating a little bit. "Why'd you
go?"
"Because she invited me. It would've been r-rude not to accept."
Wendy grunts, suddenly looking very interested in the doodle she's drawing the the tip of her spear against the dity. "People are talking about it, you know."
"I know," you sigh. Wendy is hardly the first to approach you on this topic; although your first days back at the Academy has been mercifully uneventful, it's over the past few days that apprentices - either hearing about it or finally working up the courage to ask recently - begin to approach you with questions about being invited to Marloch and Stengard by Elizabeth. Fortunately, those who know you well were either
at Stengard or at least are tactful enough not to ask, but there are still many other apprentices who are suddenly taking a keen interest in your social life. For the most part, the tone of their questions resemble excited curiosity; Wendy is among the first to approach this topic with wariness, which does not help your fatigue one bit. "Mia, isn't it?"
Wendy shrugs. "Don't ask me." Mia, of course, is the most obvious culprit, but you admit it's hard to be sure otherwise. "Could've been anyone, really. It's not like we don't have our share of girls whose families would lick boots to attend Council."
"Mm," you mumble resignedly.
It's Wendy's turn to sigh, although she doesn't address your question directly when she says, "Let's not dance around it. I don't wanna be the kind of friend who goes 'it's me or her', but you
do know she bloody zapped me to an inch of my life last year, right?"
This is the first time Wendy has ever directly mentioned the incident to you. The one everyone seems to know about, despite no one officially being able to prove anything, other than you and Stephanie being witnesses. You experience a moment of discomfort as you remember that - unbeknownst to Wendy or to anyone - you saw the tail end of the "lesson" Elizabeth taught to Squad Twelve in their own dorm room. There's an awkward degree of vulnerability in Wendy's expression and you're not entirely comfortable with it. It's as if she has just bared one of her most shameful moments to you. "I do," you murmur, fidgeting.
"Mm," Wendy snorts, although there's a slightly strained quality to it. An awkward moment of silence passes before she adds, "You're probably going to have to fend off her admirers eventually. Most of that bunch aren't after her
affections, though.. Like I said, some people'll lick all kinds of boot if it gets them ahead." She pauses and then smirks - like she knows she's saying something mischievous - before adding, "Or lick whatever they have to."
You frown, fidgeting in place unhappily for a moment, before saying, "She f-finds them boring."
"...What?"
Well, there's no taking that back now. "Girls who try to...to..." you falter, face reddening, remembering a particular exchange the two of you had, "...g-girls who try to climb into her bed just b-because she's an heiress."
Wendy gives you a speculative look. Slightly concerned again, and a little suspicious. "So, the two of you talk about
girls now?"
Your face is still flush with heat, but there's an uncomfortable fidget to your body language now as you admit, "We've...t-talked about a lot of things."
"Like
what?"
Memories of all the conversations you've had in Marloch come rushing back in a torrent of memories. "Like wh-what she feels about her status. What she r-
really wants in life. What she
really feels about the C-Confederacy."
Wendy's voice is scathingly sarcastic as she drawls, "I'm sure that last one's real pleasant.."
It's not like she doesn't have reason to, but the degree to which Wendy is expressing her dislike for Elizabeth - despite not really
knowing her - is beginning to grate on your nerves. Last year, you would have never given voice to your annoyance; you may not have even been that annoyed to begin with. But this is not last year, and it's not without a bit of frustration in your tone that you demand, "Why do you hate her?"
Wendy stares at you, incredulous, almost too stunned by your question to even be furious. "Are you
serious?"
"You didn't l-like her before she ever did anything to you. You didn't like her enough to bully her in the Great Hall in front of everyone. You shoved her down and poured hot soup on her!"
Wendy suddenly seems a little bit uncomfortable and defensive as that episode is brought back into the limelight. "Look, I didn't agree with Penelope doing that, alright? It was a shitty prank. It wasn't like Zabanya wasn't being a bitch before, but..."
"B-But it was still alright to laugh at her after, because you thought she was smaller than you and you could get away with it?" you demand.
"It's not..."
"Why do
you think Penelope hates Elizabeth so much?" you continue, remembering how defensive you felt when Elizabeth was criticizing Penelope on the pier overlooking Lake Marl, yet finding yourself repeating her arguments because it just seems so
pertinent now. "Is it because Elizabeth is everything she hates about Caldrein? Or is it just because she's an
elf?"
"Zabanya is..." Wendy trails off, looking like she's struggling with some kind of justification. After a moment, she seems to find her footing as she frowns and her voice is colored with anger: "You want to talk about 'because we thought we'd get away with it?' She
did get away with it! She knew that she's a noble and we're nothing, and she's an elf and we're only human trash. The whole Confederacy revolves around people like her, and they can just...step on everyone else that's in the way. She
is everything that's wrong with this country!"
"How do you
know that?" you demand.
That question seems to flummox Wendy, and she stares for a long moment, unable to give voice or reason to whatever feeling is stuck within her heart. "I...don't..."
"Did Penelope even come here to
Faulkren to learn what was wrong with this country?" you press. "Has she read anything about how the Confederacy works? Why things are the way they are, if they're different in other places? What's been tried before? Scholars have written about this for years and years!", Elizabeth's dry lilt comes back to you, knowledgeably listing off names of scholars and intellectuals who have written on the subject without any visible effort.
"We just learned to read
last year!" Wendy shoots back, angry and, to your frustration, sounding almost hurt. "There was no one to teach us and no money to get lessons. We're not such idiots that we can't tell when we're getting a
raw deal, though!"
"She can read
now, can't she?" you shoot back. "Has she tried to learn about any of this? Has she ever even
talked to a highborn elf before coming here? Does she realize that most girls - like
me - come from places where the only elves we've ever known are poor farmers, or do they not count? Does she even care about how to fix things, or does she just want to get angry at elves and nobles, and call aseri and peasants bootlickers and just blame
everyone who isn't a human laborer?" "
"
I don't know, alright!?" Wendy suddenly bellows at you. You flinch at the sudden display of anger. It's like a spell has been broken, and you realize just how hard you've pushed her. You're not the only one who seems shocked; the other apprentices on the field are now staring. Even
Wendy seems surprised, blinking for a moment before suddenly looking guilty, then defensive, then resigned. It's a complicated cocktail of emotions. "Penelope comes from a fucked up family. I don't know if that makes her anger
right, but maybe she has the
right to be angry."
Shuffling awkwardly, you murmur, "I-I'm sorry." You don't know what you were thinking. You were
upset, of course, at Wendy mouthing off about Elizabeth when she barely knows her, but you have no idea what possessed you to go off on Wendy like that.
But the human in question shakes her head apologetically as she admits, "No. You're...not wrong. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have...well, maybe I
should've, but..." she trails off before sighing heavily. "I'm sorry. I must sound like a hypocrite, saying I don't want to make you choose between me and Zabanya, and then..." she trails off again, making a defeated-looking shrug.
An awkward moment passes before you murmur, "I didn't mean to say th-things about Penelope."
Sighing, Wendy replies, "No, you're not...it's..." she struggles with words for a long moment before sighing again, albeit more explosively. "It's complicated." And when she catches your confused look, she grimaces and says, "Look, I know she's not exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer. But she
cares. She's loyal and she...
cares." Her voice grows quieter, though, when she admits, "It doesn't mean she shouldn't know what she's doing."
"Mm," you intone, shifting awkwardly. Wendy doesn't look particularly at ease either. It's hard to really come back from this. And no matter how much your sparring partner is trying to suggest that you aren't entirely wrong, it still feels like you've crossed a line somewhere. Not a line that you can't come back from, but still not exactly something that makes it easy for either of you.
Wendy regards you for a long moment before observing with a hint of unhappiness, "She's
really rubbing off on you."
You blink, caught off-guard. "Wh-What do you mean?"
But Wendy doesn't seem to be in a hurry to answer that question, instead half-heartedly quipping, "And not in the
fun kind of way either." That's all for jests, though, as she sighs with a muted sense of frustration a moment afterwards. "Let's call it a day," she eventually mutters, resting the shaft of her spear against her shoulder. "I could use a break."
Wendy does not seem particularly tired, and seeing how you're not feeling particularly winded yourself, it's unlikely that a human would be moreso. But you knowing not to push the matter is why the two of you go your separate ways. You don't think the matter charged enough to have damaged a friendship, but sometimes that just means having to give each other space.
The new week begins with a released of pent-up excitement, albeit also with a hint of annoyance. It is, after all, the week wherein all the squads are given assignments as part of their training, to test their various skills in unexpected ways. It is unsurprisingly, then, that there are apprentices who wake up early in anticipation of these special assignments, just as there are apprentices who wake up late because they were kept awake by aforementioned anticipation.
The annoyance, of course, has to do with the fact that rain has chosen this particular day to visit Faulkren. It isn't a torrential downpour, but it's hardly a drizzle either. It's more of an annoyance than an actual problem, with copious access to good food several times a day, but the lack of sunlight is already making you feel a little tired and despondent.
It is thus with heavy cloaks that large processions of apprentices file into the Great Hall, eager for a filling breakfast and to learn of their assignments. Meals are taken amidst excited conversations, speculations about what awaits them. The more realistic among your number don't foresee much beyond rescuing kittens out of trees, but the most imaginative float ideas such as hunting boar with the dryads of Roldharen.
When the assignments are finally posted onto the bulletin boards, there is a rush of apprentices all milling around the back wall with a fair amount of good-natured jostling and vying for the best spots. Predictably, several apprentices have their excitement turn to disappointment when they discover that many of the assignments in questions are actually quite mundane. "It feels like it's just an excuse for the townspeople to foist their chores on us," you hear one girl complain.
"I'm not complaining," comes a second voice.
"I'd rather learn something than be lazy."
"Or maybe no news is good news. If we're being given dangerous assignments here in
Faulkren? Then the war is going even worse than we thought."
Eavesdropping on these conversations is not your sole focus; although the crowd is slightly daunting, it's
probably a good idea for you as squad leader to try and at least push your way to the front. You're "rescued" from this fate, however, when a voice cuts easily over the throng of apprentices in your way: "Squad Four, over here."
A human instructor is standing off to the side, one hand holding a cup of something hot and steaming, the other holding up what looks like one of the assignment pages pinned to the bulletin board. You freeze in place momentarily, feeling a mixture of relief and concern as you file over to the blonde human along with the two-thirds of your remaining squadmates, those who aren't napping unconcernedly back at the table.
"There's been a change of plans," the instructor says, glancing down at you. "The guard informed us of a robbery. A rider was sent with a report that bandits attacked a wagon and made off with some goods, including a sword, a family heirloom of some sort or another. We're still short on details. We're assigning this one to you." She punctuates this announcement with a long drink of whatever's in her cup.
"That sounds...c-concerning," you say, not certain what other response you should offer right away. Certainly, you are concerned, but you are not sure what should weigh more heavily on your mind right now: That idyllic Apaloft is now host to a crime wave you've never before experienced, or that "helping the guard to track down bandits" is a fairly long way from "rescuing kittens from trees".
"It may," the instructor allows with a shrug. She takes another sip from her cup before adding, "You may wish to know that the Sheriff of Apaloft is passing through."
Your eyes widen. "Lady Almsyre?" As one of Apaloft's highest-ranking lawwomen, most Apaloftians have at least
heard of Sigrid Rossfeldt Almsyre, a younger daughter of a minor noble house who has had an illustrious career in tracking down some of Apaloft's most horrendous criminals and bringing them to justice.
The instructor nods. "She's been helping in Faulkren since last week, but this one looks like it may end in violence, and the guard doesn't have the boots on the ground to spare. That's where you'll come in. From here on out, the decisions are yours to make. I will be present to assess your performance and interfere if there is a very real danger to your lives, but you are to otherwise act as if I'm not there. I'm here as your backstop, not to hold your hand. Understood?"
"Y-Yes, ma'am," you reply guardedly. On the one hand, that you may very well be working with a sheriff on what is supposed to be a routine exercise is hardly anything to scoff at. On the other hand, that a sheriff has to come
here to
Faulkren - with the implication this is one of her stops amongst many - is a foreboding sign that things are, as that apprentice in the crowd noted, "going even worse than we thought".
But if she can pick up on your thoughts, the instructor merely nods and does not give voice to it. "Good. The guard station in Faulkren is expecting you. We've reserved horses for your use in the stables."
You're not, all together, the world's most competent rider. In spite of your best efforts, the small, gray mare who had been saddled up for your use seems to pick up on your nervousness, more at the task ahead than the short ride you'll be using her for. The horse keeps shying away from you, whickering skeptically as she eyes you with skittish, equine eyes. Just as things are feeling genuinely embarrassing, a small hand reaches past you to grip the reigns with casual confidence. With some surprise, you turn to see Elizabeth, free hand stroking the nose of the mare with the familiarity of a noblewoman who's been riding all her life.
Looking around the stables, you see that both Stephanie and Sieglinde are having minimal troubles with their own mounts, and you feel a stab of embarrassment upon realising that you're seemingly the only one having this issue. "Relax," Elizabeth says, sparing a slightly amused smirk in your direction. Apparently having guessed the true source of your uncertainty already, she adds. "We're not expected to solve this one on our own."
"We're not?" you frown, slightly taken aback, even as you gingerly accept the calmed animal's reins from your smallest squadmate.
Elizabeth rolls her eyes without putting any real scorn behind the expression. "Second year or no, the guard isn't about to abrogate responsibility for an investigation to a bunch of apprentices. Putting aside whether or not we'd screw things up for them, it wouldn't be a good thing to report back to
their ladies." She smirks and throws a glance over her shoulder, asking, "Isn't that right?"
The instructor accompanying you stands impassively by the side at a polite distance, readying her own horse to act as Squad Four's supervisor for this exercise. From the side of her mount, she gives Elizabeth an impassive look and a disapproving shake of the head. "You know better than to pretend like I'm here, Zabanya," she says.
"See?" Elizabeth smiles at you, as if the instructor's non-answer is itself an answer. You have a hard time understanding her sometimes.
The autumn rain does not let up as the five horses trot out towards the town of Faulkren. It is fortunate that mounts have been prepared for you; parts of the road have turned into sludge, and pools of muddy water have formed in others. Gray clouds against overcast skies block out the sun, and a dim, pale light settles across an otherwise idyllic landscape. There are better circumstances in which to conduct this assignment.
For some reason, much to your confusion, you are leading this convoy of five. The rest of your squadmates seem content to let you ride ahead first, perhaps because you're squad leader. The instructor, of course, trails behind all of you as an observer. But you're halfway down the road to town when Stephanie finally rides up beside you, and in a hushed voice you suspect is typical conversation for every aseri aside from Mia, says, "Watching the two of you talk is
so weird."
You're taken a little aback by that statement. "Wh-What do you mean?" you ask.
Stephanie makes a face. "It's like Zabanya
likes you. I mean, I guess that's a given, seeing how she invited you to her fief, but. The only person I've seen her talk like that with is Sieglinde." She grimaces. "It's
weird."
You fidget in your saddle. "She's tr-trying to be nice," you mumble.
"Yes, and that scares me a little."
Dirt roads turn into familiar stone streets, and soon you find yourself amidst the buildings of Faulkren. The town itself is not so large that you're unfamiliar with its twisting turns through and under bridges here and there, nor is it too difficult to find the building in which the local guardhouse is located. All things considered, it's not a particularly unique building compared to its neighbors; it does have its own stable, but the same can be said for several other structures around town. The guardhouse certainly not particularly large, and it would've been easy to miss were it not for the single guard posted at its door and a sign above that indicated the nature of this building.
The guard watches the five of you stop before the building, although you're the first to dismount, greeting her with a bow of your head: "H-Hello."
The guard nods back at you - they're familiar enough with the people around here to know you're one of the apprentices at the academy - although there's a trite quality to it that typically isn't there. It doesn't seem to speak to unfriendliness, at least, insomuch as it seems to be a symptom of fatigue and frustration. Similarly, it takes another moment for her to seemingly finally connect the dots in her head as she blinks and asks, "Ah, are you girls here to help with that robbery investigation?"
"We are."
"Right, I'll take your horses, go on in."
The guardhouse's interior is also not at all dissimilar architecturally from all the other buildings in town that you've visited, save for the obvious hints of its purpose: Weapon racks, armor stands, maps, and documents can be found everywhere you look. Very few beds, though, certainly far less than you know there are guards in Faulkren, which itself is hardly surprising; most of the town's defenders have their own residences in town, and beds are really only necessary for guards who for whatever reason need to stay at their posts but also want to catch just a bit of shuteye.
Right now, however, the building is not particularly bustling; seated at a table in the center of the living room is an aseri guard, looking old and grizzled enough to be a senior member. Indeed, she looks up when Squad Four enters, and she betrays just a hint of relief as she waves you over and stands from where she's seated. "Ah, good, you're here. We can use all the help we can get. I'm Sergeant Aethla."
You think about replying, but then you realize that Aethla isn't
exactly looking at you insomuch as she's looking
over you. You suppose she could be looking at the instructor, standing at a polite distance behind Squad Four, determined to remain an observer. Or perhaps she's looking at Sieglinde; certainly, she exudes confidence and leadership in a way you don't, and would be a much more obvious candidate for a stranger to assume as squad leader.
But no one seems to be in a hurry to say anything, so you clear your throat awkwardly and introduce yourself: "I-I'm Neianne. We're glad to be able to help."
"Ah," Aethla blinks, looking mildly surprised that
you are the one to introduce your squad. "Yes."
"I've heard you don't have enough, u-um...
boots."
The sergeant seems surprised at you speaking up first, muttering, "Huh? Boo..." She seems to make the connection mid-sentence, confusion burning away instantly as she snaps, "Damn right we don't. A week doesn't pass these days without someone crying to me about thievery or larceny. Poaching's gotten
real popular. Drunkenness too. Some girl disappeared last week. No hint of foul play yet, and she probably ran off with some other girl her parents don't like, but they insist it's a kidnapping, and I can't
not have people on it without residents getting on my case.
Banditry is a new one, and I don't know if we're equipped to handle it. We're guarding a small town, not a big city, we don't usually have to deal with
their kind of problems. It doesn't help that my numbers have been cut, both in terms of personnel and funding." She fires a glare over your head, and you're certain this time that it's at the instructor behind you. "After all, we're just expected to '
make do' with Caldran mercenary assistance, but you're all always busy with one thing or another."
Uncomfortably, you look between Sergeant Aethla and your instructor, as well as looking at your fellow squadmates, trying to process this charged atmosphere. It takes a long, awkward moment before you realize that your instructor - looking impassive and not even entirely
at the sergeant - doesn't seem to intend to actually reply. Nor, in fact, do your squadmates. It's almost as if they're all expecting you to handle this situation. Shuffling where you stand, you murmur, "We're...all d-doing what we can."
Aethla's expression softens, and she sighs, "I'm sorry, I'm not trying to take it out on you." Her gaze also wanders over to the instructor, as if trying to include her in the apology as well. "I realize you're all preparing for the war. I'm not trying to take away from that. And it
is the countess' orders. I just have problems that need solving on the home front. And I'll take all the help I can get, even if it means putting you out on the streets."
"We'll do what we can," you say, trying to sound confident.
Again, Aethla looks at you curiously, as if trying to confirm to herself that, yes, the small, shy, stuttering dryad is somehow the leader of a group that includes two elves who are probably nobility. She sighs again and continues, "The big thing that's happening is that bandits have waylaid a small trade wagon in the woods to the east. Which is bloody bold of them, given how close they are to an entire warband of Caldran mercenaries and apprentices like you. But we're stretched thin. More and more out-of-borough, if not out-of-region, are trying to prey on communities here to compensate for their misfortunes, and given how many people who know one end of a sword from another are leaving for the war in Elspar, I don't have enough guards to cover every problem Faulkren has right now, and even if we did, my guards typically deal with a bit of tomfoolery from town. You don't expect a place like this to have to deal with
bandits. We have the Sheriff of Apaloft, Lady Almsyre, who's helping out, thank the Spring, and she's supposed to be investigating the site of attack, but she left half an hour ago. I've told her to expect you girls, though, and hopefully she'll have stayed put until you arrived."
So there's nothing unexpected just yet, although there hasn't been a new breakthrough since you've been briefed about this assignment either. "Should we go r-rendezvous with her?"
"That's the plan: You do the heavy lifting for her and keep out of
too much trouble. Although I suppose you should also know that the merchants who were attacked said
someone has gone after the bandits. There's a bit of disagreement on who she is, exactly, which makes me a bit suspicious. Some say she's a client, others say she's a caravan guard. But she was supposed to be transporting some ancestral sword or whatever, and was long gone by the time we responded. The merchants said they last saw her running south in pursuit of the bandits. Now I usually wouldn't care much about guards trying to play hero - the sheriff certainly didn't - and I'm not saying you should go look for her when we don't know if she's alive or dead, but just in case you run into her, maybe you can ask her what she found. Or at least tell her to help or get out of the way."
That's certainly an interesting piece of information. You would not have expected a single caravan guard to have taken off after bandits; you're not sure
you would've, and you've actually fought off a bandit attack before. "How far south?" you ask; you're not sure you intend to make good on this information, but intelligence is intelligence.
"Well, south of where the wagon was attacked?" Aethla shrugs helplessly, moving to a map of the surrounding area on the wall, pressing her finger against where the wagon was attacked before circling around the stretch of forest to its south. "There's only so much more woodlands left, large enough to hide bandits in but not so large that we can't make some guesses. But large enough that they can probably escape beneath our notice if they really want to,
assuming that's actually where their hideout is and not just a random direction they were running in." Indeed, the site of the attack is located in the southern part of kilometers and kilometers of the local woodlands. Assuming the bandits fled south, there is only about half a dozen square kilometers to hide in, and a search would not have been entirely difficult to pull off if the guard had enough people.
The good news, you suppose, is that this is a sign of the bandits' lack of tactical acumen; they fled in a direction where a search would be easiest unless they want to risk escaping out into the open without the cover of the woodlands. Of course, given how few guards are actually in the locale, however, there's a very real possibility that they could've fled the woodlands without anyone the wiser.
You are thus considering possibilities when Stephanie suddenly speaks up: "We should split up. I'm no good at this kind of tracking. I'll go see if I can find that sheriff."
You blink, confused. It's not just that you expected Stephanie to be the last person amongst the six of you in the guardhouse to speak; it's that she's suggesting anything at all without any input, and splitting the group at that. "U-Um..." you stammer, trying to react to this unexpected turn of events.
You are not given a chance to gather your thoughts and respond, however, as someone else has beat you to the punch. "That's awfully decisive of you," Elizabeth drawls, her voice lined with a cruel amusement that reminds you of a cat that has caught a bird in a compromising position.
Stephanie, however, does not easily take the bait, and her expression is entirely stoic as she replies, "I am utilizing my abilities where they are best served."
The mage hums in the kind of singsong manner that suggests she doesn't believe your roommate's explanation at all. "You will have no objections, then, if I come along with you?"
Her brow creasing just a tiny bit, the aseri takes a moment before dryly observing, "I would ask for what reason."
"For the same reason as you, if we're going to be splitting the squad. If you're going to find the sheriff, you're going to need
someone who has a level of diplomatic skill, don't you?"
"U-Um..." you try to interrupt again, trying not to feel a little offended by the implication that you don't have "diplomatic skill".
"Wait a moment," Aethla cuts in, and you're almost glad that she does. "Are you saying that two of you are going to the sheriff and the other two are going for the bandits? Because I am
not sending two girls after a band of who-knows-how-many bandits. All four of you should go find the sheriff and
stick together."
Unfortunately, this entirely sane suggestion is undermined when your instructor suddenly speaks up: "I will be present. Should anything befall them, the responsibility will be theirs and mine alone."
The sergeant is clearly unhappy as she scowls, "I asked for apprentices to fill the gaps, not to take on all the dangers by themselves."
"In two years time, they'll have a war to fight against a much more dangerous enemy. Better we do this now, sergeant."
The two adults in the room lock stares, an impassive look on the part of your instructor and a glare on the part of Aethla. Again, you are caught in a situation where the mood is tense and you feel compelled to try to dispel that tension. For better or for worse, it's Elizabeth who does so first, although whether or not she is trying to defuse anything is certainly called into question as she happily observes, "Ravenhill's the one with the scouting and tracking training, anyways. The rest of us can't be bothered with skulking around in the mud, it seems." And, glancing at you, she adds, "And Neianne is a dryad."
"I'm rather new at this," Sieglinde responds blandly, robbing you of any chance to protest against Elizabeth's assumption that you'll be fine with tracking because you're a dryad. "You'll be disappointed if you assume I can track our caravan guard, never mind the bandits."
Smiling sweetly, Elizabeth offers, "Would you like me to tell your fortune by asking the fae? The Spring knows you can't be bothered with them."
She doesn't actually do so, but you can easily imagine Sieglinde rolling her eyes as she replies, "Do as you wish."
"U-Um..." you start again, trying once more to take control over the conversation, but already Elizabeth's eyes are adopting that far-off gaze, that seeming lack of focus in her eyes that somehow
feels like it's focusing on a completely different but entirely existent reality.
For a moment, she swivels her head just a hair, as if trying to see where the nearest fae is. Her gaze eventually stops at a spot just over your shoulder, and a hint of surprise flickers across her expression. But it doesn't last long, and already she's asking, "So how likely are they to find that caravan guard, hm?" She waits for a moment before laughing, "Oh, of
course you don't know what a caravan guard is." Her finger points towards the south. "What about that direction? No, look at where I'm pointing."
It is almost amazing, in a way, about how
patient Elizabeth seems with the fae. Perhaps she understands that she is attempting to communicate with beings that fundamentally do not understand mortal thoughts, and has calibrated her expectations thusly. Or perhaps she just finds them easier to tolerate than
people.
After a moment, Elizabeth blinks, and her eyes focus once more on the room, turning towards you and Sieglinde and happily declaring, "Yeah, you two are probably pretty screwed."
"Why, thank you," Sieglinde replies, her tone entirely dry.
"U-Um..." you try once more to voice your thoughts, but it's probably a futile gesture at this point.
"That settles it, then," Elizabeth claps her hands in satisfaction, and already she and Stephanie are moving to leave the guardhouse, on their way to find the sheriff. "You two had best find that bodyguard, then, before she's killed...or worse."
It is about now that you understand that your role as leader is not taken entirely seriously. It's not that you are disrespected insomuch as you don't have the kind of presence or temperament or force of personality that
reminds people that you
are a leader, and that the decision ultimately rests on you. The lack of a clear source of leadership leads people to make their own decisions, and you are failing to assert yourself.
Stephanie and Elizabeth are almost out the door, and you have one last chance to try to change things, one last chance to pretend you're capable of affecting this outcome.
[x] Let your squadmates do as they will.
[x] Give orders on how to allocate your squad.
[x] Write-in.
[x] Write-in.
