Set the Stage

The days leading up to the Harvest Season Festival were beyond hectic for Zaida. Between preparing for her dates with both Marisol and Dvorah, coordinating with the royal knights, and fulfilling her regular duties with the corps, she felt like a fraying rope. Since the initial decree from both Dyna and Clara, recruitment had waned with the passing of the initial excitement. However, that did not seem to entail any reduction in the work cut out for the dutiful knights. They may not have been taking on new people, but they still had to train the ones they had.

Zaida put in many hours at the training grounds both demonstrating - on the receiving end - how effective Marama's techniques were, and instructing her own class on the fundamentals. For some reason, gaining a reputation as a demon-slaying champion gave people the idea that she should jump from semi-experienced fledgling, to knowledgeable instructor.

It was tricky stuff. In the ranks of the demon army, there was little training to be done. Fighting capability was either instinctual or baked into the incubation process by some manner of psionics. There was not practice so much as there was asserting dominance over those of the same kind - assuming the demon in question cared about such a thing to begin with. Illithids, for one, did not give much of a toss about internal hierarchy.

Hence, Zaida found herself essentially mimicking Marama when with her learners. Nine times out of ten, this got the job done. She would demonstrate for her students, they would imitate, mistakes would be made, she would demonstrate again, they would improve, and the final wrinkles would be ironed out by personal nitpicking on her part. However, those tenth times still arose.

"Sergeant Zaida?"

"I'm not a sergeant."

"I've been thrusting like you said, but I still can't reach the target. What am I doing wrong?"

The question came from one of the smaller learners, a teenager barely old enough to meet the age requirement, who presumably moonlighted as a scarecrow. Zaida could not help but think that if they were a demon, they would be shuffled to the vanguard to make for easy pickings for humans in the hopes of overinflating their confidence.

The problem stemmed from her size, following the steps Zaida had demonstrated for them, she was left a pace shy of the practice dummy, leaving her training sword out of reach. Clearly, the issue could be resolved by simply starting her a step closer when beginning her sequence, but that would hardly address the root of the problem. She was small, and that would be a pervasive factor on the battlefield.

What would Marama do? Zaida asked herself. He would almost certainly not budge her closer, nor simply tell her to leave the corps in the face of her disadvantage. No, he would do something else. He would...

"What's your name?" the mentor asked.

"Ngwi," she answered.

"Ngwi, your difficulty is one not shared by your comrades. In this, and everything else I teach you, you will have to go further, learn more, and try harder to meet them in performance."

Ngwi looked a tad dismayed to hear that the road before her would be more difficult than those around her. It can be demoralising to learn that one is alone in their struggles.

"But that does not mean you cannot achieve it," Zaida added, winning back some hope in the learner's eye. "With a taller challenge come greater heights of glory. Should you strive to excel, you may find yourself skilled in ways your peers could not be. Now, to your question:" Zaida took Ngwi's place before the target, then stepped back far enough to account for her size and then some. She settled in a place where execution of the sequence would leave even herself shy of the target.

"A battle is a dynamic place. Your opponent will not sit still, and they will not pull their punches. That is why even sparring with a live partner can only take you so far. Nothing is off the table in a real fight; that is why there is no truer test than mortal combat. What I am saying is do not hold yourself to a rigid menu on the battlefield. Adapt as your situation demands."

Zaida made her point by following the sequence to its end once. As she planned, her wooden blade fell shy of the dummy's torso. She reset to the same starting point and repeated it, this time throwing in some additional hops to close the gap. There was a solid thwack as the weapon struck her target, square and firm.

With excitement in her posture, Ngwi took her place and did as Zaida had. At the end of the sequence, her sword skipped off the dummy. It was not as clean as Zaida's demonstration, but it was unquestionably an improvement over her previous attempts. She looked at her instructor with awe at herself. Did you see that?

"Excellently put, teacher Zaida." The booming voice spun the heads of the woman and her learners. Marama was approaching from the edge of their grounds. "However, if I may, I would like to tack on a question for the whole group. What should the rest of you be doing about her?" he jerked a thumb toward Ngwi.

There was silence as the learners all looked at her and each other unknowingly.

"You should be learning to complement her."

"Ngwi, I had those radishes you traded me last week. Best in Merridian."

"No! Not compliment! Complement," the sergeant emphasised. From the reactions he got, it was clear they still lacked a proper understanding. "Zaida, how do you fight in battle?"

The woman tapped her jaw as she reflected on her own style. "Aggressively?" she offered.

"Great. So if I'm at your side, I should fight in a way that best highlights your strengths and makes up for your weaknesses."

The group made sounds like they were beginning to understand.

"Learning to fight one-on-one is all fine and good, but you're not going to find much use for that in a real battle," he went on. "Demons don't know honour; they're not going to challenge you one at a time. Similarly, you're not going to be on your own. If your comrade is a sword, be the shield, and vice versa."

The sounds held more conviction now.

"Now then, all that being said, what should you do if you have Ngwi at your side?"

"Find a bigger ally?" came one snarky response, prompting a few cruel snickers in the group.

Marama picked out the wisecracker with a heavy and unwavering finger. "Fifteen laps after training. Any good answers?"

Despite understanding that the punishment had been doled out for the mean nature of the remark, the rest of the group was still hesitant to give honest answers.

"If she's got trouble with reach, then you want to be the long arm; cover the distance she can't." He turned to Ngwi. "And what should you be doing meanwhile?"

"Covering their back...?" the smaller learner proposed.

"Almost got it. You want to be handling the close fighting. Go after the monsters that like to rush in; give yourself and your partner some breathing room, yeah?"

Ngwi nodded her understanding.

"A good knight is like a good armour plate, people. You're strong on your own, but you're also tight with the rest of your unit. You don't get in each other's ways, and you fit together in a way that leaves no chinks. You're a team; on..." he locked eyes with the disparaging learner. "And off the battlefield. That's it for today, people. Go home."

"Are you certain you need me here?" Zaida asked him with a raised eyebrow while the learners diverged.

"Of course. It makes me look that much wiser when I can one-up other teachers," he clapped her on the shoulder reassuringly. "But in all seriousness, you're doing a fine job." Just below where his hand landed on the woman, he noticed something on her. "What's this?"

"Oh? It was a gift from one of the townsfolk." Zaida held out her arm for the sergeant to see. Bound to her arm between the triceps and the deltoid was the doll from the boy at her party. Though he had said it was no talisman, she had taken to wearing it like one.

"Huh..." Marama did not look as if he totally understood.

"How's the throat healing?" Zaida moved the discussion along.

"Good." He cast his head back, displaying the fading scar over his gullet. "Though it'd be doing better if my damn students could stop bloody hitting it during training."

The conversation was disrupted as Ngwi returned with Eposi of all people at her side. Zaida was somewhat bewildered to find the administrator on the sparring grounds, though no one else seemed to regard her as out of place. Not that she was barred from being there, by any means.

"Miss Nsukula. Ngwi," Marama greeted both of them.

"Good afternoon, Sergeant. Zaida," Eposi returned the pleasantry. "Thank you for the time and effort you've been putting into Ngwi."

"Happy to do so. She's a promising knight-to-be."

"Pardon my asking," Zaida said, "but how do you two know each other?" She panned her finger between the other women.

"Ngwi is my cousin once removed, Zaida: my cousin's daughter." Eposi placed hand on her relative's shoulder. Now that she mentioned it, Zaida did find some small resemblance.

"Quite the coincidence that your date would also be my trainer, eh?" Ngwi said in good humour.

Zaida blinked. "D-Date?"

"For the Harvest Season Festival?" Eposi prompted, seeing the puzzled look on Zaida's face. "I asked you the other night at the soiree. You do remember accepting, don't you?" Trouble tugged at her lovely features.

"N-No... No! Of course I remember! Yes, I was just... I-"

"Forgive the girl," Marama intervened, throwing an arm around Zaida. "Summer may be leaving us, but it's still plenty hot enough for a workout to cook the tongue right out a knight's head; especially when trading words with a charming miss such as yourself. Wouldn't you say, Zaida?"

"Ah... yes."

Eposi chuckled at the flattery. Ngwi, on the other hand, looked ready to leave. They said goodbye and left Zaida and Marama where they were.

"What was that?"

"What was what?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Zaida; I know better." He faced her. "She mentioned your date together and you nearly choked on your own tongue. What's that about?"

"She asked me at that celebration a few days back... it seems."

"It seems?" Marama echoed dubiously. "You don't remember? Wait, are you the sort to get your courage from a keg? Easy then; harder sober? Is that it?"

"No, I... The music was loud and I couldn't hear her. She asked me something, and I played along like I understood." Zaida rubbed her arm sheepishly. As awkward as it had been in the moment, it was even more so when she had to describe it aloud.

Marama squinted at her sidelong. "Hold it. You mean you took her up on a date to the festival... accidentally?"

"Yes."

Marama scoffed and then he scoffed again. Then he began to chuckle, which grew into a cackle, before maturing into a bellowing laugh. "You landed a date with her ACCIDENTALLY?" He doubled over, resting hands on knees as he heaved. "Oh, you could have done a fair ways worse, girl! Ah, use me and leave me..." he sighed. "Wish I had your luck," he waved his index finger at her.

"Yeah, lucky me," sighed the triple-booked woman.

The Overgrowth Green was a sizable tract in Merridian favoured by townsfolk for picnicking and sporting in the summertime. Around summer's end though, it made for an excellent open space to hold the larger events for the Harvest Season Festival. With many hours of hard work on the part of its residents, the field was saturated with stalls, tents, tables, and stages, before it was all dressed in festive decorations. Of course, the various streets and squares of Merridian received a similar makeover, but only the Green was vast enough to facilitate such a grand, singular congregation.

"Remarkable, isn't it?"

Yorresie was stirred from her inanimate pondering. "Counsellor Wilmette," she acknowledged, "Yes, yes it is."

"What is on your mind, sister? You had the look of contemplation to you. Allow me to share in your burden."

There was a pause as the teacher mulled it over. She remembered back to her reflection on demonkind and the question of their sapience. "What do they do?" she said upon deciding. "The demons, I mean."

"Excuse me?" Ursula asked with a raised brow. She had not expected such a wild turn from the prim nun.

"What do they do? We only ever know hellspawn to be warring creatures - prodding at our defenses or assailing travellers - but is there nothing more to them? For us, and all other civilised peoples, war is only a single facet of life; we commit but a portion of our populace toward it. Does it not follow that they too would possess an entire culture beyond the conflict they bring us?"

Ursula pouted her lips, briefly thinking it over. "It goes without saying that I am no expert on this topic, sister. You of course know that."

"Of course."

"But I fail to see what inclines you to believe there is more to them than what we already know. You said it yourself: for civilised peoples, war is only a single facet. What makes you think they're civilised? They are the tools of the Demon Lord, sent to us and all the righteous to deliver maleficence in the name of their master. Why weave superfluities into a tool?" There was silence when she finished. The counsellor looked over to find Yorresie appearing less than consoled by her words. "You have too kind a heart for your own good, sister," she sighed. "Do not allow these creatures of evil to take roost in it; they will only leave it in ruin."

Yorresie maintained her gaze on the scene before her. She saw a woman wipe sweat from her brow as she hammered a nail into the stage that would raise a speaker for all to see. She saw a man balance atop a ladder as he suspended flags that someone had coloured with dyes they saved especially for the occasion. She saw a teenager scout the grounds for the perfect place to ask their heartthrob to be more than mere friends.

She saw all these things; all these things that would be lost if the Demon Lord had their way. All these things the demon horde fought so hard to steal from them.

"Wise words, Counsellor," Yorresie eventually agreed. "I will do my best to be mindful of them."

Ursula gently smirked to herself as she watched the nun depart, proud of her inspiring words and ability to provide such reliable guidance to deserving souls. Little did she know that Yorresie was not as resolved as she let on.

"Just how long is this going to take?" Markil asked.

Madwick knew better than to take the royal knight's word literally. What the man had meant was Why aren't you finished yet? You're keeping me. "If you have something more important than contributing to the fulfillment of our mission Markil, then by all means, be on your way." He was not willing to spend energy arguing.

The pair had slipped into a tailor's establishment; specifically, the one responsible for supplying the uniforms to the Order of Dyna. Madwick sat hunched over a table. A single folded uniform sat centered in front of him, with a pile on either side; those he had worked on, and those yet to come. Per Zaida's plan, the channeler used his magic to imbue each garment with the same enchantment. Markil was only there to lend some appearance of authority to their presence. A cloaked man magically tampering with knight uniforms? Suspicious. Two men representing the royal knights performing official business that happened to concern a few uniforms? Carry on, lads - and thank you for your service.

"Perhaps I do," Markil said suggestively. "Perhaps I have an appointment with your whore; her rate being so low and all..."

Madwick did not even look up from his work. "Yes, yes Markil, I get it. You're the strapping, virile man who lays claim to any damsel that captures his interest. Though, I must say, it would be the first time I'd heard of you having a sex drive. Perhaps in the future you'll put some thought into your gibes that they'll ring less hollow."

"Oh, but whatever did I say of it being sexual interest?" the knight kept his tone aloof. "Maybe instead of plastering your songbird's face in my seed-" he noted some shift in Madwick's shoulders at that "-I'll instead spend my coin on seeing just how obedient she is. As I understand it, wenches like yours will do most anything to guarantee pay from their clientele." By this point, he was pacing back and forth behind the channeler, watching for every foot tap and hesitation in Madwick's movements. "I am eager to test her limits. Why, my mind simply runs wild devising possibilities! Would she comply if I were to instruct her to gag herself on my laundry? What if I were to direct her to affix crustaceans to her nipples by their pincers? Or maybe I'll have her strip bare and parade her through the streets on a leash-"

Madwick exploded from his seat, toppling the stool and whipping around to pin Markil to the wall by the collar. The channeler's hands pulsed with sorcery, on the very cusp of unleashing who-knows-what upon the other man.

"Why the violent reaction, Madwick?" Markil sneered. "Growing sentimental, are we? Mind your powers, mageling. You wouldn't be contributing to the fulfillment of the mission by harming me."

Seething, Madwick stared in silence for a moment longer. With his eyes still promising ****, he begrudgingly released the royal knight with a defiant shove. Markil continued to stare down at him, his expression shifting from arrogance to open contempt.

"You've been letting your knob do your thinking for you," he said, straightening his tabard. "If you're so infatuated with this particular strumpet, then make your claim to her after we've put the humans in their place. The lot of them are morsels for us to have our way with."

Madwick glared back at Markil. "For the Demon Lord to have their way with," he corrected.

"That's what I meant," the bigger man rumbled, his words lacking conviction.

The channeler nodded to himself. With a final look at Markil, he turned back to the table, set his stool upright, and returned to his work. The royal knight was silent for the rest of their time there, Lord be thanked.