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Training Day

[Here is a collaborative story composed by me and @trained-trainwreck or Ethalarian of the Sunguard for a guild prompt issued to us!]

Between Ethalarian’s humour, Thanidiel’s boldness, and their combined relation to the roughspun lives of the People at their simplest - the soldiers managed to coax one-hundred-and-seventeen bodies from the able-bodied men and women of Kris away from their labors for two weeks of training.

Not the most desirable, but, still, leagues beyond what the citizens of this far-out province would be able to provide when placed amongst merely themselves.

The two had developed an accelerated program of training a unified fighting force during their southern bound travel. The volunteers ‘hind their backs from both military companies would partner up with the Citizenship. They would run through the basics on the first three days: of unity, of tools, of formation and movement. From there, the remaining thirteen days would be legitimate, all-rounded, exercises to stress the militia to its limits.

A trial of searing fire. So that no lashing heat in the days afterward may break them in the Sunspears’ absence, a remnant from their past allegiances and the severity of service demanded.

Thus, they had decided. And, thus, have they acted.

Thanidiel stands shoulder-to-shoulder with a dozen men in either direction. A row of glinting, near-blinding, gold in the sunlight; casted with periodic shadows of crimson and mellowed paint.

In normal circumstances, there ought to be some form of concern towards the thought of taking over another’s company in command. Here? There was no such thing. The people of both units were well-acquainted with one another and their Captains, for training skirmishes between the individual one-hundreds is a regular occurrence in the Dawnspire Training Ground whether on foot or horseback. Similarly, many of the soldiers around her harken back to those of the old Order; either attracted to the primordial names of Highdawn and Dawnstalker, or of similar mind to the resignations signed by the two former Knights.

In that light, the Phoenix Guard has no issue in seamlessly falling into step with the twenty-four to her flanks and the twenty-five ahead of them. Together, in the unspoken bond of blood and sweat that curls around all of their limbs in stringed performance, they move. Synchronised, all soldiers tighten their grips on their targe shields. United, all raise their spears with hands curled towards the butt of the weapons, causing the tools to jut out a near three yards in front of the simple formations.

Renalays stands a distance away, close to the large crowd of Kris citizens and other men-at-arms surrounding them. The Duskward can feel the subtle itch of her old comrade’s Shadow, ready to pluck her words from the winds and scatter them in snowing whispers that would reach the ears of every elf in observation. Thanidiel doubts it would be needed, but precautions are always useful things.

Even confined within her greathelm, her voice cracks over the field like the roll of traveling thunder. Decades of command have learned the fighter well in how to project clean from her diaphragm and cut through the din of warfare like the penetrating length of waving steel.

“The spear is the tool we have brought to you from the forests and quarries of the Dawnspire, for it is the most deadly you will find in any army!

It is a tool that emphasises victory in Unity, much like the Unity found today between the provinces of Kris and Dawnspire; south and north; the Blood shared between all Children of High Home. Your goal, when whatever prey comes at you whether it is Nightmare or bandit, will not be the slaying of what is in front of you. Your goal, when you’ve a spear in your hand and your comrades aside you, will be the support of the woman to your right; the man to your left.”

By now, all fifty sabatons march in the characteristic noise of plate sections clattering against leather and chain, the frenzied energy crashing against the grass below. Still in perfect bond, both lines spur into their faux combat.

In the midst of this controlled chaos, Thanidiel continues to boom over it all. Demonstrating the qualities of the spear in the context conveyed to the Kris people, her scanning vision catches the movement of a soldier preparing to stab towards a comrade two-men-down from her right. Raising her targe shield upward, and trusting in the fighters to her left, she extends in counter-assault.

“The root of all success is in the care of your fellows. Your daughters take your wheat to your market. Your sons harvest it. Your parents shelter you. Your friends repair your plows. Your governors provide you road and contract of sale. Your militia protects your fields. So too, does every soldier cooperate in everyone’s mutual safety to claim victory.”

Hefting her right shoulder outward, the arm, bent inward, extends outward in practiced motion. The lengthy spear held overheard stabs right for the woman who wished to ‘bleed’ her ally in this exercise. Crossing three yards diagonal, the weapon impacts its blunted head against the collar of the unfortunate woman with jarring force. Swiftly pulling back her arm, the Duskward observes the agreed-upon drop of the soldier onto the green earth (with some honesty noted there - that one will be examined for a broken bone later).

The showcase continues on, every person tasked with the protection and assistance of their left and right, in a flurried cacophony of spears knocking one another aside, thudding scrapes along the curve of shields, and the clatter of steel when weapons find home and push ‘enemies’ into the soil.

Eventually, the demonstration is whittled down to the participation of twenty-three soldiers, with the current Commander’s force outpacing the other row before them.

“Cease!”

Simultaneously, all spears are lowered and thrown into the empty span between the two lines. Every man and woman moves then in silent order to clasp their shields to their girdles and begin the work of uplifting the fallen and separating those genuinely hurt in the exercise. In the center of them, the Phoenix Guard pushes on.

“Thus, you see the power of the tools we will provide to every head here to keep. Its range, its power, and its versatility in defense and offense, is unmatched concerning what may be placed into anyone’s hands on the battlefield.

Consider this my gracious introduction. Now you have our expectation in the use of these tools displayed. Tomorrow will be a thorough mastery of the spear with the assistance of the soldiers aside you. You will bruise, you will bleed, and you will break. In that fashion, all volunteers present, you, Children of Iron, will be wrought into Steel.

For now? We will continue our focus on the lifeblood of victory; Unity. No one will fall behind. No one will exceed. No one will be forgotten.

You will observe this well in the coming days as every soldier beside you now will be at your aid, and you, theirs. You will learn to love your comrades, new and old, temporary or permanent, like siblings fed from the same milk and blood. That is how you will send any threats that come for Kris into the clasp of the earth - permanently.

In the spirit of Unity, command passes to Lightward Ethalarian Dawnstalker. He will introduce you, as I did, to another topic; how to form and move as one.

And he will further demonstrate how the success of combat relies not on individual strength or passion - but togetherness.”

With that, Thanidiel draws back into the crowd with a hand pulling her waterskin to her hoarse lips, and shifts into merely another face in the crowd.

It was at this point that Ethalarian stepped forward through the assembled mass of gleaming plate and towering spears until he stood at the head of the formation. Gone was his once signature scarlet and black now replaced by the warmer, brighter crimson and gold of the Sunguard. It was simple, for the most part, and far more reflective of his previous life- no ornate etching, nor expensive exotic metals, but layers of chainmail and partial plate overlapping a leather hauberk. His cuisses and greaves were much the same; simple yet sturdy leather and plate all reflective of his upbringing- and perhaps strategically chosen to appeal to the common folk of Kris.

“Greetings, my brothers and sisters. I thank you all for your attendance; it warms my heart to see communities come together in defense of one another.” The knight offers a wide, warm smile to each of those before him, his tone kindly and honeyed. These are no soldiers and he cannot dare to speak to them as such. Not yet. “My colleague-” he gestures to Thanidiel here “-has already demonstrated to you all the individual merits of the spear and the shield on an individual level.

As you’ve all observed, and as Duskward Highdawn has capably demonstrated, these are effective tools that allow you to safely engage your enemy from afar and to cover your brother’s flanks. An individual with a spear can keep at bay an enemy with less reach nigh indefinitely. However.”

At this point Etharian turns sharply about to face the formation behind him. “About, face!”

His voice echoes across the field like a cannon shot and immediately is answered by the rumble and clatter of armored troops wheeling about in a matter of moments. The Sunguard’s banners had caught the breeze and were flying high now in the afternoon sun above Kris as a second formation, a group of volunteers from the villagers, took up position to the left. As anticipated, the latter had little idea of what to do or how to do it but did their best to mimic the Sunguard formation anyway and packed together as tightly as they could. Admirable. Ethalarian gave a slight nod as he turned now toward a broad shouldered, raven haired elf at his left.

“Sergeant Heartwood, give the signal if you please.”

With a nod, the Sergeant’s chest swelled as he drew in a deep breath and raised a horn to his lips that sounded at an almost deafening volume that echoed for several seconds across the rolling hills. A few short moments later, a low rumble began to roll in toward Kris from just over the next rise that grew louder and louder with each passing second. Within a minute a dark blob appeared upon the rise and was quickly followed by a chorus of shouts and jeers as the Enemy for this grand demonstration appeared.

Ethalarian grinned a crooked grin as he gestured up toward the Enemy and turned his attention back toward the gathered townsfolk.

“The Enemy presents itself and is set to lend credence to this next lesson: taking the field are two groups, equal in number and armed much the same.”

Now his attention falls to the group of volunteer soldiers, each looking more pale than the next. They had not fallen apart yet, not begun to disperse or rethink what they’d gotten themselves into but flight had definitely crossed their minds.

“Before you are the Blood Knights from the Eleventh Regiment. They are hardened soldiers, veterans of a dozen wars over the course of the past twenty years. For this example, the Enemy has been instructed to show no mercy- to treat this battle as they would the real thing.”

One of the volunteers toward the front took a half-step back.

His will was already faltering.

The rest would follow soon.

Excellent.

Again Ethalarian turned to Sergeant Heartwood and without a word the latter again sounded his horn. Without delay the dark blob upon the hill surged forward, pouring down from the as though an inkwell had been overturned and thundering toward both formations at a full gallop. Their approach was like a clap of thunder that never ended, a deafening rumble that became a roar which threatened to drown out everything else. As the ground began to shake beneath his feet, the Lightward turned his attention back to the man at the fore of the volunteer formation.

Another step back.

Then another.

Then a fourth.

Not long now.

Ethalarian glanced again toward the massive formation of cavalry now practically on top of both formations of infantry. The combined Phoenix Guard and Bloodsworn held strong, their lances and pikes planted firmly in the ground and held aloft at eye level, forcing their foe to wheel about and look for a better opening before trying again.

And then it happened.

The man at the front of the volunteer formation lost his nerve and broke, turning to flee as fast as his feet would carry him.

Then another.

Then them all.

That was all it took to turn the roughly organized group of volunteer mass into a broken, routing mob and the Enemy did not pass up the opportunity to fall upon them with a merciless vigor...or would have, had this been a real battle. Instead the company split and enveloped the fleeing herd of volunteers as pack of starving wolves would circle their prey.

Grinning, the Lightward turned back now to the remainder of the assembled villagers and spoke over the now quieting din.

“As you can see, my brothers and sisters, it is not individual skill that wins the day on the field.” He held up a single finger in turn as he spoke the next three words. “Discipline. Unity. Coordination. Once my colleague has instructed you how to fight as an individual, I will teach you how to apply the lessons you have learned and forge you all into a single cohesive unit.

You will learn to think, breathe, move, and act as one whole. I will not lie to you; this will likely be the most difficult two weeks of your lives. Persevere, however, and I promise your town will be the safest it’s ever been with or without our presence.”

Ethalarian took a moment to survey the crowd now as the defeated made their way back to the group, heads hung low in shame. Good. That would save him the trouble of humbling them later.

“Duskward Highdawn.” He turned over his right shoulder to seek out Thanidiel amongst the otherwise faceless formation.

“I believe it’s time to begin.”

A Phoenix Guard breaks formation, near unidentifiable from any other of the golden-plated soldiers present - were it not for the distinct engravement of horses carved into the fore of the regiment’s symbolic greathelm.

The woman strides to Ethalarian’s side and clasps her grip along the chain sleeve of his midarm as the opposing hand steadies the butt of her spear into the grasses underneath.

“Aye - for Kris.” strikes out from her, shattering the ‘quiet.’

“For Kris,” echoes from one former Blood Knight to the other; like two artillery shots in succession.

The volunteers, hesitant, break the silence in only tiny bubbles in their mimicry of the cry. Natural to their training, the two Sunspear before them roar in correction, in unison:

“WHO DO YOU FIGHT FOR?”

Hiccups of “For Kris!” answer, building in rate that fails to satisfy their instructors until it becomes a wild cacophony that shakes the air.

“For Kris!” “For Kris!” “For Kris!”

“For Kris!” “For Kris!”

“For Kris!”

Then the assembled two-hundred of Bloodsworn and Phoenix Guard join in, and the sheer energy transfers from sky to a rumbling across the whole of the earth. The subtle hand of Kris’ new comrades causes development from chaotic shocks of noise to proper, deafening, unified, waves.

“For Kris!” “For Kris!” “For Kris!”

[Tagging @curiouslich and @sakialyn for their interest as Sunspear officers!]

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