Your lacquered armor sits heavy on your shoulders as you shift uncomfortably among the crowd of young soldiers gathered. Summoned air elementals keep the room cool, but that just makes you feel clammy from nerves.
Everyone knew promotions were coming, between a couple disastrous raids from Mt. Metagalapa killing several of the highest-ranked and best loved commanders in one swoop and the plus the Assembly's approval of more defense resources. But you had been sure you wouldn't be called—and so had everyone else, judging by the looks you'd gotten when soldiers had been called from the barracks this morning.
You still had your doubts that this wasn't something else entirely. A reprimand? But, no. Here are assembled the best of the lower ranks—and you, and the legion commander with the esteemed Sister Ascendant Crane of the Immaculate Order at her shoulder.
The commander is a brief, efficient woman with her hair pulled up into a tight bun and dark circles under her eyes—the sort more at home in the field than here, under the sloping polished red-and-gold painted roof of the administration office, the carved statue of Yesyrk, the longtime local guardian deity, looming over her. You find yourself sympathizing. "I imagine none of you are surprised by this," she says. "We're in need of good officers, and we've seen traits among you that might someday get you there.
"None of you are ready—don't think you are," she goes on, "but you'll need to be, before long, and we intend to make sure you succeed. Each of you will be in charge of a fang of soldiers, and exercises with them begin tomorrow. You'll see the quartermaster after this, and speak with the drill instructors."
Sister Crane puts a hand on her shoulder, with the gentle questioning expression of asking if she might speak—as if she needs permission. The commander clears her throat. "Sister Ascendant Crane wishes to address you, also. Heed her words as the guidance of the Dragons."
"Thank you," says Sister Crane, the sleeves of her realm-style robes sweeping behind her as she steps forward. She's striking, and despite her soft features and her artfully-arranged silky black hair, has a fundamental gravitas. "Thank you, Commander, and thank you, our newly-minted Fang-Leaders. This is a time of great uncertainty and strife, and it will take great courage to rise to the occasion—but we know that all of you have it within you."
She smiles, and her presence is magnetic; while before you could feel stray glances in your direction now and again, now all attention is focused on her. "If you fear we have made a mistake, here is why we chose you: because you understand, above all, what your duty to your family, home, and country is, and hold it above all else unwaveringly."
You have always been your mother's daughter, that much is true. Her words should give you hope that you might fill these big shoes, but instead you just feel the bottom of your stomach drop like a stone. This is your life now; this is who you are now. Your mother will be so proud.
Wasn't that what you wanted?
On the way to the quartermaster's, the group erupts in quiet but excited chatter. You jog to keep up, and stumble as you tumble over the foot of another newly-minted Fang-Leader.
"Didn't see you there," she says, archly, straightening her peaked helmet, and some of the other new officers snicker before going on without you.
Your troubles are far from over, it seems. Notable:
Shrike looks a little older than she did in Memory 1—maybe by a year or two. Her hair is still dark.
The local guardian deity appears as a hawk-headed person, and is named Yesyrk.
Knowledge of standard in-world military unit sizes: a fang is 5, a scale is 25, etc.
Knowledge of the Immaculate Order: a respected religion in her homeland that teaches that the virtuous will be reincarnated as higher beings, noblesse oblige, there are bad demon-possessed people known as anathema, the people should not worship small gods, etc. on the latter point, there seems to be some allowances or syncretism going on for the carving of Yesyrk to be present.
Edited (i forgot what person i was writing in for a sentence, apparently) 2019-07-03 02:19 (UTC)
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softlyfalling) wrote2019-01-24 12:53 am
memory 005
Everyone knew promotions were coming, between a couple disastrous raids from Mt. Metagalapa killing several of the highest-ranked and best loved commanders in one swoop and the plus the Assembly's approval of more defense resources. But you had been sure you wouldn't be called—and so had everyone else, judging by the looks you'd gotten when soldiers had been called from the barracks this morning.
You still had your doubts that this wasn't something else entirely. A reprimand? But, no. Here are assembled the best of the lower ranks—and you, and the legion commander with the esteemed Sister Ascendant Crane of the Immaculate Order at her shoulder.
The commander is a brief, efficient woman with her hair pulled up into a tight bun and dark circles under her eyes—the sort more at home in the field than here, under the sloping polished red-and-gold painted roof of the administration office, the carved statue of Yesyrk, the longtime local guardian deity, looming over her. You find yourself sympathizing. "I imagine none of you are surprised by this," she says. "We're in need of good officers, and we've seen traits among you that might someday get you there.
"None of you are ready—don't think you are," she goes on, "but you'll need to be, before long, and we intend to make sure you succeed. Each of you will be in charge of a fang of soldiers, and exercises with them begin tomorrow. You'll see the quartermaster after this, and speak with the drill instructors."
Sister Crane puts a hand on her shoulder, with the gentle questioning expression of asking if she might speak—as if she needs permission. The commander clears her throat. "Sister Ascendant Crane wishes to address you, also. Heed her words as the guidance of the Dragons."
"Thank you," says Sister Crane, the sleeves of her realm-style robes sweeping behind her as she steps forward. She's striking, and despite her soft features and her artfully-arranged silky black hair, has a fundamental gravitas. "Thank you, Commander, and thank you, our newly-minted Fang-Leaders. This is a time of great uncertainty and strife, and it will take great courage to rise to the occasion—but we know that all of you have it within you."
She smiles, and her presence is magnetic; while before you could feel stray glances in your direction now and again, now all attention is focused on her. "If you fear we have made a mistake, here is why we chose you: because you understand, above all, what your duty to your family, home, and country is, and hold it above all else unwaveringly."
You have always been your mother's daughter, that much is true. Her words should give you hope that you might fill these big shoes, but instead you just feel the bottom of your stomach drop like a stone. This is your life now; this is who you are now. Your mother will be so proud.
Wasn't that what you wanted?
On the way to the quartermaster's, the group erupts in quiet but excited chatter. You jog to keep up, and stumble as you tumble over the foot of another newly-minted Fang-Leader.
"Didn't see you there," she says, archly, straightening her peaked helmet, and some of the other new officers snicker before going on without you.
Your troubles are far from over, it seems.
Notable: