“You will have no doubt heard many lectures in your time here as students about how geology and geography shape the politics of sentients throughout Tsanderos. It is almost cliché to point out how the vagaries of the natural world influence us without our conscious awareness.
“Today I would like to talk about how politics shape the politics of our lands. I know, it sounds obvious, but you’d be surprised by how few people give serious contemplation to how the grand mega-structures that rule the continent affect the various small kingdoms and principalities we often study.
“Take the Sunset Kingdoms for example; their constant warring and relatively backwards political structures can be understood quite clearly by the large nations they border. Trapped between the relative progressivism of the Desolate Empire and the inhospitable lands of the Scarab-King, it is no surprise…”
- Introductory lecture by Harmdel Ess to students taking the course ‘Peace and Power’ at the White-Tower Consortium, Circa .161
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“Congrats lad, you nearly had him there.”
The words drifted down to my ears, worming their way into my brain and dragging me back to the present as I started from where I lay. Jorge’s smiling face appeared upside down in my view, and more words tumbled down towards me from his upside-down mouth.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked, although it again took a few moments for me to parse the words, giving a strange feeling of chronological dislocation as I watched his mouth move and only afterwards heard his sentence.
The smile dropped off his face and he pulled something from the air with a twirl of his hand, leaning down to feed the potion into my slightly open mouth.
“Gods Nathlan, how hard did you hit him?” He asked, a bit of reproach in the older man’s normally calm voice.
I felt something cool hit my tongue and swallowed on reflex. Something splashed down the side of my face, and my tongue went numb and tingly – a contradiction I was currently unable to puzzle out.
Another form appeared in my vision; dust being kicked up from their rapid footsteps. My view started to clear rapidly, and I realised how blurry everything had been only moments before.
Nathlan’s voice replied, clipped and clinical, though a hint of strain was detectable under the surface; “I didn’t think I had – I pulled the strike as soon as I realised he fell for the feint, but with my new attributes….” He trailed off, and I abruptly realised I could now track the words as his mouth moved, the strange delay and confusion I was previously experiencing now gone.
I sat up, groaning automatically but laughing once I realised that was more a habit than anything – my head didn’t hurt even remotely. I wiped away the drool and remains of the healing potion from my mouth and neck, both Jorge and Nathlan still looking down at me in concern.
I assumed it was due to the laugh and tried to explain. “Nah, I’m just laughing because I realised I sounded like Jorge!” They shared a look and my reassurance seemed to have the opposite effect.
Jorge leaned down and shook my shoulder gently, as if expecting my head to fall off if he wobbled me too roughly. “You alright Lamb?”
I looked at his hand and then back at his face, taking my time before responding. I briefly entertained the idea of messing with them and pretending to be completely concussed for a while, but that ultimately wasn’t a great joke, and their genuine concern did warm my heart a little.
“Yeah I’m good, I’m good. Thanks for the potion. Must have taken a big hit, right? Didn’t even see it. What happened?”
Both visibly relaxed, and Jorge grabbed my arm and hoisted me up, dusting off my back as I rolled my neck around. The potion should have removed any lingering side-effects of the concussion, but it never hurt to be sure.
Nathlan stepped back and caught my eye. “You fell for my feint and tried to slip left – ducked your head straight into the pommel of my sword.”
I snorted as I replied. “As if it was just floating there and you didn’t ram it into my head, right?”
He had the grace to look a little sheepish, but I caught the grin there underneath it. He was secretly pleased with himself for his victory, and I was glad to see he was confident enough in our friendship to share that fact with me, even if only in a small expression.
Jorge clapped his hands to get our attention and gave his customary feedback after a hard spar.
“Good work both of you. Nathlan, great offense! We’ve been working on that pressure, and I’m glad to see you applying it well. Gave him no room to breathe and find his range, and you managed to end it before his endurance became a problem. You’re under-levelled and at a distinct disadvantage with weaponry, so good work overcoming that.”
Nathlan nodded his head, and I clapped him on the shoulder to show my agreement. He’d decisively beaten me again, and as far as I was concerned, he’d earned the win.
“Lamb – good work also. I’m impressed with your footwork, you managed to hold out for longer than expected. If you’d kept that shield up when lunging, you’d probably have managed to stay in the fight, and every moment would have been to your advantage. No shame in losing to a superior foe though, and Nathlan has been training much longer than you. Weapons-only doesn’t favour your fighting style, but this is why we train.”
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I shrugged, speaking idly. “Understood. Would be interested to know how I stack up against regular, competent combatants though.”
I watched Nathlan out the corner of my eye before continuing, trying to keep a straight face. “It’s one thing to test myself against spindly, creepy spider-men things but I wonder-aaghh!“ my words cut off abruptly with a scream as Nathlan’s now-sheathed sword poked me in the belly, hard enough to make me dance away.
Jorge smiled at our antics with a grandfatherly look on his face. On consideration, it was just a standard fatherly look but with a bit more grey in the hair and beard. Maybe an uncle? I shook my head, pulling my hair back and tucking a few errant strands behind my ear where they belonged as I spoke up again.
“Seriously though, I would like to know. It’s hard to figure out when the only opponents of a similar level to me are wild animals or Nathlan, who’s held a sword in his hand since he was a baby.”
It was only once I had returned from the nearby stream, washed and ready for the day, that Jorge made his suggestion.
“If you’re serious about fighting others of your level…I may have a suggestion.”
I paused, ringing out my hair over one shoulder and towelling it dry. “Go ahead.”
“We’re coming past the territory of the Mountain Clans soon, and if I’m right-“
“Come off it, Jorge, you’re always right.” I said with tone of profound resignation.
“And if I’m right,” he continued on as if I had never interrupted him, serene as a swan in a lake, “they will be gathering around about now. They have a friendly competition between the warriors of the various clans called the Proving.”
He hummed to himself for a moment. “No, that’s not right. The Mixing? Merging? No, The Blending!” He snapped his fingers to emphasise it, eyes lighting up.
“And you think I should fight in this…Blending? Do they even let foreigners in?”
“Oh aye, of course! They’d love the chance to humiliate and batter around one not of the clans!” he said with a wide smile.
My own smile became a hair more strained.
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We travelled for a few more days, alternatively hiking and running when the terrain called for it. We continued our training, and Jorge stepped up the intensity of his ‘survival training’ as he dubbed it.
Things were a fair bit simpler with the presence of storage devices. While we couldn’t exactly take them for granted – expensive and rare magical artifacts that they were – we had 3 of them in our little party of 4 by now, so we did make ample use of them.
Hauling supplies was obviously much easier, but other considerations were solved too. Keeping bedding, clothes and maps dry, food and perishable goods cool etc. Jorge’s task over the next several weeks – as declared by the man himself – was to get it in to ‘our thick skulls’ that survival encompassed far more than combat, tracking and setting a camp.
The preparation was key, and it was something we would need to learn about. Nathlan had apparently gone through all these lessons before but was so useless and scatter-brained that they needed repeating. “Head too full of academic nonsense to fit any actually useful knowledge in there” as Jorge had said.
The lessons were useful, I couldn’t deny that. He was right that the preparation for an expedition or long journey was unfamiliar to me, and I was happy to learn as much as I could…but gods it was boring too. Just drudgery.
‘Lamb! What are the 6 P’s of survival!?” Jorge barked.
“Previous Planning Prevents Piss Poor Performance” I replied wearily.
And on it went. Important? Yes. Boring? Also yes.
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The first sign we got that Jorge was correct was a threat. It was the first sign I’d seen at least, and Nathlan too if his yelp was anything to go by. It was impossible to be sure with Jorge, as he was full of shit anyway – he’d pretend to have expected an event and smile mysteriously as if everything was according to plan, even if he was as surprised as I was.
Vera was an implacable wall of unconcerned armour, but judging by the fact she hadn’t drawn her weapon or reacted in any way other than halting, I guessed she had been aware of the threat for a while at least. Jorge just smiled as usual, the prick.
“The next step will be your last lowlander.” A strong voice rang out from the forest before us.
Nathlan yelped, but to his credit his blade was halfway from its sheath by the end of the sentence. I scanned the trees around me, seeing nothing out of place. An uncanny feeling of being watched settled on my back, itching as if eyes were boring into me from all directions.
Vera had come to a stop, resting a hand on the pommel of her heavy blade but not otherwise escalating the situation. Jorge stepped forwards and spread his arms magnanimously as he spoke roughly in a language he was clearly unfamiliar with; “Greetings! We mean no harm and seeking-“
He was cut off by an arrow thudding into the ground by his feet. I saw his leg twitch slightly and I wasn’t sure if the arrow had startled him, or he had moved minutely to avoid it. Judging by the way his arms dropped to his side and the undercurrent of tension that wrapped his next words, I suspected it might be the latter.
“No threats - please. I…We speak?”
I had shifted my shield onto my arm from where it was slung across my back and held it low in front of me. I hadn’t even noticed I was doing so, but my feet were now planted at an angle, with my shield facing the direction of the arrow’s flight, and my spear held to my side. Guess the countless bells of drilling and fighting were starting to pay off.
Vera’s leather and steel gauntlets creaked from the strain of her grip tightening on her sword, and I felt a moment of sympathy for the poor hilt being crushed by her unrelenting grip. Nathlan had fully drawn his sword now and I could feel a shimmer of anticipation in the air.
I was trying to stay calm, but my blood began to sing again, my heart pounding out a frantic rhythm that made my body want to move.
“There is no discussion between lions and men. Head back to your plains or die in our mountains.” The voice called again, and I had to admit that the effect was somewhat intimidating. It bounced around the forest, echoing eerily and making it impossible to pin down its origin.
It was somewhat undercut by the grandiose words, however. There was an audible scorn that whoever it was spoke with; an arrogance and sense of superiority that made my blood boil. It sounded to me like a young child trying to mimic their father, or a teenager deepening their voice in an attempt to intimidate.
Jorge, bless his venerable patience, tried one more time. “I want to speak the mountain clans. We trade and…speak your elders-“
Again, he was cutoff, the echoing voice harsh now and dripping disdain. “I have stated your options. Choose.”
Nathlan and Vera didn’t speak whatever language was in use, but both picked up on the growing tension. Jorge was obviously not fluent by any means, although I suspected he understood more than he spoke. I decided it was time to step in myself and clear things up. What could go wrong?
“Why must we leave? Are you not accepting travellers into your territory? We wish to understand.” Diplomatic right? I was very pleased with myself, and the way my voice didn’t even waver at all when addressing the mysterious voice.
“Vashedan!”
“Hold!”
Two voices shouted at once following my words, and three arrows came whizzing towards my neck. Maybe I needed more practice.