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Interlude 7
🕑 Added 2025-01-12 23:55:00 +0000 UTCINTERLUDE (VII)
The Power of Peerage
Their second day hunting toy soldiers went significantly better than the first. Not a terribly difficult feat, considering just how poorly their previous escapade had gone. Denise having taken it especially hard, seeing as, for the majority of the time, she’d done far more damage to their party’s morale than the enemy had. Well, done more damage to their party than the enemy had period, would be a more accurate summation, really. That sword of hers, while undoubtedly powerful, wielded a nasty double edge. More likely to harm them than their plastic green adversaries.
Case in point, following the Captain’s cowardly call for a ceasefire, they managed to track down small contingents of toy soldiers four more times. And in three of those instances, Denise’s actions led to one or more severe injuries sustained by their party. Once, when they ran into another cleverly disguised ambush, Denise had tried to dismantle the ambush from afar. Instead, the vibrations emitted by her reckless swing nearly knocked Robin, who’d been standing closest to her at the time, out cold.
Meanwhile the residual feedback of her failed attack wound up deafening just about everyone else.
Worst of all, when the rippling crescent of vibrations she sent against the enemy did end up landing, it accomplished little but to knock them a step back. Red faced and swearing, at least as best as the system allowed, she’d physically chopped to bits any soldier they came across thereafter, not even bothering to use her rapier’s innate abilities. And soon enough, stopped using the weapon entirely, using system purchased clubs and axes to pummel their enemies to death.
The mood only grew worse from there. Really, to say the “hunt,” had been less than satisfactory would’ve been the understatement of the century. And, to say the others weren’t just the slightest bit nervous to see just how Denise would react to a second expedition, would’ve been blatantly false.
Much to their surprise, however, on the morning of, the woman was shockingly calm. At peace almost, as if the previous days failures had never happened. As the sun began to peek over the eastern horizon, burning away the early morning mists and setting the field of dew to shine like diamonds, the girls shared a look. Though, they didn’t say anything, hesitant to shatter this strange serenity.
Only Marlene having some inkling of why the woman might be feeling more confident than seemed warranted, though she too was in no rush to shatter the tenuous calm.
They maintained the same diamond formation as they’d entered the forest with the day before. Denise out front, Maya and Eva flanking to either side, with Marlene at their center, while Robin took up the rear. Eyes roaming the forested terrain for possible ambushes, even as their steps were already quite a bit more confident than they had been.
They ranged like this for what felt like hours, but was more likely than not mere minutes, until Denise called a halt to their procession with a sharp whistle. The woman gestured for Robin to join her up front. Following her direction, Robin sidled her way up to the woman, kneeling down before a set of tracks when she did the same.
“What do you think?” asked Denise in a low whisper.
Robin looked over the tracks for quite some time, before she shrugged.
“They look fresh to me, but I can’t really tell you how long.”
“Can you tell in which direction they went?”
“Probably. Hold on, give me a minute.”
And so saying, Robin began to make a slow circuit around the bootprints, constantly flicking her eyes from the ground, to the surrounding area, and back again, wary of yet another ambush. And while the previous volleys of ammunition hadn’t been enough to kill, or even cripple, that wasn’t to say that would remain the case forever. They needed to be careful. Eventually, Robin returned to the group with a decent enough idea of where the enemy had gone.
Taking point, with Denise now hanging behind, she began to follow these tracks to wherever it was they led. There were a lot of them, so she was expecting to need to duck down for cover at any given moment.
It never came to that, however. Because somehow, by some strange miracle, they managed to sneak up on their opponents this time instead. Hidden behind a pocket of dense underbrush, Robin looked out over the military camp with both excitement and trepidation. A series of uniform tents lined up in neat rows, with cook fires every dozen or so feet, and a tent at least twice as large as the others at its center.
Robin counted at least three soldiers present, though she couldn’t be sure just how many lay hidden within the tents. What she could say for certain, however, was that this campsite was more than likely home to one of the higher ranking military men they’d been warned of by the earlier system prompt. A sergeant, or, maybe, even a lieutenant.
That big tent was a dead giveaway. And besides, in the half minute or so she’d spent crouched there, watching, she managed to catch the briefest glimpse of an imposing figure between the opening and closing of tent flaps.
The resident of that central tent, or so she assumed. A soldier that stood at least head and shoulders above the rest. She only wished she’d been able to read its description in time. As it was, she thought the odds of them standing a chance against such a man, plastic or not, to be dubious at best. Unless, that was, he was as oblivious as his lesser compatriots, though she had this sneaking suspicion that wasn’t going to be the case.
It was just as Robin was about to head back and report that they should probably seek out easier prey, that Denise stepped into the camp in full view, and called out in a loud voice.
“Hello!? Anyone in there? Come out come out wherever you are! Why don’t you come out here and face me like a man? Or are you gonna hole up in your little tent like a little bir-?!”
Denise never got to finish her insult, because in the next moment, a giant of a man burst free from the tent flaps, a large, and very real saber in his hands. Behind him, three more of the standard soldiers streamed out of the central tent. Taking a knee to either side of their commander and smoothly raising their muskets into practiced firing positions.
+—|-T. Soldier Private-|—+
•[Lvl 17]•
+—|-T. Soldier Sergeant-|—+
•[Lvl 23]•
Robins eyes snapped back to Denise, though where she’d expected to see fear or trepidation, all she saw was the flashing white crescent of her beaming smile. Elegant rapier in hand, she looked on with obvious anticipation at the conflict to come. Robin was aghast. She couldn’t for the life of her seem to reconcile this behavior with the sullen shrew of only the night before. Where had all this confidence come from?
And then, the very last person she’d expected to throw her hat in the ring entered the clearing. Marlene, only the slightest bit wobbly about the knees, marched up to stand beside the openly grinning woman—rippling blue cloak trailing gracefully behind, as if weightless. Denise spared a quick glance for the nineteen year old, before snorting and turning her attention back to the waiting soldiers.
In that time, more plastic men exited their tents, until Robin could see ten soldiers in total, not including their leader. All of them with muskets trained on the two women hogging all the attention. Robin swore, or would have if she’d been able. What in the world were those two up to?! So occupied was she with remonstrating them in her mind, that Robin almost missed the brief exchange that happened between them.
“I-If you can handle the sergeant and the rest, I can take care of those firearms. A-also, we should probly leave some alive so the others can gain experience.”
“Oh, it’s we now, is it? You know, that sounds a whole lot like me doing most of the work for very little of the reward.”
Marlene shrugged.
“I s’pose I could just let ‘em shoot at’cha if you’d like.”
Denise pursed her lips. Glared at the young woman. Marlene’s gaze never wavered. The woman grunted. Looked away. Marlene slumped.
“Fine! But I swear to god if I get popped in the back of the head by one of these forkers, I’ll know exactlywho to blame.”
“Won’t be a problem.”
She tried to sound confident, but Robin could hear the waver in her voice from here.
“Right!” Denise briefly cracked her neck, before launching herself headlong toward the kneeling firing squad, and the imposing sergeant at their head. “Get some, motherforkers!”
+++
<Watcher> Ahh, now I see where your problem lies.
Denise ate up the distance at a voracious pace. Sneakers pounding away against the flattened earth, rapier reflecting the noonday sun with blinding white flashes.
<Watcher> You’ve been treating your regalia, these abilities of yours, far too lightly. And I don’t mean it in a, handing a baby with no concept of gun safety a firearm, sort of way, though there is some of that as well.
The kneeling soldiers raised their muskets as she came into sure fire range. Her muscles tensed, steps beginning to falter, but a wave of pressure at her back renewed her confidence. Pushed her to greater speeds.
<Watcher> Tell me, when was the last time you polished your blade just for the sake of it? When was the last time you whispered to it just because? Have you slept beside it yet? Surely you’ve felt the urge. Although, I’m just going to go ahead and assume you ignored the impulse, given the full blown tantrum you described.
Denise felt it the moment the ten or so soldiers pulled the trigger on their muskets. Felt it because, having traveled barely half the distance, the cork projectiles aimed her way hit an invisible wall and stuck there—frozen in mid air—their motion having somehow been arrested mid-flight. Denise grinned. The sergeant frowned.
The imposing plastic man took a single step forward, brought his saber down in a devastating diagonal arc—Denise’s grinning face reflected in the polished metal.
<Watcher> Remember this, because it should serve you well for the rest of your life, if you’re lucky. Regalia are unlike any other weapon, piece of equipment, or item you’ve ever owned. And that’s not because they’ll grow alongside you, nor is it because they’re generally tailor made to suit a person’s most honest self, but, put simply, because your noble regalia is alive.
Denise slashed upward in a return strike. Sweeping her blade in a diagonal arc, the air around the rapier humming with palpable content. She knew this wasn’t how a rapier was supposed to be used, and yet she didn’t care. And nor, for that matter, did her rapier.
<Watcher> Possessing one isn’t just a commitment, it’s a partnership. One in which one of you starts off as an infant, unsure of the world and the way it works. It is limiting in someways, though in others it is freeing. A near limitless vista of possibilities for growth spans before you, and the only real things limiting said growth are your aspect, and the exact nature of your relationship with your regalia.
Delicate rapier met brutal saber with a flash of sparks and a resonant clang. The elegant rapier shuddering, quaking, humming with vibrations, before it shattered the bulky cavalry saber into a million tiny pieces.
<Watcher> Hope this helps.
