Officers Academy - Morning - Overcast
Senka Rinaldi
Senka sighed softly as she glanced at her reflection in the mirror. The uniform for the Officers Academy was strange to her, however; she pulled at the hem of her skirt to fix it. Smoothing out her shirt, she was satisfied with the over all appearance. Her hair, loose and curly behind her back, was another thing entirely, though. She had grown used to not doing much with it over the past three years. Growing up with various ornaments and pins through it was a habit hard to kill, but she'd mostly managed. The only item in her hair, now, was a pin in the shape of a lily, fastened to keep half of her hair up.
Sorcha had given it to her last year for her seventeenth year of life, and she'd worn it without fail, every day since. It was a memento she cherished, dearly. Sighing once more, Senka made her way towards the staircase for the upper levels of the dormitory. They were reserved for the nobles's children and those of royalty, a position Senka no longer occupied. It seemed like a life time ago, despite it only being three years. She had to enroll under her mother's birth name of Argyris. Even if they were a noble house in Faerghus, it wasn't quite as reputable as any of the other Crest houses. She was just a commoner from Almyra to the people here, and she was fine with that lie.
With her hands at her sides, she waited patiently at the bottom of the stairs for Sorcha. Even if the princess had expressed multiple times that she was allowed to greet her upstairs, Senka refrained from doing so. Even if she was under a different guise, people still spoke; still whispered behind her back of how she earned her position in the princess's good graces. And she pushed those voices from her ears and thoughts.
It wasn't that Sorcha was hard to rouse from sleep. Quite the opposite actually; she was often earlier to rise than the sun itself. But she did have a way of getting caught up in her training, and she'd never been the most concerned with her own appearance, either. So it was hardly surprising that when she came down the stairs from the second floor, it was at a sprightly run that suggested she'd already been up for a while, and also a touch disheveled. She tended to pin her long, cornsilk-blonde hair up behind her so it was well out of the way, but she was still in the process of doing that as she hit the landing, and grimaced when she poked herself a bit too hard with one of the pins, sighing heavily.
“Senka, good morning!" she said, smiling perhaps a tad too brightly. She'd been a little off all weekend, but hadn't seemed to want to speak of why. Still, she seemed much like her normal self this morning. “I uh... don't suppose you could maybe, um... help?" She gestured vaguely with the pin.
She nodded, a faint smile briefly touching her lips before it faded. Sorcha knew by now that she could tell Senka anything, however; Senka knew when to push for something that was bothering Sorcha greater than normal. Since it was the first day of class, she was going to refrain from doing so... for now. She retrieved the pin from Sorcha, and walked so that she was behind her. Running her fingers through Sorcha's hair to pull out any of the tangles, she pulled it up and placed the pin to secure the tresses. Once she was finished, she moved so that she was back in Sorcha's view.
“Is it sufficient?" she asked. She would fix it again if it were not up to Sorcha's expectations, but in the back of her mind, she already knew the answer.
Sorcha breathed an immediate sight of relief, reaching up with both hands to feel along the contours of her hair. It was rather lovely, as hair went; the color was clear and the strands thick and soft, but able to lay smoothly, with only a few pieces loose at the front. “You're a lifesaver, Sen. Thanks so much!" She shook her head. “I swear I learned about all this feminine stuff, but I can't ever remember a lick of it."
Smoothing down her uniform skirt—she'd chosen the knee-length one, and wore fitted shorts underneath in case of activity—she patted herself down to be sure she was in order. Seemingly satisfied, she tossed her blue cloak back over her shoulder to rest mostly out of the way. “Anyhow, let's get going. First day of class and all—are you excited?"
She blinked for a moment, chewing on the bottom of her lip as she thought about the question. Excited was an irrelevant term to Senka. She wasn't sure what to find exciting, but for the sake of her friend, she was trying to be. “I am... anticipating how the first day will go," she spoke truthfully. “Excited is not the word I would use," she continued, not wanting to be dishonest.
“What about you? Are you prepared for the year?" she asked, turning so that she could walk with Sorcha towards the main hall. It wasn't too far from the dormitory. It would take them through the courtyard which meant that they would be passing the other students. Taking in a deep breath to steel herself, she began walking with Sorcha. “And are you prepared to meet our professor?" she added. She'd been told by Sorcha that their new professor was hand chosen by the Archbishop, and for a moment, she wondered what kind of person they could be.
Sorcha smiled broadly, nodding a little. “Actually... I've already met him," she confessed. “I didn't know he was going to be our professor at the time, though—neither did he, I'm sure. He's really..." She trailed of, apparently trying to find the right word. “Different. And interesting, I think. He was a mercenary, before."
They turned north before they reached the main hall, skimming the dining hall to head into the small courtyard in front of the classrooms. The three were quite close together; students milled around outside, enjoying the last little while before classes started. Some were still eating breakfast as they went, it seemed.
“I think you'll like him," Sorcha continued, lifting a hand to wave to another student who'd waved at her. Most of them only wore small pins to indicate which house they belonged to, but Sorcha's bright blue cloak would have stood out even if the Princess herself was not so distinctive as she was. Though there was some mixing of the houses out here, they did still tend to cluster; it seemed a rather large collection of Black Eagles were gathered around a man who had to be the so-called Silver Prince. Clearly, the name had been given to him for the distinctive white color of his hair.
The Golden Deer were gathered around a young man who shared the same skin tone as Senka. He was talking animatedly to one of the students, smiling as if he had no care in the world. She had to quash the envious feeling in her chest, quickly, and turned to Sorcha. She nodded at the statement and made to reply, however; Senka felt something collide with her back, and tipped her forward. She managed to catch herself, twisting so that her left foot was further out than her right in order to keep her balance.
“Ow, ow," a young woman stated, rubbing her forhead. She was dressed in the same uniform as Sorcha, the one with the knee-length skirt, and her hair was a vibrant green. While not quite emerald, it did stand out quite a bit. “Oh, oh, I'm so, so sorry! I didn't mean to bump into you like that! Are you alright?" she stated, taking Senka aback. She blinked slowly before straightening out her composure.
“I am not harmed, if that is what you mean," she replied. The young woman smiled brightly at the statement, looking relieved. Senka found it slightly strange, but she did not comment on the behavior.
“I'm so glad. I'm just so excited! I just joined and was looking for my Houses' main room. Oh," she spoke in quick succession. Senka almost found it difficult to keep up. “Do either of you know where I can find the main room to the Blue Lion house?"
Sorcha snorted softly. “As a matter of fact, we do," she said, picking up the edge of the cape and flapping it a little. “I'm Sorcha, the Blue Lions House Leader. This is my friend Senka. Can I ask your name?" By now the both of them were familiar with the noble houses in Faerghus that had children of their own age. Not only was this girl not someone they'd seen before, but she didn't look much like any of the noble families Senka had met either. Apparently the same was true of Sorcha.
“Oh! That makes you Princess Sorcha! Oh what a pleasure to meet you! I'm Amalthea! I've heard so much about you," she greeted. The energy that poured from her was a little overwhelming to Senka, but she kept her face smoothed. Amalthea turned towards Senka, though, and the smile seemed to brighten. “It's a pleasure to meet you as well, Senka. I hope we can all be friends. It's just... I've never had the chance to actually join before," she continued.
Senka, however, narrowed her eyes slightly at the statement. Friends? With her? Sorcha, she could understand. Why did she want to be her friend? “Have you applied before?" she decided to ask, treading on careful waters. Amalthea laughed lightly, though it sounded a bit nervous as well.
“I have, but this is the first year that my sister actually allowed me to participate."
“Sister?" Sorcha asked, tilting her head a bit to the side. She seemed to bear none of Senka's slight suspicion of the girl, nor any particular reserve at the sentiment. But then, that was the kind of person she had always been: constantly willing to extend her hand in trust and friendship, even to people who were cold and reluctant. To someone who reached back, it was probably the easiest thing in the world for her to do.
Amalthea nodded her head violently. Enthusiastically, perhaps? Senka didn't know the proper word, however; Amalthea continued to speak. “She's Archbishop Rhea's advisor: Lyanna von Kreuz. I'm Amalthea von Kreuz!" she clarified, causing Senka's eyes to widen faintly. Taking a closer inspection of her features, she did bear some similarities to the Archbishop's advisor. She supposed it was true.
“Oh, can I join the two of you, then? I mean, if you're heading towards class?" she asked. Senka glanced in Sorcha's direction for a moment. She already knew what the answer was going to be, and decided to nod her head in agreement. They were headed that way, and she supposed it would be okay if Amalthea wanted to follow them. Sorcha would have agreed to it, regardless.
“If that is what you wish, I will not stop you," she stated, watching as the young woman fell in line with Sorcha and herself.
“Sure you can!" Sorcha agreed with considerably more verve, though definitely not as much excitement as Amalthea seemed to have. “And welcome to the Blue Lions. I'd ask why you chose us, but... we're going to be great, so it's really not that surprising." That was definitely a joke—though many nobles thought rather too highly of their status and such, Sorcha had never been like that.
The classroom they led Amalthea to was the middle of three, its entranceway decorated with blue banners in the same shade as Sorcha's mantle. There were several rows of desks, all arranged to face one at the head of the room, where a young man stood, apparently paging through some kind of book. He couldn't have been much older than Senka; though he had the fairer complexion shared by many in Fódlan, he also clearly saw sun, and regularly. He wore a neat tunic in dark teal, some unfamiliar insignia embroidered at the wide collar of it, and a dark, close-fitted turtleneck shirt beneath. Neither did much to conceal the obvious musculature of his build, and he was quite tall, apparently.
It would seem no other students had yet entered—perhaps they found him intimidating?
Whatever it was, it did not deter Senka. How could one expect to improve if they found simply looking at a young man, intimidating? Senka could understand the why aspects of the intimidation. It was evident enough that the young man knew a life of battle or some equivalent life style. He didn't seem to have the bearings of a noble, but there was something to him that could certainly pass for it if he chose. Amalthea, however, seemed excited that this person was here as well.
“Hello!" she greeted, making her way towards the young man. “It seems we're early. Are you part of the Blue Lion house as well?" she asked, clearly intrigued by this person. Senka supposed that Amalthea didn't have the same reservations as the other people who were not yet present. She seemed almost immune to intimidation, or she wasn't quite aware of what it could do to someone. Senka was not going to be the teacher on that subject, though. Everyone learned in their own way.
The question drew a quiet snort from Sorcha for some reason, but it was the man himself who answered, speaking in a voice with a smooth, low timbre. “In a manner of speaking," he replied, his visage rather blank in much the same manner as Senka's often was. That alone gave no clue as to why, however.
“Hello again, Cyril," Sorcha said, taking a seat at one of the desks in the front row and patting the seat next to her in invitation to Senka. “Or I guess I should call you Professor now?"
Senka took the seat as she heard a light gasp from Amalthea. “Oh, how very rude of me! I should have addressed you properly." she stated, causing Senka to shake her head lightly. She did not say anything, though, and glanced towards the Professor. It did not make sense as to why Sorcha thought she would like him. Perhaps because there was some similar manner of their expressions? She did not think that was the case.
“It's quite fine," he said mildly, shaking his head as though it were indeed of no consequence to him.
“That would make you Professor Eisner, correct?" she spoke, her voice soft and flat.
His eyes shifted to Senka's, locking with an almost uncanny sort of accuracy, with all the intentness of a cat tracking motion. That, and the vivid golden color of them, stopped his face from looking dead, despite the passivity of the rest of his expression. “In theory," he replied. It might have actually been a rather deadpan joke. “Until a few days ago, however, I was simply Cyril, so if you prefer that, I do not mind. The choice is yours."
The choice was hers, he'd said. She made a soft noise in the back of her throat as way of acknowledging it. She wasn't entirely sure how she felt about that. Whether or not in theory if he was a professor, then he should be addressed as such, however; she knew Sorcha preferred to be spoken to on friendly terms. If the professor was giving her a choice, she would honor that.
“Oo, professor Cyril sounds really cool," Amalthea spoke again. She was... energetic to the point that Senka felt slightly overwhelmed by it. She had never known someone with the energy and innocence of a child who wasn't a child. She made her way towards Sorcha and Senka, though, and took a seat on the other side of Senka that was empty. Senka titled her head slightly in confusion, but the expression didn't make it to her face.
She did, however, place her arm behind Amalthea when she took a seat. Her excitement caused her to sit down rather roughly, and she almost fell backwards. “You should be careful," she spoke softly, earning a nervous chuckle from Amalthea.
“I'm sorry. I'll be more careful from now on. It's just—"
“You're excited, yes I am aware," she answered before Amalthea could finish. For some reason, the statement brought a large smile to Amalthea's face before she turned towards Cyril.
“What were you doing before this, Professor?" she asked, the same curiosity littering her eyes as it did earlier.
“I'm a—" he paused, considered, and amended. “I was a mercenary."
It's an occupation to which there are varying attitudes. Some see the exchange of loyalty for coin to be base and distasteful. Others think it's a job like any other. It's likely Cyril can't be sure which they are, but if it bothers him, he gives no sign of the fact.
“He saved my life," Sorcha said, calmly enough that it almost qualified as nonchalant, except something like that would never be nonchalant with her. There's a note of genuine admiration, almost something like awe, buried well beneath it. “Last Friday, during the House Leaders' training exercise."
Cyril didn't deny it, though he didn't rush to confirm or claim credit either.
Senka pursed her lips at Sorcha. Was that why she'd been acting weird when she returned? “Why did you not tell me this?" she stated, but her voice wasn't reprimanding. She sighed, though, and turned her attention back to Cyril. “I express my thanks to you for doing so," she stated, nodding her head in Cyril's direction as a way of a bow. She wasn't standing at the moment, and it would be strange if she stood in order to do so.
He simply returned the nod.
“So that means you were able to travel all over the world! When there's time, because it would be impossible to do now," Amalthea didn't seem to have any reservations on how she addressed the Professor, and was speaking almost amicably now. “I would love to hear the stories you have. You must have plenty of them, right?"
Senka would admit that it would be slightly beneficial to hear these stories. After all, what was a mercenary but a trained soldier? And soldiers who were not bound to the teachings of the Church or Lord were able to find ways to fight that worked for them. “I, too, wish to hear these stories. If you are amenable to the idea," she added. Class would be starting soon, but perhaps after would be a good time. Or, if they were fortunate enough, he would include some of his stories in the lecture.
This seemed to puzzle Cyril a little bit, if the way he tilted his head was any indication, but then he shrugged and nodded again. “I understand there is a break for lunch between morning and afternoon classes," he said after a moment. “Perhaps you would prefer to hear them over something to eat."
It was then that the bell rang, signaling that students needed to finish making their way to the classroom lest they be counted tardy. There were about ten Blue Lions students in total, including Amalthea. Senka had gleaned the impression that the other classes were about the same—the Academy didn't admit everyone who applied, by any stretch of the imagination. The assembling group were clearly somewhat astir to note that the professor was... well definitely not the one they'd been told they'd have in their admittance materials, to say the least. That fellow had been some kind of Church person—a minor bishop of some kind or something like that.
Whatever else he may have been, Cyril did not look like a bishop.
When they'd settled, he cleared his throat, and the effect is oddly instantaneous. Something in his body language changed, and suddenly he was the center of the room's attention, not in the sort of hurried-glance way that meant people were talking about him and trying to be surreptitious, but in the sense that—it was almost as though his very presence had changed, exuding a kind of authority that Sorcha would probably envy.
When he spoke, though, it was simple. His voice carried without needing to shout, the low, quiet tone of it almost forcing the silence so that he could be more clearly heard. “Welcome to class," he said. “My name is Cyril Eisner, and I've been hired to replace Professor Morrow, who abandoned his students when their training exercise was attacked." The words were blunt, direct, and honest, and he let them sink in for several moments before continuing.
“Unfortunately that's something that happens when some people see real battle. They get scared, and they can't think of anything but protecting themselves, saving their own lives. They abandon their comrades, even if they believe they are the sort who could never do such a thing. It is a human weakness, and it is understandable." He paused, then shook his head faintly.
“I will not. I know this because I have not. Whatever else you may think of me, you may rest assured in that much at least." His tone didn't sound very assuring, but at the same time it was abundantly clear that he was being truthful. “And my job, as I see it, is to turn you into people who will not, either. And to give you the skills to succeed when you choose to fight. I have no noble title to offer you. No knowledge of prayers or blessings or rituals. But I have experience, and for as long as you are my students, it is at your disposal. Are there questions before we begin?"
Senka respected that statement. It wasn't a matter of whether or not she left anyone behind, but moreso that she was left behind. If it came down to it, Senka would gladly allow herself to be left behind if it meant that Sorcha would be safe. She glanced towards her friend, before her gaze shifted back to Cyril. A student had raised their hand when Cyril invited the questioning.
“What do you mean, exactly?" he asked, his entire face pulled into confusion. “If the situation is lost, then wouldn't it make sense to flee?" he continued. Senka felt the slightest twitch pull at her lips.
“I believe what the professor means is that he is to instruct us so that we may be courageous enough to stay and fight. Not flee no matter how dire the situation may seem," she replied in earnest. The student huffed lightly, whispering beneath his breath about not asking her. She knew he had not addressed her, but that didn't mean she couldn't explain what she thought he meant.
“That makes sense. I wouldn't want to leave my friends behind, ever," Amalthea spoke, a strange determination behind her eyes. “And if Professor Cyril can teach me to be stronger, I'll gladly take as many notes as possible," she continued, the strange smile never leaving her face. Senka supposed she could respect that.
“It will be more than just note taking. You cannot write something down and expect it to work when you are in actual combat. You must also apply it so that you can learn and master it," she stated to Amalthea. It was something she'd read in a book, long ago.
“Oh... I suppose that makes sense, too!" Amalthea exclaimed as she seemed to write what Senka stated, down.
“It's not a matter of never retreating," Cyril clarified. “There may be times when tactical withdrawal is the smartest option. However... a tactical withdrawal is a very different thing from fleeing. It is organized, deliberate, and well-executed, driven by analysis and not fear or other emotions. Being able to distinguish the times to withdraw from the times to stand is vital, and if you learn to master your fear, you'll be able to do it."
Cyril paused, then shrugged. “I suppose since there's some interest in the question, we'll start with a tactics lesson. I'll draw you all a scenario, we'll discuss it, and then I'll tell you what I'd do and why. My answers may not be the only viable ones. They may not even be right. Tactics is a matter of a lot of factors, and how I weigh them may well be different from how you do. It is rarely a matter of one right answer and the rest wrong."
He turned, diagramming a scenario out on the board with smooth strokes. The rendering was precise, and it wasn't hard even for the inexperienced class to tell that it represented a group of soldiers about to fall into a pincer maneuver. They were in the middle of a field, a river to one side and forest to the other, with flanks of enemy troops closing in.
“You're the group in the middle. What do you do? Open discussion; no need to raise hands, but let each other talk."
“That's easy," one student stated, seemingly confident in what they were about to say. “You cross the river to the other side to make sure that they can't execute the pincer." Senka pursed her lips together. That didn't make sense to her.
“That wouldn't work, though," Amalthea interjected, causing Senka's attention to be drawn to her. “If you have heavy armored units, they would drown depending on the depth of the river, and if there are soldiers who couldn't swim, they'd also drown. You would, effectively, kill yourselves and fail," she stated. Senka could see the reasoning behind that logic, but there seemed to be something missing.
“But staying in the middle means you get attacked either way," another student chimed in. “Wouldn't it make sense to push forward and block the enemy with a counter attack?"
“There would be no time for a proper counter-attack," she finally spoke, pointing to one of the flanks. “Here, you are exposed. And here, you would not see the enemy from the forest lines. The enemies to the back, however, are not as well-covered and are at a disadvantage, sight wise. We could possibly line up those who have bows to take out the ones across the rivers while a magic user there," she stated, pointing to the front of the circle facing the forest, “would allow them to set a small fire to at least partially disrupt the pincer attack. The heavy armored units could build a shield wall to push the ones who make it past and be our defense."
“In other words, we would be able to attack from the inside of the encirclement to escape if we dug in, first?"
“But what if we didn't have any archers or magic users?"
“Even if you did it'd probably be suicide for them," Sorcha added. “Posting them on the high ground is good, but there's no cover. It's harder to fire up a hill but not impossible, and if the enemy used their shields to make a charge up, you've got your most lightly-armored units in front. Plus it's hard to start a fire that'll last, and the magic users don't get to control the burn." She sounded as if she were speaking from personal experience. “It's inherently risky to use up their magic like that. Maybe if there was no other way, but..." She frowned, humming thoughtfully.
“Well..." another boy piped up, this one maybe Sorcha's age and rather short. “What exactly do we have in terms of troops, Professor?"
“The first and perhaps most important question," Cyril replied with a small nod. He tilted his head in clear invitation.
The student recognized it a moment later and flushed pink. “Oh! Devon," he said hurriedly. “Devon Margrave."
“Good. To answer your question, Devon, you have a total of thirty soldiers. Half of them are a detachment of pegasus knights. The other half are mixed cavalry and infantry—you've got two warlocks and a bishop for the whole troop." He shaded in the appropriate units with colored chalk.
“And... what does the enemy have?" Sorcha asked.
“On the other side of the river are wing of wyvern riders, which is how this is a pincer at all," he said, nodding briefly in Senka's direction. “They need not worry about drowning. On the other side you've got mainly ground troops, soliders and fighters mixed with some mages and archers."
“Well, I don't like the idea of sending the pegasus knights that close to a substantial number of arrows," Sorcha noted. “Nothing hurts a sky cavalry like being shot down. Are their numbers better than the wyvern riders'?"
“Slightly. The enemy has more ground troops than you do, however."
Senka hummed thoughtfully as she digested the information. Amalthea seemed to be writing things down, perhaps so that she didn't forget something. Sorcha had a point about the pegasus riders, though. They were susceptible to arrows quite easier than their wyvern counterparts, perhaps partly because wyvern's were slightly thicker to penetrate.
“We only have two warlocks, so shouldn't we pit them against the fighters?" another student asked. “Fighters usually don't have high resistance to magic."
“That doesn't make the warlocks invincible, though. Two people against ten isn't exactly fair odds, and magic isn't something you can just summon. You need to build up the mana for it and that usually takes a couple of seconds. It's enough time for enemies to attack the two warlocks. They could probably take down four or five fighters before they're killed. We don't want to get them killed." Amalthea frowned at the thought of people being killed, it seemed.
“If we send some of the cavalry after their mages and archers to pick them off, we could use a mix of the infantry to support a warlock to attack fighters. Keep one to help defend the warlock through their lag in magical abilities, but also make sure the mage has a means of defense as well. Mages do not have an endless supply of magic at their disposal, after all."
“You would still have Wyvern's to contend with. If some of the cavalry unit uses lances, they would be most effective against a rider. The ground soldiers would be best to hold out against other soldiers, but fighters sport a higher strength. Their flaw is that they sacrifice their speed for their strength. Take advantage of that with the Pegasus Knights and have them move with swift attacks," another student stated, leaning forward on her hands.
“But don't forget that a lot of non-regimented fighter types can use bows, too," Sorcha remarked. “They may not be specialized archers, but we never asked what they were armed with." She looks to Cyril, but he shakes his head.
“From where you are, you cannot say."
Sorcha frowned. “Then I'd rather be safe than sorry, I think. I'd send the pegasus knights to fight the wyverns, fast and as quickly as possible, and then have my more armored cavalry units just try to hold off the ground troops long enough for them to circle back and reinforce."
Cyril nods. “And the rest of you? Plans?"
“I think I'd go into lockdown," Devon said. “Put everyone's backs to each other, and try to weather the assault. I don't know how the pegasus knights would do, but the rest of my team sounds more defensive than the enemies anyway."
“Wyvern's have a higher defense than a Pegasus Knight, though. Chances are, you'd loose a majority of them before you've whittled the wyvern riders down," the young woman stated before nodding in Devon's direction. “But I agree with Devon on the lockdown. You'd be able to see on all sides where the attacks are coming, and bishops know a few offensive spells. The one we have could hurl a few magic spells from within the wall and be protected at the same time."
“Oh, I forgot about the bishop!" Amalthea interjected, turning towards the young girl and smiling as if she'd figured something out. “And what would you do..." she trailed off, as if the young girl would fill in the rest. From the looks of it, she wasn't much older than Sorcha, maybe a year younger than Senka, herself.
“Sylvi. Galatea," she stated as if reading Amalthea's intentions. “And I would be on the offensive trying to break through the lines. I'm learning to be a War Master," she stated, winking in Amalthea's direction. Senka blinked slowly. So that meant she was a physical fighter who wanted to do mostly hand-to-hand and some training with the axe.
Cyril nodded, eliciting answers from the remaining four members of the class as well. More than a few of them seem really hesitant, but none of the answers seem especially bad, especially due to all the discussion that went on before. It was hard to tell if he found any of the answers better or worse than any of the others, honestly; his face was mostly unreadable.
In the end, he set down the chalk and crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back against the edge of the desk. “As it happens, this is a battle I was actually in," he said. “The pegasus knight detachment was from a local kingdom lord's domain, and the rest of the troops were my father's mercenary company."
He tilted his head to the side, a soft breath escaping him in what was almost a huff. “What we ended up doing was setting the warlocks up on the backs of two of the pegasi. Their riders focused on steering them, and the magic along with the rest of the riders was plenty to deal with the wyverns, who weren't expecting it and have serious trouble with electricity in particular. Meanwhile, the bishop and the ground soldiers moved back into the forest, to draw the enemy in."
“Wouldn't that be a disadvantage for cavalry, though?" Devon asked.
Cyril lifted one of his hands, tilting it back and forth in a so-so motion. “Typically yes. But the cavalry all dismounted. The horses were a good distraction, too—drew a lot of attention moving around, and enabled the dismounted riders to join the infantry and fall on the opponents. The most important part was preventing the pincer from actually becoming one, which we were able to do because of the ground/air difference. If we'd been all ground, I'd have drawn us all back, and made the wyverns try to contend with flying around trees, but it would have been just as hard for the pagasi, so they needed something different."
“Oh, that's smart. Thinking outside of the box and using that as a surprise," Amalthea stated, writing down more information. Senka followed suit, and wrote down what Cyril had done during that battle. She wanted to learn as much as she possibly could, the different tactics that could be employed. But as she'd said earlier, writing wasn't the same as applying it. She was certain they would have practice battles, eventually.
“To think that there could be so many strategies for one simple battle. One wrong move is the difference between life and death. I guess you have to be a really good strategist in order to come up with something like that, and have the complete and utter faith of the ones you command in order for them to see it through," she spoke as if she were in awe and some kind of reverence.
Senka doubted that was the case. Perhaps they did respect him and trust him, but they also had to put their trust in the plan to work. If one person doubted it for a second, chances were that they would not have succeeded.
“Trust is helpful," Cyril admitted, “but if it were enough then a pack of puppies could have won. Skill makes a difference, too. And since for the most part you'll all be leading different groups someday, it's the skill I'm going to try and teach you. When you're done writing, we'll take a break for lunch. Try not to eat too heavily—this afternoon we're going to run a version of this same scenario on our feet."
Amalthea giggled lightly, but continued writing down information. Senka, however, was looking forward to the scenario.
Sorcha had given it to her last year for her seventeenth year of life, and she'd worn it without fail, every day since. It was a memento she cherished, dearly. Sighing once more, Senka made her way towards the staircase for the upper levels of the dormitory. They were reserved for the nobles's children and those of royalty, a position Senka no longer occupied. It seemed like a life time ago, despite it only being three years. She had to enroll under her mother's birth name of Argyris. Even if they were a noble house in Faerghus, it wasn't quite as reputable as any of the other Crest houses. She was just a commoner from Almyra to the people here, and she was fine with that lie.
With her hands at her sides, she waited patiently at the bottom of the stairs for Sorcha. Even if the princess had expressed multiple times that she was allowed to greet her upstairs, Senka refrained from doing so. Even if she was under a different guise, people still spoke; still whispered behind her back of how she earned her position in the princess's good graces. And she pushed those voices from her ears and thoughts.
It wasn't that Sorcha was hard to rouse from sleep. Quite the opposite actually; she was often earlier to rise than the sun itself. But she did have a way of getting caught up in her training, and she'd never been the most concerned with her own appearance, either. So it was hardly surprising that when she came down the stairs from the second floor, it was at a sprightly run that suggested she'd already been up for a while, and also a touch disheveled. She tended to pin her long, cornsilk-blonde hair up behind her so it was well out of the way, but she was still in the process of doing that as she hit the landing, and grimaced when she poked herself a bit too hard with one of the pins, sighing heavily.
“Senka, good morning!" she said, smiling perhaps a tad too brightly. She'd been a little off all weekend, but hadn't seemed to want to speak of why. Still, she seemed much like her normal self this morning. “I uh... don't suppose you could maybe, um... help?" She gestured vaguely with the pin.
She nodded, a faint smile briefly touching her lips before it faded. Sorcha knew by now that she could tell Senka anything, however; Senka knew when to push for something that was bothering Sorcha greater than normal. Since it was the first day of class, she was going to refrain from doing so... for now. She retrieved the pin from Sorcha, and walked so that she was behind her. Running her fingers through Sorcha's hair to pull out any of the tangles, she pulled it up and placed the pin to secure the tresses. Once she was finished, she moved so that she was back in Sorcha's view.
“Is it sufficient?" she asked. She would fix it again if it were not up to Sorcha's expectations, but in the back of her mind, she already knew the answer.
Sorcha breathed an immediate sight of relief, reaching up with both hands to feel along the contours of her hair. It was rather lovely, as hair went; the color was clear and the strands thick and soft, but able to lay smoothly, with only a few pieces loose at the front. “You're a lifesaver, Sen. Thanks so much!" She shook her head. “I swear I learned about all this feminine stuff, but I can't ever remember a lick of it."
Smoothing down her uniform skirt—she'd chosen the knee-length one, and wore fitted shorts underneath in case of activity—she patted herself down to be sure she was in order. Seemingly satisfied, she tossed her blue cloak back over her shoulder to rest mostly out of the way. “Anyhow, let's get going. First day of class and all—are you excited?"
She blinked for a moment, chewing on the bottom of her lip as she thought about the question. Excited was an irrelevant term to Senka. She wasn't sure what to find exciting, but for the sake of her friend, she was trying to be. “I am... anticipating how the first day will go," she spoke truthfully. “Excited is not the word I would use," she continued, not wanting to be dishonest.
“What about you? Are you prepared for the year?" she asked, turning so that she could walk with Sorcha towards the main hall. It wasn't too far from the dormitory. It would take them through the courtyard which meant that they would be passing the other students. Taking in a deep breath to steel herself, she began walking with Sorcha. “And are you prepared to meet our professor?" she added. She'd been told by Sorcha that their new professor was hand chosen by the Archbishop, and for a moment, she wondered what kind of person they could be.
Sorcha smiled broadly, nodding a little. “Actually... I've already met him," she confessed. “I didn't know he was going to be our professor at the time, though—neither did he, I'm sure. He's really..." She trailed of, apparently trying to find the right word. “Different. And interesting, I think. He was a mercenary, before."
They turned north before they reached the main hall, skimming the dining hall to head into the small courtyard in front of the classrooms. The three were quite close together; students milled around outside, enjoying the last little while before classes started. Some were still eating breakfast as they went, it seemed.
“I think you'll like him," Sorcha continued, lifting a hand to wave to another student who'd waved at her. Most of them only wore small pins to indicate which house they belonged to, but Sorcha's bright blue cloak would have stood out even if the Princess herself was not so distinctive as she was. Though there was some mixing of the houses out here, they did still tend to cluster; it seemed a rather large collection of Black Eagles were gathered around a man who had to be the so-called Silver Prince. Clearly, the name had been given to him for the distinctive white color of his hair.
The Golden Deer were gathered around a young man who shared the same skin tone as Senka. He was talking animatedly to one of the students, smiling as if he had no care in the world. She had to quash the envious feeling in her chest, quickly, and turned to Sorcha. She nodded at the statement and made to reply, however; Senka felt something collide with her back, and tipped her forward. She managed to catch herself, twisting so that her left foot was further out than her right in order to keep her balance.
“Ow, ow," a young woman stated, rubbing her forhead. She was dressed in the same uniform as Sorcha, the one with the knee-length skirt, and her hair was a vibrant green. While not quite emerald, it did stand out quite a bit. “Oh, oh, I'm so, so sorry! I didn't mean to bump into you like that! Are you alright?" she stated, taking Senka aback. She blinked slowly before straightening out her composure.
“I am not harmed, if that is what you mean," she replied. The young woman smiled brightly at the statement, looking relieved. Senka found it slightly strange, but she did not comment on the behavior.
“I'm so glad. I'm just so excited! I just joined and was looking for my Houses' main room. Oh," she spoke in quick succession. Senka almost found it difficult to keep up. “Do either of you know where I can find the main room to the Blue Lion house?"
Sorcha snorted softly. “As a matter of fact, we do," she said, picking up the edge of the cape and flapping it a little. “I'm Sorcha, the Blue Lions House Leader. This is my friend Senka. Can I ask your name?" By now the both of them were familiar with the noble houses in Faerghus that had children of their own age. Not only was this girl not someone they'd seen before, but she didn't look much like any of the noble families Senka had met either. Apparently the same was true of Sorcha.
“Oh! That makes you Princess Sorcha! Oh what a pleasure to meet you! I'm Amalthea! I've heard so much about you," she greeted. The energy that poured from her was a little overwhelming to Senka, but she kept her face smoothed. Amalthea turned towards Senka, though, and the smile seemed to brighten. “It's a pleasure to meet you as well, Senka. I hope we can all be friends. It's just... I've never had the chance to actually join before," she continued.
Senka, however, narrowed her eyes slightly at the statement. Friends? With her? Sorcha, she could understand. Why did she want to be her friend? “Have you applied before?" she decided to ask, treading on careful waters. Amalthea laughed lightly, though it sounded a bit nervous as well.
“I have, but this is the first year that my sister actually allowed me to participate."
“Sister?" Sorcha asked, tilting her head a bit to the side. She seemed to bear none of Senka's slight suspicion of the girl, nor any particular reserve at the sentiment. But then, that was the kind of person she had always been: constantly willing to extend her hand in trust and friendship, even to people who were cold and reluctant. To someone who reached back, it was probably the easiest thing in the world for her to do.
Amalthea nodded her head violently. Enthusiastically, perhaps? Senka didn't know the proper word, however; Amalthea continued to speak. “She's Archbishop Rhea's advisor: Lyanna von Kreuz. I'm Amalthea von Kreuz!" she clarified, causing Senka's eyes to widen faintly. Taking a closer inspection of her features, she did bear some similarities to the Archbishop's advisor. She supposed it was true.
“Oh, can I join the two of you, then? I mean, if you're heading towards class?" she asked. Senka glanced in Sorcha's direction for a moment. She already knew what the answer was going to be, and decided to nod her head in agreement. They were headed that way, and she supposed it would be okay if Amalthea wanted to follow them. Sorcha would have agreed to it, regardless.
“If that is what you wish, I will not stop you," she stated, watching as the young woman fell in line with Sorcha and herself.
“Sure you can!" Sorcha agreed with considerably more verve, though definitely not as much excitement as Amalthea seemed to have. “And welcome to the Blue Lions. I'd ask why you chose us, but... we're going to be great, so it's really not that surprising." That was definitely a joke—though many nobles thought rather too highly of their status and such, Sorcha had never been like that.
The classroom they led Amalthea to was the middle of three, its entranceway decorated with blue banners in the same shade as Sorcha's mantle. There were several rows of desks, all arranged to face one at the head of the room, where a young man stood, apparently paging through some kind of book. He couldn't have been much older than Senka; though he had the fairer complexion shared by many in Fódlan, he also clearly saw sun, and regularly. He wore a neat tunic in dark teal, some unfamiliar insignia embroidered at the wide collar of it, and a dark, close-fitted turtleneck shirt beneath. Neither did much to conceal the obvious musculature of his build, and he was quite tall, apparently.
It would seem no other students had yet entered—perhaps they found him intimidating?
Whatever it was, it did not deter Senka. How could one expect to improve if they found simply looking at a young man, intimidating? Senka could understand the why aspects of the intimidation. It was evident enough that the young man knew a life of battle or some equivalent life style. He didn't seem to have the bearings of a noble, but there was something to him that could certainly pass for it if he chose. Amalthea, however, seemed excited that this person was here as well.
“Hello!" she greeted, making her way towards the young man. “It seems we're early. Are you part of the Blue Lion house as well?" she asked, clearly intrigued by this person. Senka supposed that Amalthea didn't have the same reservations as the other people who were not yet present. She seemed almost immune to intimidation, or she wasn't quite aware of what it could do to someone. Senka was not going to be the teacher on that subject, though. Everyone learned in their own way.
The question drew a quiet snort from Sorcha for some reason, but it was the man himself who answered, speaking in a voice with a smooth, low timbre. “In a manner of speaking," he replied, his visage rather blank in much the same manner as Senka's often was. That alone gave no clue as to why, however.
“Hello again, Cyril," Sorcha said, taking a seat at one of the desks in the front row and patting the seat next to her in invitation to Senka. “Or I guess I should call you Professor now?"
Senka took the seat as she heard a light gasp from Amalthea. “Oh, how very rude of me! I should have addressed you properly." she stated, causing Senka to shake her head lightly. She did not say anything, though, and glanced towards the Professor. It did not make sense as to why Sorcha thought she would like him. Perhaps because there was some similar manner of their expressions? She did not think that was the case.
“It's quite fine," he said mildly, shaking his head as though it were indeed of no consequence to him.
“That would make you Professor Eisner, correct?" she spoke, her voice soft and flat.
His eyes shifted to Senka's, locking with an almost uncanny sort of accuracy, with all the intentness of a cat tracking motion. That, and the vivid golden color of them, stopped his face from looking dead, despite the passivity of the rest of his expression. “In theory," he replied. It might have actually been a rather deadpan joke. “Until a few days ago, however, I was simply Cyril, so if you prefer that, I do not mind. The choice is yours."
The choice was hers, he'd said. She made a soft noise in the back of her throat as way of acknowledging it. She wasn't entirely sure how she felt about that. Whether or not in theory if he was a professor, then he should be addressed as such, however; she knew Sorcha preferred to be spoken to on friendly terms. If the professor was giving her a choice, she would honor that.
“Oo, professor Cyril sounds really cool," Amalthea spoke again. She was... energetic to the point that Senka felt slightly overwhelmed by it. She had never known someone with the energy and innocence of a child who wasn't a child. She made her way towards Sorcha and Senka, though, and took a seat on the other side of Senka that was empty. Senka titled her head slightly in confusion, but the expression didn't make it to her face.
She did, however, place her arm behind Amalthea when she took a seat. Her excitement caused her to sit down rather roughly, and she almost fell backwards. “You should be careful," she spoke softly, earning a nervous chuckle from Amalthea.
“I'm sorry. I'll be more careful from now on. It's just—"
“You're excited, yes I am aware," she answered before Amalthea could finish. For some reason, the statement brought a large smile to Amalthea's face before she turned towards Cyril.
“What were you doing before this, Professor?" she asked, the same curiosity littering her eyes as it did earlier.
“I'm a—" he paused, considered, and amended. “I was a mercenary."
It's an occupation to which there are varying attitudes. Some see the exchange of loyalty for coin to be base and distasteful. Others think it's a job like any other. It's likely Cyril can't be sure which they are, but if it bothers him, he gives no sign of the fact.
“He saved my life," Sorcha said, calmly enough that it almost qualified as nonchalant, except something like that would never be nonchalant with her. There's a note of genuine admiration, almost something like awe, buried well beneath it. “Last Friday, during the House Leaders' training exercise."
Cyril didn't deny it, though he didn't rush to confirm or claim credit either.
Senka pursed her lips at Sorcha. Was that why she'd been acting weird when she returned? “Why did you not tell me this?" she stated, but her voice wasn't reprimanding. She sighed, though, and turned her attention back to Cyril. “I express my thanks to you for doing so," she stated, nodding her head in Cyril's direction as a way of a bow. She wasn't standing at the moment, and it would be strange if she stood in order to do so.
He simply returned the nod.
“So that means you were able to travel all over the world! When there's time, because it would be impossible to do now," Amalthea didn't seem to have any reservations on how she addressed the Professor, and was speaking almost amicably now. “I would love to hear the stories you have. You must have plenty of them, right?"
Senka would admit that it would be slightly beneficial to hear these stories. After all, what was a mercenary but a trained soldier? And soldiers who were not bound to the teachings of the Church or Lord were able to find ways to fight that worked for them. “I, too, wish to hear these stories. If you are amenable to the idea," she added. Class would be starting soon, but perhaps after would be a good time. Or, if they were fortunate enough, he would include some of his stories in the lecture.
This seemed to puzzle Cyril a little bit, if the way he tilted his head was any indication, but then he shrugged and nodded again. “I understand there is a break for lunch between morning and afternoon classes," he said after a moment. “Perhaps you would prefer to hear them over something to eat."
It was then that the bell rang, signaling that students needed to finish making their way to the classroom lest they be counted tardy. There were about ten Blue Lions students in total, including Amalthea. Senka had gleaned the impression that the other classes were about the same—the Academy didn't admit everyone who applied, by any stretch of the imagination. The assembling group were clearly somewhat astir to note that the professor was... well definitely not the one they'd been told they'd have in their admittance materials, to say the least. That fellow had been some kind of Church person—a minor bishop of some kind or something like that.
Whatever else he may have been, Cyril did not look like a bishop.
When they'd settled, he cleared his throat, and the effect is oddly instantaneous. Something in his body language changed, and suddenly he was the center of the room's attention, not in the sort of hurried-glance way that meant people were talking about him and trying to be surreptitious, but in the sense that—it was almost as though his very presence had changed, exuding a kind of authority that Sorcha would probably envy.
When he spoke, though, it was simple. His voice carried without needing to shout, the low, quiet tone of it almost forcing the silence so that he could be more clearly heard. “Welcome to class," he said. “My name is Cyril Eisner, and I've been hired to replace Professor Morrow, who abandoned his students when their training exercise was attacked." The words were blunt, direct, and honest, and he let them sink in for several moments before continuing.
“Unfortunately that's something that happens when some people see real battle. They get scared, and they can't think of anything but protecting themselves, saving their own lives. They abandon their comrades, even if they believe they are the sort who could never do such a thing. It is a human weakness, and it is understandable." He paused, then shook his head faintly.
“I will not. I know this because I have not. Whatever else you may think of me, you may rest assured in that much at least." His tone didn't sound very assuring, but at the same time it was abundantly clear that he was being truthful. “And my job, as I see it, is to turn you into people who will not, either. And to give you the skills to succeed when you choose to fight. I have no noble title to offer you. No knowledge of prayers or blessings or rituals. But I have experience, and for as long as you are my students, it is at your disposal. Are there questions before we begin?"
Senka respected that statement. It wasn't a matter of whether or not she left anyone behind, but moreso that she was left behind. If it came down to it, Senka would gladly allow herself to be left behind if it meant that Sorcha would be safe. She glanced towards her friend, before her gaze shifted back to Cyril. A student had raised their hand when Cyril invited the questioning.
“What do you mean, exactly?" he asked, his entire face pulled into confusion. “If the situation is lost, then wouldn't it make sense to flee?" he continued. Senka felt the slightest twitch pull at her lips.
“I believe what the professor means is that he is to instruct us so that we may be courageous enough to stay and fight. Not flee no matter how dire the situation may seem," she replied in earnest. The student huffed lightly, whispering beneath his breath about not asking her. She knew he had not addressed her, but that didn't mean she couldn't explain what she thought he meant.
“That makes sense. I wouldn't want to leave my friends behind, ever," Amalthea spoke, a strange determination behind her eyes. “And if Professor Cyril can teach me to be stronger, I'll gladly take as many notes as possible," she continued, the strange smile never leaving her face. Senka supposed she could respect that.
“It will be more than just note taking. You cannot write something down and expect it to work when you are in actual combat. You must also apply it so that you can learn and master it," she stated to Amalthea. It was something she'd read in a book, long ago.
“Oh... I suppose that makes sense, too!" Amalthea exclaimed as she seemed to write what Senka stated, down.
“It's not a matter of never retreating," Cyril clarified. “There may be times when tactical withdrawal is the smartest option. However... a tactical withdrawal is a very different thing from fleeing. It is organized, deliberate, and well-executed, driven by analysis and not fear or other emotions. Being able to distinguish the times to withdraw from the times to stand is vital, and if you learn to master your fear, you'll be able to do it."
Cyril paused, then shrugged. “I suppose since there's some interest in the question, we'll start with a tactics lesson. I'll draw you all a scenario, we'll discuss it, and then I'll tell you what I'd do and why. My answers may not be the only viable ones. They may not even be right. Tactics is a matter of a lot of factors, and how I weigh them may well be different from how you do. It is rarely a matter of one right answer and the rest wrong."
He turned, diagramming a scenario out on the board with smooth strokes. The rendering was precise, and it wasn't hard even for the inexperienced class to tell that it represented a group of soldiers about to fall into a pincer maneuver. They were in the middle of a field, a river to one side and forest to the other, with flanks of enemy troops closing in.
“You're the group in the middle. What do you do? Open discussion; no need to raise hands, but let each other talk."
“That's easy," one student stated, seemingly confident in what they were about to say. “You cross the river to the other side to make sure that they can't execute the pincer." Senka pursed her lips together. That didn't make sense to her.
“That wouldn't work, though," Amalthea interjected, causing Senka's attention to be drawn to her. “If you have heavy armored units, they would drown depending on the depth of the river, and if there are soldiers who couldn't swim, they'd also drown. You would, effectively, kill yourselves and fail," she stated. Senka could see the reasoning behind that logic, but there seemed to be something missing.
“But staying in the middle means you get attacked either way," another student chimed in. “Wouldn't it make sense to push forward and block the enemy with a counter attack?"
“There would be no time for a proper counter-attack," she finally spoke, pointing to one of the flanks. “Here, you are exposed. And here, you would not see the enemy from the forest lines. The enemies to the back, however, are not as well-covered and are at a disadvantage, sight wise. We could possibly line up those who have bows to take out the ones across the rivers while a magic user there," she stated, pointing to the front of the circle facing the forest, “would allow them to set a small fire to at least partially disrupt the pincer attack. The heavy armored units could build a shield wall to push the ones who make it past and be our defense."
“In other words, we would be able to attack from the inside of the encirclement to escape if we dug in, first?"
“But what if we didn't have any archers or magic users?"
“Even if you did it'd probably be suicide for them," Sorcha added. “Posting them on the high ground is good, but there's no cover. It's harder to fire up a hill but not impossible, and if the enemy used their shields to make a charge up, you've got your most lightly-armored units in front. Plus it's hard to start a fire that'll last, and the magic users don't get to control the burn." She sounded as if she were speaking from personal experience. “It's inherently risky to use up their magic like that. Maybe if there was no other way, but..." She frowned, humming thoughtfully.
“Well..." another boy piped up, this one maybe Sorcha's age and rather short. “What exactly do we have in terms of troops, Professor?"
“The first and perhaps most important question," Cyril replied with a small nod. He tilted his head in clear invitation.
The student recognized it a moment later and flushed pink. “Oh! Devon," he said hurriedly. “Devon Margrave."
“Good. To answer your question, Devon, you have a total of thirty soldiers. Half of them are a detachment of pegasus knights. The other half are mixed cavalry and infantry—you've got two warlocks and a bishop for the whole troop." He shaded in the appropriate units with colored chalk.
“And... what does the enemy have?" Sorcha asked.
“On the other side of the river are wing of wyvern riders, which is how this is a pincer at all," he said, nodding briefly in Senka's direction. “They need not worry about drowning. On the other side you've got mainly ground troops, soliders and fighters mixed with some mages and archers."
“Well, I don't like the idea of sending the pegasus knights that close to a substantial number of arrows," Sorcha noted. “Nothing hurts a sky cavalry like being shot down. Are their numbers better than the wyvern riders'?"
“Slightly. The enemy has more ground troops than you do, however."
Senka hummed thoughtfully as she digested the information. Amalthea seemed to be writing things down, perhaps so that she didn't forget something. Sorcha had a point about the pegasus riders, though. They were susceptible to arrows quite easier than their wyvern counterparts, perhaps partly because wyvern's were slightly thicker to penetrate.
“We only have two warlocks, so shouldn't we pit them against the fighters?" another student asked. “Fighters usually don't have high resistance to magic."
“That doesn't make the warlocks invincible, though. Two people against ten isn't exactly fair odds, and magic isn't something you can just summon. You need to build up the mana for it and that usually takes a couple of seconds. It's enough time for enemies to attack the two warlocks. They could probably take down four or five fighters before they're killed. We don't want to get them killed." Amalthea frowned at the thought of people being killed, it seemed.
“If we send some of the cavalry after their mages and archers to pick them off, we could use a mix of the infantry to support a warlock to attack fighters. Keep one to help defend the warlock through their lag in magical abilities, but also make sure the mage has a means of defense as well. Mages do not have an endless supply of magic at their disposal, after all."
“You would still have Wyvern's to contend with. If some of the cavalry unit uses lances, they would be most effective against a rider. The ground soldiers would be best to hold out against other soldiers, but fighters sport a higher strength. Their flaw is that they sacrifice their speed for their strength. Take advantage of that with the Pegasus Knights and have them move with swift attacks," another student stated, leaning forward on her hands.
“But don't forget that a lot of non-regimented fighter types can use bows, too," Sorcha remarked. “They may not be specialized archers, but we never asked what they were armed with." She looks to Cyril, but he shakes his head.
“From where you are, you cannot say."
Sorcha frowned. “Then I'd rather be safe than sorry, I think. I'd send the pegasus knights to fight the wyverns, fast and as quickly as possible, and then have my more armored cavalry units just try to hold off the ground troops long enough for them to circle back and reinforce."
Cyril nods. “And the rest of you? Plans?"
“I think I'd go into lockdown," Devon said. “Put everyone's backs to each other, and try to weather the assault. I don't know how the pegasus knights would do, but the rest of my team sounds more defensive than the enemies anyway."
“Wyvern's have a higher defense than a Pegasus Knight, though. Chances are, you'd loose a majority of them before you've whittled the wyvern riders down," the young woman stated before nodding in Devon's direction. “But I agree with Devon on the lockdown. You'd be able to see on all sides where the attacks are coming, and bishops know a few offensive spells. The one we have could hurl a few magic spells from within the wall and be protected at the same time."
“Oh, I forgot about the bishop!" Amalthea interjected, turning towards the young girl and smiling as if she'd figured something out. “And what would you do..." she trailed off, as if the young girl would fill in the rest. From the looks of it, she wasn't much older than Sorcha, maybe a year younger than Senka, herself.
“Sylvi. Galatea," she stated as if reading Amalthea's intentions. “And I would be on the offensive trying to break through the lines. I'm learning to be a War Master," she stated, winking in Amalthea's direction. Senka blinked slowly. So that meant she was a physical fighter who wanted to do mostly hand-to-hand and some training with the axe.
Cyril nodded, eliciting answers from the remaining four members of the class as well. More than a few of them seem really hesitant, but none of the answers seem especially bad, especially due to all the discussion that went on before. It was hard to tell if he found any of the answers better or worse than any of the others, honestly; his face was mostly unreadable.
In the end, he set down the chalk and crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back against the edge of the desk. “As it happens, this is a battle I was actually in," he said. “The pegasus knight detachment was from a local kingdom lord's domain, and the rest of the troops were my father's mercenary company."
He tilted his head to the side, a soft breath escaping him in what was almost a huff. “What we ended up doing was setting the warlocks up on the backs of two of the pegasi. Their riders focused on steering them, and the magic along with the rest of the riders was plenty to deal with the wyverns, who weren't expecting it and have serious trouble with electricity in particular. Meanwhile, the bishop and the ground soldiers moved back into the forest, to draw the enemy in."
“Wouldn't that be a disadvantage for cavalry, though?" Devon asked.
Cyril lifted one of his hands, tilting it back and forth in a so-so motion. “Typically yes. But the cavalry all dismounted. The horses were a good distraction, too—drew a lot of attention moving around, and enabled the dismounted riders to join the infantry and fall on the opponents. The most important part was preventing the pincer from actually becoming one, which we were able to do because of the ground/air difference. If we'd been all ground, I'd have drawn us all back, and made the wyverns try to contend with flying around trees, but it would have been just as hard for the pagasi, so they needed something different."
“Oh, that's smart. Thinking outside of the box and using that as a surprise," Amalthea stated, writing down more information. Senka followed suit, and wrote down what Cyril had done during that battle. She wanted to learn as much as she possibly could, the different tactics that could be employed. But as she'd said earlier, writing wasn't the same as applying it. She was certain they would have practice battles, eventually.
“To think that there could be so many strategies for one simple battle. One wrong move is the difference between life and death. I guess you have to be a really good strategist in order to come up with something like that, and have the complete and utter faith of the ones you command in order for them to see it through," she spoke as if she were in awe and some kind of reverence.
Senka doubted that was the case. Perhaps they did respect him and trust him, but they also had to put their trust in the plan to work. If one person doubted it for a second, chances were that they would not have succeeded.
“Trust is helpful," Cyril admitted, “but if it were enough then a pack of puppies could have won. Skill makes a difference, too. And since for the most part you'll all be leading different groups someday, it's the skill I'm going to try and teach you. When you're done writing, we'll take a break for lunch. Try not to eat too heavily—this afternoon we're going to run a version of this same scenario on our feet."
Amalthea giggled lightly, but continued writing down information. Senka, however, was looking forward to the scenario.