>>5692668Azonia yawns expansively and pouts a little at being denied this chance to test her skills, but obliges you.
“Besidesss, I need you fresh.”
“Well now I KNOW you’re hitting on me,” she says. "Is this how you got three wives, with that ugly mug of yours?"
“I’m not,” you sigh, and she laughs and sneaks a prodding finger into your ribs, making you flinch. “I MEAN that I want you to guard Queen Ekaterine on our diplomatic missssion.”
“I know, I know. I tease, Theral.”
That she does. You focus upon the battle below, to ignore the mischievous dark elf Duelist. You’re genuinely curious to see who wins out. You’ve tutored both generals these last few days, between your other duties—helping to further awaken their Dragon Spirits with meditation, teaching them combat arts. As you watch the two of them direct their armies, though, something surprising occurs to you:
They’re both better generals than you are.
It is a shock—even an embarrassment—but as you watch the Duergar and Kobold Regents direct their small armies in the mountain-valley below you, you genuinely find it difficult to follow their tactics. They mobilize their forces with experience, dividing and directing squads via their sub=commanders with a mastery you know, almost right away, you cannot match. While you have been studying the ways of swordcraft and speechcraft, seduction and sorcery, leading charges and singlehandedly toppling titans and towers… these two males have been waging REAL war. They’ve learned the ways of squad-tactics and organization, logistics and formations. You might be able to inspire the people of Bloodrise to action, but these two are BOTH your betters when it comes to directing it.
“You know, you’re right,” the Duelist muses as you watch the Bastard execute a skillful feint-and-bait manoeuvre, only for the Throat-singer to summon a swarm of snakes and insects to cut it off and delay the retreat long enough to muster reinforcements.
“About what?” you ask, watching as the Bastard’s bugbear reinforcements sudden appear on the back of the Throat-singer’s troops, harrying them long enough for his main body of troops to break through and make for the rival camp’s ‘flag’—the objective of the exercise.
“I wouldn’t have enjoyed this much, anyway,” the she-elf says. “Too much… Teamwork. Battle’s better when it’s one-on-one… Or one-on-many, even, if the one’s me! I prefer doing my own thing to… THIS.”
She gestures vaguely at the idea of a coordinated and tactical back-and-forth, directed by clever minds. You realize it’s something you have in common with her, for better or worse.
“THISSS iss important,” you say.
“But not FUN.”
You can only shrug.
