69th Day of Spring, 511AV
The Training Yards
"I don't know why you're getting to worried about this."
"It's a big responsibility, Era."
"Well, yes, of course it is, but hardly worthy of a nervous breakdown."
Razkar looked up from his stew to shoot Erama a dirty look, but it bounced off her cool expression like a stone off plate armor. The tall female with the face covered in stylized ink just crossed her arms and cocked an eyebrow.
"Oh, and now you will tell me you're not panicking, I suppose?"
Razkar tried his best to maintain that defiant expression, but eventually looked away. He'd known Erama for going on three years, and as all soldiers know, that translates to far, far longer when you've trained and marched and fought and killed alongside that person. She knew him very well and it was pointless trying to hide his moods from her.
"I just... don't want to screw up. Training the new recruits-"
"Helping to train them," Erama corrected, mopping up the remainder of her sloth stew with half a hard roll, "We're assistant instructors, remember? You act as if the whole weight of the training program is on our shoulders, and it isn't."
"I know that!"
"Then stop worrying!"
Razkar's jaw clenched but nothing else was said. Nothing needed to be. She was, unfortunately, right. But wasn't she wrong, too? They were still technically recruits, after all, not even finished with their mandatory service to the army of Taloba. But they had accomplished much in their time. Endless training sessions and classroom lectures, dozens of patrols and a score of raids, ambushes and skirmishes against many foes. They had shed blood and had it shed from their own flesh. They had proved themselves worthy, or tried to... quite recently, as it turned out.
Apparently impressed with her Erama and Razkar taught a class of raw recruits, Herliz, one of the most uncompromising and sadistic instructors at the Training Yards, had requested the two become her assistants. Honored, flattered, shocked and a little afraid, both had agreed.
That day was their first, and their students would be waiting.
Razkar chomped down the rest of his meal with relish and pushed his bowl across the table, rising. Around him the hubbub of the mess hall lessened not an iota, filled with dozens of males and females who worked tirelessly enough to appreciate their meals. Erama rose with him, still chewing her role, smiling at the sudden purpose in the serious little male's eyes.
She always called him that, and it was only half-mocking.
"Ready?"
Now there was no hesitation. "Yes."
"Then lets get some revenge, shall we?"
Razkar chuckled at that, remembering the hammering they'd taken when they'd first arrived years ago. Their instructors had harangued and harassed them like demons, punishing them for any infraction and beating their lessons into them. But looking back on it, Razkar understood there was no hatred in their actions, no disdain or abuse.
War was cruel, and harsh, and unforgiving. Their training would be the same, or they would not be prepared.
Male and female marched from the hall and to the open, sand-covered yards, where a dozen recruits were waiting for them.
The Training Yards
"I don't know why you're getting to worried about this."
"It's a big responsibility, Era."
"Well, yes, of course it is, but hardly worthy of a nervous breakdown."
Razkar looked up from his stew to shoot Erama a dirty look, but it bounced off her cool expression like a stone off plate armor. The tall female with the face covered in stylized ink just crossed her arms and cocked an eyebrow.
"Oh, and now you will tell me you're not panicking, I suppose?"
Razkar tried his best to maintain that defiant expression, but eventually looked away. He'd known Erama for going on three years, and as all soldiers know, that translates to far, far longer when you've trained and marched and fought and killed alongside that person. She knew him very well and it was pointless trying to hide his moods from her.
"I just... don't want to screw up. Training the new recruits-"
"Helping to train them," Erama corrected, mopping up the remainder of her sloth stew with half a hard roll, "We're assistant instructors, remember? You act as if the whole weight of the training program is on our shoulders, and it isn't."
"I know that!"
"Then stop worrying!"
Razkar's jaw clenched but nothing else was said. Nothing needed to be. She was, unfortunately, right. But wasn't she wrong, too? They were still technically recruits, after all, not even finished with their mandatory service to the army of Taloba. But they had accomplished much in their time. Endless training sessions and classroom lectures, dozens of patrols and a score of raids, ambushes and skirmishes against many foes. They had shed blood and had it shed from their own flesh. They had proved themselves worthy, or tried to... quite recently, as it turned out.
Apparently impressed with her Erama and Razkar taught a class of raw recruits, Herliz, one of the most uncompromising and sadistic instructors at the Training Yards, had requested the two become her assistants. Honored, flattered, shocked and a little afraid, both had agreed.
That day was their first, and their students would be waiting.
Razkar chomped down the rest of his meal with relish and pushed his bowl across the table, rising. Around him the hubbub of the mess hall lessened not an iota, filled with dozens of males and females who worked tirelessly enough to appreciate their meals. Erama rose with him, still chewing her role, smiling at the sudden purpose in the serious little male's eyes.
She always called him that, and it was only half-mocking.
"Ready?"
Now there was no hesitation. "Yes."
"Then lets get some revenge, shall we?"
Razkar chuckled at that, remembering the hammering they'd taken when they'd first arrived years ago. Their instructors had harangued and harassed them like demons, punishing them for any infraction and beating their lessons into them. But looking back on it, Razkar understood there was no hatred in their actions, no disdain or abuse.
War was cruel, and harsh, and unforgiving. Their training would be the same, or they would not be prepared.
Male and female marched from the hall and to the open, sand-covered yards, where a dozen recruits were waiting for them.
