DUNGEONS & DRAGONS: Dawn of Revolution
The Misfit
40 years before the coalition war began...
"Do you know why you were called into my office, student?"
Danoraj Silbrass clasped his hands behind his back. "Yes, headmaster Ridril, I do."
"And yet you don't show an ounce of remorse or shame. Why is that?" headmaster Ridril asked, his high elf features hardening with disapproval. He sat at his carved oak desk, hands folded over some loose papers on the desk's polished surface, his long blond hair spilling over his shoulders.
Danoraj hesitated before answering, especially with one of his teachers, professor Aridwen, standing nearby, her eyes unsympathetic to her student's plight. She had brought her most rebellious student here for a good reason, but would the boy admit it?
"Well, headmaster..." Danoraj began. He swallowed. "I believe it would be poor form to commit to an idea, then reverse my position at the first sign of resistance. I wish to display the iron will and confidence this academy aims to drill into my mind."
Headmaster Ridril scoffed. "Foolish boy. You think you can bend the Nasrond Military Academy's guiding principles in your favor?"
"The very thought!" Aridwen added.
"Headmaster, if I may say so, my apparent wrongdoings are already plain for all to see," Danoraj pressed on. "I believe it would be inappropriate to make excuses or plead for mercy. My actions and decisions cannot be undone."
"True, I have little patience for excuses," headmaster Ridril said, sharing a look with professor Aridwen. "But your defiance still troubles me, young Danoraj Silbrass, coupled with your lack of deference, no matter your gilded words. And you described your actions as apparent wrongdoings?"
"I did."
Headmaster Ridril heaved a sigh. "My staff warned me of your bull-headed ways, Danoraj Silbrass, and I consider it a miracle you have not been brought into my office sooner. Your insistence on breaking with tradition and defying direct instructions from your professors alarms me, and I fear that our esteemed academy's reputation may suffer for it."
Danoraj said nothing, knowing he had already pressed the headmaster a tad too much. But who could blame him? His teachers had such narrow-minded ideas on tactics and warfare! There was not a single original thought in the Nasrond Military Academy outside of Danoraj's own head!
Something had to change around here.
"However," headmaster Ridril said after a moment, "in light of your extraordinary academic aptitude and unrivaled grasp on military tactical theory, not to mention your pure wood elf blood, I shall spare you expulsion today."
"The headmaster is most gracious," Aridwen added sternly. "Do not lose sight of that, student."
Danoraj bowed his head, equally relieved and humiliated. "Of course, professor Aridwen."
"I only spare you expulsion today, student," headmaster Ridril added sharply. He stood up and swept back his blond hair, his light gray and green robes rustling. "To maintain your place in this academy and remain in my good graces, you are to complete a challenge of professor Aridwen's choosing. Failure means immediate expulsion and great shame for your entire family."
"And I assure you, Danoraj, that my exam will test every fiber of your being," professor Aridwen added. "Without a noble bloodline to defend you, you have only your own wits and talents to rely upon. Those might prove sufficient. Show me if it is so."
Danoraj bowed his head again. "Of course, headmaster, professor. I relish this opportunity."
"Do you? Very good," headmaster Ridril said, and he gestured to the door. "Professor, take him to his dorm."
"At once, headmaster." Aridwen clamped her hand on Danoraj's upper arm with steely strength (high elves were really something) and marched her rebellious student to the door. And she didn't let go until Danoraj was half-shoved into his dorm room, alone with his excited but indignant thoughts.
And it didn't get better in class the next day, either.
"I heard the news, Dano-trash," a certain Lefim Silverleaf said after the day's final lecture was finished and most students had left the lecture hall. The sneering high elf young man cornered Danoraj, slamming an open palm on the stone wall next to his face. "Professor Aridwen mentioned how you're on really thin ice. Fail her special test, and poof! You're gone!"
Lefim laughed, and his three cronies laughed with him.
Danoraj snorted. "It's not over yet, Lefim. I'll pass that test. I'll show you. I'll show everyone."
Danoraj wasn't prepared for Lefim to sink his fist into his gut, and Danoraj gasped with sudden pain. He fought the urge to double over and clutch his stomach.
"Shut it, trash. What could a commoner like you ever prove?" Lefim snarled. He seized Danoraj's hair and forced the shorter student to look up at him, Danoraj's scalp burning with pain. "Born into a family of merchants? Laughable! The Illaran Kingdom is built on noble blood. While blood like yours is only fit to be spilled fighting our enemies. Like those Talwydd creeps who keep raiding our southeast border."
"Blood... isn't everything," Danoraj choked out. "The gods give their gifts to the worthy, not to the complacent fools at the top." He didn't know what compelled him to speak so harshly. Perhaps his patience had worn even thinner by now than headmaster Ridril's! He knew from birth that the Illaran Kingdom had no justice and no aptitude for recognizing and rewarding real talent. What did a noble name like Silverleaf prove? Absolutely nothing!
Lefim glanced over his shoulder at his cronies. "Hear that? Dano-trash thinks he can talk back to me and tarnish my family's name!"
"Teach him a lesson!" one of the thugs cried.
"You read my mind." Lefim took a deep breath, then swung his fist at Danoraj's cheek, his knuckles exploding across Danoraj's right cheekbone. Danoraj felt like his brain and eyeballs were being jostled right out of his head, jiggling painfully in his skull. He barely had time to gasp in pain when Lefim let go of his hair and swung at his left cheek this time. Danoraj's head was thrown to the side, blood droplets leaking from his lips and nose. He half-fell to his hands and knees, just in time for Lefim's booted foot to catch him in the ribs, throwing him against the stone wall. Danoraj could do little but curl up and endure the beating, waiting until Lefim was finished. Which he eventually was.
"Listen up, Dano-trash Silbrass, my dear classmate," Lefim said mockingly as he crouched by the wood elf. "Commoners are born to squirm in the mud and die. Don't you ever forget that." He clapped Danoraj on the shoulder, then motioned to his friends. The four of them strode out of the empty lecture hall and left a ringing silence behind them.
Danaoraj wheezed for breath, his ribs pulsing with pain, his lower face smeared with blood, his heart pounding furiously in his chest. He slowly and shakily got to his hands and feet, dusting off his academy uniform. He also drew a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his face.
Right. Okay, so that was over. Better do some review before professor Aridwen's test! Danoraj forced himself to make a confident smile and headed right for the Nasrond Military Academy's library, grateful that the elderly firbolg librarian there was always happy to show Danoraj the best books for the job. He'd have to repay that old fellow someday.
The mock battle arrived all too soon.
"This is a capture-the-flag operation, student," professor Aridwen told her most rebellious student as dozens of Academy students assembled in the outdoor training field one afternoon. "You will assume command of a mock platoon and assign squad commanders yourself. And, of course, I will carefully scrutinize your performance as a leader. Your resolve, your tactical acumen, your courage... all of it."
Danoraj saluted. "Of course, professor."
He also knew that Aridwen would score him based on whether he followed standard Illaran military doctrine. The royal army was so entrenched in its time-honored ways, passed down from the great elf generals of old... and the kingdom's enemies exploited that fact time and again in border skirmishes. Now Danoraj was expected to do more of the same!
This wasn't right.
"Althurin, you're in charge of squad one," Danoraj told his classmates as the mock platoon assembled for orders. On the training field's other side, near the makeshift enemy base, a student one grade above Danoraj's own assembled his own army.
"I'm yours to command, general," Althurin said, a sharp sarcastic edge to his tone. A few students chuckled.
"Ranadel, you've got squad two," Danoraj told a high elf girl with a long braid of blonde hair. "Varranas, you get squad three. And Lasanor, squad four is yours."
Danoraj's platoon divided itself into four squads, with the leaders at the front, everyone armed with dull mock swords or enchanted arrows that would deal blunt damage, but not pierce anyone's flesh. They also wore studded leather or light chainmail armor and helmets, ready to get rough under the misfit general's orders. No, Danoraj was no general. Others said that to mock him; Danoraj Silbrass would not call himself a general until he truly was one. He would own that rank.
"Deploy! Formation F-4," Danoraj declared, extending a hand and raising his voice. He admired the firm and clear quality of his words, despite his anxious guts squirming inside him. On his command, the four squads fanned out, using boulders, trees, and small hills for cover, swords and bows at the ready. The opposing platoon, meanwhile, advanced more cautiously in an effective but predictable defensive array. Now Danoraj was challenging Illaran traditions in more ways than one. He would win not just with ideas, but his commands.
"Varranas! Get your squad on that hill and prepare your archers! Lasanor, cover squad three's right flank. Althurin, Ranadel, stand by in formation U-7."
"On it!" Varranas cracked his neck and raised his sword in an impressive display, rallying his student-troops as they made the battle's first move. Lasanor's squad did much the same, but something felt slightly off...
Danoraj's heart hammered with excitement and anticipation as the two platoons finally came to blows, swords loudly clashing, non-lethal arrows whoosing every which way, students shouting with glee. So far, it was working; Danoraj's platoon was gaining ground, dealing more casualties than it took in return, and then Danoraj saw his opening.
Or he thought he did.
"Ranadel squad! Advance on the right flank!" Danoraj ordered. "Varranas squad, charge! Breach their defenses!"
Varranas' squad leaped into battle... and disaster unfolded. Danaoraj watched in dismay as Varranas' squad fell apart, cut off and surrounded, barely even fighting back. What was this? Danoraj had rallied his troops and had them ready for a bold charge! It was a risky move, but morale was high, and it was a strategically sound move. What had broken squad three's spirits?
Then Danoraj saw it, and his hands tightened into fists. Lefim Silverleaf was in squad three, and he had a cocky, smug look on his face as he clearly threw the fight, allowing the two hostile squads to overwhelm Lefim's own. The battle brutally shifted, the front line collapsing before Danoraj's eyes.
That blasted Lefim... had he gotten to Varranas and his classmates? Did he scare or bully them into throwing the fight to get Danoraj expelled?
Only one thing left to do.
"Lasanor squad, Althurin squad, hold the front line! Defensive formation C-9!" Danoraj cried. "Give a little ground and make them cocky. Go!"
It was a highly unconventional move, but it was the best possible move, and the enemy platoon wouldn't expect it. And they really wouldn't expect this next part!
"RANADEL! GET THAT FLAG!" Danoraj shouted.
At once, Ranadel led her squad through a field of boulders and right past he enemy platoon, a reckless move that would likely fail... but it was all Danoraj had left. Ranadel raised her sword and let out a ferocious war cry, fighting off the remains of one enemy squad to get her troops to that waiting base. Danoraj watched, his every nerve on fire, his teeth clenched painfully tight, his breath shaky. His entire future rode on this one battle, this last foolish charge, this last set of bewildering but creative orders that might work.
In mere moments, it was over.
"RAAAAAAAH!" Ranadel burst out of the enemy base's front door, her sword in her right hand, a baton with a small red flag in her left. Ranadel's squad charged back across the field, and Danoraj coordinated his remaining troops to overcome Lefim's sabotage, mop up the enemy, and make sure Ranadel made it back to Danoraj's side intact.
Professor Aridwen blew her whistle and waved an arm. "STAND DOWN! THE BATTLE'S OVER!" she hollered. "BLUE TEAM WINS!"
Most of Danoraj's classmates cheered at their victory, mostly for their own sake, and not for their misfit classmate's own. They just liked winning; who cared if Danoraj the misfit proved anything? But even so...
"That was quite the engagement, student," professor Aridwen commented to Danoraj later in the Academy's torchlit halls. "Those were some unconventional tactics. Very risky. And not befitting of Illaran military tradition." She fixed her hard brown eyes on Danoraj, silently challenging him.
Danoraj met her gaze. "I adapted to a difficult battlefield and solved the puzzle to victory. My enemies fought hard; I fought harder."
"That you did," Aridwen said slowly. She folded her hands over her navel and slightly bowed her head. "Well done, student. I believe a lecture about your disregard for military tradition is in order very soon. And you will remain a student of the Nasrond Military Academy to hear it."
Danoraj knew exactly what that meant. He saluted. "Yes, professor! Understood."
"You are dismissed, student. Recuperate in your dorm. You will need it for the challenges that lay ahead."
"Like dealing with Lefim?" Danoraj blurted. He tried not to wince. Why did he have such a loose mouth?
Professor Aridwen was unreadable. "I have no particular comment about Lefim Silverleaf. Now, you are dismissed, student."
"Yes, professor." Danoraj turned and stalked off, elated that he had won this battle, outraged that he would never win this war. What would become of the Illaran Kingdom at this rate? What role would he play in this elven kingdom's future if the military and old traditions kept him in place, reshaping him into the compliant tool he was not?
Maybe one day, as general Danoraj Silbrass, he would know.