DUNGEONS & DRAGONS: Dawn of Revolution
The Athlete
Ten years before the coalition war began...
"I knew this wouldn't be so tough. Not for someone like me," Magnus Ricci boasted as he kept doing jumping jacks under Instructor Carlo Aelius' orders. Magnus was definitely sweating by now, but hey, he was used to that. In fact, he used to sweat more than this just doing warmups for a pole-vaulting routine!
"Yeah. Easy," Magnus' fellow trainee panted as he kept up the jumping jacks. His tabby tabaxi fur rippled in the sunlight as he went, his breath panting from between his canines. "Joining the Centurions is gonna be easier than -"
"Shut your yaps, cadets!" Instructor Carlo Aelius snapped as he passed by the two chatterboxes. He was overseeing almost two hundred trainees exerting themselves here at Camp Lemon Grove, but Magnus and Lorenzo Julic the tabaxi were in the front row, easy for the instructors to see.
"Yes, sir!" Magnus cried. He almost slipped on his next jumping jack. Dammit! Just that tiny distraction threw him off his game? No way.
At least he was doing better than half the trainees around here. Magnus couldn't help but slightly pity a slender half-elf fellow named Urso Ennius, who was already shaking as he did his jumping jacks. Poor guy! He oughta drop out and spare himself the agony. Clearly, Urso didn't realize what he was really signing up for.
From a distance, Camp Lemon Grove looked like a pleasant place on the Trassian Kingdom's coast, nestled in some hills near the idyllic coastal town Dalmetto, a town complete with flower gardens, a burbling stream, and yes, the namesake lemon groves. But this was no summer retreat for aristocratic families! No, this was where future Centurions were forged, the 100 most elite warriors in the Trassian royal army! It was a point of pride just to be accepted here for training! And soon, surely, Magnus would join one of the five Teams.
"So... which team you think you're gonna join when we're outta here?" Lorenzo grunted as the 194 remaining trainees pounded out endless sets of pushups. As he spoke, an air genasi trainee collapsed, groaning in distress. The air genasi raised his hands to mark his official dropout status.
Magnus kept grinding out those pushups as a coastal breeze swept over Camp Lemon Grove. "I think... whew! Centurion Team Two. They're the heavy hitters. Team One is cool with their scouting and raiding tactics... whew! But I wanna hit hard. Smash those Khanate goons where it hurts most."
"Haha! I like your way of thinking. I oughta join Team Two with ya," Lorenzo grunted, his tail trembling as he executed another fine pushup.
"T... Team Three for me," a half-orc trainee wheezed as he kept up the pushups. "The sniper team. They turn longbows into works of art."
"Naw, join Team Two with us, big guy," Lorenzo panted. His left foot almost slipped until he got it back into place. "C'mon, it'll be a blast!"
"Yeah. I do all my best work... up close," Magnus grunted as he finished another pushup.
"I'll think 'bout it," the half-orc conceded. Meanwhile, Magnus saw him again, that half-elf Urso who was the skinniest guy here by far. It looked like he was gonna quit! Or cry!
"Done already, cadet?" Instructor Carlo Aelius sneered as he towered over Urso, his leather boots planted firmly in the sun-warmed dirt, beefy arms folded over his chest.
"N... no, Instructor!" the hapless half-elf cried. He had failed his last pushup halfway through, falling right onto the dirt. Urso had spent a few crucial seconds just laying there, which was an eternity for training like this. You don't stop until the instructors say so, maggot!
"Really, cadet? You look done to me," Instructor Aelius taunted him. He nudged Urso with his foot. "Go ahead, raise those hands. Get it over with."
"I... can't do that, sir," Urso groaned. He got his hands into position to resume the pushups, his back firm and ready for more.
Instructor Aelius nudged him again. "Oh yes you can, worm! There's a cool bath and a hot meal waiting for you if you quit! Why put yourself through this?"
"I... have to!" Urso yelped. He began his next pushup.
"Do you?" Instructor Aelius actually panted his booted foot onto Urso's back. By the 500 gods, that's a lot of resistance for someone like that!
"I... have to!" Urso repeated, trembling as he continued the pushup despite the resistance, physical and otherwise.
"No you don't."
"I HAVE TO!"
Half the cadets turned to look at Urso's fierce resistance, and Magnus saw a cruel grin curling on Instructor Aelius' lips.
"We've got a fighter," the Instructor said as he removed his foot. "I thought you were done, worm."
"Never... d-done!" Urso gasped. "I... can do more!"
"Show me! All of you, show me!" Instructor Aelius barked, and the cadets, Magnus foremost among them, redoubled their efforts. Come on, they were just getting started! Magnus and Lorenzo shared a confident look, and ground out nearly 300 more pushups until it was time for the next exercise.
By the time the training class was whittled down to 153 cadets, another week had passed, and Magnus was easily swimming through the coastal waves with the rest of the cadets. They had formed up into exercise teams of 20, with a remainder team to round things out. Magnus carved a graceful path through the water, Lorenzo right by his side. This was even easier when you had a buddy with you!
And, for some reason, Urso the skinny half-elf was in Magnus' exercise team, too. He was fighting to keep his head above the unforgiving water.
"Just try to keep up," Magnus told him, trying not to roll his eyes. "Got it, little Urso?"
"I-I can do it," Urso panted as he did a clumsy stroke through the water. "So... what's your name? You seem good at this. You're so strong."
"I'm Magnus Ricci," Magnus told him. He took another deep breath to keep his lungs fresh. He needed every fresh breath he could get! "I'm from Valee, the kingdom's finest shipbuilding town."
"Amazing."
"And to answer your question..." Magnus took another deep breath. Ah! "I was trained by my father to be a shoemaker, but I'm also an athlete. I was the star performer in Valee! I have mastered every muscle in my body. And now I'll put that talent to use in the Centurions. Team Two or bust! Yeah!"
"YEAH!" Lorenzo cheered with him.
"My father is a librarian in the capital," Urso said, still panting for breath. "M-my mother is a baker. Best spice bread in Quixan, according to her store's sign. But I feel like I was meant for more. I was born for more."
"How'd you get that idea?" Lorenzo snorted.
"My father's mother was a company commander in the royal army," Urso panted. "She helped lead a major raid into the Ayalakh Khanate and seized vital lands for silver mining. I have to live up to what she did! I must prove why the gods put me on this land!"
Magnus and Lorenzo shared a look. "Sure, buddy," Magnus told him, half-seriously. "See if you can keep up!" He and Lorenzo surged ahead, leaving the poor Urso behind. With any luck, at least Urso wouldn't drown. Or get nabbed by a wild sea hag or something. They say once a hag grabs you, there ain't any letting go!
Then it happened, just a week and a half later, when the class was down to 126 cadets. The famous, the dreaded, the all-consuming Ordeal. Exactly one week of nonstop physical training and tests of endurance. Little sleep, little food, and less hope. Well, that last one depends on you!
"Keep it moving, worms!" Instructor Aelius demanded, his pale blue hands cupped over his mouth as the sun sank below the ocean horizon. "You're just eight hours into the Ordeal. You think this is tough? You ain't seen nothin' yet! Wait until you get into the water and lock your arms together for five hours!"
Magnus didn't mind another dip in the water. He was a fine swimmer! But as twilight fell across Camp Lemon Grove, he couldn't help a few uncontrolled shivers. For the first time, a twinge of nervous doubt crept down his spine, and he saw the same look in Lorenzo's fierce yellow tabaxi eyes. What the hell were they in for?
Cold!
"This... a-a-ain't like the swim from a few days ago!" Magnus said, teeth chattering as he sat chest-deep in the Trassian waters, arms locked with his fellow cadets. All 126 of them formed a long line, a living chain of misery and increasing terror at what was happening to them.
"Just... gotta get through it," Lorenzo said, fangs bared, his cat ears flattened in distress. "Think... of something warm! A log fire at home! Hot pies fresh outta the oven!"
"A fire giant's armpit in summer!" someone blurted out further down the chain, and half the cadets managed a weak laugh until Instructor Carlo Aelius made them shut up.
But seriously... why even do this? Maybe the Centurions sometimes helped board enemy ships and sink them, and swim to safety once the mission was complete... but the Centurions mostly did land operations! Like sabotaging Talwyddian airships behind enemy lines or assassination missions. Cool stuff like that. But this freezing water torture? What did it prove? How did it get Magnus Ricci, the star athlete of Valee, ready for action in Centurion Team Two?
Another cadet dropped out an hour into the moonlit water "exercise," then another after that. 125, 124... the numbers were gonna thin out fast in the Ordeal, weren't they?
They were!
"I-I-I can't do this," a shivering earth genasi cadet grated out when he broke free of the chain to raise his hands. He clamored to his feet, sloshing his way through the shallow, cold water to shamefully exit Camp Lemon Grove. "Should have listened to my mother and become a carpenter..."
Magnus winced. At least half he cadets were tougher than him, and they were crumbling in the face of this challenge. Surely he wouldn't be next! Or Lorenzo! And Magnus was sure as hell that any moment now, the poor, underprepared Urso Ennius would be next. Magnus stole a glance at him.
Urso was glaring straight ahead, a new fire burning in his eyes, his breath coming in controlled gasps as the chilly Trassian waters lapped at him. How the devil was he doing that? Urso was shivering hard enough to pop a few joints loose, but he was keeping pace with the burly cadets whose arm were linked with his.
"Urs -" Magnus blurted out before he changed his mind. What was he supposed to ask? Something like How are you still hanging on? Most likely, Urso would just say "I have to!" again. What did that even mean? What was driving him, anyway?
The surf torture dragged on for another few hours until Instructor Aelius was finally satisfied. He blew a whistle, and the grateful cadets all broke free of each other's arms, dashing to the sandy beach to escape the grip of bone-chilling water. Magnus panted for breath, hands on his knees, his head swimming. This wasn't over! He had overcome all challenges to become Valee's star athlete, a gifted champion who had the scars to show for it! This was nothing!
It was everything.
Jogging, more pushups, basic combat drills, leg squats, and jump kicks all followed, and another three cadets dropped out by the time the merciful morning sun emerged from the dark horizon. Magnus, who was in the middle of yet another jog, sighed with relief as the sun's warm rays enveloped him. He could do this, even if the class was down to 120 cadets! Magnus and Lorenzo were still in this. And, by the grace of the 500 gods, so was that little Urso Ennius.
With just three hours of sleep keeping him going, Magnus endured another two days of training, the class stripped down to just 64 cadets and counting. The Ordeal still had four days remaining, and in that time, Instructor Carlo Aelius made sure to keep his miserable, wretched cadets guessing with all-new exercises and obstacle runs. Then, on the afternoon of the fourth day, Instructor Aelius issued a new challenge.
"Cadets, the Centurions do not like monsters pillaging the farms and communities of our kingdom's hardworking citizens," Instructor Aelius said, pacing back and forth in front of a rigid line of cadets. "In fact, the last graduating class saw a hill giant in these parts! Boom, boom, boom, crushing mules and carts and people underfoot. The Centurions do not tolerate troublemakers, so they took action!"
Instructor Aelius swept his hard eyes across the 64 cadets before continuing, "I heard the last graduating class took on that hill giant and won. Just seven graduates. Can you believe that?"
"NO, SIR!" Magnus barked with the other 63.
"They felled the foul beast and took its club as a battle trophy!" Instructor Aelius added. "I'm damn proud of them for it. But they didn't bring the giant's club here. They left it where it fell! I want to see that club. Care to show me?"
The weary cadets gave each other incredulous looks. Hill giants used carved tree trunks for their clubs! Thicker than any man or mule! Magnus might as well try to pick up a cottage with his bare hands!
"I want you cadets in eight teams of eight each," Instructor Aelius stated. "Team 1 brings the club here, team 2 takes it back, team 3 brings it again, and so on. Also, each team needs a leader to manage the group's courage, to maintain their spirits in this new endeavor! Who's up to the task? Raise your hands!"
"D-don't look at me," Lorenzo wheezed, wiping his brow. "Think you can do it, Magnus?"
"Already on it." Magnus had his hand up, and to his cautious satisfaction, Instructor Aelius appointed him Team 3's leader, with Lorenzo and Urso in the team along with five more cadets.
"Whoa. That's one mean-lookin' club," a dragonborn cadet said in awe, eyes fixed on the slab of wood sitting right there in the middle of a farm's wheat field. "Team leader, how are we doin' this?"
Magnus rubbed his hands together and started pointing at different parts of the club. "You, go there. You, carry that part with your shoulder. And Lorezno, you..."
Magnus gave Urso a part last, saving the easiest-looking part for the slender half-elf. Without a word of worry or complaint, Urso got into position, then Magnus did the same. "HEAVE!" Magnus roared.
"HO!" Everyone shouted.
Magnus felt like three different muscles in his arms and shoulders tore. He cried out in pain before he realized what he was doing.
"A-are we ready, team leader?" the dragonborn grunted, his clawed hands gripping the club tight.
"Go!" Magnus grunted, and off they went. Slowly. Painfully. And with the heavy, awkwardly hewn club wobbling as the exhausted cadets carried it over the land, back toward Camp Lemon Grove one agonizing step at a time. Around 600 feet in, Magnus felt like his heart was fit to explode, his lungs about to collapse like a deflated leather ball. He ordered the club set down, and the cadets cried out in relief as the burden was lifted from their shoulders.
"Did the Instructor say how much time we have to deliver this?" another cadet asked, hands on his hips, glaring at the club as though it were mocking him.
Magnus coughed into his hand. His throat was so raw. "I don't... think a time limit's needed... to challenge us. Come on, lift it! HEAVE!"
"HO!"
Up the club went, and Team 3 proceeded even more slowly, with less gusto and certainty than ever, the club seeming to weigh twice as much by now. How was that possible? Blasted thing!
"You... like you're about to drop, Urso," Magnus grunted, his heart thudding in a constant of mild panic in his chest, his shins crying out for mercy, his shoulder ready to crack. "No one would blame you if -"
"No! I can do this! I must!" Urso yelped. "I... can't let myself down now..."
"Why, Urso? Why put yourself through this?" Lorenzo added. "Haven't you proven somethin' already? No offense, but -"
"This isn't about my pride!" Urso huffed. "R-remember what I said about my grandmother? That's my why. Why I must do this! To live up to her example! It's that... or I die trying!"
Magnus had no answer to that. His mind was reeling, unable to grasp the impossible willpower radiating from skinny little Urso. That's not right; sheer willpower didn't make you strong! Physical conditioning did! Long hours of training! He knew that personally!
Team 3 caved and set down the hill giant club again. This time, Magnus fell to his hands and knees, his body shaking harder than ever, his stomach churning unpleasantly, his mind feeling jumbled up in his skull. Get it together! Show them all what a star athlete can do! Become a Centurion! Become the best! Be...
Magnus collapsed, curled up as though fending off the cold, his body shutting down around him. He let out a strange groan, a sound he'd never heard before.
"Magnus! Get up..." Lorenzo said, his voice muffled as though he were speaking into a pillow. Why did the tabaxi sound like that? And there was this ringing in Magnus' ears. That's weird, Magnus thought as he hazily watched Lorenzo faint, just like that. Magnus wanted to get up and help his body. He couldn't even get up to save himself.
"On me, everyone!" came Urso's defiant voice. "We can carry the club all the way back. We're almost there! Ready... HEAVE!"
"HO!" Six pairs of feet left Magnus and Lorenzo behind.
It was some time before Magnus saw Lorenzo stagger back to his feet and amble off toward Camp Lemon Grove. It was longer before Magnus got to his own feet and staggered his way back, where Urso's team was finishing its delivery. The hill giant's brutish club was set onto the sand with a firm thump.
"Team leader Ricci! Where have you been?" Instructor Carlo Aelius barked. "And what's this? Had enough, cat?"
Magnus slowly turned his sore neck to see Lorenzo raising his hands to drop out, leaving 63 cadets in the Ordeal. Then Magnus joined him.
"Two down!" Instructor Aelius cried as Magnus fell to his hands and knees. Now that he was done, Magnus allowed himself to finally let go and show weakness. Wait, weakness? Why did he think that?! No, not weakness! It was just...
Why? Magnus didn't have the answer. He didn't have an answer like Urso.
"Now you get it, hotshot," Instructor Aelius told him, towering over his failed cadet. "It's about the mind. A mind of steel to defeat the king's enemies under any circumstances. To push on and complete the mission even when your body is broken beyond hope. The Centurions know why they have to win. You don't."
Magnus had no words. He panted and gasped for air pathetically, the true extent of his exhaustion catching up to him. He was tired enough for a lifetime.
Instructor Aelius knelt by Magnus, his tone a little gentler this time. "What kind of work did you do before you came here to my camp, boy?"
"My..." Magnus swallowed. It hurt. "My father taught me to be a shoemaker."
"A shoemaker! Really!" Instructor Aelius slapped a hand on Magnus' back. "Outstanding. The kingdom needs humble workers like that to keep its troops equipped and ready for action. What you and your father do is noble work."
"Th... thank you, sir."
"I'm not your sir," Instructor Aelius said, his voice now sharp like a longsword's tempered edge. He stood at his full height. "You're going home. But take heart, because you can still serve the Centurions another way."
"H... how?"
"What are on my feet, Magnus Ricci?"
"Your boots... oh." Magnus almost wanted to laugh.
"Damn right. Make us some fine boots, Ricci. The best you can manage. I think future Centurions like Urso will like 'em."
"Yes, si - of course." Magnus caught himself as he got to his feet, wincing and groaning as he did. "I'm happy to serve."