Striking the Behemoth - Ezzi Paounamu

Wrapped up tight in layers of poncho and winter cloak in anticipation of where the war would eventually lead them, swaying back and forth atop a post near a scowling, mustachioed acting officer that seemed less than convinced of the small fellow’s ability to contribute meaningfully to their war effort, one thing struck him above all others as he thought back to what he saw on his way inside the camp.

Returning to war made it seem mundane after all his time aloft.

Ezzi Pounamu was no stranger to it – The Pounamu tribe were, among a myriad of other things, mercenaries for hire, with all but the most infirm or important expected to put time in drilling, sparring, and fighting anything from wild beasts, monsters, and even “civilized” combatants in lands with more conflict than their quiet home.

Thinking on it more, it occurred to him that maybe it wasn’t the war itself but the way these foreign soldiers went about it that seemed comparably mundane. It was exactly as loud and chaotic as he remembered – in some respects even more so due to the sheer volume of soldiers gathered. The myriad of different sized men and women a sight to behold, slip around, and ultimately avoid being trampled by. Some said prayers and even a rare few would drink, sing ditties, or perform to lift his and his fellows’ spirits, but all and all business was the order of the day, in a way that was both enlightening and disappointing to the kobold.

He sat in on a spear drilling exercise with the officer’s permission, and, though he thought it might be more prudent to wait until it was over to really start his line of questioning, his sergeant seemed to have the other soldiers taken care of just fine.

“Is this the standard for human drilling?”
“This is how most civilized peoples train their men at arms. Are you seeing problems already?”
“Nah. Not exactly. It seems a little….?”

The collective battle cry of 3 dozen soldiers rang out for the 20th time as they struck in unison at imaginary orcs.

“Quiet sounds stupid. But that’s the word I’d use. Nevermind all that, though. Are they gonna spar after this?”

Right on cue, one of the delegates moving about the camp arrived, greeting the officer wordlessly. To Ezzi’s surprise, he answered the kobold’s question before heedind the delegate.

“That’ll come later. They’re fresh, and they need to have the basics drilled into them right away.”

“That’s good and fair, chief, but you know what sort of enemies you’re fixing to go to war with, yeah? Not the kind that cares about good old fashioned honorable fighting. Shaking claws and clash spears? Nah. No way in the world.”

“They’re lumbering orcs, gnolls, and other savages, organized or not. Superior training will overcome any threat they present on the battlefield.”

“That’s some of ‘em, yeah. But they’ve got ratfolk, too. And kobolds. And speaking with a lifetime of personal experience… smaller folks aren’t going to meet your spears with clubs and screams. Even taking out traps and magic, a few of them underfoot would tear this little unit to shreds, easy. Put the fear of the wicked in them so bad they’d break formation. Which might just be fate for some of ‘em. But put shields in their hands, and that’ll up their chances.” He rapped his knuckles on the air, and a dull, drum like sound reverberated around them. A shield twice the dragonkin’s size seemed to sprout from his shadow, which he crouched behind.

“Worse comes to worse, they can bunker down and form a wall they can move to dip rats burrowing from below, and funnel smart guys leaping over it above them. With any luck your spell flingers and archers will handle those.”

“Not a terrible idea all and all. And it’s early enough in their training that perhaps we could make them as comfortable with shields as they will be with spears. The only problem….”

“Is funding.” The delegate interjected, jotting notes down as she spoke. “You’ll notice these are little more than volunteer men-at-arms with barely a breastplate between. Tower shields would be stretching their meager budget even further.”

The glower the kobold trained on the delegate could be felt even through the mop of mane covering his eyes, at least until he replaced it with an irrevent, toothy grin.

“These are lucky days for this little troupe, than. I happen to smith when I'm free. I’ll make shields for all of 'em, and foot the bill. How’s that sound? They won’t be as pretty as this one…” he rapped his knuckles on his own shield. “But they’ll get the job done.”