Wearing Power Armor to a Magic School (82/?) (Patreon)

“Is that a threat?” I countered plainly, simply, and with my hand brushing against the back of my pistol.

“No, newrealmer.” The apprentice replied with a nonchalant, conversational tone of voice, having dropped that momentary rise in intensity. “I am merely referring to this little mixer. Which, I believe, I should allow you to get back to. But just be warned, it would be wise to heed my words. Though I highly doubt this will be the last you’ll be hearing of this, as perhaps clarification will be needed to address exactly what is and isn’t acceptable and tolerable. Then again, I doubt even that will be my purview. Oh well…” The apprentice shrugged, cutting himself and the little blanket of darkness off before he could get into another one of his long-winded tirades. 

The darkness disappeared as abruptly as it’d arrived. Moreover, if the sensor readings didn’t already make it clear, it was now very much evident to me that the shadowy bubble I’d been thrust into wasn’t some kind of portal or spatial anomaly, but a careful manipulation of light; separating our small space from the rest of the gathered crowd. A crowd which, much to my surprise, didn’t seem at all fazed by the scene. If anything, the sudden and inexplicable appearance of the apprentice seemed to only result in the expected nods of respect, and bows of deference. 

No words were exchanged between the shadowy apprentice and the gathered group. Instead, only a glare and a nod of respectful warning was given; generating an immediate shift in the atmosphere. 

A vibe that immediately read as: Tread Lightly.

Silence permeated the immediate aftermath of that encounter. With frustration within me brewing in equal measures and concern over the exact nature of what was to come from this active intervention. 

However, despite the general submission to the apprentice’s presence and the unspoken warnings toward the group as a whole, the mileage by which the warning was taken… varied considerably.

The tortle-like-turtle, along with the rest of his group and some scattered compatriots, simply left.

Ladona and a few others remained there for a second longer, before likewise breaking course, returning back to Auris Ping and the rest of their group. 

Etholin and the group of crocodiles however, whilst relatively unnerved and cautious, actually took a few steps towards me. 

“Well then.” The orange and yellow Viscount Gumigo broke the silence first. “You, newrealmer, are now officially on our sight-map.” He spoke in a manner that because of his cocksure and gung-ho demeanor, made it difficult to determine if that was a particularly good, or a particularly bad thing. Though the fact he also left quickly after saying that, probably implied the sentiment lay somewhere in between. 

“We'll have our eyes on you.” One of the crocodiles spoke, using two of his three fingers to point towards his eyes, before shooting them back towards me.

“And our ears too!” The smallest crocodile yapped through a confident grin, before just as quickly bolting off. 

This left only the small ferret as the last one standing, as he once more craned his head up higher and higher, just to meet my eyes. 

“T-the offer from before still stands, earthrealmer.” Etholin began, generating a brief instance of a privacy screen around us. “W-with the added caveat of guaranteed discretion on my part.” The ferret’s mild-mannered demeanor remained all throughout, even as he tried his best to infer something other than skittish nervousness through his words. “You were leading towards something, a topic which… while admittedly taboo and borderline preposterous, entering the realm of absurdity, is one that I very much wish to hear more of. Will you walk with me, Emma Booker?” The ferret gestured towards the second nook. “We don't have much time before the end of this mixer, after all.” 

I nodded cautiously, prompting the ferret’s privacy screen to grow stronger with mana radiation, a confirmation that these things did take more effort to maintain when in motion. 

“I’m flattered they even bothered to entertain my explanations in that case.” I offered, trying to keep the conversation rolling as it naturally veered towards one of the points I wanted to touch on; and that was to gauge the crowd from earlier using Etholin’s insight. 

“I-indeed. Though this perhaps due in no small part to the… unconventional and daring plays of your vastly inferior hand.” The ferret paused, before quickly correcting himself just as we arrived at the third nook. “I… I meant no disrespect with that of course!” 

“No offense taken, at least not at this junction, Lord Esila.” I offered with a sigh, urging him to continue.

“A newrelamer’s deck is often composed of cards stacked against their favor from the moment they step into the nest of intrigue that is the Academy. Your… unique predispositions, whilst seemingly a handicap, have been overshadowed by your peers’ classroom performance, and most notable of all… your library card. Whilst the former is subject to the whims of the academic game, the latter… has become a foundational cornerstone to your lore. This, amongst a few other rumors and whispers, has forced the student body to reassess its stance on what would otherwise be an easily-dismissed existence. Indeed I… applaud your risk-taking maneuvers during that fateful assembly. Though I can imagine it did not come without its price.” 

That latter, almost ominous statement, immediately put me in mind of Auris and the resultant cold war stemming from our two fates that’d become inexplicably linked after that assembly fiasco.

A pause quickly punctuated the scene, with Etholin looking up expectantly, as I took a moment to get a closer look at the third nook and all of its magically-derived shenanigans; namely the battle-lines now drawn into what appeared to be a fully actualized, highly-rendered battlemap, and several towns and cities scattered across it. 

“All decisions have their prices, Lord Esila.” I offered earnestly, just as the lines in whatever magical RTS game happening in the background behind him were shifting. “Indeed, as much as I appreciate your insight on this matter, this does raise the question—”

“You backstabbed my third guard unit, Lord Etale!” 

“Well, YOU lied to me about the shipment of grain, Lady Evrail!”

I paused, momentarily distracted by the drama quickly manifesting in the background. 

“—why exactly do you seem to be more invested in me than most? Now, I’m not saying I’m not appreciative of course. I genuinely, and wholeheartedly, wish to form more bonds amidst an… in your own words — nest of intrigue. However, I am merely curious.” 

“Perhaps I see this as a risk worth taking, Cadet Emma Booker.” He offered with a twitch of his ears. “Perhaps, I see that the benefits of discussing matters, of forming at the very least a working relationship, is now worth the potential risks following your elevation from a mere newrealmer, to a potential player in the game.” 

A momentary silence once more descended following that answer, as I paused to ponder the sincerity behind the ferret’s voice, amidst the growing chaos and rapidly deteriorating battle-lines of the game behind him; towering high-rises and windmills alike, crumbling amidst a barrage of tiny magical missiles hurled to the tune of tiny mana radiation signatures.

However, just before I could formulate an answer, a series of bells suddenly sounded above us, eliciting the attention of not just me and my gathered audience, but the rest of the room as well.

It was around this time that the musical ensemble from one of the nooks came forward, carried aloft on a floating invisible platform, as the ‘MC’ began addressing everyone in the room. “Princes and Princesses, Lords and Ladies… newrealmer… may I have your attention, please! The time for dinner has arrived! As a result, it would be our pleasure once again to serenade the end of today’s mixer.” The ‘MC’ quickly turned towards the only other noble on stage, who just as quickly began performing. 

The question of just how a singular person would be able to play a quartet’s worth of instruments quickly became clear, as disembodied white-gloved hands manifested out of nowhere, and began playing a sharp and whimsical tune.

The sun had begun setting at this point, and as the music prepared to draw to a close, so too did everyone’s formerly talkative spirits. 

The wrap-up process was somber, and was rather distinct for each of the little nooks within the lounge. The first nook, with Ilunor and Rostario, seemed to be tallying up some sort of a scoreboard that floated in mid air, far above the reaches of the pair’s short little arms. 

The second nook however seemed to be dealing with a lot of cleanup work, as the animated paper birds, dragons, gryphons, and dragon-bird-gryphon hybrids were practically torn to shreds by the end of it. Whatever animated battle had transpired, I was apparently not privy to. But I made an immediate mental note to both myself and the EVI to focus on that nook the next time around. 

The third nook, the one I’d seen towards the tail end of the mixer, was my main fixation at this point however; as the students here seemed to be tallying and wrapping up what was effectively a magically actualized version of a hybrid between a real-time strategy and a table-top roleplaying game. Except instead of holograms, they dealt with fully autonomous physical miniatures, small representations of anything from your archetypal knight to what looked to be a heavily armored… dare I say it, renaissance looking APC… if that was even a thing. I tended to stay away from fusion fantasy stories, being known as a stickler for minimally invasive crossover settings, so I’d need to look this over with the EVI after work was done. Many of the miniatures however lie in tatters, mauled and torn apart across the mini battlefield. But just like the second nook, this mess didn’t seem to be a problem; as a series of magical spells restored every model back to their original condition. 

Though following the cleanup, I’d expected the tensions from earlier to spiral into some form of a duel; similar to how Ilunor and Rostario had seemingly been riled up from what amounted to a minor confrontation. 

This, surprisingly, didn’t happen. Instead, and much to my surprise, the group just ended up shaking hands in a surprising display of sportsmanship. 

But while the first three nooks were rather straightforward, the fourth nook… I just couldn’t comprehend. Their incantations of darkness seemed to have brought about some sickening creature that disintegrated into what I could only describe as liquid shadow following the call for dinner.

Which left only the fifth nook, who were essentially already packed up, with their musical instruments disappearing either into a burst of smoke or into a small dimensional rift-in-the-wall.

That, I’d need to investigate down the line.

For now however, I turned towards the exit, towards the animated painting that had acted as the entryway to the space. One that had now just given up on all pretenses and opened up now like a traditional door; exactly as I recalled it on the night of the warehouse explosion. 

“So much for all the magical effort that goes into entering the place.” I groaned out, as I regrouped with the rest of the party, but not before Ilunor turned around for one final jab at the hamster.

“You’re a guinea pig, Prince Rostarion!” He seethed, before seemingly out of nowhere, pulling a pineapple out of his cloak. At which point, he lobbed it, directly towards the hamster who deflected it with a flick of his wrist.

This led to what amounted to an impromptu tennis match that followed us from the lounge, into the halls, and even all the way down the stairs, before it finally came to an end at the end of an upper yearsman’s wand. At which point, a few words were exchanged, and the pineapple found itself floating and following the Vunerian down and into the dining hall. It seemed to get closer and closer to his head, only halted when he turned around to glare at it.

“I… I don’t understand what’s going on anymore, Ilunor.” I offered in an exasperated breath.

“It’s humor, earthrealmer.” The Vunerian responded somehow pridefully, yet defeatedly at the same time. “You wouldn’t understand.”

=====

Dragon’s Heart Tower, Level 23, Residence 30, Living Room. Local Time: 2000 Hours.

Emma

“So what do you make of it?” I asked the gang after more or less divulging the entirety of my encounters during the little ‘mixer’, now that we’d plopped ourselves down on the couch, with a cone of silence deployed for good measure.

“Lady Ladona was attempting to assert some level of social dominance and intimidation.” Thacea began, taking a sip of some tea she’d ordered in from dinner. “Whether or not that is at the behest of Lord Ping’s request, or one committed on her own volition, does not detract from the fact that her actions are invariably representative of her peer group.”  

“To which Emma responded in the best way possible.” Thalmin offered with a snarky grin. “Care to revisit that memory shard of the moment again, Emma?” 

“I’m afraid I would insist on moving forward with the conversation, Thalmin.” Thacea countered, prompting the lupinor to hold back and to simply shrug, urging the avinor to continue. 

“The rest of the crowd seemed… as you pointed out to Lord Esila, surprisingly accommodating all things considered. Though it’s the encounter with Apprentice Arlan Ostoy that I am most worried about.” 

“As am I.” I offered, prompting both of us to stare intently towards one another, both in deep thought.

“The man is obviously trying to halt the divulgence of hard evidence to your manaless existence.” Thalmin offered. 

“But the enforcement aspect of it is nebulous at best.” Ilunor chimed in. “I believe you will see further expansion upon this warning sooner rather than later. For now I believe it would be best if we heeded those warnings, especially considering the delicate situation we are already embroiled in.” 

I took a moment to take all of that advice in, pausing to consider my next course of action with that particular development. 

Exhaustion certainly wasn’t something I’d expected to feel this early on in the night. This was especially true when considering that all that had transpired was what amounted to a small social gathering.

Though as my time with the Director had taught me, ‘parties’, and ‘social events’ were two very distinct things. With the latter being less of a party and more of a thinly veiled networking expo disguised under layers of food, booze, and whatever shiny knick-knacks your budget could afford. 

But while the social mixer seemed to have opportunities for those to pursue their hobbies, namely in the little nooks… the social event aspect of it was definitely still there. And as a result, it was still something I desperately wanted to recover from.

Though given my track record… 

“INFIL-DRONE01a has Returned-to-Base, Cadet Booker.” 

… I should’ve expected that work was going to rear back its ugly head somehow. 

Moreover, this was all part of the plan, after all. 

The expected downturn in activity was expectedly replaced with the anxiety-inducing apprehension of what was to come. 

“Alright.” I announced, both towards the EVI, and outwardly towards the rest of the gang. “The spy drone’s back. Are you guys ready to see what’s on it?”

A series of nods quickly followed, with all eyes averting from the dragon-fly like drone currently docking itself back into my suit. 

I held my breath as the data began its tentative upload, a nagging feeling coiling from the back of my spine urged me to prepare for the worst. 

“Alert. Probability of stealth compromisation and discovery at 50.27%. Isolate and play moment of compromisation?”

And I just about let loose the largest sigh of internalized stress I’ve released over the past 48 hours. 

This clearly brought on the attention of the rest of the group, as each of them leaned closer towards me. 

“There’s a near fifty-fifty chance we’ve been found out.” I explained bluntly. “But there’s only one way to find out.” I quickly began setting up the tablet and its on-board projector, flipping it on its kickstand as the recorded footage started playing, zeroing in on the exact instance of compromisation. 

The footage revealed what appeared to be the same blank void from my long-winded journey towards the man’s office. The blank un-rendered walls, the shadowless bright white fixtures, and the floatiness of it all, made it clear exactly where we were. 

“At least we’re headed towards Mal’tory’s office.” I offered with a half-hearted laugh. 

However, as the footage continued, it quickly became clear to all of us that it wasn’t just the apprentice that was on the prowl towards the black robed professor’s offices. 

In fact, as the camera panned up, it quickly became clear exactly who and what triggered the probability of discovery. 

As it became undeniably clear that the armorer of all people, was now staring directly at the drone, maintaining his gaze as if curiously studying a curious object. 

Throughout all of this however, the apprentice remained locked in her own little world, as she continued talking about subject matters not particularly important, most of which simply related to the class and the more mundane aspects of teaching.

It was thus, only Sorecar who paid mind to the drone, and it was clear from the lack of any discernible physical features, such as eyes, that this was the reason why it was marked at fifty or so percent.

“This is bad.” Thalmin managed out first, sinking the bottom half of his face into his hands. 

However, just as those words were uttered, so too did the footage reveal something… peculiar about Sorecar’s unfettering gaze. 

He winked.

Or at least, as much as he could given the challenge of expressing himself whilst being made up of cast iron and steel.

All four of us just about lost it at that point.

As Thacea turned towards me expectedly, looking up at me as if I had the answers. 

“I… I’m guessing… I mean… He’s perceptive, I’ll give him that. He’s doing something none of the professors could so far. Heck, not even the apprentice seems to notice. But that wink… I guess…” I paused, before turning towards the EVI. “EVI, any other instances of potential discovery?”

“Negative, Cadet Booker. This is the only recorded instance that surpasses the tolerable threshold.”

I took a moment to sink into the armor. “Well, that seems to be the only instance the drone caught anyone or anything else staring directly at it.” I explained to the group. “Moreover, there were no instances in which Sorecar actually notified the apprentice about this it seems.” I continued, once more reviewing the EVI’s risk of discovery reports. 

“The man seems to be somewhat endeared to you, Emma.” Thacea reasoned. 

“Yeah… funny the way things turn out, huh?” I offered, before scrolling towards the start of the mission proper, and began playing. 

Everyone now became intently focused on the long stretches of silence as the apprentice and professor duo made their way from the class and towards the dark and imposing double doors of Mal’tory’s office.

It was here however, that the first words from the apprentice directly referencing the man were finally spoken. 

“Well here we are.” Larial spoke through a tired sigh. 

“The office of the great man himself.” Sorecar chuckled darkly, crossing his arms in the process. “Well go on then, let’s be my guest, Apprentice.”

To which the apprentice nodded, but instead of simply opening the door… she grabbed what appeared to be a small notebook, turning to a page stamped entirely with seals and runes. She took a few steps forward, holding the book up, and outstretching her other hand in what amounted to the most archetypical image of a mage casting a spell I could ever dream up. “Ars la tal te al…” She mumbled in rapid succession, looking visibly silly without my drone’s ability to pick up manastreams due to its limited onboard sensors, and thus giving the gang a small slice of what it was like to see the world through my eyes.

These mumblings however eventually resulted in the doors creaking open, slowly, but surely, and with great strain, being pushed inwards by an unseen force.

“That wasn’t an Academy spell.” Sorecar noted accusingly. 

“No, it wasn’t.” Larial acknowledged cryptically, pocketing the book and stowing it away. 

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Apprentice.” The armorer spoke with a hint of ominous foreboding, visibly hesitant to cross the threshold and into Mal’tory’s office. 

“It wasn’t my idea to be assigned this responsibility by three authorities simultaneously, Professor. Moreover, I will answer to all three as was requested of me. I’m merely carrying out my duties, and the last I checked, those who carry out their duties are impervious to the ministrations of the games fought amongst the issuers of said duties.” 

“You see the world in black and white, Apprentice. That in and of itself is a fatal misstep once one enters the throes of the game. And the longer you remain in this rat race, the longer you act as a pawn for those at the top, the more you will come to realize that you must pick a side. Lest you become a liability for one or the other party, who would sooner see loose ends with questionable loyalties be eliminated than risk maintaining what would otherwise be an intolerable threat.” Those words carried with it what seemed to be a genuine sense of care and concern. Though dour and colored with a severity I hadn’t seen from the armorer so far. Part of me even felt like he could be speaking from experience. 

It made sense though, given how millenia of remaining alive in the Nexus, probably meant he saw more than his fair share of scheming.

The apprentice only paused for a few seconds after the armorer’s warnings were issued. Her whole body freezing for a moment as if considering the very real threats now looming over her.

However, no sooner did that realization come did it also dissipate, as she let out a sigh, before turning towards Sorecar with a stack of papers in one arm. “You speak as if I have a choice, Professor. Where in reality, the only choice I have is to resign or to obey. In which case, I have little choice at all.” Larial’s eyes wavered as she said that, if only for a moment, before laying all of those documents down in a neat, magically self-sorting pile. “Moreover, I try my best to see the light in this dire situation. I still see this responsibility as an opportunity for me to also work for myself.” 

“So you do have aspirations for the black-robed position.” The professor surmised.

“No. Not particularly anyways. No, what I meant by my personal responsibilities… is a debt that I must uphold.”

“A life debt, perchance?” The professor reasoned, prompting the apprentice to once more pause.

“A debt is a debt, which must be paid in full all the same.” She reasoned, before once more urging the man across the threshold.

Sorecar did so with a nervous hop, as if preempting some sort of trap which never came.

It was at this point that the pair became silent, as if in awe of the room they were now standing in. 

Everything about it… was exactly the same as it was on that fateful night. From the dark and moody bookshelves that lined most of the walls, to the somber and almost mournful pieces of art, furniture, and knick-knacks that looked eerily fluid this time around.

Moreover, the centerpiece of the whole room, that anatomical live-model of a dragon, remained exactly as it was.

And even now… I could swear that its eyes were staring at the sole occupants of the room, in an expression of eternal shock and dread.

“I assume you’ve never been in the prime iteration of the man’s offices before.” Sorecar reasoned, his gait becoming paradoxically more confident, whilst Larial’s became more and more nervous. 

“No. It would seem not.” She expressed through a tentative breath, closing the doors behind them, before going over practically every nook and cranny in the room with both her eyes, and a flight of magical gloved hands. “It would seem as if he didn’t trust me enough to allow me entry into his true domain.” 

“Understandable.” Sorecar shrugged. “But that begs the question, exactly how did you come across that seal-breaker?” 

“As I said before, Professor. I’ve been assigned this responsibility by three authorities simultaneously.”

“Let’s see… the weak-willed young Vanavan?” 

“Yes.” The apprentice nodded, now kneeling in front of the chair I’d broken out of half a week ago. 

“And the Dean as well, I imagine?” 

“Correct.” She nodded again, this time placing her hand over top of the damaged chair, as if inspecting it for signs of tampering.

“And the third, the only one with the key to the prime iteration of the black-robed professor's offices… I assume this is a third party?” 

The apprentice finally paused at that latter question, though it wasn’t clear if it was because she discovered something about the chair, or was more concerned about the question itself.

“Yes.” She finally responded after a tentative few question, moving over towards the back of Mal’tory’s desk. 

“Am I correct to assume then, that this mysterious third party is some young and aspiring member of the inner guard? A Captain perhaps? Maybe even a Major?” 

“I am not at liberty to discuss the nature of my superiors, Professor.” Larial concluded sternly, placing both of her hands atop of Mal’tory’s desk. 

“Apologies, apprentice.” The man craned his head down in a show of apologetics. “Though, forgive me if I am overstepping my bounds here… but I do assume that seal is inner-guard work. Perhaps even that of those belonging to the Beholders of His Eternal Majesty. For only someone with authorization from the privy council could be granted a seal to override access into the prime iteration. I know for a fact, that the last time I entered a black-robed professor’s office with the Dean’s Seal, all I saw was the most unconvincing facsimile of the prime iteration.”

This attempt to connect with the apprentice through personal anecdotes seemed to work for a little bit, before something caused the warmth from the apprentice’s face to fade entirely.

“What is it?” Sorecar urged, noticing the radical shift in their back and forths, as the apprentice brought up two particular items; only one of which I recognized from that fateful day.

In one of her hands was the crystal ball I saw Mal’tory stowing away prior to our conversation.

And in the other, was a small notebook bound in bright green leather, one that prompted Ilunor’s eyes to grow wide with worry.

“I believe I have found the last instance of the professor’s personal correspondence to the crownlands.” She spoke, placing the crystal ball down on the professor’s desk. “And I also believe, I have found exactly what our dear Dean, and indeed… my third party is asking for.” She placed the bound notebook on the table, a book written in the same indecipherable script from the library’s seeker’s corner. “A list… containing a number of books marked as recommended reading material for the studious student… all to be issued not by the school’s library, but the Library.” 

“None of those books are on the course’s recommended reading material list, I imagine.” Sorecar responded darkly.

“No. Not a single one, professor.”