Wearing Power Armor to a Magic School (3/?) WiP 2 (Patreon)

Orientation. That was what the blue-robed professor spoke of when he, and the red-robed woman, escorted me towards yet another expansive room. Except this one looked far more like one of those massive Michelin star restaurants on cruise ships. It was large, far larger than even the foyer, with white marble and a smokey gray quartz lining every square inch of the floor. In fact, if you looked closer, you could see these intricate, almost lightning-looking patterns that more resembled cracks in the otherwise pristine flooring that pulsate with each step you took. Well, it pulsated for everyone else anyways, but it seemed practically dead with each and every one of my steps.

Speaking of footsteps, it was clear that the sound generated by a hard composite boot slamming into an equally hard, unyielding surface, was rather loud and borderline offensive. Given the fact that the entire room seemed to have been clued in on my arrival, even prior to my entry into that elevated outcropping that put anyone entering about a half-floor’s height above the rest. Indeed, this seemed to be something reminiscent of those grand staircases where one’s name would be called out prior to entering the room.

And indeed, as I looked to my side, I saw this scrawny, yet well dressed diminutive elf that was in the process of unfurling a scroll filled to the brim with names and titles. A scroll which I promptly snapped a photo of, for that sweet, sweet intel.

“And finally, the last to join the esteemed ranks of the freshman class of 29,019, Miss Emma Booker, of Earthrealm!” The elf announced, much to the completely lifeless reactions of the room filled to the brim with what I can only describe as an eclectic collection of fantasy and alien races alike. From even more elves of varying phenotypes through to lizardmen that could’ve just as easily belonged in a Harry Turtledove novel as much as a Dungeons and Dragons rulebook. Some of them seemed to be wearing a dressed-down version of the professor’s cloaks and gowns, yet quite a few seemed to be adorned in silks and other assorted fineries reserved for the nobility of old Europe. Perhaps this is what the Professors meant by how the uniforms would be sorted later?

It was a lot to take in, but what was more disconcerting was a sudden, almost inexplicable realization of the situation that I was currently being thrust into.

I had not taken into account just how life here would actually pan out. Most of the training had been squarely focused on survival, and survival alone. From suit maintenance to potential protracted engagements, to weapons training, there was a distinct lack of any training in the realm of just… fitting in. What’s more, I didn’t even consider it given how much of my anxiety and concern was fixated on just surviving the journey here and not turning into a liquified mess.

So when the issue of my survival was well and truly out of frame now, what was left was the need to adapt to college life. Something that I had ironically been preparing at home for years already, but something told me that things would be much, much different here than what I was spending years readying myself for.

I stared at the crowd blankly… was I supposed to say something? Curtsy? Is that what old medieval people did? Was I expected to give a speech about being the first human here? Or rather, the first living human here?

My anxieties ate away at me as the massive crowd of students likewise seemed to lack any suitable response to what was effectively a 7 foot tall suit of power armor staring them down.

“Emma.” I finally heard Vanavan whispering. “You’re supposed to just go down to whichever seat you deem suitable.”

A feeling of relief washed over me as I realized that I didn’t have to give an impromptu speech after all-

“That is, if you don’t wish to give a speech. Being the first of your realm, there are expectations, but this can vary from person to person and realm to realm. So, do as you please.” The red-robed professor quickly interjected with a sly, almost mischievous voice. Something I wasn’t expecting from someone who had the face of a kind elderly grandmother.

That relief that had washed over me had suddenly disappeared, now completely replaced by a sense of utter dread as I cleared my throat, adjusted my suit’s speakers to make sure I would be audible, and spoke.

“H-hello. I’m Cadet Emma Booker of the United Nations’ Reserve Officer Training Corps, North-American Sector, Homeworld Command. I am here on behalf of…” My people? The United Nations of Earth and Luna? My country? My nation? “... humanity, and its representative body, the United Nations. I hope to… learn from everyone here, to share cultures and ideas, and to see what there is to see here.” I managed out, forcing a smile underneath my helmet even though I knew that wasn’t necessary.

Silence was all that greeted me after that introduction, however. Silence followed by the start of mumbles and whispers, which normally wouldn’t even be audible from this distance, but was certainly more than audible using the suit’s onboard audio-visual sensors.

“They sent a fucking squire?”

“No, I think ‘cadet’ is the lowest rank of any armed forces isn’t it?”

“Nono, that’s only in the Alturic Principality, in my Kingdom, it’s the rank of those of commoner-candidates  who wish to join as auxiliary commissioned officers.”

“You Alturicians with your commoners…”

“Whatever! That doesn’t change this dishonor! The Earthrealm sees itself as so much more important that it sends the lowest of the low to our ranks?”

“Even the Empire of Alanor sends its merchant houses, commoners as they may be. A lowly officer-candidate is not rich or socially prominent are they?”

“Not in my Kingdom, no!”

I shut off the audio enhancers almost immediately after hearing that. My heart practically sank as I realized just what this place was, if the period clothing and architecture wasn’t hinting at it already… this was your typical medieval, maybe renaissance (I wasn’t the best at history), culture. A culture that’s stuck before the advent of any industrialized social progress.

A grimace formed at the edges of my face as I turned towards the Professors worryingly. The pair seemed to be oblivious to the fact that I’d been able to discern the general consensus within the room, as they simply gestured for me to descend down the stairs and into the dining hall proper.

Whatever social interactions came next was probably going to suck.

=====

The Foyer

“Come out.” Mal’Tory spoke under a rigid, hushed breath. Yet despite this his voice still echoed throughout the foyer, carried by some unseen force that caused anyone within visual distance to feel as if that simple command was being whispered right into their ears.

Yet there was no response, not from any of the gaggle of interlopers currently hiding in abject fear at being caught.

“I understand there are three of you hiding within the servant’s quarters. Fitting. Really. Given how you lot cower like the lesser elves whose rooms you currently inhabit. Perhaps that should be your punishment hmm? A relocation to the servant’s quarters for an entire semester?”

Not a single one dared to respond as they all held their collective brands.

“And trust me, unlike the rest of the professors I speak with the Royal Council’s authority. Your bluffs of noble nepotism fall flat.”

Silence.

“Consider this a warning then. I will allow you three to wallow in the fact that your identities may or may not be known to me.” An uncompromising grimace remained plastered on the man’s face as his posture never once faltered whilst gazing up at those shallow slits in the wall. “I leave you with these parting words as a welcome to your academic year.” He concluded, before finally, leaving the room entirely. His exit caused the lights, the very room itself, to quake in knowing fear.

=====

The Lesser Elf Hideaway

The Lupinor stood with his back up against the uneven stone finish of the room, the dampness of the walls seeping into his uniform and fur as he stared blankly into space.

The Vunerian, meanwhile, seemed adamant on hiding underneath the servant’s bed, his whole body quaking as every fiber of his being screamed at him to do something, yet he remained in a hyperventilating state all the same.

It was only the Avinor princess who remained relatively calm, her expressions whilst difficult to read on account of the beak, was still decidedly unmoved by the whole exchange.

“Let’s head back to orientation now, there’s not much time left before it officially starts.” Was all she said as she walked calmly towards the door, only to be chastised by the Vunerian.

“H-how the fuck are you so calm?! I-it’s because you’re a princess isn’t it? You know you won’t be effected like the rest of us! You know you’re going to get off scott free! You probably even know the guy personally! You-”

“There’s no point in cowering or panicking.” Was all Thacea said in response. “You learn that the hard way when you’re in the Royal Court.” Her tainted aura seemed to shift and shudder at that, forcing the Vunerian into silence once more as the Lupinor nodded in agreement.

“Let’s get going then. As tainted as the princess is, she has a point. In battle, there are sometimes losses, sometimes gains. It isn’t worth worrying about how the losses will affect you if you in the long run have another battle to be fought in the next hour. So let’s make this next battle count.” The Lupinor practically growled out towards Ilnor, but in a complete shift of attitude, gave Thacea a curt nod. “Perhaps I may  have misjudged you in the opening hours of this battle, princess. Your resolve, at least compared to this lizard’s, is stronger than I could’ve imagined.”

“Thank you.” Thacea responded promptly, a smile of relief forming at the edges of her beak.

“I am merely stating a fact. If we are to survive here, we will need to all share a similar resolve.” The Lupinor chimed back almost instantly, before turning his head towards the now dust-ridden Vunerian. “A resolve which is severely lacking in our Vunerian comrade.”

Without a second’s hesitation the pair promptly left the servant’s hideaway. Followed closely behind by Ilnor who, in his rush, was particularly more disheveled than when he first entered the room.