Wearing Power Armor to a Magic School (26/?) Revised Version (Patreon)

Hey everyone! I did a bit of sprucing up to this chapter, mainly in adding more transitions between chunks of dialogue and breaking up large bodies of it to make it a better reading experience. I've added quite a bit of back and forths here too, most of it being Emma trying to reach out to empathize with the armorer. I suggest you check it out! :D As always, the edited or additional bits are underlined for ease of reading! :D 

It goes without saying that addressing my particular predicament to anyone from this side of the portal was almost always guaranteed to be an enormous undertaking.

Primarily because of the whole ‘mana-less’ thing.

This was to be expected though. Since the only ‘mana-less’ aspects of life on this side of the portal could probably be counted on a single hand. Anything and everything else that wasn’t bolted to the ground probably had some level of mana tomfoolery involved.

Mana was everything here. My existence was literally a living antithesis to everything everyone here knew.

This meant that every explanation was bound to be a marathon and a half to commit to.

So some level of lung capacity and mental fortitude would be necessary, as I steeled my resolve for what was inevitably to come.

“A long story is it?” The armorer parroted my words, as he once more moved about in a series of exaggerated physical gestures. All of which were perhaps done in an attempt to make up for his lack of discernible facial features, or any other features to emote with for that matter.

“Yes Professor, it is. Though I wouldn’t want to impose myself on your schedule. I know I showed up practically last minute, so I wouldn’t want to take up more of time than I already am-”

“Nonsense! Away with this nonsense!” The man interrupted with the raising and subsequent gesticulation of a single hand, the armored gauntlet rattling about wildly, generating a series of distinct metallic clangs from all of the individual segmented pieces of steel rattling against one another. All of which echoed loudly within what sounded like the hollow confines of his armor. “I will be quite frank with you Emma Booker, the time limit I imposed for the weapons inspection is completely arbitrary.” The man beamed out, as yet another series of bellowing chuckles emerged from deep within the armor itself, echoing inside its confines. “And the only reason why I even imposed a time limit at all, was because it was part of the syllabus and thus an obligation I must abide by. Though I did try my best to ensure that it sounded as light hearted and theatrical as possible. I did mention, or rather, I had Chiska mention it was a task to be done by the stroke of midnight or something along those lines did I not? Or perhaps that was lost in translation?” The man continued on, breaking into a weird half-hearted internal ponder. Though that quick transition into openly voicing his internal thoughts was just as quickly interrupted by a loud clap of both of his hands. “So! Unlike a lot of the other hoity-toity professors who seem to have an unhealthy penchant for making each word balloon with unwarranted importance with little in the way for flexibility or compromise, I on the other hand am the very definition of flexibility!”

The man quickly reached for one of his arms, shifting it, and bending it in a manner that only a contortionist could’ve pulled off. “See what I mean?”

“Yes Professor, I can certainly see what you mean.” I managed out soberly, as the full extent of Thalmin’s warnings regarding the man’s eccentricities seemed to surface quicker than I could’ve ever expected.

But that wasn’t the only thing that was being put on full display.

As just from this limited exchange alone, I was starting to realize just what the man meant by spellbound now. Context clues and observations over the past few minutes had made the man’s true nature abundantly clear, and with the facts starting to stack up, so too did my anxiety.

The more he talked, the more he moved about, the more I could tell he was literally just a living suit of armor.

Perhaps a soul trapped in armor, as I was in that nightmare.

I shuddered at the thought, my heart skipping a few beats in the process, but pressed onward regardless.

“Right! So! I hope that has dissuaded any silly thoughts of this being some sort of a time-sensitive task! So please take all the time you need Emma Booker!” The man offered, and despite his overeagerness and the confusing vibes it gave off, this was perhaps the first time any member of the faculty had been even remotely accommodating.

Which was suspicious in and of itself.

“Well sir, I’m certain that the rumors should’ve already trickled down by now. However, I doubt you’ll have to rely on the student body for this sort of thing. The faculty already understands my predicament, so I’m unfortunately going to be repeating a lot of what is already known.” I took a deep breath, bracing myself for the shock and disbelief that was definitely to follow. “I hail from a mana-less realm.” I began, steadying myself for an expression of disbelief to form on the armorer’s face, or rather, in the form of his theater troupe-like movements. Yet none came. I took this as a sign to continue. “With mana being a non-factor in my realm, life evolved without the need of a ‘mana-field’.” I quickly adapted and adopted the local terms I was being exposed to, changing bits and pieces of the SIOP’s diplomatic conversation starters to better suit local contexts. The Director had mentioned personal initiative as an integral aspect of this mission. She definitely was right to push hard for that in training. “As you can imagine, without a mana-field, I am unable to exist in this realm without the aid of artificial constructs which are able to shield me from the effects of mana. The most obvious of which, being the armor you see before you.”

With that bombshell of an explanation out of the way, I could only sit and wait for the fallout to follow.

The way I saw it, there were only one of two viable reactions I expected from the man. One, being the path of abject disbelief and denial. The Ilunor path as I was quickly dubbing it. Two, being an excitable sort of curiosity, a natural extension of the man’s bubbly and excitable demeanor I’d been able to observe thus far.

None of those manifested.

Instead, I got something else entirely.

“Fascinating. Truly fascinating.” The man nodded in a breakneck pace. His helmet clattering about as he did so. “So the rumors were true then, and with them, all my hopes for a potential reunion are likewise all but dashed.” The man sighed, a clear tinge of disappointment coloring his voice as it was clear that his response was neither denial nor excitement, but disappointment.

“Vanavan told me about you earlier today. He urged me to be extra wary about what weapons you may bring along.” The man spoke in a manner that was absurdly frank and forthright, without even an ounce of discretion in his step. It honestly felt as if he was just speaking whatever came to mind, with no filter to speak of. “However, that’s beside the point. I cared not for the man’s whims or desires. The yammerings of that young elf had all but been subsumed by a rekindling of hope. A hope that I was certain had been all but snuffed out eons ago.” He continued, slower this time around, as the formerly excitable man that had greeted me seemed to have taken a leave of absence. In his place, a far more reserved personality suddenly came into play. “A hope that has been snuffed out yet again.” He trained that hollow helmet on me, those dark, shadowy visors piercing into my lenses. “Through no fault of your own, Emma Booker. I have only myself to blame for my foolishness.”

There were several ways for this situation to play out now, and it all hedged on whether or not I wanted to take a leap of faith.

I’d approached the armorer, the weapons inspection, and this whole situation the same way I was planning to approach the rest of the objectives within this five day grace period: ticking off boxes one after another, all in an attempt to clear whatever busywork was needed of me before I continued off on my own list of objectives.

This whole interaction had changed that mental calculus. As the variable that I’d hedged my entire hypothesis on had, despite my best guesses, turned out to be something entirely different.

This made me rethink my initial plans of a quick in and out adventure. This made me reconsider the whole equation, and what my aims actually were with the man.

The best laid plans were more often than not subject to change. Reality often made things more difficult no matter the pregaming involved. People were, ultimately, still people. The armorer was no exception.

There was something here that needed to be addressed, and that something compelled me to try to at least bridge what was so clearly an emotional gap.

“Foolish is a pretty big accusation to throw around, professor. I can’t imagine an armorer, of the Transgracian Academy no less, to have done anything to earn that sort of title.” I offered, singing the tune of friendly overtures as I attempted to address the man’s concerns.

The man cackled self-deprecating, the sounds once again reverberating within that hollow suit of armor. “Oh, Emma Booker. If only you knew. My hair brained, absurdist presumptions on the nature of your person aren’t even the half of it.”

“It wouldn’t say it’s absurd.” I countered. “In fact, if I were to put myself in your shoes, er, boots, I’d say absurdity would be believing in my actual nature, rather than the possibility of another spellbound being present on campus grounds.” I continued, empathizing with the man as I led onto my last point. “I imagine it was probably much easier to believe that it was the professors who got it wrong, and that the truth was more in line with the hopes you had for another spellbound?”

“That is correct, Emma Booker.” The man admitted without even missing a single beat. “For I was hoping, perhaps naively so, that everyone else had somehow been wrapped in a huge web of misunderstanding. I had hoped that the rumors had somehow been misconstrued. Or that perhaps Vanavan, by virtue of his inexperience and naivety, might have made some grave mistake about the nature of this new persistently armored student. That perhaps he’d broken into Belnor’s secret brew, in an attempt to make up for his lost youth at the Academy.” The man’s humor seeped through for a moment, only to end up overshadowed by his dour mood almost immediately after. “I had hoped and dreamed of an opportunity to meet another of my kind for a millennium now. As my work forces me to be effectively bound to the Academy, and as a result, I have been unable to truly venture far beyond the confines of its walls. I’ve been trapped in a world of faces that regard me with impassive looks of neutral observance, and I yearn for another which understands my plight. Or rather, the foolishness that has led me to this fate.” His dourness did give way to a bit of that animated personality, which honestly added more to the dissonant mood of the scene than it did detract from the dourness of it.

I was… stunned. To say the very least. The man wore a heart on his sleeve the likes of which I found difficult to really take in.

Up to this point, I’d been met with stonewalled after stonewalled conversation. With the only reasonable party being the likes of the Library, the Gardener, and of course both Thacea and Thalmin. The latter two couldn’t really be counted as they were more or less in my circle. The library was more of a business relation rather than a true conversation partner… though Buddy did exist in his own category altogether.

That left the Gardener, and the man was sparse when it came to his actual identity.

The armorer?

I imagined that even with my empathizing, he would’ve responded in the same way as the gardener.

This man was bucking the trend, and then some.

“While my face is trapped underneath layers of glass and steel.” I tried my best not to make any mention of composalite, composites, or plastics. “And while my helmet and faceplate may have something of a resting face of passive disdain plastered across it, I can assure you that underneath it, is a face that most certainly isn’t ready to regard you with an impassive look of neutral observance.” I offered warmly, which seemed to garner the man’s attention as his whole body rattled for a moment. “I know it’s rather ironic, that the first friendly face is one you can’t really see at all. But I hope that my words, and the actions I’m willing to back them up with, is enough to make up for that. Not just my face, mind you, but all the faces that didn’t seem to think twice about seeing you for you, as a person who deserves to be seen as a person.”

I knew this was a risk.

But judging from everything I was hearing thus far it was a risk I was willing to take.

Like the gardener before, there was something to be said about winning the hearts and minds of those at all rungs of society.

If the Academy’s higher ups were too stuck up with their heads up in the clouds, with laurels of nobility and self-assured superiority, and ending up discarding someone like this? It was my opportunity to swoop in and perhaps gain a potential ally.

And all it would take would be something that not even the training manuals needed to emphasize. As it was an element inherent within all humans by default.

For all I was doing was showing the man a little bit of empathy.

The man didn’t respond at first. Indeed, he just stood there, and with little in the way of eyes or anything else to read off of him, it honestly felt a bit eerie.

After a while however, he seemed to shudder. His whole body shaking once more as the cavernous room echoed with the rattling of a hundred individual pieces of armor plates.

“I had assumed that this interaction would’ve only resulted in one of two possibilities, Emma Booker.” The man began, warily, and with a tinge of genuine heartfelt pain in his voice. “That either you humor my ridiculous notions, and thus fulfilling my hopes. Or you bring reality back into the confines of my workshop, shattering my delusions once and for all. I had assumed that I would be ecstatic and jubilant with the former, and all but pained with regret with the former. How is it then, that you manage to elicit the feelings of the former, whilst still boldly standing by the truths of the latter?” The man offered with what I could only describe was a genuine attempt at a heart to heart.

“How?” I shrugged in response. “I honestly don’t know. Though what I can say is that the feeling’s quite mutual.” I uttered out under a series of exasperated breaths. “I came here with my own set of expectations as well, two of them actually, and you’ve quite effectively dashed those right out of the gate.” I uttered out with an amused grin under my helmet.

“Is that so?” The man uttered with a bemused tone of voice. “Color me curious, what were your expectations, Emma Booker?”

“Well, I had assumed you’d either be in complete denial and disbelief at the explanation of my mana-less state. Or that you’d be over the moon with such a novel concept.” I shrugged.

The man seemed to take his time in pondering this, once more, using what little he had at his disposal to exaggerate the motions of pondering curiosity. Though it was clear the man meant this in order to better bridge that expressive gap I knew all too well by virtue of my own armor, it just ended up more awkward than anything.

“Well to be fair, once you’ve lived past a certain number of years, you start to become tired of what is known, and you yearn for what isn’t.” He admitted. “I am a selfish man, Emma Booker. I would rather choose to believe what I wish to believe in, even if it contradicts the axioms of the established. However, perhaps my excitement for the concept of a mana-less being is still being tempered somewhat by my enthusiastic hopes, and subsequent dashed dreams, of meeting another soulbound.” The man explained thoroughly.

Whilst I understood where he was coming from, there was a certain something in the conversation that kept being alluded to that I just couldn’t let go. Something that kept being alluded to and passed along as normal, but clearly wasn’t, at least to me.

“Just how many years are we talking about here, Professor?” I finally asked.

“You tend to lose track of these things after a while.” The man admitted with a heavy sigh. “Indeed, if it wasn’t for my tenure I am more than certain I would be one of the lost by now.” He vaguely alluded, before getting to the meat of things. “As it stands…” He craned his head back, towards what looked to be a clock in a rather unassuming corner of the room. Though it lacked a proper clockface, or hands as most would recognize. “A little over five thousand years.”

I could practically hear the record screeching to a halt at that comment.

My whole mind paused as if to do a double take at what exactly was being said.

Because those numbers didn’t quite click with me.

Indeed, with how the Academy and the Nexus tended to phrase things, large numbers tended to just blend together.

It was a similar concept when dealing with the sheer scale of the human sphere at present. The magnitude of resources, of people, of ships and materiel being processed at any given second.

After a certain amount, it just became white noise.

Five thousand years, was certainly triggering that same response.

“Five thousand, sir?” I asked again, double checking for the sake of my own sanity.

“Mmhmm.” The man nodded, before performing a little spin. “Though I don’t look a day over three thousand now do I?”

The fact that this man was carrying himself so casually even after that revelation baffled me.

But given everything on the table so far, it was starting to become clear just why he was the way he was.

“And, those are the years counted up from the start to your tenure? You’re saying you’ve been here. At the Academy. For all that time?” I attempted to clarify, to actually get to the root of the issue before I jumped to any conclusions.

“Yes. Though, I fail to see how impressive that amount of time is. I admit, it may be impressive by the standards of the typical mortal life. But try to imagine it in terms of a civilization, Emma Booker. Surely your realm, given the clear advancements in metallurgy-” He emphasized his point by moving his helmet up and down, as if to mimic the movements of his nonexistent gaze. “-is a realm as aged as any other respectable adjacent realm. Five thousand years isn’t all too long in that grand timeline.” He shrugged. “It’s not as if the kingdom you hail from hasn’t existed for over twice that time hmm? Why, your reactions put me in mind of a primitive who still yet belongs to a barely put-together city state that has existed for a mere two, perhaps three thousand years!” The man joked.

He talked as if his explanations actually made sense.

As if this was the typical timeline of civilizations found amongst the Adjacent Realms.

“Of course.” I responded with a single nod, neither confirming nor denying any of the armorer’s assumptions. One, for the sake of discretion and two, because that wasn’t the main point I was getting at.  “I don’t assume five thousand is an age that most species can get to, though. Is it?” I shot back quickly.

“Five thousand? Hah! You’d be hard-pressed to find another spellbound living to that ripe old age! More often than not they’d become lost well before they reach two, let alone five thousand! And well, from there, it’s easy to have your bound sigil destroyed in one way or another if you don’t have your wits with ya.” He broke off into a concerning tangent, but just as quickly got back on track. “So aside from spellbound, you got your dragons that live for that long, if not longer. Then your elementals, yeah, nothing really ages them any. Then of course, your elves, but again… that’s getting into exceptions rather than the norm territory.” He shrugged. “So yeah, it’s uncommon, but not unheard of!”

“So barring deaths resulting from injury, are you saying that you, the spellbound, are functionally-”

“Immortal. Yes.” The man interjected, finishing my line of thought for me as it was clear he understood what I was getting at. There was a hint of reluctance in that short, curt statement; a  regret that underpinned those two powerful words.

Immortality explained so much about the man, from his eccentricities to his less than typical demeanor for a member of the academy’s faculty. It was clear that anyone who was alive for this long in service to an institution as uptight and obsessed about maintaining perpetuity as the Academy, would’ve eventually just given up on abiding by its draconian social conventions. It was either break from the conventions, or risk breaking yourself.

“Professor I-”

“No, no more, none of this professor-business. No sir, sire, no tisha, no nothing. I know you’re trying to be diplomatic, I know you’re trying your best to play the Academy’s, and by extension, the Nexus’ rules. However, I wish to drop all pretenses. I’ve lived for long enough to see it for what it is: a means of artificial division, and the propagation of social barriers for the purposes of maintaining the same monotony for the purposes of continuity and perpetuity. It gets old, very old after just a century or two. Five millennia of this is just… heart wrenching.”

I allowed that to linger in the air for a moment, as I regarded my next words carefully, and with a great degree of thought.

Only to decide on a response that was perhaps a little bit outside of the SIOP’s recommended conversation algorithm.

“I don’t really think it can be heart wrenching, at least in your case.” I offered, eliciting a sharp cock of the man’s head as if to signal his incredulity at that statement. “No, I don’t think that’s applicable to you at all. Because I think in your case, soul crushing would be the right word to use.” I beamed out with a toothy grin.

The man shook, his armor rattling if only for a few seconds, before finally, breaking out into what I could only describe as a cacophony of indescribable noise. Like the rattling of silverware aboard a shuttle with a poorly secured galley.

This was soon backed up by a tone of voice that could only be described as an exhausted, almost drained one. As if the man had been wracked by a silent series of heart laughs. “Your humor leaves a lot to be desired, Emma Booker. However, any humor at all at this point is much appreciated.”

“Well my people didn’t pick me for this whole chosen candidate position for my skills as a comedian, so I’m afraid this is what you’re stuck with.” I shot back with a sly glint in my voice. “All that aside, if not Professor or Sir, do you have a name I could call you by?”

“Oh. Oh! My apologies! It’s been far too long since I’ve actually had to offer up my name. Centuries, actually, so, it never occurred to me to exchange such a crucial piece of information. My name is Sorecar. Sorecar Latil Almont Pliska. It feels strange saying that, given how everyone simply refers to me as the armorer nowadays. But yes, you may call me Sorecar, Emma Booker.”

“Sorecar. It’ll be a while to get used to referring to anyone within the Academy by just their first name alone. But I can work with that.”

There was clearly a lot more to be unpacked about this whole armorer business. The nature of the man’s origins, the whole business with the spellbound, and so much more.

But all of this was outside the scope of the current objective as is, and rushing into what was clearly going to be more personal points to the man’s whole story was certainly going to be a feat unto its own.

It was clear the armorer felt that way too, as he began taking the conversation in a new direction.

“So, erm, my apologies again for my propensities to overshare or to rattle on, Emma Booker. I would apologize further but, I would be blatantly lying if I didn’t admit this has been some of the best back and forths I’ve had in decades.” The man admitted.

“That’s alright.”

“So let’s get this weapons inspection back on track. Oh, and I hope you don’t mind if I take up my offer earlier?”

“Offer?” I cocked my head.

“Yes! I did ask whether or not you’d prefer to start first, or if you’d like me to begin! See, I knew you were a newrealmer, so I thought it would be prudent to take this time to steal you for myself!”

A pang of fear shot through me, the wording eerily reminiscent of the nightmare that still lingered in my head.

“Bad choice of words, sorry.” The man quickly backtracked, before continuing on in his usual peppy tone of voice. “What I mean to say is, since the Academy places more emphasis on theory for you first years, but with that theory being more or less relegated to magic theory and the application of magic as a tool unto itself… there is a distinct lack of classes involved with magic application as seen in artificing, and most importantly weapons artificing. So with you being a newrealmer especially, I find it prudent to plug this hole in the curriculum, by showing you the ropes of the true capabilities of magic. Not just the flashy displays of archmages and planar-mages, but the nitty, gritty world of just how magic is capable of supporting this grand project we call civilization.” The man spoke excitedly. A level of excitement which I could finally relate to as I nodded along fervently in agreement.

“Yes Profes-, er, Sorecar. I’d definitely be more than happy to see what there is to see.” I grinned underneath my helmet as something of actual value here was being offered to me, a welcome change amidst the questionable reality I’d been dropped into thus far.

Beyond that… I excitedly pinged my EVI, as while this wasn’t in the scope of the current objective specifically, it was more than certainly within the greater scope of the mission.

“EVI, are you still recording?”

“Affirmative, Emma Booker. I am always recording.”

“Alright, let’s collect some tasty intel. Open up a new log and evidence-gathering folder. First subject, arms classification and manufacturing capabilities of the Nexus.”

“Acknowledged.”

This was going to be very fun.