Wearing Power Armor to a Magic School

Nexus. The Crown Herald Town of Elaseer. Ambassadorial District. The Adventurer’s Guild Hall of Elaseer. Local Time: 0740 Hours.

Emma

“A week?!” The guildmaster shuddered in place, their thin iridescent membrane bristling up and outwards in every direction.

“Or sooner, if at all possible.” I quickly added, just as we entered the meat and potatoes of the contract, hammering out the details of the more vital requirements of this atypical request.

That answer didn’t seem to help matters much, as the guild master did the human equivalent of leaning back against their chair — melting into a small gelatinous puddle.

Though strangely, that didn’t seem to affect their ability to speak at all.

“You ask for the impossible, in addition to the atypical.” The greater slime answered promptly, with a clear pang of annoyance present throughout their voice.

“So… a week isn’t possible?” I quickly followed up, cocking my head in the process.

To which the slime ‘sighed’ in response, or at least, I assumed that was what the bubbles forming within its confines was the equivalent of.

“I… am willing to give you the benefit of a doubt, newrealmer. Considering this is a completely foreign land, with foreign conventions and foreign expectations, there may be some potential… adjustments that may need to be made with regards to boisterous, outlandish, and frankly eccentric requests. I… will assume this deadline was made either in some attempt at jest, or perhaps a strange conversational bluff.”

A brief pause punctuated the guild master’s rebuff, to which I was once again thankful for my helmet, as it acted as a resting poker face for these sorts of dealings; its glowing red eyes drilled deep into the slime’s unflinching photoreceptors.

“This isn’t a bit, or an attempt at a bluff, guild master.” I responded firmly. “I’m afraid I am very much serious about that deadline.”

The slime took a moment to consider that response, their ‘eyes’ shifting from my visor, to that of the library card still firmly clenched between my fingers.

“The circumstances are that serious, I presume?”

“I’m not at liberty to divulge that.” I responded diplomatically. “Though you have my word that I’m not being hyperbolic for the sake of petty mind games or posturing. I need it within a week, max. Or sooner, if at all possible.”

Another silence manifested soon after that reaffirmation, as the slime once more formed a ‘chin’, and an ‘arm’ to rest it upon, if only to show their genuine contemplation of the terms of this quest.

“A week… is possible, provided that supplementary conditions are considered for this quest.” He began cryptically. “Adventurers tend to operate on foot, or on horseback. They sometimes utilize the service of mainline transportiums, but those are hard-linked to others of its kind along a chained path. Which means that they are, in effect, limited to towns and cities with mainline transportiums. Thus, to venture into the wilderness, to where this amethyst dragon may potentially reside… will require either the tolerance of time… or the use of unconventional forms of transportation.” The slime once more paused, ‘cocking’ their whole body in the process. “And since you have vehemently denied the use of the former, then we must thus employ the latter, to expedite this quest.”

I nodded along at that, the rest of the group seemingly agreeable to the suggestion.

“So you’re saying we need to arrange a form of transportation for them.” I surmised. “Something that isn’t just a horse or a donkey or a horse-drawn carriage or what have you.” I continued, reaching a hand to rest my own chin upon. “Alright then, what do you suggest?”

“Ideally? Drakes.” The greater slime answered succinctly, a vast improvement and a breath of fresh air from the less than forthright conversations back at the Academy. “However, drakes are both prohibitively expensive, and would require the involvement of Mayoral meddling… which I assume you lot will probably be against.”

I turned to Ilunor expectantly, for once hoping the blue thing would have something to add.

But he didn’t, his brows even perking up in annoyance following my not-so-subtle attempt at signaling for his involvement in all of this.

“I am afraid it will be quite impossible, earthrealmer.” He responded with a loud sigh. “The deployment of my drakes outside of my kingdom’s borders will similarly either require mayorly approval from Elaseer, or, a Crownlands warrant. Besides, you would need a drake rider to chaperone the adventurers around, at which point any and all pretenses of discretion are now completely and utterly shattered.”

“In lieu of Drakes, we could settle for Pegasi.” Piamon continued, as they generated a five-fingered hand just to list off the various other options we had at our disposal. “But if Pegasi are leased for longer than half a week, we may see the same issue of meddling from Mayoral audits. And on that note, other forms of air-based transportation larger than Drakes will bring even greater scrutiny on this quest, so I will move onto land-based forms of transportation for discretion’s sakes.”

The guild master paused once more, as if taking a moment to ponder our now-limited options. “We could simply make do with enchanted beasts of burden, enchanted horses and the like, or… if the newrealmer can grapple with such a concept… there is also the option of beastless artifices of transport.” They spoke in a manner that was starting to feel more befitting of their station — that of a Nexian noble. The sense of superiority oozing from their voice was practically palpable, even if their ‘eyes’ never once shifted from that ‘neutral’ looking expression.

“Okay.” I nodded, crossing my arms as I did so, giving the universal expression of ‘Okay… so?’, before moving swiftly onwards without missing a single beat. “What options do you have for us on that front?”

The slime’s lack of expressions made it difficult to see just how disappointed he was by my reaction, or lack thereof.

So with his baiting tangent out of the way, he continued on, business as usual.

“I have connections around town that would allow us to lease the services of anything from a Golem-Steed, to a Mono-treader, the former I believe requires little explanation, but the latter, I assume you to be probably unfamiliar with—”

“It’s a giant wheel with a person perched inside of it, isn’t it?” I interjected with the bluntness of my earlier rebuff. “Powered by mana or something, or enchanted, or what-have-you.” I quickly added, eliciting a moment of silence from the greater slime.

“Y-yes.” The guild master replied with a certain level of abashment, their entire ‘face’ turning away if only for a moment. “I will be honest, newrealmer. I am quite… surprised that you would know of such an artifice this early on into your stay within the Nexus.” A moment of introspection quickly came following this, indicated by the greater slime turning to face one of the many bookshelves lining the wall behind their desk. “Though it stands to reason that exceptional circumstances tend to follow those chosen by the library… or maybe it’s the other way around.” They pondered with a ‘shrug’, before quickly moving on.

“In any case, a mono-treader or a golem-steed. Either would work. I would recommend against anything larger. As navigation through forested and rugged terrain would require the use of a small, nimble, all-terrain mode of transport. A horseless carriage, or any vehicle of four-wheeled configuration, would simply be unsuited for such a task.”

I took a moment to consider that, as an idea slammed against me with the force of [one] Bim Bim.

All-terrain.

Small.

Nimble.

Wheels…

I could print out the scouting bike in a pinch if I wanted to.

Or heck, even the truck.

The latter of which, I swore had to be either intentional, or a sign that I was born for this mission because of its acronym — the Extended Mobility Mulitrole Vehicle.

… the EMMV, or the ‘Emmvee’ for short.

Though… printing it out was easier said than done. Because given the size constraints of the printer, I’d be committing to a long-term assembly project that was projected to take weeks.

It wasn’t like the printer could defy physics after all… so considering its maximum printing size, some assembly would be required.

“Put out a listing for the mono-treader.” Thalmin replied, pulling me right out of my reverie. “However, I’d put that on the listing as optional. Given the mono-treader is a rather niche artifice, I doubt we may find the adventurers with the skills and experience to use them to their full capabilities within the afternoon. Thus, we should keep our options open, and defer the choice of these supplementary transport options to the adventurers themselves. I’d imagine there would be more than enough adventurers, especially in the Nexus of all places, who can fully take advantage of either an enchanted beast of burden, or a golem-steed.”

“Noted, Prince Havenbrock.” The guild master replied with a nod, taking a moment to quite literally consume a piece of parchment.

But before I could even question it, the reason behind this unexpected action quickly became clear. As the slime’s insides began to glow, corresponding to the terms of the agreement being quite literally ‘printed’ onto it with glowing ink.

“Mind you, these supplementary transport options will cost—”

“The matter of cost is of little consequence to us.” Ilunor replied with a haughty breath, as if offended by the topic of additional costs even being brought up.

“Very well, my lord.” The slime ‘bowed’ slightly, before turning back towards both me and Thalmin. “For the purposes of transparency and forthrightness, the following is a summary of the terms. From the Offices of the Guild Master, at the behest of an esteemed quest-giver, a mission totalling in five-thousand gold! With guarantees of bonuses in the event of haste, and compensation in the event of grievous and mortal injuries — a quest to Scout and Report on the whereabouts of the Amethyst Dragon. A deadline of one week is to be observed, with all manner of supplementary transportation provided on the part of the quest-giver. This listing is of utmost priority, and will be removed by day’s end.”

Thalmin and I turned to face one another for a moment, the mercenary prince nodding once, eliciting the same response from me. “Sounds good to me.” I responded promptly.

“Then it is settled.” The greater slime announced with a deeper tone this time around, clearly playing it up for theatrics, as the piece of parchment vanished in mystical flame from within its slimy insides. “Return by day’s end, and we shall see if fate is on your side.”

Nexus. The Crown Herald Town of Elaseer. Ambassadorial District. The Fountain of Friendship. Local Time: 0810 Hours.

Emma

We left the guild hall to the sounds of increased activity.

However, instead of adventurers returning bright and early, the flurry of activity seemed to be the result of the tireless efforts of the trainee adventurers, as each ‘team’ made their way across wooden and cobblestone floors alike with rags and buckets, all in an attempt to keep the space spotless.

The EVI had managed to pick up what little chatter there was during all this, and it would seem as if we had become something of the target of local gossip.

Though it should be noted that it was a good type of gossip.

The type that would’ve earned me brownie points with the diplo-sociological teams back at home.

“Those were Academy folk right?”

“Yeah, students.”

“And the armored one, that’s a newrealmer right?”

“Yep.”

“And they’re splurging this much of their newrealm’s wealth? Just to give it away?”

“Not just to the guild master, but to the whole guild too!”

“WHAT?”

“Why?”

“That’s like… really nice… but kinda dumb, right? Like, newrealmers are supposed to play nice with the big bosses, what do they get from blind charity?”

“Beats me. Didn’t ask. Didn’t wanna risk it. But weirdest part? She gave me food that was intended for her.”

“You’re lying.”

“Nuh-uh, just ask Loris!”

“Loris! Did Garna get to eat noble food?”

“Yeah! He even shared some with me!”

“WHAT?!”

I made a mental note to bring over some of the gastrodiplomacy care packages a little while later.

But then again, I had to be careful with divvying and rationing that out for other diplomatic encounters…

Besides, I’d yet to hand any out to the gang.

Which brought up a very good question… given Thalmin’s superficial resemblance to canines, would he be allergic to chocolate?

“We are equidistant from the Tailor’s, the Stationery Shop, and the Sports Supply Store.” Thacea began, pulling me right out of my reverie once more. “The alchemical specialty goods store and the wand shop are both a fair ways away, so we should decide between the first three. Do you have any particular preferences?”

“The tailor.” Ilunor and I spoke in unison, garnering a look of suspicion from Thalmin.

“I agree.” Thacea nodded. “It should take some time before the uniforms are tailored, thus, it would be prudent to strike off that task first, to minimize waiting time later in the day.”

With a sigh and a reluctant nod from Thalmin, we began moving once more, following Thacea’s lead.

Traffic had begun to pick up at this hour, with a noted uptick in horseless carriages, and a significant decrease in the use of any flesh and blood beasts of burden.

The sounds of clopping feet still remained however, though its source was decidedly artificial, if the glowing filigree and runes on otherwise stone-carved horses was of any indication.

The sidewalks had also begun filling up with people, most of which attempted to ignore me, which brought up a particular question that had yet to be addressed.

“I’d thought there’d be way more chatter about my presence here.” I spoke cautiously, as Thacea brought up a cone of silence to ensure some level of privacy was maintained.

“I imagine there is, Emma. Though it should be noted that your sprint was conducted exclusively within the commoner’s district. Meaning that if there was to be any palpable reaction to your presence, it’d be there rather than here. Moreover, I’d imagine most chatter to be made behind closed doors, rather than out in the open.”

“Right, makes sense.” I nodded, before reaching back to rub the back of my head. “I really need to make it up to the cabbage guy, is all. I haven’t been able to get him out of my head.”

“A commoner’s plight is none of our concern, Emma. We have more pressing matters to attend to.” Ilunor chimed in, prompting me to groan in response, shifting my attention to Thalmin instead.

“So… I couldn’t help but to notice that the guild’s higher ups know you by name.” I began.

“So it would seem.” Thalmin nodded. “I presume you’re curious why that is?”

“Yup, you just pulled the words right out of my mouth there.” I acknowledged.

“It’s a rather straightforward matter, Emma.” The mercenary prince began. “News of a former mercenary house taking command of an entire adjacent realm, being tentatively tolerated by the Nexus, is news that never truly fades away in the minds of those that are themselves merely a less organized, less martial, less cohesive mercenary force — adventurers.”

“So you’re something of a celebrity amongst the adventurers, then.” I teased, grinning widely as I did so. “Seems like you definitely give Ilunor a run for his money on the prestige and acclaim front, at least when it comes to the adventuring guilds.”

That bit of teasing elicited another audible hmmph from the Vunerian, as he couldn’t help but to chime in. “Notoriety is perhaps more befitting of Prince Thalmin’s reputation. And regardless, being known amongst the rabble is hardly something to be proud of. For would you rather be well received amongst the ruled, or their rulers?”

“Both, preferably.” I shrugged.

“Then you waste your energy and resources on the former, whereas true power lies with the latter.” Ilunor shot back.

“And therein lies our fundamental disconnect, Ilunor.” I sighed back. “Because as I’ve stated before, in my realm, power is derived from the former, whereas the latter only rules on their behalf. But I digress, now isn’t a time to talk about politics.”

Thacea quickly picked up on this opportunity, as we approached the off-ramp to both our journey and our conversation.

“We’re here.” She pointed at a series of ornately decorated townhouses, each of which seemed to be competing with the other not in the ostentatiousness of its color, but through the striking visual presence of its architecture.

But aside from the sheer variety of designs that would make a xenoanthropology team gush in the sheer volume of points for analysis, there was one, practically-identical trend that seemed to tie all of these structures together — their ground-level storefronts.

Because in spite of the angled roofs, complex carvings, and ornate pillars, it was glass that dominated the space immediately next to the sidewalk.

The reason for this was quite obvious too, as this was where the decisive final battle would be fought, and where livelihoods would be decided at the whims of the prospective customer.

As behind those massive panes of glass, was a crystal-clear view of each store’s magnum opus.

Dresses, uniforms, capes, and all manner of attire were put proudly on display here. With mannequins and armatures outnumbering even the pedestrians walking in front of them, all vying for attention from a seemingly disinterested public.

It was here, at one particular store, that both Thacea and Ilunor seemed particularly drawn to.

One that seemed practically identical to the rest from my undiscerning eye — Silksong’s Silken Shop.

With a wordless nod, as if through some mutual and innate understanding, they both entered the building, prompting Thalmin and I to follow in tow.

Ring-Ding-Ding!

Came the expected sound of bells jingling upon our entrance.

What was definitely not expected however, was the person who quickly came to receive us.

A soft buzzing was audible from high above, as a quick glance up through the building sent my aesthetic senses tingling.

The whole structure was ostensibly hollow, all five stories of it, with floors that seemed to wrap around the perimeter of the interior wall, with a mish mash of stairs and ladders, along with a utilitarian-looking elevator completing the chaotic vibe.

The reason for this rather strange setup would soon become clear, as the buzzing grew louder and louder, until suddenly, a winged creature descended into view.

Flying straight out of one of the many doors in the upper levels, pushing through pieces of unfinished fabrics, half-sown cloths, and layers upon layers of excess material, came a humanoid… moth.

My immediate thoughts went to that of Ladona. However, upon closer inspection, it was clear that unlike the butterfly’s more subdued insectoid traits, this moth person seemed to be retain more of her insectoid heritage, with spindly legs, thin, fragile looking arms, and fluffy white wings that shifted and fluttered even when on solid ground.

It was her face however that really gave off uncanny insectoid vibes, as a thin, yet visible seam divided her face up into two segments, clearly some sort of a mandible.

This assumption was confirmed as soon as she opened her mouth to speak.

“Ah! Welcome, welcome! Welcome to Silksong’s Silken Shop! The best clothing emporium in town! I am Morfi Silksong, the Hundred-twentieth of my line, and Guild-Certified Seamstress!” She raised all four of her arms up high for that extra dramatic flair, her wings expanding wide, knocking over a few of the mannequins at either side of her.

“Ah! My apologies for the clutter. My store tends to open around an hour or two from now. We haven’t yet had time to set up, however…” She paused, her two beady black eyes trailing up and down our group, a cock of her head soon following whatever she was able to discern from that simple observation. “... judging by your manner of dress, and today’s listed occasion, I am more than willing to make an exception, so long as you forgive the rather… unkempt state of my humble establishment, my lords and ladies.” She bowed deeply, more so towards Ilunor than the rest of us. “I assume you’re here for the fitting and tailoring of your uniforms?”

“Correct.” Ilunor responded tersely. “Whilst abhorrent and unsightly… it is a matter of duty that we must sacrifice this one point of personal privilege, for the sake of institutional cohesion.” He continued, in what could only be described as a tone befitting of a knight announcing his noble sacrifices… rather than a Vunerian yammering about his personal grievances on fashion.

“Of course, my lord.” The moth responded politely, bowing deeply in the process, as an undercurrent of chittering colored most of her translated speech through the EVI.

“This shall take no longer than a half hour for all of you. Although—” The moth paused, cocking her head as she made ‘eye contact’ with me, or attempted to anyway. “—I must ask that you remove your armor, so that measurements can be taken, my…”

“Just Cadet Emma Booker is fine.” I finished the moth’s words for her. “However, I’m afraid I can’t do that. I won’t get into the specifics of it but… the Academy can vouch for me on that front. The armor stays on.”

This clearly elicited some confusion in the moth, as she cocked her head once more, chittering all the while, even going so far as to rub both hands together in a bout of bug-like intrigue. “I see.” She slowly nodded. “Well, if you are confident in your assertions, Cadet Emma Booker, then I will attempt to accommodate such unique requests.”

Another pause soon arose as she snapped her tarsal fingers, eliciting the same noise from somewhere high above us.

“I’m coming, mother!” A voice emerged from deep within the building, as another, smaller, more practically-dressed moth arrived on scene.

Landing right next to the nobly-dressed robe-wearing moth, was a smaller moth wearing what I could only describe as a simple set of silken overalls, worn atop of a billowy old-timey shirt, and a red handkerchief-scarf.

To say that his fashion sense was questionable… would be an understatement.

At least, it would be, to someone from an earlier era.

Because by 31st century standards? This eclectic manner of dress was present at almost every street corner. The combination of a millenia’s worth of fashion resulted in a timeless aesthetic that was as much an eyesore as it was commonplace.

And I liked it.

Though it was soon clear I wasn’t the only one to appreciate another party’s unique fashion sense. As the young moth’s eyes stared at me with a mandible held wide agape, his horned-head bobbing up and down, as if admiring the craftsmanship of the armor.

“I apologize for my son’s lack of manners, Cadet Emma Booker, but if you would find it in you to humor both me and the boy, I would like to offer his services for your unique request.”

“You dare sully our peer group’s name by issuing an apprentice to our order?” Ilunor shot back, responding on my behalf, which prompted me to stop him before he could continue.

“I’m assuming there’s a reason why you’re offering his services, and not your own?” I quickly asked.

“I meant no disrespect, my lord.” The moth bowed deeply, addressing Ilunor first before turning back towards me. “And indeed there is, Cadet Emma Booker. For you see, my son is actually a prodigy in the art of fashion. Although his particular specialization is of a rather niche variety, and is more often than not overlooked in the grand scheme of things. As he specializes in the art of outer-armor attire, designing surcoats, capes, cloaks, and the sort. Any manner of cloth that is to be accessorized to armor, is his domain, and his alone.”

The young moth boy stepped forward, staring up at me expectantly with a permanent grin plastered across his mandibles. “Your armor is stunning, Cadet Emma Booker. Truly novel, unique, and quite telling as to your discerning tastes. As such, it would be my honor to design a specially-fitted Academy cloak, befitting of the craftsmanship of your armorers, and the woman beneath the metal.” He bowed deeply, prompting me to simply nod once in response.

“Whatever you’re selling, kid, I’m sold.” I grinned widely, never expecting to actually be hyped up for a trip to the tailor of all places. “Let’s do this.”

“I am honored, Cadet Emma Booker.” The boy bowed once more. “Apprentice-Tailor Mifis Silksonng, at your service.”

The next few minutes would be marked by a flurry of activity, as even more moths emerged from within the building, carrying all sorts of tools, equipment, fabrics, and measuring tapes.

It was ironic that one of the most magical experiences so far, was one that barely used any magic to begin with.

Thacea, Thalmin, and Ilunor were all quickly shuffled to their own dressing rooms, tended to personally by Morfi Silksong.

However, considering that I had nothing to show but my armor, I remained on the ground floor with Morfi’s son, as he began flying around me, taking measurement after measurement of my armor, using anything and everything from measuring tapes to pieces of stray fabric, as it was clear that his muse was quickly taking over — even going so far as to overcome the politeness of Nexian social conventions.

A fleet of moths arrived carrying massive mirrors, as a makeshift tailoring corner was quickly established right there on the ground floor, with rolls of silken cloth laid out and stowed as quickly as they’d arrived from far-off storerooms.

It took barely twenty minutes for the right cloth to be chosen, for the design to be cut out, shaped, and fitted to my armor.

Barely five minutes more, and a temporary academy pin was used to tie the whole piece together, resulting in a cloak that draped over much of my left arm, my back, and part of my right arm, held together by a brooch just above my chestplate.

“Is this to your liking, Cadet Emma Booker?” The moth tailor asked expectedly, his eyes blinking rapidly in the process.

“If it fits Academy regs, then I’m definitely happy with it, yeah!” I responded truthfully, garnering a solid nod from the moth as he soon sent the semi-finished product off to depths unknown; carried aloft by a fleet of his moth brethren. “So… I guess we’re done here? I mean, that was rather easy, right?”

“Indeed it was!” Mifis acknowledged, but with a twinge of palpable anxiousness coloring his voice. “Cadet Emma Booker, if I may, and I mean this with no attempt to undermine your authority… but seeing as your compatriots are still being fitted, would it be alright if I continued offering my services?”

I cocked my head at that. “What do you mean?”

“Well… I rarely have customers requiring surcoats or armor-centric commissions, especially not with your unique form of armor. I… I would like to humbly request—”

“That I be your canvas?” I completed the apprentice’s request for him, garnering a look of abashment that actually managed to redden his face, as he attempted to look away in shame.

“I meant no disrespect, Cadet Emma Booker! I certainly do not wish to imply that I see you as merely a canvas for my foolish attempts at fanciful and short-sighted artistic—”

“Nono! It’s alright, Mifis.” I interjected once more, as I quickly went to grab my tablet. “In fact, I have a lot of designs I have in mind, if you wanna try your hand at it?” I quickly went through the digital sketchpad, revealing the doodles I’d made of requests for additional fabric accessories for the armor that never got approved by the higher ups at the IAS. Especially not by Dr. Mekis, even in spite of Captain Li’s pleas on my behalf.

Capes inspired by the likes of Inferno Jumpers, cloaks and ponchos inspired by the late Space Ring games worn by Gunnery Chief, and even fashion accessories inspired by the Protectors from Predestination 2.

“Here, I’ve been thinking of something along these lines, but… I’m not the best artist, and all of this may be rough, so it’s alright if you take some liberties with the designs. But if you have something else in mind, we could definitely go with your—”

“I would be honored to bring your concepts to life, Cadet Emma Booker.” Mifis’ eyes grew wider and wider with each design I showed him, though it was clear he was more drawn to the official character art next to the rough sketches I’d scribbled out. “I will make this work.” He reiterated, turning back to me with a wide dumb grin.

A feeling of elation hit me right then and there, as I finally started to understand just what my friends meant when they urged me to join them in their shopping trips and fashion hunts.

Because while I’d remained adamant on choosing comfort and utility over fashion back home, it was now, with utility being the only forced form of expression I had, that fashion started to become increasingly appealing.

More rolls of fabric soon arrived, as did what seemed to be fancy-looking sewing machines that immediately registered as being above the background radiation threshold by the EVI.

“Right then! Let’s begin with this… diagonal half-cape with a cowl and hood, colored in geometric patterns of what seems to be a family crest?”

“My nation’s emblem, but yes. Let’s start with that.” I grinned widely in acknowledgement.