Wearing Power Armor to a Magic School

There was a clear stark difference between the encounter at the garden, and the circumstances currently unfolding here in the workshop.

With the former, the overwhelming mood was dominated by fear, all stemming from a lack of control. Of being hunted down whilst being on the defensive.

With the latter, with how things were currently taking shape, it was the exact opposite. As the armorer immediately took to the offensive, locking everything down and tackling the situation with a vice grip, making sure to maximize the one key advantage he had over anything or anyone else here: control.

As the workshop was the armorer’s domain, a space that he had complete dominion over.

And it showed… just by the way he walked, as he strutted about the room with a menacing aura generating an equally menacing series of cold metallic footsteps.

Clack. Clack. Clack.

The sharp, hollow, metallic clacks of empty metal boots on solid stone was in equal measures ominous as it was deafening, especially without any other sounds to really drown or dampen them out. As all of the whooshing of self-igniting furnaces, the sizzling of quenching steel, and any other ambient noise had all but been put on hold as the room was placed into lockdown.

Taken in a completely different context, the sound was nothing more than the footfalls of a grandfatherly figure, one who spent his pastimes busying himself by painting faces on melons.

Taken in this context however? The sounds were nothing short of doom incarnate, as everything down to the man’s stance had changed drastically from the lackadaisical persona that had dominated most of our hours-long interactions.

“Emma.” Sorecar announced loudly, ushering me along as he made his slow, meticulous scope of the now-barricaded room. It was only after I got within earshot of him did he finally speak freely.

ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 300% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS

But not before establishing what I assumed to be another sound-dampening privacy screen. “Stay close to me, and allow me to make the first maneuvers once we find this interloper.” The man announced calmly. “Rest assured, this trickster-in-hiding is less of a threat than their advanced magic may lead you to believe. Indeed the reason why I’m requesting that you remain close by is not because I foresee myself needing to protect you from the harm they may incur, but rather, I foresee a greater need to protect them from your strength and personal initiative.” The man announced with a certain level of cockiness coated in a layer of excitement.

It was definitely a much more long-winded way of saying, I’m not protecting you from them, but I’m protecting them from you.

“Besides, it’s been a while since I’ve been able to use one of my creations against a live target.” Sorecar announced ominously, as we made our way around the workshop, and towards the set of workstations from the weapons demonstration just a few hours earlier. He reached for the sword, picking it up, stopping to admire its craftsmanship as he craned his head back towards me with a single hand placed cheekily above where his mouth should’ve been. “Too much?”

I knew not to respond to a rhetorical question when I heard one.

“Hah! Of course it is. Wouldn’t want to slice up what could well be a student during the grace period after all now would we?” The man admitted slyly, as he placed the sword back down carefully, only to take a few steps forward towards the only non-lethal object here: the polearm. “Ah yes, this will do very nicely!” He beamed out as we continued our careful, methodical pacing through the room.

This time however, the armorer decided to break up the overbearing silence with a series of slow, rhythmic, marching-cadence-like taps; tapping the polearm’s blunt end against the stone floor.

It felt like he was just toying with the would-be prankster at this point, but while I would generally be sympathetic towards the plight of someone who just wanted to goof around, this situation was the stark exception. The sheer dread that still lingered from the fabricated encounter with the fake-null was still alive and well at the forefront of my mind, invalidating what little sympathies I normally would have to the trickster responsible.

Whoever this was, they had more than Sorecar to answer to.

Because the implications of this prank went far beyond just how they managed to trick all of my sensors.

Although that was also a very concerning issue to be addressed.

It also begged the question of just how they even learned of the null’s existence in the first place. Moreover, it also brought into question how much they knew about the whole null situation. Which just opened up an entire can of worms that I just wasn’t ready to deal with this late into the night, and early into the morning.

The tension in the air could be cut with a knife at this point, as it was clear Sorecar had to be doing these little taps for some purpose other than freaking the prankster out.

Or at least I hoped so.

Because whilst I hated to admit it, I did have to rely on him, and his judgment alone, given that none of my sensors could pick up on any other signatures in the room other than the both of us.

“EVI, quick status report on sensors?” I spoke to my only other reliable companion here.

“I have run a total of 2,793 separate, distinct diagnostics on every sensor and sub-system involving the active and passive sensor suites, Cadet Booker. All systems are operating nominally.”

The implications of the unknown perp’s ability to evade my sensors were worrying, but I put those thoughts aside from now as I awaited the inevitable end to this entire fiasco.

Because there was only one way this could end.

And when you had not one, but two armored beasts hunting you down… it was no longer a matter of if, but when you were found.

Especially when one of these armored beasts was a five thousand year-old legendary armorer.

The only question now was just how it would all play out.

“Hold.” The armorer stopped in his tracks, but maintained the constant tapping. He slowly craned his head downwards towards a seemingly empty patch of bare stone in front of us, ceased his tapping, raised his polearm, then-

ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 430% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS

WARNING MOTION DETECTED.

-all hell broke loose.

The workbench closest to us was abruptly, and violently, pushed to the wayside. Causing all manner of tools and equipment to crash against the stone floor with a series of sharp, distinct, metallic clangs.

The cacophony of a thousand different pieces of metal all slamming into a hard solid surface was deafening. However, it only got worse from there.

As another innocent workbench became the target of this invisible assailant.

Then another.

And another.

And another.

Soon, it became clear where the invisible perp was, as they were leaving a very visible trail of telekinetically-upturned workbenches in their wake. Each row of benches being forcibly ripped from their moorings, and haphazardly flung into the central aisle as if to act as cover for whatever last-gambit mad-dash they were attempting. As it became abundantly clear where their intended destination was: the main entryway.

It didn’t take too long for Sorecar to act with this newfound insight, as he lifted the polearm in the general direction of the rapidly forming mess-

ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 590% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS

-and lobbed it forward with the strength and ferocity of an olympic javelin thrower out for fucking blood.

So visceral was that throw that I genuinely thought the poor invisible fool at the end of the business-end of the weapon was definitely done for.

But of course, this being a Sorecar-grade weapon, something far different happened.

A flurry of tendrils flared out from the central shaft of the polearm, as the sharpened blade at the very end of it reformed to resemble something blunt and non-lethal. This culminated in a spectacular display of puddy-like netting coming into contact with something, eventually hugging and highlighting the outline of a body.

ALERT: [1] NEW ENTITY (HUMANOID) DETECTED WITHIN THE A/O.

The suit’s notifications pinged, followed just moments later by a dull painful thud as the unknown interloper slammed face-first into the barricaded entryway.

Whatever magic had been used to obscure them from the suit’s sensors had clearly failed after the net had made contact.

This meant that the rest of the sensors and the massive database of cataloged names and faces were quick to make short work of the identity of this trickster.

And the results… was someone I should’ve seen coming from a mile away.

ENTITY IFF CODE CONFIRMED: A09. FRIENDLY. ILUNOR RULARIA.

To say that my blood was boiling at this point would’ve been the understatement of the century, because if it wasn’t for the suit’s helmet, I would be baring my nonexistent fangs at the blue-scaled prick right about now.

“AGH! RELEASE ME! RELEASE ME!” The blue thing hissed, yelled, and yapped out loudly. So loud in fact that my suit’s audio systems actually had to compensate for the high frequencies being used that could’ve very well sent my ears ringing. “UNTANGLE ME FROM THESE UNDUE BINDS, THESE DEPLORABLE TENDRILS OF INJUSTICE! YOU HAVE OVERSTEPPED YOUR BOUNDS, TREATING ME IN SUCH A DEPLORABLE MANNER BEFITTING OF COMMON GAME! I WILL NOT STAND FOR THIS!” He prattled on, and would’ve more than likely committed to a whole Shakespearean bit if it wasn’t for the armorer quickly stepping in. Which was probably for the best, since I would’ve more than likely just pushed the discount kobold’s buttons with what I had to say.

“First year?” The armorer began with a nonplussed sigh.

“CORRECT! I AM A STUDENT OF THE TRANSGRACIAN ACADEMY, AN ESTEEMED PEER WITH RIGHTS TO SCHOLARSHIP, AND YOU HAVE JUST DISGRACED BOTH MY PERSONAL, AND, THE ACADEMY’S HONOR BY THIS ONE ACT!” The discount kobold continued, struggling in place as he thrashed this way and that, looking more like a confused and frustrated dog who’d just managed to tangle themselves underneath a blanket several times their size. “YOU SHALL PAY FOR THESE TRANSGRESSIONS, I HOPE YOU UNDERSTAND THAT!”

“I’m afraid I’m simply following the Academy's decorum, my lord.” The armorer continued, standing tall, and completely unfazed by all of Ilunor’s threats and accusations.

“YOU KNOW NOTHING OF DECORUM, YOU ARE BUT A CREATURE, A THING-”

“Indeed, and you could say I am a creature of habit, my lord. As a result, I adhere strongly to the Academy’s codes of conduct. By passing orientation, you will have already acknowledged your commitment to the upholding of both the rules and the expectations of an Academy student, correct?”

“THE RULES SAY NOTHING ABOUT BEING BOUND LIKE A HOG!”

“The rules explicitly mention the areas of the academy with restrictions for each respective year-group, and the repercussions that come with violating those restrictions.” The armorer continued calmly.

“WELL I HAVE SPECIAL PER-” Ilunor stopped in his tracks, then just as quickly backtracked and shifted his angle of attack. “WELL WE ALL HAVE SPECIAL PERMISSION TO ENTER THE WORKSHOP TODAY! IT IS THE WEAPONS INSPECTION IS IT NOT?!”

“Correct.” The armorer spoke without hesitation. “However it is now past the stroke of midnight.” He pointed to a timepiece on the far corner of the room. “And as such, the grounds for that claim have since become moot. Unless, of course, you wish to claim the rights to carry-over the prior day’s unique permission?”

Ilunor seemed to completely freeze as soon as Sorecar made his play, as his eyes began darting around the room, staring at anything but the armorer.

“Carry-over will imply that you have exercised the right to be here, prior to the stroke of midnight.” Sorecar clarified, as if to hammer home how much he was able to effectively corner Ilunor. “Do you wish to plead that case, my lord?” He quickly added with just the slightest hint of that overzealous confidence that he’d so freely used with me, but kept away from this particular interaction.

“I will say nothing further.” Ilunor began with a sooty huff. “Only that I demand to be released, immediately.”

And despite Sorecar having effectively cornered him into an admission by omission, and despite all of the back and forths clearly proving him to be in the right, the man still complied to this request with only the slightest hints of hesitation.

He held his hand out, calling forth the polearm back as the magical netting that had kept Ilunor contained was removed almost instantaneously.

Given how much of a gremlin he was, I half-expected him to skitter away just as quickly as he was freed.

Thankfully, or perhaps regrettably, he didn’t, as he stood up and dusted himself off without so much as saying a word.

“You understand that I will have to write you up for a disciplinary violation and a transgression of Academy codes of conduct, correct?” Sorecar spoke as soon as Ilunor got up.

“I still stand by my refusal to speak further on this topic, and as such, I refuse to accept such petty attacks at my character from someone as unbefitting to judge my moral character as the Academy’s armorer.” The Vunerian continued without so much as a hint of nervousness to his voice.

“I am still bound by Academy codes of conduct to request that this issue be investigated further, and that the appropriate disciplinary measures are taken as a result.” Sorecar stated plain and simple.

“Then we are at an impasse.” The small thing yelped out something fierce. “As such, I will request that you defer my case and this supposed transgression to a higher disciplinary authority.” Ilunor stated plainly, which seemed to take the armorer by genuine surprise.

“You understand that the next appropriate disciplinary authority are the Black and Blue-Robed professors?” Sorecar spoke with a tone of disbelief.

“Correct, and I am more than happy to exercise that right.” The Vunerian stood ‘tall’, or as tall as he could given how he barely reached the man’s thigh-plates. “I am unwilling to continue this charade, of being belittled by an entity with such a clear degree of bias that it is only capable of structured, unintuitive thought. A being separated from a lowly golem just by a scant few trivial steps.” Ilunor practically spat out.

The armorer paused for a few seconds, and during that time, I half assumed he would unexpectedly punt the smug little thing straight across the room. The workshop was the size of a football stadium after all, and it could be argued that compared to the armorer, Ilunor was roughly football-sized as well.

What I got instead, however, was the exact opposite of justified retribution. As the armorer simply took that verbal assault, and just toughed it out. “Then you shall be receiving a notice for disciplinary review by the likes of the black-robed tomorrow.” He stated sternly.

“I’ll be looking forward to it.” The Vunerian grinned, clearly taking that as a win, before snapping his head sharply towards the main entryway.

“Ahem.” He cleared his throat loudly, not even granting the armorer the dignity of a worded request.

Sure enough, all of the bolts and chains that had held the door shut began receding or outright vanishing altogether.

This prompted the Vunerian to make his getaway, as he pushed forward with a certain satisfaction in his step.

And he would’ve walked out there scott-free as well… if I hadn’t had a few things I needed to clear with him first.

The blue thing’s little legs were completely outmatched by my strides, as I barely had to do more than to briskly walk for a few short seconds in order to overtake him.

I planted myself in front of the Vunerian just a few feet outside of the entryway, but much to no one’s surprise, he simply ignored me and merely attempted to skirt right by me.

But I wasn’t having any of it.

I scooted over to block him at every turn, keeping up the non-confrontational war of attrition by tiring him out just by pacing either to my left or right, making short work of his desire to just wordlessly walk out of here without any repercussions.

Soon enough, the little thing relented, and with the pitter-patter of his claws shaking in place from frustration, he finally craned his head upwards to acknowledge me.

“WHAT IS IT, EARTHREALMER?! WHAT DO YOU WANT?!” He yelled loudly.

“Really?” I shot back with disbelief. “Do you honestly have the nerve to ask that after the stunt you pulled?”

“Stunt?” The Vunerian looked straight at me, directly into my lenses, and didn’t so much as flinch as he maintained near-perfect eye-contact. “You will have to be either more discrete with regards to your wild-realmer proclivities for bombastic over exaggerations, or more forthcoming with evidence should you wish to direct such petty accusations at me for situations and circumstances beyond my awareness and control.” He spoke as if nothing had happened. His tone, the way he spoke, the way he regarded me at this point in time, all of it felt like one big well rehearsed act.

There was lying through one’s teeth.

Then… there was whatever this was.

Ilunor’s expert ability to skirt past the truth in a manner that was borderline self-delusional, and it was beyond frustrating to deal with.

“Ilunor. Look at me.” I breathed in and out, steadying myself as I crouched down to at least partially meet him at eye-level. However, despite this being the greatest extent of my crouch, I still found myself a solid foot above him. “Are you hearing yourself right now? Can you really be saying this with a straight face? We both know what happened in there, and we both know who’s responsible. You can’t just skirt past simple logic by substituting reality with your own narrative. So please, just compromise with me here, just tell me why you did what you did.”

There was a distinct pause now, as it was clear that there was some intimidation factor to be had with me shifting my weight like that. “Earthrealmer, are you hearing yourself right now? Are you this socially daft?” Ilunor regarded me just a bit differently now, as if he was genuinely taken aback at my attempt at a straightforward conversation.

“Excuse me-?”

“Newrealmer.” He interrupted me before I could get my point across, as he gestured straight for the workshop with both arms. “The alleged transgression has been deferred to a higher authority for further deliberation of truth. And until the higher authority decrees the extent of the validity of said truth, the matter is completely moot.”

I had to pause, as I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

“So you’re willing to just ignore fundamental reasoning, deferring reality to someone else just to clear your-”

“I am willing to abide by the rules of standard social convention.” The Vunerian stated plainly. “And I suggest you do the same, should you wish to integrate with civilized society.” He spoke with that same level of confidence and cockiness from before.

It was at that point as I shifted back to my full height, that the discount kobold’s actions all finally fell into place.

Everything about the small blue thing finally clicked.

It wasn’t so much the fact that they made any coherent or logical sense by traditional metrics, but rather, that they made perfect sense in the very specific set of circumstances that governed Nexian social conventions.

Letting out another long sigh, I realized there was only one correct way to really address this whole situation, and that was by speaking the Vunerian’s language.

A language which had been touched on several times during SIOP training, and one that I wasn’t too excited to be diving into.

The language that was political double-speak.

“But we’re not currently in the public eye now are we?” I stated plainly, with little in the way of frustration or vitriol. “There’s little use for pretense outside of the established narrative.” I continued, before I pulled out my little trump card that I didn’t realize I’d be using this quickly. “So we can continue talking like we’re in the public eye, amongst our peers, and under the gaze of the faculty. Or…” I paused for effect, pulling the solid-gold library card out, twirling it in between my fingers. “We can talk like the adults that we are.”

I didn’t even allow the lizard more than a solid few seconds to lay his eyes on the card, as I flicked it back into one of my pockets as soon as he’d had enough time to realize just what it was.

ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 300% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS

“Alright, newrealmer...” Ilunor’s tone shifted now, the previous pretenses of shock and indignation were smothered just as another privacy screen came up. “You understand the basics of the game.” He admitted under a strained breath of defeat. “But whether or not you’re ready to play it is another matter unto itself. So I ask you now: are you willing to let bygones be bygones, forget everything that has transpired within the confines of the sanctuary of that forsaken golem you’ve clearly taken a liking to, and start anew? Or… do you insist on pursuing this matter further?”

“You ask this as if you were the one setting up the rules.” I spoke plainly, calling Ilunor’s bluff. “And we both know that’s not the case.”

Ilunor shifted in place, his gaze drifting nervously to the side for the first time out of any of our interactions, as it was clear something had struck a nerve in him.

“We’ll touch on this matter later.” The Vunerian spoke sheepishly. “This is neither the time nor the place for such discussions.” He continued, as he once again attempted to scurry off.

But he wasn’t going anywhere until I got at least one thing straightened out. “Answer me this first: you chose that creature on purpose, didn’t you?”

The Vunerian paused before the privacy screen fully dissipated. As he stood in place for what felt like an entire minute before deflating. “There are an untold number of creatures I could’ve pulled from, newrealmer. Yet I chose that one. Do with that knowledge as you will.”

This was perhaps the closest I could get to a yes from Ilunor. So I considered that a win in my book. Especially since it opened up so many more implications to the discount kobold’s involvement in all of this.

As I watched him skittering down the long corridor back into the Academy, I started to realize even more palpably now, what kind of a society the Nexus and the Academy were.

SIOP had touched on this eventuality, as humanity was not new to this whole game of political doublethink.

A game that redefined reality to a set of multiple conflicting narratives existing concurrently, running parallel, yet never touching. Except for when it did, for those in charge of dictating the narrative.

It took a lot of effort to navigate that backwards-logic.

Because really, there was no logic to it to begin with. As everything was dictated instead by narrative, politics, and the wishy-washy world of what was most convenient to whoever was at the top at the time.

This was perhaps why Sorecar was so completely removed from it all. I can only imagine how much of this crap one person could take before they went completely nuts.

Speaking of Sorecar… I turned back towards the workshop now, as it was about time I bid him my proper goodbyes.

Walking back into the expansive room, I was once more hit with a face full of mana-radiation alarms.

ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 300% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS

The source of this became clear enough, as I took note of how the various workstations were somehow being rearranged back into their original state. All without Sorecar’s direct involvement; a result of some magical spells no doubt.

It took me a few moments before I spotted the man, as he seemed entirely transfixed on what looked to be one of the many suits of armor that adorned the walls. This particular one I recognized as the same design as those target dummies from the earlier demonstration with the knock-off hunter-killer.

Sorecar seemed completely out of it, not even acknowledging me as I walked towards him. Though it soon became clear why he'd become so distracted, and what exactly it was that distracted him.

As I got closer, I noted how the armorer’s gaze was locked onto a specific part of the suit of armor.

More accurately, on a part that had been blown straight through.

As right there, on what I assumed was one of the thickest parts of the armor, was a thumb-sized hole which probably wasn’t there before.

“Emma Booker, I assume this is your weapon’s doing?” The man finally spoke, tilting his head towards me as he raised a single finger, gesturing towards the gaping hole in question.

With hesitation, I nodded sheepishly, confirming the man’s suspicions.

“So that’s what you meant by ranged.” The armorer announced in short order, letting out a series of slow chuckles that gradually culminated into a hardy chortle. “And to think, I thought it was a boomerang.”