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Wearing Power Armor to a Magic School (106/?) Revised Version
🕑 Added 2024-11-17 14:27:33 +0000 UTCHey everyone! Thank you all for being so understanding and patient with this revised version release! :D There’s been a few revisions this time, primarily just stuff regarding the flow and also improvements on a few bits to better match with Emma’s characterization! The most notable of which being the change to the intro bit with Emma’s nervousness, to reframe it to something that fits her a bit more, as it leans more into her childhood and her experiences in Acela! :D I’ve also added a bit of dialogue towards the end of the chapter with Emma’s lightbulb moment when it comes to her plans with Etholin for the ballpoint pen business! I was planning to set that up a little while later on in the story, but I believe at least giving it a mention here would be a good way to foreshadow what’s to come! :D Aside from that, there’s also been a few grammar and spelling corrections too! That’s about it this time around! As always all of the revised sections are highlighted with an underline to easily see what’s been revised! :D
I hated to admit it.
But that splash of brackish puddle water saturated to the brim with muck, grime, and god-knows-what was probably a blessing in disguise.
Because the further I marched into town, the less the crowd seemed to notice me.
Some had taken a concerning level of interest the moment I left richtown, sure.
However, the more I got lost in the crowd, the less those curious eyes seemed to follow me.
EVI confirmed as such.
But that wasn’t the only thing the EVI had confirmed in the minutes following my deep dive into the partially-unknown.
Indeed, the complex orchestra of code was currently throttling through chunk after chunk of entirely novel datasets — mostly in the form of background chatter.
As for the first time, save for that brief utterance of Havenbrockian courtesy of Thalmin, more than half of all audible dialogue was entirely untranslatable.
The EVI had already taken into account twenty-seven distinct patterns of speech just in the first ten minutes of our walk alone. Each of which was entirely unique from one another on preliminary analysis, all bearing negligible instances of High Nexian within entire strings of conversation.
It was in that moment, walking in the midst of the vibrant evening markets, lit by a hundred different forms of lamplights, packed shoulder-to-shoulder with strangers belonging to more species than I could count, that I finally experienced it — one of the much-anticipated moments SIOP had attempted to prepare me for — culture shock.
Or more specifically, a specific type of culture shock, one stemming from being thrust into a rich and entirely alien environment — filled to the brim with an overwhelming kaleidoscope of all manner of sensory input that bordered on the edge of overstimulation.
The controlled environment of the Academy had ironically mitigated these sorts of feelings.
However, it was the gift of auto-translation courtesy of the EVI that had truly shielded me from this for the past few weeks.
I’d only had to deal with a certain level of culture shock following my integration into the Academy, with much of the blow of the impact softened by my ability to understand practically everything around me.
But here? In the midst of an absolutely bustling side street? With coal-burning, smoke-producing, bell-ringing food carts competing for attention from pedestrians as varied as the billboards plastered haphazardly on every available storefront?
I felt almost absolutely out of my element.
However, at the same time, in a throwback to my first experiences in Acela’s old quarter open-air heritage markets — I was also totally here for it.
Naturally, anxiety did rise to compete with excitement. But it was the latter that won out in the end, especially as I focused and honed in on exactly what I could understand — maximizing my situational awareness, and taking in the sights and sounds that reminded me of some of the wilder parts of home.
“Fancy skewers! Fancy-style skewers!” I noted a particularly aggressive food hawker yelling, his hands deftly moving from the delectable pieces of over-charred meat, turning each of them over, and causing their juices to drip aggressively into the red-hot coals — generating consistent wafts of gray and white smoke which blew upwards towards a hazy, cloud-obscured night sky.
“Eggs! Any form or type! Big eggs! Two for fry-now! Pick your toppings!” Another hawker shouted, practically yelling into the busy crowd despite the already long queue haphazardly forming by the side of her stall. The female satyr was busy mixing eggs by the cup-full, with a smaller satyr deftly cracking more into what looked to be an assembly line of eggs-in-cups, all of which were customized to order with various toppings and then fried inside of a giant wok.
“Corn! Get fresh corn now! Grilled! Roasted! Baked! Deep-fried! Broiled! All corn! Any corn! Any time! All time! Big time!” A male kobold yelled out from the top of his lungs, as a literal troupe of green-scaled kobolds began the process of shucking various forms of corn-like produce, before processing them into what could only be described as a health-code violating menace of a machine. With ovens, broilers, grills, and even deep-fryers all arranged condominium-style, stacked atop of one another with smoky embers scattering everywhere anytime the stall even slightly shook.
Which suffice it to say, was a lot, considering the massive line that’d formed for it.
“With BUTTER!” One of the kobolds shouted, just as he lifted up a vat of freshly-churned butter to prove his point. “EXOTIC BUTTERS!” Another reiterated.
“AND SUGAR!” Came another, as this one clamored and skittered to the rafters of the stall, grabbing what appeared to be cane sugar that’d been drying atop of the tiles.
The fight to draw attention continued, as my own fight to keep focus finally won out, my fixation quickly shifting to food; the most coveted thing on my mind that I was constantly denied.
Because with each step I took, my mind had anticipated some form of sensory feedback in the form of the charred smell of slightly-burnt meats, the eggy smell of freshly fried omelets, and the rich and sweet assault of buttered, sugary corn.
However, I got none of that.
As through stall after stall, all I smelled was that metallic-infused sterilized air.
The same air you’d smell in hospitals and decontamination centers.
Not even the less-intense version you’d get on smaller ships and stations.
I’d gotten used to it by now.
But it was in these moments of sensory dissonance that I was acutely reminded of what I was missing out on.
And it sucked.
Regardless, that sense of suck did help in narrowing my mind’s eye, as I started looking out for signs and symbols that were recognizable as medical centers.
The Nexus, thankfully, seemed to have the same idea as Earth — in that they actually standardized the symbol for healthcare facilities.
Which made sense, given how the literacy rates amongst commoners was probably an issue, if historical anachronisms were anything to go by.
A simple, easy-to-recognize symbol was vital in allowing people to quickly access services even if they couldn’t read the signs.
I think barbershops started that trend with those red, blue, and white polls… I thought to myself, as I came across the first clinic on the map.
So while back home the symbol was often either the red cross or one of those ancient greek staffs, in the Nexus, it often seemed to come in the form of a simplified version of a potion bottle superimposed against a shield.
With a deep breath, I pushed open an oak door with one of these very symbols, revealing a small, somewhat cramped reception area with a few wood-weave chairs, and some sturdy but improvised looking wooden stretchers strewn about.
A single chair was currently occupied by a rather impatient looking elf, the man appearing seemingly fine and relatively well dressed from my vantage point.
However, stepping forward a few steps revealed an entirely different picture, as his other half was entirely scorched, looking as if he’d been the victim of some highly-specific targeted attack that’d managed to singe one side of him, but not the other.
The man craned his head up, noticing me not just by my physical presence it seems, as he began clenching his nose at the smell of the cloak no doubt. “What’re you l&2%3k [ERROR T-201A. 52% Approx: looking] at, stranger?!”
“Sorry, just passing through.” I quickly apologized, before turning towards the EVI to quickly tackle some important internal ‘housekeeping’ measures.
“EVI? Do me a favor and just remove all of the error annotations for anything that falls under Error Code T-201A please? I don’t need the code popping up everytime we encounter it. It’s getting a bit messy to read the subtitles. Just highlight it in a different color or make it bold or something to integrate it seamlessly, alright?”
“Acknowledged.” The EVI confirmed with a beep.
With an internal nod of acknowledgement, I began taking a few tentative steps towards the only service counter in the room, staffed by a tired and anxious-looking elf.
Her eyes widened the moment she looked up from her ledger, her mouth hung agape as she barely got a word out before the EVI managed to figure out what she was saying. “Erm! No trouble! Please! No trouble! Tell Lord-Mayor — er, we’re not ready for [special] tax yet!”
Alarmed, I immediately raised both hands in an attempt to calm the elf down. “Whoah whoah! Calm down! I’m not with the lord-mayor or anyone, alright? I’m not from here at all. I’ve come from… out of town, and I’m looking for a friend.”
Suspicion soon replaced the panic within the elf’s eyes, as she nodded warily. “Who are you looking for, stranger?” She spoke slowly this time, clearly in an attempt to match the exclusively High-Nexian vocabulary I was consigned to.
“Is there anyone by the name of Rila in your care?” I asked simply.
To which the receptionist began scanning the ledgers in front of her at a frantic pace, flipping through three pages, before turning to me with a shake of her head. “No, [sorry].” She replied anxiously.
“Alright… try Trade-Apprentice Lartia-siv.” I spoke under a strained breath, uncomfortable with using her name under Lord Lartia.
“Trade-Apprentice Lartia-siv…” The receptionist parroted, going through the book… before replying with the same shake of her head. “No, [biggest apologies].”
I wasn’t going to take this lying down however, so I continued to push.
“Would you mind me taking a look around your wards? Just… a quick walk?” I asked in the nicest tone I could manage. “I just want to be sure, is all.” I quickly added with a smile.
This… seemed to garner the opposite intended effect, as the receptionist’s face contorted to a look I could only describe as polite panic, the elf proceeding to crane her head left and right, before nodding briskly.
“Okay. Please… hurry and don’t [disturb].” She stated in between gasps for either clean air or nervous breaths.
“Will do.” I acknowledged, as the receptionist led the way through the maze of what I could only describe as cramped, boxy, and borderline congested public and private wards.
Everything I saw here matched the sort of setup seen in the healing wing at the Academy, though of course, less premium.
And just like in the healing wing, it seemed as if the magical analogs to modern medical equipment was a fair bit sparser, instead relying on physicians to do most of the monitoring work.
Though admittedly, they did seem to do a pretty good job, as despite the congested atmosphere — there was a distinct lack of suffering.
As there were no signs of any obvious neglect amongst the patients, no rowdiness or even cries of pain, instead, everyone just seemed to be waiting for whatever magical IV treatment they were hooked up to, to be done.
That, and the long, long line of patients with plastered-up limbs, presumably for broken bones that were now just waiting for time to do its thing.
However, despite this eye-opening field trip into the lives of the ‘commoners’ within the care of Elaseer’s medical system, not once did Rila’s bracelet show signs of activation.
So after a good five minute lap through the small townhouse clinic, we finally looped back into the reception area, with nothing to show for it but a nervous and terrified-looking elf.
“Thank you for your time.” I acknowledged, handing her a gold coin, which she pocketed discretely and without question.
It was… honestly a bit concerning how practiced she seemed to be at doing that.
But I didn’t think too much of it before leaving.
With a sigh, and a fleeting feeling of anxiousness over this whole quest, I turned towards the EVI’s little ‘avatar’ with an expectant look; a map soon forming across half of my HUD as a result.
“I’m so glad we mapped the town out that night.” I spoke inwardly, indirectly complimenting the EVI, as I began following the highlighted path towards the next clinic.
“Correction, there were two unique instances in which the town was mapped. The first, during the ‘warehouse incident’, and the second, during the ‘phoenix incident’.”
“Yeah, that explains the quality of it. Thanks, EVI.”
“Acknowledged.”
It took about a brisk seven minute walk before we reached the next clinic.
On one hand, I was genuinely surprised as to how close the two clinics were to each other.
But then again, that relative proximity made sense given how your primary mode of transport here was limited to your own two legs.
On the other hand, I couldn’t help but to worry once again, as I hoped that this visit would mark the end of tonight’s quest.
…
10 Minutes Later
…
It didn’t.
“Alright… how many more do we have marked on the map, EVI?”
“Five, Cadet Booker.”
“Oh joy… this is going to be cutting it close to curfew, isn’t it?”
“I calculate at current rates, 1 Hour and 40 Minutes, Cadet Booker.”
“Nearly half of that is travel time, I imagine?”
“Correct.”
“Right… then let’s book it.”
=====
Nexus. The Crown Herald Town of Elaseer. Central Commerce District. Just Outside of His Eternal Grace’s Healing Center. Local Time: 1950 Hours.
Emma
“You have managed to accomplish the objective within 1 Hour, 9 Minutes, and 22 Seconds, Cadet Booker. Congratulations.”
“I… wouldn’t say.. ‘Accomplished’... EVI.” I managed out between breaths, as despite not actually going full Book it Booker for fears of inciting the same public panic as on that fateful night, the combined pressures of intermittent speed-walking and the looming fear of the curfew was enough to leave me breathless. “We didn’t find Rila.” I stated plainly, as I took respite amongst a few shady loiterers in similar states of raggedy water-logged dishevelment.
The small half-alley, half-alcove felt like the edgy kids corner at school all over again… except instead of anachronistic era-swapfits, this was the real deal.
So much so that I would’ve genuinely felt intimidated by what I could only imagine Ilunor describing as ‘highwaymen-looking ruffians’… if it wasn’t for the mana-proof composalite and space-age tech in the way.
“Marking Objective D as ongoing and temporarily on hold—”
“Actually, wait.” I objected suddenly. “There’s one more place we can check out.” The one place that might actually be the professor’s first choice for medical care. “The Academy’s healing wing.”
“Acknowledged. Marking Healing Wing as the next primary destination.” The EVI quickly corrected, prompting several more optional side-objectives to come into view.
“Hmm, cabbage merchant… yeah, we do have to do good by him, but I think the language barrier plus the lack of cash on hand is going to put a dent in those plans. So let’s push that aside for the next town trip once I get both points in order.”
“Acknowledged.”
“Alright… the search for the missing drone is another big one, but I don’t think we have time tonight for that one.”
“Acknowledged.”
“Aaaand, oh! Okay, we might just have enough time for this one!” I exclaimed, using my eyes to rapidly click at the bottom item on the list. “Let’s try to find ourselves a ‘commoner’ dictionary.”
“Acknowledged.”
With a nod and a sudden skip, eliciting the unwanted attentions of a dozen or so shady looking hooded rogue-types, I began marching my way back into the bright lights of the evening market.
I felt a few concerned eyeballs turning towards me almost immediately, though once again, they seemed to shrug me off as soon as I blended back into the crowds.
Keeping a low profile was strangely easier than I expected.
Though once again, it probably helped that the place was packed, as pedestrians dressed in everything from torn and tattered tunics, to rich and flowy capes, robes, and even full Ilunor-like ensembles rubbed shoulders with one another. The density occasionally got worse when carts full of fresh produce drove right through the streets, as there was little in the way of delineation between the sidewalk and the road, unlike in richtown.
The EVI was, once again, assaulted by a torrential downpour of unknown languages.
“SCRAP! Get yer ENCHANTED SCRAP!” A dwarven voice called out, his bellowing timbre causing quite a few to actually stop and stare, much to his delight.
Because as soon as enough eyes were locked on, the dwarf made sure they remained as such, as he began lifting not just an entire box-full of scrap, but another one too.
Following which, he threw both up in the air, and a third, before committing to what I could only describe as a heavy-weight juggling act.
“QUALITY ENCHANTED SCRAP! UNSORTED, [ORIGINAL QUALITY], UNTAMPERED, UNCORRUPTED, FRESH, DIRTY, SCRAP MANA-METAL!” He yelled, shouting over the CLATTER CLATTER CLATTER of metal clanging and bashing within those boxes.
This definitely got the crowd’s attention, or annoyance, for the most part.
Though strangely, quite a few people were actually drawn to the man, as leather-aproned blacksmiths and well-dressed merchants alike began assessing each of these boxes, the EVI quickly cluing me into their conversations.
All of which led me to an interesting realization.
“The guy’s just a middle man selling boxes of unsorted junk. It’s like a mystery box, but for people who know what they’re doing, this could make a killing.” I surmised, just as the dwarf began slapping away several curious hands holding what looked to be magical tools — no doubt attempting to determine which box was the most lucrative.
“NO [PREVIEWS]!”
Walking down the street revealed increasingly packed street-side stalls, though behind them, were more established brick and mortar stores that seemed to be just as packed as the open-air vendors.
I walked by practically dozens of these stores, going past blacksmiths, cobblers, tailors, and a whole assortment of general stores, without once setting eyes on a book store.
However, in the midst of my search for something resembling a dictionary-proprietor, my eyes landed across a roughly translated piece of loose dialogue that didn’t seem right.
“I understand the difficulties, however, I [must warn] about the [risks]. You are still a [Rantolisrealm citizen] working under [my noble sponsorship]. Should you wish to [naturalize], then you will immediately lose your [rights to commerce] in the Nexus. Understand that this is [not a threat], but a [warning].”
And it wasn’t because of the conversation itself or its context.
No.
It was because of exactly who the speech was tagged to.
[A72 ETHOLIN ESILA]
“EVI, are you sure you’re reading this right? Why would Etholin be here… and how would he be speaking common or low Nexian or whatever it’s…” I immediately addressed the EVI, who responded with a series of ‘...’ loading bars, prompting me to trail off as I instead shut up to hear its response.
“Suggestion to Operator: make use of your optical sensors to confirm self-reported errant data readings.”
I couldn’t help but to sigh at that digital sass, before doing as instructed.
Stepping into the store in question — what looked to be a carpenter’s workshop — the EVI’s readings were immediately validated.
As I was met with a familiar face.
One that seemed just as shocked to see me, before attempting to regain some composure by clearing his throat.
“Cadet Emma Booker?” He stammered out.
“Yeah, in the flesh! Or the metal, I suppose.” I responded awkwardly, reaching a hand to rub the back of my head; pulling down the soggy hood in the process.
“What… what are you doing…” He paused, before shaking his head. “Ah, well, I suppose it doesn’t matter. I must compliment the forces of fate for finally managing to secure our well-overdue meeting!” The little thing beamed out, trying his best to maintain whatever persona he was using with the other ferret-like person that stood behind the counter. “[Discuss this later], Artholan.” He turned to face the man, who bowed deeply in response.
“Erm, I’m really sorry about this, Etholin, but I'm in a real rush to get back now. It’s almost curfew, and I was—”
“Searching for something in town, I imagine?” The ferret squeaked out, his tone of voice landing somewhere between his usual skittish self, and the more confident, business-savvy one that he seemed to naturally trend towards amidst commoners.
“Something like that, yeah.” I acknowledged, keeping my cards close to my chest as I inadvertently accepted my new walking partner.
The little ferret actually managed to secure us a significant degree of berth as people seemed more inclined to give him the right of way.
“So… what was it you wanted to talk to me about, Etholin?” I finally caved in, only for the EVI to recall the answer to that question verbatim.
[TRANSCRIPT FROM A72: “There is a proposition I wish to pose to you, on the matter of this weekend’s sojourn into Elaseer, and on another matter more pertinent to your time here within the Academy and its many, many factions.”]
I nodded internally in acknowledgement, as I quickly seized on the opportunity to correct my course.
“Was it something about the town shopping trip? And also something about navigating the factions of the Academy?”
That seemed to shift the ferret’s features from nervous politeness to a more positive skittishness, as he nodded fervently.
“Yes, yes! You are correct on both accounts, Cadet Emma Booker!” He beamed, shaking with excitement. “Oh I am so honored you remembered!”
“Hehe, yeah…” I addressed that latter point with another rub of my neck. “Well… I guess that first point’s probably moot now considering the town trip’s already over—”
“N-not at all, Cadet Emma Booker!” He interjected nervously. “F-for there is a matter that I believe may very well be up your alley as they say! First, given your c-commoner status, a-and secondly, reaffirmed by your very presence here in the commoner’s district!” He attempted to maintain a positive, jovial, friendly tone of voice, in spite of all of the skittishness that came naturally to him.
“Okay? I’m listening.”
“You may have assumed that my attempt to parlay on the matter of the town ‘shopping trip’ as it were, was a result of matters of pure commerce or finance, yes?”
“I mean… I didn’t want to stereotype you, Etholin, considering the whole ‘merchant lord’ and all. But given the Nexus’ playbook, I had to take into consideration that possibility.” I shrugged. “But the same could be said for everyone, honestly, not just you. I’d sort of assumed that there's an expectation for newrealmers to get tricked into a debt trap in Elaseer given the lack of Nexian currency on hand. So, I’d imagine that fellow students would be attempting to get in on that too.”
“I can confirm, Cadet Emma Booker, that your presumptions on that trend of newrealmer indebtedness is indeed correct.” The ferret acknowledged.
“So… were you trying to warn me about it or—”
“Oh, I—” The ferret interjected with a stutter. “T-that was part of it, yes. However, I was hoping to ignore that matter entirely. For you see, I had guessed, seemingly correctly so, that matters of finances would be ‘sorted’, as it were, by someone as uniquely attuned with fate as yourself. Thus, what I was wishing to discuss wasn’t something as trivial as finances, but a matter that you may probably be facing already if your current outfit is anything to go by.” He spoke excitedly, as if waiting to drop a bombshell on me that he’d been excitedly holding in for a whole week.
“Okay? Don’t let me stop you there, Etholin.”
“I assume… that you wish to communicate with commoners!” He concluded proudly. “You — a seeker of knowledge, an extension of The Library, a commoner in and of yourself, and clearly an astute scholar of linguistics considering your impeccable command of High Nexian — would obviously be seeking to expand your knowledge by diving into an avenue few nobles would ever consider of delving into!”
I had to do a complete double take at that conclusion.
Because in spite of landing dead center on the subject of my sidequest, his reasons for getting there were also honestly… compelling.
And to an extent, he was right.
If it wasn’t for the whole push to find Rila, I would still have attempted to bridge the communication gap.
That was an integral aspect of the mission after all.
To collect, analyze, collate, and process any and all information, social, cultural, political, and then some.
Language was the facilitator for all of that.
“I… do hope I’m not being too presumptuous here, Cadet Emma Booker!” Etholin offered with a worried smile. “I simply garnered as much from the impromptu speech you gave to the year group during the emergency assembly! You expressed a clear intent to learn and to bridge cultural boundaries! Language is an integral part of that!”
So the ferret really was listening during my spiel.
Did… one of my speeches actually get through to someone?
“So… you’re offering your services… as that bridge, I imagine?” I cocked my head, once more earning a skittish nod from the ferret.
“Y-yes! I-if, that is of course acceptable? I… I do apologize if I seem to be overstepping my bounds or—”
“No, Etholin. You’re really not.” I interjected, offering the nervous noble as reassuring of a tone of voice as I could muster. “If anything, I’ll be more than happy to discuss this with you as I am, in fact, in the market for something of a translator.”
This caused the small noble to grin widely, as he began tip tapping both feet now, practically skipping in his strides.
“So… let’s start with the basics. I assume that since there’s a High Nexian, there’s probably also a ‘Low Nexian’ for commoners, and that ‘Low Nexian’ probably isn’t one unified language too, but a blanket term for hundreds of dialects?”
“Correct, Cadet Emma Booker! Though, only partially.”
“Oh?”
“There are, in fact, tens of thousands of dialects.”
“Oh.”
=====
The Transgracian Academy for the Magical Arts. Grand Concourse Terminal. Local Time: 2025 Hours.
Emma
“I’m sorry to ask you this, Etholin, but… what exactly do you hope to gain from promising me all of this?” I finally shot back, just as we exited the portal mere minutes before town-curfew.
“As I said before, Cadet Emma Booker, I am a fair individual. I wish for this relationship to be balanced, respectful, and as a means of easing your worries — transactional.”
My brow quirked upwards at that last word, as I stood there, hands on my hips. “Erm… Etholin? I’m not sure if I’m misinterpreting some important cultural context here or…”
“Oh! I… that was not the intent of my—” The ferret began, before quickly doing a complete reassessment. “What I meant to say was, I wish for our relationship to be one of mutual transactions, where I offer my services and aid, and where you likewise offer certain services, aid, and perhaps promises.”
“What specifically are we talking about here?”
“There is… quite a lot I wish to learn of your realm, and likewise, a lot that I believe can be garnered by relations born of trade and commerce. Strictly speaking, despite the stigma associated with newrealms, and indeed, with a race consisting of primarily weakfielders, I still believe there is much to be gained.” He offered brightly.
“Alright? That’s going to be a ways away, Etholin. And while I’ll be more than happy to share more about my realm, anything tangible with regards to trade is going to require forces beyond my powers to promise.” I paused, as a lightbulb moment hit me. “But that’s if we’re talking about trade between realms. Local business endeavors, on the other hand, are definitely on the table.” I quickly added, realizing that I probably just had a way into the Elaseer market.
“That’s understandable.” Etholin nodded. “Though, there are also other exchanges I wish to propose. Namely, in the realm of aid in Professor Chiska’s physical education classes, as well as perhaps a form of solidarity in similar curricular and extracurricular-based activities?”
“Oh, school stuff? Yeah, I’d definitely be down for helping you with physical education stuff for sure, Etholin.” I nodded confidently. “Though, you’re going to have to clarify a bit about exactly what you mean by ‘solidarity’—”
TOOO TOOOO TOOOOOOM!
A series of brassy trumpets interrupted our conversation just as we entered the grand hallways proper.
The source of this sudden interruption, was coincidentally, the source of a lot of my disdain.
What I could only describe as a literal parade float began parading down the hall at a leisurely pace; taking up almost the entirety of the walkable space.
Atop of it, was none other than what was quickly becoming my arch-nemesis — Auris Ping. With Lady Ladona standing behind him, splaying out her colorful wings, as if to garner even more attention than she already got normally.
“Make way! Make way for the Class Sovereign to-be! Make way for the Class Sovereign candidate!” The bull’s most ardent supporter, second only to Ladona, announced with a level of righteous bombasticness, punctuating the deafening festival music that was fittingly as obnoxious as the man they serenaded.
“So this is what you were alluding to?” I turned to address Etholin.
However, before he could respond, another series of royal trumpets echoed from the other end of the hallway.
As to my horror, yet another parade float began barreling down, this one, occupied by none other than the teacher’s pet Qiv’Ratom.
However, instead of the over-the-top grandeur of Auris’ float, his float seemed to be just a little bit more reserved.
Though that wasn’t really saying much when it came to the Nexus…
“Move aside! Clear the way, for the Class Sovereign candidate Lord Qiv’Ratom! The peer above peers, incumbent lord of highest score!” Rostario’s shrill voice echoed throughout the halls, as he led the float atop of a floating cloud, his hand twirling a diamond-studded baton.
It was at that moment that the active map display suddenly turned orange, indicating that there was now no way out, as both floats were on a slow, meandering collision course towards the center of the hallway, and the two bystanders currently in the way of it all — us.
Comments
Brachy LP
Exotic Exotic Ex... Exotic Butters! (Nice Game Theory Meme in there)
Skrzynek
JCB said in discord it's both. The long-range listening microphones add the background whispers as text for Emma to parse quickly, for instance, reading faster than she can listen. I mean - I certainly wouldn't mind having subtitles IRL for people I meet! It'd save me asking "hm what?" Every now and then when I didn't quite hear something :v
Michael Halpern
the shock etholin is in for.
Michael Halpern
it should still be reflected in tonality
Raz
Thanks
Michael Halpern
both. subtitles when there are unknown words
Raz
"it's getting a bit messy to read the subtitles" implies that it translates spoken high nexian into text rather than sound, or does it do both?
Steve Desamos
“I added with a smile” poor Emma forgets that she’s in a suit of massive hulking power armor, equipped with the most impassive face ever and (sometimes) glowing red eyes. She would be great at poker
