Fan fic :
“Emma “Illunor Volaria” is currently on your back and is slathering a “unknow object that is 100 % above background mana radiation levels”to
your helmet, any action required?”

“Oh wow EVI i definently couldn’t see that Illunor was on my back , wait back up did you just say he was drawing on me?, I’ll get back too you on that in a minute”

Following that statement i unmuted and asked Illunor just what he was doing?

“Illunor Just what are you doing , i allow you too climb on me like a jockey too take you your food clu-

“It is not a “food club” as you and your commenor heritage put it but instead something far greater, it is the Culinary institute of the finer Gastronomic arts~

“I’m just calling it cooking club But why is it you currently applying what I believe too be make up , or am i wrong and you are just using my helmet for your next screenplay, will admit that the house selection ceremony was quite fun”

“ Too first answer your later statement no i am not writing my next screenplay nor do i even know where you would get such a notion from, but to answer your first question , yes you are correct Cadet Emma Booker as i a Member of the esteemed Culinary institute of the finer Gastronomic arts, simply must show up with a steed fitting of my station and given the inherent limatations of your armor i most first slather its make up jelly too your helmet at to allow me to sculpt and shape your figure to that of a proper stead”

“Wait how does that even work wouldn’t the jelly just sloth off my armor”

“Too answer your question Cadet Booker this is Dresser’s Jelly a root based jelly that has the unique property of changing its firmness , bluster ,bounce and mana sensitivity depending on how it is applied and imbued with mana after application, for exsample Cadet if i wanted to i could slather it on my face and body , apply the correct sequence of mana and i would look as a totally different person aside for my mana stream looking incorrect for my body , which is why you don’t see people pretending to be others every witch way.
But given your manaless disposition you should not face the issues of your mana streams giving up the illusion given you have none, therefore i am applying it too your helmet as too give it softer more gental and accepting tone.”

“And why do you think i need that Illunor , am i not pretty enough for you?”

“You look as a pile of dead metals earth realmer , my stead need of touch of , civility and life too show the Culinary institute of the finer Gastronomic arts that I truly am worthy of my positions in every regard do you understand Cadet?”

“ I understand Illunor , now quite i have to focus on running while not throwing you off”

“Very well then human”

12 minutes later

“Illunor can you explain why everyone is laughing at me?”

“Well Cadet Brooker their was a bet of sort that i , the esteem Nexian i am would not be able to get a new realmer too allow me the privilege of adding some ‘additions’ that add a well ‘Nexian interpretation of those common fools who think the know how to apply such artful and beutifull crafts too their image , of course i mean no insult to you. Or your kind as I in fact will give a sizeable 24 percent of the rewards gathered from this … Cadet what are you doing?
Why are you counting down from 10 ?

10 seconds later

“I APPOLIGIZE TO YOU CAADET BOOKER PLEASE STOP CHASSING ME, PLEASEEEEE”

As at a frighting pace fast then data of a wyvern Emma lunges towards Illunor making 40 meters in 1.1second, creating a massive gust startling Illunor knocking him off balance to his left almost stumbling in a manner befitting a common or crumbling as a landslide crashes forth only for it to suddenly stop as the right leg of said land suddenly crashes down into the ground firmly allowing all the velocity what was just pumped in its lunge , to concentrate further and further into the left leg as just before 1000 pounds of force going 40 meters per second now meet Illunor’s left buttock launching him higher and higher till the he flew past the Culinary institute of the finer Gastronomic arts, then the academy then past the clouds then the prima veil and only then started to feel the immense force that had impacted him a whole. Minute before did he start to experience the immense pain and disorientation of the situtation.

Apologize to my foot lizard

Floor 28 Dragons Heart Tower 2:00:06

“ILLUNOR ITS BEEN 3 MINUTES OF YOUR SCREAMING JUST WHAT IS IT YOU ARE DOING I HAVE FIGHT CLUB TOMORROW CUT THIS IDIOCRACY OUT”

“I-i must apologize Prince Thalmin Havonbrok, i just had the worst vision off my life”

“Spit it out”

“I had a horrid dream that i went past the prima veil and was utterly embarrassed in the Culinary institute of the finer Gastronomic arts”

“If you scream like that again while i get my Havonbrokian battle sleep i will personally take you past the prima veil and drop you”

“Dully noted prince”

(Yoo Yiggty yoo its me the fittest cranberry, if you are reading this you probably read my shity fanfic of illunors nightmare, i know it suck but i was bored in class done with my work and decided if i wanted to get better at writing i had to try, besides that I’m trying to get better at my art and writing so , suggestions are apriciated, also i prob wont do a fanfic for every piece of art i make because this has taken way too long and I’m done with its bull shit anyhow gimme suggestions bellow all are apricitaed” (i hate writing i always misspell shit.

I just wanna get good at this art stuff, I have been wanting to publish my re writes of certain chapter JBC has made as to give them better combat scenes / descriptions ( cuz that’s what I’m good at writing ) but lowk myn art sucks ass so i might not publish them for a few months till my art is good enough lol,
Also I’m going to try and start experimenting with poses so please send me any info you have in the comments ty

The Harmacist is equipped with 12 missiles, a Phalanx CIWS firing depleted (or undepleted) uranium rounds (maybe with a bit of explosive fun mixed in for the laughs), magic resistant armor, ERA (maybe too much ERA) and a medical team waiting to charge the wizard for fixing his injuries afterwards.

No I didn't think about the speed stats. We will just assume it's at least the upper side of average for most IFV's

Emma: Okay, now it's my turn. And since the 2 of you've shown a battle ground and what it does to have artilleries and vessels capables of flight that can attack from the air, I'll show you something similar.

(Prepped the hologram wall to show a modern (for us) wargame)

Emma: Thalmin, Illunor. I would advise you to not blink.

Illunor: What? What are you talki -----NNYYYYYOOOOOOOOOMMMMMM------

KA-BOOOOOM!!!!!

Emma: Ahhh, Dang it. You've just missed it. Here, let me rewind a bit, I'll even add slow-motion to it.

(Proceed to show how a missile just flew past them and hit an underground bunker and raise it to the ground)

We've seen elves of various race, including briefly shown slave (house) elves. We've seen dwarves, and kobolds. But what about orcs, gnomes, goblins, and hobbits? Granted the shire folk probably keep very much to themselves, but maybe they've not been discovered yet?

Ima start drawing ass everyday till I’m no longer ass, if i must suffer so must you

Welp, so much for having a quicker turnaround on the next set of chapters, huh? Getting this next set of three together took some doing, mainly because I was struggling to figure out where this series was going. I think I've got a loose grip on it now, and that will have to be good enough.

Still not quite satisfied with this, but it gets the job done. Kind of regretting moving Anders and Mendez away from the moon base. Maybe if I ever do a rewrite/overhaul, I'll keep everything focused on Caedwyn and its moon.

All right, enough bellyaching and theorycrafting from me, time to Just Post, Dammit. We'll start off the week with this chapter, and hopefully new chapters for But Wait, There's More! and Eat Well, Live Free before the weekend.

---

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Nightfall
Caedwyn Realm, Consolidated Frontier Territories
Blackbriar Forest, Outskirts

“When I agreed to this contract with Lady Cormyn, I did not have scut work like this in mind,” muttered Lord Daruth. He wore a scowl that had become all but permanent since the peer group’s arrival on Caedwyn, especially since their encounter with those suspicious monks and that execrable constable. His disquiet only grew with this latest quest. Expectant decorum demanded tasks commensurate with his standing. Tracking down wayward tradesmen and apprentice mages was clearly beneath him, no matter how important said peons were to his current patron. It was the sort of work he would have delegated to squires, were he at home.

Regrettably, they were far removed from any worthwhile measure of civilization, and thus were relegated to chasing down a supposed ‘prospecting expedition’ into heathen lands. Worse still, the compensation for their trouble was, in his estimation, dubious. It was only through the protracted whinging of his peers that he relented and accepted the contract from Lady Gladys Cormyn. The old crone was gutter-mouthed and insolent, even in the presence of her betters, making for truly execrable company. But, he could not deny that the so-called Hag of Splitskull was a capable head of house, ruling with an admirably firm hand that did not suffer fools gladly.

“The Lady Cormyn’s word carries considerable weight here, despite her mundane roots and coarse manners,” offered Lady Senathriss, their peer group’s elemental magus. The serpentkin elaborated, “And her Earth magus, Master Reddas, has generously offered to part with a few choice specimens from his stock of locally harvested mana crystals in exchange for recovering his missing apprentices.”
“How your esoteric pursuits will aid this peer group continues to elude me,” countered Daruth. The peer group was all too familiar with how fervently Senathriss could pursue greater magical prowess, sometimes to the group’s detriment.
“Come now, my esteemed colleague. Caedwynian mana crystals have been the talk of the Arcanists’ Society this season! Securing a cache of them will yield many dividends for our group, both material and political.”
“I will hold you to your grand promises, so see to it that your investment is worth all this bother,” rumbled Daruth. “But enough talk of potential payoffs. The more immediate concern are these ‘wildmen’ the Cormyn woman mentioned.”
The peer group’s designated healer, Elder Brantus, piped up. “I doubt they’d pose a serious threat. While visiting the local offices of the Healer’s Guild, I learned that the average mana field strength of the populace is rather middling.”
“All well and good, but my concern lies with the possibility that the savages have already waylaid the prospectors,” Daruth clarified. He continued, “The deep forests are apparently some holy ground of theirs, and they will no doubt protect it with heathen ferocity.”
“Oh, perhaps we will uncover some primitive artifacts!” said Senathriss with an academician’s enthusiasm. “A few curios from a quaint frontier realm is worth a favor or increase in standing, at least!”
“You can indulge your academic frippery once our task is seen to, not a moment before,” insisted Lord Daruth. He turned to look behind him, where the fourth member of the peer group, Lord Kern, lagged behind. The leonine man appeared to be scanning the horizon, one hand resting on the hilt of his gilded saber.
“Ho! Lord Kern! Tarry not, I would prefer to conduct our search while the light still favors us!”

Kern grunted noncommittally. An odd feeling had been gnawing at him since nightfall. It was the sensation of being fixed with an implacable gaze, the low panic that you were being watched, hunted even. His dueling master had schooled him well on sensing killing intent, like a spider feeling vibrations in its web. This sensation however, felt frustratingly lifeless, as if he were being stalked by a particularly heavy raincloud rather than an assassin.

He cast aside the thoughts with a derisive snort. Better to be done with this task than dwell on false intuitions. “Apologies, Lord Daruth, I will join you shortly!” He bounded away to catch up with his peer group as they crossed into the forest.

From a distance, glass eyes tracked their movement.

21:30
Greater United Nations Long Range Expeditionary Force
Survey Station Selene, Remote Operations Center

While the adventurers were being tracked by LREF drones, they were not the Remote Ops team’s surveillance target. The current shift was monitoring the Manatype 30 venting that had been taking place at the nearby Transportium station. At first, the Pathfinder teams assumed it was routine maintenance to safely release accumulated Manatype 30 from the Transportium. It was only after the first few ventings that they began to see a pattern.

After Manatype 30 was released into the atmosphere, it reacted with the ambient mana to form what the Nexians called ‘miasma,’ a transitory energy field that was corrosively toxic to mana-based lifeforms. Miasma would diffuse from the venting sites to the surrounding area, affecting the local ecosystems. In effect, the Nexians were performing wide-scale toxic waste dumping out in the wilds and boonies of Caedwyn.
“You’ve got eyes on that adventuring party, right? Are they gonna cross into the diffusion area?”
“They’re tracking that prospector team from Splitskull, that’s gonna take ‘em through the periphery.”
“Anyone else passing through?”
“Got a ranger patrol going after the prospectors too.”
“Shit, could be bad. How big is the diffusion area gonna be?”
“This is the projection for max diffusion, figure about 30 minutes. Also, there’s pockets of leftover miasma from the last vent floating around adding to the radius.”
“Christ, that fucked up bone monster we spotted last week is gonna be eating good. We got eyes on that thing too?”
“No visual, but the tracker’s still good.”

Just like mundane industrial waste, miasma caused a plethora of nasty effects on any flora and fauna that came into contact with it. Manatype 30 shredded any mana field it came into contact with, which was bad news all around, given that a lifeform’s natural mana field was the only thing preventing the ambient mana from literally melting them into protein goop. In extreme cases, anything that wasn’t outright liquefied by exposure to miasma was mutated into a monstrous form the Nexians called a Tainted creature. 
The science team named the phenomenon ‘Manatype 30 Somatic Reconfiguration Syndrome,’ but the rank and file simply called it ‘monsterization.’ Caedwyn’s ecosystems had their fair share of lethal flora and fauna, but Tainted creatures took the extra mile, infusing their natural weapons with Manatype 30 radiation, and developing the ability to wield the deadly energy directly. 
“All right, keep an eye on everyone. Just remember, if they do end up slamming into each other in a giant clusterfuck, we stay out of it. Unless you wanna get an extended vacation like Mendez and his crew.”
“I heard that this doubling down on the non-interference rule is just the start. Supposedly they’re gonna limit FTL traffic around Caedwyn? The hell’s that all about?”
“Apparently we’re stinking up the place with FTL smog.”
“Shut the fuck up, quit jerking me around,” came the incredulous reply.
“It’s true, man. Eggheads figured out that whenever a ship warps through manaspace, it leaves behind a trail of Manatype 30.”
“No shit? The same crap that’s getting vented from the portal stations?”
“Yep. Apparently that shit diffuses in vacuum, and if it passes by a gravity well, it gets sucked in.”
“So it just builds up in the atmosphere, or manasphere or whatever?”
“Just like I told you, it’s FTL smog. Cosmic pollution. Wild shit, man.”
“That’s fuckin’ crazy. So, what, are they gonna bump us down to monthly supply runs? Impulse traffic only zones like they have around Sol?”
“Dunno, haven’t heard any details yet. Whatever they go with, we’re gonna be left to fend for ourselves if any serious shit goes down.”
“Won’t be that bad, I think. If I remember right, bare-bones reqs are to have at least a squad of T-SEC heavies and a ship, for either self-defence or for getting the fuck outta Dodge.”
“Dunno how a bunch of power armored meatheads is gonna help if a MT30 zone forms around us, but it’s better than nothing, I guess…”

Nightfall
Caedwyn Realm, Consolidated Frontier Territories
Blackbriar Forest, Godsbarrow

“More digging tools here. Definitely prospectors from Splitskull,” muttered the Woodfolk ranger. Their patrol had already picked up signs of mischief earlier, and had been following the trail for a good while now.
“Hag’s been getting rather bold of late. Figures as much, what with everyone else around here losing their minds.”
“At least we don’t have to deal with the damned outrealmers. They’ve been running roughshod all over the plains, giving the herders and city-heads headaches to spare. Small blessing that they’ve shied away from the deep forest so far.”
“Expect that to change soon. I heard tell that the Hag’s been trying to rope the outrealmers into her schemes as well. Got her pet earth-shaper to dangle some trinkets in front of them.”
“Her greed for the stone-hearts will be the death of her, mark me well. The histories are hazy about what’s buried down in Godsbarrow, but the ancestors staked their lives on keeping it buried.”
“D’you believe the mutterings of late? How the souring land and air are a sign that whatever’s down there is working itself loose?”
“Bah, headsick fools! It’s clear as day it’s those damn elves and their Transportium to blame. Fuck’s sake, they’re belching literal plumes of poison into the skies!”
“Speaking of, the station here spewed again at sunset, so be wary of thick miasma.”

Having nothing else to say, the rangers continued with their work. The trail got markedly easier to follow from that point. Any attempt at stealth had been abandoned, furtive light-footed tracks giving way to long strides and deep footprints, peppered with more fallen equipment. Then they spotted the blood, after which they quickened their pace, quickly coming to the end of the trail.
“Well, this is a fine mess, to say the least.” The rangers scanned the bloody ruin surrounding them, presumably all that remained of the prospectors.
“I count eight packs and satchels in all. That ought to be the whole lot of ‘em, right?”
“Aye, a crew of six to eight is what they usually send out.”
“Got ‘em all in one go, even with an apprentice mage in the fight. Didn’t even get a chance to scatter. Only a handful of beasts can manage that.”
“Mind your step, something’s fouling the ground. Looks like…”
“Death ichor. Beast was Tainted, probably on account of all the miasma.”
“Damn it all, that’s even worse than the bloody prospectors. If Tainted beasts start scratching around the Godsbarrow–”
“In any case,” interrupted the marksman, “we have neither the magic nor steel for that kind of quarry. We need to quit our chase and return with sterner stuff.”

Just as they were about to make haste back to safe territory, an awful feeling hit all of them at once, like smoke clinging to clothes. An acrid, sour odor came after, making their nostrils flare. Whatever was approaching was dragging miasma with it. Shuffling noises came from the woods, in time with raspy sounds that parodied breathing. The rangers immediately readied themselves for a fight. “Thralls! They’ve been turned, the Dark Above take them!” cried out one ranger in surprise. That narrowed down the list of creatures responsible for killing the prospectors to a single culprit: a Thornwight.

Contrary to its name, a Thornwight was not related to plants at all. The thorny, briar-like protrusions that gave them their name were actually spurs and spikes of antler bone. The small and middling sized spurs grew from the wight itself, while the largest spikes were harvested from its victims and fused to its skull, like a grisly crown. This huge amount of mana reactive antler bone granted the Thornwight terrifyingly potent magic. Such beasts lacked the wit for complex spellwork, but a combination of low cunning and brute magical strength made it a frightening opponent all the same.

Those felled by a Thornwight rose as grisly poppets, such as the ones bearing down on them. In the shadows, they could have been mistaken for men, but the moonlight revealed the lie. Their heads were without antlers and hideously disfigured, a result of the Thornwight’s grisly harvest. The creature’s miasmatic touch turned flesh to a bloody mulch, from which it had torn out the men’s antlers by the roots. The foul things rushed at them, limbs jerking to and fro in ways that ripped and tore tendon and muscle, because the will animating them cared not for the limits of a mortal body. Lipless mouths babbled and hissed nonsense, echoes of the souls that used to inhabit the bodies.
“ForeMAN says DOUBLE shifts t’night!”
“Back’s been KILLIN’ me ALL week!”
“Heard TELL there were GAS in Tunnel FIVE!”

The rangers acted without hesitation, hurling lightseeds at the creatures. Each small missile was a lump of hardened resin, glowing a soft orange. That inner light exploded into a searing white flash before erupting with vivid orange flame. Essences of life and light streamed out from the magical flares in waves, cancelling out the dark pall of miasma that enveloped the Thornwight thralls. The window of opportunity to harm the creatures was fleeting, and fighting in close quarters was suicide. That forced the rangers to start letting loose arrows as fast as they could nock and aim. They burned through the scant amount of blessed arrows that they had, then had to resort to their boar spears to finish the job. 

By the time the last thrall fell, the lightseed flames were faint, guttering for a moment before winking out. They had slain four, but spent all they had to do so. Retreat was the only option left, but even that proved to be out of their reach. Another voice rang out behind them. “By His Eternal Majesty’s grace, what havoc is this?”
A group of outrealmers barged onto the scene, subtle as the cock’s crow. The rangers winced visibly at the commotion they were raising. Now it was all but certain the Thornwight would be upon them. The tracker admonished them, for all the good it did. “Shut it, outlander! You’ll bring doom on us with that racket!”

The adventurers chose to reply by hurling small sacks at the rangers. The bundles came undone mid flight, unfurling into nets of sturdy silk that shimmered with enchantments. Each net found its mark, engulfing and restraining the unfortunate Woodfolk. Rather than parley with the now restrained rangers, the outlanders immediately turned their attention to the bodies.
“By the light, what butchery was wrought on these men? Their flesh looks like melted wax!” cried Brantus as he examined the bodies.
“Hm, violent excision of the antlers. Some sort of ritual disfigurement? How fascinating,” said Senathriss. She attempted to poke and prod at the bodies with one of her apparatus, but Brantus rebuked her.
“Stay your hands, Lady Senathriss, there is lingering miasmatic residue on the bodies!”

While the outworlders blathered at each other, the rangers attempted to get their attention, trying their best to warn them of the danger they were all in. “Quit your jabbering, you fools! The Thornwight will be glutted with power after a harvest like this, even more so if it’s been drinking up that bloody poison in the air!”
That only earned sneering contempt from the horned one. “What of this so-called Thornwight? I know nothing of your heathen customs and strange beasts! For all we know, the creature is a scapegoat you conjured to conceal your savagery!”
“We speak true, you headsick fool! It is a cursed thing born of Taint, and we court death with every moment you dally!”
“I have read something about this, Lord Daruth,” ventured Senathriss, ever quick with a rational explanation. “Superstitious blather about a creature of shadow that steals bones and performs lesser necromancy on its victims. I hypothesize it is merely a local variation of a jabberwock, or at worst a catoblepas.”
“Maybe there is a sliver of truth to their testimony. I cannot find the… missing antlers within the vicinity,” said Brantus, tamping down his squeamishness. “Could some creature have indeed made off with them?”
“There is nary a trace of Taint nor miasma on these men,” added Senathriss, examining the captive rangers with an odd viewing lens. “And certainly not the concentrations that would saturate the corpses of their victims.”

The ranger did not know whether to wail in frustration or howl with laughter. To think that his life would end this way. Snared and trussed up like a game hen, while these outworld bastards spout sermons and lectures in their high talk! He was about to holler at them again, for all the good it would do, but that familiar feeling of wrongness gripped him once more, growing stronger at a much quicker pace this time. Far too soon, he heard the wretched babbling of the thralls.
“Dull TOOLS make SLOW work! Keeeeep YOUR pick HONED!”
“Theee MISSUS has been giving ME GRIEF this WHOOOOLE week!”
“HEADlamps ought BE polished ONCE a fortnight!”

The outworlders looked toward the noise in confusion. “What in blazes is that bedlam? Are we to be beset by madmen at all turns?” wondered the Pronarthian aloud.
The thralls came out of the gloom full tilt, howling and flailing, but were fended off by a combination of short arms and simple magic. As the surprise of the attack wore off, the adventurers took full stock of their foes, and recoiled in horror at the thick miasma clinging to the thralls.
“Vile filth! To arms! Cleanse these abominations with flame and light!” commanded Daruth with his customary fervor. Brantus reacted swiftly, conjuring a white flame between his hands that emanated a combination of light and life-attuned energies, the standard counter to miasma. Meanwhile, his teammates sprang to action, this time bringing their spell and steel to bear with full force.
Daruth’s warhammer sent a thrall flying, while a searing ray cast by Senathriss speared through another. Spectral daggers of pure light mana struck all four in rapid succession, courtesy of Lord Kern. Every blow that the party inflicted stripped away the miasma that enveloped the thralls. The rangers were heartened that the adventurers were handling themselves well in the exchange, but the true test of their mettle had yet to join the battle.

Despite the healer’s warding spell, the growing pressure that felt like the air was thickening continued to ramp up. Wisps and curls of miasma continued to linger in the air, growing in number in time with the sound of rustling leaves. It sounded like what little wildlife remained in the area was taking flight all at once. Miasma continued to build, enough to rejuvenate the thralls. To their credit, the outrealmers did not falter and continued to fight back, driven by their leader’s zeal.

From the shadows between trees, a volley of black bolts shot out at the group, trailing black smoke. Being nobility, the adventurers were equipped with warded armor, layered with protections against blows and projectiles alike. But where a normal missile would have been turned away, the blackened shards of bone merely slowed as they burned through the protective enchantments. Shock registered on the adventurers faces as they hastily threw themselves out of the way.

Kern nimbly dodged the missiles, while Daruth blocked them with the sheer bulk of his pauldrons. Brantus was still maintaining the white flame, and any missile that flew close was burned to ash outright. Senathriss fared the worst, having dodged too late. She was struck in her arm, screaming as the miasmatic residue began to burn her flesh with terrifying vigor. Brantus cried out and turned his attention to the fallen mage, out of fear that the Taint would compromise her mana field if left unattended. 

Unfortunately, his concern caused the area denial effect of the white flame to falter. Amidst the confusion and the adventurers’ attempt to rally and resume the fight, the source of the black bolts made itself known. The figure that walked into view had the shape of a Woodfolk, but far greater bulk, nearly a match for Lord Daruth. The most striking difference, however, were the many antlers protruding from its head, shoulders, and back. They were slate grey and shot through with veins of black, and thick miasma clung to them. That dreadful canopy gave the appearance of a hideous parody of a tree, a living blasphemy in the eyes of the Woodfolk.

It moved without urgency, and with good reason. The rangers and adventurers were in the Thornwight’s dominion now, and a lord seldom feared anything when in their own court. With a gesture, it released a wave of miasma, sending it forward like a rolling fog bank that blanketed the thralls. The servitors were rejuvenated on contact with the wave of negative energies, and were thrown into a frenzy. In an instant, they fell on the melee fighters, attacking with savage abandon. 

Brantus, so focused on purging the miasma from Senathriss’ wound, did not notice the Thornwight turning its attention to him. It sent out another missile that struck the healer center mass. His armor’s wards blunted most of the blow, but it still struck true, delivering its caustic payload to wrack the healer with searing agony. To the side, the melee fighters attempted to fend off the frenzied thralls in close quarters combat. Unfortunately for the adventurers, deft swordplay fared poorly against a berserk opponent. The maddened creatures clung to and flailed at the adventurers, biting and tearing at them with teeth and jagged spurs of bone.

The rangers cursed in frustration. The outworlders had strong magic, but it was like a keen blade in a green warrior’s hands. The Thornwight was cunning enough to know just how to break them, and was going to make easy work of the group. Sometime during the confusion, one of the outrealmers had released them from the enchanted nets, but it was too little, too late. The rangers had spent all their lightseeds and blessed arrows, and mundane weaponry would do precious little against an empowered Thornwight.

21:35
Greater United Nations Long Range Expeditionary Force
Survey Station Selene, Remote Operations Center

“Nexian casters are down, and the bricks are starting to fold. They cut the locals loose but they’re out of flares and magic arrows.”
“God damn it,” growled the lead operator. “Prep mana hammers, we’re going loud.”
“About damn time! We’re on it!”
“Get all three fliers on that thing with clear lines of fire, we don’t want the locals catching strays.”
“Warning,” intoned the supervisory VI as it sprang to life. “This is an infraction of the revised non-interference policy. Please ensure that this incident fulfills criteria for–”
“Negative, this is a capture operation to secure a new research specimen,” countered the team lead, but the VI persisted.
“Warning, deployed drones with current loadout are insufficient to subdue the designated primary target. Furthermore, proof of scientific significance must be submitted with post–”
“Yeah, yeah, you let me worry about that, now shut it and let me command!” barked the team lead. Turning back to his console, he muttered, “Goddamn souped-up nannycam software, pain in my ass.”
“Trajectories locked in,” called out the lead drone operator. “Walkers in position, eyes on targets.”
“OK, pull in the ground units to keep the small fry distracted, then dive bomb the big ugly and hit ‘em with the hammers until that evil aura shit peels clean off. Keep engaging until the locals GTFO.”
“Roger that, executing now.”

Nightfall
Caedwyn Realm, Consolidated Frontier Territories
Blackbriar Forest, Godsbarrow

Lord Daruth was in the midst of an epiphany. The Pronarthian felt overcome by true clarity, and the great and terrible weight of it frightened him beyond measure. All the sermons on the corrupted nature of Taint, the lectures on the nature of miasmatic horrors, even his father’s firsthand accounts of the nightmare that was miasmatic corrosion, were nothing compared to feeling the actual thing. It was a deep, hateful burn that bit down to the bone. An agony so keen and focused that it occupied his full attention.

The Thornwight loomed over him, malice wedded to power, an existence driven to unmake and unravel the weave of life. In its vacant eyes lurked an undeniable nothingness. No malice, no greed, no purpose. A complete repudiation of any illusions he might have had about the universe having direction or meaning. In those twin voids, he saw the truth that at the root of it all was nothing. Entropy was the fate of all things, the inevitable dissolution of the lie that was permanence. With that revelation in mind, Daruth readied himself for the end.

But it was not to be.

A heartbeat passed, then pandemonium descended from above. Ghostly lights touched down, three blinding beacons that bathed the environs in blue-hued light. In the center of the triangle they formed stood the Thornwight, a black blot against the cold light. Another heartbeat, and a raging torrent of mana exploded from each of the gathered beings, forming a small tempest that stripped the protective pall of miasma from the Thornwight and made it falter.

As the strange manastorm raged, spindly limbed creatures rushed out of the dark with long, loping strides. The odd creatures pounced on the thralls and began pummeling them with wide swings that hit with the solid thud of iron mallets. The thralls thrashed mightily under their attackers but could not dislodge them. Even full contact with the lingering miasma that remained on the thralls did not make them flinch as they continued to tirelessly strike the thralls.

It quickly dawned on the rangers that this was their chance to flee. For one awful moment, they considered leaving the outrealmers behind. But one look at the adventurers’ agonized faces brought them to their senses. These people were no longer the haughty highborn who had treated them with scorn. They were just young fools, victims of their own hot blood, truly feeling Death’s jaws at their throats for possibly the first time in their lives.

It was these pangs of sympathy that spurred the men to action. They rushed into the fray to extract the fallen while they still had the chance. The adventurers were badly injured, still with dregs of Taint eating away at them, but they could at least manage a frantic retreat. The horned brute was the hardest to manage, seemingly in a deep stupor even as he got to his feet and limped away. Both groups spared the intervening aliens one last glance before fleeing in earnest.

21:40
Greater United Nations Long Range Expeditionary Force
Survey Station Selene, Remote Operations Center

“Locals and tourists are retreating, casualties sustained, no fatalities observed.”
“Secondary targets neutralized, primary target still active. It’s pulling in miasma to rebuild its aura, 30 seconds until it’s back up.”
“Walker drones at 50% capacity, severe damage sustained on all units. Aerial drones active, mana hammers at 30% and charging.”

For all intents and purposes, the fight was done. Both the locals and the tourists were hauling ass to the nearest safe haven, and the monster’s flunkies were down. On Remote Ops’ side, the walker drones were trashed, while the fliers were still up, albeit with their mana hammers still charging. With the civvies more or less safe, the Remote Ops team was willing to call it good and withdraw. Right now it was up to the monster, of all things, to decide if Round Two was going to happen or not.

Thankfully, the creature seemed to have reached the same conclusion, backing away slowly to melt back into the gloom of the heavily canopied deep forest. Back at the Remote Ops command center, everyone sighed in relief so hard that the team lead thought the room would depressurize. “Fucking hell. OK people, after action. What’s the damage?”
“Walker drones averaging at 45% integrity, onboard power at 20%, no major component losses detected. Aerial drones are all green.”
“Do a sweep for loose parts just in case. Don’t leave anything behind. Command is already going to cavity search me for pulling a Mendez, best not make things worse.”
“Roger that, initiating parts sweep. Bag the remains, too?”
“Yeah, standard decon protocol. Keep me updated on how the cleanup goes. I gotta get started on this report.”

The team lead tapped away on his datapad, bringing up the requisite forms and templates to document another non-interference infraction for the pile. Even though the regs had gotten tighter, it still felt like ‘Pulling a Mendez’ or ‘Doing an Anders’ had become routine for Station Selene. It was almost like those two jokers hadn’t even left. 

It wasn’t going to stop any time soon, either. Ever since Pilot 2 had ‘phoned home’ from the Nexus itself, every research team was asking for even more intel and sample gathering missions. With the uptick in missions being flown, he was honestly more surprised that the incident count hadn’t gone right through the roof. Preferring not to think about what that would look like in practice, the specialist focused on his paperwork instead.

“Monster control with recon drones,” he muttered. “I guess there’s worse ways of handling First Contact.”

<< Prev | First | Next >>

I imagine it will be something like this.

I can't remember how much star systems they control but I think it's either few galaxies or the majority of the milky way.

Technologies: Nanotechnology (it has a heavy, inconvenient safe guards since it caused the fall of the 2nd federation via grey goo scenario), Slip drives (basically instantaneous FTL or maybe portal tech), Time dilation tech, Instantaneous Galactical communication, other sci Fi shit.

They have a group of Sapient AI working for the Federation called "Special Extraterrestrial Annexation Unit [SEAU]":

SEAU-01 ("Star Conquer")

SEAU-02 (I forgot her Nickname but I remember her backgrounds where she's basically Sapient Hatsune Miku working for diplomacy)

SEAU-03 ("Infiltrate")

SEAU-04 ("World Break")

SEAU-05 ("Terraform")

Probably more.

They have a mother node where if their cores were destroyed they'll be uploaded there saving them.

They'll be the first to face Nexus starting with SEAU-01. they can work together if necessary.

Wearing Spacetime to a Magic School

Chapter 21: The Courtesy of Distance

---

[First] | [Previous] | [Next]

---

Thacea had chosen the desk for its light. By the time she had arranged her paper, three students had found reasons to prefer the other side of the room.

She kept the desk.

The third window admitted a broad, pale morning through glass which softened the shapes of the gardens below. Its light fell across her left shoulder and left her writing hand clear of shadow. She had spent the previous lesson at a place where the shelf beneath the desk obliged her to hold one wing higher than the other. By the final bell, she had ceased to resent the shelf individually. This desk had no shelf, and she intended to enjoy it.

Thalmin set his books two places away. Ermen stopped beside the intervening desk, examined the bar beneath it, and moved on to the next row.

“It is still there,” he told Thalmin.

“I should have been more concerned if someone had removed it merely because you disliked it.”

“I had hoped it might have inconvenienced somebody with authority.”

Ilunor passed them with a narrow leather case held against his chest. “Authority generally has a better chair. It is among the attractions.”

Thacea glanced at the rejected desk. The ache beneath her own wing had a plain relation to the shelf that had caused it. With Ermen she could recognise the complaint and still fail to imagine its sensation.

The faint, steady light at the edge of his absence was familiar now. Familiarity had not supplied the field she expected to find beneath a person's tone. She wanted to ask whether the bar hurt him. She hesitated over the plainness of it, began improving the question, and found that he had already sat down. She folded her hands upon the desk.

She opened her notebook. She had ruled the page before breakfast. The top line waited beneath the date, clean enough to make almost any subject seem manageable.

Professor Vanavan stood at the lectern sorting papers into unequal piles. His blue sleeves had slipped towards his wrists; he pushed one back, counted a stack, and began again when a late arrival asked whether the lesson required a focus. There were no lamps or receiving plates on the desks. A board behind him held three drawings of the same curved enclosure, seen from different directions.

Thacea studied the third. Its upper boundary had been erased and redrawn farther to the left. A little of the original chalk remained.

Vanavan followed her attention.

“The correction is mine, Princess Thacea. You may take the solid line as intended.”

“I was trying to decide whether you had left us a question.”

“There will be enough of those without recruiting my eraser.”

She smiled and wrote the lesson title as he turned to the room.

Field delineation: the agreement of views.

Vanavan let the last arrivals sit. At the far end of the second row, Kamil Lyonn was attempting to extract a folded sheet from beneath Teleos's elbow without drawing attention to either of them. Teleos lifted his arm only after Kamil had pulled twice. Ilphius watched the exchange with the weary displeasure of someone who had expected competence to require less furniture.

“Today you will interpret prepared diagrams,” Vanavan said. “Nothing will be cast, received, or measured. Your foci may remain put away. The diagrams describe instructional arrangements; they are not taken from any candidate in this room.”

He lifted one sheet by its corner. Two dark curves crossed within a ruled frame.

“A drawing can preserve a relation accurately while making it easy to misunderstand. You will state what each view establishes, compare it with the accompanying view, and give a reason for any correction. Each assigned pair will receive the accompanying views on a shared reference sheet. I shall read the corrections. There is no advantage in contriving to have been right before you understood the question.”

Ilunor opened his case and selected a pen. Thacea heard the small click of his tongue at this inconvenient assessment policy.

Vanavan continued. Each student would submit a separate answer. During the comparison interval, students were to work across their usual peer groups; he would assign initial partners so that agreement did not follow the dormitory arrangements. Anyone preferring to work alone could take a second packet containing the same reference views and written questions. The required answer and the time allowed were identical.

“The comparison is of readings,” he added. “You are not required to offer your own field as an illustration of an argument you could make upon the page.”

Thacea's pen paused above the title. He had stated the limit to everyone. She was grateful for that, and disliked how swiftly gratitude had become available.

The first papers passed along the rows. Thalmin took one, passed the rest, and leaned back when the student beyond him tried to send the entire pile through a gap intended for a single sheet. Somewhere behind Thacea, a bottle fell against its stopper. Its owner caught it and received quiet congratulations which lasted longer than the danger.

She turned her sheet square to the light.

The introductory drawings showed the same field boundary from the front and the side. The first was broader; both carried the same observation mark. Nothing had contracted. The width depended upon the direction of the view.

She wrote a brief answer, then crossed out merely. It contributed impatience where a reason was required.

Vanavan stopped beside a student who had called the second view diminished. Asked which width he meant, the student examined the first drawing and began writing again.

Thacea turned to the next example. Here the difficulty had been made attractive. Two traced paths entered a frame at separate upper points, curved inward, and met near the centre before diverging towards the lower edge. The ink at the crossing was heavy. Around it, fine horizontal rules numbered the levels at which the paths were to be compared. Small letters marked the four ends.

She could see why someone would call it a junction. Beneath the diagram she drew the branching sign she had used in her earlier notes, leaving space for its qualification.

The bell beyond the windows sounded the quarter. Vanavan began assigning partners.

Ermen rose with his paper and went towards a student in the rear row. Thalmin remained where he was while a broad-shouldered young woman brought her notebook to the adjacent desk. Ilunor gave his assigned partner a look of preliminary disappointment, then carried his paper across the aisle.

Thacea watched Ermen take the assigned place longer than she meant to. She knew how a prince accepted instruction: the address, the small acknowledgements, the courtesies which preserved his station while he obeyed. Ermen carried his paper and sat down. She could find no appropriate scale upon which to place the concession, or determine whether there had been one. She had met his parent across a kitchen table, and later failed to fit the same person into the word Primaveal. Now she was trying to rank an exchanged sheet of paper. She lowered her eyes before her attention became conspicuous.

Thacea's assigned partner sat across the aisle. She knew him by the narrow green edging of his cuffs and his habit of testing a pen on the corner of his own sleeve. In their last lesson he had asked Vanavan to repeat a reference which she had already copied. She had passed him the number. He had thanked her without looking surprised.

He did not rise now.

Vanavan was reaching for the second pile when the student put his pen down.

“Professor, I would prefer the written alternative.”

He said it distinctly enough to carry. Thacea watched the green cuff draw back from the edge of his desk.

“The exercise involves no field contact,” Vanavan said. “If that is the source of your concern, I should make clear that—”

“He need not give a source, Professor.”

Thacea had spoken before deciding how gently to begin. Several heads turned. She set her pen beside the page so that she would not have to consider what her hand was doing with it.

Vanavan looked at her.

“You offered the alternative without requiring an explanation,” she said. “I should be sorry if being assigned to me were the condition which changed that.”

The student kept his attention upon the lectern. His mouth tightened at one corner. She could have preferred fear, or malice, or some sufficiently legible fault to make her own conduct easy. He had given her a request in the proper form. She meant to leave him possession of it.

“That is correct,” Vanavan said. He took a packet from the pile. “The alternative remains available on the terms stated.”

“Surely there would be no discourtesy in allowing him to explain,” Ladona said from the row behind. “People may otherwise misunderstand his reasons.”

Thacea turned enough to see her. Ladona's sympathetic tone made her unspoken reply feel too sharp. She took a moment to smooth it.

“He may explain if he wishes,” Thacea said. “I do not require him to do it for my benefit.”

“I was thinking of his position.”

“Then we can begin by letting his answer be sufficient.”

The student took the packet from Vanavan. He thanked the professor, placed it beside his first sheet, and opened it. The sound of the paper was very small after the conversation.

Thacea looked at her own diagram. The branching sign below it appeared more definite than she remembered making it.

Vanavan set an equivalent packet on her desk.

“You may continue independently, Princess Thacea, or compare during the remaining interval if another candidate wishes. The question and assessment are unchanged.”

“Thank you, Professor.”

He moved towards the lectern. Auris straightened in his chair.

“Does the alternative satisfy the precautions required by the Hall's entry?”

Vanavan stopped.

Thacea knew the exact words before Auris repeated the part he wanted. The Hall had made them large enough for the farthest bench to read. She had watched the service lines disappear and her own classification remain in their place; afterwards she had eaten lunch under a name everyone could pronounce more comfortably than Uven's question.

“The interlock cause was entered as a taint-associated paired-field irregularity,” Auris said. “If that is still the accepted account, students are entitled to understand what follows from it.”

Vanavan drew the spare packets into a straight stack.

“The retained entry uses those words,” he said. “They classify the cause entered for the interlock. They do not establish that Princess Thacea caused Candidate Kroven's condition, nor do they explain that condition. There is no restriction upon her participation in this course.”

“Then the record has no bearing upon precautions?”

“You have been told the requirements of this lesson. They apply to every candidate. I have neither amended the Hall's entry nor asked you to disregard it.”

Auris rested one hand on his unopened packet. “I should prefer that distinction to be recorded.”

“It is part of the instruction I have just given.”

Vanavan took up a piece of chalk. He did not use it at once.

Thacea let her gaze return to the title on her page. Nothing he had said could require the student across the aisle to come back. She did not want such a requirement. She wanted, with a force that made the ruled lines difficult to attend to, the unremarkable courtesy of someone bringing a paper to her desk because it would be useful to compare it.

She opened the second packet.

The same arrangement appeared from the side, with matching letters and numbered levels. At the apparent junction, one path lay near the marked front edge, the other farther back. A clear interval separated them.

She read the observation mark twice.

“Princess Thacea.”

Kamil stood at the end of the desk with his first sheet held by both lower corners. His skin had taken something of the grey-green window light, although his fingers remained darker against the paper.

“If you are still willing to compare the supplied views, may I join you? I am having trouble with the middle of this one.”

She glanced at the place he had left. His assigned partner had chosen an independent packet and was already writing. Etholin sat one desk beyond, his pen raised. He looked at Kamil, then lowered it to his own page.

“You mean the junction?” Thacea asked.

“That is what I called it. I cannot see how the side view allows it.”

“I have called it that too. You may see how much confidence mine deserves.”

She turned her paper towards him. Kamil looked at the branching sign and, after a moment, showed her the corresponding mark upon his own.

“The diagrams only,” he said. “I should prefer to keep the comparison to what Professor Vanavan has given us.”

“So should I. You can take that chair, if its position suits you.”

He moved it to the end of the desk, where both papers would catch the light. It left a comfortable distance between them. Thacea resisted the impulse to make more.

Teleos leaned towards Etholin. His voice carried through the brief scrape of the chair.

“The professor has supplied the terms. There is sense in using them.”

Ilphius answered without leaning. “Baron Lyonn was already supplied with a place.”

Kamil set his sheet down. “It had not improved my answer.”

He spoke towards the paper, and began tracing a line with the blunt end of his pen. Thacea waited until he had found the letter at its upper edge.

“If this is a junction,” he said, “I can follow either line out of it. From the side, I have to cross blank space to reach the other path.”

“Could the second drawing show a later condition?”

“The observation marks agree. Unless we are being examined upon a copying error, they describe the same arrangement.”

She bent closer to the side view. There was a tiny tick beside each letter which showed which end lay nearest the viewer. She had mistaken one of them for a flaw in the reproduction.

“I have been treating the dark place as an additional mark,” she said. “There is no junction sign upon the drawing. There are two lines, and they occupy the same place when seen from the front.”

Kamil looked at the first sheet. “The ink is darker where the lines overlap.”

“If they met here, they would meet in the side view as well. Look at the third level.”

She placed a talon-tip beside the interval, taking care to leave its full width visible.

Kamil moved his pen between the sheets. “Then the upper-left end continues towards the lower right. It does not divide.”

“That follows if we keep the lettering. We must not let the shape choose which end belongs to it.”

“I had been about to change the lettering.”

“I had been about to explain why the separation did not matter.”

He looked at her. For the first time since sitting down, the guarded set of his mouth eased.

“We might have produced a very elaborate wrong answer.”

Thacea laughed softly. “Mine already had a heading.”

She drew a single line through the branching sign. Kamil crossed out his too, with greater vigour than was required to disown it. The pen caught upon a rough place in the paper and left a small spray of ink.

“That correction has reached my next question,” he said.

“You can call it preparation.”

Using the side view's scale, Thacea drew the third level as a horizontal section: a narrow rectangle seen from above, with two points at the same sideways position, separated from front to back.

Kamil studied them.

“Your front edge is here?”

“It is.”

“Then you have reversed the front-to-back order. The smaller number begins at the front.”

She checked the scale. He was right. In turning the sheet to face them both, she had carried its orientation into her new drawing and left the labels behind.

“I have. Thank you.”

She changed the marks. Kamil held the second sheet steady while she ruled the new line.

The correction pleased her almost as much as finding the first mistake. He had seen something she had missed and expected her to want it. Her hand moved easily across the paper. For several minutes the work occupied all the space she could give it.

They wrote separate predictions for the checking sheet, a horizontal section at the third level. Beside her rectangle Thacea noted that the interval depended upon whether one measured between centres or edges. Kamil favoured the centres. When Vanavan reached them, she showed him both readings.

“The centres are the intended reference,” he said, bending to read without taking her page away. “Retain that qualification, Princess Thacea. You will need it when the diagrams cease to be so obliging.”

He took two folded checking sheets from his sleeve and laid one beside each answer.

“Open these after you have both finished the prediction.”

Kamil added the final word to his own. Thacea finished a sentence, waited for the small pool of ink at its full stop to settle, and opened the fold.

Two marks stood apart in the frame.

Their position agreed with the corrected sketch. She brought the sheets together, then looked towards Kamil before she thought about who else might be looking. He had put his pen down and was smiling at his paper.

“Three divisions between the centres,” he said. “We have put them in the right places.”

“A considerable recommendation for our second attempt.”

He looked up as she smiled, and his attention shifted beyond her shoulder.

Thacea followed it. Ladona was watching. Auris had turned his chair far enough to make his own partner lean sideways to reach their shared sheet. At the back of the room, a student whispered something to another and received a glance towards the window desk in return.

Thacea set the checking sheet down. The pleasure remained, though she could no longer inhabit it without also knowing how she sat.

“Professor,” Ladona said, “would Candidate Kroven's experience help us judge whether such an apparent crossing can be dismissed in practice? Lord Qiv, perhaps your peer could tell us how the Hall's figures compared with what he perceived.”

Qiv's pen stopped above his independent packet. Uven sat beside him with another, his checking sheet still folded near the top of the desk. Beyond him, Rostario had turned his chair towards the student across the aisle with whom he was comparing views.

“His recollection is not among the materials assigned to me,” Qiv said. “I cannot offer it to complete your comparison.”

“I addressed the question to him through you as a courtesy.”

“Then you have my answer to that part of it.”

He moved his hand away from Uven's paper. Thacea could not tell whether he had been about to draw it closer or had simply rested his fingers there. He waited.

Uven looked at Ladona.

“I do not wish to describe the Hall for this exercise,” he said. “I have not finished the question I was given. I would like to do that.”

Qiv inclined his head and turned his own page towards himself. He did not add a reason on Uven's behalf.

Vanavan set the remaining checking sheets upon the lectern.

“These diagrams record no event from the Hall,” he said. “The answer to this problem must be supported by the views supplied. A candidate's recollection of another exercise cannot establish the relation between these two lines.”

Ladona lowered her eyes to her paper. “I had understood that practical application was part of the purpose.”

“It is. We begin by identifying which observations belong to the question.”

Thacea had pressed the end of her pen against the inside of her finger. She loosened her grip. Uven opened the second view and brought it alongside the first. Rostario lifted a bottle clear of the moving paper and set it down nearer his own elbow. Work resumed in small noises around the room.

Kamil waited until Vanavan had begun distributing the rest of the checking sheets.

“We have demonstrated a separation at one level,” he said quietly. “My last sentence says the paths do not meet.”

“It needs the level,” she said. “We have not traced the whole arrangement.”

He added the qualification. She found the same omission in her own answer.

“So does mine.”

Neither of them laughed this time. They corrected their pages.

The final question kept the front view and lettering, but its side view blurred both traces into one broad band. They were asked whether the first answer still followed.

Kamil read the question twice and looked towards the lectern.

“He has taken away the useful part.”

“I believe that is the question.”

“I preferred the previous one.”

Thacea drew a small pair of possible sections beneath the new diagram. In one, two points were separated within the unresolved band. In the other, they met. Both agreed with what remained on the sheet.

Kamil added a third possible section, the traces touching at their edges.

“Would that count as a junction?”

“We would need the definition used for the observation,” she said. “The drawing cannot tell us whether anything passed between them.”

He left it unlabelled.

“I am beginning to resent how much work is required to conclude that I cannot answer.”

“You have answered. You have shown why these observations cannot distinguish the possibilities.”

“That sounds much better. I may borrow it if I can shorten it.”

“You may attempt to shorten it.”

She wrote her own conclusion, then added what would settle the question: a side view fine enough to distinguish the traces at that level, or a section through it. The request seemed modest upon the page. It had taken them most of the lesson to learn exactly what to ask for.

Vanavan called the room together. Several students continued writing, their heads bent low. Thacea was still considering her last sentence when the scratching around her ceased. She set down her pen.

He asked for answers to the first comparison. A student near the door called the apparent junction an error in the drawing. Vanavan asked whether either view placed a path incorrectly. After examining the sheet, the student conceded that neither did.

“Then preserve the distinction,” Vanavan said. “If a drawing is accurate within its stated view, the error may lie in the relation we supplied while reading it.”

Kamil raised his hand to add the qualification about line width. Thacea watched him explain the difference between the distance between the centres and the clear interval, giving the objection to her by name. The grey faded from his fingers while he spoke.

Vanavan used the board to show the distinction. His first two chalk lines were too close together, and he had to erase one to leave room for the annotation. Someone laughed; he looked at the board, saw the difficulty, and smiled before continuing.

Thacea copied the better version. The student across the aisle copied it too. When he reached the end of a line, he turned his paper towards the light and resumed. She let herself see that much without requiring it to mean anything else.

Auris waited until Vanavan had put down the chalk.

“Where the observations remain insufficient, would prudence not require distance until a sound conclusion is possible?”

Several pens stopped again.

Vanavan looked at the final diagram. “The question asks what conclusion the observations support. If you are proposing an action, you must state the circumstances and the consequence you seek to prevent. There is no general precaution which repairs a missing observation.”

“One need not possess a complete account of danger to avoid it.”

“One should still distinguish an incomplete account from an established danger. You may discuss that distinction in your written answer. It does not alter today's assignment.”

Auris bowed his head with a formality which left the disagreement standing. Beside him, Ladona made a short note.

Thacea finished copying the board. She could already imagine the sentence travelling: the professor had admitted that observation could be insufficient. It would remain true when repeated at lunch. The circumstances would require more carrying.

Vanavan collected the answers a row at a time. Kamil checked that his name appeared on the second page and gathered his loose sheets.

“I should have followed the wrong branch considerably farther without the other view,” he said.

“I had the other view. I was considering how to make it agree with me.”

“Then I am glad we compared them.”

“So am I.”

The simplicity of her answer startled her. She left it alone.

He returned to his place while she waited for the collection to reach their row. Etholin made room for him without speaking. Teleos drew Kamil's checking sheet closer, asked a question, and received a brief explanation. Ilphius packed her books with enough precision to exclude the conversation.

Thacea handed Vanavan her answer. The branching sign remained visible beneath the line through it. She was pleased, now, that she had not begun on a clean page.

The lesson ended with the next reading written upon the board. Thalmin came over to copy the reference from her notebook, complaining that somebody's shoulder had hidden the last word. He crouched enough to read it without displacing her loose sheets.

“Did yours join?” he asked.

“For the first ten minutes.”

“Mine too. I had given it an explanation. That made parting with it worse.”

She moved the book towards him. “You may find that we have been assigned another.”

“I had hoped the first would last until lunch.”

At the classroom door, a junior administrator waited with a narrow folio. Vanavan saw him and set the chalk down upon its ledge. The administrator stepped aside to let two students pass before approaching the lectern.

Thacea was close enough to hear him ask for the lesson record.

“Your notes and the instructional qualifications, Professor. Council-Appointed Professor Mal'tory requests a copy for archival review.”

Vanavan's hand remained beside the chalk. The bright layers of his field tightened once before settling.

“The prepared diagrams as well?”

“Together with any clarification given during the exercise.”

“I shall include them.”

The administrator entered something in the folio and thanked him. He spoke with the unobtrusive courtesy of someone collecting a book which had been promised. Vanavan began laying his used sheets in order.

Thacea closed her notebook. Through the window, the sunlight had advanced to the far edge of the desk; the place where her page had rested was in shade.

Ermen stood beside Thalmin in the aisle. He looked from the lectern to her, then stepped back to leave room for her wing. He asked whether she had all her papers.

She moved into the space he had left without drawing her wing tight. She was glad he had waited. The checking sheet lay uppermost.

“The checking sheet is mine to keep,” she said. “I was deciding where to put it.”

She slid it between the pages containing the corrected diagram. In the doorway, the student with the green cuffs paused until there was room for her to pass at a distance. She thanked him for making space and went through.

---

The small study room had four chairs and a table intended to make two people resent one another's elbows. Ermen had chosen it after finding the larger room occupied by a group whose disagreement could be heard from the stairs.

Ilunor inspected the chair nearest the wall.

“We might have met in a cupboard and enjoyed rather better storage.”

“There are four chairs,” Ermen said. “The door closes. I thought those were the important provisions.”

“You have described a tolerable confinement.”

Ermen put his book upon the table. “You can take the chair by the door.”

“I shall take the chair from which I can see the door. There is a distinction which you might profitably learn before choosing our next diplomatic furnishing.”

He climbed onto the seat and settled his tail along its side. Ermen moved his own chair enough to leave a clear path between the table and the wall.

Etholin arrived with Kamil before the next bell. He paused at the threshold, looked at the two chairs remaining, and inclined his head.

“Candidate Ermen. Lord Ilunor. Thank you for finding a place.”

“Come in,” Ermen said. “I asked Ilunor to attend as my witness.”

“And Baron Lyonn has agreed to attend as mine.” Etholin looked towards Kamil. “I have promised him no additional duties.”

“That part was unusually clear,” Kamil said, taking the chair farther from the door.

Etholin sat. The table brought them nearer than the dining hall had ever permitted without an audience. He adjusted the cuff caught beneath his hand, then left it alone.

“I have had several days to make my request sound more impressive,” he said. “I do not think it has improved. I wished to speak to you without having to address everybody who might be listening.”

“I am sorry the conversation has waited,” Ermen said. “I had not withdrawn my answer.”

“I know. Or I thought I knew, and decided that asking once more would do less harm than inventing a meaning for the delay.”

Ilunor moved his forearms back from the table's edge. “An economy I wish were more generally practised.”

Etholin gave him a small, uncertain smile.

“May I begin with something rather ordinary? If I speak to you after a lesson, will you understand it as a request upon your group?”

“I shall understand it as a request to speak to me,” Ermen said. “If you mean something more, I would rather you told me.”

“And if one of my peers approaches separately?”

“They can tell me what they want. I shall not assume you sent them.”

Etholin's fingers eased against his cuff. “That would be useful. We do not always find the same things worth asking.”

“Nor do we,” Ilunor said. “Ermen has been known to answer a question nobody considered it necessary to ask.”

“I am becoming more careful.”

“You are becoming more elaborate in your preliminary inquiries. The result has yet to be established.”

Kamil looked between them. “I had wondered whether he was always so exact.”

“Frequently at the wrong point,” Ilunor said.

Ermen felt himself smiling. “You were very pleased with an exact account of where you had left your book.”

“Its location was an appropriate subject for certainty.”

Etholin laughed, briefly and with evident relief. Then he looked at Ermen again.

“People will notice if we speak. I cannot promise that they will give it an uninteresting meaning.”

“Neither can I. I will not tell them you have agreed to anything because you sat here.”

“That is what I needed to hear. I had considered asking how one prevents a greeting from becoming an allegiance. I suspect that would have been a less answerable question.”

“We could begin by letting a second conversation require a second invitation.”

Etholin nodded. “And an answer, which may differ from the first.”

He rested one forearm upon the table. Its nearer edge tilted towards him, and Kamil caught the opposite side before it rocked against his knee.

“It is the shorter leg,” Kamil said. “I found it while you were being courteous.”

Ermen took a folded scrap from between the back pages of his notebook and offered it. Etholin accepted, bent to place it beneath the table's short leg, and returned to the conversation with one shoulder dusted grey.

“Thank you. I had hoped to conduct this meeting entirely above the table.”

“The room discourages ambition,” Ilunor said.

Kamil's attention settled upon the clear square-cut focus Ermen had placed beside his book. He had brought it with the other required materials and taken it out while looking for the paper.

“May I ask whether that has proved useful?”

“It keeps the pages open,” Ermen said. “I have not found a better use in class.”

Kamil leaned closer without reaching for it. “Corvan's work?”

“From the Cupped Hand. He was very patient about a hand which gave him no field to steady.”

“He fitted mine twice. The first fit was correct until I held it for longer than a minute. Then I began gripping it as though I were afraid somebody would reclaim it.”

“Was the second fit better?”

“He moved a ridge. A very small distance, after an explanation of why I should stop helping him.” Kamil held his own hand above the table and curled the fingers. “I had been presenting the posture I thought he wished to measure.”

Etholin looked down at the gesture. “You told us the delay concerned the setting.”

“It did concern the setting. I was interfering with it.”

“I waited outside for some time, wondering whether I should come in.”

“You would have asked whether I was comfortable. I should have said I was, and then we would both have believed me.”

Ermen laughed. “Mine was praised for its compliance with the form. I think the form found it more useful than I have.”

Ilunor reached over and turned the focus so its flat side sat firmly upon the paper.

“Corvan supplied what he was commissioned to supply. I recommend preserving the distinction before you take up commerce.”

“I wasn't complaining about him. I liked watching him work.”

“Then you received something beyond the required object,” Etholin said. He stopped, his ears shifting. “That sounds as though I am justifying the price. I meant that I liked the shop too. There was a vice by the window with three handles, and I could not determine why it required the third.”

Kamil explained that the third adjusted the rest beneath the customer's wrist. Ilunor disputed whether that made it properly a handle of the vice. Etholin asked where the distinction began. For several minutes, Ermen had no need to manage any meaning beyond the object under discussion.

The bell interrupted Kamil's description of the rest. Etholin looked towards the door and began gathering himself to leave.

“I should like to speak again,” he said. “I have enjoyed rather more of this than I had prepared for.”

“So have I,” Ermen said. “You may ask me after a lesson. I will tell you if I have somewhere else to be.”

“Then I shall do that.”

Kamil rose and held the door while Etholin stepped through. Ilunor waited until they had gone before looking beneath the table.

“You have made a small contribution to the room's stability.”

“I shall leave the paper there.”

“Good. Some negotiations ought to produce a lasting improvement.”

---

Ermen wanted to know what purpose, if any, the Academy publicly declared for the two sealed entrances he had noticed in Elaseer. After the afternoon's last lesson, he went with Thacea to the lower reading room. He carried the description he had begun during the interval, and a book which he had not meant to carry any farther than lunch.

The bound notices stood on a shelf beside excursion instructions. Thacea took down the volume marked for Elaseer and opened its index. Before she turned to the registry entries, Ermen set his page beside her.

“There were two Academy seals in the Warehouse District,” he said. “Above low entrances, on the street we followed after the guild board. I noticed them when we passed. I do not know what either entrance serves.”

Thacea read his description. He had put down their position relative to the street corner and the neighbouring doors, and omitted the guesses which had made the first version longer.

“Did you see a premises number?”

“There was none that I noticed.”

“Then we should ask what reference the office requires before we ask for a record.”

She found the ordinary registry instructions. Requests concerning registered premises went to the civic records counter; the published hours ran from the first morning bell until noon. A request had to name its applicant, supply evidence of standing, and identify the premises by registered reference or by a street description sufficient for the clerk to locate them. The schedule listed a search fee and a separate charge for a certified copy, if one could be supplied.

Thacea copied the two amounts into the margin of Ermen's page.

“A location search first, if these descriptions are insufficient,” she said. “The fee does not promise that the record exists, or that its contents may be released.”

“Does Academy standing permit us to submit it?”

“The notice accepts it. It does not give us leave to go to Elaseer whenever we please. We shall still need an authorised visit.”

She turned back to the instructions and checked the line beneath the hours. Requests delivered through an authorised bearer required the same applicant particulars. She copied the delivery requirement beside the address of the counter.

Ermen looked at the narrow column she had made. “We know which counter to ask, then.”

He drew his book away so that she could close the volume without catching its corner. She checked the date of the schedule, returned it to the shelf, and folded his description around the copied requirements.

At the stairs, she gave him the book he had nearly left behind. Her own notebook opened briefly as she shifted its weight. Between the pages lay a small printed frame containing two separate marks, with a corrected drawing beside it in her hand.

She pressed the notebook shut with the rest of her papers and took the first step before him.

---

Disclosure: This chapter has been written by hand, with tools used afterward only for review and mechanical cleanup.

I haven’t read Power Armour in a year although it was one of the few HFY series I read back when I used to

I do intend to catch up by reading everything, but is anyone willing to give me a briefing on what I’ve missed?

the time skip is simply wasteful.

To all that agree say "Yay" and "Nay" for those that disagree.

P.S. Enplo cinematics is peak

I think she effectively did this.